Somaliland, a country born of bombs

A tank — which isn’t really a tank — could be the national monument of Somaliland, a country that isn’t really a country. The armored vehicle, which rests beside Highway 1 in the city of Hargeisa, depicts what was once a weapon of war that rolled in from Somalia in 1988, in order to prevent this territory in the Horn of Africa from gaining independence. Today, the tank is part of the scenery in the capital of a land that declared itself a republic 35 years ago.

Almost no country recognizes Somaliland… but it’s difficult to pretend that it doesn’t exist.

The war machine was barely visible on May 18, due to the crowds of young people perched on its turret: they didn’t want to miss the opportunity to catch a glance of the Somaliland National Day military parade. Back in 1991, the separatist region declared its independence after the fall of Somali dictator Mohamed Siad Barre’s regime. Subsequently, a bombing campaign devastated Hargeisa, leaving behind wounds that are still open today. According to the authorities who administer this region, up to 200,000 people died, out of a population that, at the time, numbered around three million inhabitants.

Since then, Somaliland — either an independent state or a separatist territory, depending on whom you ask — has built institutions and held elections, with peaceful political transitions. It has its own currency, flag and army. All of this was on display during the May 18 military parade, which passed along one of the city’s main thoroughfares. Marching down the middle of the road, the armed forces displayed their modest military capabilities, with between 8,000 and 12,500 personnel, according to the London-based International Institute for Strategic Studies.

On the sidelines, devoted citizens were draped in the ubiquitous red, green, and white of the national flag: women wore dresses and headscarves (for women and girls, this is a very conservative Muslim country) and men sported t-shirts, dyed hair, sunglasses and goatees. Thousands of flags hung from buildings and were waved by the crowds. “If there were a word greater than love, I would use it to define what I feel for my country,” exclaimed Mokhtar, an elated citizen.

On the institutional side, the most relevant national authorities — as well as some foreign allies who support Somaliland’s independence — had gathered. The dignitaries hailed from Ethiopia, Taiwan, which has maintained official relations with Somaliland since 2020, the United Arab Emirates (UAE) and, of course, Israel, the only country in the world to have recognized Somaliland’s independence, just five months ago.

President Abdirahman Mohamed Abdullahi, also known as “Irro,” sat in the VIP box, having just arrived from Abu Dhabi after a visit marked by speculation about a new instance of diplomatic recognition (something that has yet to materialize). “This is the first time we’re commemorating May 18 as [the] recognized Republic of Somaliland,” he proclaimed during his speech.

In his address, Irro announced that his Israeli counterpart would receive the credentials of Somaliland’s ambassador, Mohamed Haji, “the first officially recognized ambassador of the Republic of Somaliland.” The alliance with Israel, in fact, dominated the entire celebration.

Among the international guests were foreign journalists — including representatives from EL PAÍS — invited by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation. The largest group, however, was made up of Israeli reporters, which is understandable given the significance of this new alliance. For Somaliland, it represents a leap in international legitimacy. And, for Benjamin Netanyahu’s government, Somaliland offers a strategic position overlooking the Bab el-Mandeb strait and the coast of Yemen, in one of the most sensitive maritime corridors on the planet (now even more so due to the war in the Middle East and the closure of the Strait of Hormuz).

Among the crowd, the recognition of Somaliland by Israel was perceived less as a strategic issue than as a matter of identity. This is how Robo and Fatma felt, two of the many women who were trying to get closer to the front line of the parade, while a local policeman pushed them back with a branch. “We are Somalilanders, long live our country!” Fatma repeated, waving her small flag. On the other side of the street, 44-year-old Mohamed recalled being eight years old when he saw Somali tanks roll into Hargeisa. “I will never forget the fear,” he said. Like Mohamed, many onlookers expressed horrific memories of that war, in which Barré bombed the civilian Isaaq population — the majority ethnic group — and destroyed 70% of the city.

In 2026, the tables have turned. Somaliland boasts unprecedented stability in a once-turbulent region. While Somalia continues to grapple with the violence of the jihadist group Al-Shabaab, there hasn’t been an attack here since 2008. Border tensions persist, along with accusations that certain minority groups are economically marginalized, but the absence of violence is one of the main arguments that politicians and citizens use to defend their autonomy. “The separation from Somalia wasn’t driven by hatred or emotion, but by the lessons learned from the failed union between Somaliland and Somalia, which began on July 1, 1960,” Irro asserted during his speech.

