Diaspora Formations in the Horn of Africa

Abstract

This article explores the nature of the diasporic connections that are emerging among Ethiopians and Eritreans in Nairobi and Khartoum and Eritreans in Addis Ababa. The article looks at their daily lives and interactions within these cities and how they are shaped by the different political and economic conditions. It adds a new dimension to the literature on refugee diasporas, which tends to focus on the political engagement of diasporic populations living far from their homeland. It also extends the limited literature on the formation of African diasporas within Africa. The comparative study shows the pragmatic nature of their diasporic engagement, orientated towards improving their lives in these three cities rather than social or political changes in Eritrea or Ethiopia. It also finds important differences in the extent to which these refugee populations are incipient diasporas, established as a distinctive and potentially permanent part of the city.

Introduction

Ethiopia and Eritrea are two neighbouring countries in the Horn of Africa that have been enmeshed in war, insecurity, political instability and socio-economic crises for decades. As a result, hundreds of thousands of their citizens have left, many fleeing as refugees to neighbouring countries, where they have remained for many years. While some are confined to refugee camps, large numbers have settled in capital cities across East Africa and the Horn, where, over the years, they have become a distinctive part of the urban population.

The flight of refugees and their long-term settlement in countries of asylum often give rise to the establishment of diasporas – a distinctive group of people that have a shared identity orientated around an original homeland and extensive social networks. Cohen (2022) suggests diasporas are formed by the interweaving of different characteristics, including dispersal, distinctiveness, and solidarity, each of which may be more or less prominent in the resultant diasporic form. As a result, we can only really understand the nature of any diaspora by examining its configuration of characteristics.

This article draws on comparative research among Eritreans in Addis Ababa, and Eritreans and Ethiopians in Khartoum and Nairobi to explore the nature of the diasporic connections that are emerging among these populations and how they are shaped by the different urban contexts. It adds a new dimension to the literature on refugee diasporas that tends to focus on their political engagement and is mainly concerned with those living far from a homeland. It also contributes to the limited literature on African diasporas within Africa (Bakewell, 2008).

In the next section, I review the debates around the idea of diasporas and their formation, drawing particular attention to research into refugee diasporas, which is often focused on their political engagement with the homeland. This contrasts to the much smaller literature on nearer diasporas in Africa that highlights the role of diasporic relationship in securing people's livelihoods. Alongside this work on diasporas, there is a growing body of research into urban refugees in the Horn of Africa, which highlights the role of social networks in enabling refugees to maintain themselves in the cities and the important contribution refugees make to the urban economies.

The third section moves to the findings from field research. Drawing on interviews with Eritreans in Addis Ababa, and Ethiopians and Eritreans in Khartoum and Nairobi, I look at how people describe their social connections within these cities, to their respective “homelands” (whether the nation-states, Eritrea and Ethiopia, or the ethnic homelands, such as Oromia or Tigray) and to the wider population of Ethiopians and Eritreans in the rest of the world. The article concludes with some reflections on the factors that can help explain the differences between these settings. I show that the nature of the diasporic relationships found among these populations in each country is orientated, to a large extent, around practical concerns of improving their lives in the respective cities rather than the political concerns of regaining their homelands. At the time of the research, it was Khartoum where there was the clearest evidence of the emergence of incipient diasporas that seemed likely to become longer term institutional forms in the city – a conclusion that has been tragically overtaken by the war in Sudan since April 2023.

The Shaping of Diasporas

I start from a constructivist perspective of diaspora emerging as a distinctive configuration of relationships spanning multiple places and connecting people who share some sense of identification with a “homeland.” There is no one definition (Cohen, 2022; Faist, 2010; Grossman, 2019), but many authors tend to refer to a set of characteristics that are associated with a diaspora, marking them out from other social networks or institutions. Cohen suggests a simple definition of a diaspora as:

members of a defined group who have been dispersed to many destinations; they construct a shared identity; they still orient themselves to an original ‘home’; and they demonstrate an affinity with other members of the group dispersed to other places. (Cohen, 2022: 1)

Not all migrants and their descendants are diasporic. Membership of a diaspora depends on people's actions and identifications. Rather than being entities that exist automatically as a consequence of people's leaving their homeland, diasporas are constructed and sustained (Brubaker, 2005). We see evidence of diaspora formation by exploring how far people are engaged in diasporic relationships (Fischer and Dahinden, 2018; Turner, 2018).

This raises the question of when and how diasporas emerge. What is it that makes some groups coalesce around a diasporic identity, while others tend to forge another path – perhaps full identification with the place in which they live, or alternative identifications focused around ideas such as race or class? One essential ingredient in the emergence of diasporas is the passage of time. Tölölyan (2007: 650) argues that diasporas are marked out over generations through the cultivation of a collective sense of identity underpinned by practices that sustain connections to the homeland. Based on his research among Turkish guestworkers in Germany and labour migrants in the Gulf between the 1950s and 70s, Weiner introduced the notion of “incipient diaspora” to refer to concentrations of migrants that have the potential to become sustained diasporas (Weiner, 1986).

