By Ali Haji Warsame

The metaphorical phrase “we are going back to 1991” has become common in the country’s political discourse, often used in contrast to the current situation for various reasons. Many people do not fully understand the implications of this phrase, especially those whose lives were profoundly affected by the events of 1991. Tens of thousands of Somalis were either killed or injured, their properties were looted or misappropriated, and they were forced to flee their country. Thousands of women and girls were raped, sometimes in front of their families. This mistreatment was not a result of any wrongdoing but occurred solely because they belonged to certain clans, a circumstance beyond their control. Those of us old enough to witness the events in the country remain traumatized today and never wish to witness the same situation anew.

In early 1987, I was working in the Jirdeh Hussein building in downtown Mogadishu, where my company’s office was located. Kenya Airways occupied the ground floor, while several other businesses, including ours, operated from the first and second floors. The company, MAM and Bros LLC, was co-owned by Mohamed Ali Mohamoud and his brothers. Mohamed was a shrewd businessman, a capable leader, and an exceptional mentor. He introduced me to the rhythms of office life, trained me in the use of the Telex machine for commercial and international communications, and taught me how to write concise, effective notes. He was not only the best manager I ever had, but also the one who had the greatest impact on my professional development.

After completing my first two and a half years at the SIDAM Institute (Somali Institute of Development Administration and Management), our classes were transferred to afternoon and evening classes. It was a policy at the institute to allow us to work on the first half of the day, and that policy continued for the last one and a half years before the graduation on 5^th November 1990. This adjustment was made due to the high demand for accountants then, particularly for government institutions like Somali Airlines, national and commercial banks, and the state insurance company (Caymiska). The institute itself, as the name implies, was primarily established to produce qualified and competent administrators and bookkeepers. While most of my colleagues opted to work for these large institutions, I chose to join the private sector and became a Junior Accountant at MAM and Brothers Company LLC on 01 January 1987, while I was still attending university.

Our manager, Mr. Mohamed Ali, was an entrepreneur, politician, and business tycoon. He was also a member of the Manifesto group, the first organised opposition group in Somalia, a significant political event before the beginning of the civil war. He was among the signatories of the first Manifesto declaration, along with many prominent political figures and businessmen worried about the country’s direction and the republic’s future. He used to entrust me with many matters of great concern since I was the office administrator and accountant. For him, I was a tested and trusted person.

I recall one particular incident when Mohamed asked me to deliver important documents to Colonel Jama Ali Jama, a fellow member of the Manifesto Group who also occupied an office on the second floor of our building. I never opened or looked through the documents, but I was certain they were related to the group’s political activities at the time. I was earning 15,000 Somali shillings—a respectable salary in those days.

In comparison, most of my peers working in government positions earned significantly less, unless they supplemented their income through secondary sources, which was a common practice back then.

Mogadishu was becoming an increasingly dangerous place for the opposition, and the Manifesto group were systematically targeted. I do remember at least one time when our Manager went into hiding out of fear of being arrested. During his absence, we continued working as usual, with his brother Abdullahi taking on his responsibilities. Mobile phones were unknown in those days, and even desk phones were not commonly available. Fortunately, we did have one in our office. The company used telex or cable as fax machines for international correspondence, as office PCs were unknown then. These days, direct correspondence and postal services were the norm.

As the political and economic situation in the country deteriorated, security almost collapsed. The opposition armed forces commenced operating at night in Mogadishu, and daily killings became common. Public debates started to service and opposition groups organised meetings and issued proclamations while the armed groups controlled many parts of the city at night. The cost of living was soaring, and the purchasing power of the Somali shilling was rapidly declining, losing value. During this time, I received another job opportunity with better pay and prospects, almost double my current income.

As I had secured that position, I tendered my resignation to my manager, Mohamed Ali Mohamoud. He politely requested to meet me at the end of the day. Once all the employees had left and we were alone in the office, he asked me if I had received another job offer.

I said yes.
He asked me directly: how much did they offer to you? I told him the figure.  
He said: Is there any other reason for my resignation except for a pay rise?  
I said no.

He took a pen from his desk and wrote down almost ten times my salary. At first glance, I didn’t believe what I was seeing. He understood my surprise and immediately confirmed the figure as accurate, and then he threw the resignation letter aside. For the first time in two years, the management has recognised my value to the company, and I left the office with a strong sense of self-confidence and pride.

