A Visit to One of the Most Dangerous Cities in the World-Mogadishu, Somalia

November 2018: Mogadishu, the capital of Somalia, is a city long synonymous with war. It conjures images of terrorism, kidnappings, piracy, and the brutal urban combat depicted in Black Hawk Down. On paper, it’s hardly a compelling list of reasons to visit.

Yet, for me, the element of danger only piqued my curiosity. I wanted to see beyond the headlines—to witness firsthand how everyday people navigate life in such a challenging environment. What does normalcy look like in a city where instability has been the status quo for decades?

With the right protocols and security measures in place, I was confident that I could visit Mogadishu with an acceptable degree of safety. Determined to experience the city for myself, I arranged a three-day trip—along with my friend, Richard—ready to step into one of the most notorious capitals in the world.

Map of Mogadishu

Somalia was once part of an Islamic sultanate, a land of vast, undeveloped semi-arid deserts where nomadic peoples thrived for centuries. Later, it was colonized by the Italians, while Somaliland, to the north, fell under British rule.

In 1969, Somalia came under the control of Mohamed Siad Barre, a ruthless dictator backed by the Soviet Union. His iron-fisted rule lasted until 1991, when his government collapsed, plunging Somalia into civil war. As the country descended into anarchy, famine took hold, a power vacuum formed, and warlords rushed in to seize control.

In 1993, amid the ongoing chaos, U.S. President Bill Clinton launched a military operation to capture key warlords who were disrupting humanitarian aid efforts. The mission quickly unraveled—Black Hawk helicopters were shot down, U.S. soldiers were besieged, and gunfights erupted across Mogadishu as desperate rescue efforts were launched. What was meant to be a swift operation turned into a disastrous urban battle, costing many lives on both sides.

Years later, Al-Shabaab, a radical Islamist terrorist group, rose to power, bringing a new kind of rule to Somalia. While they cracked down on warlords, smuggling, and crime, they also enforced an extreme, oppressive version of Sharia law. Their alignment with Al-Qaeda and attacks on neighboring governments led to a military response from the African Union and U.S. forces, eventually driving Al-Shabaab from power. However, the group remains active as a guerilla insurgency, continuing to terrorize the country through suicide bombings, kidnappings, and relentless attacks against the Somali government.

Today, outside of Mogadishu, Al-Shabaab controls much of the country. There are no safe or reliable roads leading into the capital, making air travel the only viable way in. Somalia remains one of the most unstable and chaotic nations in the world, and this lawlessness has fueled another global crisis—piracy. The country has become one of the world’s piracy capitals, with Somali pirates hijacking vessels off the coast, holding ships and crews hostage for ransom.

Somalia is, in many ways, a failed state, where instability, violence, and shifting power struggles continue to define daily life.

There are regular flights to Mogadishu from Kenya and Istanbul, and while anyone can technically purchase a ticket, entering Somalia isn’t that simple. Airport authorities won’t let you in unless you have a local sponsor—someone who is responsible for you during your stay.

To meet this requirement, I obtained a visa-on-arrival authority letter through a local Somali company, arranged via a British adventure travel agency. The cost of visiting Mogadishu is steep, and trips are typically limited to three days and two nights, covering only the capital—the so-called most secure place in Somalia. And yet, Mogadishu is far from secure.

The Flight to Mogadishu

My friend Richard and I flew to Mogadishu on Turkish Airlines from Istanbul, aboard a massive Boeing 777. The flight made a stop in Djibouti before continuing to Somalia.

It was an overnight flight, and as I made my way to my economy seat at the back of the plane, I stopped by First Class to chat with Richard, who had booked a premium seat. I quickly noticed that First Class was completely empty. On impulse, I just stayed there—reclining comfortably and dozing off.

Seven hours later, I was still there. The flight crew never said a word. They served me meals and drinks just like any other First Class passenger. Perhaps they were too preoccupied with the risk of flying into Mogadishu to care, or maybe they just decided to be nice. Either way, it turned into an unexpected and very welcome free upgrade.

The Approach into Mogadishu

As we flew over Somalia, I glanced out the window at the endless desert below. There were no cities, no major infrastructure—just scattered villages of rudimentary huts, isolated in the vast emptiness.

