In Ethiopia, women and faith drive effort to restore biodiversity

In Ethiopia, women and faith drive effort to restore biodiversity

Sister Tibebwa Selassie Heckett speaks with church members in Ethiopia in December 2018. Photo by Christopher Lett.

This article originally appeared on Mongabay as part of a series on Global Forests.


  • In Addis Ababa, approximately 35 percent of the household fuelwood – mainly eucalyptus – is systematically gathered from the Entoto Mountains just outside the city.
  • Ethiopia historically planted large areas with fast-growing eucalyptus, a non-native species, to meet the demand for fuelwood. But the trees’ water-hogging nature has had a destructive impact on the land.
  • There are efforts to reforest areas with native species, supported by the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, which has a tradition of maintaining tree gardens throughout the country.

ENTOTO, Ethiopia — In a tiny home not far from the U.S. Embassy in Addis Ababa, 80-year-old Aragash Boka finally rests from a long day’s work carrying an awkward, heavy load. Boka lives and works in a corner of the world where, for the most part, fuelwood has remained important to daily life for centuries.

Ethiopia is a vortex of culture and humanity, starting with the fact that it’s home to three of the things humans value the most: faith, fire and coffee. On any given day, Boka is one of thousands of women who walk from the bottom of the outer valleys of their city up the side of the Entoto Mountains to make a living collecting fuelwood.

The women march up to 16 kilometers (10 miles) in search of wood, bark, branches and dried leaves from eucalyptus trees (Eucalyptus globulus), carrying it on their backs to sell as fuelwood — firewood, charcoal and kindling — at market. Average earnings range from $1 to $3 per day.

Aragash Boka, 80, used to carry fuelwood from Entoto Forest, but now she packs twigs, leaves and bark in bags to sell as stove fire-starter. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Aragash Boka, 80, used to carry fuelwood from Entoto Forest, but now she packs twigs, leaves and bark in bags to sell as stove fire-starter. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Since the introduction and initial planting of eucalyptus here in the early 1900s, through to the establishment of large groves seeded en masse by the 1970s, every part of the tree gets harvested primarily for fuel or building. Though the tree isn’t endemic to Africa, it’s taken so well over its short history to the wide-ranging climates of Ethiopia that it’s quietly set up a colony of its own within the economy and ecology of an entire nation.

The fuelwood gatherers of Entoto, like Boka, today find themselves caught in the middle as both the cause and the victims of environmental damage done by a plant so vital to them. With only 2 percent of native forests left in the country, reliance on eucalyptus is key to the nearly 90 percent of households that still use wood as their primary way of cooking and cleaning and warming their homes.

Long History

Generations of women have carried wood from Entoto Mountain to fuel the stoves of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Generations of women have carried wood from Entoto Mountain to fuel the stoves of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

The importance of Entoto slices through three centuries and is closely tied to the integral role of forests to human society. After Emperor Menelik II and his wife, Taytu Betul, ascended to the imperial throne in the 1880s, they settled the area and established it as the capital of Ethiopia for a time.

A permanent capital was seen as an unusual move, because prior to Menelik II’s reign, the kingdom’s seat of power would rove from forest to forest in pursuit of the natural resources, mainly fuelwood.

Menelik II and Taytu Betul are widely known for leading the Ethiopian army to victory against Italy in 1896, including the Battle of Adwa. The victory cemented Ethiopia’s status as a thorn in the side of the European colonizing powers as they scrambled for control in Africa.

At the behest of Empress Betul, the capital eventually moved again from Entoto to present-day Addis Ababa, but the connection to the forest there has remained. Though historians debate the timeline of events, the main reasons for the move were simple: fire and water.

To fulfill basic needs like fuelwood for an army of nearly 100,000 and their settling families was a daunting challenge. The need for fuelwood was clear, and the lower valleys of Addis Ababa were more hospitable than the wind-whipped hills of Entoto; they even featured hot springs that the empress frequented.

