Horn’s Competing Stories

The Horn of Africa is shaped not only by armies and ports but also by the stories leaders tell. Some narratives cross borders, others ignore them, and only one insists on them.

Somaliland has always tied its legitimacy to colonial treaties (1884–85) and independence in 1960. The genocide of the late 1980s is documented as proof of why the union with Somalia collapsed. Somaliland alone defends colonial borders as the foundation of its statehood.

By contrast, Djibouti advanced Xeer Ciise to UNESCO as cross-border heritage stretching into Djibouti, Ethiopia, and Somalia. Zeila was symbolically claimed even though it lies in Somaliland. Here, identity is projected as larger than borders.

Somalia’s federal politics thrive on integration narratives, linking communities across Ethiopia, Somalia, and Kenya. These strategies cross colonial lines naturally, aligning with Addis or Mogadishu whenever it strengthens their role.

Ethiopia under Abiy Ahmed has placed sea access at the heart of its national strategy. His government declared that Ethiopia’s survival is tied to the Red Sea, and the 2024 MoU with Somaliland for Berbera was his boldest step toward that goal. The move unsettled Djibouti and Mogadishu, threatening their political weight, so Abiy balanced it by co-signing the Xeer Ciise nomination to UNESCO — a cultural concession designed to calm neighbors while keeping Berbera in play. For Abiy, heritage is a tool, but the true objective remains the coastline.

Mogadishu’s government co-signed the Xeer Ciise file to assert symbolic sovereignty: Somalia, not Somaliland, speaks for Zeila. This was a quiet rejection of Somaliland’s independent voice.

Eritrea plays the role of regional broker, supporting Ethiopia and Somalia against Somaliland’s independence while keeping itself central in Red Sea security.

At the same time, ideological and pro-Islamist movements use the borderless identity of the Horn to push their own vision of unity. By rejecting colonial frontiers and framing legitimacy through religion rather than treaties, they directly undermine Somaliland’s border-based case for recognition.

Everyone else is rewriting or ignoring borders — through culture, integration, ideology, sea access, sovereignty claims, or regional unity. Only Somaliland stands firm on colonial treaties and borders as the foundation of its survival.

📎 UNESCO’s official entry on Xeer Ciise:

🔗 https://ich.unesco.org/en/RL/xeer-ciise-oral-customary-laws-of-somali-issa-communities-in-ethiopia-djibouti-and-somalia-02087

Two Paths, One Decision: The Futures of Somaliland and Somalia After Recognition

The U.S. Congress is considering a bill to recognize Somaliland as an independent state. If passed, it would mark the most consequential diplomatic shift in the Horn of Africa since Eritrea’s independence. Such a decision would not only elevate Somaliland onto the international stage but also compel Mogadishu to face a dramatically altered political and diplomatic landscape.

For Somalia’s capital, two paths lie ahead. In the best case, Mogadishu accepts that Somaliland’s recognition cannot be reversed and redirects its energy toward strengthening federalism. By building genuine trust with Puntland, Jubbaland, and Southwest, it could prevent further unraveling. If paired with a decisive campaign against al-Shabaab—backed by international partners—this strategy could preserve foreign aid and sustain membership in the East African Community. The outcome would be a smaller but more functional Somali federation: less prestigious, but still intact.

The opposite path would be far bleaker. Refusing to acknowledge Somaliland’s new status could inflame nationalist anger while encouraging federal states to demand greater autonomy. Puntland and Jubbaland may set their sights on Somaliland’s precedent, while al-Shabaab would exploit the chaos to expand its ranks. In such a scenario, Mogadishu risks losing diplomatic credibility, sliding into deeper aid dependency, and shrinking into a city-state struggling to control even its own capital.

For Hargeisa, the stakes are equally high. A successful recognition by Washington could set off a domino effect, with allies such as the UK, Ethiopia, and Gulf states following. The Berbera Port would grow into a strategic trade and security hub for the Red Sea–Indian Ocean corridor. New investment could modernize infrastructure, fuel economic growth, and position Somaliland as a reliable Western partner in one of the world’s most contested regions. This would represent a historic breakthrough, with Somaliland emerging as a stable democracy anchoring regional security.

