A Visit to the De-Facto State of Somaliland
November 2012:
A Last-Minute Adventure into Somaliland
As a backup plan after my failed attempt to visit Socotra Island in Yemen, I decided to travel to Somaliland from Djibouti-Swimming With Whale Sharks and the Bizarre Desert World of Lake Assale | Venture The Planet, crossing the country over the span of four days before continuing into Ethiopia.
Before arriving, I knew almost nothing about Somaliland—I had no itinerary, no prior research, and no concrete plans. The only thing I had secured was my visa, which I obtained in what was possibly the most informal way imaginable.
The Strangest Visa Process Ever
Getting the Somaliland visa didn’t involve embassies, consulates, or official websites. Instead:
- I found an individual’s Yahoo email address on a Lonely Planet Thorn Tree forum.
- He claimed to represent Somaliland’s consular services in the USA.
- I emailed him a basic application and sent $20 via PayPal.
- A few days later, my visa approval arrived—no stamps, no formal paperwork, just an email attachment.
It was the most laid-back and unofficial visa I had ever obtained. But in Somaliland, that’s just how things worked.
With zero expectations and no real plan, I was about to step into one of the most unique, unrecognized states in the world.
About Somaliland
My route across Somaliland
Somaliland: A Breakaway State in the Shadows of Somalia
Somaliland was once a British colony, which, after gaining independence, became part of greater Somalia. However, during the 1980s civil war, Somaliland broke away, playing a role in the overthrow of Somalia’s strongman dictator, Siad Barre.
What followed in Somalia was decades of anarchy, warlords, and terrorism, but Somaliland remained separate, declaring independence. Despite functioning as a de facto independent nation, it has yet to receive official recognition from the United Nations.
Somalia still claims Somaliland as its own, while Somaliland continues to push for international legitimacy—a battle that remains unresolved to this day.
A Desert Land, Safer Than Somalia
Geographically, Somaliland is mostly an arid desert that stretches along the northern Indian Ocean. Unlike its neighbor Somalia, it has largely escaped the worst of banditry, piracy, and Al Shabab’s Islamist insurgency.
However, Somaliland remains remote, with few visitors at the time of my trip. Information was scarce, and there was no established tourist infrastructure.
I had no real guidance, no locals to ask for advice, and no idea what to expect.
This mix of apprehension and excitement made Somaliland feel like true frontier travel—the kind of journey where you’re blazing new trails, stepping into the unknown, and seeing a place few outsiders had ever experienced.
Crossing a Border that Few Foreigners Have Ever Crossed
My shared taxi jeep I took across Somaliland at night
A Surreal Journey Into Somaliland
I entered Somaliland from Djibouti in a shared taxi jeep, thanks to the kindness of a Yemeni man I met at my hotel.
He was a businessman who frequently worked between Djibouti and Somaliland and, in a random act of generosity, he volunteered to help me find the right transport. He even provided me with the contact information for a Chief Immigration Official in Hargeisa, in case I ran into any trouble.
The Yemeni man expected nothing in return—a kind of selfless hospitality I remembered from my previous trip to Yemen.
At the chaotic bus station, his assistance was invaluable. But once the taxi bus departed, I was on my own—packed into a cramped jeep full of strangers with a driver who spoke no English.
Crossing Into Somaliland—An Unfamiliar American Passport
- Exiting Djibouti was easy, but the Somaliland border was another story.
- The officials carefully examined my informal visa letter, which had been emailed to me by someone in the USA claiming to represent “Somaliland Missions.”
- Their confusion was immediate. They argued amongst themselves, unsure of what to do.
- When they asked why I wanted to visit Somaliland, I confidently stated: “Your government granted me this visa. It gives me permission to enter.”
- The officials remained baffled, explaining that they had only ever seen one foreigner enter Somaliland here—never an American—and they had never encountered an American passport before.
- I called my Yemeni contact, who translated over the phone.
- After some debate, they finally granted me entry—largely thanks to my Yemeni friend and his well-connected contact in Hargeisa.
An All-Night Drive Across the Somaliland Desert
The jeep was packed to the brim—passengers squeezed together, with some seated in the trunk atop piles of luggage, where there were no seats or windows.
