Mustafa Saeed on pop art and Somali culture

It was during a bout of doom scrolling on Instagram that I first encountered one of his works. Titled Monument, the piece arrested my attention because of the way that it used elements of Somali culture which are ubiquitous but intelligently detached and isolated from their context. The graphics transform pieces of our culture into abstractions that feel both familiar but a bit lost. Several subeeciyado flutter in the wind suspended mid-air, one floats in the silhouette of a person who isn’t there. The image is full of these contradictions.

The background is the miyi/baadiye, an important place for Somalis, which, at the same time, isn’t really a place. Bordering the shot is a lineup of girgirayaal, which contribute to the interplay between these contradictions that run through the image. It is noteworthy that girgire produce the distinct scent that sets the ambience for a Somali home. The image contains all the ingredients that make a home, but it feels empty.

Mustafa Saeed is the image’s creator. He is a photographer and graphic artist with an eclectic style, incorporating a range of images, sounds, and poetry into his work to create an aesthetic that draws on global influences but is unmistakably his own—one that speaks to the layered experience of Somaliland’s past, present, and its imagined future. He photographs, he designs, he listens; and in the act of creating, Mustafa finds ways to articulate what was previously unspoken.

Born into a generation shaped by conflict, displacement, and the constant pull between tradition and modernity, Mustafa’s work is not just about aesthetics—it is a way of navigating the complexities of identity and self-expression in the Horn of Africa. “I never had the freedom of self-expression, never knew how to speak about myself or the things I like, whether in school or outside of school,” Mustafa admits. These words are not just his but resonate with the collective voice of Somali youth—a generation yearning to break their silences.

For Mustafa, self-expression has always been laden with doubt—an inherited hesitancy, a culture that equates vulnerability with weakness and openness with an opportunity to exploit. Yet, in the spaces between doubt and action, his work thrives.

His earliest encounters with art were far from conventional. Growing up in Saudi Arabia, far removed from his roots in Hargeisa, he was drawn to the world of visual culture through the magazines that filled their house. Covers of music tapes, in particular, became his first avenue into the world of design. He wasn’t just listening to the melodies or studying the lyrics of the albums he collected; he was fascinated by the packaging, the design, and the culture embedded within those covers. “I used to buy music albums, spend my break-time snack money just to get the booklets,” he recalls. There was something in the glossy, often surreal designs that captured his imagination. He wasn’t just looking at them as a consumer; he was learning from them, absorbing the language of visual communication before he even realised what he was doing.

He wasn’t just looking at them as a consumer; he was learning from them, absorbing the language of visual communication before he even realised what he was doing.

This early fascination with design would eventually evolve into a lifelong passion. He remembers when he first stumbled upon the idea of graphic design: “I myself didn’t know it had a name,” Mustafa admits, “but I knew it was a tool for me to create things I needed to do.”

In hindsight, it seems almost inevitable that Mustafa would eventually pursue a career in design, given how early he started immersing himself in the craft. But it wasn’t until he returned to Hargeisa, after years spent in Saudi Arabia, that he began to make this passion a professional pursuit.

Coming back to Hargeisa was not a simple transition. The city, though brimming with potential, was still recovering from the civil war. There was an urgency in the air, a sense of rebuilding not just physical spaces but also cultural ones. “Hargeisa was almost in ruins, but there was so much potential,” he reflects. In this environment, Mustafa began working in advertising, a job that would push him deeper into the world of design. It wasn’t the glamorous life of an artist he might have imagined, but it was a start, and in many ways, it set the stage for the artist he would become.

When he started working for an ad agency in Hargeisa, it was more than just a job. It was an entry point into understanding the relationship between design, culture, and commerce.

Advertising, after all, is as much about identity and storytelling as it is about selling products. In many ways, it’s a reflection of a society’s values, desires, and aspirations. For Mustafa, working in this field gave him the opportunity to learn how to use design as a tool for communication. He understood that graphic design was not just about making something look good—it was about telling a story, making a statement, and ultimately, shaping perceptions. “I started to understand that design is about communication. It’s not just art for art’s sake,” he says. “It’s a tool to communicate ideas.”