When it comes to refugees fleeing conflict to seek asylum in neighbouring countries or further afield, questions about diaspora formation are often concerned with the refugees’ political mobilisation and their role in the conflict – whether as peacemakers or protagonists (Bakhit, 2022; Koinova, 2018; Sökefeld, 2006; Waldinger and Shams, 2023; Wilcock, 2018). Here diasporas can be seen as the product of a mobilisation project co-ordinated by a politically interested actor that consciously draws people with a shared heritage together and forges connections to stimulate collective action (Sökefeld, 2006). According to Féron and Voytiv (2021: 210) in the absence of this mobilising imperative, they can dissolve. However, as Van Hear and Cohen (2017) note, the influence of diasporas on the homeland varies with time and across different sections of the diaspora. In particular, it is important to note the differences between the “near diaspora” living near the country of origin and the “wider diaspora,” scattered further abroad (Van Hear, 2009).

In areas affected by conflict, neighbouring countries may see the movement of people back and forth with the ebb and flow of conflict or political upheaval. The extent to which these refugee populations are incipient (near) diasporas depends on the context. Cohen highlights the contrasting examples of Afghan refugees in Pakistan and Iran. In the former, many Afghans and Pakistanis have such close historic, linguistic and cultural ties that people have transnational lives, rather than forming a distinctive Afghan population in Pakistan. In Iran, Afghans are marked out by ethnicity and face discrimination, creating the grounds for the emergence of diasporic relationship with a longed-for homeland (Cohen, 2022: 135).

There is a huge body of research into diasporas of African origins (for a good overview of this extensive literature, see Shandy and Lubkemann, 2019). Much of this explores the diasporic relationships of those living outside the continent, in particular in Europe and North America (Bakewell, 2008). It also tends to focus on diasporas’ role in key concerns across the continent, in particular, development, conflict, peace and security (Abebe, 2018; Bernal, 2013; Mangala, 2017; Turner and Kleist, 2013; Zeleza, 2019). Research into Eritrean and Ethiopian diasporas – whether associated with nationality or ethnicity (Wayessa, 2024) – reflects this general pattern. Given the long and extensive history of conflict and political instability across the region, work on diasporas’ political engagement is perhaps more prominent. The focus of much research is on the wider diasporas, in particular those settled in Europe and North America (Hirt, 2025; Lyons, 2011; Müller and Belloni, 2021; Schmitz-Pranghe, 2010; Wayessa, 2024; Záhořík and Roro, 2022), with some work on those in South Africa and the Middle East (Gulema et al., 2024).

There is a small but growing body of research that looks at the settlement of Africans in other parts of the continent through a diasporic lens. In contrast to the majority of research into the wider diasporas that tend to focus on cultural, economic, and political connections to the homeland, these studies of Africans moving within the continent associate the emergence of diasporic relationships with the practical realities of establishing a life where people have settled. Hence Somalis and Malians are immersed in local, regional and global (in the case of Somalis) networks that facilitate their businesses in Kampala and Lusaka (Bakewell and Binaisa, 2016). Children of mixed African background strategically choose whether to identify with a diaspora to maximise their opportunities (Darkwah and Ampah, 2023). Jónsson applies the concept of diaspora to Malian traders in Senegal, displaced from their longstanding market pitches and sharing common experiences and memories and identifying with a notional origin of Bamako (Jónsson, 2024: 192–194). Again, the principal axis for mobilisation is around creating structures of mutual support rather than political action. It is important to stress that such a pragmatic approach to diaspora engagement is also found in other settings. Wilcock shows that Sudanese migrants adopt a “diasporic stance” towards their homeland as a way of initiating belonging whether to the black community in the United States or the Islamic community in Egypt (Wilcock, 2018: 368).

While there is limited research into the Eritreans and Ethiopians as a near diaspora in the Horn of Africa (an exception is Hirt and Mohammad, 2018), there is a growing body of research into the lives of urban refugees in the region. Adugna et al. (2022) show how Eritrean refugees in Ethiopia, especially those living out of refugee camps in urban areas, draw on networks spanning the global and regional diaspora, as well as relationships with Ethiopians to secure their livelihoods. In Nairobi, Campbell (2006) shows that even though many refugees are staying in the city illegally, they are immersed in extensive transnational networks that enable them to draw in resources and establish vibrant businesses. As a result, they make important contributions to the city economy. This is particularly evident in the bustling Nairobi district of Eastleigh, where large numbers of ethnic Somali Kenyans, migrants and refugees live and work (Carrier 2017). While Ethiopians and Eritreans form a relatively small portion of the refugee population of Nairobi, they have their niche within Eastleigh and contribute to its economic and social life (Carrier and Kochore, 2019; Kassa, 2018). Others analyse the efforts of the Eritrean and Ethiopian governments to intervene in the lives of their citizens living in neighbouring countries. Hirt and Mohammad (2018) show how the Eritrean government threatens and cajoles Eritreans in Sudan to participate in events and make financial contributions, to ensure they stay connected and conform.

Any potential for urban refugees in the Horn of Africa to feel secure and make a living is constrained by their often-precarious formal status. In common with the majority of African countries, securing citizenship through naturalisation for any migrants is difficult, and for refugees it is usually effectively impossible (Manby, 2021; Melber et al., 2023). Not only are refugees excluded from formal citizenship, they also often face restrictions on their settlement in urban areas, in particular in Kenya, which has a longstanding encampment policy that requires refugees to secure special permission to move away from refugee camps to live in Nairobi (Campbell et al., 2011). In Khartoum, Eritreans and Ethiopians have a de facto but informal right to stay in the city – a liminal legality – that leaves them constantly vulnerable to exclusion (Müller, 2025). Even when formal policy permits refugees to live in the cities, other forms of bureaucratic discrimination may keep them apart from the rest of the population. For example, in Addis Ababa, Eritreans have a legal right to stay in the city, but many are not registered with the local (kebele) administration. This leaves them open to discrimination and exploitation with poor wages, overwork, and no avenues for support or compensation in case of injury. According to Tufa et al. (2021: 18–20), this means translocal support of the Eritrean community in Addis Ababa is weakened and people are more dependent on the transnational support of remittances from family members living abroad.

