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Many got DP World’s Berbera deal wrong, but Berbera thrived. Maharat could reshape Somaliland’s skies too—but only if scrutiny, not hope, carries the day.
Each evening as dusk falls, Egal International Airport — Somaliland’s lone international gateway — is forced to shut down. This is not because of security threats or curfew protocols, but because the country’s most vital infrastructure asset still lacks the lighting and navigation systems required to operate safely after dark. For a nation that markets itself as the stable, business-friendly alternative in the Horn of Africa, this daily closure is more than a nuisance. It is a glaring symbol of institutional neglect and decades of serial mismanagement.
But this nightly shutdown is only the surface-level humiliation. Beneath it lies a more urgent and potentially catastrophic crisis: the very runway on which Somaliland’s economic lifeline depends is rapidly collapsing. Designed to last ten years, it has not even made it to its midpoint before exhibiting signs of critical failure. Aviation professionals warn the surface could become unusable within months, not years, effectively severing Somaliland from the world.
At the center of this crisis is the Minister of Aviation himself, Fuad Ahmed Nuh, an official who has cultivated a meticulous public image through slickly produced social media videos showcasing a lavishly furnished office and an air of modern competence. Though he has only held the post for nine months and inherited an airport in a state of advanced decay, he has unequivocally chosen this controversial $70 million deal as his signature initiative. Instead of launching a transparent, competitive international tender process to attract proven operators, he has staked his entire political reputation on the success of this single, opaque agreement with a phantom consortium. This deal, for better or for worse, will now be the defining measure of his tenure.
Faced with this looming crisis, the government has scrambled to sign a $70 million concession agreement with an entity calling itself International Maharat Investment. The problem? The public has been given no reason to trust that the government has competently vetted this ghost firm. This is not merely a story about one airport deal; it is a case study of a government that, despite commanding over half a billion dollars annually, consistently delivers substandard results while blaming external factors for failures rooted in its own institutional incompetence and a well-documented history of corruption.
A Company with No Past — and a $70M Future
Corporate registry searches reveal only a single trace of Maharat’s existence: an Omani registration dated August 13, 2023, listing one Mohammed Oday Fahad Al Mutar. Beyond this document, there is no record of Maharat ever completing an infrastructure project, let alone one as technically demanding as a major airport.
To be clear, this is not Favori LLC, the controversial Turkish company that manages Mogadishu’s airport and whose representatives recently met with Somaliland’s Investment Minister, sparking separate sovereignty concerns. The Maharat deal is an entirely different arrangement, yet it carries its own profound risks tied to the consortium’s complete lack of a verifiable track record.
Sources describe Maharat as “a consortium of wealthy Middle Eastern businesspeople,” but this does not excuse the fundamental questions: Why was there no competitive tender? What credible criteria were used to evaluate Maharat’s financial capacity and technical competence?
A Runway Built on Corruption
This crisis stems directly from corruption, with roots leading back to prominent political figures still active today. The last major runway reconstruction in 2013 was funded by a $10 million Kuwait Fund grant and overseen by Mr. Mohamoud Hashi Abdi, who at the time was the Minister of Aviation and later a powerful Minister of the Presidency. Mr. Hashi, now the chairman of the Kaah political party and a presidential hopeful, presided over a project that was designed to guarantee a decade of safe operations. Instead, contractors reportedly used substandard materials and thinner asphalt, cutting the lifespan nearly in half.
The current concession process shows identical rot. Sources claim former Airport Director Omar Sayid Abdilahi, allegedly with partners from the previous President’s office, demanded $3 million to sign the project’s Memorandum of Understanding. Current officials dispute this account, stating their negotiations with Maharat began independently when representatives met President Cirro during his Dubai visit.
Current officials claim extensive verification over several months, including visits to every country where Maharat reportedly operates. They describe the final agreement as resulting from major renegotiations. However, our investigation cannot verify these claims until the government shares project mechanics and especially details about Maharat itself—providing the public assurance their most precious asset is secure.
Then there’s the unresolved $3.25 million deposited in Somaliland’s UAE investment account for the now-cancelled presidential palace project. Only $2.7 million reportedly remains. The unexplained disappearance of $550,000, vaguely attributed by former UAE Representative Badmaax to “18th of May celebrations,” has never been credibly accounted for.
