Tonight, Frontier University in Garowe, Puntland State, played host to a spectacle courtesy of the May Fakaraan Society. The main attraction was Faisal Roble, a Los Angeles–polished “urban planning” guru, flown in at great expense to lecture us on the gospel of asphalt, the sacrament of zoning codes, and the mystical virtues of public parks. Somalia, he declared in an imaginary PowerPoint certainty, must surrender to “modern urbanisation.” The hall, filled with eager converts, nodded, clapped, and scribbled in their notebooks as if transcribing divine revelation.

Yet, while Roble’s mental slides glowed with sterile visions of boulevards and roundabouts, a quieter, more profound reality was being paved over. The nomadic soul of Somalia—the camel herder guided by jingling bells and ancient stars—is being silently entombed beneath imported cement. The irony is a bitter pill, thicker than the smog over Mogadishu’s gridlock: a society that once mocked permanent walls now scrambles to build gated compounds; a people who once measured wealth in the strength of their herds now chase status in half-finished villas and the gleam of a Toyota V8.

What we call progress is not progress at all—it is a poorly staged parody. We have imported the worst excesses of the world: the cancerous sprawl of Los Angeles without its revenue, the hollow towers of Dubai without their plumbing technicians, the suffocating traffic of Nairobi without its resourceful matatus. And what of the true nomads? They are exiled to the margins, to IDP camps where they herd plastic bottles across dust-blown wastes, a tragic pantomime of their former dignity.

A more honest title for Faisal Roble’s lecture would have been: “From Camel Culture to Cement Culture: A Guide to Excavating a Nation’s Soul.” For what remains of Somali identity when the campfire tale is extinguished by generator hum? When the clan’s mobile parliament, once convened beneath a generous acacia, is replaced by the sterile bureaucracy of a municipal office? We are a people sustained by poetry and camel’s milk, yet we are raising a generation on imported soda, dodging open sewers that mock our aspirations.

The truth is, urban planning here has little to do with planning and everything to do with a deep, collective panic. It is the panic of an elite that mistakes concrete for civilization and fences for safety. It is the panic of a government that cannot manage a septic tank yet dreams of sketching skylines. It is the panic of a people who have traded timeless mobility for a 30-year mortgage, barter for predatory bank loans, and inherent dignity for the conditional charity of diaspora remittances.

Yes, cities will rise in Somalia. But if we pave over the nomadic spirit—the very bedrock of our adaptability and strength—we will not become an urban nation. We will become a nation of displaced souls in concrete labyrinths, a country that modernized its facade while selling its soul for scrap.

So we are left with the defining question: Will Somali urbanisation build a future, or merely pour a concrete grave for the last echo of the camel bell?

The Onion: Global Affairs Edition

Dateline: Mogadishu / Washington D.C. / The Green Zone of Reality

In a moving ceremony held securely within Mogadishu’s international airport—a bubble so secure most Somalis need a visa to enter their own capital—U.S. Ambassador Richard Riley stood before a handpicked group of Somali police officers and declared a resounding victory for… well, for something.

“I see before me a group of Somalis who are dedicated to the protection of their country and its people,” the Ambassador beamed, presumably reading from a teleprompter that carefully censored the words “unbalanced tribal militia,” “clan wars,” and “holistic approach”.

The new Crisis Response Team (CRT), a unit trained and equipped with a generous grant, is now officially certified to respond to terrorist attacks. This is a brilliant strategy, akin to funding an elite team of highly trained umbrella bearers to mop up water in a living room while politely ignoring the fact that the roof is on fire because you’re actively arming some of the residents to set fire to their neighbors’ sections.

The Clan-Tastic “National” Army

The cornerstone of this dazzling success is the international community’s unwavering commitment to building a “national” army. This involves a sophisticated, time-tested strategy: identify a few clans you can work with, give them guns, and call them the Somali National Army (SNA). What could possibly go wrong?

This approach is not without its critics. As recently as 2023, the Jubaland state government publicly accused federal actors of using the fight against Al-Shabaab as a pretext to arm clan militias for the purpose of destabilizing the regional state. A Jubaland minister warned that such a move was a “recipe for disaster,” hinting that “a more dangerous outfit was likely to emerge” from the attempt. But these concerns are clearly just the tedious complaints of local officials who don’t appreciate the elegant simplicity of international peacebuilding.

This policy brilliantly ignores the fact that Al-Shabaab itself, despite its claims to transcend clan politics, is deeply enmeshed in and manipulates these very dynamics. By adopting a similar strategy of co-opting some clans and alienating others, the internationally-backed government is essentially fighting fire with gasoline. The table below illustrates the chaotic genius of this approach.

Actor Stated Goal Satirical Reality (The “Clan-Blind” Strategy)
International Donors Build a unified, national security force. Fund and arm clan-based militias, creating parallel structures that undermine the very state they claim to build.
Federal Government of Somalia Extend its authority and defeat Al-Shabaab. Exploit clan rivalries for short-term military gains, risking long-term inter-clan conflict that could dwarf the current insurgency.
Al-Shabaab Establish an Islamic state that transcends clan. Masterfully exploit the grievances created by the government’s clan-based favoritism, using it as a powerful recruitment tool.