Among these populations of Eritreans in Addis Ababa, and Eritreans and Ethiopians in Khartoum and Nairobi, what form of diasporic relationships, if any, are emerging remains an open question. As this brief review shows, on the one hand, we have the literature on the Eritrean and Ethiopian diasporas that suggests a more ideological and transnational character to diasporic activity around political engagement with the homeland. On the other, there is the literature on diaspora within Africa that suggests diasporic activity has more pragmatic roots concerned with improving people's lives where they now live. This article contributes to this literature by looking at the different ways that Eritreans and Ethiopians are settling in these three cities to see the factors that shape the formation of these near diasporas in the Horn of Africa. In particular, it moves the focus from the relatively stable and secure environments of most previous research into diaspora formation in Africa. Here we examine three cities in the same region that are each affected in different way by the insecurity related to the political violence in Eritrea and Ethiopia that prompted the flight of refugees.

Outline of the Research

The research underpinning this article was undertaken among Eritreans and Ethiopians, who live outside their countries but remain within the same region. The data was collected as part of the project Transnational Lived Citizenship: Practices of citizenship as political belonging among emerging diasporas in the Horn of Africa. ¹ This three-year project has explored the different ways that Eritreans in Addis Ababa, and Eritreans and Ethiopians in Khartoum and Nairobi are practising forms of lived citizenship (Müller, 2022b) in these cities, in which they have limited legal rights or formal status as citizens. This includes their action in everyday lives, such as securing access to public services and engagement in cultural and economic activities in the city, alongside citizen acts oriented towards their country of origin or a transnational community. The project started in February 2020 just as the COVID-19 pandemic took hold. As a result, the planned fieldwork had to be undertaken virtually. A total of 75 respondents were interviewed in Tigrinya and Amharic by a post-doctoral research assistant, Mesghina Abraha, mainly over WhatsApp. ²

Using semi-structured interviews with open ended questions, we asked about respondents’ daily lives in the city, their participation in communal activities, their engagement with the country of origin and the wider diaspora elsewhere in the world. The transcripts from these interviews have been analysed for this article. ³

While the original intention had been to spend time within the communities and identify respondents through snow-ball sampling with multiple starting points, this strategy was halted by the restriction to online working. As a result, our samples are skewed by over-reliance on the limited contacts willing and able to undertake remote interviews. Particular weaknesses in the samples include a poor representation of women and Muslims and uneven spread of ethnic groups. This article does not need to focus on gender, religion or ethnicity in order to address its central questions about the emerging forms of diaspora, so these flaws in the dataset do not undermine the main arguments.

Findings

It is impossible in the space allowed to do justice to the complex history and politics of this region and the cities that are the focus of this article. Here it is only possible to include brief overviews that provide the salient points required to set the scene for the overall argument.

None of the three countries included in this study have been free of insecurity, conflict and violence in recent years, but at the time of the data collection, the capital cities were largely peaceful and relatively secure, even in the face of violent conflict elsewhere in the country (for Sudan and Ethiopia). The outbreak of the Tigray war in northern Ethiopia in November 2020, in which Eritrea was a prominent protagonist, caused massive distress and upheaval for both Ethiopian and Eritreans across the world. While some interviews had been completed in Nairobi before the war, the majority of the project interviews were conducted in its shadow. This was reflected both in people's responses, especially when they talked of its impact on relationships between Eritreans, Ethiopians and the different ethnic groups. In particular, Eritreans in Addis Ababa faced new suspicion and hostility from sections of the Ethiopian population among whom they lived.

The devastating civil war in Sudan started in April 2023, after the completion of all interviews for this project. It is impossible to know its terrible impact on our respondents in Khartoum, but it is certain that the lives that they portrayed in the interviews have been turned upside down. We anticipate that most will have fled the city along with the Sudanese population. While political tension and violence has been a long-standing feature of Sudan for many years, previously in Khartoum this was only seen in regular demonstrations and clashes between civilians and government authorities. Few anticipated the rapid descent into full-scale war between competing armies on the city streets. This is reflected in the interviews, where there was reference to political instability but a general expectation that Khartoum would continue to be a safe place. For the purpose of the discussion in this article, I am working from this pre-war perspective (the last interviews in Khartoum were conducted in December 2021) as nobody in Khartoum could foresee the horrific near future.

The COVID pandemic was also having a huge effect on the respondents at the time of the research as each city took different measures to control the spread of the disease. The interviews included questions about the impact of the pandemic on people's lives and relationships. Given that this article is more concerned with longer term processes of diaspora formation, I have not focused on these responses to the pandemic here (see Müller, 2022a, 2022b; for an examination of the impact of COVID). In the following sections, I present comparative findings from the respondents in each city.

Eritreans in Addis Ababa

Addis Ababa has had a large Eritrean population over many decades, reflecting the complex intertwined history of Eritrea and Ethiopia, with the former having fought a long liberation war for independence from the latter. After Eritrea's independence in 1993, thousands of Eritreans in Ethiopia continued to be treated as Ethiopian citizens until the intense border war in 1998, when Ethiopia expelled nearly 80,000 people to Eritrea, denying their citizenship. From this point forward, Eritreans were seen as foreigners. From 2003, Ethiopia started to receive large numbers of them as refugees, many of whom fled the unlimited national service that entails years of work for nominal wages (Poole and Riggan, 2022).

