The First Ethiopian Industrialization Plan
December 1, 1916. Addis Ababa, Menelik Palace.
A reply had come from the Spanish side. Not in the form of an official document, of course. It was a handwritten letter from the intermediary, delivered via Madrid and the contact office at Djibouti port, so Sarkis brought it in himself. This Armenian arms dealer had become a familiar face around the palace, though whether that was entirely a good thing remained to be seen.
The gist of the letter was simple. Deal confirmed. Quantities verified. Shipping scheduled after the official opening of the Addis Ababa-Djibouti railway in July 1917, to be coordinated further. Payment in gold.
"In gold," I muttered, setting the letter down on the table. A predictable condition. Using Ethiopia's salt bricks as currency in international trade in 1916 was absurd. The Maria Theresa thaler was the closest thing to a widely accepted silver coin around here, but if the Spaniards wanted gold, we'd have to accommodate them. That meant dipping into the imperial treasury.
Even scraping together every bit from coffee exports and customs duties wouldn't cover it all. Still, the real priority was that the deal was done. Weapons wouldn't arrive until after July 1917—over half a year from now. I had no intention of sitting idle in the meantime.
Once the railway was complete, logistics would transform. The journey from Djibouti to Addis Ababa, which took weeks on camelback, would shrink to a single train ride. Twenty thousand rifles, four hundred machine guns, sixty 76mm mountain guns, ten million rounds of ammunition. Transporting that weight by camel would have bankrupted the treasury in shipping costs alone.
"Sarkis." I called, and the Armenian bowed his head. His gray-bearded face held that signature cautious glint in his eyes.
"Renegotiate the advance payment ratio with Madrid. Balance due upon confirmation of the railway's opening. With the condition that they begin shipping beforehand."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
"And discreetly assess our holdings of old thaler currency. See if we can mix some into this deal."
The Maria Theresa thaler. Minted until 1780 but still circulating in eastern Africa and the Arabian Peninsula. The Spaniards wanted gold, but intermediaries wouldn't turn down silver. If we could substitute some thalers for gold, we'd cut real expenditures.
Sarkis nodded once in understanding and withdrew. I walked to the window. Addis Ababa's December mornings carried the highland winter sun—clear and crisp. Early Tahsas by the Ethiopian calendar. Calculations spun in my head.
Weapons in July. So now, we prepare to receive them. No—receiving them was just the start. Getting the weapons and training people to use them were entirely different beasts.
I recalled my visit to the armory. Not even logs of rifle cleanings. But that wasn't mere neglect. No training system meant no instructors, which meant no talent.
"We need talent..." Everything circled back to that. Every plan hit the wall of human resources. Buying guns took money. But finding people to wield them properly, repair them, and eventually build better ones? That was the real challenge.
Of course, I already had a plan for that.
Afternoon. Father Ras Mikael, Kassa Haile, Seyum Mangasha, Gebre Hiwt, Gugsa Araya, Hailu Tekle Haymanot, Demissew, Lul Seged, Balcha Safo. And Tafari. Fitawrari Habte Giyorgis was there too.
I stood rather than sat.
"We've received a reply from the Spanish."
All eyes fixed on me.
"The trade agreement is on. Arms imports will ship after the Addis Ababa-Djibouti railway opens next July. Payment in gold."
A brief silence fell. Father spoke low. "That's over half a year."
"Yes. But hauling that volume inland without the railway could cost more in transport than the weapons themselves. Waiting makes sense."
Father said no more. That meant acceptance.
Ras Seyum crossed his arms. "Gold payment. Is the imperial treasury in good shape?"
"We'll cover it in installments from coffee exports and customs. Negotiating to substitute some with Maria Theresa thalers via the intermediary."
Seyum snorted once. Not opposition.
"Understood."
I paused a beat before continuing. "Separately from the arms import, I have one proposal for the council today."
Tafari's eyes flickered ever so slightly. He always reacted like that when I pulled something unannounced. Caution or anticipation? Still hard to tell.
Ignoring it, I drew a folded document from my robes and unfolded it.
"The First Plan for Building Ethiopia's Industrial Foundation."
The room went dead silent in an instant. The Ras exchanged glances. Hailu Tekle Haymanot raised an eyebrow; Kassa Haile uncrossed his arms.
I pressed on. "Four pillars. First, centralized-local joint procurement of light industry factory equipment and agricultural machinery. Second, modernizing agriculture to boost food self-sufficiency. Third, developing consumer-goods light industry to build capital reserves. Fourth, establishing a modern university and military academy."
Balcha Safo spoke slowly from the front. "Joint procurement."
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
A direct question, genuine confusion—not dismissal. I explained methodically, meeting his gaze.
"The central government subsidizes part of the budget, and each provincial Ras covers the rest to bulk-purchase light industry equipment and ag machinery."
