Welcome to Puntland—once the bedrock of a fragile Somali federation, now a mirage built not on sand but on collective fiction. The state that once prided itself as the first pillar of the federal experiment has quietly misplaced its founding objectives somewhere between donor conference buffets and expired project memoranda.
Its “institutions” stand like archaeological ruins: a labyrinth of abandoned aid projects gathering dust; pillars made of yellowing, unsigned reports; and a civil service populated not by public servants but by specters. Not the noble shades of heroic ancestors—no, these are the infamous Ghost Government Workers: apparitions with payroll numbers, invisible desks, non-existent job descriptions, and salaries that vanish into private pockets faster than a minister signs a new “capacity-building MoU.”
Here, the only thing growing faster than corruption is the headcount of non-existent employees. The public sector has become an open marketplace where ghost-hiring is a profitable side hustle, budget discipline is a myth, and foreign donors unknowingly sponsor entire cemeteries of phantom staff. Meanwhile, leaders are too busy auditioning for the role of Villa Somalia Tenant-in-Waiting to notice the institutional rot hollowing out the very state they claim to defend.
Puntland’s civil service is less an institution than a graveyard of temporary solutions, each tombstone engraved with a donor’s logo. Ministries materialize overnight, bloom like mushrooms in the rainy season of foreign aid, and just as quickly wither when the funding dries up and the international gaze shifts to a new crisis. In this cycle, the very concepts of a local budget, sustainable planning, or a functioning Civil Service Commission are not just neglected; they are treated as mythical concepts, as elusive as the Ark of the Covenant.
The Spectral Economy: An Industry of Ghosts
The “ghost worker” is no longer a scandal in Puntland; it is the cornerstone of a parallel economy. This is a fully realized phantom civil service, a shadow government whose HR department is run on nepotism, political patronage, and the discreet negotiations held in Garowe’s tea shops after dark.
The system thrives on duplication and invention.
One qualified accountant in the Finance Ministry?The solution is not efficiency, but proliferation: hire six “assistant auditors,” four “regional fiscal coordinators,” and three “inter-ministerial liaison officers.” None have ever seen a government ledger, but all are paid. On time. Every month. Their existence is managed by a select priesthood of payroll clerks who perform the miracles that keep the ghosts on the books.
· State-building? A rhetorical question.
· State-draining? The primary industry.
· Sustainable governance? A fantasy.
· Sustainable corruption? Puntland’s most resilient native product.
The Fiscal Fantasy: Budgeting Without a Budget
Puntland’s fiscal strategy is a masterclass in dependency, a four-act play performed for an audience of international donors:
1. The Appeal: Lament a crisis of legitimacy and capacity.
2. The Absorption: Spend the incoming funds with maximal opacity.
3. The Exhaustion: Test the donor’s patience until warnings are issued.
4. The Repentance: Launch a new “reform initiative” to appeal to their conscience.
Rinse and repeat.
The radical notion that local revenue could fund public institutions is dismissed not as impractical, but as heretical—a dangerous Western idea that threatens the delicate ecosystem of graft and dependency.
The Absentee Landlords: Leadership Focused on Mogadishu
While Puntland’s bureaucratic house crumbles, its landlords are perpetually away, gazing longingly at Villa Somalia. Puntland has perfected aspirational governance, where the state is not an end to be served, but a steppingstone to be used.
Why bother fixing a broken ministry in Garowe when you can draft a speech about fixing the entire nation from Mogadishu? Why deliver services to your constituents when you can campaign for a grander title? Every official, from director-general to “acting consultant,” maintains two resumes: one for the job they neglect, and one for the office they covet in the next government.
The central, unifying political question in Puntland is not “How do we improve this?” but “Maxaa laga helaa Villa Somalia?”—What’s in it for me in Mogadishu?
The Collapse in Slow Motion: A Union Sealed with Donor Duct Tape
The Puntland “State of the Union” is a tragic farce: a government without governance, institutions without integrity, workers without work, and leaders without a trace of shame.
The few real civil servants—the skeletal crew that keeps the lights on—are drowning in a sea of meaningless paperwork, implementing policies designed only for progress reports, and maintaining programs already slated for termination. They are the living, struggling in a kingdom of the dead.
Meanwhile, the ghosts multiply. The donors grow weary. The leaders campaign. The public despairs. And the entire phantom republic quietly collapses under the weight of its own fiction.
The Final Diagnosis
Puntland’s ailment is not a poverty of resources, but a poverty of seriousness.
A state cannot be built on spectral employees, donor whims, and the presidential ambitions of its caretakers. It cannot survive when its institutions are retirement schemes for the connected, its projects are photo-opportunities, and its payroll is a ledger of the damned.
The people of Puntland deserve a government that exists in daylight. Somalia deserves a partner that is functional, not fictional. The very idea of governance demands more than this elaborate charade.
Until then, the haunted house remains open for business, and the ghosts continue to collect their pay.
Warsame Policy & Media Network (WAPMEN) 