‘The development in Mogadishu is promising – but we just want to be part of it.’
MOGADISHU – The city is undergoing a massive construction boom that’s reshaping its skyline. However, while investors pour their funds into new apartment complexes and shopping hubs, the wealth gap is also widening dramatically. This is a harsh reality for the hundreds of thousands displaced by war and drought, struggling to eke out an existence.
After clan-based violence tore apart the coastal city in the ’90s, Mogadishu hit a developmental standstill. Since then, a string of weak, donor-dependent governments have tried, with difficulty, to assert their control, grappling with a deeply rooted jihadist insurgency festering in rural areas.
In recent years, a relentless wave of rural families escaping violence and climate upheavals has surged into Mogadishu, making it one of the fastest urbanizing places globally. Roughly 700,000 displaced souls have crammed into the city’s already congested, often ignored informal settlements.
Wealthy business moguls, including returning Somali diaspora, have begun taking the plunge into investment, seizing upon the gradually improving security. This creeping gentrification isn’t unnoticed either.
New construction signals some faith in the nation’s prospects, despite jihadist group al-Shabab’s bomb attacks targeting Mogadishu’s popular beaches and social hotspots.
Winners and the Left-Behind
However, this unchecked urban expansion exacts a social toll. It’s widening societal divides, marginalizing the displaced and urban poor. These people lack documents, legal safeguards, and when land prices skyrocket, forced evictions rise in a place where might and money rule without challenge.
Yasmin Omar, a single mother from Lower Shabelle in southern Somalia, has faced four evictions since she and her kids escaped to Mogadishu following her husband’s murder by al-Shabab in 2021.
“We’re constantly being uprooted,” Yasmin informed The New Humanitarian. “The last time, a bulldozer came at night, and there was no one to aid us.”
As per the Norwegian Refugee Council, which keeps tabs on such expulsions, close to 40,000 folks – predominantly women – got evicted in Mogadishu from January to July this year.
Evictions often stem from private landlords or just land-grabbing by politicians and their cronies. Even displaced families who’ve made abandoned public buildings their refuge face being kicked out for new developments.
Earlier this year, authorities demanded families exhume relatives buried on government plots near the port, earmarked for a navy camp amid rumors of a sale to a wealthy figure.
“Rich folks are pricing us out,” Yasmin said. “Authorities rarely listen to our plight.”
Mubarik Ahmed, the country manager of the Regional Durable Solutions Secretariat (ReDSS), highlighted a significant issue: much of Mogadishu’s land is privately owned, with haphazard ownership records.
Lack of urban planning and weak legal frameworks open doors for exploiting these vulnerable communities. Typically, these folks migrated from the countryside without the influential clan-protection networks that matter so much in the city.
Every time Yasmin and her kids are forced to move, their hardships compound. “The rich are making the city unaffordable,” she said. “No officials ever come to hear us out.”
Gentrification has also reinvigorated areas like Hodan in the northwest and Hamar Wayne. In bustling Hodan, next to the airport, new apartments cost between $600 to $1,500 a month – prices out of reach for residents like Yasmin, who earns less than a dollar a day.
Ahmed Liban, a property developer who lived in Canada, returned to Somalia in 2019. He’s building a new high-rise in Hodan.
Most workers on his project are newcomers to the city, earning $10 daily – a decent wage. “Urban growth can benefit people, but we need strong governance to ensure it trickles down,” he told The New Humanitarian.
‘That day, my voice was heard’
The jobs new investors like Liban bring are valued. “My kids might land jobs in these hotels and shops,” revealed Aisha Mohamed, a street cosmetics seller.
But she insists there must be more inclusive growth that doesn’t push out the poor, including informal traders like her. “Cities change,” she noted. “We welcome development in Mogadishu – but we want to be part of it.”
To make her point clear, she and other women traders stood their ground outside a shopping mall during Ramadan – the busiest time.
“That day my voice was heard,” Mohamed said. “We protested, and officials instructed the police to let us stay.”
Before the 1990s chaos, urban development was state-controlled, with centralized planning investing in public housing, infrastructure, and economic zones.
The federal government’s effort to reestablish authority is hampered by a deep humanitarian crisis. Frequent climate shocks and al-Shabab’s persistence have left one in five Somalis acutely food insecure.
To tackle enduring displacement and poverty cycles, the government launched a National Durable Solution Strategy to offer services and jobs to displaced people.
But ensuring displaced people live safely and dignified lives needs hefty international funding – which has been slashed by 37% this year.
Ahmed from ReDSS suggests Somalia should shift focus from emergency responses to long-term development.
The World Bank and African Development Bank have ramped up support, funding infrastructure, livelihood programs, and social services.
Yet, no quick fixes exist for Somalia’s various interconnected crises and fragile government, Ahmed admitted.
A crucial step is addressing land ownership issues, he pointed out. Informal settlements often lack formal titles, fostering historic disputes and forced evictions.
Powerful figures, from clan elders to city officials and landowners, wield significant influence. However, written lease agreements, recently introduced by the regional government between landowners and displaced people, have reportedly slowed evictions.
Reimagining urban development in Mogadishu, making it inclusive and giving the underprivileged a voice, demands creativity. But Mohamed believes she and others like her deserve a seat at the planning table.
“I’ve lived through the civil war but remained determined to make a living,” she said. “So we have every right to be part of Mogadishu’s new development journey.”
