People in Mogadishu woke up early, stood in line, and did something their parents and even their grandparents never had the chance to do in their own city. They voted. No soldiers telling them who to support. No elders trading political favors in back rooms. Ordinary residents walked to polling stations and marked a ballot. It sounds simple. It took 57 years to get here.
That is why people kept repeating the same phrase across the capital, from bullets to ballots. You could feel what it meant. Mogadishu has lived through military rule, civil war, extremist violence, and political deals that always seemed to take place far away from the people who actually live with the results. So when citizens chose their city council with their own hands, it was more than a local election. It felt like a psychological break with the past.
You could see the pride on people’s faces. Voters spoke about dignity. Some joked nervously about making sure they marked the ballot correctly. Others carried their children so they could witness what a real vote looks like. After decades where power was something taken by force, the quiet sound of paper sliding into ballot boxes felt louder than gunfire ever did.
Of course, one election does not fix everything. Mogadishu is still fragile. Al-Shabaab still tries to disrupt life. Political rivalries remain bitter. But this vote matters because it shows something that cannot easily be reversed. Once people experience their own voice, they rarely give it back.
President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud has promised universal suffrage. That promise has now met its first real test on the streets of Mogadishu. The idea is straightforward, one person, one vote across Somalia. No more selection by clan formulas. No more delegates choosing leaders on behalf of millions. If Somalia holds national one-person-one-vote elections next year, it will mark the country’s first such vote in generations.
Skeptics ask whether the system is ready. They worry about security, logistics, and whether political elites will really allow it to happen. These concerns are real, and pretending otherwise would insult people’s intelligence. Running elections in a country recovering from war is difficult, expensive, and messy. There will be disputes. There will be attempts to manipulate the process. There will be places where things do not work as planned.
But there is another question, just as important. What happens if Somalia does not try?
For too long, politics has been a theater for a small circle of power brokers. The clan-based system may have once been necessary to hold the country together, but it has also rewarded loyalty over competence and deals over accountability. When leaders are chosen indirectly, voters cannot punish failure. And when leaders cannot be punished, they stop fearing the public.
Cities are where democratic habits begin. People vote on practical issues, garbage collection, roads, security, schools. They judge leaders on what they deliver, not on their last name. If city councils are elected and removed through ballots, Somalia starts building muscles it has not used for decades. Accountability is not built by speeches. It is built by repetition.
There is also something quiet but profound happening culturally. Younger Somalis have grown up hearing stories of what the country used to be. Now they are beginning to experience their own version of civic life instead of only nostalgia and warnings. They can argue about policies, criticize officials, and then go back home without fear. That is how political maturity grows.
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None of this guarantees success. Elections alone do not create justice or good leadership. If the next national vote is mismanaged, if corruption takes over, or if losing candidates refuse to accept results, then the damage will be severe. Trust, once broken, takes years to rebuild. The responsibility on the government is enormous, be transparent, communicate clearly, and protect every polling station like a national treasure.
Opposition groups also face a choice. They can participate and compete, or they can try to undermine the process because they fear the verdict of the people. History is not kind to leaders who block citizens from voting. Power built on exclusion always looks strong until the day it collapses.
For Mogadishu, this election is not the end of a story. It is the first chapter that people actually wrote themselves. The capital has carried Somalia’s worst tragedies. It now has a chance to model something better. The image of voters walking home under the afternoon sun, ink still drying on their fingers, is a reminder that even countries scarred by war can choose a different path.
The ballot is a fragile thing. Paper can burn. Boxes can be stolen. Results can be argued over. But ideas, once experienced, are harder to erase. Mogadishu has tasted a piece of democratic normal life. The question now is whether Somalia’s leaders will have the courage to trust their own people.
Because once citizens have stood in line and voted, they do not forget how it feels to be heard.
Ismail Dahir Osman is a former Deputy Director of Somalia’s National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) and a writer specializing in security, governance, and Horn of Africa affairs.
Contact: osmando@gmail.com.
X: @osmando
** The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Dawan Africa.
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