I paid extra to sit in the front, but that didn’t buy me much space. There were still two people wedged between me and the driver.
I knew almost nothing about what to expect, except that:
- The journey to Hargeisa would take all night.
- Transfers only happen at night to avoid the scorching desert heat.
At one point, we stopped in the coastal town of Zeila for tea.
Inside a small tea shop, I found a rare moment of connection—watching WWF wrestling on a battered old TV alongside some Somali men.
One of them turned to me and, in perfect English, said:
“I used to live in Minnesota. I was a taxi driver.”
Before I could ask more, our driver whistled—it was time to go.
I never strayed far from the jeep, making sure I wouldn’t get left behind.
A Fever Dream of a Journey
We set off into the pitch-black desert, joining a small convoy of jeeps, each following the faint tire tracks of the one ahead.
There were no roads—just endless sandy tracts, no visible landmarks, and no distant village lights.
It was the kind of terrain where getting lost meant real danger.
The driver blasted Somali music at an ear-shattering volume all night, and I found myself drifting in and out of sleep, suspended in a half-conscious, dreamlike state.
At times, my actual dreams were less surreal than this waking reality.
Every so often, we would get stuck in the sand, forcing all passengers to jump out and dig the jeep free.
The drive was punctuated by random stops in isolated desert villages for tea or bathroom breaks.
Each time we stopped, locals stared at me, though no one seemed particularly interested.
I tried to strike up conversations, but no one spoke English.
It was a long, exhausting, and surreal journey—one of those moments in travel where you realize you’re truly on your own in an uncharted place, with no familiar points of reference.
By morning, I would arrive in Hargeisa—Somaliland’s dusty, self-declared capital, and the next phase of my journey would begin.
Somali music blasting all night in the shared taxi jeep
Detained in a Somalian Village During National Elections
Entering the Highlands of Somaliland
As morning light broke over the desert, our long, grueling journey continued, now ascending into higher elevations. The barren landscape slowly transformed—villages grew larger, and nomadic conical huts dotted the horizon.
Scattered throughout the hills, nomads herded goats, their silhouettes moving gracefully against the arid backdrop.
The rising sun cast a golden glow over the rugged terrain, making it feel like I was entering a different world, one where time had stood still for centuries.
Unexpected Delays at a Military Checkpoint
As we pushed deeper into the Somaliland interior, soldier checkpoints became more frequent, each manned by armed men in faded uniforms.
In one particular village, our jeep was stopped completely—soldiers prevented us from entering.
Everyone in the jeep piled out onto the dusty road, waiting with no explanation.
For an hour, we stood there in the morning heat, watching as the village remained just out of reach.
- No one explained why we were stopped.
- No one seemed in a hurry to move.
- And no one, except me, seemed confused.
I took the opportunity to capture photos of the passing nomads, their weathered faces and flowing robes blending seamlessly with the desert landscape.
However, nomadic women, no matter how friendly they seemed, refused to be photographed. They would smile, wave, but the moment I raised my camera, they would turn away or gesture no.
I respected their wishes and simply observed—taking in the rhythm of nomadic life, the dust in the air, the slow, deliberate pace of the desert.
Still, I couldn’t shake the mystery of the checkpoint.
What were we waiting for?
Would we be allowed to pass?
No one knew.
Or if they did, they weren’t telling me.
Somalian nomad houses
Nomad girl
Nomad boy
Trapped in a Somaliland Village During Election Day
After an hour of waiting in the sun, the soldiers finally allowed us to enter the village—but then came the next surprise:
We were not allowed to leave.
I was confused. No one in the village seemed particularly alarmed by the situation, but no one could (or would) explain it to me either.
I attempted to call my Yemeni friend for answers, but he didn’t pick up.
Then, I remembered the Somali official in Hargeisa, whom the Yemeni businessman had introduced me to.
I dialed his number, and this time—he answered.
An Election Lockdown
The Hargeisa official spoke English and quickly explained the situation:
“There is a national election today. To prevent election fraud, the government has forbidden all travel between villages.”
Essentially, the entire country was on lockdown—no vehicles were allowed to move between towns until the elections were over.