By 2017, there were estimated to be over 170,000 Eritrean refugees registered in Ethiopia, about 20 per cent of the total population of refugees in the country. Ethiopia is generally open to refugees arriving from its neighbouring countries but it requires most to stay in refugee camps outside the urban areas. Since 2010, it has operated a more flexible out of camp policy for Eritreans allowing them to live and study outside camps if they can support themselves, either through remittances or sponsorship from relatives or friends. As a result, Eritreans have long made up the vast majority (estimated at over 90 per cent) of urban refugees in the country (Brown et al., 2018). At the start of the research in 2020, there were estimated to be over 30,000 Eritreans living in Addis Ababa, either under the out of camp policy, or unregistered. With the war in Tigray, many thousands more fled from the refugee camps in Tigray towards Addis Ababa, more than doubling the urban refugee population in the city to over 70,000 (Amado et al., 2023; UNHCR 2023). All the respondents in the research for this article had been in the city for at least two years, so their arrival predated this huge growth in the Eritrean population of Addis Ababa.

While Eritrean refugees have been allowed to live freely in the city, they have had limited rights to employment and access to services. The Ethiopian government eased these restrictions from 2019 as part of its commitment to the UN Global Compact on Refugees and the Comprehensive Refugee Response Framework (Gezahegne and Bakewell, 2022). This had started to filter through to our respondents at the time of the research.

Currently the livelihood here [in Ethiopia] is more sustainable for us for obvious reasons. That is why, I got refuge in Addis. I work as anyone in Addis now, thanks to the reform in government. It was different three years ago for refugees to get an employment, but now is completely changed. Refugees have more rights now. (Eritrean man age 38 living in Addis Ababa for five years)

While these reforms made it easier for Eritreans to make a living in Addis Ababa, none of the respondents expressed any interest in getting Ethiopian citizenship, even if it were possible. They were all hoping to find a future elsewhere. For some, their dreams were focused on major change in the conditions in Eritrea which would enable them to consider returning there with their families:

I do not have any aspirations in Ethiopia; I just pray the condition in Eritrea becomes conducive for us to return. I want to go back and rebuild my life and that of my children back home. I do not see any future here in Ethiopia. (Eritrean woman age 28, living in Addis Ababa for five years)

Others pinned their hopes on finding a way to move to another country out of the region, usually referring to Europe or North America.

I am Eritrean; why should I become an Ethiopian citizen? I do not want to change my citizenship. My plan is to go somewhere in Europe or America and settle there. (Eritrean man age 37 living in Addis Ababa for seven years)

It is possible that some may consider trying to move with the help of smugglers, but formal refugee resettlement systems offered the best way out. Out of 15 respondents, four had concrete plans to move, with three planning to secure visas to join their spouses who were already in the United Kingdom and Canada, and another applying for resettlement in Canada.

I do not intend to be become an Ethiopian citizen. My plan is to go to Canada. I am in a process of resettlement. Therefore, I will live here until my process will be a success. (Eritrean man age 32 living in Addis Ababa for six years)

This reflects the relatively high level of resettlement for Eritrean refugees in Ethiopia (10,000 in the ten years up to 2021), nearly double Sudan (5,800) and more than 20 times higher than Kenya (less than 400) (UNHCR n.d.). This means the dream of resettlement for Eritreans in Addis Ababa has been kept alive as many see friends successfully secure places. On average, respondents in Addis Ababa had been in the city for a shorter time (average 4.5 years) compared to those in Nairobi (over 6 years) and Khartoum (over ten years). This may suggest those in Addis Ababa were having more success in moving on.

At the time of the interviews, any view of a long-term position in Addis Ababa for Eritreans was further undermined by the increased tensions around the conflict in Tigray and Eritrea's role in it. This made respondents hesitant to answer some questions and they also reported that it created problems for them in Addis, in particular tension with their neighbours. It also brought out comments, echoed in Nairobi and Khartoum, which compared their view of an ethnically fractured Ethiopian population with a unified Eritrea.

You see, in Eritrea, race has no meaning, nobody asks about the origin of the individual and nobody cares. In Eritrea, religion is more important than ethnicity or place of origin. I experienced that kind of division on ethnic grounds when I arrived in Addis. (Eritrean woman age 27 living in Addis Ababa for three years)

Given the lack of any future in Addis Ababa and the view of Ethiopia being dangerously ethnically divided, it is not surprising to find that the Eritrean respondents described separate lives, largely lived within their own community in the city, with friendships and social circles almost entirely focused on other Eritreans. While many respondents lived in mixed areas alongside Ethiopians, and referred to largely cordial relations with their neighbours, their main point of contact with Ethiopians is at the local schools that their children attend.

We have our own life and they [Ethiopian citizens] have theirs. We do not mingle; they do not allow us to. … I participate in my children's school meetings though. I have taken part in some over the years. (Eritrean woman age 28, living in Addis Ababa for five years)

The majority of people's social time and their best friends were found within the Eritrean community, often in their churches. Most respondents were Christian and many highlighted the importance of religion in their lives, spending a lot of time on activities at church and mixing mainly with fellow church members. This focus on socialising with Eritreans is concerned both with being at ease with people from a shared background and culture, and also with nostalgia and recreating the way of life in Eritrea.

