O-Dispatch 21 - We Have Come Home: A Story from Independent Oromia

(Published as part of the “Imagining The Independent State of Oromia: Essays on Freedom and the Future” series. Everyone is invited to contribute. Send your contributions to bantii.qixxeessaa@gmail.com.)

By Falmmattuu Sabaa, Economic and Human Development Advisor

For those who still wonder what freedom looks like… this story is for you.

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Dear Oromia Dispatch Editor, Your O-Dispatch #20 – Ten Years of Freedom: Imagining a Thriving, Independent Oromia stirred something deep within me. It was more than a vision; it was a mirror held up to the Oromia we have long carried in our hearts. It moved me to raise my pen and add my voice to the growing chorus determined to help our people — and the world — see what a free Oromia looks like. To those still wondering what freedom feels like, to those who doubt whether we can stand on our own, I say this: Read on. This story is for you. And while you are at it, borrow Leensaa’s eyes and mind — the eyes of a young girl who has only ever known an Oromia that governs itself, and the mind of someone who believes, without question, that her nation’s place in the world is as natural as the sunrise.

A Morning Like No Other

Leensaa, a high school senior, awoke to the cooing of doves and sunlight spilling through the curtainless window of her bedroom in Finfinne—the capital city of an independent Oromia. It was 2035. The air was rich with the familiar aroma of her mother’s buna brewing in the kitchen, mingling with the quiet hum of electric buses gliding along the tree-lined boulevard outside.

She got up, put on her school uniform — a navy blue tunic with an embroidered Odaa tree badge on the chest — and grabbed her student ID, her Oromia Citizen Card, and a crisp 5 Loon note with Jatani Ali’s face on it. These were more than pieces of plastic and paper. They were symbols of a reality her grandparents had only dared to dream of: a free Oromia.

Her younger brother, Abdiisaa, scrolled through a youth government app showing proposals being debated in the National Assembly. One bill aimed to add the English Language as a co-official language in public schools. Another focused on opening a trade route with coastal Somaliland to strengthen Oromia’s regional influence.

Across town, their father prepared to present a water conservation project at the Ministry of Environment and Land, whose headquarters stood proudly in the shape of an Odaa canopy — half ancient tree, half modern solar structure. Nearby, the Oromia Supreme Court prepared for a constitutional hearing streamed live to the public, narrated in Afaan Oromoo.

And so began a day in free Oromia — ordinary to its people, but miraculous in the context of history.

Remembering the Shadows

Later that evening, Leensaa sat in her grandmother’s living room in Buraayyuu, where portraits of fallen heroes lined the walls. One was of her great-uncle, who had been arrested in 2016 for organizing school protests in Afaan Oromoo and was murdered in an Ethiopian prison. Another was her grandmother herself, who had once hidden freedom fighters evading Ethiopian security forces beneath the kitchen floor.

“People thought we were being unrealistic,” her grandmother said. “They told us independence was impossible—that we should be grateful for crumbs. But we knew: we would be free, and our country, Oromia, would become independent.”

Leensaa’s school project this month was to write a report titled: “Ten Years of Oromia: A Nation Reborn.” She was collecting stories for it. So far, she had spoken with a farmer who now sells produce to Sudan and lives debt-free thanks to the national land reform, a software engineer developing language-learning apps in Afaan Oromoo, and a refugee returnee who had opened a school in Bale for displaced Oromo children.

In her research, Leensaa had also uncovered striking data. Oromia’s Human Development Index (HDI) — which measures health, education, and living standards — had risen by an astonishing 120% since independence, the fastest rate of improvement anywhere on the continent over the last decade. Yet the HDI was only one part of a broader transformation.

The Multidimensional Poverty Index (MPI) had been cut in half, reflecting major improvements in housing, nutrition, education, and basic infrastructure. Oromia’s GDP per capita had doubled, driven by investments in agriculture, digital technology, and regional trade. According to the Global Peace Index, Oromia had become one of the most stable nations in East Africa, with a well-trained civilian-led defense force and strong conflict-prevention institutions rooted in Gadaa principles.

The fight against corruption had also borne fruit. According to the Corruption Perceptions Index, Oromia’s public trust in government institutions had surged. Transparent budgeting, an independent anti-corruption court, and citizen oversight councils ensured accountability at every level. International watchdogs such as Freedom House and the World Governance Indicators (WGI) recognized Oromia as one of Africa’s most promising young democracies — with free elections, robust civic space, and a thriving independent media in Afaan Oromoo.

Leensaa was especially proud of the country’s progress on gender equality. The Gender Inequality Index (GII) showed dramatic improvements: girls were completing school at the same rate as boys, maternal mortality had dropped sharply, and Oromo women now held leadership roles across government, business, and science.

The country’s broader Social Progress Index (SPI) also painted a hopeful picture. Access to clean drinking water, internet connectivity, housing, and emergency health services had expanded into even the most rural areas. Meanwhile, the Environmental Performance Index (EPI) revealed record-high reforestation rates, clean energy adoption, and protection of natural water sources.

In every single one of these indicators — whether social, economic, environmental, or governance-related — Oromia had performed at least 67% better than it had in its final years under Ethiopian rule. It wasn’t just a change of flag. It was a transformation in how people lived, breathed, and belonged.

She had also visited the National Museum of Resistance, where a full-scale exhibit showed prison uniforms from Kaliti, media blackouts, and defiant protest signs. In another room was a mock-up of the Oromia Passport, burgundy with the national motto stamped in gold:

Bilisummaan hin dulloomu.
Freedom does not grow old.

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The Future We’re Building

The next day, Leensaa attended the 2035 Irreecha Festival — now a national holiday celebrated across all regions of Oromia. It wasn’t just a cultural ceremony anymore; it was a national renewal. Millions gathered in traditional dress, students recited poetry, musicians performed songs about rebuilding after colonization, and youth groups read aloud the new “Declaration of Oromo Youth”:

We will not inherit silence.
We will inherit duty.
We will speak in our language, build in our name, and never again be told to wait.
Oromia is not an idea — it is a nation. And we are its future.

Afterward, Leensaa and her classmates met for their civic engagement project: designing a Constitutional Vision Board. They created newspaper mockups with headlines like:

“Oromia Appointed to Chair AU Commission on Indigenous Rights”
“First Oromo Astronaut Launched from Somali Spaceport”
“New University Opened in Guji to Train Environmental Diplomats”

As they cut and pasted images and quotes, Leensaa paused to reflect.

Her people had once lived under occupation, treated as strangers in their own land. They were told that dreaming of freedom was foolish. But today, she stood in a place where the dream had grown roots, borne fruit, and become a living, breathing reality.

Oromia wasn’t just free.
It was functional.
It was flourishing.
It was home.

Yet even in its freedom, Oromia was still a nation in the making. There were challenges: rebuilding roads and hospitals in areas long neglected, balancing rapid urban growth with rural equity, confronting regional climate pressures, and ensuring that no citizen — especially in pastoralist zones — felt left behind. Misinformation, border tensions, and cyberattacks tested the resilience of Oromia’s young institutions. But what made this country different now was that these problems were no longer inherited — they were owned, studied, and solved by Oromians themselves. The future still demanded sacrifice, but it was no longer about survival. It was about shaping prosperity on our own terms.

If You Still Can’t Imagine Oromia Free…

Then borrow Leensaa’s eyes.
Walk her streets.
Read her passport.
Taste her language on your tongue.
Feel the weight of ten years not wasted, but wisely used.

This is what happens when a people stop begging for space — and start building their own.

Imagine no more. Just believe.