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Thoughts

A requiem to Boroma, a Somali education hub

4 January, 2025
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Borama
This book monument at Borama's entrance symbolises the city's dedication to education. (Photo: Mahbub M. Abdillahi)
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Borama is a city renowned for its outsized role in Somali education and for the brilliant minds that have passed through its institutes. But distant clan conflicts have led some in the city to leave, fearing for their safety.

“The city we once knew and grew up in has changed,” a long-time resident of Borama reminisced, lamenting the transformation of his hometown, which had once been a safe haven for thousands of Somalis from across the country but has changed dramatically in the last two years. “The diverse community that made this city welcoming and unique is no more. It feels like many other isolated, single-clan-dominated cities now,” he says.  

Located 120 km from Hargeisa, the capital of Somaliland, Borama is a rapidly growing city strategically positioned along the borders of Ethiopia and Djibouti. Like a jewel set within a rugged crown, the city is surrounded by majestic rocky mountain ranges that encircle it on all sides. Upon entering Borama through its narrow, two-lane road that cuts between two rocky mountains, you are greeted by a large monument. A massive open book rests atop a sturdy pedestal, its pages sculpted to resemble the curves of wind-fluttered paper. The book, painted white, appears as if frozen mid-read, with bold red accents running along its edges. The pedestal, painted in a light blue to harmonise with the sky above, rises on four symmetrical columns. Behind it, power lines stretch lazily across the horizon.

The monument symbolises what this city is known for: the pedagogical contribution it has made to postcolonial Somalia. In the postcolonial and post-civil war era, Borama became a crucible for Somalia’s education sector. The city’s identity and how Somalis perceive its community are shaped by the thousands of students who have passed through its schools and universities. And when the state collapsed, the city remained one of the few that survived, thrived, and became a cosmopolitan hub. Somalis have described the city in many ways, and it has earned several distinguished titles over the years— Magaaladi aqoonyahanka- (The City of Intellectuals) and Xarunti waxbarashada (The Birthplace of Education).  

One of the signature characteristics of the city is its abundant greenery. On the northern side, just beside the renowned Rays Hotel—established in 2007—lies a sprawling sanctuary known as Seeraha. It is an unruffled open space, adored by locals, that stretches gracefully toward the mountain ranges that cradle the city. Every afternoon, locals come here to relax, picnic, or simply enjoy the tranquil nature this space offers. Recently, it has also begun attracting tourists from other cities in Somaliland.

To the northeast, the city boasts another magnificent site: the spectacular Aloog mountain range. Majestic peaks stand like sentries, draped in greenery that glows in the morning sun and shimmers under the stars at night. The Aloog mountains, with their winding trails, often attract adventure-seekers. On Fridays, groups of young people, armed with backpacks, ascend the trails for hikes.

“Here we find peace as we escape from the endless noise of the city,” one hiker, a young man of around 20, told me. “It’s here that we watch the city from the top as its guardians,” another young man humorously added.

In 1972, Maxamed Ibraahim Warsame, famously known as Hadraawi, a celebrated Somali poet and hailed as one of Africa’s literary giants, recited the immutable poem Baaq. In this poem, Hadraawi called on Somalis to explore their homeland, to cherish its grand beauty, its unique features, and its diverse landscapes. With ingenious imagery, he painted each city’s uniqueness, celebrating what made it special. Yet, it was Borama that captured his poetic heart. In a line that attempts to capture the city’s beauty, Hadraawi rhetorically asked: “O eyes of the watchers, have you not seen Borama?”

Though Borama is as beautiful as any Somali city can be, its contribution is best-known and celebrated through the lives it has shaped. It is here that the third president of Somaliland, Ahmed Mahamed Mohamud Silanyo, found his educational footing, and where the former president, Muse Bihi Abdi, also began his early education. Academics such as the Samatar brothers, celebrated for their scholarship, and Professor Hussein Warsame, a professor at the University of Calgary, are as much products of Borama as the city’s grey-brick lecture halls.