While fuel is a major reason for the proliferation of the fast-growing eucalyptus, it is also used in building construction, often as scaffolding. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

While fuel is a major reason for the proliferation of the fast-growing eucalyptus, it is also used in building construction, often as scaffolding. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

But the move was a costly one for Addis Ababa’s Acacia-Commiphora ecosystem, which provided a steady water source but whose sparse woodlands yielded limited fuelwood. According to historians, Emperor Menelik II was keenly aware of the need for afforestation and wood conservation when dealing with sustaining large permanent settlements of humans.

Several non-native tree species aided in the emperor’s afforestation efforts. One of these was eucalyptus, which became the clear favorite.

This artificial establishment of eucalyptus forests on non-forest land near Addis Ababa has since had a lasting impact. The trees blanket Entoto’s hills and valleys where one hundred years ago only the sparse native groves grew within the savanna. The new eucalyptus groves in and around Addis Ababa were reported by European envoys at the time to have transformed the area from “treeless” to the “Town of Eucalyptus Trees.” This transformation happened because Australian eucalyptus tree grows much faster than the indigenous tree species seemed to be the solution needed in the growing empire.

A wood carrier takes a break along a footpath on Entoto Mountain. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

A wood carrier takes a break along a footpath on Entoto Mountain. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Fire still burns

As fuelwood gatherer Boka picks up bundles of sticks, she quietly shares how she gave up carrying fuelwood and now settles for the lighter loads of eucalyptus twigs and fallen leaves.

In their quest for a sustainable income, the younger women march past her in a uniform of sorts: jelly shoes on their feet, long skirts fortified by swaths of fabric tied at their waists, and scarves wrapped around their heads. Once they agree on a good spot to work, they fan out deeper into the forest to gather wood. They’re dwarfed as they disappear into the enchanted groves of eucalyptus trees standing slim and tall at about 60 meters (just under 200 feet). One woman stays behind to perform the important task of stripping bark from branches to transform into a rope of sorts that will later be used to bundle the foraged wood, bark and branches.

Each woman emerges with her arms full, then swiftly returns to the forest as several piles begin to take shape. Eventually the heaping flammable cocktail of forest debris, weighing as much as 90 kilograms (200 pounds), is bundled together by the carrier. The others help hoist it onto her back for the downhill journey to the market.

This wood is their only source of livelihood.

Approximately 90 percent of the workforce in this backbreaking trade of carrying fuelwood this way in this area are women. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Approximately 90 percent of the workforce in this backbreaking trade of carrying fuelwood this way in this area are women. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

“I used to carry the wood, but it became too heavy in my old age,” Boka says as she stuffs an armful of eucalyptus leaves and twigs into a crop sack. Recently widowed, she grumbles about the manual labor, saying, “If I had children I would have no need to do this!”

The enclave of women fuelwood carriers who labor across the Entoto Mountains echo her story of hard work sustaining a hard life. Each speaks of having to endure some kind of physical pain to avoid the emotional anguish of the alternative: seeing their children go hungry. Some carry wood fulltime, and others only temporarily.

“My husband cannot always work, so at times I alone must provide for my children … and I have no other way than this,” says one woman, who doesn’t want to be named. She points to the thick bundle she’s laid on a small footbridge in the forest.

The work can be dangerous. Boka sports a wisecracking smile as she tells harrowing tales of when she was younger and strong enough to carry fuelwood like her cohorts. Her thick, brawny ankles and rough palms are evidence that she’s trodden this terrain for decades. In a place like Addis Ababa, an estimate from 1999 found that one-fourth of resident incomes were going to buying fuelwood and charcoal.” In the two decades since, the population and demand for fuelwood has increased. Alongside these increases so has, the demand for the services Boka and thousands of women like her provide.

Why is eucalyptus so destructive?

