Dire Dawa, Ethiopia
Dire Dawa — “Deerhead,” as it echoes through local tongues is a city of contrasts. I didn’t come to admire the landscape or stay in air conditioned comfort. I came with a camera and a willingness to walk, to look, to listen, to feel the pulse of a place too often skipped over.
The khat market was where I found that pulse, surprisingly, undeniably feminine.
It was the women who ran it.
They moved with the confidence of those who’ve carried the weight of both work and survival their whole lives. Dressed in flowing scarves of fierce color, hands rough from labor, they shouted prices, exchanged bundles, laughed sharply, negotiated with the sharp precision of business owners. The air was thick with the smell of the khat leaves, earthy, bitter, and with the energy of movement, of trade, of livelihood being carved leaf by leaf.
I asked before I photographed, of course. Some nodded with a quick glance, others posed, proud of their role, their wares, their strength. One woman looked at me through narrowed eyes, then broke into a broad, unexpected smile. She stood tall, cradling a massive bundle of khat like a newborn, and let me take the shot.
From there, I followed the path that led deeper, into the slums, a patchwork of tin, plastic, and dreams held together by sheer endurance. Here, the poorest of Dire Dawa, live families of seven or eight in single-room shelters, open sewers in the alleys, goats sharing space with children. But here, too, was light.
And color.
Everywhere, color.
Even in the harshest conditions, people dressed as if for celebration. Bold reds, greens, violets, and golds lit up the dust like lanterns. Children wore sequins, plastic beads, faded cartoon shirts turned heirlooms. Women wrapped in patterned shawls walked through the debris with dignity. And the smiles, they surprised me most.
Genuine. Radiant. Disarming.
Not every face welcomed a lens, and I respected that. But those who did, those who smiled, offered something beyond image. They gave me a moment of shared humanity. Their world was hard, yes, but not without laughter, pride, and a fierce sense of self.
If you want the safe version of Ethiopia, the curated one, don’t come here.
But if you want to see what beauty looks like when it refuses to be crushed, when it smiles through struggle and dresses in color against a backdrop of gray, then come to Deerhead.
