Monday March 10, 2025
By Jethro Norman
A Somali soldier takes a picture of himself with his mobile phone (Alamy)
While the UK government struggles to deliver reliable mobile coverage across some rural communities, Somalia – a country that hasn’t had a functioning central government for three decades – has built one of Africa’s most resilient telecommunications networks. As a British researcher who conducts fieldwork in Somalia, I’m often struck by an ironic reality: I can find more reliable mobile coverage in hard-to-reach Somali villages than in certain parts of Manchester, where I’m from. This connectivity paradox highlights how necessity can drive innovation in unexpected places.
Upon arriving in a new town or village in Somalia, I’ve grown accustomed to an intriguing sight: elders – the traditional authorities in Somali society – greeting me with a hangool, a traditional walking stick, in one hand and a smartphone in the other. It hasn’t always been this way. In previous decades, making international calls often meant crossing borders into neighbouring Ethiopia or Kenya. Now, video calls between rural communities within Somalia and their diaspora relatives – whether engineers in Oslo or banking executives in Toronto – are commonplace. Traditional village meetings are still held under the shade of a tree, but it’s not unusual for elders to pause our conversation to patch in clan members from across the globe via WhatsApp.
Somalia’s telecommunications success story might seem counterintuitive. How has a country without a functioning central government for over three decades built one of Africa’s most sophisticated mobile networks? The answer, in part, is that Somalia’s telecom sector hasn’t merely survived despite the conflict and state collapse – it has thrived because of it. When the Somali state collapsed in 1991, hundreds of thousands fled abroad. Those who remained became dependent on money from this diaspora, creating an urgent need for reliable communication networks. In the regulatory vacuum that followed, companies like Hormuud Telecom stepped in, building extensive networks in the absence of government licenses or bureaucratic oversight. While these companies have since grown into powerful oligopolies, they’ve nonetheless delivered remarkable results: Somalia now has the cheapest mobile data rates in Africa and the seventh cheapest globally.
Today, the relationship between telecoms companies and the fledgling, externally supported Somali federal government is a complex one. In January 2024, tensions escalated when Somalia’s National Intelligence and Security Agency raided Hormuud’s offices, demanding access to customer data from their mobile money service. The company refused, citing privacy laws, leading to a brief but tense standoff that highlighted both the power of these telecom giants and the challenges they face operating in a conflict zone. Meanwhile, across the swathes of Somali territory lying outside of state control, these telecommunications companies operate in a complex security environment, navigating demands from various armed groups while maintaining services.
It is not despite but because of this complex political environment that innovation continues to flourish. Somalia largely skipped the landline era entirely, leaping straight to mobile networks. Today, 4G coverage extends across major urban centres and trading routes; as of early 2024, 5G began to be rolled out by several of the major providers. More than 70 per cent of Somalis use mobile money services like Hormuud’s EVC Plus or Telesom’s Zaad, making the country one of the world’s most advanced mobile money economies. This digital development varies significantly across Somalia’s regions, with the relatively stable northern territories enjoying more consistent coverage than southern regions, where Al-Shabaab maintains a stronger presence. Nevertheless, even in contested areas, basic mobile services remain remarkably resilient.
Somalia’s telecommunications sector serves as a powerful reminder that so-called ‘failed states’ can produce remarkably vibrant economic sectors and be hotbeds of innovation. The narrative of Somalia as simply a collapsed state misses the remarkable resilience and entrepreneurship that has emerged in this challenging environment.
However, it’s important to acknowledge that this success isn’t without significant downsides. Inequality is extremely high, with the benefits of digital connectivity unevenly distributed. Large parts of rural Somalia still face connectivity challenges. While telecom companies like Hormuud and Telesom have driven innovation, they function as oligopolies with considerable market power and political influence.
The secret that makes the system work is that Somalia’s digital infrastructure serves everyone’s interests, even amid protracted conflict. The Al-Qaeda affiliated Islamist group Al-Shabaab makes sophisticated use of social media; clans raise development funds through WhatsApp; NGOs deliver aid through mobile money; and nascent state authorities increasingly rely on digital services.
This disparity tells us something important about innovation. Britain’s sophisticated banking infrastructure, while advanced, may have actually slowed digital adoption. Meanwhile, Somalia’s lack of formal institutions forced rapid innovation in mobile money and digital governance. As such, some Somali villages with dirt roads and minimal infrastructure enjoy more reliable mobile connectivity than certain neighbourhoods in Manchester or other British urban areas.
Building on this foundation of connectivity, the real revolution, however, has come in the last five years. A proliferation of cheap smartphones from Asia, combined with Somalia’s low data costs, has transformed how Somali society operates. WhatsApp groups have become important coordination mechanisms for community action, particularly in areas where the state’s reach is limited. These groups, often organised along clan lines, can be used to crowdfund everything from new schools and hospitals to road construction projects, intersecting with traditional, decentralised clan governance structures.
A typical village, for instance, might have dozens of WhatsApp groups, each dedicated to specific community needs: one for emergency response, another for education initiatives, and others for political mobilisation.
The system’s effectiveness presents an unexpected challenge to Western state-building efforts in Somalia, of which the UK has been a significant contributor over the past decade. Despite billions of dollars and decades of work trying to establish centralised government institutions, in large parts of Somalia clan-based WhatsApp groups are often more successful at delivering basic services and maintaining order.
This digital ecosystem is sophisticated and adapted to Somali society. When a development project is proposed, diasporas who donated money can watch live video updates of the construction progress. Voice messages allow illiterate elders to participate alongside educated diaspora members in decision-making processes. In one group I observed, a doctor in Sweden, a lawyer in Canada, and a traditional elder under a tree in Somalia were all actively participating in a discussion about building a new health clinic.
A typical village in Somalia might have dozens of WhatsApp groups
The system isn’t without its drawbacks, however. WhatsApp groups can exacerbate clan rivalries, with development projects often framed in terms of competition between different clans. There is also evidence that traditional authorities, such as elders, are being sidelined as tech-savvy youth gain influence through their digital capabilities. Some diaspora members, overwhelmed by constant demands for contributions, resort to changing their phone numbers to avoid their obligations.
This digital revolution has also transformed conflict dynamics. During recent fighting in a city in northern Somalia where I conducted fieldwork, clan militias used WhatsApp groups to coordinate their operations and raise funds from the diaspora. Smartphones became weapons in their own right, with users documenting attacks and broadcasting them live to global audiences. One local man I interviewed would deliberately run toward attacks with his smartphone, livestreaming the events to diaspora members who could then mobilise support. This digital dimension of warfare, which has gained widespread attention in Ukraine, has been a reality in Somalia for years.
Somalia’s experience offers important lessons about development in the digital age. While the international community continues to push for conventional state-building, Somalis have organically developed a hybrid system that combines traditional social structures with modern technology. It’s a reminder that effective governance and development doesn’t always follow Western state-centric models. It’s also a compelling contrast to Britain, where despite being one of the world’s wealthiest nations, many rural communities still struggle with basic mobile coverage.
This digital transformation shows no signs of slowing. As one elder told me, gesturing with his smartphone: ‘Technology has advanced so many things. Even in the rural areas when they’re milking the cows and goats, we introduce new family members through video calls.’ It’s a powerful illustration of how digital innovation can flourish in the most unexpected places – even in the absence of a functioning state.