Retaining walls have been installed in areas around Entoto Mountain in an attempt to halt erosion caused by extensive eucalyptus plantations. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Retaining walls have been installed in areas around Entoto Mountain in an attempt to halt erosion caused by extensive eucalyptus plantations. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Farther into Entoto’s rocky red hills and valleys, the landscape is peppered with ancient obsidian. Shiny black and sharp to the touch, this volcanic glass millions of years old is everywhere on the slope, erupting from the soil along with the roots of the eucalyptus planted in droves decades ago. These trees are the predominant species in the area, and today make up the majority of this range’s available forest fuel, giving the plantation a monolithic look.

As the slope steepens, the valley opens up into an eroded crevasse 2 to 3 meters (6 to 10 feet) wide, held stable in the middle by a low-tech retaining wall made of stones wrapped in chicken wire like a net full of fish. Down the mountain there’s a sharp contrast of lush green eucalyptus groves to the east that descend into dusty tawny clay to the western upslope, with dugouts for tiny saplings of indigenous acacia trees (Acacia seyal) in between.

A rusty old metal sign explains that the area is a government reforestation project.

The primary reason for large plantations of Eucalyptus is for cooking. Here a woman makes a traditional non-alcoholic beer served at Islamic celebrations. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

The primary reason for large plantations of Eucalyptus is for cooking. Here a woman makes a traditional non-alcoholic beer served at Islamic celebrations. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Debissa Lemessa, a landscape ecologist and director of the Ethiopian Biodiversity Institute, confirms that there are ongoing replanting efforts taking place across the nation like the one at Entoto. He says the proliferation of eucalyptus is due in part to how thirsty the tree is. Its roots are remarkably efficient at sucking up the water from the ground, with a taproot that can reach down five times deeper than the tree’s height. For a time, it was planted in the wetlands of Ethiopia, as the soil it left behind was ideal for growing crops, Lemessa said.

There was a catch, though. The fertility of the soil didn’t last long, and now many of those former wetland areas have become inhospitable to anything except eucalyptus.

“It changes the structure of the soil … it also deteriorates the nutrient contents and soil moisture,” Lemessa says. “So once you planted eucalyptus en masse this means that the soil fertility is gone.”

Today, with a rapidly expanding population of just over 100 million people, the pressure to burn wood for energy is massive. Lemessa highlights the economic trade-off of eucalyptus in the fuelwood market: An easily replenished timber, eucalyptus grows 10 times faster than most native tree species. It meets a critical need for the people of the most populous landlocked African nation, where one of the largest household expenses is fuelwood. Burning eucalyptus wood also keeps consumers from burning what researchers call “livestock residue,” or dried cow dung, which can emit higher concentrations of toxins when set on fire.

Aragash Boka gathers twigs, leaves and bark in bags to sell as stove fire-starter. Boka earns – on average – the equivalent of $1.50 a day from her work. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Aragash Boka gathers twigs, leaves and bark in bags to sell as stove fire-starter. Boka earns – on average – the equivalent of $1.50 a day from her work. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Cultural Forest Connection

Once fuelwood gatherer Boka finds a good spot to sweep the soil for fallen tree parts, she seems to slide away from the roadside and into the dense woods of the Entoto Mountains, with the eucalyptus closing like a curtain behind her. The tall, straight branches of the trees pierce the smoggy sky and dwarf her frame as she bends down to collect her crop.

Despite the backbreaking work that Boka endures, a proud smile spreads easily across her face, and she details several life-or-death encounters she’s had doing this work. Many of the women wood carriers face threats from wildlife, and Boka is no exception. She tells of how she was once stalked by hyenas as she worked, only to be saved by an Ethiopian Orthodox priest.

She’s still shaken by the encounter, even years later, and has since changed how and where she collects her lot.

She’s also had more than one fall while working, losing several teeth in the process. Once, she was on her way to the market with a load of sticks balanced on her broad shoulders. A speeding truck barreled downhill clipping the 70-kilogram (150-pound) load knocking her down the mountain. Each missing tooth is an unwelcome reminder of the tumbles she’s taken in the name of survival.

