By Abdullahi A. Nor

In Mogadishu, a familiar and corrosive pattern is resurfacing—one that has haunted Somalia’s political journey for decades. Faced with the immovable reality of constitutional term limits, President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud is reportedly not turning inward, to his people or to Somali institutions, but outward quietly seeking reassurance and backing from foreign capitals. Whispers of outreach to Nairobi and Addis Ababa have stirred deep unease. The reported rebuffs from Kenya and Ethiopia are revealing, though not reassuring. They reflect neither a principled defense of Somali democracy nor solidarity with its people, but a cold, transactional calculation of national interests.

Yet within this moment of rejection lies a rare clarity: Somalia’s political destiny will be decided by Somalis, in Somali forums—or it will not be decided at all.

This is not a new mistake. It is a relapse.

To understand the depth of the cynicism now on display, Somalis need only to look back to 2016. During his re-election campaign, President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud openly courted the then TPLF-led government in Ethiopia—a regime with a long and painful record of military intervention on Somali soil. His visit to Jigjiga, where he appeared to lend legitimacy to Ethiopian claims over Somali territory, cut deeply. For many Somalis, it felt like a betrayal of blood and memory. That strategy did not merely fail; it backfired spectacularly. Far from securing his position, foreign endorsement became a political poison pill, contributing directly to his defeat and reinforcing a hard lesson Somalis have learned time and again: no leader survives by outsourcing legitimacy.

What made that period even more destructive was how foreign interference seeped into the most sensitive fault lines of Somali society—clan identity. The now-infamous article by Abdeta Dribssa Beyene of Ethiopia’s CDRC think-tank, arguing that only a Hawiye could legitimately rule Somalia, was not academic analysis. It was an attempt to weaponize clan, to fracture national identity, and to present HSM not as a Somali president but as a clan candidate favored by an external power. The damage was compounded by the presence of figures like Gen. Gabre at political events—men whose names evoke memories of occupation and abuse. Their appearance alongside Somali politicians mocked the very idea of a sovereign ballot. The message was unmistakable: some believed Somali democracy could be curated from Addis Ababa.

But today’s crisis is not driven by foreign intrigue alone. It is inseparable from the corrosion at home.

Under President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s watch, allegations of family-run corruption have become impossible to ignore. State authority has increasingly blurred with private interest, as close relatives and trusted insiders have reportedly exerted influence over public contracts, land allocations, and financial decisions. Nowhere is this more devastatingly visible than in Mogadishu’s land scandal: the illegitimate sale of at least 104 prime public land plots, including land historically reserved for public institutions and communal use.

These transactions were not abstract acts of corruption. They tore through real communities. Entire neighborhoods were displaced, often violently, creating hundreds of thousands of new internally displaced persons pushed into the outskirts of Mogadishu and surrounding villages. Families who had survived decades of war found themselves uprooted once again—this time not by militias, but by paperwork, forged titles, and the quiet collusion of power. A government that cannot protect its citizens from dispossession forfeits the moral authority to rule them.

It is against this backdrop—foreign courtship abroad and dispossession at home—that the enduring significance of Kismayo stands out like a moral compass. From the painful reconciliation efforts of the 1990s civil war to the December 2025 opposition council that brought together leaders from Puntland, Jubaland, and the full spectrum of Somali opposition, Kismayo has symbolized something rare and precious: Somali-led dialogue. Its recent agenda—focused on unified electoral committees, constitutionalism, and resistance to unchecked centralization—offers the only credible path forward. It is slow. It is difficult. And it is legitimate.

Seen through this lens, President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s reported outreach to Nairobi and Addis Ababa is not just a tactical blunder. It is a profound failure of vision. It disregards the resilience of a people who have endured state collapse, foreign intervention, land dispossession, and endless betrayal—yet still insist on dignity. It insults the fragile institutions Somalis are struggling, against all odds, to build.

Mr. President, whether you remain in office or leave it will not be decided in foreign ministries or hotel corridors abroad. It will be decided by the Somali people, in Somali political spaces, under Somali law. Our crisis is captured in an old Somali proverb: The disease that affects the horses—if you treat the donkey instead, you will never reach the cure. When the root of a problem is misidentified, every solution becomes misguided.

The disease is our chronic dependence on powerful foreign “horses,” whose interests inevitably infect our body politic. The donkey we burn is the convenient scapegoat—rival clans, political opponents, even the constitution itself—while the real illness remains untouched: corruption, impunity, and the capture of the state by private and family interests.

The cool responses from Kenya and Ethiopia should not drive us to despair. They should awaken us. They are a final warning that the old model has failed. The cure for Somalia’s political sickness will not come from external validation. It will come from the hard, honorable work Somalis have always known how to do when given the chance: talking to one another, respecting their own constitution, protecting public assets, and building institutions rooted in consent, not coercion.

Somalia’s future must be written by Somali hands. If it is not, then it will not be a future at all.

Abdullahi A. Nor
Email: abdulahinor231@gmail.com