By Abdullahi Said

It is not an exaggeration to argue that Somalia is one of the most misgoverned spaces on the planet. The very pretense of governance in Mogadishu is too thin. Put differently, there are reasons why labels such as “most corrupt country and failed state” have endured. There is evidence that this depressing image of Somalia exists.  As much as this image is dismal, the evidence for it is equally overwhelming. It is not an image that one can wave away and walk on.

In November 2019, my Somali passport expired, and I urgently needed to renew it for travel. As per the rules, I had to start the process from scratch. I went to the Benadir Regional Authorities office to obtain a birth certificate, which officially costs $15. However, they told me that if I pay an extra $10, I could receive it within an hour.  I rationalized this as not bribery but rather a service “tip” to accelerate workers’ effort.

The next day, I visited the CID to request a clearance letter, which cost $10 in total. Similar to the previous office, they asked me to pay an extra $10 for immediate service. I found this frustrating and initially refused to pay. Several people, including elderly women, encouraged me to pay this “catalyst money,” which clearly functions as bribery—prioritizing those who pay while discouraging others who follow official procedures. Ultimately, I decided to pay, convincing myself it was necessary.

The following day, I went to the Immigration office at 9:00 a.m., but security informed me I had to pay money or return the next day at 6:00 a.m. I decided to return the next morning. I came the next day and joined a long queue that lasted until 7:30 a.m. outside the immigration building. When I entered the offices, I filled out forms and submitted my documents. In the meantime, I requested to change my occupation from “student” to “researcher.” The officer asked for my ID card to verify this change; I provided it promptly. They copied my card and told me to return the next day for fingerprinting and photos.

In the following day, someone told me to go directly to the verification office—the heart of the bribery problem. The office was crowded, and about 20 passport applications were pending for verification. I put my case on the table, and they instructed me to go to the nearest court and verify my change of occupation! I explained that my change did not involve sensitive personal identity, but merely my occupation, and provided my ID card as proof. Despite this, the officer refused to respond and eventually offered me two options: accept the original data or go to court for verification. To avoid further complications and confrontations, I chose to keep my original information.

However, they ordered me to bring all certificates and letters justifying why, I, this time, applied for a passport. When I questioned the necessity of these documents, no response came. Growing increasingly desperate, I contacted friends and colleagues to find someone who could facilitate this process. One of my colleagues gave me the number of a woman in the office who could, in the process, offer a helping-hand. I telephoned and introduced myself to her and explained my desperate situation. She arrived within 5 minutes, reviewed my application, and immediately began work in the verification office. She came back within two minutes, connected me with another guy, and said, “follow this guy. He will help you.” The guy entered the office, gave me my signed documents back, and told me to pay $20! When I asked what that money was for. He answered that the lady informed him that you would pay 20 dollars! I called the lady again and asked what the money he requested of me was; she replied “You should pay it if you want to proceed with your application.”  Now, I negotiated the amount and ultimately paid. I completed the passport application, which costs around $200, including transportation for that week. And that was the last Somali passport I used.

The second encounter 

The second challenge I encountered in a public institution occurred in early 2026. I went to one of the Benadir district courts to obtain a marriage certificate for my sister. I brought all the required documents, including the sheikh’s name, the dowry details, and copies of the passports.

In the court, I met a judge, who referred me to an operator in his office and instructed me to deal with everything through him. I agreed and followed the operator to his office. After reviewing the documents, he confirmed that everything was right. He then asked me to pay $180, claiming it would cover all necessary fees, including court fees ($30), taxation fees ($31), Fee for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ($43) Fee for the Ministry of Justice, ($43) and for translation at Notaayo and ($20) and for the person handling the paperwork. After some negotiation, we agreed on $165, which I sent to his phone number. He confirmed receipt and asked me to return after three days.

Over the three days, he stopped answering my calls. I kept calling on the next day and even sent messages, but no response at all. A week passed, and I went to his office. I was informed by other staff members that he had been absent and not responding to calls.  An alternative, I looked for someone else who knew the Judge. Through this connection, I met the judge and explained the situation I found myself in. The judge acknowledged that he knew the operator and declared that many people had complained about him. When I asked why he was still allowed to work there, the judge laughed and gave no clear answer but he promised that he would follow up and update me later.

After a few days without progress, the judge suggested that I restart the process from the beginning to save time and promised to help recover my “stolen” money. As I returned to the court, I noticed several other people complaining about the same guy—some had lost even larger amounts, including one person who claimed to have lost $1,500. At that moment, I realized the seriousness of the rot and accepted that restarting the process was necessary.

This time, the judge connected me with a different staff member. She handled the process; she worked hard, although she caused some avoidable errors in the documents that led to paying extra money to correct and sign again.  I discovered that many of the fees that were previously mentioned by the officer were either incorrect or exaggerated. The total cost this time became significantly lower than $150.  In four weeks, I finally received the marriage certificate. However, the operator who had taken my money was still missing, and I initially considered that money as a bad debt.

