The death of President Mohamed Ibrahim Egal in May 2002 put back in jeopardy the autonomous but unrecognized state of Somaliland. His government had survived pariah status for nine years, in spite of inheriting a war-devastated infrastructure, popular disruption, extreme lack of resources, and the clan rivalries which persistently threaten any political union in the Horn of Africa. Without Egal, would Somaliland collapse?

The self-declared republic came into being in 1993, within the boundaries of the pre-1960 British protectorate. Somalia itself fell apart at the seams in 1991 after a spate of clan-based rebellions against the genocidal dictatorship of President Siad Barre. The wars were chaotic, an impenetrable series of vicious contests between shifting clan alliances. Somalia became, and remains, a classic ‘failed state’ where warlords dispute resources and territory. Somaliland, whose 1988 rebellion sparked the process of national disintegration, resolved to go it alone.

The choice of Egal as President in 1993 helped to provide the fledgling mini-republic with international respect and internal solidarity even if its existence was formally rejected. Egal was one of Africa’s first generation of leaders: he had briefly been President of Somaliland in 1960 before its unification with the south. He restored security, introduced a currency and administration, and attracted vital investment from northern Somalis in the diaspora: they provide 70 per cent of the budget. He presided over the return of thousands of refugees and a constitutional referendum in 2001.

President Egal was temporarily succeeded by his deputy, Dahir Riyale Kahin. Far from collapsing, Somaliland has since consolidated its institutional progress. In April 2003, presidential elections were held. The party of President Dahir won by only 80 votes in a ballot of 488,543. Everyone held their breath until the main opposition party publicly accepted the result – an act of political maturity whose significance cannot be exaggerated.

The administration appointed as its Minister of Foreign Affairs Edna Aden Ismail, widow of President Egal and a prominent leader in her own right, and has since renewed its campaign for international recognition. It refuses to participate in peace talks between leaders from the rest of Somalia held in Nairobi. Reunification with its chaotic neighbours, including self-declared Puntland to the east, is rejected despite the international fixation with ‘national integrity’ and ‘previous boundaries’.

Meanwhile, Somaliland does receive assistance from international, bilateral and NGO donors: UN organizations refer to Somalia’s ‘Northwest Zone’, preserving the fiction that it is a part of a larger country, but deal directly with its authorities. An airline operates to Ethiopia and Europe, and commercial relations with the rest of the world are increasing.

But ‘development’ is still a distant aspiration. Even without the war, this is one of the most resource-poor countries in the world. Apart from its strategic position, which it traded on successfully during the Cold War, the mainstays of its economy are camels and frankincense. Its scrubland has the romantic aura of all desert landscapes but not much else to recommend it. Until not long ago, 90 per cent of the people were nomadic, herding their livestock in search of seasonal pasture and defending them from marauders.

Today, only around 50 per cent of people still make a living even partially from their herds. And although civil society shows extraordinary ebullience, this figure also reflects the social dislocation and losses of recent times. Cash-based poverty and its associated misery has entered a world where wealth and status used to be very differently assessed. Squatter settlements have sprung up, even as towns such as Hargeisa and Burao rise like phoenixes from their rubble. The availability of schooling, healthcare and basic services remains very low. In every single way – not just in political terms – Somaliland is a society in transition.

Maggie Black