By Aklilu Negussie Mekuria
El Niño has cast a heavy shadow over Ethiopia this year, disrupting the familiar rhythm of the June–September rains.
Meteorological reports warn of below-normal rainfall across the northern, northeastern, central, and eastern regions—areas where millions of farmers depend on these seasonal showers for planting and survival. Instead of steady rains, the country faces irregular precipitation, prolonged dry spells, and rapidly declining soil moisture.
In Tigray, these conditions threaten harvests, strain water supplies, and deepen food insecurity at a time when resilience is already stretched thin because of war. This drought is a quiet test of patience and an added burden for communities already navigating renewed conflict tensions and uncertainty. The El Niño winds have pushed the clouds away again and again, leaving farmers to work the land with nothing but faith and determination.
By late July, the eastern districts of Tigray, including Desa’a should have been green. Young wheat, barley, and other crops normally blanket the fields by this time. Trees and shrubs rejuvenate. But this year the sky stayed empty, and the soil lay cracked and dry. Still, farmers held onto hope and prepared their land, believing the rain would come, even if late.
Farmers plowing dust at the end of July felt unnatural, a painful reversal of the seasons they once knew. Across the village, cattle wandered through empty farmland, scraping the ground for roots hidden beneath the powdery soil. It was heartbreaking to watch the animals nudge and claw at the earth, searching for food that simply wasn’t there.
Every afternoon, the sky seemed ready to break. Dark clouds gathered over the mountains, thunder rolled through the valley, and farmers paused their work, looking upward with quiet expectation. But a hot, restless wind always arrived first, scattering the clouds before a single drop could fall in some villages and only a few drops in others. By evening, the sky cleared again, leaving behind heat, dust, and a lingering sense of uncertainty.
The community has already endured the hardship of war, and now both conflict and drought threaten them again. Yet they do not give up. Each morning, men, women, and elders climb the hills together. They carry heavy stones to build terraces along the slopes. They dig deep trenches and wide basins into the stubborn earth. They work so that when the rain finally comes, the land will hold every drop.
Surprisingly, standing on the eastern edge of Tigray, the Desa’a Forest acts as a natural climate regulator. In villages with good forest cover, a few rain showers still appear; in others, the land remains thirsty.
Where old stands of native plants such as Juniperus procera and Olea europaea still rise and the forest remains intact, showers still fall. In seasons like this, the role of the forest becomes unmistakably clear. Its dense canopy cools the landscape, slows the advance of hot desert air, and helps moisture condense into rain clouds instead of being swept away. Desa’a is more than a forest, it is a living shield that softens extreme weather, stabilizes local climate, and gives eastern Tigray a fighting chance against drought and climate change. We must recognize how powerful trees are, and how urgently we need more forest cover to strengthen this natural protection.
Even if the season is late and there is less rain, making it difficult for crops to grow for the coming harvest, in most parts of eastern Tigray, the farmlands are ready. Terraces line the hillsides, and basins and trenches are carved across the fields and mountains, prepared to capture every drop that might fall. The land may be dry, but the people refuse to let their spirit dry with it. Together, we must pursue long-lasting solutions that build resilient landscapes and resilient communities, breaking the vicious cycle of drought and poverty once and for all.
