By David Yeh
The announcement came on a humid Monday afternoon in Mogadishu, carried first by a brief government bulletin and then echoed by ministers across television channels and social platforms: Somalia had nullified all agreements with the United Arab Emirates. Decades long cooperation spanning port development, military training, security coordination, and investment was canceled in a single stroke. But beneath the abruptness lay years of accumulating tension, suspicion, and geopolitical maneuvering that slowly eroded a relationship once hailed as a cornerstone of Somalia’s recovery.
For days prior, Mogadishu had hummed with whispers. Demonstrations had flared in parts of the capital and in other cities, sparked by anger over Israel’s decision to recognize Somaliland as an independent state something no nation had done since the region broke away in 1991. Some protesters burned foreign flags, others held signs warning outside powers to keep away from Somali internal affairs. The recognition poured fuel onto long-smoldering anxieties over the fate of the Somali nation. The UAE’s alleged quiet support for Israel’s move became the final push that toppled the already fragile diplomatic equilibrium.
Yet the government’s formal statement avoided the emotion of the street. It spoke in legal terms: Having carefully assessed recent developments and exercising its constitutional authority, the Council of Ministers has annulled all agreements concluded with the United Arab Emirates. It did not name Israel. It did not mention geopolitical games. It did not describe the covert escape of a Yemeni separatist allegedly aided through Somali territory. But its purpose was unmistakable. Mogadishu was drawing a line.
The agreements canceled included the UAE’s operating rights over Berbera, Bosaso, and Kismayo ports that have become deeply entangled in the region’s commercial and military networks. They also annulled bilateral security and defense cooperation frameworks. For years, these arrangements had enabled the UAE to operate in Somalia in ways that sometimes aligned with Mogadishu’s interests and sometimes bypassed them entirely. Now, the Somali state was attempting to reclaim authority even in areas where its control was theoretical or contested.
To understand how relations deteriorated this far, one must rewind more than a decade, to a time when Somalia’s reconstruction was gaining tentative momentum. In the early 2010s, the UAE positioned itself as a generous partner, investing in infrastructure and providing support to Somali security forces. Somalia, ravaged by state collapse and conflict, lacked the resources to expand its ports or secure its long coastline. UAE engagement was welcomed, even celebrated. Berbera, in the breakaway region of Somaliland, became a focal point of Emirati investment. The UAE renovated the port, extended its capacity, and constructed a military base that enabled rapid deployment across the Gulf of Aden. In Bosaso, nestled in Puntland, UAE funds turned a once-dusty coastal city into a moderately bustling maritime hub. In Kismayo, Jubaland’s gateway to the Indian Ocean, Emirati officials facilitated logistics and trade agreements that strengthened regional authority.
But these investments carried political weight. They empowered regional administrations more directly than the federal government. Mogadishu observed uneasily as the UAE cultivated relationships in Somaliland, Puntland, and Jubaland areas where federal authority was always delicate. The UAE saw these regions as practical partners; Somalia’s leaders saw a foreign power making arrangements without passing through the rightful capital.
By 2015, Somalia and the UAE were no longer operating on parallel tracks but diverging ones. As the Yemeni civil war intensified, the UAE deepened its involvement in southern Yemen and began using Somali ports for logistical support. Berbera and Bosaso became staging points for operations against Houthi rebels and for the training of allied Yemeni fighters. At first, Mogadishu tolerated this; the war in Yemen was reshaping the maritime security dynamics of the entire Red Sea corridor. But concerns mounted as reports emerged that UAE military shipments were moving through Somali territory without federal oversight. Questions surfaced in parliament. Somali officials privately asserted that they were being sidelined in decisions affecting their own borders.
Tension spiked again around 2017 and 2018, when Somalia seized UAE cash at Mogadishu airport, claiming it was intended for political interference. The UAE denied wrongdoing, but distrust deepened. Later, the UAE suspended a key military training program, and hundreds of Somali soldiers found themselves stranded without salaries or direction. That same year, the UAE formally signed a 30 year agreement with Somaliland to manage the Berbera port a deal Mogadishu declared illegal. Somaliland celebrated the agreement as validation of its autonomy; Somalia condemned it as a breach of sovereignty. The seeds of the current crisis had already taken root.
