WARSAME DIGITAL MEDIA (WDM) EDITORIAL
© WDM 2025
The Broken Runway of Promises
The business community of Galkayo has once again landed in Garowe—not for leisure, not for investment forums, but to remind Puntland’s leadership of something so basic, it should have been completed years ago: Abdullahi Yusuf International Airport. Once heralded as a symbol of Galkayo’s rebirth and Puntland’s progress, it now stands as a monument to deceit, dysfunction, and the failure of public policy.
These businessmen—many of whom flew in from Nairobi, Toronto, and Minneapolis—came not as beggars, but as citizens demanding accountability. They brought their own money, their own engineers, their own vision. What they need from Garowe is simple: political will. But in Deni’s Puntland, political will is a rare commodity, traded only for loyalty and kickbacks.
Deni’s Empty Terminal of Promises
President Said Abdullahi Deni has made a career out of launching projects that never take off. The so-called “modernization” of Galkayo’s airport was one of his flagship pledges—a project that appeared on countless speeches, campaign posters, and social media photo ops. Yet, most of Deni’s years on, the airport remains a construction site of political lies, where taxpayers’ hopes have been buried under layers of unfulfilled promises.
It’s not just Galkayo’s runway that’s dilapidated—the very foundation of public trust in Puntland’s institutions has cracked. The state can’t even define what “public-private partnership” means. There is no legislation, no transparency, and no functional mechanism to govern such cooperation. Everything happens behind closed doors, negotiated in whispers, and concluded with handshakes that exclude the public.
The Shadow Zone Called ‘Public-Private Partnership’
In functioning states, PPP (Public-Private Partnership) is a framework that defines who invests, who builds, who owns, and who benefits. In Puntland, it’s a gray zone—a convenient void where political elites can milk donors, delay progress, and silence business leaders with false promises.
Ask any investor: how does one invest in Puntland without being extorted, politically blackmailed, or left hanging in a maze of bureaucracy? The businessmen of Galkayo are not naïve—they have funded, Gara’ad Port, schools, hospitals, and infrastructure before. But now, they face a government that neither facilitates nor cooperates. Instead, it obstructs and controls, as if every development initiative threatens its monopoly over public resources.
The Ghost of Abdullahi Yusuf
The irony is heavy. The airport bears the name of Abdullahi Yusuf Ahmed—the founder of both Puntland State and the Second Somali Republic (the Federal Republic), who fought for Puntland’s autonomy and institutional discipline. He would be horrified to see his city’s airport turned into a political hostage. The late leader understood that development was about action, not speeches. Today’s Puntland leaders seem to understand the reverse: speeches without substance, and projects without progress.
Even Islaan Bashir Islaan Abdulle—normally a figure of moral restraint—was compelled to join the businessmen’s plea. When elders abandon neutrality to lobby for something as fundamental as an airport, it speaks volumes about institutional decay.
Galkayo’s Economic Artery at Risk
Galkayo is not a city of excuses—it’s a commercial artery connecting Somalia with the rest of the world. Every delay in its airport project bleeds the regional economy. Traders lose time, diaspora investors lose faith, and the youth lose opportunities. How long can Garowe play politics while the rest of Puntland stagnates?
This isn’t merely about an airport. It’s about whether Puntland’s leadership can govern, coordinate, and deliver. If Garowe continues to hoard decision-making power while neglecting the rest of the regions, it risks transforming Puntland into a hollow state—one capital city surrounded by frustration and distrust.
The Message from Galkayo: Enough
The message from Galkayo’s business community is clear and unambiguous:
“We are done waiting. We are ready to build.”
They came in good faith, with the intention to collaborate. If Garowe doesn’t respond this time, the people of Galkayo might simply take matters into their own hands—and who could blame them? Development delayed is development denied.
President Deni can no longer hide behind slogans of “reform” or “modernization.” The people are demanding results. Abdullahi Yusuf International Airport must either take off—or the Deni administration must land hard on the runway of accountability.
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WDM Verdict:
Puntland’s public-private partnerships are not partnerships at all—they are political traps. The Galkayo airport fiasco is not an isolated case; it is a mirror reflecting a deeper rot in Puntland’s governance culture. Until there is transparency, law, and respect for local initiative, every airport, road, or port project will remain grounded.
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© WDM 2025 | warsamedigitalmedia.com | “Talking Truth to Power in a Tribal Context”
(Edited and published under WDM Editorial Series: “Infrastructure of Deceit”)
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