Somaliland wants to be a trading hub. Here are the problems

..and the potential.

Somaliland, a semi-desert territory on the coast of the Gulf of Aden, has set its sights on becoming a regional trading hub for the Horn of Africa. Though not internationally recognised, Somaliland’s "autonomous" status has insulated it from the turmoil that has subsumed Somali for the past two decades. It has a functioning political system, government institutions, its own currency and relatively low levels of political violence.

At the heart of its economic potential is the port of Berbera, used as an import and export hub by landlocked Ethiopia. Its two airports have undergone a USD 10 million Kuwaiti funded makeover which Somaliland hopes will be the start of efforts to develop its infrastructure, creating the potential for it to augment its position as an alternative trade corridor to Djibouti for Ethiopia.

Ethiopia’s USD 43bn economy, while largely closed to the outside world, is growing by 7 per cent a year and the country is keen to develop coffee and leather manufacturing exports.

The need for enhanced infrastructure in the region is demonstrated by persistent bottlenecks at ports in Mombasa, Dar es Salaam and Djibouti. The appalling condition of the Mombasa road linking the port with the rest of Kenya and the countries of the interior exacerbates the backlog.

Ethiopia’s over reliance on one trade corridor through Djibouti leaves the country vulnerable to fluctuations in its relationship with its trade partner, thereby compromising its ability to effectively manage the political economy of trade logistics. The World Bank has encouraged Addis Ababa to develop transport routes through Somaliland to diversify its options and improve its negotiating position with transit corridors.

Infrastructure development will provide a boost to Somaliland’s fledgling natural resources sector. Sharing the similar geology to the oil rich Gulf states, Somaliland and neighbouring Puntland, offer attractive prospecting opportunities for oil & gas companies. Canadian-listed Africa Oil Corp and Anglo-Turkish oil company Genel Energy, have signed contracts with the semi-autonomous governments and are exploring in the region.

In a situation similar to the standoff between Baghdad and Kirkuk, the activities of international oil companies have sparked controversy over which authorities have the right to issue exploration licences. Following the presidential election in Somalia in 2012, Somalia authorities are reasserting their claim that the issuing of such licences falls solely within the remit of the federal government.

The Somali constitution gives considerable autonomy to regional governments to enter into commercial contracts for oil deals, while a petroleum law, not yet adopted by parliament is being invoked by federal officials in Mogadishu to claim that the central government can distribute natural resources contracts.

The seeds of this controversy dates back to the 1991 overthrow of a dictator that plunged Somalia into two decades of violent turmoil, first at the hands of clan warlords and then Islamist militants, creating a political vacuum in which two semi-autonomous regions - Puntland and Somaliland – emerged in northern Somalia.

Multinational oil companies with licences to explore Somalia prior to 1991 have since seen Somaliland and Puntland grant their own licences for the same blocks. At present the federal government is too weak to press its claim and is unlikely to remain so into the medium term. Any concerted effort to force Somaliland and Puntland to rescind contracts has the potential to provoke violent clashes between armed groups and the security forces in the territories.

Activity by a range of investors in infrastructure development and oil & gas exploration is indicative of the potential to be unlocked in even the most challenging territories. With appropriate insurance coverages providing balance sheet protection against the challenges posed by unpredictable government action and the threat of political violence, opportunities abound for the intrepid investor.

Photograph: Getty Images

JLT Head of Credit & Political Risk Advisory

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This week, a top tip to save on washing powder (just don’t stand too near the window)

I write this, at 3.04pm on a sticky Thursday afternoon, in the state in which Adam, before his shame, strolled in the Garden of Eden.

Well, in the end I didn’t have to go to Ikea (see last week’s column). I got out of it on the grounds that I was obviously on the verge of a tantrum, always distressing to witness in a man in his early-to-mid-fifties, and because I am going to Switzerland.

“Why Switzerland?” I hear you ask. For the usual reason: because someone is paying for me. I don’t think I’m going to be earning any money there, but at least I’ll be getting a flight to Zurich and a scenic train ride to Bellinzona, which I learn is virtually in Italy, and has three castles that, according to one website, are considered to be “amongst the finest examples of medieval fortification in Switzerland”.

I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing there. It’s all about a literary festival generally devoted to literature in translation, and specifically this year to London-based writers. The organiser, who rejoices in the first name of Nausikaa, says that all I have to do is “attend a short meeting . . . and be part of the festival”. Does this mean I can go off on a stroll around an Alp and when someone asks me what I’m doing, I can say “Oh, I’m part of the festival”? Or do I have to stay within the fortifications, wearing a lanyard or something?

It’s all rather worrying, if I think about it too hard, but then I can plausibly claim to be from London and, moreover, it’ll give me a couple of days in which to shake off my creditors, who are making the city a bit hot for me at the moment.

And gosh, as I write, the city is hot. When I worked at British Telecom in the late Eighties, there was a rudimentary interoffice communication system on which people could relay one-line messages from their own computer terminal to another’s, or everyone else’s at once. (This was cutting-edge tech at the time.) The snag with this – or the opportunity, if you will – was that if you were not at your desk and someone mischievous, such as Gideon from Accounts (he didn’t work in Accounts; I’m protecting his true identity), walked past he would pause briefly to type in the message “I’m naked” on your machine and fire it off to everyone in the building.

For some reason, the news that either Geoff, the senior team leader, or Helen, the unloved HR manager, was working in the nude – even if we knew, deep down, that they weren’t, and that this was another one of Gideon’s jeux d’esprit – never failed to break the monotony.

It always amused us, though we were once treated to a terrifying mise en abîme moment when a message, again pertaining to personal nudity, came from Gideon’s very own terminal, and, for one awful moment, for it was a very warm day, about 200 white-collar employees of BT’s Ebury Bridge Road direct marketing division suddenly entertained the appalling possibility, and the vision it summoned, that Gideon had indeed removed every stitch of his clothing, and fired off his status quo update while genuinely in the nip. He was, after all, entirely capable of it. (We still meet up from time to time, we BT stalwarts, and Gideon is largely unchanged, except that he’s now a history lecturer.)

I digress in this fashion in order to build up to the declaration – whose veracity you can judge for yourselves – that as I write this, at 3.04pm on a sticky Thursday afternoon, I, too, am in the state in which Adam, before his shame, strolled in the Garden of Eden.

There are practical reasons for this. For one thing, it is punishingly hot, and I am beginning, even after a morning shower, to smell like a tin of oxtail soup (to borrow an unforgettable phrase first coined by Julie Burchill). I am also anxious not to transfer any of this odour to any of my clothes, for I will be needing them in Switzerland, and I am running low on washing powder, as well as money to buy more washing powder.

For another thing, I am fairly sure that I am alone in the Hovel. I am not certain. To be certain, I would have to call out my housemate’s name, and that would only be the beginning of our problems. “Yes, I’m here,” she would reply from her room. “Why?” “Um . . .” You see?

So here I lie on my bed, laptop in lap, every window as wide open as can be, and looking for all the world like a hog roast with glasses.

If I step too near the window I could get arrested. At least they don’t mind that kind of thing in Switzerland: they strip off at the drop of a hat. Oh no, wait, that’s Germany.

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times