Still, both sides maintained the appearance of cooperation. UAE officials continued visiting Somalia, and Somali ministers occasionally traveled to Abu Dhabi. But by the early 2020s, the relationship was a patchwork of grievances held together by economic necessity. Mogadishu resented what it saw as a dual-track policy; the UAE saw Somalia’s politics as fragmented and unpredictable. Then came Israel’s recognition of Somaliland.
No event in recent years shook Somalia’s political establishment as profoundly. When the announcement came, thousands of Somalis protested across major cities, chanting against what they saw as an attempt to dismantle their territorial integrity. President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud condemned Israel’s decision as “a threat” to Horn of Africa stability, warning it could embolden separatist movements beyond Somalia’s borders. The UAE, normally vocal in regional politics, offered no public position. Its silence loomed large. Analysts and officials privately suggested that the UAE had quietly supported, encouraged, or facilitated Israel’s move. Whether or not this was true mattered less than the perception. Trust, already eroded, collapsed completely.
Then, as if to crystallize the moment, came the allegation that Yemeni separatist leader Aidarous Al-Zubaidi had escaped via Somali territory to Abu Dhabi with Emirati assistance. Somali immigration authorities began investigating what appeared to be an unauthorized use of Somali airspace and airports. For Mogadishu, this was evidence that the UAE was not merely neglecting Somali authority but actively circumventing perhaps even exploiting it.
By the time the Somali cabinet met to deliberate the future of its agreements with the UAE, the outcome was all but certain. A senior official in the presidential palace, speaking anonymously to AFP, described the decision as the result of a long period of endurance and accused the UAE of continued interference. While the official did not elaborate on specific actions, the frustration was unmistakable. The Somali government emphasized that its decision was based on credible reports and compelling evidence of hostile acts undermining the country’s unity and independence.
Yet even as Mogadishu asserts control on paper, the reality on the ground remains complex. Berbera lies in Somaliland, over which Mogadishu’s authority is theoretical. Bosaso is controlled by Puntland, whose leaders have often clashed with the federal government. Kismayo is within Jubaland, long led by Ahmed Madobe, whose relationship with Mogadishu has oscillated between cooperation and tension. These regions may not honor the federal government’s cancellation. The UAE may continue operating in these areas regardless of Mogadishu’s declarations. The political landscape is fragmented, and foreign influence has long exploited that fragmentation.
Still, Somalia’s move sends a powerful diplomatic message not just to the UAE, but to Israel, Saudi Arabia, Ethiopia, and other regional players seeking influence in the Horn of Africa. It signals that Mogadishu insists on being the central interlocutor for any foreign engagement. It asserts that deals made over the heads of the federal government, no matter how lucrative, violate sovereignty. It reinforces to the African Union and Arab League that Somalia remains committed to its territorial integrity and expects fellow member states to respect it.
Whether this decision stabilizes or destabilizes the region remains to be seen. On one hand, it could push the UAE to re – evaluate its strategy and seek reconciliation. On the other, it could deepen divisions within Somalia, empowering regional governments to forge independent partnerships and weakening the federal system further. It may also force international actors to choose between engaging directly with Mogadishu or navigating Somalia’s fractured political terrain.
Somalia’s announcement marks the ending of a chapter but not necessarily the beginning of a new one. It exposes the fragile balance between sovereignty and foreign investment, between national unity and regional autonomy, between strategic necessity and political dignity. It is a reminder that in the Horn of Africa, as in much of the world, alliances are rarely permanent, and geopolitical landscapes can shift suddenly, violently, and without warning.
And as Somalia attempts to assert control in an increasingly contested region, one truth remains clear: the struggle for influence over the Horn of Africa is far from over.
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