"We're paying?" Hailu Tekle Haymanot asked.
The lord of Gojjam. Quickest to twitch at the sound of an open wallet.
"What you fund gets deployed to your province. The imperial house takes nothing."
I slowed for emphasis. "If Sidamo's Ras funds for his domain, threshers and looms go to Sidamo. You operate them directly."
Balcha's eyes shifted. "And the profits?"
"Yours, within the province."
I cut it clean. "Equipment boosts local output. Surpluses can be sold, profits to the Ras. Central government handles spec standardization and partial initial costs."
Kassa Haile rumbled low. "Spec standardization."
"Yes." I met his eyes. "That's the key. Mismatched equipment per province means separate parts and repair crews later. National standards mean one parts type works everywhere. Bulk import slashes unit costs too."
Habte snorted approvingly.
Demissew crossed his arms quietly. "Unit costs drop."
"Bulk buying gives leverage. Twelve provinces buying five units each is less appealing than one order for sixty."
Silence again. The calculating kind. These Ras were sensitive to their domains' gains. Pitch spending that grows provincial revenue, and opposition turns to negotiation.
Tafari spoke for the first time. "Your Majesty. Deploying ag machinery and light industry to provinces boosts their production. What about markets for the output?"
Eyes on me. I answered simply, casually. "The railway. Once Addis-Djibouti opens, Addis becomes the trade hub. Provincial surpluses flow through the capital to the port. From a coffee-only exporter to one shipping textiles and processed goods."
Tafari didn't reply. But his fingers on his knee slowly clenched, then released. I saw it. He was reading the subtext.
Standardized equipment ties provinces technically to the central government—for parts, trained repairmen, upgrades. All roads lead to Addis. Provinces grow rich, but that wealth sustains only through central hands. And here, in council, they agree explicitly. Willingly.
Tafari knew. If he assented, it meant no loss for him. As a central power, a tech-hubbed government funnels that power straight to him. Binding Ras loyalty not with arms, but economic dependence. He was tallying it now.
Moments later, Tafari spoke. "No reason to oppose."
One sentence. The room stirred. With Tafari's endorsement, the others couldn't dig in.
Kassa Haile, sensing it, followed. "Selale will join."
Lul Seged nodded at once. "Shewa too."
One by one. I kept a neutral face, nodding as eyes met mine. Inside, palms were sweating a bit. Feels just like standing before a professor with slides in my past life. Wait, was an emperor supposed to feel this?
"The university and academy," Gebre Hiwt ventured cautiously. "Budget might not stretch, Your Majesty. The industry plan already demands a fortune."
Honest concern. I met his gaze. "Valid point."
I acknowledged it. "So, here's the funding model. Initial university and academy costs covered mainly by old European currencies."
"Old currencies?"
"Maria Theresa thalers. And other deprecated silver or gold coins."
Seyum raised a brow. "I know they're circulating. How does that fund schools?"
"Accept them as partial tax and tribute payments. Salt bricks and barter still rule inland, but Harar merchants and coastal traders use silver. Pulling those into the system gives real capital for education."
Balcha spoke. "Not forcing thalers?"
"Recognizing them as one payment option. Their choice. No compulsion."
That eased faces. "Not forced" was magic with these men.
Hailu drummed fingers briefly. "An academy means its officers could command provincial troops."
Probing.
"Among the goals. Staff-trained officers in local forces even out national military standards. Stronger provinces."
Hailu eyed me. "Stronger, yes. But central-trained officers in our domains..."
"Loyalty concerns?"
I voiced the elephant. Hailu tilted his head.
"Frankly, yes."
"Provincial Ras appoint local instructors. Academy grads go where the Ras decides. Not imperial appointments."
Hailu nodded slowly. Acceptance, if not full buy-in.
"Modern university trains engineers, doctors, bureaucrats. Spread nationwide, central and provinces both benefit. Right now, one doctor means hiring foreigners. Change that, and the money stays in Ethiopia."
Reactions rippled. Habte nodded vigorously—the first big response. The veteran had sat stone-faced through machinery talk, but foreign dependence hit home. Years rubbing shoulders with Menelik II's advisors, no doubt.
Tafari closed. "Budget figures at the next meeting."
"Agreed. But principle approval here today. Details next time."
Tafari eyed me briefly.
"In principle, approved."
That sealed it.
After the council dispersed, I stood by the window. Tafari left last. He paused at the door, turning.
"Your Majesty."
"Ras."
"Today's proposal."
A beat as he chose words.
"Intriguing structure."
That was it. He left.
I watched his back, pulled out my notebook, and jotted in Hangul: 'Tafari knows. He followed knowing. Means he calculated gain for himself.'
I set down the pencil and gazed out. Addis Ababa's winter evening settled. The western highland sky flushed red, then darkened swiftly.