Yet recognition will not erase Somaliland’s internal and regional challenges. Political rivalries could resurface in places like Awdal or Sool, leaving space for external actors to stir unrest. Opposition from Mogadishu, the African Union, and China could slow wider acceptance. Heavy reliance on Washington might expose Somaliland to shifts in U.S. policy, while neighbors such as Djibouti could react with hostility to protect their own interests. In this scenario, Somaliland would hold formal recognition but face turbulence that blunts its early gains.

The most realistic outcome lies between these extremes. Mogadishu will resist recognition at first but eventually adapt under pressure from donors and partners, remaining symbolically important but losing its central role in regional politics. Somaliland, meanwhile, will secure recognition from Washington and a handful of strategic allies, gaining practical legitimacy while integrating slowly into global systems.

Recognition would redraw the Horn of Africa’s map in ways both capitals cannot avoid. Mogadishu would be forced into survival mode, redefining its authority within a weakened federation. Hargeisa, in contrast, would rise into strategic relevance—its challenge no longer about achieving recognition, but about managing it wisely.

Somaliland, Kenya, and Washington: A Strategic Realignment in East Africa

A Changing Landscape in U.S.–East Africa Relations

For decades, Washington’s most reliable partner in East Africa was Kenya. Nairobi hosted U.S. counterterrorism operations, received billions in aid, and in 2024 was elevated to the status of Major Non-NATO Ally—the first such designation in sub-Saharan Africa.[^3] Yet Kenya’s confidence has grown into something else: an almost dismissive tone toward its traditional patron, summarized in the Swahili street phrase “utado?” (“what will you do about it?”).

Meanwhile, in the north, Somaliland—a country that has waited three decades in diplomatic limbo—is suddenly moving to center stage.

Kenya’s Risk: From Indispensable to Replaceable

Kenya remains important for U.S. counterterrorism operations and peacekeeping contributions. But its new posture is increasingly transactional:

1. It is cultivating parallel relationships with China, Gulf states, and Russia.
2. Its internal legitimacy is under strain, with nationwide protests against economic hardship.
3. And critically, the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) is set to expire in September 2025, threatening mass layoffs in its export sector and undercutting its leverage with Washington.[^4]
   

If this trajectory continues, Nairobi risks being seen less as an indispensable partner and more as a replaceable one.

Somaliland’s Strategic Opening

By contrast, Somaliland has quietly built a track record that Washington cannot ignore:

1. Over 30 years of stability without extremist penetration.
2. Secular, democratic governance—free from Islamist or authoritarian influence.
3. Strategic assets in the Berbera Port and airstrip, ideally positioned for Red Sea and Indo-Pacific operations.
4. A clear pro-U.S. orientation, rejecting China’s overtures and aligning with Western policy on issues from counterterrorism to Taiwan.

President Abdirahman Mohamed Abdullahi recently declared that recognition is “on the horizon,” citing promising discussions with former President Trump and U.S. defense officials.[^1] Congressional initiatives such as the Somaliland Partnership Act and recent AFRICOM visits to Berbera suggest these words may not be empty.[^2]

Washington’s Dilemma

The U.S. cannot simply abandon Kenya. Its size, economy, and regional influence matter too much. But Somaliland offers what Nairobi increasingly withholds: unambiguous alignment.

Somalia attempted to complicate this by offering Washington exclusive control of Berbera’s facilities. Somaliland firmly rejected the idea, reinforcing its sovereign control over its territory and its determination to negotiate as a state—not a client.[^5]

Implications for U.S. Strategy

1. For Kenya: Its “agemate” posture risks eroding the privileged place it once enjoyed in U.S. policy.
2. For Somaliland: This is a rare window to convert three decades of stability into recognition or at least a formalized security and trade partnership.
3. For Washington: Balancing between Nairobi and Hargeisa may be the most pragmatic approach, but long-term strategic access likely lies in Somaliland.
   

Conclusion

East Africa’s geopolitics are shifting. Kenya, once the unquestioned anchor of U.S. engagement, is testing the patience of its most important ally. Somaliland, long ignored, is offering itself as the “safe bet”—stable, aligned, and strategically indispensable.

For the first time, Washington has a choice: continue betting on Nairobi’s increasingly complicated balancing act, or embrace Somaliland’s clear offer of partnership. The decision could shape U.S. influence in the Horn of Africa for decades to come.

