Sunday September 7, 2025
Introduction: The Unfinished Question
Land in Somalia is not just a resource. It is the language of dignity, identity, and power. To ask who owns land in Somalia is to open a door to centuries of history, layers of conflict, and competing visions of authority. Every Somali warlord, president, or clan elder has at some point staked their legitimacy on land — whether by claiming ancestral grazing routes, allocating farms as political favours, or fighting for control of a city.
The Somali constitution says clearly that land and natural resources belong to the state. Individuals may acquire rights through leases or ownership titles. But in practice, Somalis often speak and act as if land belongs to clans: a valley to one lineage, a town to another, even a capital city to a single clan-family. This contradiction — between legal ownership and cultural custodianship — sits at the heart of Somalia’s fragile politics.
It is also a contradiction with Somali life abroad. In London, Minneapolis, Toronto, or Nairobi, Somalis buy homes, run businesses, and run for office without invoking lineage. They accept that land belongs to residents under law, not to ancestors. Inside Somalia, the opposite prevails. Abroad, they thrive under civic belonging; at home, they revert to lineage.
This paradox, and its impact on Somalia’s future, is the focus of this essay.
How Somalia’s Land Question Took Shape
Custodianship Before the State
Long before the modern state, Somali society organised land through collective custodianship. Nomadic pastoralists claimed grazing areas and water wells as the heritage of specific clans or sub-clans. Farmers in the Shabelle and Juba valleys cultivated land seen as belonging to their lineage. Boundaries were not surveyed, but they were recognised. Land was defended not only as livelihood but as honour.
Colonial Disruptions
Colonial powers reshaped this arrangement. Italians in the south seized fertile land for banana plantations, displacing Somali farmers and introducing formal deeds for settlers. In the north, the British codified grazing territories to control pastoralists and protect their trade routes. These interventions imposed rigid notions of ownership onto a system built for mobility and negotiation, planting seeds of future disputes.
Independence and Constitutional Ownership
At independence in 1960, the Somali constitution declared that all land and natural resources belonged to the state. Citizens could acquire usage rights through government-issued titles or leases. On paper, this aligned Somalia with other modern states. In practice, institutions to enforce it were weak. Rural leases were rarely issued, towns remained under informal arrangements, and clans continued to act as the true custodians.
Siad Barre’s Experiment
The Barre regime attempted sweeping reform. In the 1970s, all land was nationalised. Farmers were ordered to register their plots, cooperatives were promoted, and the state took control of allocation. In theory, this was the final blow to clan ownership. In reality, it deepened corruption. Loyalists to the regime received fertile plots; locals lost land overnight. Registration was uneven, leaving most rural Somalis untouched. Instead of replacing lineage with law, the reforms overlaid a new system of favouritism.
Civil War and Collapse
When the state fell in 1991, land became the first battlefield. Warlords carved Mogadishu into militia zones, displaced communities seized abandoned houses, fertile river valleys were occupied by armed groups. With no functioning state, every neighbourhood and farm became contested. Overlapping titles proliferated — some issued by local councils, others by transitional governments, many simply forged. To this day, land disputes clog Mogadishu’s courts and ignite rural clashes.
The legacy is clear: Somalia inherited a constitutional framework that was never enforced, colonial distortions that were never resolved, and clan custodianship that was never transformed.
The Urban Contradiction
If the land question is unresolved in the countryside, it is most explosive in cities. Instead of being engines of civic belonging, Somali cities are narrated through lineage. Mogadishu is described as a Hawiye city, Baidoa as Rahanweyn, Kismayo as Darood. These labels are more than demographic shorthand. They imply ownership, as if the city itself were an extension of clan territory.
This mindset cripples urban life. In a modern city, legitimacy comes from residence and contribution. Whoever lives there, pays taxes, invests, and participates should be recognised as a rightful citizen of that city. Cities thrive when belonging is civic, not ancestral.
