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A Pillar in the Diaspora: The Deep Loss of Ob Maammaa Argoo and the Meaning of Home

By Maatii Sabaa

A community’s strength is often measured in its quiet pillars—the individuals who don’t just inhabit a space, but who become synonymous with its heartbeat, its memory, and its sense of home. When such a pillar falls, the tremor is felt across oceans, reaching from a neighborhood in Seattle to the soul of a global nation. The recent, stark announcement from the Oromo community carries this profound weight: “OROMOON har’a nama jabaa tokko dhabne; Keessumattu Oromoon Seattle, Ob Maammaa Argoo dhabnee jirra. Ob Maammaa Argoon Abbaa Margituu Argoo ti.” (Today, the Oromo people have lost a strong one; Especially we, the Oromo of Seattle, have lost Ob Mama Argoo. Ob Mama Argoo is Abbaa Margituu Argoo.)

This is more than an obituary. It is a communal acknowledgment of a foundational fracture. The title “Ob” or “Abbaa” is not given lightly; it denotes fatherhood, leadership, and a gravitas earned through steadfast presence. He was not just a resident of Seattle, but a cornerstone for Oromoon Seattle, a vital node in the vast diaspora network that sustains Oromo culture, politics, and mutual aid far from the physical borders of Oromia.

The loss of such a figure in the diaspora cuts with a unique sharpness. For a community shaped by displacement, struggle, and the constant work of preserving identity in a foreign land, people like Ob Argoo are more than leaders. They are living archives and architects. They are the ones who remember the names and stories of new arrivals. They are the organizers behind cultural festivals that transform a community hall into a pocket of Oromiyaa for an evening. They are the first call in times of crisis—whether it’s navigating a bureaucratic system or mourning a loss back home. They become the embodied answer to the unspoken question: Where is our home here?

Abbaa Margituu Argoo—Father of Margituu Argoo—this final identification roots him in the most sacred of Oromo traditions: lineage and relational identity. Even in announcing his passing, the community defines him by his cherished role as a father, reminding us that the strongest community pillars are always, first, pillars of a family. His strength (“nama jabaa”) was likely not the loud, theatrical kind, but the resilient, reliable strength of a great tree: providing shade, stability, and a point of orientation for all who gathered beneath.

His passing leaves a silence that is both personal and structural. Who will now hold the intricate web of connections with the same familiarity? Who will offer that specific, grounding wisdom that comes from having witnessed decades of the community’s joys and struggles in this particular city? The grief expressed is for the man, undoubtedly, but also for the irreplaceable role he occupied—a role that represents the very glue of diaspora life.

In mourning Ob Maammaa Argoo, the Oromo community of Seattle, and indeed the wider Oromo nation, confronts a poignant truth about diaspora. The greatest assets are not buildings or institutions, but the living human repositories of memory, commitment, and unwavering presence. The work of a community is to build upon the foundation such individuals leave behind, to ensure that the “home” they helped construct does not crumble with their passing.

Today, Seattle feels less like home for many. But in their collective grief and in the powerful, simple act of naming his loss and his title, they perform the very culture he helped sustain. They affirm that an Oromo community exists, that it feels its losses deeply, and that it honors its fathers. Ob Maammaa Argoo’s legacy is not just in what he did, but in the palpable space his absence reveals—a space that testifies to the immense weight of the presence that once filled it. May his roots nourish the generations that follow.