Boka used to carry fuelwood, but now she packs twigs, leaves and bark in bags to sell as stove fire-starter. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Boka used to carry fuelwood, but now she packs twigs, leaves and bark in bags to sell as stove fire-starter. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Today her load is a bit lighter, as she no longer carries larger bundles of fuelwood. Instead, she carries the kindling or starter fuel in the form of bark, leaves and twigs. This means she makes less money than when she used to forage for and haul larger pieces of wood.

Once Boka’s twigs make it to market, they’re sold to heat coffee pots and fire up the ovens that bake the national dish of Ethiopia, enjera, a slightly fermented sponge-like pancake used to sop up platters of soups and spiced vegetables. In Addis Ababa, approximately 35 percent of household fuel is sourced and supplied by women like Boka.

Eucalyptus has been cultivated for the better part of 40 years across Ethiopia, and Entoto is home to some of the nation’s oldest groves. But the water tower bio-service that a mountain range like Entoto typically serves has been dramatically reduced here, and scientists point to the vast number of eucalyptus trees grown in the area as a major contributing factor.

That’s why Tibebwa Selassie Heckett, a self-proclaimed “Earth Healer,” has spent 20 years working to repopulate Ethiopia with its native and endemic tree species. Her tall, athletic frame fills the driver’s seat of her green Toyota pickup truck as she drives through the savanna south of Addis Ababa that buffers the Rift Valley.

She talks with the confidence of a doctor diagnosing the problem and proclaiming the prescription all in one breath. That’s especially the case when she speaks of the imbalance that Ethiopia’s ecosystems have endured due to the lopsided use of forest resources. She also acknowledges the adverse impact of the eucalyptus plantations, which she says have turned the soil acidic over time. This inhibits undergrowth, which is important for soil retention.

A sister on a mission

Tibebwa Selassie Heckett has worked for 20 years to organize disparate groups across the region all concerned about preserving forest biodiversity. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Tibebwa Selassie Heckett has worked for 20 years to organize disparate groups across the region all concerned about preserving forest biodiversity. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Since moving from Ireland to Ethiopia two decades earlier, Selassie Heckett has been focused on a mission of planting, by her count, thousands of indigenous trees across the country. She wants to help rebuild the native forest landscapes devastated by eucalyptus, drought and urban and industrial sprawl.

“Elephants used to graze right up to Addis when they had the forests they liked,” Selassie Heckett says.

She says she also hopes to make an impact on food security, so she plants what she calls “purpose fruit trees,” indigenous species grown on public land, which can provide a constant source of nutrition for those in need.

Much of her conservation and reforestation work is done in partnership with the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. She says clergy “are more open to keeping [trees] alive.” The Orthodox Church here is known for its majestic yet intimate tree gardens outside each church, used by parishioners and others as places for prayer and meditation. That gives the church a strong stake in the survival of native plants, including olive trees (olea europaea ssp. africana), which the gardens typically feature due to their prominence in the Bible.

Eucalyptus wood chopped bound and ready for sale at a roadside market in Addis Ababa. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Eucalyptus wood chopped bound and ready for sale at a roadside market in Addis Ababa. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

“Planting trees is easy, but keeping trees — this is where the challenge comes from,” says Selassie Heckett, a devout Orthodox Christian.

Her love affair with rebuilding the forests in Ethiopia has evolved over time. In 2003, she organized a committee of church and state leaders, including the late President Girma Wolde-Giorgis, to reinstate Arbor Day as a focal point of reforestation. The day celebrates the importance of trees and was first established as a public holiday by Emperor Hailie Selassie I in 1955.

Heckett says she shares the vision of Wolde-Giorgis, a forerunner in the nation’s modern biodiversity movement, to heed Emperor Selassie’s prescient message about the balance created by a healthy forest. The visionary leader focused on the nexus of sustainability and the unbreakable bond between the ecological health and economic wealth of a nation. “The existence or nonexistence of forest wealth in the country is one of the most important factors influencing its development and progress,” the emperor declared on Ethiopia’s third Arbor Day celebration on July 19, 1958.