To land in Mogadishu, we had to fly out over the ocean before making our final approach from the water. This maneuver was entirely by design for security reasons.

The area surrounding Aden Adde International Airport is a high-security zone, known as the Green Zone, fortified with blast walls, security checkpoints, and restricted access. The approach is conducted over the ocean because the waters are heavily patrolled by military boats and helicopters, ensuring that Al-Shabaab militants cannot position themselves to fire RPGs at descending planes—a vulnerability that has been exploited in the past.

Departing flights follow the same ocean departure route. Any aircraft attempting to approach Mogadishu over land would be at high risk of coming under attack from RPGs, a deadly reality in one of the world’s most volatile cities.

Approach into Mogadishu

There’s no question—Mogadishu is one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Unlike Afghanistan, where I could blend in to some degree by dressing like the locals, there was no chance of doing so here. The Somali people have distinct features, far darker than mine, making it impossible for me to pass unnoticed.

When I asked a few Somalis if I would be safe walking around the city alone, their answers were a unanimous and resounding no. They told me that I would be guaranteed to be kidnapped within 24 hours—maybe even sooner, in broad daylight. This was not the kind of risk I was willing to take. Besides, independent travel in Mogadishu isn’t allowed. Any company sponsoring a tourist visit operates under strict security protocols—requiring guests to stay in highly fortified hotels, travel with a military escort, and follow an approved itinerary. Most vehicles for foreigners are armored 4WDs with bullet-resistant windows, and visits are typically limited to just a few days.

The Security Maze

Just exiting the airport was an ordeal. The process involved passing through multiple security checkpoints, and it took hours before we could even meet our guide. He had been forced to wait outside the airport security zone with our driver and vehicle—a 4WD Toyota Land Cruiser equipped with tinted, bullet-resistant windows. The tint was to prevent outsiders from seeing Richard and me in the back seat, but it also made it difficult for us to see outside—a frustrating trade-off.

A jeep filled with 4–6 armed Somali soldiers escorted us at all times, leading the way. Whenever we arrived at approved, vetted locations, the soldiers would fan out, forming a tight perimeter around us, their fingers always close to the triggers of their rifles.

Arriving at our hotel was another security gauntlet. We had to pass through multiple checkpoints, blast walls made of stacked sandbags, a 20-foot-high barbed wire fence, and undergo full-body pat-downs and body scans. This level of security wasn’t excessive—it was absolutely necessary. Even inside the Green Zone, attacks were a constant threat.

Living Under Siege

The Green Zone is the heart of Mogadishu’s government, military, and foreign presence, making it Al-Shabaab’s primary target. The militant group regularly attacks hotels in an effort to kill officials and foreign guests.

The manager of our hotel, a Kenyan man, told me—almost casually, with a smile—that he had survived two hotel attacks. In one, a suicide bomber, who had secretly been working inside the hotel, helped gunmen gain access. Dozens were killed in the assault. The manager and a few others managed to escape by hiding in a secret panic room, designed to withstand bullets and explosions. They remained there until the military killed the attackers.

In Mogadishu, suicide bombings, kidnappings, and RPG attacks weren’t shocking events—they were part of daily life.

Why Would I Want to Be Here?

It’s a fair question. Why would anyone willingly visit a place like this? Maybe one day, I’ll have a solid answer.

The thrill-seeker in me craves these kinds of experiences, but my deeper motivation was to see Mogadishu with my own eyes—to witness beyond the headlines and meet the Somali people, a community I had already encountered so often in my home state of Minnesota, where many refugees have resettled.

I believe in knowing as much of the world as possible in this short life. The more places I visit, the more I understand—not just landscapes, but the people who come from them. I travel to places like Mogadishu because I want to better relate to those who have lived through its hardships.

For me, travel isn’t just about seeing—it’s about understanding.

View from hotel balcony of security walls, airport in distance and the ocean

Our military escort truck with armed soldiers sitting on the back 

Our military escort truck with armed soldiers sitting on the back 

Armed vehcile convoy passing through city streets

We ate most of our meals in the hotel’s banquet room, surrounded by a mix of African dignitaries, security personnel, and foreign guests—all here for different reasons, but each well aware of the risks of being in Mogadishu.