References

[^1]: The Guardian, “Somaliland president says recognition of state ‘on the horizon’ following Trump talks,” May 30, 2025.

[^2]: U.S. Congress, Somaliland Partnership Act (2022); AFRICOM delegation reports.

[^3]: U.S. State Department, Kenya designated a Major Non-NATO Ally, May 2024.

[^4]: AP News, “Kenyans worry a US duty-free trade deal might end and expose them to Trump’s tariffs,” July 2025.

[^5]: Reuters, “Somalia offers US exclusive control of air bases, ports,” March 28, 2025.

Independence Interrupted: Somaliland’s Brief Sovereignty Before the Somali Union!

On 24 June 1960, The London Gazette published a formal proclamation by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II terminating British protection over the Somaliland Protectorate. It marked the end of colonial rule and affirmed Somaliland’s full sovereignty effective 26 June 1960—making it the first Somali-speaking territory to gain independence.

This declaration, signed under royal authority and published by the British government, is a foundational legal instrument in Somaliland’s modern claim to recognition. Despite its often-overlooked significance, it provides a clear precedent: Somaliland was once a fully sovereign state, and its status was acknowledged under international law.

“Now, therefore, We do hereby… proclaim and declare that… Our protection over the territories known as the Somaliland Protectorate shall cease…”

— The London Gazette, No. 42074, 24 June 1960

Legal Clarity on Sovereignty

The 1960 proclamation ended all treaties, agreements, and administrative authority between Britain and Somaliland. It confirmed that no foreign power retained jurisdiction, and that the Somaliland people now held the right to self-determination under international law.

Importantly, this proclamation predated the union with Somalia. That union, which occurred on 1 July 1960, was not based on any formal or ratified legal treaty. The two parts of Somalia—British Somaliland and Italian Somaliland—united hastily and under separate legislative acts. No unifying constitutional framework was in place at the time of union.

As a result, legal scholars and historical records have since described the merger as unconstitutional and politically improvised—a view that strengthens the argument for Somaliland’s right to withdraw from the union and restore its sovereign status.

Diplomatic Recognition and the Question of Continuity.

Upon gaining independence, Somaliland was recognized by over 30 countries, including the United Kingdom, Egypt, and the United States. This brief period of sovereign statehood is not symbolic—it is legally binding. Under international law, recognition of statehood is irreversible unless the state dissolves or is lawfully absorbed into another entity. Neither occurred in Somaliland’s case.

The voluntary union with Somalia failed to meet the requirements of legal merger. Instead, it ushered in a centralization process that led to authoritarian rule, marginalization, and ultimately civil war. In 1991, Somaliland unilaterally withdrew from the failed union, citing its original sovereign status and the lack of any binding agreement.

This act, framed not as secession but as reassertion of sovereignty, is rooted in the legal precedent established on 24 June 1960.

The Relevance Today

More than six decades later, Somaliland operates as a de facto state with defined borders, democratic institutions, a stable currency, a functional legal system, and independent foreign policy. Yet, it remains de jure unrecognized, largely due to African Union political sensitivities and outdated Cold War-era assumptions about borders.

However, the legal foundations remain intact. The 1960 British proclamation demonstrates that:

• Somaliland had legitimate international sovereignty before the union;
• The union lacked legal ratification, and was based on aspiration, not formal treaty;
• Withdrawal from that union is within Somaliland’s legal rights under international law.

In short, Somaliland does not need to justify its statehood—it simply needs the world to honor a legal reality that has existed since June 1960.

Conclusion.

As Somaliland continues its international outreach and campaigns for formal recognition, it does so not as a separatist movement, but as a sovereign state reasserting its independence—first recognized and documented by the British Crown itself.

The words written at the end of the London Gazette’s 1960 proclamation ring truer today than ever:

“God Save The Queen.”

And now, rightfully:

God Save Somaliland.

No Foreign Access Without Recognition — Berbera Is Somaliland’s Leverage

No Foreign Access Without Recognition — Berbera Is Somaliland’s Leverage.

