Echoes of 1990 in Mogadishu Stadium
In July 1990, in the twilight months of Siyaad Barre's faltering junta, ugly scenes descended on a football match at Mogadishu Stadium. Crowds, furious at the state of the nation and the patent lies being told that day-- including that one of the teams hailed from devastated Bur'o in northwest Somalia— began to hurl stones towards the president, before his forces opened fire indiscriminately on the crowd, killing dozens. Last Thursday, discontent again bubbled over in the rebuilt stadium during government celebrations at a Teachers' Day event attended by President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud and a coterie of senior government individuals.
Organised by the Education Ministry, the 65,000-seater stadium was packed with government staff, teachers, and students bused in from across the capital. On the face of it, the day was to celebrate Somalia's teachers and academic institutions, so often either under attack or control by Al-Shabaab, as well as the varied Islamist movements that dominate the education system in Somalia today. But in scenes reminiscent of July 1990 —though far less bloody —sections of the crowd began protesting midway through Hassan Sheikh's keynote address, tearing up seats and chanting anti-Villa Somalia slogans, including "we don't want 'Hassan the Thief'." Security forces subsequently intervened to 'restore order', firing live ammunition to disperse the seething crowd, injuring at least one person in the melee and forcing the president to halt his address. Thankfully, no one has been reported killed, with the potential for misjudgment and escalation exceptionally high in such a scenario.
Before the disruption, Hassan Sheikh's speech had sought to reassert his professorial credentials as an educator, as well as his beleaguered government's support for the education sector. Referring to Somali teachers as the "backbone of national progress," he stated that the "most valuable people in this nation are the Somali teacher and the Somali soldier." And he again laid down his claim that "10,000 teachers" were to be recruited, of which 6,000 had been hired and positioned across the country. Leaving aside the corrupt morass that remains the Somali National Army, the nation's education system is in similarly dire straits, not helped by the meddling in academia and education by the president's Damul Jadiid cabal. Rather than an ascendant sector, the education system in Somalia is a hodge-podge of Al-Shabaab-run schools, Gulf-funded madrasas, and a range of tenously state-administered institutions - most of which are run by Federal Member State governments rather than the federal Education Ministry. There are a host of other issues as well, not least the gulf in access and quality for girls, with only an estimated 25% of primary-school-aged girls attending formal schooling in 2022, which drops even further at the secondary level.
While Villa Somalia —along with rewriting the Provisional Constitution —has repeatedly placed education at the top of its agenda, the rationale behind it is decidedly far from altruistic. Since returning to power in May 2022, Hassan Sheikh and his right-hand man, Education Minister Farah Abdulkadir, have systematically eroded and dismantled the few remaining independent academic institutions within Somalia. This is a decades-long project for Abdulkadir, one of the preeminent ideologues who spearheaded the Islamisation of Somalia's curricula, instrumentalising funding pouring in from the Gulf from the late 1990s onwards into developmental and education-focused organisations. And over the years, co-education of genders, instruction in Somali, and folklore stories have been steadily eroded, simultaneously undermining the once-extensive practice of the tolerant, traditional Sufi Orders.
At the same time, Abdulkadir and Hassan Sheikh have persistently elevated generations of Islamist leaders trained at SIMAD University, founded by the incumbent president in 1999. But not content with installing loyalists throughout the civil service, Hassan Sheikh also removed Professor Osman Mohamed Mohamud as the rector of Somali National University in September, installing Mohamed Mohamud Mohamed in his place. Somali National University was one of the last remaining bastions of independent academic thought in Somalia, untethered to the country's arrayed Islamist movements. Existing in an uneasy cohabitation with the Muslim Brotherhood-dominated government, the Salafist Al-I'tisaam movement continues to exercise disproportionate influence across madrasas, mosques and universities across the Somali-speaking Horn of Africa. In turn, the amorphous Salafist movement-- the ideological twin and competitor of Al-Shabaab-- has played a prominent role in the retreat of Sufism over the years.
Notwithstanding the Islamist capture of education in Somalia, the chaotic scenes in the stadium underscored the deep unpopularity of this government as well. In Mogadishu, the profiteering Villa Somalia has burnt through a massive amount of goodwill this year by displacing tens of thousands of people from disused public land to be auctioned off. Though Hassan Sheikh and Abdulkadir might like to claim that the education budget has been tripled, so too have several schools in the capital been demolished, reportedly to make way for new commercial developments. And it goes without saying that the federal government's budget remains nearly wholly funded by external sources and foreign largesse, rather than domestic revenue mobilisation. Only a handful of teachers in Hirshabelle are actually paid for with domestic resources, for instance.
Meanwhile, successive rallies in Mogadishu against these forced displacements have been met with heavy-handed violence from government security forces, including one demonstration just last week that resulted in the death of a civilian protester. Senior Hawiye opposition figures, such as ex-President Sheikh Sherif Sheikh Ahmed, have sought to tap into this discontent, mobilising their own supporters and forces onto the streets to put pressure on the government. Fears of a 'Badbaado Qaran 2.0'—the popular uprising that forced Mohamed Abdullahi Farmaajo back to the negotiating table in 2021—are rife within Villa Somalia.