Countering climate change

View of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia from Entoto Mountain. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

View of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia from Entoto Mountain. Photo by Christopher Lett/Mongabay.

Attempts at this type of progress are evident at the government-run Ethiopian Biodiversity Institute, where Lemessa and his team of researchers scour the nation for endemic, rare and endangered plant species to protect. While their goals include conservation of the unique genetic resources native to Ethiopia’s forests as well as education on the importance of biodiversity, Lemessa has even bigger plans.

“The benefit of this natural resource, the forest, is transboundary,” he says. “When we grow one plant here it has a positive impact on the U.S.A. in terms of climate regulation … and since you cannot produce people’s oxygen in a laboratory, we have to conserve forests!”

Though Lemessa cracks these science jokes about his field, the work he and his team are doing is serious. The biodiversity institute is home to a network of nearly four dozen sites across the country that serve as labs, in-habitat incubators, and seed banks for the protection and proliferation of indigenous plant species key to countering climate change. These efforts are aimed at maintaining the fragile ecological range that comes with managing a topography that varies as widely as Ethiopia’s.

From the depths of the Rift Valley, 126 meters (410 feet) below sea level, to the elevations of the highlands at 4,620 meters (15,160 feet), it’s easy to imagine the magnitude of Lemessa’s challenge. Selassie Heckett agrees it’s an uphill battle.

The interests of Selassie Heckett, a woman dedicated to preventing more forestry experiments like Entoto, and Boka, a woman who depends on this very model continuing in order to survive, may seem at odds. Yet they’re connected by faith and by their dependence on the resilience of Ethiopia’s wide-ranging landscapes. Asked what’s the hardest part about the work they do, they give the same response: “Life.”

Christopher Lett is a photographer and former producer and researcher for CNN and a 2018-2019 Ted Scripps Fellow in Environmental Journalism at the University of Colorado Boulder. You can find him on Twitter at @kolmec.

Citations:

1.) Menelik and the Foundation of Addis Ababa
Author(s): Richard Pankhurst
Source: The Journal of African History, Vol. 2, No. 1 (1961), pp. 103-117 Published by: Cambridge University Press

2.) Women Fuelwood Carriers and the Supply of Household Energy in Addis Ababa Author(s): Fekerte Haile
Source: Canadian Journal of African Studies / Revue Canadienne des Études Africaines, Vol. 23, No. 3 (1989), pp. 442-451

3.) A Spatio-Temporal Analysis of Deforestation in Ethiopia: With Particular Reference to the Environs of Addis Ababa
Author(s): Mekete Belachew
Source: Journal of Ethiopian Studies, Vol. 32, No. 1 (June 1999), pp. 89-131

Ethiopians Make Progress Restoring Precious Church Forests

Ethiopians Make Progress Restoring Precious Church Forests


  • In Meket – a district in Ethiopia’s Amhara National Regional State (ANRS) – efforts are underway to restore what experts say is one of the more severely deforested and degraded regions in the country.
  • Of the land in ANRS, less than 2 percent forested land remains, and efforts are underway to restore degraded and deforested areas.
  • In 2016, Ethiopia turned to forestry sector development projects in the form of short rotation planting and rehabilitation of degraded lands in ANRS and other districts.

DEBRETABOR, Ethiopia – At a tree nursery in Ethiopia’s Meket district, young men and women pack small plastic bags with soil. The indigenous and exotic species grown here were previously sown directly into the earth, but the growth efficiency was less than 50 percent, according to Melak Dagnew, a forest development project coordinator in the country’s Meket district.

With the introduction of the plastic bags, into which the seedlings are first planted, and a consistent regimen of post-plantation care — watering, weeding, adding compost — the efficiency rate has risen to 93 percent, Dagnew says, and the trees have grown as much as 5 meters (16 feet) in just a year.

