As Muslims around the world celebrate Eid al-Adha, Sadik Kedir, Islamic Relief’s Communications Coordinator in Ethiopia, recalls the sights and smells of Eids gone by.
I’m not writing an esoteric analysis or a deep dive into a complex issue. Rather, I’m just sharing anecdotes from the intimate corners of my memory. Memories of childhood stories that rekindle vividly each year as the Day of Arafat, an Islamic holiday that falls on the ninth day of Dhul Hijjah draws near.
Ethiopia, a land of remarkable diversity, is home to a significant Muslim population. Lacking recent census data, some estimates suggest Muslims now make up as much as half the country’s population. Some ethnic groups, such as the Somali, Afar, Harari, Silte, and certain peoples in Oromia, are predominantly Muslim and celebrate this sacred season with vibrant energy.
But the story I’m telling today isn’t about all of Ethiopia. It’s about the Ethiopia I knew as a child – seen through my own eyes and experienced and remembered through the lens of my own home and heritage.
Ceremony, tradition and joy
When one thinks of Arafat – or more broadly, Eid al-Adha – in Ethiopia, it’s impossible not to recall the brilliance and celebration that come from the Gurage community. As one of the Muslim-majority cultures in southern Ethiopia, the Gurage people mark Eid al-Adha with unmatched ceremony, tradition, and joy. And for me as a child, no other occasion came close to the sensory and emotional richness of Arafat.
Preparations began right after Ramadan. The Gurage people, renowned for their industriousness and deep trading networks across Ethiopia, would begin organising their journeys back to their birthplace for Eid. I remember vividly my aunt excitedly packing, her suitcase filled with packets of soap, a couple of kilos of salt, and a few cherished traditional dresses. It’s a memory that lives with me like it happened yesterday.
In the Gurage tradition, the eve of Eid – known as Ye Setoch Arafat (Arafat for Women) – marks the beginning of the festivities. After fasting during the day, women come together in the evening for prayer and supplication. The night is filled with warmth, community, and a sacred energy. Elders gather to recite duas (prayers), and special meals are lovingly prepared and shared.
And the food! Oh, the food! The Gurage people have gifted Ethiopia with one of its most beloved traditional dishes – kitfo. This delicacy, often made with raw minced meat, is seasoned with spicy seasoned butter and served with qocho – a flatbread made from enset, a plant indigenous to the region. The meal is served on a traditional clay dish known as taba, which completes the authenticity of the experience. To this day, the scent, the taste, and the ritual of eating kitfo during Eid takes me straight back to the heart of my childhood.
The morning after Ye Setoch Arafat, the community comes alive. After the Salat al-Eid, Eid prayer performed in the neighbourhood’s largest open field, visits to elders begin. In our culture, it is customary for all the children to gather with their own families at their parents’ home, if they are still alive. For those whose parents have passed, the family usually assembles at the home of the eldest child to celebrate together.
And then comes the best part for us kids – pocket money! Given by uncles, aunts, and older cousins, it was a joy we waited for with great anticipation. For a child, it was not just about the money – it was about love, community, and being seen.
Festivity overshadowed by survival
This was Arafat in Ethiopia – the one I knew, the one I always miss.
Yet, as sweet as these memories are, I can’t help but reflect on the present reality. Around the world, many children do not have the luxury of these joyful traditions. In Gaza, they prepare to mark Eid surrounded by rubble, their celebrations muted by the fear of bombardment. In Yemen, Sudan, and other regions in deep crisis, festivity is often overshadowed by survival.
But even in the darkest moments of hardship, a flicker of joy remains – and sometimes, it arrives in the form of a helping hand.
Islamic Relief is committed to sharing the joy of Eid with those devastated by war and poverty. Our global qurbani food distributions are reaching communities in crisis with meat thanks to the donations of a compassionate international family that refuses to forget its suffering brothers and sisters.
In Ethiopia too – where poverty often dims the light of celebration, with many struggling to meet even their most basic needs – Islamic Relief is there. This year, through our qurbani programme, nearly 13,000 people in Ethiopia will be able to celebrate Eid with dignity. For many of them, it will be the only time they taste meat in months. For the children among them, it might just help create memories they’ll carry with them their whole lives – just as I do.
Eid al-Adha is a time of sacrifice, reflection, and unity. It’s a time to remember not only the story of the Prophet Ibrahim and his family (AS) but also the shared responsibility we have towards one another.
May the spirit of Arafat continue to bind us – across cultures, across nations, and across memories—so that no child, anywhere, is left out of the joy.
Please help Islamic Relief ease the burden of vulnerable families around the world. Donate to our Qurbani Campaign now.
