By Ahmed A. Yusuf

Off Somalia’s coastline, the drillship Cagri Bey lowers its steel into the seabed with the kind of precision that belongs to functioning systems. Every movement is calculated, every variable measured. It is a controlled, disciplined operation—everything the Somali state, at this moment, is not.

The contrast is as stark as it is uncomfortable. Beneath the ocean floor lies the possibility of oil and long-term economic transformation. Above it sits a country that increasingly resembles a political vacuum—fractured, contested, and unable to agree on the most basic question of governance: who holds legitimate authority.

Somalia is formally a federal republic. In practice, it is a state struggling to assert coherence. It ranks among the most politically unstable and corrupt and countries in the world, where public institutions are routinely hollowed out and accountability is elusive. Its judiciary lacks the credibility and independence required to arbitrate disputes that matter, particularly those involving power and resources. Its constitutional framework, once the fragile glue holding the federation together is no longer a shared reference point but a source of open conflict.

At the center of this unraveling is Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, 40 days left of his mandate- whose second term has been defined by a consolidation of power that has come at the expense of the federal system itself. The attempt to rewrite the constitutional order without broad consultation has not merely triggered political disagreement; it has eroded the last semblance of consensus. For opposition groups and several Federal Member States, the Provisional Federal Constitution (PFCS) is not just a legal document—it is the only remaining legitimate framework. Anything outside it is viewed as unilateral imposition.

In stable countries, constitutional change is negotiated, often painstakingly. In Somalia, it is being driven from the center, against visible resistance. That resistance is no longer rhetorical. Puntland and Jubaland have severed ties with the Federal Government, effectively rejecting its authority. In South West State, the situation has crossed into something more volatile, with the removal of regional leadership widely perceived as enforced rather than negotiated.

The events in Baidoa marked a decisive shift. What unfolded was not merely a political transition but a demonstration of coercive power, one that reshaped perceptions across the country. Turkish-trained Elite forces and Turkish drones—assets initially justified within the framework of counterinsurgency against Al-Shabaab, were now seen as facilitating internal political outcomes. The implications of that perception are profound. Türkiye, once regarded as a relatively neutral partner focused on development and capacity-building, is increasingly viewed as aligned with the federal presidency. In a deeply fragmented political environment, neutrality is not a luxury—it is a prerequisite for legitimacy. Its erosion alters the entire equation.

And yet, it is within this context that Somalia’s oil exploration is advancing. The assumption underpinning the project is that technical success will translate into economic transformation. But oil projects do not operate in technical isolation. They are long-term political and legal commitments, dependent on stable governance structures, enforceable contracts, and broad-based legitimacy. Somalia currently offers none of these conditions in a unified form.

The central dilemma is deceptively simple: who has the authority to sign and guarantee oil contracts that will remain valid for decades? The federal government asserts that authority. Federal Member States contest it. Opposition actors reject the process altogether. This is not a procedural dispute—it is a structural deadlock. In such an environment, contracts become provisional, vulnerable to reversal by any future political settlement. This is precisely why major international oil companies such as BP or Chevron typically avoid jurisdictions where legal continuity cannot be assured.

Türkiye’s involvement partly explains why drilling has proceeded despite these risks. As a state actor operating through a government-to-government framework, it is more capable of absorbing political uncertainty than private firms bound by shareholder expectations and regulatory scrutiny. But this is not a solution; it is a postponement of the problem. Because even state-backed projects ultimately depend on conditions that cannot be engineered offshore: political acceptance, territorial consent, and institutional continuity.

On the other hand, Turkey has recently aligned itself more closely with President Hassan, supplying arms including drones, that many Somali citizens believe have been used not to combat the extremist group Al-Shabaab, but to advance the president’s ambition of extending his rule beyond his constitutional term.

The deeper issue is that oil, in Somalia’s current context, is not perceived as a neutral economic resource. It is increasingly viewed through the lens of power. In regions already distrustful of Mogadishu, the belief that oil agreements are tied to centralization—or enforced through coercion—transforms the project into a political instrument. Under such conditions, infrastructure becomes exposed. Pipelines, ports, and logistical networks require cooperation from local authorities and communities. Without it, they become targets of disruption, whether through political obstruction or direct sabotage.

Overlaying all of this is a persistent security threat. Al-Shabaab remains a capable insurgent force, able to exploit instability and project violence beyond its strongholds. Even if offshore operations remain insulated, the onshore ecosystem that supports them—personnel, supply chains, and export infrastructure—does not. Security costs alone can erode the economic viability of projects, particularly in volatile price environments.

The financial dimension adds another layer of fragility. Somalia’s fiscal stability is heavily dependent on external support, including from institutions such as the World Bank. That support is tied to governance benchmarks and political stability. Any perception of prolonged instability or absence of a credible political process risks triggering a reassessment. For a country attempting to position itself as a future energy producer, such signals carry disproportionate weight. Investors do not merely assess geology; they assess trajectory.

Technically, the pathway to oil remains straightforward. Exploration leads to appraisal, appraisal to development, development to production. In stable environments, this sequence unfolds over a decade and halve. In Somalia, the sequence is contingent on variables that remain unresolved. Each political rupture introduces delay; each contested decision increases uncertainty. The timeline does not stretch—it fragments.

The underlying assumption behind Somalia’s oil ambitions is that the state, however imperfect, will endure long enough to manage the resource. That assumption is no longer secure. What is unfolding is not a temporary political disagreement but a structural crisis of legitimacy, where competing authorities no longer recognize a shared framework.

Oil does not resolve such crises. It intensifies them.

If managed within a cohesive system, it can accelerate development and state-building. In a fractured environment, it becomes another axis of conflict—another resource to be contested, controlled, and politicized. Somalia is not the first country to face this dilemma, but it is entering it at a moment when its institutional foundations are particularly weak.

The Cagri Bey will complete its drilling. Data will be analyzed, and the subsurface reality will become clearer. There may well be commercially viable oil beneath Somali waters. But that discovery, if it comes, will not answer the more pressing question.

Whether Somalia can translate resource potential into national benefit depends not on what lies beneath the seabed, but on what exists above it. At present, what exists is a state that cannot agree on its own rules, a federation that no longer functions as one, and a political environment in which power is asserted rather than negotiated.

Drilling continues. The state, meanwhile, remains unresolved.

Ahmed A. Yusuf
Email: aayuusuf44@gmail.com