Youth, Inequality, and Unrest in the Horn
Last week, Oxfam released a damning report detailing the scale of Kenya's wealth disparity, revealing that just 125 individuals control more wealth than 77% of the population-- 42.6 million people. The report, entitled 'Kenya's Inequality Crisis: The Great Economic Divide,' outlined that since 2015, those living on less than KES 130 a day had risen by 7 million, while the wealthiest 1% had captured nearly 40% of all new wealth created between 2019 and 2023. Such glaring inequalities are self-evident across much of Kenya, with gleaming new highrises jutting up against slums throughout Nairobi. But so too are these patterns of wealth inequalities reflected across the broader Horn of Africa, driving a surge in youth discontent that has bubbled over in Tanzania, Kenya, and Ethiopia.
In nearly every capital in the Horn today--barring the eviscerated Khartoum-- extreme wealth rubs up against extreme poverty, with rapid urbanisation and the youth bulges producing evermore insecure urban workers with limited social mobility. The political manifestations of this wealth divide are numerous and vary from nation to nation. In Kenya, it has been embodied in widespread protests and demands for fiscal justice, uniting both disillusioned middle-class youth and impoverished peri-urban underclasses. In Somalia, meanwhile, protests and grievances over the government's uprooting of displaced persons on public land this year have been fanned and preyed upon by Al-Shabaab. And so, such predatory, extractive, rent-seeking behaviour from governments is driving a heady cocktail of political foment across the region.
Elements of the broader financial climate are no fault of these elite, with their economies still weathering the painful after-effects of the Covid-19 pandemic and remaining on the sharp end of global market fluctuations. And with much of the national economies falling into the informal sphere, an inability of African governments to reach or tax their populations has led to cyclical debt and borrowing, trapping them in an unproductive cycle of mild growth and significant busts. Kenya's debt servicing now consumes 68% of tax revenues – double the rate it was in 2017 – while Djibouti's external debt has surged past 70% of GDP, and Ethiopia's ratio has climbed alongside currency devaluation. Even so, those with access to levers of economic change have repeatedly failed to prioritise economic transformation or social mobility, preferring to invest in their personal financial futures.
Much of this narrow band of elite from Uganda to Eritrea to South Sudan is ageing as well, contrasting against their overwhelmingly youthful populations. Africa has the largest youth population of any continent, with almost 60% under 25, and with the working-age population of Sub-Saharan Africa set to expand by over 600 million in the next 25 years. In theory, such an age gap could yield a demographic dividend in which working adults vastly outnumber dependents. But this relies on the conducive political-economic conditions for a labour force to acquire the necessary skills and find productive employment, which currently feels a tall ask in the highly personalised and insecure political economies of Somalia, Ethiopia, Eritrea, South Sudan, and the now-collapsed Sudan. And while none are perhaps as advanced in age as Paul Barthélemy Biya, the 92-year-old Cameroonian president, several are in their 70s, with succession crises looming in the not-too-distant future.
In Ethiopia, between two and three million youth are entering the labour market each year —but with much of the economically productive regions of Oromia, Amhara, and Tigray still riven by conflict and insecurity, there are few opportunities here. Indeed, many of those who have taken up arms with the Fano insurgency in the Amhara region are disenchanted urban youth as well as farmers furious with the lack of fertiliser provision. To the south in Kenya, only a fraction of new entrants-- between 5 and 10%-- secure formal work, while the remainder join an informal sector that absorbs nearly 85% of the labour force. These dynamics further accentuate the migration from the region, with many tens of thousands leaving each nation for Europe and the Gulf, aspiring to send remittances to their families back home.
And while young men and women are increasingly struggling to find steady employment, corruption amongst the national elite has soared-- supercharged by the clandestine financing from the Gulf that sustains these regimes' intricate patron-client networks. Corruption has long been endemic in the political economies and marketplaces of the region, yet infrastructure in Ethiopia and Tanzania was nevertheless produced. Today, though, in Ethiopia, particularly, the transformation of not only elite graft into 'corruption without production', but with active disintegration of the state apparatus, should be of immense concern. On the most extreme end of the spectrum is South Sudan, of course, where Salva Kiir's cabal has stripped the country of much of its worth, consolidating wealth into the hands of a privileged few at the centre. With the country in such painful disarray, it is arguably ripe for revolution, with around 9 million people out of 12.7 million requiring humanitarian assistance this year, yet it stumbles on, with the theatrics of Juba's court continuing apace. Here, the social contract of taxation in exchange for service delivery and political representation has long since collapsed.
But so is the region's inequality reflected spatially as well, with the capitals of Nairobi, Addis, Juba, and Mogadishu all sucking investment to the core. Despite the outsized importance of these capitals, the Horn remains a predominantly rural society — just 27% of its population is urbanised — which has not translated into proportional investment in infrastructure or service delivery. Rapid urbanisation is also being exacerbated by the climate crisis, with devastating droughts and floods displacing whole communities to the peripheries of towns and cities.
With Djibouti, Somalia, Ethiopia, South Sudan, Uganda and Kenya all supposedly headed to the ballot in 2026/27, these elections will no doubt serve as an acid test of the growing inequalities in each country and the legitimacy of the ruling elite. Rising young populations and the failure of the state to deliver basic services have forged a combustible mix if their grievances are not adequately addressed-- and there is little indication that they will be.
More probable is a circling of the wagons, reaching out to the Gulf for patronage and a securitisation of the state apparatus that will surely accentuate the fracturing of these political settlements. Even so, one might still hope that the Horn's youthful, entrepreneurial populations could be better harnessed, transformed into engines of economic growth and democratic innovation. But for that to happen, there must be genuine political and economic reform; otherwise, this demographic dividend risks becoming a demographic time bomb.