As the Horn of Africa shifts under the weight of geopolitical competition, Somaliland finds itself once again at the center of strategic interest—this time from the world’s most powerful state. The recent visit by the U.S. Ambassador to Somalia, Richard Riley, and his full embassy team to Hargeisa was not an ordinary diplomatic courtesy. It was a signal. A sign that Washington is re-evaluating the rigid “One Somalia” doctrine that has long denied Somaliland its rightful place among nations.

With the U.S. openly reconsidering its policy and eyeing Berbera Port for future cooperation, Somaliland has an opportunity. But not all opportunities come without risk. And not all partnerships protect sovereignty.

Berbera is a valuable geopolitical asset. That is not in question. Its location on the Red Sea trade artery, its deepwater capacity, and its proximity to Ethiopia make it one of the most attractive logistics hubs on the African continent. But Somaliland must not confuse strategic value with political validation. Allowing foreign military or logistical access to Berbera without a clear path to formal recognition is a historic mistake in the making. If Somaliland opens its ports and airspace in exchange for vague promises or informal cooperation, it will be giving away its greatest bargaining chip—sovereignty by leverage—without gaining the legal status and international protections it has fought for over three decades to achieve.

The Kurdish Regional Government (KRG) in Iraq provides a cautionary tale. The U.S. and its allies have worked with the Kurds for years, offering weapons, training, and diplomatic engagement. But when the KRG held a peaceful referendum for independence in 2017, Washington turned its back, calling the vote “illegitimate” and siding with Baghdad. Despite decades of loyalty and strategic cooperation, the Kurds remained stateless partners—useful but unrecognized. Somaliland must not walk the same path.

As new diplomatic doors open, Somaliland’s leaders—both in government and opposition—must speak with one voice. No foreign military access or base rights should be negotiated unless they are tied to a formal recognition framework. Agreements must be made government-to-government—not via Mogadishu. The United States should be required to open a permanent diplomatic office in Hargeisa and refer to Somaliland as a distinct self-governing authority. Most importantly, any such agreements must go through parliamentary oversight and public scrutiny. Somaliland’s sovereignty is not a legacy project; it is a national trust.

What many observers also overlook is that Berbera is not just a port or an airfield. It is a rare terrestrial asset with future strategic value in the era of space and satellite infrastructure. Located near the equator, with low light pollution and expansive open atmosphere, Berbera holds immense potential for ground-based satellite operations—such as Earth observation downlinks, space telemetry, and data relay stations for low-Earth orbit networks. As space becomes the next frontier of geopolitical competition, Berbera’s relevance extends from the Red Sea to orbital highways. Somaliland must ensure that this asset is never surrendered without sovereign authority to govern its use, regulate its access, and share in its value.

The world may be shifting toward Somaliland, but the path to recognition must remain firm. Somaliland must never allow Berbera to become a transactional outpost for foreign powers while its people remain politically invisible. Partnership is welcome. Engagement is encouraged. But everything must be built on one foundational truth: Somaliland is not a region seeking autonomy. It is a nation reclaiming its rightful status among states.

Let Berbera be a symbol of strategic strength—not a shortcut to dependency. Let Somaliland’s negotiators remember: we control the gate, we define the terms, and our sovereignty is not for sale.

God protect Somaliland and guide its leaders with wisdom and courage.

We Didn’t Abandon the Union. We Were Never Truly Part of It.

When Somaliland entered into a voluntary union with Somalia in 1960, it brought to the table its own sovereignty, institutions, and international legitimacy. It expected partnership. What it received was marginalization.

Between 1960 and the collapse of the Somali state in 1991, more than $4.358 billion in development aid was poured into the Somali Republic. Of that, only 3.33%—around $145 million—was allocated to Somaliland. The rest—over 96%—went almost entirely to southern and central Somalia.

This isn’t just about finance—it’s about structural exclusion. Out of 145 major development projects funded by international institutions, nearly all were implemented in Mogadishu, Afgoi, Jowhar, Kismayo, and Baidoa. Somaliland was allocated only a fraction—token gestures rather than transformative investments.

These were not minor initiatives. They included power plants, sugar estates, dams, ports, telecommunications systems, road networks, universities, hospitals, aviation hubs, and broadcasting infrastructure. Somaliland, the north-west region of the country, was bypassed almost entirely.