“I will try to get you an exemption,” he assured me.
For now, though, I had no choice but to wait.
Exploring the Village in the Meantime
If I was going to be stuck, I might as well make the most of it.
The villagers were friendly, many of them curious about the lone foreigner wandering their town.
I walked through the dusty streets, stopping to chat with shopkeepers and observe daily life in this remote part of Somaliland.
At one point, a wild-eyed elderly man appeared—his unruly beard, tattered robe, and flashing sword making him look like something out of a medieval battlefield.
He marched right past me, swinging his sword in the air, loudly shouting:
“Allahu Akbar!”
For a split second, I tensed.
Then I noticed the other villagers snickering at him.
It was clear—this man wasn’t dangerous. He was just the town crazy.
Relieved, I relaxed and continued exploring, waiting for word on whether I’d be allowed to continue my journey.
The village I was detained in during elections
Kid playing in the village
Nomad lady walking her donkey
Somali Man
Somali man
Crazed man waving his sword
An Uncertain Wait in the Village
With no clear timeline on when we’d be allowed to leave, I started to feel the weight of our situation. We were still at least five hours from Hargeisa, and there was no way to know if we’d be stuck here for hours, or even overnight.
I tried to communicate with one of the soldiers, using my best attempts at sign language to ask when we might be allowed to go.
But he just stared at me blankly, clearly not understanding—or perhaps choosing not to answer.
A Surprise English Speaker
Then, out of nowhere, a Somali passenger from my jeep taxi approached me and said in perfect English:
“We are not allowed to leave until maybe this afternoon. In the meantime, you can sleep in the guesthouse.”
I was shocked.
After all this time, someone finally spoke English—yet he had waited until now to reveal it.
But his expression was grim, and his voice carried a heavy sadness.
He explained that he was traveling to say goodbye to his father, who was on his deathbed.
Now, like me, he was stuck in this village—helpless to reach his family in time.
A Rest Before the Journey Continues
With nothing else to do, I took his advice and lay down for a few hours in the guesthouse, catching up on much-needed rest.
Sometime later, my new English-speaking friend woke me with news:
“We have permission to leave now.”
I grabbed my things, and we piled back into the jeep, finally continuing our bumpy 4WD journey toward Hargeisa.
But just as we were beginning to feel relieved, tragedy struck.
At one of our stops, the man received a phone call.
His father had just passed away.
The journey he had fought to complete was now meaningless.
Guesthouse were I slept during detention
My bed in the guesthouse
Traveling to Berbara and Visiting Ancient Rock Paintings
Arrival in Hargeisa
By the time we finally reached Hargeisa, the sun was setting, casting an orange haze over the dusty city.
From a distance, Hargeisa looked less like a traditional capital and more like an endless sprawl of huts and cinder block buildings, scattered loosely across the arid landscape.
As we drove toward my hotel, we encountered an unforgettable sight—hundreds of people kneeling in the middle of the street, all facing the same direction in prayer.
The city hummed with the evening call to prayer, echoing through the streets as the faithful bowed in unison.
I quietly checked into my simple hotel, exhausted from the journey. I barely had time to process the past 24 hours before collapsing into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
A Mandatory Armed Escort to Berbera
The next morning, I met another traveler at the hotel—someone also looking to make the journey to Berbera, Somaliland’s main port city.
We decided to share a taxi to cut costs.
But before we could depart, we were informed of an unexpected requirement:
We had to hire a government-mandated security guard—an armed escort carrying a rifle—to accompany us on the journey.
After spending the previous day traveling freely across the desert in shared taxis without any security, this seemed completely unnecessary.
But the authorities didn’t give us a choice.
No armed guard? No travel permit.
And so, with our reluctant new bodyguard in tow, we set off on the next leg of our Somaliland adventure.
Armed escort in the backseat with me
Ancient Rock Art at Las Geel
As we made our way toward Berbera, we stopped at one of Somaliland’s most remarkable archaeological sites—Las Geel, an isolated rock art site tucked away in a stunning patch of desert.
Las Geel is one of the most significant rock art discoveries in Africa, yet it remained unknown to the international community until just a few years before my visit.