“Soil erosion, land degradation and, as a result, a reduction of productivity were observed widely,” says Dagnew. Meket is one of the four districts in Ethiopia’s Amhara National Regional State (ANRS) where land restoration pilot projects are being carried out.

“The lack of forest products like fuelwood, wood for fencing and housing purposes for the community were observed because of population increase followed by the consumption of natural forests in a short period of time,” he said.

Known for its densely populated highlands and rain-dependent agriculture, the ANRS is one of the more severely deforested and degraded regions in the country. Recent studies show that out of 157,000 square kilometers (60,600 square miles) of land, less than 2 percent is covered by forest.

An analysis of forest coverage by Ethiopia’s Ministry of Environment, Forestry and Climate Change found that nearly 12,000 square kilometers (4,600 square miles) of forest — an area half the size of the island of Sicily — was lost between 2000 and 2013.

Students of the church live in small huts around the church's land. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.
Students of the church live in small huts around the church’s land. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.

Only 2,460 square kilometers (950 square miles) of forest cover was gained, making the forest sector one of the top contributors to domestic greenhouse gas emissions. By pledging to restore 150,000 square kilometers (58,000 square miles) of its degraded and deforested land by 2025, an area half the size of Arizona, Ethiopia has joined the global movement toward forest landscape restoration, or FLR.

Just over a fifth of that figure, or 34,000 square kilometers (13,100 square miles), has recently been identified as suitable for reforestation.

Native vs. non-native trees

The landscape in Meket district is rugged and highly degraded, and ranges in altitude from 1,200 to 3,000 meters (3,900 to 9,800 feet). Since 2016, it’s been among the districts where forestry sector development projects have been implemented in the form of short rotation planting and rehabilitation of degraded lands.

The species planted here include the naturally occurring African juniper (Juniperus procera), wild olive (Olea africana) and flat top acacia (Acacia abyssinica). Non-native varieties include Tasmanian bluegum (Eucalyptus globulus), river red gum (Eucalyptus camaldulensis) and Mexican cypress (Cupressus lusitanica).

Of the indigenous seedlings that are planted, 35 percent are fast-growing species and 30 percent are slow-growth varieties. Despite the considerable effort being invested to promote native plants, farmers who need fuelwood for income and for construction purposes favor non-native plants like eucalyptus, which reach maturity for cutting quickly and can grow back up to four times faster than some native species after the initial cut.

Part of a secured land for restoration in Meket, Amhara region. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.
Part of a secured land for restoration in Meket, Amhara region. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.

But this expediency comes at a cost. Eucalyptus trees are known to affect soil conditions, groundwater and the overall biological diversity of the areas in which they occur. Yet despite this, studies show that 90 percent of plantations in Ethiopia are covered by these species, favored for their fast-growing nature, rotation periods and market demand.

Tree selection isn’t the only challenge facing the reforestation effort. Other factors identified by researchers earlier this year include weed infestations and the spread of grazing and farmland. Shallow soil depths and scarcity of moisture in Meket district have also been obstacles.

On the other hand, the reforestation projects have hindered the free movement of area locals and their livestock herds.

In total, 165 square kilometers (64 square miles) from four restoration sites and 12 square kilometers (4.6 square miles) from half a dozen plantation sites have been undertaken in the last two to three years in Meket district alone. After the progress here and in other forestry sector development projects, the scope has grown. An initial slate of nine projects has expanded to 54 nationwide. The Amhara region remains at the forefront, with 24 reforestation projects.

A way forward

Mainly dependent on agriculture, Ethiopia’s economy is highly vulnerable to the impacts of climate change. Already it has suffered from recurring droughts and food security woes. The government has taken several steps toward combating these impacts, including the launch of the Climate Resilient Green Economy (CRGE) policy in 2011, aimed at building a zero-net-emissions economy by 2030 while maintaining the high growth rate needed to attain middle-income status by 2025.