I had smuggled a small bottle of rum into the country in my luggage, brought in from the plane, and after dinner, Richard and I poured ourselves a few shots—a small indulgence to take the edge off. In a city like this, where the tension never fully fades, a little contraband liquor felt like a well-earned luxury.

But beyond the drinks, we didn’t take our safety lightly. We sat in our room and planned our escape route, mapping out the fastest way out of the hotel in the event of an attack. In a place like Mogadishu, it was essential to always have a plan. When disaster strikes, those who are prepared survive. It could be the difference between life and death.

That night, as I lay in bed, I listened to the call to prayer, its haunting melody echoing from mosque speakers across the city. Occasionally, the sound was punctuated by the distant crack of a gunshot—a stark reminder that even in sleep, Mogadishu was a city that never truly rested.

Our itinerary was never set in stone—it remained fluid, subject to last-minute changes based on security updates and intelligence reports. There were no guaranteed stops, and despite my requests to visit places outside the usual itinerary, those stops were not permitted.

However, the one stop that remains a staple on every Mogadishu itinerary is the fish market—a visit that takes place early in the morning, just as the fishermen return to shore to offload their catch.

I’ve visited many fish markets in my travels, but nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed here. It wasn’t the size of the market that made it so shocking—it was the sheer size of the fish and the fact that many of them were endangered species.

I stood in disbelief as I watched enormous sharks, marlins, sailfish, hammerheads, manta rays, and even dolphins being hauled into the market—some carried on the shoulders of porters, others pushed in wheelbarrows.

The porters were aggressively opposed to being photographed, and I could see why. Given how tense the market felt, I wouldn’t be surprised if, one day, a tourist got attacked for trying to take a picture without permission. Unless some sort of payment system is introduced—one that includes them in photo tips—the hostility toward cameras will likely remain.

Inside the market, the scene was even more brutal. Fish were butchered directly on the floor, where pools of congealed blood mixed with seawater and rotting fish parts. People walked barefoot through the mess, unfazed by the filth.

Taking photos here was an incredibly delicate process. Many people reacted with instant hostility the moment a camera appeared. To capture anything, I had to be discreet, careful, and strategic—knowing that even a single wrong move could spark an aggressive confrontation.

Fisherman drying fish and fins outside

Huge fish being hauled in 

Huge fish being hauled in to the market from the beach

Huge fish being hauled in from a boat

Dolphins being hauled in from beach

Dolphins being hauled in 

Fishmarket

Fishmarket

Fishmarket

Fishmarket

One of the only people in the fish market who was willing to pose for my camera

The second most interesting place in Mogadishu is the Old City, home to the century-old Italian lighthouse—a relic from Somalia’s colonial past. The area has an undeniable charm, with its crumbling architecture, arched passageways, and sweeping ocean views, but garbage is strewn everywhere, a stark contrast to the beauty of the surroundings.

Walking along the beach, I watched as children splashed in the ocean, their laughter carrying over the waves, while others wandered the sand collecting seashells. The shoreline was lively, filled with locals going about their daily routines, navigating life amid the ruins of history.

Many of the old Italian buildings, though appearing abandoned, were very much inhabited. Families had taken refuge in these dilapidated structures, their homes marked by makeshift repairs and laundry hanging from crumbling balconies. Even the Italian lighthouse, standing weathered but defiant against the sea, had become a place of residence—people living inside, repurposing the historic tower into a shelter amid the instability of Mogadishu.

Despite the decay, the Old City retains a unique energy, a place where history, resilience, and everyday survival collide.

Old Italian Lighthouse

Italian Lighthouse and Locals Swimming

Old Italian era buildings

Somali Kid

Richard contemplating the MOG

Kids playing

Smiling Kid

We visited the Independence Monument and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, both significant landmarks in Mogadishu. Our armed escorts remained on high alert, their eyes constantly scanning our surroundings as we moved through the area.

