By: Staff Editor
It was still Lent, and I found the lakeside packed with people. All were drawn by the same craving: fish. The water lapped gently against the shore, its surface shimmering like a thousand scattered coins. The distant hum of boat engines mixed with the laughter of young fishing teams, their sun-kissed skin gleaming as they hauled in their morning catch.
I had come for one thing: fish. Deeply roasted, perfectly spiced, the kind that melts on the tongue and leaves you licking your fingers shamelessly. My stomach growled in anticipation as I made my way toward the Hawassa Fish Market, a lakeside institution established in 1968. Though decades old, its energy felt timeless—a symphony of tradition and resilience.
I spotted a particularly busy stall where a woman with strong arms and a no-nonsense expression flipped fish over an open flame. The skin cracked and blackened in the most beautiful way, the flesh beneath staying tender and moist. I stepped closer, inhaling deeply.
“This one,” I said, pointing to a medium-sized tilapia, its scales still glistening. “Roast it well for me, please.”
A Sidama woman, fluent in English—as I later learned—nodded, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “You want it sweet, eh? I’ll make it so good you’ll forget your name.”
As she worked her magic, I struck up a conversation. “How long have you been cooking fish here? You must be a good cook.”
"Born of fish," she smiled, flipping the fish with practiced ease. “Twenty years now. Started with just one small grill. My husband was a fisherman; God rest his soul. When he passed, I had to feed my children. So I took his catch and sold it. Now?” She gestured proudly at her stall, at the team of young helpers scaling and gutting freshly harvested fish with swift hands. “Now I feed half the town.”
The cook drizzled it with a fiery red sauce and a squeeze of lemon. I didn’t even wait to sit down. The first bite sent me into euphoria. The smokiness, the spice, the sweetness of the flesh—it was everything I had dreamed of.
Nearby, families sat on low wooden benches, feasting on their own roasted treasures. Children giggled as they picked bones clean, their lips slick with oil. A group of friends clinked bottles of soda, their table piled high with fish. The joy was contagious.
As I began enjoying the meal, Lukas Kanche, chairman of the Hawassa Fishermen’s Association, approached with a warm greeting. “This market is the heartbeat of our community,” he shared proudly. “We have 495 members and 150 boats. But we’re not stuck in the past—we plan to modernize the association, improve facilities, and support our fisherfolk.” His eyes sparkled with ambition. “Imagine this place with better storage, training for young fishermen… even eco-tourism!”
Inspired, I finished my last bite with a sigh of satisfaction. I knew I had to share this experience. Pulling out my phone, I dialed my best friend. “You have to come here,” I said, my voice full of excitement. “The fish… it’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted. The lake, the people, the laughter—it’s perfect.”
So if you ever find yourself craving fish so deep it aches, fly to Hawassa. Let the scent of roasting tilapia guide you to a market steeped in history yet buzzing with tomorrow’s dreams. Let the sound of the water and the chatter of happy eaters fill your soul. And most importantly—let yourself indulge.