One day, while we were all in the office discussing the worsening security situation in Mogadishu and how to continue working under such conditions, a heated debate broke out between our manager, Mohamed Ali, and his younger brother, Abdullahi. Mohamed argued that the root cause of the crisis was the incumbent president, Mohamed Siad Barre, and his divisive tactics of pitting clans against one another. He accused the president of pursuing a policy of divide and rule, which included targeted assassinations carried out by government forces.

Mohamed believed that once the president was removed from power, the uncertainty would quickly dissipate, allowing a new government to emerge and the country to return to normalcy. He further suggested that mobilising clans across every region and district against the regime was essential to accelerating the president’s departure.

Abdullah dismissed the notion that Said Barre is the sole problem and the only evil in the room. He emphasized that Somalis are deeply divided and incredibly fragmented, which would make it difficult to form a functioning government after Said Barre’s supposed fall. Using tribal cards, as the regime did, will further complicate things, and without agreement between the different clans, there would be a conflict over power once the government collapses. Instead, Abdullahi suggested that the priority should be to internally unite the clans and then address and deal with the regime. The discussion was intense, with each side trying to persuade the other of the logic behind its position.

Mohamed got upset about these remarks and silenced his brother for being a political novice. The atmosphere became tense, and It looked like the air was sucked out of the room. They both fell silent for a while. The heated debate slowly faded away and evaporated. I was inclined to Abdullahi, and his argument resonated with me, but I could not dare to challenge my manager.  We left the office in a hurry and headed home. The only car available at that time was the manager’s new Toyota Hilux pickup.

As we were crossing the Wardhigley district on our way to the Geedka-jaceylka area, we heard the noise of gunfire, and we decided to reverse and turn back to the office and then made our way to Hawlwadaag District via the monument of Sayidka. It was an early warning sign that things were taking a dangerous turn to where no one was willing to see. Days and nights passed slowly as the country descended into complete lawlessness. The situation was spiralling out of control, and the dialogue was non-existent.

As we were crossing the Wardhigley district on our way to the Geedka-Jaceylka area, the sudden crackle of gunfire rang out. Alarmed, we quickly turned back and retraced our steps to the office before rerouting through the Sayidka Monument toward the Hawlwadaag District. It was a clear early warning, an ominous sign that the situation was taking a dangerously irreversible turn, but only a few were willing to fully acknowledge. Time seemed to slow as days and nights blurred together, marked by fear and uncertainty. The country was descending into complete lawlessness. Order had collapsed, dialogue had vanished, and chaos had taken hold.

As the crisis in Somalia deepened, European embassies began evacuating their citizens, showing little concern for the plight of the Somali people. Even the Americans, seemingly unshaken by the country’s sudden descent into chaos, stood ready to withdraw at a moment’s notice. By late 1989 and early 1990, we were witnessing a dramatic and irreversible shift in the country’s overall situation.

At the same time, neighbouring Ethiopia was undergoing a similar upheaval, with TPLF forces advancing toward Addis Ababa. Yet international engagement in Ethiopia’s crisis was markedly more robust. Western countries made genuine efforts to prevent escalation and restore order. Ethiopia, it seemed, had friends across the world—Somalia did not. Even regional allies, such as the Arab League and the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), remained notably silent and inactive. Somalia was, in simple terms, left to face its fate alone.

By early January 1991, as the government collapsed and the city unraveled, daily life in Mogadishu ground to a halt. We could no longer go to work or move freely through the streets. The United Somali Congress (USC) forces and their supporters were gaining control, while the government rapidly lost ground. Indiscriminate gunfire claimed the lives of many innocent civilians, and the bodies of the dead lay abandoned at major intersections. At the time, I was living in the Labo-Dhagax area, where we were effectively confined to our homes. As the violence worsened and daily survival became more difficult, we joined the rest of our family and relocated to the Madina area—a district farther from the city centre and considered relatively safer.

Ali Haji Warsame MA; MBA, CPA
Email: ali.warsame@hiilinstitute.org

————

Ali is the Executive Director – Hiil Institute and former Puntland Minister of Education