In the aftermath of the conflict in Ataye, thousands of civilians continue to navigate the uncertainties of displacement, social stigma, and unmet humanitarian needs. Among them is Halima, a 40-year-old widow and mother of three, whose experience illustrates how violence reshapes not only physical landscapes but also long-standing community relationships.

Halima was born in Tebina and moved to Ataye 20 years ago after losing close family members. Today, she is living with advanced breast cancer, which has paralyzed the right side of her body. Before the conflict, she managed a modest vegetable business to support her children. Once the fighting began, her medical treatment stopped, her income disappeared, and her struggle for survival intensified.

“I stand in front of anyone who can help just to keep my children alive,” she says, reflecting on the daily humiliation of seeking aid.

When Conflict Turns Neighbors into Enemies

Like many residents of mixed communities in central Ethiopia, Halima once believed coexistence was possible despite ethnic and religious differences. That belief was shattered when neighbors she had known for decades accused her of collaborating with the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA) simply because she spoke Afaan Oromo.

“A boy I raised pointed a gun at me,” she recalls. “They said I exchanged letters with OLA soldiers. God knows I cannot even read or write.”

The threats escalated. One neighbor broke into her home and warned her to leave if she wanted to stay alive. That night, Halima fled with her children, carrying nothing.

Displacement, Uncertainty, and the Weight of Loss

Halima now lives in a severely damaged shelter where rain and animals enter freely. Humanitarian support is minimal, sometimes only two pieces of injera per day. Her greatest source of pain, however, is the disappearance of her eldest son, who vanished after attempting to withdraw a small compensation payment.

“I don’t know if he is dead or alive,” she says. “I dream every day that he will walk through the door.”

Occasional phone calls claiming to be him offer no proof, leaving her trapped between hope and grief.

Barriers to Return and the Politics of Belonging

Attempts to reclaim her home were unsuccessful. Local leadership had shifted, and once again Halima faced accusations of being an OLA sympathizer. The mayor of Ataye later advised her to leave permanently for her own safety, reflecting a broader pattern in which displaced civilians find themselves excluded from post-conflict reconstruction and community decision-making.

A Mother’s Final Appeal

With her health deteriorating and her resources exhausted, Halima’s priority is securing her children’s future.

“I am not worried for myself anymore,” she says quietly. “I just want my children to be safe and supported when I am gone.”

Her story underscores the urgent need for stronger institutional protection for displaced women, equitable access to reintegration processes, and psychosocial and economic support for families disrupted by conflict.

Halima’s voice is one among many, but it is a reminder that the end of armed violence does not mark the end of suffering. For countless civilians, it is only the beginning of a long, uncertain struggle for dignity, belonging and survival.