A Satire by Warsame Policy & Media Network (WAPMEN)

In Somalia, there is a city living two lives—one of soaring ambition, the other of quiet desperation. Its name is Galkayo.

By day, Galkayo stands as a testament to Somali audacity. Its children, scattered across continents, have accomplished what governments draft in proposals and donors debate in conferences. They carved a deep-sea port from the rocky shores of Gara’ad—opening it in 2022—no permissions asked, no international aid requested. Now, they are rallying behind the Abdullahi Yusuf International Airport, with the business community reportedly proposing a $20 million investment—a bold statement that this city will not be left on the ground.

This is the Galkayo of cranes and wire transfers, of blueprints and belief. A city that proclaims: If the state will not come to us, we will become the state.

But when the sun sets, another Galkayo wakes.

This Galkayo is not measured in milestones, but in escapes. Its professionals, elders, and entrepreneurs slip away—sometimes with suitcases, often with only the clothes they wear—not because of drought or unemployment, but because of the silent, persistent terror of clan vendettas, the brutal cycle of “Aano” revenge killings that have claimed dozens of elite residents since 2022. Here, survival is the nightly agenda.

In this Galkayo, trash mounds rise like monuments to neglect. Rainwater, when it comes, has no plan but to flood—streets, homes, and hope alike—a direct result of a collapsed drainage system and municipal paralysis. Drainage exists in speeches. Public health is a rumor. The city decays without spectacle, eroding under apathy.

So we ask: What city builds an airport it cannot safely reach, where the key road link to Harfo is described as ‘one of the worst’ and remains stalled by political disputes? What logic builds a port to the world while its own neighborhoods drown in waste and fear?

This is not irony—it is civic schizophrenia.

Galkayo has perfected exporting dreams while importing disorder. Its diaspora funds monuments to tomorrow, while its politicians treat the city like a temporary settlement. Clan justice operates unchallenged—swifter than courts, deadlier than law, and more respected than any institution—in a documented vacuum of justice where promises of new police forces remain unfulfilled.

We speak always of “community resilience,” but never ask why resilience must do the work of government. We celebrate self-reliance, yet ignore why a city that can fund multimillion-dollar projects cannot broker a basic peace among its own or even collect the garbage.

The disconnect is no longer hidden—it is glaring, grotesque.

A city cannot be both a gateway to the world and a hostage to its own streets. You cannot court international flights while your citizens book one-way tickets out of fear. You cannot dredge an ocean for ships but not your own roads for rain. You cannot champion development while dismissing revenge killings as “tribal affairs.”

Galkayo must choose.

Will it be the city that builds—or the city that buries?

Because runways and ports do not make a home. Safety does. Dignity does. Law does. Without these, every poured foundation, every newly paved tarmac, will stand not as a symbol of progress—but as a tombstone for what Galkayo could have been.

A city reaching for the skies, yet unable to walk its own streets at night.

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Warsame Policy & Media Network (WAPMEN).