The Horn Edition Team
Gain unlimited access to all our Editorials. Unlock Full Access to Our Expert Editorials — Trusted Insights, Unlimited Reading.
Create your Sahan account LoginUnlock lifetime access to all our Premium editorial content
Apathy pervades the Djiboutian population. A week tomorrow, on April 10, the country will head to the polls, with President Ismaïl Omar Guelleh seeking a 6th— essentially uncontested — term in office. With his coronation inevitable, his family's dynastic rule over this rentier city-state will be extended once more. But in a region wracked by armed conflict and geopolitical contestation, the ageing Guelleh's capacity to manage the familial, ethnic, and regional fractures within and without grows ever more complicated. And Djibouti's apparent stability is no product of institutional strength, but rather an increasingly fractious balance of external rents and coercive control-- underpinned by geopolitical relevance.
In early 1987, the commander of the Sudanese People's Liberation Army/Movement (SPLA/M), John Garang, is reported to have issued a radio order, instructing his field officers to gather children to be dispatched to Ethiopia for military training. Garang's command conveyed the rebels' institutionalisation of a well-established practice of child soldiering; a dynamic that has been reproduced by virtually every major armed actor in Sudan-- and later South Sudan-- since independence. Today, as war has continued to ravage and metastasise across Sudan, few communities and children have been left untouched by the ruinous violence.
The history of the contemporary Horn of Africa is littered with abandoned and abrogated peace agreements-- as well as a handful of successes. A petri dish (or Pandora's box) of issues related to sovereignty, inter- and intra-state conflict, and the nature of the state itself, the region has also been a laboratory for numerous forms of peacemaking and dealmaking. Yet in such a fractured regional order, 'peace' and 'conflict' should not be considered binaries, but rather as part of a sliding scale, where civilians may be targeted during the active fighting in South Sudan or suffer as part of a 'negative peace' in Tigray. Today, with predatory peace in South Sudan, Sudan, and perhaps now Tigray, having given way to renewed violence on a broad scale, what is the nature and future of peacemaking in the Horn of Africa?
Once on the US-designated terrorist sanctions list, it is unsurprisingly rather difficult to come off it. And with the US designating the 'Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood' as terrorists, elements of Khartoum's military government may now have the dubious honour of being on it twice. First time out in 1993, Khartoum was deemed a US State Sponsor of Terror in the wake of a raft of jihadist plots linked to the Islamist authorities in Sudan. Nearly three decades later, and only after Sudan's partial ascension to the Abraham Accords, the title and punishing sanctions were lifted for the civilian-military transitional government. Today, though the warring Sudan is no longer home to an Osama bin Laden or Carlos the Jackal, a US labelling of 'terrorist' has returned to Khartoum.
At the end of February, Ethiopian PM Abiy Ahmed departed on a rather unusual visit to Baku, Azerbaijan. Slated as a meeting between two emerging powers, a focus on trade and investment frameworks was particularly emphasised by Foreign Minister Gedion Timotheos. More importantly, of course, was the signing of a comprehensive defence agreement by the two countries on 27 February. Spanning drone technology, armoured vehicles, artillery shell production, and air defence, the new agreement builds upon a framework from November 2025, which also included reference to refurbishing T-72 tanks, electronic warfare, and military-industrial manufacturing. Though war has not yet returned to Tigray as many feared, Abiy's vision of a militarised domestic —and regional —posture no doubt requires more hardware.
Earlier this month, dozens of heads of state and government gathered in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, for the 39th Ordinary Session of the Assembly of the African Union (AU). The theme of this summit prioritised water security and sanitation, discussing various ways to address these issues amid the unrelenting climate crisis. A worthy subject, no doubt, but the geopolitical backdrop of the summit remains unremittingly grim. Taking place in Addis —amid war looking ever more likely in Tigray —the gathering of leaders again served to uncomfortably emphasise the decline of the AU.
The Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in Sudan, the Puntland Maritime Police Force in Somalia, or the Liyu Police in Ethiopia are far from isolated curiosities or aberrations of the modern security state in the Horn of Africa. Quite the opposite; each example of these 'paramilitary groups' are part of a longer tale, a reflection of the persistent outsourcing and politicisation of violence in the region. With no state historically able to exercise a monopoly of force, paramilitaries and parallel security structures have routinely sprung from the elite to mediate their authority, 'coup-proof' their regimes, and to deliberately fragment coercive power. But historical variation within and between the litany of paramilitary forces in the Horn is vast, spanning a wide breadth of political aims and ambitions, territories, armaments, and compositions. And yet, the results are often decidedly mixed, as perhaps best evidenced by the destruction of Sudan's ongoing war.
One merely has to drive a few miles down the sweltering tarmac road past the town of Isiolo to encounter the Kenyan army. Small Kenyan Defence Forces (KDF) checkpoints and outposts litter these roads and others, playing several roles in Kenya's arid and semi-arid lands (ASALs) regions. Principal among them is, of course, interdicting the drips and drabs of Al-Shabaab militants infiltrating in small numbers from Somalia. But another prevalent role of past years – particularly since the 2020-2023 drought and ensuing intercommunal violence—has been the army's role in subduing the occurrence of pastoralist-based climate-accentuated conflict.
Dead men do not just walk in Juba — they can now be appointed to election task forces. In one of the most bizarre stories in recent memory, Salva Kiir's government selected Steward Sorobo Budia last week for a new task force comprised of signatories to South Sudan's long-collapsed 2018 peace agreement. Three days later, the president's office was forced to admit that Hon. Sorobo—a former politician from a negligible party —had died 6 years prior, making him unable to serve on the farcical "Leadership Body of the Parties Signatory to the R-ARCSS for Dialogue on Election-Related Matters."