This October, the Ministry of Environment, Forestry and Climate Change launched a 10-year road map for the forest sector, in collaboration with several nongovernmental partner institutions.

Perimeter of Debresena church near Debretabor, Ethiopia. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.
Perimeter of Debresena church near Debretabor, Ethiopia. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.

Tefera Mengistu, a coordinator for the ministry’s Forest Sector Development Program, said five pillars were included in the road map: enabling environment; sustainable forest production and value chain; forest and rural livelihood; forest and environmental functions; and forest and urban greening. Unlike REDD+, which focuses mainly on reducing emissions from degradation and deforestation, the road map is concerned about the forest sector in general.

Land restoration and improvement of biodiversity get due emphasis under the pillar of forest and environmental functions, aimed at meeting the country’s commitment for the restoration of 150,000 square kilometers of land.

An alternative hope for farmers

Just outside the plant nursery, Asrat Haile, 61, weeds his farm where he hopes in a few months to start harvesting teff, the food grain used to make injera, Ethiopia’s national dish. To supplement his income, Haile also works as a security guard for one of the restoration sites in Meket district. Since it’s a rural area, it’s common for people to take a side job to gain more income.

Farmers cut grass and shrub fodder for their livestock. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.
Farmers cut grass and shrub fodder for their livestock. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.

“All this terrain had no tree coverage and was severely degraded. But it’s coming back to life now that the project started.” Haile says, recalling the floods that followed during the rainy season because of the eroded soil and the severely degraded mountainous landscape. “I no longer see the water coming down.”

He and other farmers who make up to 61 percent of the earned income in the district are excited that the project includes many people living in poverty and creates employment opportunities. They plant the seedlings grown in the nurseries, both native and non-native trees. As the trees take root in their woodlots, they serve both as a source of fuelwood and timber, and as shade to rest under. Thousands of young men and women are now employed at sites for pitting, planting, watering and other post-plantation management.

In an effort to reduce wood cutting for fuel and construction purposes, the project has distributed hundreds of fuel-saving stoves and solar lights to households that have demonstrated the best performance throughout the project activities. The project also allows livestock farmers to enter areas secured for restoration to collect grass and shrubs for fodder during the January-May dry season.

There are other benefits.

On a nearby hill covered with bright yellow indigenous flowers locally known as adey abebaBidens macroptera), trained farmers gather at a beekeeping site that’s part of the reforestation project. They are able to produce up to 10 kilograms (22 pounds) of honey each year from a single hive.

“People were skeptical of the project at first,” says Dagnew, the project coordinator. “Drought and intensive grazing were identified to be major problems.” It took numerous discussions with the community before a mutual understanding was reached and the local people started to accept the projects.

They represent not just an economic advantage for the farmers, surrounded by harsh terrain, but also protection for the land against erosion and flooding. That also improves crop yield and productivity along the way.

The role of the church

The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church has more than 40 million followers and over 35,000 churches all over the country, known for the old forests that envelop them. Even as the rest of the country consistently lost forest coverages over decades, it is in the vicinity of these churches where more than 200 of its last surviving indigenous tree species and remaining biodiversity are found.

Alemayheu Wassie, a leading researcher on the topic of church forests, was born and raised in the Amhara region’s South Gondar zone, where there are more than 1,400 church forests. He began his research in 2002 and has since then published more than 20 scientific papers focusing on the conservation and restoration of church forests. Five years ago, he led a project to build walls around or mark for protection 15 church forests carefully selected based on their high biodiversity and indigenous species.

One of these churches stands atop a hill in South Gondar. Known as Debresena it was established in the first half of the 16th century. The church forest contains 34 different tree species on just 11.5 hectares (28 acres) of land. But until a recent demarcation measure undertaken by Wassie and his team, it had been under severe pressure from intensive livestock grazing. This was followed by the planting of eucalyptus trees to replace the dominant indigenous trees such as hachitu (Dicrocephala integrifolia) and maget (Trifolium sp.).