The site contains vivid paintings over 5,000 years old, depicting a time when Somalia’s climate was much wetter and more fertile than today.
A Guardian of History
An elderly Somali man—who lived on-site as the caretaker—greeted us upon arrival.
Without saying much, he led us across the rocky landscape, eventually guiding us into a shallow cave where the ancient artwork lined the walls.
Inside, the paintings were astonishingly well-preserved—their rich reds, yellows, and ochre tones still vibrant despite enduring thousands of years of desert winds.
The figures depicted cattle, people, and wild animals, illustrating a forgotten era when this land was likely covered in lush grasslands, rivers, and thriving settlements.
The caretaker pointed out his favorite paintings, explaining their significance in Somali oral tradition.
For a moment, standing there in the cave, surrounded by prehistoric art, I felt like I had stepped into another world—one where the Sahara hadn’t yet swallowed the land.
Las Jeel Ancient Cave paintings
Desert around las Jeel
Wildlife
View from the cave
Caretaker of las Jeel showing us the ancient paintings
Me at Las Jeel
Cave painting
Berbara
Echoes of War and a Small Act of Kindness
As we continued our journey toward Berbera, the landscape was littered with remnants of Somalia’s turbulent past.
Along the roadside, we passed abandoned tanks and rusting military vehicles, eerie reminders of the Somali Civil War.
The sight of these war relics, slowly being reclaimed by the desert, made it clear that the scars of conflict still lingered, even in this seemingly peaceful stretch of Somaliland.
Amidst this desolation, I spotted a small desert tortoise, slowly making its way across the road—an unfortunate place for such a fragile creature.
Without hesitation, I picked it up and carried it to a nearby bush, where it would be safely concealed from passing vehicles.
It was a small act, but in a landscape that had seen so much destruction, it felt good to protect something, even if just a tortoise.
Berbera: A Missed Opportunity?
By the time we arrived in Berbera, I was exhausted from the long journey.
The city, once a key port for ancient traders, had an intriguing mix of Ottoman, Arab, and colonial-era architecture—but I regretfully didn’t explore it as much as I should have.
Instead, I stayed close to my beachside hotel, spending most of my time walking along the empty shoreline.
The beach was quiet and beautiful, with soft golden sand and crystal-clear water stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
For a place so steeped in history, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had barely scratched the surface of what Berbera had to offer.
But sometimes, after days of relentless travel, simply standing barefoot on an empty beach is enough.
Tanks from the civil war
Desert tortoise I rescued from the road
Typical transport in Somalia
View of the beach by my hotel
Guest rules on my door at my hotel
Abandoned ship at Berbara
The Journey Back: From Berbera to Harar
After a peaceful night in Berbera, I made my way back to Hargeisa, where I spent one final night before setting off for Ethiopia the next morning.
The next leg of the journey would be another grueling ride, this time in a shared bush taxi bound for Harar, Ethiopia.
Claustrophobia in a Somali Bush Taxi
If I thought my previous desert taxi ride across Somaliland had been uncomfortable, this one took it to another level.
The vehicle was jam-packed with passengers, each one squeezed shoulder to shoulder, with no room to stretch or shift positions.
My backpack was wedged awkwardly between my legs, and the stifling heat made the air inside thick and heavy.
With every bump in the road, I felt myself growing increasingly restless, struggling to suppress the rising sensation of panic from being so tightly confined.
The combination of overcrowding, heat, and exhaustion made the ride one of the most claustrophobic I had ever endured.
I tried to focus on my breathing, telling myself:
“Just a few more hours… just a few more hours.”
Arrival in Ethiopia: A New Adventure Begins
Despite the discomfort, I eventually made it to the border, where I crossed into Ethiopia and continued the journey to Harar-Ancient Muslim City of Harar, Gelada Baboons and the Rock Hewn Churches of Northern Regions of Amhara and Tigray, Ethiopia | Venture The Planet, an ancient walled city known for its labyrinthine alleys and rich cultural history.
As soon as I stepped out of the cramped taxi, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, stretching my legs and breathing in the fresh Ethiopian air.
Though the journey had been torturous, I knew that Harar would be worth it.