The Cheetah Pipeline
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.
Between 2010 and 2019, it was estimated that nearly 4,000 cheetahs or cheetah parts were passed through East African trafficking networks, with Somaliland one of the epicentres of the trade. So great has been the degradation of their habitats and poaching that just a couple of thousand are now believed to remain in the wilds of Ethiopia, northern Kenya, Somalia and Somaliland, with the International Union for Conservation of Nature listing the animal at risk of extinction. Despite some attempts within the Gulf to deter the outlawed practice, business continues to boom in the trading of the endangered species. And so, the CCF has estimated that each year, around 300 cubs are poached and smuggled to the Arabian Peninsula from the Horn-- with many of the fragile animals dying en route. Only a fraction of these smuggled cheetahs are intercepted in Somaliland, with another operation in August freeing 10 cubs as well.
Though cheetahs remain the preeminent trade, other endangered species are being routed through Somaliland as well, with over 1,100 exotic animals seized by authorities between 2015 and 2018. Most had been poached from Kenya and Ethiopia, being hauled in vegetable trucks through the mountainous Hariirad region in Awdal. And within Somaliland, dik-diks, eagles, antelopes, tortoises, and more besides have all been poached. From there, these illicit animals are often drugged and bagged, stored alongside legitimate cargo or with livestock before being moved out of the documented trafficking hubs at Lughaye, Zeyla, and Berbera. Eastern Sanaag as well remains a historic trafficking hotspot, as it does for arms and migrants-- tapped into and exploited by Al-Shabaab, Islamic State-Somalia, and increasingly the Yemen-based Houthi movement.
But notably, there is considerable variation between the nature of wildlife trafficking from Africa to Asia and to the Gulf. The extremely hierarchical ivory trade, for instance, is believed to be nearly wholly controlled by mostly Chinese and Vietnamese nationals accessing African transnational criminal syndicates, which have increasingly routed it through West Africa rather than Kenya or Tanzania. Cheetah trafficking, on the other hand, is believed to be less centralised, though these poachers similarly exist at the bottom of the food chain of smuggling and trafficking, only receiving a fraction of the many thousands of USD that these endangered species are flogged for in the Gulf. In Somaliland, there has been a distinct rise in the number of pastoralists poaching cheetahs, at times in response to the predator's killing of livestock to recoup some money as the climate crisis accentuates the frictions between humans and animals. Dwindling habitats and prolonged drought are forcing cheetahs into increasing relations with farming and pastoralist communities.
Cheetahs have long been sought after, the beauty and danger of the rare animal prized by a host of cultures. One ancient symbol of the animal on a Sumerian seal, for instance, dates from 3000 BC, with it depicted hooded and leashed. In ancient Egypt, the cheetah was believed to ferry the spirit of the pharaoh into the afterlife, and so artisans adorned sarcophagi with their images. And in the 16th century, the Indian Mogul Akbar the Great was believed to have kept over 9,000 cheetahs during his 50-year reign, though only a single litter was said to have been born in his vast menagerie. That a single litter was born from these thousands of cheetahs-- though perhaps an exaggeration-- is emblematic of another issue: cheetahs rarely breed in captivity, meaning the demand for the endangered species in the wild has remained high. And as Asian cheetah populations fell over two centuries, due to royal and colonial hunting and the expansion of farmed livestock by the early 1990s, the elite within India began to import cheetahs from the African continent.
Today, though, demand for the illegal pet trade has been predominantly driven by the Gulf, with social media supercharging interest in exotic pets as a status symbol. The explosion of petrodollar wealth in the region in the 20th century and beyond has cultivated a particular set of tastes and social mores within the Gulf, and it is not uncommon to see images of cheetah cubs being flaunted alongside luxury cars or at weddings. A breakthrough came in 2016 when the UAE outlawed private ownership of big cats, and Saudi Arabia followed in 2020, banning exotic pets and imposing heavy fines. Kuwait also tightened regulations after a high-profile conviction of a trafficker in 2018. But despite such legislation, cheetah cubs have been offered for sale on Instagram or WhatsApp groups. To some, it is perfectly emblematic of the broader perforation of Middle Eastern interests throughout the Horn of Africa, an extractive, destabilising presence.
Despite the vital work of CCF, Somaliland's absence from the state-based international order further complicates its ability to secure conservation funding. And—perhaps understandably— there remains a greater emphasis on halting the continual flow of weapons and contraband, as well as stemming piracy, across the Gulf of Aden. Urgent intervention, and more aggressive interdiction of trafficking rings and poaching is required, a complex endeavour to tackle the transnational nature of the crime and its intersection with the climate crisis, poverty and smuggling networks. And so, with hundreds of endangered species being rounded up year on year, the image of the haughty Acinonyx jubatus —one known and loved by many Somalilanders —may yet fade.
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.