Just across the street, the devastation of Mogadishu’s ongoing conflict was impossible to ignore—a blown-up building, still bearing the scars of an Al-Shabaab attack that had occurred not too long ago. The stark contrast between the monuments honoring Somalia’s past and the destruction left by its present struggles was a sobering reminder of how fragile security remained in the city.

One of our soldier escorts at the independance monument

The prettiest beach in Mogadishu is Lido Beach, a rare oasis of leisure in an otherwise volatile city. We found a café overlooking the shoreline, where we ordered lunch and some of the best fruit smoothies I’ve ever had—a refreshing contrast to the heat and tension of Mogadishu.

For a brief moment, sitting in that café, I could almost forget where I was. The scene felt like something out of a normal, peaceful African city—locals enjoying the ocean breeze, the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the air. But reality wasn’t far behind.

I later learned that this very café had been attacked by Al-Shabaab before and, in all likelihood, would be targeted again. The illusion of normalcy was just that—an illusion.

Down on the beach, couples played in the waves, and women dressed in full-body abayas waded into the water. Every swimmer wore a life jacket, even those just standing in the shallowest parts of the ocean—an unusual sight that seemed more cultural than practical.

As I sat, a Somali woman wearing an abaya overheard me speaking and approached. To my surprise, she spoke with an American accent.

“Are you from Minnesota?” she asked, clearly intrigued.

I told her I was, and she smiled. “I live in Minnesota too. I recognized your accent right away.”

She was shocked to see a foreigner visiting Somalia, let alone someone from her own U.S. state. In that moment, the world felt both immensely vast and strangely small.

Lido Beach

Local women adorned in hijabs swimming at Lido Beach

Lido Beach

Homemade lifejacket

The plan was to drive through the city and pass by Bakaaraha Market, the largest market in Mogadishu and the infamous site of the Black Hawk Down incident. However, due to security concerns, we couldn’t stop anywhere—this tour would be experienced entirely from within our vehicle.

Somewhere within the market, the remains of one of the downed Black Hawk helicopters still exist, a haunting relic of that fateful battle. Unfortunately, we were unable to visit it. It sits too close to a military checkpoint, and authorities no longer allow visitors near it.

As we navigated traffic-choked streets, I couldn’t shake a sense of unease. These very roads had been the sites of devastating suicide bombings, where attackers had detonated explosives in crowded areas, killing scores of people. Being stuck in traffic here felt like being a stationary target—a sobering reminder of how unpredictable Mogadishu could be.

A Different Side of Mogadishu

Much of my focus in this write-up has been on violence, danger, and destruction, but it’s important to acknowledge something else—the kindness and warmth of the Somali people.

Despite the security risks, everywhere we went, people—especially young Somalis—were curious about us. They would approach us with smiles, asking about our country, our names, and our jobs. There was a genuine openness and interest, a desire to connect beyond the barriers of fear and conflict.

This was especially true when we visited Peace Park, a rare public space where young people gathered, laughing, drinking sodas, and enjoying a break from the city’s struggles. It was refreshing to see this part of Mogadishu—a glimpse of normalcy, of life beyond the headlines of war and terrorism.

For a moment, Mogadishu wasn’t just a place of danger—it was a place of resilience, humanity, and hope.

Local shops

Local shops

Local man on donkeycart

Marketplace

Market

Market

Blown up buildings

On our last day, departing Mogadishu’s airport was one of the most exhausting security procedures I have ever endured.

Even before reaching the airport itself, we had to pass through multiple checkpoints. At one of them, we were forced to hand over all our bags, which were taken away into a separate room to be sniffed by dogs and scanned for explosives. We could only stand and wait, hoping our belongings would be returned without issue.

Once inside the airport, we were met with another challenge—relentless porters aggressively harassing us for tips. They wouldn’t take no for an answer, persistently following and pressuring us, making what was already a stressful process even more frustrating.

After multiple additional security screenings, we finally made it to the departure gate—only to go through yet another round of checks. Our bags were separated and searched again, sniffed by dogs one more time, and every single person, including airport staff, had to be fully patted down before stepping onto the plane.

By the time we finally took off, it felt like a massive weight had lifted. As the plane climbed to cruising altitude, I let out a sigh of relief—we had made it out of Mogadishu.