Nearly all governments, democratic, autocratic or the many shades in between, amplify their successes and diminish their failings, but this federal government has clung to a 'Somalia Rising' narrative divorced from reality. Venal officials unerringly claim that the defeat of Al-Shabaab is just around the corner, and that the imminent one-person, one-vote (OPOV) elections in Mogadishu will be a genuine contest. And the insistence that education has never been better in Somalia clearly stuck in the craw of the youth at the Mogadishu Stadium, over three decades on from the casuistry and oppression of the Barre regime. Then, as now, Mogadishu's incessant spin doctoring has made it nigh-impossible to trust any government narrative—and the public may have finally had enough.
The Somali Wire 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
Tomorrow, 4 December, marks the 31st anniversary of the UN Security Council (UNSC) adopting Resolution 954, which set 31 March 1995 as the deadline for the final withdrawal of UN forces under the United Nations Operation in Somalia II (UNOSOM II). It was a sobering end to the calamitous military intervention in Somalia, with nearly every element of the sprawling, unenforceable mandate left unfulfilled. Flash forward three decades, and the future of today's regional military intervention in Somalia is now in severe doubt, with funding for the African Union Support and Stabilisation Mission in Somalia (AUSSOM) still unsourced and Al-Shabaab ascendant on the eve of 2026.
After well over two years of calamitous war, Ethiopia has appeared to have quietly broken from its 'independence' on Sudan's internationalised conflict. In recent weeks, satellite imagery has confirmed suspicions that an Emirati military training base is being developed in Ethiopia's western Benishangul-Gumuz region in the Mengi district. Rather than the Ethiopian military, however, the facility is believed to be intended to house Rapid Support Forces (RSF) fighters, the rampaging paramilitary forces in the Sudan war drawn from Darfur. And so, Ethiopia appears to be now willingly-- most likely at the behest of the UAE-- drawn into the morass of competing interests within the region and Gulf that is tearing apart Sudan.
On social media, videos and images of jubilant Jubaland Daraawiish forces celebrating have circulated of late, alongside claims that they were recorded in Jamaame town in Lower Juba. Somali news outlets have similarly declared that Jubaland troops-- backed by Danab special forces-- are now closing in on the town, one of the principal headquarters of Al-Shabaab in southern Somalia. With the broader security auspices across south-central Somalia remaining so grim, it has been gratefully seized upon as some progress against an ascendant Al-Shabaab. Yet much of this is just noise, obscuring the nature of the Kismaayo-directed security operations and airstrikes that have been ongoing since early September in Lower Juba.
In late September, Somaliland's coast guard intercepted a dhow ferrying contraband off the coast of Berbera, arresting two Somali nationals and three Yemenis in the process. But rather than the usual trafficking of arms or migrants through the Gulf of Aden, their cargo was instead 11 cheetah cubs seemingly destined for the Middle East. The animals had been packed into potato sacks, with two of the endangered species dying within 24 hours of being rescued. Tragically, the rescue of these cheetahs-- now in the care of the Cheetah Conservation Fund (CCF)-- was no anomaly, but rather part of a much broader wildlife trafficking crisis.
The past weeks have seen a glut of international attention on Sudan. First, the gruesome and long-anticipated fall of El Fasher in North Darfur to the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) at the end of October, precipitating, as all anticipated, reports of the most egregious human rights violations, including widespread massacres. At the same time, the renewed push for a ceasefire between the paramilitaries and the Sudanese army is generating widespread speculation that —for the first time since a few brief hours at the outbreak of the war in April 2023 —there may just be a window of opportunity to ease the suffering.
Today, Sudan's war represents the crux of a destructive schism in the Middle East that is playing out in the Horn of Africa, a geopolitical wrestle between principally the Emirates on one side and Saudi Arabia and Egypt on the other. But it is far from the first-- nor likely to be the last-- division within the Gulf that refracts across the Red Sea.
Last week, a dozen historical artefacts collected in the 1920s by then-German envoy to Ethiopia, Franz Weiss, were handed over to the Institute of Ethiopian Studies at Addis Ababa University in a grand ceremony. Among the restituted collection are several items of cultural and historical significance, including two ceremonial crowns, alongside shields and paintings. Hailing their return and pledging to continue seeking the retrieval of other consequential artefacts, Addis's Tourism Minister Selamawit Kassa stated that the objects would be accessible to the public and for academic study, calling it a "milestone in safeguarding Ethiopia's cultural heritage."
In July 1990, in the twilight months of Siyaad Barre's faltering junta, ugly scenes descended on a football match at Mogadishu Stadium. Crowds, furious at the state of the nation and the patent lies being told that day-- including that one of the teams hailed from devastated Bur'o in northwest Somalia— began to hurl stones towards the president, before his forces opened fire indiscriminately on the crowd, killing dozens. Last Thursday, discontent again bubbled over in the rebuilt stadium during government celebrations at a Teachers' Day event attended by President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud and a coterie of senior government individuals.
Ports matter on the Somali peninsula. More than any other single revenue source, they serve as the lifeblood of the administrations in Hargeisa, Garowe, Mogadishu, and Kismaayo. In the unravelling of the state in the early 1990s, administrations coalesced—and fighting raged—over control of the four ports of Berbera, Bosaaso, Mogadishu, and Kismaayo, establishing the radically uncentralised nature that persists in Somalia's political economy today. But three decades on, who accesses and operates these aortic ports reflects and refracts another of today's defining issues for the Horn of Africa: the rapacious geostrategic tussle among Middle Eastern countries along both sides of the Red Sea.