But Borama’s story isn’t just told through its most famous alumni. For decades, when Somalia disintegrated and its society fragmented into clan enclaves, leading to a brutal civil war that left wounds still haunting Somalis, Borama has become a standout city. Its schools and universities have drawn students from every corner of Somalia, each one leaving their mark and taking a piece of the city with them. Doctors who heal communities, teachers who inspire young minds, engineers who build the future—they carry Borama’s spirit wherever they go.

“The region of Awdal is home to Somali people, as well as others from across the Somali territories who have come to this region seeking education and a better life,” remarked the current deputy prime minister of Somalia, Salah Jama.

Mustafa, now an engineer living in Hargeisa, is a 2018 graduate of Amoud University. He describes how the city shaped him: “Borama isn’t just where I studied—it’s where I became who I am. The city challenged me, pushed me, and ultimately prepared me for life as an engineer. Its welcoming energy is something you carry with you.”

Abdillahi Shire has been in Borama for the last three years. He is from Puntland and came here for his higher education, like many of his friends. When Shire arrived in Borama, he enrolled at the University of Amoud, where he began studying for a degree in agriculture. “Borama welcomed us as students with remarkable hospitality and dignity. It’s a city free from clanism and ethnic divisions—a truly civilised place where you sometimes feel like you could spend your entire life,” Shire told me when I asked about his impressions of the city and how it welcomed him. He added: “The people of Borama are unlike any other Somali community; their nobility and welcoming spirit go beyond tribal affiliations, accepting and welcoming everyone wholeheartedly.”

Though the city has an estimated population of approximately 300,000 residents, it has invested heavily in education as its unique selling point. Despite its relatively small population, the city boasts more than 20 well-established primary and secondary schools. Additionally, Borama is home to seven nationally accredited universities, offering a wide range of academic programmes, including various PhD programmes in collaboration with other renowned universities across the region.

Amoud

Amoud University is among the most prestigious and historic Somali institutions of higher learning. (Photo: Mahbub M. Abdillahi)

One of these universities is Amoud, the oldest educational institution in Somalia. Rarely will you meet a Somali who hasn’t heard of this university. It has distinguished itself as a centre of education and has shaped the lives of thousands of Somali students, as well as the city itself economically and socially. It has also, throughout history, contributed to the literacy of Somalia through its years as both a school and a university over the last seven decades. However, the history of Amoud dates back to colonial times. Its history has been embedded in the Somali psyche through both oral and written literature. The acclaimed Somali intellectual and current senator, Professor Abdi Ismail Samatar, is one of the scholars who has written about Amoud’s history. In his work, Samatar narrates historical incidents that marked the beginning of modern education in northern Somalia and highlights how this community has always been a welcoming one.

During the colonial era, Borama’s education sector, as Samatar explained, initially comprised solely Quranic schools. The social sphere was dominated by religious leaders and scholars, and the idea of modern education, as in any other Somali-inhabited city, was not up for discussion. However, this dynamic began to change with the arrival of urbane individuals from Zeila, an ancient historical city, who introduced what he called a “moderating influence.”  

In the 1940s, a colonial officer campaigned for “secular education” in the British protectorate. The officer visited numerous cities in an attempt to persuade locals to adopt modern education. When he initially came to Borama, his plea was rejected by the residents.

However, there was a stark difference in how Burao and Borama received the officer’s plea for modern education, as Samatar writes. In Burao, the officer’s attempt to persuade locals to embrace modern education was met with hostility, and he was attacked and subsequently injured. In contrast, in Borama, while there was some resistance, the protests remained peaceful. The officer’s plea was rejected in a non-violent manner, and he was not attacked; his personal safety was ensured by the locals.

Despite this incident, educational reform in Borama had already begun in 1932, led by Aw Abdi Sheikh Nur, a respected local religious figure. Nur established Borama’s “first non-Quranic madrasa,” where he taught Arabic and arithmetic. He even developed a “non-Arabic and non-Latin script” for his students, which gained acceptance from the religious community, largely due to his family status. Nur hailed from a “prominent religious family,” and this later paved the way for greater tolerance towards modern education.