But despite the apparent harmony, not everyone agrees with the process that Somaliland is following. Recently, a riskier step was taken, one that has ignited social media: Hargeisa’s government made a decision to open its embassy to Israel in Jerusalem, not Tel Aviv. This is almost a provocation, given that the majority of the international community doesn’t recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital; only seven countries have established embassies there, including the United States in 2017, during Donald Trump’s first term.

The gesture seems to have gone unnoticed by those Somalilanders less familiar with international politics, but not by others who follow global affairs closely and who, in theory, are still supportive of a friendship with Israel, provided that it serves a national purpose.

One of those concerned is Hamsa M. Jama. He was born in Germany to Somalilander parents and is the founder of Hargeisa Debates, a civic platform that promotes dialogue and democracy. “We need recognition, but this is going too far; it may bring us more problems than solutions,” he muses.

The African Union, the Arab League, China, the European Union, Turkey, Egypt, as well as a bloc of Gulf countries led by Saudi Arabia have rejected the strategic rapprochement between Israel and Somaliland, calling it a “dangerous precedent” and a “violation” of Somali sovereignty.

From Jama’s perspective, the population doesn’t disagree with the alliance, but only because they don’t understand the underlying meaning. “People only think about their country being recognized; they don’t look beyond that,” he laments, over a cup of chai in a Hargeisa hotel café.

Once the festivities are over, routine takes over again. Shops raise their shutters, schools and madrasas fill up with students, traffic and honking take center stage, while busy residents stroll through the streets, mixing with dozens of goats. Many of the animals have their owners’ phone numbers painted on their backs, in case they get lost.

At the foot of the old MiG-17 that now stands as a national monument of Somaliland (the same model of aircraft was used to bomb Hargeisa during the Somali Civil War), 53-year-old Abdi recounts how a plane just like the one suspended behind him killed his father. The fighter jet — placed atop a column in the heart of the city — pays tribute to the victims of the conflict. It has become Somaliland’s true national monument. “All we want is international recognition; it’s what we deserve. Horrible things happened… we just want freedom,” Abdi sighs. For him, the main problem of not being recognized by other countries is the difficulty of traveling and interacting with other nations. This results in harm to the economy, education, and development.

Somaliland lacks full access to the international financial system. Its citizens face enormous difficulties traveling with their own passports. Many international transfers still depend on intermediaries or the enemy, Somalia. Abdousalam knows this all too well: he sells sportswear, mainly international soccer jerseys. One of his products is a rarity: the Somaliland national team jersey. “Sometimes, I make money. Sometimes, I lose it,” he shrugs. Life in Hargeisa, like anywhere else, is sometimes difficult, “with its good moments and bad ones.”

Certainly, daily life is a constant reminder of the limitations of existing in an unrecognized state. However, this normalcy — often dismissed as boring by some — is a source of pride.

In the capital, you can rent an apartment for as little as a few dollars a month, but the average salary doesn’t exceed $200 monthly, while enormous inequality and poverty persists. Most streets are unpaved, buildings rarely exceed six storeys, and imported goods are prohibitively expensive. A bottle of shower gel and a bar of chocolate — both Western brands — cost around $9. “We even import onions,” Jama notes. The only thing that comes from this arid land, populated with bushes, stones, and acacias, is livestock, mainly goats and camels, whose milk is practically the national drink.

Somaliland is still waiting for further recognition. For days, rumors circulated about possible announcements from other African countries and the United Arab Emirates (UAE). They didn’t materialize. But in Hargeisa, many believe that the door has already been opened… and that Israel was just the first.

The day after the May 18 celebrations, the streets were deserted. And the military “tank,” which young people had been climbing on in order to watch the parade, could finally be seen clearly. It turned out to be made of papier-mâché; even the wheels were clumsily painted.

This could also be a metaphor for Somaliland: a fictional tank in a fictional country that opponents of separatism compare to Narnia or Middle-earth — fantastical places from popular literature. But, in the end, there’s also the possibility of comparing this territory to the MiG-17: a warplane that’s very real indeed. Just as how Somalilanders want the rest of the world to see them.

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