This job was a gateway for him to connect with many who shared common interests, leading to the event that would later see him participate in the 3rd edition of Addis Fotofest, his first international spotlight.

“We are cornered within our own fears, in small, virtual spaces. I feel that we are our own prisons,” a young man tells Mustafa during an interview for his project Cornered Energies, a series that captures the lives of Somaliland’s youth in their natural habitats—tea shops, street corners, or in the recesses of their own minds. Mustafa’s lens does more than document; it exposes, peels back layers, and offers an unflinching gaze into a culture that often leaves its youth voiceless. He doesn’t just photograph them; he listens to them, coaxing thoughts out like water from a dry well. They speak of clannism, corruption, and the shadow of a “dictatorship culture” that stifles individuality. “I am an alien with my own people in my own country,” another subject laments, their words heavy with estrangement.

With Cornered Energies, Mustafa challenges societal norms and self-imposed limitations alike. “I can break it, whatever it is that is standing in front of me. I am breaking it now, expressing myself. I feel it is easy and it always was,” one of his subjects declares. Their courage mirrors Mustafa’s own journey—a journey that has taken him from Hargeisa’s quiet streets to international platforms.

The monochromatic backdrops of his photographs in Cornered Energies are punctuated by neon-coloured bodies, vibrant figures that seem to pulse with a vitality yearning to break free. “We are all occupying different spaces,” he explains, “but we are all filling them with soul and motion.” The choice of neon, Mustafa says, symbolises the energy within—untamed, unchannelled, yet undeniable. These figures seem to exist on the cusp of something monumental, their potential tangible yet constrained by the lack of platforms or opportunities. “When I was a teenager, there were not so many things to do,” Mustafa reflects. “Lots of youth fell under the usage of khat, spending most of their time in tea or coffee shops. Much energy and many ideas were wasted, not only time.”

Art, for the young Hargeisa photographer, became both escape and salvation from such an atmosphere.

Mustafa’s work, in so many ways, aligns with artists who prioritise style as a means of transforming the ordinary into something visually and conceptually powerful. In its layered compositions and almost hyperreal aesthetic, Mustafa’s art recalls the visual intensity of David LaChapelle—an artist who, like Mustafa, bends the line between documentary and the surreal. LaChapelle’s signature use of exaggerated colours, staged realism, and cultural symbolism finds a parallel in Mustafa’s own approach, where the everyday becomes heightened, mythologised, and recontextualised through a Somali lens.

But LaChapelle himself didn’t emerge in a vacuum. He was deeply influenced by Andy Warhol, who arguably laid the foundation for this entire mode of visual storytelling—turning pop elements, consumer culture, and celebrity into a language of its own. Warhol’s factory-like production and reimagination of commercial imagery still echoes in the way LaChapelle constructs his glossy, almost religiously infused portraits. And in a way, that lineage extends to Mustafa, who, while rooted in the post-civil war realities of Somaliland, plays with the same sense of hyperreality, blending mass culture with deeply personal narratives, reimagining elements of Somali life—its architecture, textiles, and social spaces—by reconstructing them through a bold, carefully curated visual language.

Rather than simply documenting reality, Mustafa distorts and heightens it. His use of digital manipulation, mixed media, and abstracted forms turns ordinary scenes into compositions that feel at once intimate and mythical. He reconstructs everyday and conventional shapes and symbols into dreamlike images that blur the line between memory and the present. His approach to local imagery isn’t about direct representation but about evoking emotion, atmosphere, and reinterpretation.

His stylisation is rooted in the subtleties of place and history. His work is less about spectacle and more about the delicate balance between abstraction and identity, using style not to escape reality but to deepen its resonance.

Aware of the predicaments facing the youth, Mustafa founded Fankeenna, a youth-led art platform in Hargeisa, where he provides the very opportunities he longed for in his youth. Fankeenna is not just a space; it is a statement, a rebellion against the “doing nothing” he once feared. It is here that local artists find a gallery, a studio, a “community”. Mustafa and the staff at Fankeenna, themselves artists, help young and emerging local creatives by offering a spotlight through events like “Shaah Iyo Shaxan/Art and Tea” and guiding young artists through the technical sides of art, such as preparing portfolios, etc.

