September 29, 2025

Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats. The house lights are dimming on Somalia’s most enduring production, a theatrical masterpiece in its fifth encore: The Election. The script is cat-eared, the actors are reciting lines from a decade ago, and the audience knows every beat by heart. Yet, the show must go on, meticulously stage-managed by the Damul Jadid crew, who have at least invested in some new, distracting scenery.

Center stage, the Federal Parliament performs its signature act. This esteemed body has perfected the art of the rubber stamp to such a degree that it could single-handedly solve the national liquidity crisis, if only its endorsements were legal tender. As its mandate wheezes to a close, the only anticipated explosions are the synthetic ones—carefully curated to divert attention from the crumbling set.

In the wings, the opposition is rehearsing its own tragicomic subplot. It’s a symphony of ambition without an orchestra, where leaders hold daily press conferences to passionately debate who should be the conductor. Their primary mobilization strategy appears to be the strategic deployment of press releases and the occasional heated argument with their own reflections. The public? They are not in the audience; they are just the backdrop.

Our leading men are in fine form:

Said Abdullahi Deni, who once envisioned a triumphant march into Villa Somalia, now watches his political capital evaporate faster than a puddle in the Mogadishu sun. His path to power has narrowed to a tightrope, and he’s balancing it over a pit of his own making.

The ever-mercurial Ahmed Madoobe continues his residency as the master gamesman of Jubaland. He plays a solitary game of cards, dealing from a deck only he can see. His strategy is a masterpiece of ambiguity: a bluff here, a strategic fold there, all designed to ensure that no matter who claims to win, the house—Madoobe’s house—always wins.

Then there is Somaliland, the perennial solo artist demanding a separate stage and a starring role in the international program. They’ve been hammering at the door of global recognition for so long, the only thing that’s splintered is the handle of their own hammer. With Laascaanood acting like shifting sands beneath their feet, their diplomacy has devolved into a hopeful monologue to an empty hall.

And let us not forget the SSC territories, the human chessboard in President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s grand strategy. They are the pawns pushed forward with bold declarations, waiting for a move that resembles a plan rather than a gambit. Their future is the subject of a high-stakes teashop bet, where the only certainty is that they won’t be holding the winnings.

So, the circus is in town. The same clowns, the same tired tricks, the same roar of the crowd that is really just a sigh of collective exhaustion. The true genius of this production is its funding model: the audience pays for the ticket with their children’s futures, and the run of the show is guaranteed, indefinitely.