Puntland State launches separate visa system, rejecting Somalia’s federal e-visa

Somalia’s Visa Tug-of-War: Digital Ambitions Meet the Realities of Federalism

What just happened

Puntland State has rolled out a self-run visa system, charging incoming travelers $60 and processing permits through a platform it calls VISO—independent of the federal government in Mogadishu. The move, officials in Garowe say, is a matter of administrative control and service delivery. It also echoes a similar assertion of autonomy by North Western State of Somalia, which last month instructed international airlines to disregard Somalia’s new federal electronic visa (e-visa). Airlines that didn’t comply, Hargeisa warned, would lose access to its airports and airspace.

Major carriers took notice. Ethiopian Airlines and Flydubai have adjusted operations to keep flying into the region, a practical decision in an industry where the authority that controls the airport gate often trumps everything else.

At the center of the storm is Somalia’s federal e-visa, launched with the aim of modernizing immigration, tightening financial accountability, and aligning with global norms. Many countries have moved in this direction—Kenya and Rwanda have simplified entry for Africans, Ethiopia digitized its process years ago, and the East African Community sells a shared tourist visa. Done right, e-visas reduce queues and graft while improving data collection. But rollouts can also expose political fault lines. Somalia’s is doing exactly that.

Why it matters

Visas are more than stamps and QR codes. They are symbols of who is in charge—and who gets the revenue. In a fragile federation like Somalia’s, they also test the boundaries between federal authority and regional autonomy. The federal member states—Puntland State among them—expect consultation on national systems that touch airports, borders and budgets. Analysts say that buy-in was not adequately secured before Mogadishu introduced the e-visa. The result is confusion at check-in counters and arrival halls, and a larger question about who governs what in a country still stitching itself back together.

This dispute may sound technical, but it carries real-world consequences:

• Travel disruption: If airlines receive conflicting instructions, they will default to the authority that controls the runway and the jet bridge. That can strand passengers or force last-minute workarounds.
• Fragmented screening: Multiple, parallel systems raise security risks—when border data is split across platforms, it becomes harder to track overstays or identify bad actors.
• Lost trust: Businesses and aid agencies decide where to base staff partly on the predictability of entry rules. Uncertainty pushes them elsewhere.
• Revenue questions: Who collects, audits and shares visa fees? In a country where public finances are under reform, that’s a sensitive debate.

Airlines caught in the middle

Airlines operate on compliance. If they fly a passenger with the wrong documentation, they face fines and repatriation costs. That’s why carrier staff consult IATA’s Timatic database before boarding—what the database says, they do. But when national authorities disagree, Timatic becomes a diplomatic instrument as much as a travel guide. In North Western State of Somalia’s case, the threat to bar airlines from its “airspace” and airports created a blunt incentive to follow local directives. Puntland State’s visa announcement adds another layer: Inbound passengers need to know which document is valid in Garowe, and whether a federal e-visa is acceptable at all.

In situations like this, global precedents are sobering. Airlines rarely arbitrate internal political disputes; they react to the authority that controls the physical airport. A similar dynamic has played out in other contested jurisdictions, where carriers quietly adjust documentation requirements route by route. Travelers, meanwhile, become collateral, scrolling through social media groups for the latest unofficial guidance.

The federalism question

Somalia’s 2012 provisional constitution divides powers between the federal government and member states, but gray zones remain—especially in aviation and immigration. Mogadishu’s civil aviation authority manages national airspace on paper; in practice, regional authorities exert significant control over their airports. North Western State of Somalia is a special case—self-declared independent since 1991, it runs a de facto state with its own institutions, even as the world recognizes Somalia’s territorial integrity.

In Garowe, Puntland State’s VISO is being presented not as a nationalist rebuke, but as a practical tool: a system that works for its airports right now. To federal officials, however, it looks like a challenge to the principle that visas—and borders—should be national. Both perspectives carry merit, which is exactly why a unilateral rollout of a sensitive national system was always going to rub. The broader lesson is that digital governance only succeeds when the politics are negotiated first.

The human stakes

Talk to Somali travelers and the story becomes less abstract. Traders connecting Hargeisa, Garowe, Addis Ababa and Dubai need clean rules to keep goods moving. Students chasing scholarships abroad time their visas down to exam dates. Patients seeking treatment overseas can’t afford to be told at the check-in desk that their document is “the wrong one.” Aid workers flying into drought-hit areas rely on swift entry to deliver assistance. For the vast Somali diaspora, especially in the Gulf, every trip home spans multiple layers of authority: federal, regional, and sometimes clan and local security checkpoints. The administrative friction can chip away at hard-earned reconnections.

In a café near Garowe’s airport, a young entrepreneur recently shrugged and summed it up: “I just want one rule that works—tell me where to pay, show me the receipt, and let me do my job.” It’s a sentiment heard across fragile states: predictability is its own form of security.

Digital borders, analog politics

Across Africa, governments are digitizing borders with mixed results. Rwanda and Kenya trumpet openness; Nigeria toggles between stricter checks and e-service expansions; the East African Community’s single visa is celebrated but still incomplete. Somalia’s e-visa fits the modernization trend. But unlike a new cloud server or app, visas are instruments of sovereignty. Who issues them, who audits the revenue, who owns the data—these are deeply political questions.

Technology can streamline processes, but it cannot substitute consensus. Without coordination, multiple “official” systems sprout, each legitimate to its own authority. That increases costs for travelers and creates loopholes for bad actors. It also deprives the state—federal or regional—of the trust needed to sustain reform.

What to watch

There are off-ramps, if the principals want them:

• Interim mutual recognition: Allow federal e-visas and regional permits to be honored at designated airports while a single interface is negotiated.
• Revenue-sharing formula: Agree on how visa fees are collected, audited and distributed—transparency is key.
• Data interoperability: Build a shared backend where security checks and traveler records are accessible to both federal and regional authorities, with safeguards.
• Clear airline guidance: Publish unified notices via IATA to prevent last-minute boarding denials.

Somalia is not the first country to discover that digital reforms touch live wires. But it has an opportunity to model how federations can modernize without tearing at their seams. The question for leaders in Mogadishu, Garowe and Hargeisa is simple: Can they design a visa system that respects local control while serving a national interest—safe, predictable travel—on which everyone depends?

Until that answer is yes, Somali travelers will keep refreshing airline advisories, hoping that the next notification is the one that finally sticks.

By Ali Musa
Axadle Times international–Monitoring.