I consider myself as open to all, I am friend to all who are near to me, regardless of race, ethnicity or religion. However, I can say my closest friends are Eritreans. These friends range from childhood friends to recent ones who I made friendship with during my journey to Addis as well as here in Addis. For example, my roommates who are also my best friends are one from my childhood, one from the refugee camp, and the other I met here in Addis. That is the kind of friendships I have. As for my social time…. I prefer going out for dinner and have tea and then walk around as we were used to do in Asmara. That for me is enjoying life, getting emotionally back to life in Asmara. (Eritrean woman age 27 living in Addis Ababa for two years)

These Eritrean networks within the city are also a vital source of practical support providing help with housing, finding work and meeting basic needs of money and food. This support for Eritreans in Addis Ababa operates through informal personal networks often associated with churches rather than any other community organisations.

The only evidence of support being institutionalised was an association aiming to help the Eritrean refugees caught up in the conflict in Tigray. This had been started by Eritrean students in Mekelle University to support refugees in the camps and has drawn in donations in cash and kind from Eritreans in Ethiopia and the wider diaspora. Its work has been hampered as refugees have been displaced from the camps in Tigray and universities in Tigray, including Mekelle, were closed. Moreover, it has to operate informally as the Ethiopian government has not issued any permit for its work (Eritrean man age 43 living in Addis Ababa for eight years).

Looking beyond Ethiopia and Eritrea, many respondents referred to personal networks with extended family across the world. These contacts, especially those in Europe and North America, are an essential source of support, in particular remittances. This reliance on remittances echoes the findings of other studies that have examined the lives of Eritrean refugees in Addis Ababa (Betts et al., 2019; Tufa et al., 2021). For those seeking resettlement, these close personal networks are critically important for opening up avenues for moving out of Ethiopia.

Personal networks are the limit of wider diasporic engagement for most. Apart from two respondents involved in the Eritrean refugee support organisation mentioned above, others all denied having any involvement in diaspora organisations of any sort. Nonetheless, they almost all closely followed news and events of the homeland and its people. When asked about this, one respondent responded quizzically:

Sorry, I think that is a weird question to ask. Every Eritrean is focused on the news in Eritrea, both supporters of and opposition to the government, everybody follows the news. In fact, if you see Facebook pages and YouTube channels, the comment sections are full of heated debate. This also happens offline. It is because everybody has strong views. (Eritrean woman age 28, living in Addis Ababa for five years)

However, there was great reluctance actively to engage further in news by posting their own comments. Some were put off by the toxic nature of some of the exchanges and doubts about the sources, some of which are extremely partisan. Others mentioned their fear of the Eritrean government having long arms that could reach into Addis Ababa:

I have a lot I could say, but it is not worth making my thoughts public at the moment, while the eyes of Shabiya [Eritrean ruling party] are next to me. The embassy in Addis can do anything to one who criticises the government. It is not safe to do it. (Eritrean man aged 27 in Addis Ababa for four years)

Rather than contribute to the online melee, Eritreans choose to save their discussions on the stories circulating online for their face-to-face meetings with friends over coffee in Addis Ababa.

Ethiopians and Eritreans in Khartoum

Sudan has been receiving large numbers of refugees from Eritrea and Ethiopia for over four decades. At the end of 2020, there were about 140,000 Eritrean and 15,000 Ethiopian refugees registered with UNHCR. Most Eritreans were living in camps in Eastern Sudan but over 14,000 were in Khartoum. In contrast, about two-thirds of the Ethiopian refugees are living in the city. These figures exclude those refugees who have not registered in the city, undocumented migrants (who have never been registered) and those living as migrants with residence permits.

Over the years, the Sudanese government's formal policy has shifted back and forth between open and closed policies in relation to refugees entering the country and their taking up residence in the cities (Kibreab, 1996). In practice, refugees have been able to register and stay in Khartoum for many years. Compared to Nairobi and Addis Ababa, those interviewed in Khartoum were part of very well-established populations: the average time that Eritrean and Ethiopian respondents had been living in the city was over ten years and some had been born in Sudan.

In 2021, when interviews were conducted, both Eritrean and Ethiopian respondents reported relatively good relationships with both the Sudanese population and the authorities in Khartoum. Moreover, they referred to their neighbourhood and the city as very safe, matching its general reputation prior to the start of the civil war in April 2023. Many spoke of having both an expectation and an interest in staying in Khartoum permanently and referred to it as their home. This was reinforced by greater interest in being able to naturalise as Sudanese citizens (compared to Nairobi and Addis Ababa), although they thought that this would be impossible to obtain.

I would love to have it [Sudanese citizenship] until my home Ethiopia becomes peaceful and accommodable to all. However, Sudanese national policy does not allow citizenship for refugees and children of refugees, even for those who are born in Sudan. (Man aged 57 living in Khartoum for 30 years)

I would take it if I had the chance. However, the Sudanese government does not allow us to get one. People that stayed here for more than 30 years do not get the chance to get citizenship, let alone me. Therefore, it is out of question. (Eritrean man 55 living in Khartoum for three years)

Most Ethiopian and Eritrean respondents were managing to make a living in the city – and some referred to a good living – with few depending on remittances. Among both groups, their work ranged from casual labour to professional roles as teachers, and a few had established businesses, driving, gardening and running cafés. They described many incidents of everyday discrimination from officials, including harassment from the police. For example, one man complained that he had to stop his profitable business because the government introduced fines for refugees driving rickshaws and he could not pay. However, this was presented as fact of life in Khartoum and did not undo respondents’ overall sense of being relatively at ease in the city.