The artist’s impact, however, extends beyond Somaliland. His collaborations with international media and exhibitions in venues from Paris to New York amplify his voice, making him a prominent figure in contemporary Somali art. Through initiatives like the Art Works Projects’ Emerging Lens Mentorship Programme and The Anarchist Citizenship’s multidisciplinary art exhibition, Mustafa contributes, mentors, and inspires, proving that even the most “cornered” energies can catalyse change.

The project that perhaps best captures Mustafa’s artistic ethos is Cohesive Randomness, a body of work that deals with the themes of conflict, healing, and the reconstruction of identity. For Mustafa, these are not just theoretical concepts; they are deeply personal. “I was thinking of those different scenarios that might make or create what it is to be a citizen in the world, especially in this region, the way we try to define ourselves, through spirituality or politics, while the motive is always to be seen or heard,” he recalls.

Growing up in the aftermath of the Somali civil war, he lived through the fragmentation of a nation and the displacement of families. The process of rebuilding is not just about physical reconstruction; it is about healing the deep emotional and psychological wounds caused by years of conflict. Art, for Mustafa, offers a way to navigate this process. “I believe art has the power to heal, to process pain,” he says. “For me, creating art is a way to heal both personally and collectively.”

The process of rebuilding is not just about physical reconstruction; it is about healing the deep emotional and psychological wounds caused by years of conflict. Art, for Mustafa, offers a way to navigate this process.

But his art is not just about healing. It is also about representation. Throughout his career, he has been dedicated to creating work that reflects the diversity and complexity of Somali identity. “Somali culture is not just one thing. It’s multiple things, it’s fluid,” he says. “My work is an attempt to capture that complexity, to show that we are not a monolith.” In many ways, his work is a challenge to the simplistic, often one-dimensional portrayals of Somalis in the media. As someone who has lived in both the Horn of Africa and the Middle East, Mustafa has witnessed firsthand the way Somali culture is misunderstood, misrepresented, or erased altogether. His work, in part, is a response to these misrepresentations. It is a way of saying: “This is who we are, in all our complexity.”

In this sense, his art is also a form of resistance. It is an act of reclaiming Somali and African identity in a world that often seeks to define it on its own terms. For Mustafa, this means challenging stereotypes, breaking down cultural barriers, and exploring the intersections of African heritage and global culture. It was this desire to challenge stereotypes that inspired Mustafa and other photographers and artists in the Horn of Africa to start EverydayHornOfAfrica, an Instagram page dedicated to photographs of the everyday lives of the people in the region, captured through their own lenses and narratives. “Culture comes in different forms that you digest,” Mustafa explains, emphasising the fluidity of cultural identity. There is no single, static version of Somali culture. It is constantly evolving, shaped by both the past and the present. Mustafa’s work embraces this evolution, reflecting the ways in which Somali culture is simultaneously rooted in tradition and engaged with the global world.

What makes Mustafa’s approach to art so compelling is his ability to blend the local and the global, the traditional and the modern, in ways that feel organic rather than forced. His love for Somali culture is evident in every piece he creates, whether through the use of Somali symbolism, references to historical events, or the incorporation of Somali poetry. “I want my art to speak to Somali people, to reflect their experiences, but I also want it to speak to people from different backgrounds,” he says. “That’s the power of art—it transcends borders.”

One of Mustafa’s long-term goals is to create a genre that merges Somali cultural elements with the global language of pop art. “It’s about blending the old with the new,” he explains. “It’s about creating something that feels uniquely Somali but can resonate with people from all over the world”, he adds. This ambition reflects Mustafa’s broader vision for Somali art: to create a body of work that is not only a reflection of Somali culture but also a part of a global artistic conversation. In many ways, this desire to create a uniquely Somali pop art is a continuation of the process he started when he first began working in graphic design—the blending of tradition and modernity, the constant exploration of what it means to be Somali in a globalised world. “Art is a mirror, but also a window to what’s possible,” he says.