A few years later, Mahmoud Ahmed Ali, a former “colonial service head clerk” from Berbera, made a historical journey. Ali had resigned from his position at the colonial administration to advocate for “secular education” in the protectorate and to “persuade” Somalis of the value of modern education. His strategy was innovative. He sought to collaborate with madrasa teachers, hoping their involvement would mitigate resistance from locals and traditional leaders. However, his efforts in the madrasas in Berbera and Hargeisa, led by Sheikh Jama and Sheikh Ali Ibrahim, were unsuccessful, as the teachers declined to support “non-Islamic education”; to them, Islamic teaching was paramount.  

Ali's final attempt was with Nur’s Madrasa in Borama. After presenting his “secular education” proposal and recounting his earlier setbacks, Nur convened a meeting of town elders, allowing Ali to directly address them. This gave Ali an opportunity to engage with locals and lay down his agenda. The elders endorsed his vision unanimously, using the Somali word “Qabuul” (accepted). This marked a historical moment as the city “decided to try something, namely secular education, that the leading lights of the northern Somali community had rejected”. A was a new dawn for Somali education.

In 1944, the colonial administration launched its education initiative in the protectorate by establishing elementary schools in several towns, including Borama. However, as the first batch of students neared the end of the elementary program, discussions began about establishing an intermediate school. A heated rivalry emerged between Hargeisa and Borama for the school’s location, though Borama was a much smaller village than Hargeisa, the elders there still insisted it should be in their city. The colonial officer R.C. Bell, impressed by the determination and stubbornness of Borama’s elders, decided to visit the proposed site in Borama which was Amoud Valley, a suburban valley in the northern side of the city. The valley’s “beauty of the vista and the surrounding mountains” captured his imagination and convinced him to establish the school there.  

A few years later, a similar contest arose over the location of the protectorate’s “first Vocational Training Centre” (VTC), which would train “teachers and government clerks.” The governor decided in favour of Amoud, where Bell laid the foundation stone in 1952. With the VTC operational, Borama soon established Amoud Secondary School, completing a comprehensive education system in the region.  

Today, while the city’s charm remains, its community is as warm and welcoming as ever and its green spaces inviting, the conflicts that have recently ravaged Somaliland are reshaping the city economically and socially.  

By the hundreds, the majority of students who once flocked to Borama from Puntland and the rest of Somalia, often with dreams of building brighter futures here, no longer consider it a viable option. Many of them used to arrive with their families. But today, a shift has occurred, and those corridors of hope seem gradually to be narrowing.

Abdi, a young man who has been living in Borama for the last fourteen years, reflects on this. He and his family left Buhodle in search of stability and opportunity. “It was in 2011 when my family and I moved to the city of Borama,” he nostalgically recalls. “Truly, adapting to a new city and environment always comes with its own challenges. Although I was just a young boy at the time, one of the most significant things for me was the distance from my friends and the familiar environment I had grown up with.”

The plan had been to complete their education and return home afterward. But that changed when the family found the city welcoming. “Borama offers a peaceful environment where individuals from outside the area can live harmoniously without facing discrimination or being questioned about their background,” he says. After experiencing the hospitality and sense of belonging the city offers, the family decided to stay. His younger siblings also began their education.

When the recent Las Anod conflict broke out, Abdi left the city, though some of his family members still remain. The once-thriving cityscape quickly began to empty as many of the families and friends he knew fled. “This conflict created mistrust, leading people from regions involved in the clashes to perceive Borama as an unsafe place. Since Somaliland authorities controlled the city, those affected by the conflict felt they could be targeted for retribution. Consequently, many individuals who had intended to settle in Borama, or who were already residing there, reconsidered their plans and left, fearing for their safety due to the lingering tensions caused by the conflict,” Abdi shared.  

For generations, Somalis have been understood—or rather misunderstood—to believe that harmony is unattainable without a shared clan lineage. This notion has shaped perceptions both within and outside Somalia. Yet, as one walks through the streets and observes the weathered walls of Borama, it becomes clear that this belief is far from the truth. Borama has proven that Somalis can live in tolerance and coexist peacefully, transcending the constraints of clan affiliation.

However, the scars of ravaging conflicts—though they may not directly impact the city—are beginning to impact this idyllic and bookish city.

  

  • We have concealed the true identities of Abdi and Mustafe to ensure they could candidly express their views.

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