This refers to the position Borana and Bareentu, as the first sons of Oromo, hold as the moieties of the Oromo nation. Over the years, I remember repeatedly hearing that “Borannii Hangafaa Oromo”, that the Borana are the oldest of the Oromo. In many ways, she was collectively identified as a keeper of cultural knowledge, a leader of cultural practice, and an advisor on cultural affairs. If we had public events, she would be the one conducting the coffee ceremonies. If a woman needed her Gutino (Borana cultural dress) tied at an event, we would frantically search for Addee Jiloo. Each time I had attended Irreechaa (an Oromo thanksgiving festival), it was Addee Jiloo that led the procession to the water. I met Addee Jiloo, a Borana woman, in my early twenties. As one who developed Oromomumma (Oromo identity) in the diaspora, and as someone who has spent over a year and a half living in the homes of Borana and Orma Oromo in Kenya, my relationship with this part of my community has developed in an intriguing and adventurous way, and it holds a special place in my heart. Still, l had little knowledge regarding the Borana Oromo. What I did learn experientially though, were the nuances that make one a person from Wallaga, another from Haararge, Shewa, Arsi, etc. ![]() Whereas this learning is experiential for one growing up in Oromia, there are gaps when this way of learning is transferred to the diaspora, or even to urban areas in Oromia, and so more recent generations are developing different tools and spaces for learning Oromo identity, culture, and history. And in the course of this experience, I was never directly and deliberately taught who the Oromo are, who I was as an Oromo, and how and why other Oromo people were different, or the same, to my family. I started to learn about my community all over again. ![]() Naturally, as I reached adulthood, I attended cultural and community events on my own initiative rather than at the invitation of my family. By my mid-teens, I was almost completely disconnected from the spaces and networks that included Oromo people from outside the Arsi region, where I come from. ![]() In those days, weddings, birthday parties, funerals, and other community events were attended by people from all the regions of Oromia who made up our little community.īut as our community grew in number, and as the number of people from every region of Oromia grew, I started to see a divide in how we congregated. Being such a small community, we didn’t scatter across the breadth of the city but huddled together in a small enclave for safety, support, and the comfort of familiarity. I vividly remember the days when we were so few that, in Clayton South, the suburb in which I spent 16 years of my life, there was an Oromo family on almost every block. I left Oromia just before turning two years old and I grew up among the first Oromo people to call Melbourne home.
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