The Gathering Storm-Prelude

Jijiga: Memories and Landscapes

Jijiga sits at 09°21' N / 42°48' E, a vast stretch of plain land about 1,609 meters above sea level. From the air, however, its terrain tells a more complex story: satellite images reveal an undulating landscape, where the town center near the old British Council office reaches 1,670 meters, rising further east and west to 1,696 meters.

The town is home to many Somali clans. Among the most prominent are the Yebere and Bartira sub-clans, while the larger clans include the Ogaden and Issaq. Surrounding Jijiga are numerous hills, especially to the northwest. Within a 15 km radius, the land is dotted with military and natural landmarks. About 7 km east, a site called GarabAse (“red shoulder”) once hosted the 9th Motorized Battalion and the 3rd Tank Battalion. To the southwest, Bur Cul/Gama rises to 2,135–2,154 meters, while Bur Dibba, another peak, reaches 2,140 meters.

The Karamara Mountain chain, west of town, dominates the landscape. Its peak, at 2,289 meters, faces the Ogaden plain while turning its back toward Harar. The Marda Pass, a site of battles during World War II and the 1977–78 Ethio-Somali War, crosses this range at 2,000 meters, offering a commanding view of Jijiga and the surrounding region. Other peaks include Burka/Burca Mountain to the north (1,680 meters) and the Tochdineti region to the northwest, bordering fertile Borama agricultural areas.

Jijiga was long celebrated for its wells, which sustained local pastoralists, townspeople, and livestock. Some say the town’s name comes from the act of digging water holes—an endeavor made difficult by loose soil. As a child, I remember riding with my friend Timmy to Ellyre, “the little well,” about 5 km northeast. There, among the rocks, we played cowboys, yodeling and chanting like wild frontiersmen, communicating through our walkie-talkies. Further north, El Bahai, at 1,703 meters, had its village slightly higher, at 1,714 meters, marking another anchor of life in the region.

Jijiga’s soil hides treasures too. Multicolored sandstones, mica schist, quartzite, and crystalline calcite mix with the topsoil, offering both beauty and a sense of place. As children, we collected stones near a military checkpoint called Get-kullie, crafting them into animals or toys. In their fragility and diversity, these stones mirrored the people of Jijiga: different yet connected, resilient yet delicate.

The town’s origins are contested, though records suggest it was founded in 1891 as a frontier garrison during Emperor Menelik II’s southern expansion. It became both the last frontier incorporated into the empire and the first Ethiopian presence in Somali lands. The garrison introduced a historic shift in military life: soldiers were paid monthly salaries instead of receiving land grants. This professional, mobile army was vital for suppressing uprisings, like the one led by Grazmach Benti in March 1900, which routed a force of Somalis loyal to the dervish leader Sayyid Cabdille Maxamad Xasan.

After the battle, Grazmach left 1,000 soldiers behind, forming the nucleus of Jijiga’s permanent garrison, which remained until the Italian conquest. Even in its early years, Jijiga grew into a bustling market town, attracting Indian and Arab traders, and Somali settlers, thriving as a regional hub for cross-border trade.

Here’s a polished memoir-style edit of your passage. I’ve kept the historical details, personal observations, and narrative tone, while improving clarity, flow, and readability. The memoir voice remains present, so the reader experiences both the history and your perspective as someone connected to Jijiga:

About fifteen years after the garrison was established, a new power struggle unfolded between Lij Eyasu and Lij Teferi, the two contenders for the imperial throne. In a bold and dramatic move that surprised both allies and adversaries, Lij Eyasu attempted to ease the long-standing hostilities between the insurgent Somalis and the Ethiopian center, and between highlanders and lowlanders—a conflict stretching back to the days of Lebne Dengel and Gragn Mohammed.

Lij Eyasu summoned the Somali chieftains and broke bread with them, openly declaring that he and his lineage were Muslim. His statement was partially true: his grandfather had been a Muslim before being Christianized as King Michael of Wollo by the victorious forces of Yohannes IV. To seal this gesture of brotherhood, Lij Eyasu gifted rifles—highly valued both by highlanders and nomadic Somalis. Yet his initiative came to little. Marginalized from the throne, he was eventually defeated and imprisoned by his rival, Lij Teferi, who later became Emperor Haile Selassie.

Subsequent governments abandoned Eyasu’s approach of diplomacy and instead dealt with Somali insurgency through force. Some political observers in Jijiga later speculated that history might have taken a different course had Lij Eyasu’s religiously-minded reconciliation been embraced. Perhaps, they mused, shared faith could have bridged divides more effectively than ethnic ties—perhaps not.

A few years later, in 1918, a Russian-educated administrator named Bejrond, later honored as Fitawrari Tekle Hawariat, took charge of Jijiga. Visionary and determined, he permanently reshaped both the town’s architectural and demographic landscape. Demographically, he resettled Oromo communities northwest of town, allocating 49 hectaresper settler. At the time, this was intended as a model to teach nomadic Somalis the benefits of sedentary agriculture. Yet rumors circulated that Bejrond also sought to relieve soldiers from tilling the land by relying on peasant labor—a strategy that had multiple effects: some independent peasants became serfs, others joined the army, and the government began collecting land taxes, supplementing the existing livestock-based revenue.

I remember those times vividly. My father was one of the tax collectors, and as a child, I helped him write receipts. The wide tax office would fill with Somali peasants, their distinctive fragrance permeating the room—a sweet, earthy scent unlike anywhere else. In Samaroon shoes, they would arrive from their villages, untie the coins hidden in their gowns, pay the yearly one-birr tax, and present a crumpled bill from the previous year as proof. We would scribble the receipt, take the money, and send them on their way, smiling until the next year.

Bejrond also transformed the town’s architecture. He introduced parallel, intersecting roads—rumors claimed he copied Dire Dawa’s plan, though a comparison reveals otherwise. Dire Dawa’s roads seem drawn by a careless hand, whereas Jijiga’s resemble a child’s earnest sketch: functional yet charmingly irregular.

Jijiga, as a garrison town, required a strong economy to sustain its soldiers. With no central budget support, the town relied on land and livestock taxes, the foundation of a nascent local federalism. Strengthening the economy, however, often brought hardship to the local population.

All administrators were appointed from Addis Ababa, including Bejrond. Despite his progressive outlook, he operated within the period’s restrictive socio-political environment. Colonial influences—first Italian, then British—had introduced some liberal ideas, which briefly surfaced in post-British political life. Yet nationalism soon dominated. Kenjazmach Qalegorgis, a stern nationalist, expanded imperial frontiers through settlement colonies such as Lefiesa and Teferiber, often offending local Somali chieftains. While the Ethiopian government maintained cordial relations with Garaad Makhtal Daahir of the Ogaden—who cleverly navigated British and Italian pressures—other local leaders faced stricter treatment.

Successive administrators, including Fitawrari Tafesse, continued policies of confrontation, particularly with the British, who oversaw nearby Borama. Tafesse’s aggressive diplomacy expedited the demarcation of the Ethiopia-Somaliland boundary, asserting Ethiopia’s independence and authority. Other Fitawraris followed, including Mezlekia and Shifferaw. By the 1930s, Jijiga had become the capital of the Ogaden, administering a large swath of Somali land.

Yet tensions persisted. Boundary demarcation and imperial expansion provoked continued Somali resistance. On one occasion, an expeditionary force of 12,000 under Dejazmach Gabre Mariam and 3,000 under Fitawrari Shifferawwas dispatched to quell rebellion. Even with such overwhelming force, the insurgency remained resilient, its spirit of revolt enduring well beyond these campaigns.