Despite this conclusion, I decided not to give up. In the fifth week, I followed up again by calling the judge. He did not respond. I contacted other insiders, who informed me that the operator had returned to work. I immediately went to the court and found him in his office, and in good health.  He appeared shocked when he saw me again.  I approached him calmly. After Salaam, I inquired about his condition. He claimed he had been sick and promised to return the money within three days.

The deadline passed.  He again failed to fulfill his promise. At this point, I realized that he had no intention of refunding voluntarily. I decided to escalate the matter by involving contacts within the higher judiciary system. I informed two senior officials in the judiciary, who called the district court judge simultaneously, demanding an explanation about that case. Within an hour, the judge called me and assured me that I would receive my money as soon as possible, and it actually happened.

Although I finally received a refund, the experience raised serious concerns again. The judge seemed more interested in knowing who had helped me escalate the issue and who I am; he said ‘yarku yuu yahay?’  than in addressing the misconduct in his office.  I cannot definitively say the judge was directly involved in corruption; but it was clear that he was not committed to resolve or prevent such bad practice in his office.

The third encounter and the “end of hope!”

In April 2026, I tried to assist my uncle, a senior member of the Somali National Army (SNA). He was in critical condition and preparing to travel abroad for stomach surgery. He has served in the SNA since 1964. He already had all the required documents for the issuance of a service passport, including his expired passport, medical investigation reports, confirming the need for surgery, a formal request letter from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, instructing that an urgent service passport be issued, a supporting letter from the Ministry of Defense, and documentation from the SNA personnel office. All these documents clearly supported his urgent need for travel due to his medical condition.

We went to the Immigration office in the Shaqaalaha area and presented the documents. The officers were surprised to find the file complete and began processing it, preparing the necessary forms for signature. However, we were informed that we needed to go to the headquarter to meet senior directors, as only they had the authority to approve the next stage.cWe agreed to go to the headquarter. We went and sat in front of the senior director’s office. We waited for nearly six hours. Ultimately, we gained access to enter their office and we get signatures, and moved to the next stage, which was finger and photo capture, completing the process in the same day.

In the following day, we expected the passport to be issued. However, we were informed that the process had to go back again to a higher administrative level (top directors) for further approval! Failure of that, the process “would not reach the printing stage.” We met many staff members, but most said they could not assist further at this stage. Some indirectly suggested payment might be required to speed up the process.  Others mentioned shortages of passport cover pages, pointing out that only senior directors could help authorize the printing. We asked for clarification on payment procedures and received unclear answers. Ultimately, we were unable to move forward, and the issue of “limited-service passport cover” became a major barrier that stopped the process entirely.

Meanwhile, my uncle’s health continued to worsen. He phoned me on daily bases, worrying about his deteriorating health. I shared with him my previous experience in 2019, in which I faced similar difficulties applying for an ordinary passport, and how that discouraged me until I decided not to renew my Somali passport again. He asked whether he could consider an alternative option to obtain a more reliable passport in the future. I advised him to remain patient, assuring him that we would continue trying everything possible. He accepted but asked me to inform him within 2 days if there was no progress so that he could plan accordingly.

Two days later, one of my workmates connected me with a senior official at the Immigration headquarter office. I met him. I recognized him since we had met several times before in different conferences. Because of that connection, he agreed to help me with this rigorous process as much as he could.cOn the spot, he contacted the printing department guy and inquired about the availability of service passport cover pages. They confirmed that only a very limited number were available. He then requested that this passport be prioritized, emphasizing the patient’s age, illness, and the waiting time.cWith his intervention, the printing team finally approved, and the passport was issued within two hours.

This experience reflects deeper challenges within the system, including inefficiency, unclear procedures for vulnerable people, and perceptions of unequal access. It highlights how staff in the office adapted to that bad practice and accepted it as the norm.  It is simply overwhelming evidence that speaks to the impossibility of receiving any government service through normal procedures, like other countries. The institutions and employees at work are loyal to the top man rather than to the rules.

In Somalia, corruption has become a symbol of our country, and that is why we are ranked lowest in the world transparency list in every year. Nowhere is this virus more vividly captured than in the Somali poetry itself. Sayid Mohamed Abdulle Hassan, described as the “greatest user of the Somali literature,” composed the following verse over a century aga, ‘ Musuq maasuq Soomaali waa meheradeedii,’ loosely translated as “among the Somalis, corruption has become a trademark.” This trademark defines governance in Somalia more than ever before. If the Somali belief that poetry is a form of revelation holds any truth, Sayid’s verse is prophetic. As if authenticating Sayid’s poetic prophesy, another poet observed:  Gartu eexda kuuguma tagtee, taagtu waa lacage,   Goortaad maxkamaddaha tagtaad, tacajabaysaaye.

Roughly translated as: Nepotism delivers no verdict and the ultimate weight of arguments lie in bribery You would be astonished if you go to the court!

True to these poetic observations, “you would be astonished,” if you go to any public office in Somalia for service. In other words, corruption is a pervasive hallmark among Somali officeholders at all levels, disappointing citizens to the point of renouncing the country itself!

By Abdullahi Said,
Email: abdullahilarane@gmail.com
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Abdullahi, is researcher based in Mogadishu.