A Return to the Good Old Days (Of Civil War)

The ultimate satire is that this policy is not new; it’s a nostalgic revival of the conditions that led to the state’s collapse in 1991. By strengthening armed clan identities, the strategy expertly undermines the project of building a unified national identity. The fear among analysts is that a poorly managed campaign could simply plunge the country back into open clan-based fighting, but from the perspective of an arms dealer or a diplomat counting short-term “victories,” that’s a problem for a future funding cycle.

The real “Crisis Response Team” needed isn’t the one graduating in Mogadishu. It’s a team needed to respond to the crisis of a foreign policy that, in its desperate search for a simple solution, is actively reassembling the very bomb it claims to be defusing. But don’t worry, the diplomats are safe in their Green Zone, and the PowerPoint presentations showing declining Al-Shabaab attack statistics are absolutely stunning.

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This satire is based on analysis and reporting from sources including the Security Council Report, the European Union Agency for Asylum, the European Union Institute for Security Studies, and news reports detailing internal Somali politics.

From Eldoret to Villa Somalia

Take a watch this historic video:

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/16FnZEw4r4/

In the theater of statecraft, there are no accidents—only carefully crafted illusions of inevitability. The 2002 Somali Peace and National Reconciliation Conference, which began in Eldoret and concluded in Mbagathi, was presented as a forum of equals: a gathering of warlords, clan elders, and civil society under the auspices of IGAD. But for our circle within Abdullahi Yusuf’s camp—I served then as his Chief of Staff in the Puntland administration—the conference was not a dialogue. It was a stage. And we intended to ensure that when the curtain rose, Yusuf would be the lead actor.

The Stratagem: A Calculated Entrance

Our maneuver was elegant in its simplicity, devastating in its effect. We would orchestrate Abdullahi Yusuf’s entry into the main conference hall to occur moments before the arrival of the IGAD Heads of State. This was not left to chance; it was a precise operational detail.

The result was political theater at its most potent. As Yusuf entered, the room’s focus—the diplomats, the journalists, the collective anticipation—snapped to him. The energy shifted. Then, the IGAD leaders processed in, not as the main event, but as guests arriving at a reception already in full swing, hosted by the commanding figure of Abdullahi Yusuf. The intended hierarchy was instantly inverted.

The Payoff: A Narrative Seized

Diplomatic conferences run on rigid protocols, each handshake and introduction meant to reinforce a predetermined order. Our choreography shattered that order. Yusuf was not presented by others; he presented himself through the sheer force of timing and presence. The optics became an unassailable argument: here was a man who commanded the room not by force of arms, but by the authority of his bearing. Rival faction leaders watched, marginalized by a spectacle they had not anticipated. The international community witnessed a leader who looked the part.

The Strategic Imperative: Why Theater Matters

Eldoret was more than a peace talk; it was an attempt to conjure a state from the void of anarchy. IGAD and its international partners were not seeking the most powerful warlord; they were desperate for a credible head of state—a symbol of order. Legitimacy in a collapsed state is not merely about control; it is about perception. It is a performance that must be believed before it can be institutionalized. We understood that to win the presidency, Yusuf first had to perform the presidency. Eldoret was his audition, and he passed unequivocally.

The Legacy: From Stagecraft to Statecraft

The resonance of that single day in Eldoret defined the entire transition. As the talks moved to Mbagathi, Yusuf carried the aura of a frontrunner. Donors engaged him as the central player, IGAD mediators saw him as the anchor for stability, and Somali delegates, however reluctantly, began to orient their strategies around his perceived inevitability. His subsequent election as President of the Transitional Federal Government in Nairobi in 2004 was not a sudden victory but the logical culmination of a legitimacy narrative set in motion two years prior.

The Enduring Lesson

Cynics will call it manipulation. Strategists will recognize it as the essential art of political positioning. In moments of profound uncertainty, leadership is often decided not by who has the most compelling platform, but by who most effectively dramatizes their claim to power. We engineered that moment of drama. We understood that before a leader can govern a reality, he must first command the stage.

We wrote the script for Eldoret. And history played its part.

A single photograph can eclipse a thousand press releases. On one side of the table sits the American delegation—postures rigid, expressions guarded, every movement a study in controlled diplomacy. Theirs is a language of power spoken through closed folders and measured gestures, a performance where confidentiality is the ultimate currency.

Across from them, the delegation representing President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud presents a jarring contrast. Notebooks lie open, blue folders are strewn about, pens scratch away without restraint. It is not transparency on display, but vulnerability. The inner sanctum of Villa Somalia appears laid bare for foreign appraisal. More alarming than the lack of discretion is the delegation’s composition: it resembles not a cabinet of state professionals, but an assembly of kin, where bloodlines seemingly outweigh institutional credentials.

This visual chasm reveals the core of Somalia’s diplomatic disadvantage. The Americans arrive with a unified strategy; Mohamud arrives with a coterie of clansmen. One side operates behind a shield of disciplined secrecy; the other parades a casualness that borders on negligence. While Washington ensures no word is spoken out of turn, Mogadishu’s representation ensures that even our weaknesses are on the negotiating table.

This is the essence of our political stagnation. We face international power brokers who operate with the precision of a state machinery, while our leadership counters with the informality of a family council. Negotiations in such settings are not between equals. They are between a well-oiled institution and a gathering in government attire, pretending to statehood.

Somalia deserves a delegation that meets discretion with discretion, strategy with strategy, and national interest with unwavering resolve. We must demand a government that understands diplomacy is not a family affair, but the serious business of safeguarding sovereignty. Until then, we will continue to bargain away our future at tables where only one side knows the rules of the game.