A few scattered projects appear in the official records. Berbera Port Extension—never completed before the state collapsed. The Hargeysa–Borama Road. Cold storage facilities in Berbera, Burco, and Hargeysa. A modest upgrade to Hargeysa Airport. A livestock holding ground in Qolcaday. A fisheries training center. A few lines, while southern cities like Mogadishu alone received a national university, three power stations, four massive irrigation schemes, a sugar factory, a pharmaceutical laboratory, international port and airport expansions, full telecommunication systems, roads, housing, and more.

What makes this imbalance even harder to accept is the strategic role Somaliland played in attracting many of these foreign funds in the first place. During the Cold War, Berbera Port became Somalia’s premier bargaining chip. First the Soviets, then the Americans, established military and strategic infrastructure there. That leverage brought money to Somalia—but not to Berbera. Instead, it funded port developments in Kismayo and Bossaso, cities far from the source of the bargain.

Somaliland’s coastline helped build Somalia, but Somaliland itself was not built. The same applies to livestock exports. In the 1970s and 1980s, the vast majority of Somalia’s foreign currency came from livestock shipped through Berbera. And yet the roads, markets, schools, and national institutions built with that income were placed in the south.

No public university in the north. No central bank branches. No major highways. No power generation. Just 3.33%.

That number—3.33%—was not discovered yesterday. It was documented and preserved through the meticulous work of Abdillahi Oomaar Awale and later passed on to me by the late Ali Gulaid (Ali Marshal). May Allah grant them both eternal peace. Their efforts confirm what our elders always told us: that Somaliland was not an equal partner in the union. It was a province used for its strategic value, but denied equal investment, equal respect, and equal presence in the national agenda.

And that’s why this still matters. Because for many in the international community, the story of Somaliland’s reassertion of independence is reduced to conflict or emotion. But for us, it is also about economic justice and historical record.

For today’s generation, the case for Somaliland’s independence is no longer just historical—it is economic, institutional, and undeniably just.

We tried unity. We were peaceful. We were patient. But we were not included.

We didn’t abandon the union. We were never truly part of it.

The 1980 Files: Somaliland’s Oil Story Starts Here!

In June 1980, the World Bank quietly launched a project that would later become a hidden pillar in Somaliland’s case for sovereignty and resource ownership. A $6 million credit from the International Development Association (IDA)—a World Bank affiliate—was extended to Somalia. But buried in the fine print was a crucial fact: the only confirmed hydrocarbon deposits in the country were in the northern regions—today’s Republic of Somaliland.

This overlooked historical moment reveals more than just a financial transaction. It is a reminder that long before state collapse, civil war, and international indifference, the international community already understood the geological and strategic importance of Somaliland.

The funding supported a broad initiative to explore and legally prepare the country’s energy sector. According to the official World Bank press release dated June 12, 1980, “The assessment of oil-shale deposits in the Northern Regions will accelerate the development of Somalia’s only known hydrocarbon resource.” These regions included Berbera and the Daga Shabel Basin—both within present-day Somaliland. The program financed detailed geophysical surveys, training for the Ministry of Mineral and Water Resources, modernization of legal frameworks to attract foreign oil companies, and technical consultancy to support energy sector planning. By mid-1981, these northern tracts were expected to be opened to international bidding.

The accompanying World Bank geological report from the same year was unambiguous. Nearly 90% of Somalia’s territory was deemed to have limited petroleum potential, except for promising rift basins in the north. Berbera and the Daga Shabel Basin showed natural oil seeps near the surface. Coastal basins near the Gulf of Aden—entirely within Somaliland—were singled out as top prospects. The only hydrocarbon-rich zones confirmed through natural surface seeps and oil-shale assessment were centered in the north.

A World Bank map dated March 1980 visually confirms the focus on the north. It outlines proposed seismic survey areas, drilling zones, and road infrastructure to support petroleum development in Berbera and the Daga Shabel region. Marked with arrows and detailed routes, the map stands as an archival witness to how Somaliland was already recognized as the primary frontier of Somali energy exploration—long before political fragmentation.

Somaliland declared the restoration of its independence in 1991, after decades of marginalization and the collapse of the Somali Republic. While the world continues to debate its recognition, these 1980 documents reveal that international bodies like the World Bank treated Somaliland’s region as geologically and administratively distinct even under the Somali Republic. They provide legal and historical support for Somaliland’s claims over its mineral wealth. The records also show that the Berbera region has long been viewed as crucial to both energy and security interests.

