Sunday April 17, 2022
On the eve of Ramadan at the start of this month, the epic
Waaheen market at the centre of Hargeisa, the capital of Somaliland, caught
fire. The flames engulfed the entire market and took 12 hours to put out. There
were no fatalities—it was Friday, the holy day of prayer for Muslims, and the
market was closed—but the market no longer exists. Around 5,000 small
businesses were impacted, with damages estimated at $2 billion so far.
For a country that legally speaking doesn’t exist in the
eyes of the rest of the world—despite Somaliland existing independently of
Somali for over 25 years—it’s a big financial hit for this former British
protectorate that scrapes by on a tiny GDP. Stuck in political limbo,
Somaliland struggles to access international funds that could assist with
relief efforts.
‘The blow to the economy is the most severe in decades,’
Robleh Mohamud Raghe and Sulakha A. Hassan write in the weekly African
newspaper the Continent. They argue that the economic damage represents 20 per
cent of Somaliland’s GDP.
Somaliland was a British protectorate until 1960, when it
united with the Italian colony of Somalia to the south to form the independent
Republic of Somalia. But the union was undermined by disagreements and a
perceived policy of neglect by the south that led to decades of struggle. It
culminated in full civil war throughout the 1980s, during which much of
Hargeisa was levelled by bombs. When dictator Siad Barre was forced from power
in 1991, Somaliland broke away to declare itself a self-governing nation. Its
bold gambit has never been officially recognised by the darlings of the
international community.
I used to go to Somaliland all the time when I was working
next door in Ethiopia. I would always stay amid the lovely worn glamour of the
Oriental—replete with worn red carpets and pink walls—the city’s oldest hotel.
Also, not only was it $15 a night—what a bargain—it was right next to the
action of the market.
The market was a true labyrinthine warren. Amid passionate
haggling in rapid-fire Somali, pyramids of colourful fruits and vegetables
crowded beside stalls selling everything from famous brand-name perfumes and
shampoos—possibly not all originals, admittedly—to household objects,
electronics, shoes, clothes and fabrics. Over half of the traders at the market
were women, including those clutching a machete beside hunks of raw meat laid
out for purchase beneath the buzzing flies.
I always felt a surprising and incongruous sense of feeling
at home in Hargeisa. It might have had something to do with how locals in
Muslim dress would gather at 4 pm in the Oriental's covered inner courtyard, a
kind of modern caravanserai, for the afternoon tea service. I’d join them for
tea and a slice of cake served by female staff—not one of the stainless steel
tea pots still had a lid attached by the hinge—covered in brightly coloured
Somali robes, intricate henna tattoos weaving across hands and up arms.
Walking around the city, I would regularly be approached by
Somalilanders who'd ask me, often with a sharp East London accent, why on earth
I had come. Somaliland doesn’t get many visitors—not being recognised as an
official country isn't good for tourism.
‘What brings you here, mate? Good to see ya!’ proclaimed one
returned diaspora man, leaning out of his car window as I walked past a road
junction.
Even in blisteringly hot Berbera on the coast you could find
a faint British pulse. The building that once housed the British governor and
staff when Berbera served as the capital of British Somaliland from 1888 to
1941 just about still stands. Like much of Berbera’s once handsome
architecture, it is crumbling. Next to an enormous livestock pen to supply the
ships departing for Middle Eastern customers, I found a ruined cemetery dotted
with the broken headstones of young army captains who succumbed to illness.
Because of its unique situation, Somaliland has carved out a
distinct identify and had to develop its own particular boot-strap way of doing
things. Despite being a religiously conservative Muslim country—sharia law is
included in the constitution, and all women cover their hair in public—within
sight of Hargeisa’s myriad mosques are boisterous stalls selling khat, the
plant whose shiny green leaves act as a mild stimulant when chewed. By
mid-afternoon, and between the mosques’ daily calls to prayer, streets are full
of men chewing away in search of mirqaan, the Somali word for the euphoric buzz
the leaves can give. It all gives the place an aura of louche decadence, at
odds with stuffy stereotypes associated with Islamic countries.
Ever since Somaliland broke away from Somalia, it has stood
out as a peaceful outlier in the volatile Horn of Africa. I was often told that
one of the main reasons the country is so peaceful compared to Somalia is due
to its links with the more pragmatic and phlegmatic Brits compared to the
legacy left by passionate and volatile Italians.
Despite their smiles and charm, Somalilanders, not
surprisingly, take umbrage at their non-existent status in the eyes of the
international community. They also highlight how they have built a functioning,
democratic society from the scraps of civil war with scant outside assistance.
‘It seems that when you are doing things peacefully and
helping yourself, then no one cares about you,’ Ayanle Salad Deria, the acting
Somaliland ambassador to Ethiopia, told me about the international community’s
apparent approach to his country’s situation.
Economic growth and development are key to peace and
security, and there are fears that the economic knock inflicted by the market’s
demise could undermine all of that. Somalilanders are used to suffering and
having to build from the ground up following destruction. Let’s hope they get a
bit more recognition and help this time.
A crowd funding campaign is being spearheaded by four-time
Olympic gold medal winner Mo Farah, whose grandfather was born in Somaliland
during its protectorate days. There is also #RebuildHargeisa, an initiative to
mobilise both Somalilanders and the international community to respond to the
gutting of Hargeisa.
‘Together, the people of Somaliland and like-minded friends
around the world can rebuild Hargeisa from the ashes,’ Raghe and Hassan
conclude hopefully. Let’s hope they are right.
WRITTEN BY James Jeffrey
James Jeffrey spent nine years in the British Army before
becoming a freelance journalist in America and the Horn of Africa.