Ethiopia Bans Plastic, How Are People Really Coping?

By Aksah Italo
Published on 02/09/26

One evening last week, Alemu Gizaw was ready to end his day the way he always had,  by stopping at a neighbourhood bakery to buy bread for his family. He asked the vendor for ten pieces, enough to last the evening and the following morning.

The transaction faltered at the counter.

“Did you bring your own bag?” the vendor asked.

Alemu, momentarily flustered, shook his head and asked that the bread be wrapped in plastic, as it had been countless times before. The vendor refused.

“We don’t wrap in plastic anymore,” he said, pointing instead to a stack of neatly folded paper bags beside the register.  The price, 100 birr.

Alemu declined, muttered his disbelief, and walked out in search of another bakery, one that might still conform to the routines he knew.

He said later, “What is going on?”

Over a week ago Ethiopia's government authorities  enacted a sweeping ban on single-use plastics, colloquially known as ’festal’ bags, sending ripples of confusion and reluctant compliance through the city’s labyrinthine markets.

Versions of that complaint now echo through markets and street corners across Addis Abeba. Plastic bags, once an unremarkable feature of daily commerce have been abruptly removed from circulation, replaced by paper packaging, reusable bags, or, in many cases, nothing at all. For consumers, the adjustment has been jarring. For vendors, it has been costly.

Buyers are increasingly forced to pay extra for paper or reusable bags, or to carry their purchases by hand. Vendors, meanwhile, say they are purchasing substitute packaging from manufacturers at significantly higher prices, compressing already-thin margins. Some shops have put up notices asking customers to bring their own bags. “Until we figure out what to provide, please bring your own,” one sign reads.

In busy grocery markets at Laptho, confusion is often visible, tempers short. Prices for the alternative bags now range from 50 to 300Br.

“It’s been imposed on us,” said one grocery vendor. “Buyers have no choice but to comply.”

The shock rippling through street-level commerce mirrors a deeper unease within Ethiopia’s plastics industry. Since last year, manufacturers have mounted a sustained pushback against the ban on single-use plastic bags, warning that it threatens to upend a sector built on low-cost, high-volume production, and risking over 200,000 jobs.

The Ethiopian Plastics & Rubber Manufacturers Association (EPRMA), which represents more than 500 producers, has been among the most vocal critics.

Bereket Gebrehiwet, a representative of the lobby group, argued that the law risks forcing many factories to shut down altogether.

“Manufacturers are still coping and restructuring themselves,” he said, noting that much of the industry already relies on recycled plastic as raw material. 

An abrupt ban, he argues, ignores that reality and undermines years of incremental investment. Industry figures warn of billions of birr in lost revenues and widespread job losses if factories cannot pivot quickly to alternative products.

The law, ratified six months ago and enforced this month, is sweeping. Designed to overhaul solid waste management, it sets the stage for one of the most consequential regulatory shifts the sector has faced. A six-month grace period was granted, but that window has now closed. Manufacturers, importers, distributors, traders and even individual users are subject to penalties.

Under the new regime, individuals caught using banned plastic bags face fines ranging from 2,000 to 5,000 birr. Manufacturers  risk penalties of up to 600,000 birr and prison sentences of as much as five years. Regional environmental protection offices are tasked with enforcement, a mandate officials say is essential if Ethiopia is to curb plastic pollution meaningfully.

For Lemessa Gudeta, deputy head of the Addis Ababa Environmental Protection Authority, the severity of the penalties reflects the scale of the problem.

“Plastic accounts for about 46 percent of pollution in the country,” he said. “That is why enforcement has been tightened.”

Internationally, Ethiopia’s move places it in a growing cohort of countries that have opted for outright bans rather than gradual restrictions. 

The environmental rationale, however, is difficult to dispute. Plastic bags line streets, clog drainage systems, exacerbate flooding, and degrade infrastructure. Globally, they rank among the top five items collected in river and beach clean-ups. 

Their rise traces back to the post-World War II boom in manufactured household goods. By the 1970s, plastic bags had become popular worldwide; by the late 1990s, they had largely replaced paper in grocery stores. The golden age of plastic had begun.

Plastic has been popular not because it is elegant, but because it is cheap. Alternatives  paper, cloth, biodegradable composites  currently cost more and are not produced at scale locally.

In the short run, this cost will be passed to consumers, disproportionately affecting low-income households. Critics say that if the policy is not accompanied by local production incentives, it risks becoming regressive, shifting the environmental burden onto those with the least purchasing power.

Ethiopia’s paper and pulp industry remains underdeveloped, with only a handful of companies converting paper rolls and virtually none producing pulp domestically at scale. According to the latest business directory data, there are only four identifiable paper-bag suppliers in Ethiopia as of late 2025, all operating mainly around Addis Ababa.

Despite these challenges, entrepreneurs are responding to shifting market conditions. New entrants like Zafree Papers Plc are expanding into paper bag production using agricultural waste, and existing printers and converters report rising orders tied to retailers seeking alternatives to banned plastics, but they regularly cite raw material shortages, high costs and a lack of financial support as major obstacles to scaling up.

He explains the short term pinch felt across markets will subside once more paper-bag manufacturers get in the game, and once supply and demand  hold.

The bureau is currently drafting a directive to operationalise the proclamation, which Lemessa says will close loopholes and address years of lax oversight.

“We are finalizing it,” he said.

Ethiopia is not the first African country to attempt such a ban; 66 countries worldwide have already enforced similar restrictions. In 2017, Kenya enacted one of the world’s toughest plastic-bag prohibitions, criminalising manufacture, importation, and use. Enforcement was visible, penalties were severe, and the international response was effusive. Authorities relied on police and the National Environment Management Authority (NEMA), alongside awareness campaigns and draft regulations introducing Extended Producer Responsibility (EPR) to hold producers accountable.

Ethiopia faces an even steeper climb. Unlike Kenya, where reusable bags eventually became widely available, Ethiopia’s domestic supply of biodegradable or durable alternatives remains limited. Rural communities and low-income households risk being left behind if communication and market support do not reach them.

It took barely four decades for plastic bags to travel from technological marvel to environmental and public-health menace.

Today, single-use plastic bags are banned or heavily restricted in at least 66 countries. Ethiopia is among the latest to join that list. Whether the ban reshapes habits as decisively as it redraws the law will depend not only on fines and enforcement, but on whether consumers like Alemu and the vendors who serve them are given practical, affordable alternatives to carry their daily bread home.

An environmental economist who requested anonymity said Ethiopia’s plastic ban is less an environmental gesture than a stress test of state capacity in a largely informal economy.

Although the rationale is defensible that plastic waste contributes to flooding, urban decay and rising municipal costs, the policy’s long-term impact will depend on how evenly it is enforced and how well its economic consequences are managed. He argued the law risks that the implementation  will fall hardest on small traders while larger producers adjust or evade scrutiny.

“The ban risks reinforcing regulatory distrust rather than environmental discipline,” he argued.

He added Plastic production supports jobs and supply chains while banning it without financing, standards and transition support risks displacement including illegal supply.  

He said that without better waste collection, recycling and credible standards for alternatives, gains will be limited and may simply shift pollution elsewhere.

Handled strategically, however, the ban could catalyse domestic innovation, formalise parts of the waste economy and support a circular-economy transition. Its success will ultimately be judged not by ambition, but by whether it changes incentives, for producers, consumers and the state alike.

“Prohibition without transition support invites evasion, not reform,” the expert concluded.