Deeper damage to respondents’ lives in the city was caused by the impacts of events in their homelands. In particular, the conflict in Tigray, which was ongoing at the time of interviews, resulted in rising tensions within and between the Ethiopian and Eritrean communities. Even so, there was evidence of close collaboration between the two groups, in stark contrast to the situation in Addis Ababa. They were widely identified by their Sudanese neighbours as Habesha, a term referring to both Eritreans and Ethiopians that was also used by respondents themselves.

Both Ethiopians and Eritreans talked of their closest friends being within their national, or ethnic group, but their lives were enmeshed in social networks including the wider Habesha and Sudanese friends and neighbours. In particular, for those who grew up in Khartoum, it was very easy to mix freely with the Sudanese.

My group of friends are from my childhood in Khartoum, both Eritreans and Sudanese. We continue to foster our friendship. I also have new friends who came from Eritrea. For me is easy to socialise with the local people because I grew up her. I speak Arabic more than Tigrinya. (Eritrean man age 36, living in Khartoum for 30 years)

The interviews clearly show the tensions created by the conflict in Tigray, fracturing the apparent unity of the Habesha and breaking down the Ethiopian community along ethnic lines. For example, one young man sadly reported:

Now I visit only cafés frequented by Tigrayans. When I first came here, it was different. All Habesha were one community, at least people not involved in politics. Now everybody has become political because of the conflict in Ethiopia. We Tigrayans no longer believe the Eritreans and Amharas. I personally do not have that hatred, but I have to go with my community. It is complicated. What we hear about the conflict makes us hate all Eritreans and Amharas. It is influencing all of us. (Ethiopian man age 21, living in Khartoum for three years)

Despite the clear differences that marked out the Habesha from the Sudanese population of Khartoum, especially in culture and religion, and the discrimination they faced, both Ethiopians and Eritreans appeared to have made a significant mark on the city. In particular, they had been able to create their own associations, which could operate openly in Sudan.

The most striking success is the establishment of Ethiopian and Eritrean schools in Khartoum. The initial impetus came from the respective communities, who wanted to ensure their children could be educated in their own culture. The principal of one of the Ethiopian schools described how parents, especially Christians, were reluctant to send their children to Sudanese schools to be schooled in Arabic and Islam. Through discussions with a Sudanese school, they secured some space to teach students in Amharic in the afternoon. Over the years, through fundraising among the Ethiopian parents, securing support from UNHCR and UNICEF, and negotiations with the Sudanese community and the government, they were able to build classrooms and establish a full school, recognised by the Sudanese government to teach Ethiopian pupils up to grade 12. A striking part of this narrative is their struggle for recognition by the Ministry of Education, which at one point threatened to close the schools. The Ethiopian community successfully fought this decision with the help of another government department, the Commissioner for Refugees (Ethiopian man age 43 living in Khartoum for 25 years).

There are active community associations for both groups. Some have been organised along ethnic lines, but others have ambitions to be non-partisan. One notable example is the Ethiopian Community Association in Sudan that was established in 1991 with the aim of supporting Ethiopians in the country and providing a platform for them to raise their concerns. Its services include welfare support (running a care home for the elderly and community restaurant), legal advice, and advocacy for rights such as education and healthcare. It was described as a membership organisation 8,000 strong, independent of the embassy and governed by its own general assembly (Ethiopian man age 34 living in Khartoum for nine years).

A newer association was formed by Ethiopian youth, launched by six friends during the COVID pandemic in 2020 to organise protest against an upsurge in Sudanese police harassment of rickshaw drivers and migrants working in Khartoum. Working with other refugee groups in the city, they organised a protest at the UNHCR offices to demand they protect refugee rights. Subsequently, this group raised funds to support Ethiopian refugees fleeing to Sudan from the war in Tigray (Ethiopian man age 25 born in Khartoum).

The Eritreans told of more informal community associations, including those modelled on the social support structures found in Eritrea.

We have an informal group of Eritrean women living in our neighbourhood. I am the organiser of the group. Every two weeks we congregate during the day to socialise and organise visits to people who are sick or mourning the loss of a relative. The members of the group are 45 women of different ages and from different ethnic groups from the Eritrean diaspora. It is like a mahber [association] like those of our mothers back home. (Eritrean woman age 46 living in Khartoum for 17 years).

Others have formed Eritrean home-town associations that draw together childhood friends and former neighbours to socialise, celebrate festivals and provide mutual support. In such ways, memories and practices of their Eritrean homes are being reproduced in Khartoum.

In addition, both Ethiopians and Eritreans have formed multiple sports associations to raise teams, mainly football, to compete in leagues around the city. This is one area where it was noted that the Eritrean embassy is active, trying to establish an annual EriLeague. Otherwise, there was no mention of Ethiopian or Eritrean embassy involvement in the associations in which respondents were active.

Many Ethiopians mentioned that until recently the embassy tended to be rather suspicious of the community in Khartoum and did not really engage with their activities; for example, it offered no support to the schools. Since the change of government in 2018, it has been more open and encouraged dialogue, however, this introduced its own challenges as any support from the Ethiopian government alienates those in opposition, especially with the war in Tigray. Many Eritreans wanted nothing to with their embassy and even avoid connecting with other Eritreans in Khartoum.

