The nation nobody knows - The Economist, April 14-20 issue
A COMMEMORATIVE plaque marks Somaliland's first set of traffic- lights,
planted in its sandy capital Hargeisa six months ago. When you are nation-building
on a shoestring, a little means a lot.
As it happens, Somaliland, a decade after breaking away from Somalia,
has achieved quite a lot. For a start, it has peace. Through its upper
house of clan elders, it has a broadly representative government. In Muhammad
Haji Ibrahim Egal, it has a wily and popular president, whose promise of
democratic elections is generally believed. Somalia, despite its multi-sponsored
transitional government, has none of these things.
But Somaliland is not recognised as independent by anybody (nor, for
that matter, is Puntland, another breakaway state with less clear ambitions).
This disadvantage leaves Somaliland's 2m people--about half as many as
Somalia has--dangerously reliant on the goodwill of neighbours, and of
aid donors who slip it money unofficially without the usual host-donor
government contacts.
The current ban on livestock exports from the Horn of Africa to the
Gulf states underlines this dependence. The six-month ban was imposed at
the end of last year for fear of Rift Valley fever, which has been found
nearby but not in Somaliland or Somalia. Unfortunately, Somaliland is in
no position to argue. Saudi Arabia, the biggest importer, is firm friends
with the transitional government in Somalia, which maintains that Somaliland
remains within its orbit. Mr Egal's farm minister admits that he would
not even know which Saudi official to petition.
Somalia is not catastrophically affected by the ban. But Somaliland's
government has lost duties worth $15m from its $25m budget. Overseas remittances,
estimated at $500m a year, are now the country's only major income. Mr
Egal claims success in diversifying the economy. But the piecemeal efforts
to revive ancient trades in frankincense, henna and hides do not begin
to make up for livestock. And though there are rich seams of coal, and
probably oil, under Somaliland's desert, without the investment that only
recognition could bring, there is no way of bringing the stuff to the surface.
Some people put their faith in a recent survey that suggests the country
is bursting at the seams with precious stones. The discovery of a reef
of high-quality emeralds several miles long bears this optimism out. At
the very least, small-scale and low-tech gemstone- mining could be a fall-back
for the country's beleaguered herders.
If the government were to act true to form, it would establish the gem
industry around the clans, thereby avoiding concession disputes. In that
way, every clan member should, in theory, get a cut. But the mining minister
was recently fired for fixing prices for his own business interests. His
rather slow-witted replacement maintains the fiction that the clans respect
the government's ownership of mineral resources.
Somaliland's trump card is its port at Berbera. Since falling out with
Eritrea and the port-state of Djibouti, Ethiopia, the region's landlocked
superpower, has hit on Berbera as its easiest access to the sea. Last year's
famine in Ethiopia set a precedent, with 100,000 tonnes of food aid coming
through Berbera, which had previously been written off as too small and
too decrepit.
Ethiopia has recently recognised Somaliland passports, and Ethiopian
Airlines has announced the first scheduled flights to Hargeisa. Mr Egal
has even let slip that Somaliland's currency reserves are sitting in the
State Bank of Ethiopia in Addis Ababa, pending the opening of a Hargeisa
branch. Does this suggest that Ethiopia may be about to recognise Somaliland's
independence? Probably not. For a start, Ethiopia would be too worried
about the effect this precedent might have on its own lawless Somali clans.
It is happy to keep on good terms with Somaliland, and give it enough goodies
to gain access to Berbera, but that is about it.
_________________________________
The fear of flying in Somali air space
The Economist, April 14-20
ONE of the disadvantages of not being diplomatically recognised is that
Somaliland's air space officially belongs to Somalia. Yet 6,000 passengers
a month pass through Hargeisa airport, while Mogadishu airport, the main
one in Somalia, has been closed since 1995, when the UN left it for the
militias to fight over. So, in a sensible compromise, Somali air-traffic
control is run from Kenya's capital, Nairobi.
The Mogadishu Flight Control Centre was set up in a modest house in
Nairobi after the UN pulled out of Somalia. In the sitting-room, radio
operators plot aircraft on a wooden control-board knocked up by a local
furniture maker. "Saved us a load of money," says the chief controller.
Though crude, the system works well--except that it is using the same radio
frequency as Kenyan air-traffic control down the road, causing constant
confusion.
Before Somalia's interim government was set up last year, Somaliland
wanted the centre moved to Hargeisa. But then Somalia demanded that it
should go to Mogadishu, even though almost no aircraft land there, apart
from those bringing in Kenyan khat, the militiamen's drug of choice. Now
Somaliland says it is happy with things as they are. If the centre should
return to Mogadishu, Somaliland threatens to close "its" air space. How
it would do so nobody knows, but the threat could cause over a thousand
commercial flights per month to be rerouted, including flights by Air France
and Emirates Airlines.
Somaliland has other aviation worries. For a start, the runway at Hargeisa
is almost worn away. Then there are the goats. Ever since a herder was
over-compensated for two luckless animals that wandered into the path of
a Kingair, nomads have been driving their herds to the runway in droves.
Over Mogadishu, the problems are different. Last year, an Airbus carrying
potential investors from Malaysia swooped low over the city for a photo
opportunity. Badly shot-up, it made it down the Indian Ocean coastline
to Mombasa, just. |