Somaliland’s Habit of Falling for Transformational Mirages
This pattern of questionable deals is tragically familiar. The much-hyped Singapore-backed New Silk Oil Refinery and the billion-dollar Chinese bank both evaporated because minimal verification would have revealed them as fraudulent schemes. The sole counterexample remains DP World’s Berbera Port concession, which succeeded precisely because it brought transparency and proven competence. Ironically, President Cirro, then in opposition, denounced that deal as treasonous. His administration now champions an airport deal that would collapse under a fraction of the scrutiny DP World endured.
Due Diligence and the Anatomy of a Disaster
Somaliland’s diplomatic isolation limits its investor pool, but limited options do not grant the government a license to abandon its most fundamental duty: to protect the nation’s assets through rigorous due diligence. Due diligence isn’t bureaucratic theater; it’s the firewall between a successful project and a catastrophic failure. What expertise does Aviation Minister Fuad Ahmed Nuh or the Presidency possess to navigate the balance between necessary secrecy and essential verification? This isn’t routine contract management—it requires sophisticated intelligence gathering and financial forensics that challenge even recognized states.
The Laforug Lesson
For those who consider this a hypothetical risk, the wreckage of the Laforug bridge offers a chilling lesson in the real-world cost of failed oversight. Washed away by floods on the vital Berbera corridor, this was a key component of a project funded by the highly reputable Abu Dhabi Fund for Development. This presents the central, damning question: If a project backed by a world-class institution can collapse due to a complete failure of local supervision, what hope exists for an airport built by an unvetted ghost firm? The Laforug disaster proves that the government’s watchdog role is non-negotiable.
The President’s Absence: A Calculated Distance?
Adding another layer of intrigue to the deal is the conspicuous absence of President Cirro himself from the final signing ceremony. Instead, the Presidency was represented by the all-powerful Minister of the Presidency, Mr. Khadar Loge. For a head of state known to be deeply concerned with cementing his legacy, and who is often present for far more trivial ribbon-cutting ceremonies, the decision to distance himself from the signing of what is being touted as a cornerstone project is telling. It raises an unavoidable question: Is the President hedging his bets, creating plausible deniability for a deal he knows is deeply flawed?
The Final Test: A New Runway, Old Interests, and the Courage to Govern
The litany of red flags surrounding this deal—the phantom firm, the tainted process, the history of failed oversight—all lead to a final, unavoidable test. The success or failure of this $70 million gamble will not be determined by press conferences, but by the government’s ability to navigate the complex and politically explosive realities on the ground. Before this project proceeds, the administration must provide a clear and binding plan for two critical challenges:
1. The Question of Land and Livelihoods: A New Runway According to sources familiar with the agreement, the deal’s primary component is the construction of an entirely new runway, not just a repair of the existing one. It is this new construction that will require additional land to be cleared and annexed to the airport, necessitating the acquisition of privately owned land and potentially the relocation of residents. This raises the critical and sensitive question of eminent domain: What is the government’s plan to ensure that citizens whose land is absorbed for this national project are compensated fairly, transparently, and swiftly, so that they are made whole? A failure to handle this with grace and justice will doom the project’s public legitimacy before the first shovel hits the ground.
2. The Question of Entrenched Interests: An Iron Backbone Egal International Airport is an ecosystem of established, powerful interests, from the current ground handling provider, NASHA, to the existing fuel suppliers and other concession holders. A new operator cannot simply wish them away. What is the government’s strategy for managing these entrenched interests? Will existing contracts be honored, bought out, or steamrolled? This will require not just a clear legal framework, but an iron backbone to stand up to powerful local players who will fight to protect their turf. A failure to manage this transition with clarity and strength will mire the project in years of legal battles and political infighting.
Ultimately, the questions about Maharat’s background, while critical, are secondary to the question of our own government’s capacity. Can it be trusted to protect its citizens’ property? Does it have the courage to manage the powerful interests that have long benefited from the status quo?
Without a credible plan for these real-world challenges, this isn’t a solution to Somaliland’s aviation crisis—it is a $70 million catalyst for a new one.
The Ministries of of Aviation, Presidency and Somaliland’s former UAE Representative, Osman Mohamed Badmaax, did not respond to detailed questions by publication deadline.
As evening approaches and Egal International prepares for its daily shutdown, the lights that should guide aircraft home remain uninstalled—much like the institutional safeguards that should protect Somaliland’s future. The shutdown at dusk isn’t just an operational failure; it’s a metaphor for a government that consistently chooses darkness over transparency. Half a billion dollars in annual budgets should be enough to keep the lights on. That they remain dark speaks to a crisis far deeper than any single airport deal.
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