I do not have any engagement. The diaspora [in Sudan] is fearful of the hand of the government of Eritrea. They are passive qedad tanika [porous tin containers] that assimilate with what the majority says. They do not have their own principles. I cannot engage with people of such mentality. (Eritrean man age 55 living in Khartoum for 3 years)

Among Ethiopians, there also appeared to be limited involvement with the wider diaspora beyond personal contacts and the remittances they sent. In contrast, Eritrean respondents referred to fundraising from the global diaspora to raise money for an association to support Eritrean cancer patients in Sudan and a Catholic welfare charity for Eritreans in Sudan.

While there might be different levels of engagement with the wider diaspora and wariness of the embassies, most Ethiopian and Eritrean respondents in Khartoum kept up with the news from the homeland. They did not engage in the online debates, with some Eritreans saying they were nervous of making any comment as Khartoum is not beyond the reach of the Eritrean government. More prosaically, some said they are spending so long working, they lack the time or energy for more engagement. However, there was no sense of the fervent following of events in Eritrea that was evident among the Eritreans in Addis Ababa. Some respondents even said they had given up on following the news at all.

Ethiopians and Eritreans in Nairobi

Ethiopians and Eritreans make up a small part of the overall urban refugee population of nearly 80,000 in Nairobi, according to UNHCR figures. In 2020, there were about 11,000 Ethiopian and less than 2,000 Eritrean registered refugees in the city (GOK and UNHCR 2022). In general, Kenyan government policy requires refugees to live in camps and only those with special permits are allowed to stay in the cities. While many thousands of refugees do get formal permission to live in the city, many thousands more stay there informally.

This was the case for many of the Ethiopian and Eritrean respondents, who said they faced a constant struggle to secure the necessary papers to live in Nairobi or they faced staying undocumented in the city. As a result, most are in a precarious position in relation to the authorities, especially the police, who harass them or extort money from those who cannot produce the correct documents. For many, this appears to have become a routine part of daily life in the city which is somewhat offset by the good relations with their Kenyan neighbours.

Despite the police stopping us and asking for renewed papers all the time, the area is safe. … In addition, Kenyan people, especially those who live in the area, are very polite. Therefore, I can generally say I am comfortable living in the area. (Ethiopian woman age 35, living in Nairobi for five years)

Despite these difficulties with the authorities, respondents had spent many years in Nairobi, especially the Ethiopians, where the average stay was nine years – compared to six and half for Eritreans; still markedly less than the average for both nationalities in Khartoum. Despite their long residence in Nairobi, few appeared to have any interest in securing citizenship or staying permanently there. Instead, more aspired to move abroad to other countries, often to join relatives or through refugee resettlement programmes.

In explaining their desire to leave, a number of Ethiopian respondents, especially those from Tigray and Oromo, expressed concerns about their safety in Nairobi, not for fear of Kenyans but of other Ethiopians and possible retribution orchestrated by the Ethiopian government in Kenya.

Generally, Kenya is not safe. Especially, because Kenya is a neighbour of Ethiopia, there is a fear of Ethiopian security interfering in our life. Thus, I do not want to live in that continuous fear. (Ethiopian woman age 23 living in Nairobi for 5 years)

There were no similar fears about the reach of their government among Eritrean respondents in Nairobi (in contrast to Eritreans in Khartoum). However, even among the most settled residents, there was little enthusiasm for acquiring formal citizenship; they cannot see the benefit and they want to maintain their Eritrean identity.

I have never had the feeling of being a migrant among the Kenyan community; I feel home here in Nairobi, as I told you. However, I do not want to lose my identity because one day I will go back to Eritrea, when conditions permit. (Eritrean woman age 27, living in Nairobi for 12 years)

Any aspirations to secure citizenship are also tempered by the widespread understanding that it is impossible for refugees to naturalise as Kenyans. One Ethiopian man (age 62), who had been living in Nairobi for over 30 years, is married to a Kenyan woman and has two Kenyan children, had his application for citizenship rejected so he remains an urban refugee.

Very few of the respondents have a work permit, so they are blocked from formal employment in Nairobi and have to make ends meet through informal work. Four of the Ethiopians operate small cafes and coffee shops in the Eastleigh neighbourhood. A greater number, especially among the Eritreans, depend on remittances from family and friends abroad.

Given the chronic struggle for Ethiopians and Eritreans to survive in Nairobi, it is striking that we found little evidence of community associations that offer support like those seen in Khartoum and Addis Ababa. Both the Ethiopian Community Association and the Eritrean Community Association exist in Nairobi, but they were described as inactive and too closely aligned with their respective embassies (see also Kassa, 2018: 42). Many Ethiopians in Nairobi are Oromo or Tigrayan, both groups opposed to the current Ethiopian government. As in the other cities, at the time of the interviews, the longstanding underlying tensions in both the Ethiopian and Eritrean communities were exacerbated by the war in Tigray and also political violence in Oromia (which borders Kenya). The interviews gave a sense of much more fractured communities in Nairobi, with little evidence of communal action or institution building.

The response of one Eritrean respondent illustrates an attitude that may cast some light on why there is such limited communal help.