Seedlings planted and grown in plastic bags have a high success rate. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.
Seedlings planted and grown in plastic bags have a high success rate. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.

“Upon consultation with the community, we found the construction of stone walls on the perimeter of the church to be the easiest way of protecting the forest,” Wassie says. Stone walls are preferred because materials are easily available, there is potential for plants to grow in between the stones, and they are tough for cattle to push down. Whenever stone is unavailable for building walls, an artificial demarcation between the roads and farmlands and the church forest is used.

Once the area closure or demarcation is done, the local people are reluctant to encroach. As a result, a visible difference in terms of both quality and forest coverage area has developed. The difference is especially stark when compared to other church forests in the area where demarcation measures were not taken.

Forests have long been an important companion of the churches. They signify the dignity and prestige of the church and provide a tranquil atmosphere for the hermits and monks who live and contemplate in them. Many churches are built on hills, and the forest surrounding them helps to prevent wind and floods. Additionally, in early Ethiopian and church history, inks made from roots, leaves and flowers of various plants were used to draw paintings and produce books.

Changing times

According to Wassie, intensive livestock grazing and the increased need of farmers for more land to plow are the two major factors endangering the church forests of Ethiopia. The former hampers the regeneration of seeds by leaving no room for new trees to replace older ones, while the latter significantly reduces the forest coverage area.

With his persistent efforts and funding from the Florida-based Tree Foundation, Wassie was able to enclose more than a dozen churches in South Gondar. However, he says he’s concerned that, despite his repeated appeals, both church and government administrations won’t pay heed to the conservation and restoration work needed for church forests.

But there are also churches that are focused mainly on rotation plantation and self-sustainability, in addition to conserving what’s already there. Tsegur Michael Church is one of the many found in South Gondar that was established hundreds of years ago.

Melakesahel Kindu Kassahun, 52, is head of the church and the person in charge of overseeing all the decisions regarding the forest at Tsegur Michael. He says that 20 years ago the church asked the community for the surrounding land. The local people agreed, even though they grazed their cattle on the land.

Part of a Eucalpytus tree. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.
Part of a Eucalpytus tree. Photo by Maheder Haileselassie Tadese for Mongabay.

Since then, the church has busied itself with planting eucalyptus for sale. The income generated from these trees pays for the salaries of the clergy and the purchase of items for the church, thus making the church self-sustaining and productive.

In addition to eucalyptus, they also plant trees Mexican cypress and grevillea that have a longer life cycle. The difference is that the trees for sale are planted outside the main compound of the church, because no cutting is permitted inside.

“It was first fenced to provide protection for the graveyard,” Kassahun says. Today, the fence that was meant to protect the dead has given life to the forest within.

Once a year after the completion of the Sunday mass service, an announcement is made for the farmers, reminding them to participate on terrace work at the plantation site, starting with the sections that are prone to erosion. This is followed by planting trees.

Unlike the conservation projects initiated by government policies and various nonprofit organizations in many parts of the country, the work that goes on at many of these church forests are initiated by the church and the community itself.

“[Church] forests are stepping stones and boot disks for the land restoration work that’s currently happening in different parts of the country.” Wassie says. “They will be the starting point if we wish to restore our previous natural forest.”

This article was originally published on Mongabay.

Ethiopia Gets Its First Female President

Ethiopia Gets Its First Female President

Video Courtesy of SABC Digital News


FROM NPR

Ethiopia’s parliament has made Sahle-Work Zewde the country’s first female president. And while the role is largely ceremonial, her appointment carries power in what it signifies.

Sahle-Work, an experienced diplomat, is the first female head of state in Ethiopia’s modern history. In June, U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres appointed Sahle-Work as special representative to the African Union and head of the U.N. Office to the African Union — the first woman in the role. She was previously director-general of the U.N. Office at Nairobi and held a range of diplomatic posts, including Ethiopia’s ambassador to France and Djibouti.

READ THE FULL ARTICLE ON NPR