03/09/2026
By Damme Kumsa
03/08/2026
On International Women’s Day, I honor the strongest woman I have ever known, my mother, Zannabu Maammo Corqa.
Three years ago, I could not have written this. The grief was too raw, too close to the surface. Every memory felt like reopening something I was not yet strong enough to hold. It has taken time, and perhaps the quiet inheritance of her strength, to speak of her now with gratitude instead of only pain.
My father was among the early pastors of the Presbyterian church in Ethiopia, often gone for weeks at a time, traveling by foot or horseback, imprisoned for his faith, chained and marched publicly as a warning to others. While he stood in prison for what he believed, my mother stood outside of it and carried everything else.
She raised us almost alone.
She knew nothing about farming, but ignorance did not intimidate her. She took it on, taught herself, and excelled, traveling hours away from home to tend land that might have overwhelmed someone less determined.
And farming was only one example. She was an educator who made girls’ schooling a mission of her life. She was an artist with a kiilolee voice that could fill a church, a choir leader and organ player whose music lifted spirits. She was an organizer, from coordinating DABOO labor for harvest to establishing church women’s organizations wherever she went. She was a tailor, a craftswoman, a teacher of embroidery, a builder of homes, and a moral compass to her children. Whatever she put her mind to, she learned with finesse and carried out with excellence.
She prepared food and delivered it to prisoners. She reminded them, “You are not here because you killed or stole. You are here because of your faith. Keep your heads up.” She organized women to support families whose husbands were imprisoned.
When the Derg regime imprisoned my siblings for years, when my brother escaped ex*****on and later died fighting for freedom, when heartbreak stacked upon heartbreak, my mother did not break.
She did not shrink.
She built homes when others doubted her vision. When my father once said, half in disbelief, “Her vision is at the top of that tree, and her capacity is under it,” she smiled, and somehow made the impossible possible.
She confronted injustice without hesitation. When a teacher harmed my brother, she chased him with a stick and demanded accountability. When a truck owner broke his agreement and risked her children’s lives, she grabbed him by the collar and made him return her money. She would not be dismissed. She would not be intimidated.
History tried to harden her. Loss tried to silence her. Systems tried to shrink her.
They failed.
And yet, the strongest thing about her was not only her defiance, it was her joy. Her smile was unforgettable. She laughed loudly. She pulled pranks on us and laughed until she could barely breathe. Even in the weight of responsibility, she carried light.
For nine years, I had the privilege of caring for her. We walked together often. I never took those walks for granted. Every step felt like grace.
My mother was unbreakable not because she never suffered, but because suffering never made her smaller.
Today, I honor her, and women like her, who carry families, communities, and history on their backs without applause.
She refused to shrink.
And because of her, neither will I.
Her strength didn’t end with her life; it continues in every step I take. Her story is the foundation beneath me, and her courage is the wind behind me.
Happy International Women's Day!