I prefer depending on my family members and friends who live abroad. They are sending me some money on a monthly basis, that is enough for me to have a subsistent life. I think that is the tendency among most Eritreans. That is how we were brought up, to depend on your circle of people, and never ask others. As the saying goes: ‘even if you do not have anything to eat, dress well and do not show your problems to strangers.’ (Eritrean man age 27, living in Nairobi for three years)

This wariness of engagement with co-nationals in Nairobi in the real world is also echoed in the virtual. As in the other cities, we find respondents are following the news from home closely, especially to keep track of the conditions facing their friends and families who remain there. However, they see the news coming from different sources as extremely partisan and contradictory, especially when it comes to comments exchanged on social media. The respondents are wary of engagement in online space while it is so polarised:

I think it is not the appropriate time nor place for me to engage in commenting because of the highly polarised Eritrean online political space. I know that I cannot make any changes at this moment in time. Maybe once the water starts cooling down and people start making sense of what they are saying, I will be adding my views or even writing articles about peace and justice among our people. (Eritrean man age 40, living in Nairobi for eight years)

Discussion and Conclusion

Having presented the findings from these different settings, what does it tell us about the nature of the Ethiopian or Eritrean diasporas emerging in these three cities?

One striking point is the limited links with the wider Eritrean and Ethiopian diaspora. Compared to Somalis or Afghans (as discussed by Cohen 2022), or Eritreans and Ethiopians in the wider diaspora (see above), those in these cities in the Horn are presenting themselves as rather loosely connected with limited “spheres of engagement” (Van Hear and Cohen, 2017: 172–175). Their strongest networks are generally at the level of the household and family sphere with some ties into the known community, within the city or country: for example, the associations established to support co-nationals within Sudan or Ethiopia. For the most part, their engagement with the imagined community sphere appears to be passive, where they pick up news and listen to debates without contributing to them. In all three cities, most were wary of any explicit engagement in political activity in relation to their country of origin, often fearing that they were not beyond the reach of the governments of Ethiopia or Eritrea.

It is possible that the absence of these wider connections was a reflection of the conditions at the time of the research. The COVID-19 pandemic certainly seemed to highlight the importance of the local and tangible over virtual relationships (Müller, 2022b). However, in interviews, respondents gave no indication that there had been vibrant transnational networks that were disrupted by lockdown.

In most interviews, people's identification around nationality or ethnicity was discussed in terms of practical support around incomes and employment, social lives, education and worship. This suggests a rather pragmatic form of diaspora that enables people to establish lives and livelihoods in exile – with a view to the homeland (whether national or ethnic) but focused on their lives in Addis Ababa, Khartoum, or Nairobi.

There were important variations between these settings. Most Eritrean respondents in Addis Ababa had been in the city for a relatively short time and were looking to move elsewhere. Given that there are such long standing links between Eritrea and Ethiopia, there are, and will continue to be many people in Addis Ababa who have Eritrean heritage. The question is how far they continue to mark themselves out as Eritrean and maintain a link with their homeland. Given the interest in moving on, it seems likely that there will be a continuously churning migrant population of Eritreans, rather than a settled diasporic group rooted in Addis Ababa looking back to the Eritrean homeland. The picture is further confused by the complex ties at every level – as the responses to the conflict in Tigray demonstrated.

Nairobi and Khartoum perhaps provide more fertile grounds for the emergence of longstanding diasporas, as thousands of Ethiopians and Eritreans have been settled in both cities for many years, with contrasting outcomes. In Nairobi, the restriction on refugee settlement and the way it is enforced has made it much harder for Ethiopians and Eritreans to establish livelihoods. This is exacerbated by the higher costs of living and the stronger administration than is seen in Khartoum. While there are restrictions on refugees in Khartoum and plenty of evidence of discrimination, there is much more room for negotiation and a willingness to allow refugees to create their own institutions.

Prior to the eruption of war in Khartoum, it looked like a city where Eritreans and Ethiopians were establishing distinctive communities, that were broadly accepted by the Sudanese population and the authorities, which adopted a largely laissez faire approach. The creation of institutions such as schools, support societies and church groups, with some support from the diaspora abroad suggest an institutionalisation within Khartoum and the wider diaspora network. As a result, alongside the interest in securing Sudanese citizenship (even if only a dream), we found evidence of people's interest in creating a permanent settled population of both Eritreans and Ethiopians. They were carving out a permanent place in city, with the tacit support of the Sudanese state and society, suggesting they are the most likely to be incipient diasporas.

This suggests that there could continue to be an identifiable group of people who are associated with the homeland, even if they have never lived there. Of course, given the mobility in the region, there will always be migrants in the neighbouring capitals. When we are talking of seeing a diasporic population, we are suggesting a group of people, whose identification is not only shaped by the experience of leaving, but also the past experience of previous generations of diaspora.

This incipient diaspora today has little explicit engagement in politics, whether in the homeland or place of residence. Whether that could change in the future would have to be the subject of future research. As research elsewhere has shown diasporic populations are often mobilised around different forms of political action, whether conflict or bringing about social and economic development (Féron and Voytiv, 2021; Turner, 2018; Turner and Kleist, 2013; Van Hear and Cohen, 2017). Whose interests are served by mobilising this diaspora will depend on the situation. All we can say is that there is something there to be mobilised. Very sadly, in the case of Khartoum, this is likely to be purely academic as the lives, relationships and institutions of the Ethiopian and Eritrean population, along with all the other residents and the fabric of the city have been destroyed by the ongoing war in Sudan. It is only possible to hope that these people displaced by this horror can find secure places to stay. The cycle of settlement and potential diaspora formation may be already starting in new settings.