In a region too often viewed through the lens of crisis and conflict, these 1980 World Bank documents offer a different story. They validate Somaliland’s claim to its land, its resources, and its right to self-determination—not through ideology, but through hard data, investment, and international planning. It’s time the world caught up with a reality it helped shape over four decades ago.

Documents referenced:

• World Bank IDA News Release No. 80/97 (June 12, 1980)
• “Hydrocarbon Geology and Status of Exploration” (World Bank Internal Report, 1980)
• World Bank Map: “Somalia Petroleum Exploration Promotion Project” (March 1980)

1798 and the Long Descent: How Napoleon’s Invasion Shattered the Muslim World!

When Napoleon Bonaparte landed in Egypt in 1798, he did more than defeat the Mamluks—he shattered the illusion of Islamic supremacy. His invasion exposed a harsh truth: the Muslim world, once a cradle of global power, had been overtaken in science, strategy, and statecraft. That moment marked the beginning of a painful and prolonged descent.

What followed was not a single military loss, but the dismantling of a civilization’s confidence—a collapse that played out over centuries in the form of colonial subjugation, intellectual retreat, and political fragmentation.

The Battle of the Pyramids was swift and humiliating. Napoleon’s troops, disciplined and modern, overwhelmed the outdated forces of the Mamluk elite. But the real blow was symbolic: the Islamic world was no longer in command of history—it had become its subject.

In the years that followed, European powers advanced relentlessly across Muslim territories:

• 1830: France invades Algeria
• 1857: Britain crushes the Indian Rebellion, ending the Mughal dynasty
• 1882: Britain occupies Egypt
• 1918: The Ottoman Empire is dismantled after WWI
• 1924: The Caliphate is abolished

The loss was not just territorial. It was the loss of sovereignty, identity, and historical agency.

Europe redrew borders, replaced laws, erased institutions, and replaced the language of revelation with the language of regulation. Muslim societies—once home to scholars, scientists, and empires—were reduced to colonial subjects, governed by others, their traditions mocked as backward, their religion politicized or ignored.

As occupation set in, Muslims around the world asked one question in many different forms:

“How did we fall so far?”

This gave rise to diverse responses:

• Modernizers argued the Islamic world needed to catch up with the West—through science, education, and reform.
• Revivalists called for a return to Islamic roots, arguing that only faith and unity could restore dignity.
• Militants emerged, believing only resistance—violent if necessary—could break the cycle of humiliation.

Figures like Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, Muhammad Abduh, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, Hassan al-Banna, and Sayyid Qutb represented these competing visions—modernist, secular, spiritual, revolutionary—all born from the same wound: the collapse of Muslim power in the modern world.

The 20th century brought new traumas:

The creation of Israel in 1948, the defeat of Arab armies in 1967, the failure of nationalism, and the rise of dictatorships propped up by foreign powers. Resources were extracted, uprisings crushed, and sovereignty became a fiction in many capitals.

By the early 2000s, new invasions—Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya—had turned parts of the Muslim world into testing grounds for foreign military experiments and ideological engineering. Extremism flourished not in strength, but in the vacuum of collapsed states, stolen futures, and broken governance.

And yet, history moves in cycles.

In the 21st century, signs of a new awakening are visible. Turkey is asserting itself as a regional power. The Gulf states are rethinking governance, education, and economics. Iran has built strategic influence, despite isolation. Across the globe, a new generation of Muslim youth is more educated, connected, and historically aware than ever before.

They are not asking for restoration of past glory—they are demanding a redefinition of power rooted in dignity, knowledge, and justice.

The descent that began in 1798 was real—but so too is the possibility of reversal.

To rise again, the Muslim world must do more than remember. It must rebuild—intellectually, institutionally, and morally. It must transcend outdated ideologies and forge a new path that learns from the past without being trapped by it.

This moment in history demands a new generation of leaders, scholars, and visionaries—ones who are not content with nostalgia or noise but who can build systems rooted in wisdom, equity, and sovereignty.

﴿ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ لَا يُغَيِّرُ مَا بِقَوْمٍ حَتَّىٰ يُغَيِّرُوا۟ مَا بِأَنفُسِهِمْ ﴾ — سورة الرعد ١١