The contrast is stark when viewed against global cities. Sadiq Khan, the son of Pakistani immigrants, has been elected mayor of London three times. Zohran Mamdani, born in Uganda to South Asian parents, is today a rising political leader in New York. Neither man claims legitimacy through lineage. Their authority flows from civic trust: they live in these cities, serve their communities, and are chosen by fellow residents.
Somalis abroad accept this logic easily. They buy property in Nairobi, run businesses in Toronto, run for office in Minneapolis — never asking which clan “owns” the city. Yet at home, they revert to lineage: Mogadishu “belongs” to one clan, Kismayo to another. This paradox weakens Somalia at its core. Cities that should unite the nation instead divide it, because civic belonging is suffocated by ancestral claims.
The Rural Dilemma
Rural Somalia faces its own version of the problem. Pastoralist clans still claim vast grazing areas as ancestral territory. Farmers along the rivers claim permanent plots. In the absence of formal leases, disputes often erupt into violence. Climate change and demographic pressure worsen the scarcity, making every well and pasture more contested.
The state’s failure to provide a transparent framework compounds this. Governments have issued overlapping leases, sold public land corruptly, and used allocation as political currency. Some ministries granted the same land to multiple claimants; others handed valuable plots to relatives or allies. Instead of being a neutral arbiter, the state became part of the problem. Communities reverted to clan custodianship, seeing it as the only real protection.
Lessons from Elsewhere
Somalia’s dilemma is not unique. Other African states have struggled with the collision of custom and law.
- Rwanda launched a national land registry after genocide. Every parcel was surveyed and recorded digitally. Disputes declined, but the state’s control expanded. The lesson: clarity and transparency reduces conflict and increases trust, but centralisation can bring its own risks.
- Ethiopia declares all land state property but provides farmers with long-term leases. This protects livelihoods while preventing mass privatisation. The system is imperfect, yet it gives citizens some security against eviction.
- Tanzania created village land councils that blend customary authority with statutory law. Disputes are mediated locally, but their decisions carry legal recognition. This hybrid model respects tradition while strengthening the state.
Each case shows that bridging lineage and law is possible. Somalia can learn, but it must adapt solutions to its own culture and history.
What Somalia Must Do
Resolving the land dilemma requires more than technical fixes. It demands a cultural shift from lineage to civic belonging, supported by strong institutions. Several steps are essential:
- Constitutional Clarity
The constitution must reaffirm state ownership while guaranteeing citizens’ rights through residency and property. Cities cannot be “owned” by clans; they belong to residents.
- National Land Registry
Using satellite mapping and digital systems, Somalia must survey land and record rights transparently. This would prevent overlapping claims and reduce corruption.
- Rural Usage Rights
Pastoralist migration routes and farmland must be legally recognised. Issuing leases for grazing and cultivation would reduce violent clashes and integrate mobility into law.
- Urban Citizenship
Municipal governments must treat all residents equally. A Mogadishan is anyone who lives, works, and contributes in Mogadishu, not just those from one lineage.
- Independent Tribunals
Land disputes should be handled by bodies insulated from clan and political pressure.
- Anti-Corruption Safeguards
Allocation must be transparent, with open registries and oversight mechanisms to prevent misuse.
Choosing a Different Belonging
Somalia’s land question is ultimately about belonging. Will belonging continue to be defined by lineage, where towns are claimed by clans and rural lands defended as ancestral property? Or will belonging be redefined as civic, where residence, contribution, and law determine rights?
The world offers a model. Londoners accept Sadiq Khan as their mayor, New Yorkers elect Zohran Mamdani to represent them, not because of ancestral claims but because of civic trust. Somalis abroad already live by this principle. Bringing it home is the real challenge.
If Somalia can make that leap — to declare that Mogadishu belongs to Mogadishans, Baidoa to its residents, Kismayo to its people — it will have done more than resolve a land dispute. It will have redefined the republic on the basis of equality, dignity, and shared belonging. That is the unfinished question. And answering it is the path to Somalia’s future.