The stacks of Somaliland Shillings are high enough to hide the money changer sitting cross-legged behind them. It doesn’t hide his shouting. “This is Somaliland. We are Muslim! We don’t want Israel!” Dust fills my nostrils as a truck passed by. A man ambles into view with a tray of golden jewellery that flickers in the sun. On the other side of the busy thoroughfare in Hargeisa are two vendors holding up football shirts. From the corner of my eye, I notice that our following has grown. My dozen tourists have been joined by at least double that number of curious locals. Most stand there watching. Some venture a handshake or exchange of greetings: “Welcome to Somaliland, where are you from?”

It is mid-February 2026, and warm already at 8:30am when I board a minibus in eastern Ethiopia’s Harar city. I am the tour leader, a role I have fulfilled for the past three and a half years for a tour group that takes people to unusual destinations. My thirteen fellow travellers are from the UK, the US, Canada, Denmark and Germany. We have already seen a lot in the past eight days – Northern and Central Ethiopia – and are now heading to the outlier and final leg, Somaliland.

I woke up feeling tense, with sweaty palms and mind racing. Many tours feature border crossings, and these always entail somewhat heavy challenges. But crossing into a country that doesn’t exist yet delves deeper into the unknown that I am used to. The four-hour bus ride from Harar to Wajaala on the frontier has helped settle my nerves.

Wajaala
The border consists of two road barriers, closed on either side. On the Ethiopian side, a truck driver casually hangs out of his window, smiling as he hands over his paperwork to an official. On the other side lies Somaliland. Having half-expected an intimidating fenced frontier with battalions of armed guards, the reality proves surprisingly quiet. It is Ramadan, so no restaurants or shops are open near border. Apart from a few trucks and cars, the frontier is calm.

This de facto state in the Horn of Africa claimed independence on 18 May, 1991, after a brutal decade-long civil war with Somalia. Somaliland has its own military, government and currency but remains largely ignored by the international community. In December 2025, Israel was the first UN-member state to give it recognition.

Our Ethiopian guide takes us through Ethiopian customs and bids us farewell. We are on our own and I am in charge of leading my group across the border. My imagination gets the better of me, as I see myself heading into unchartered territory. Midway between the two frontiers, a voice cuts through my fantasy.

“Aron! Over here, man!” In a thick American accent courtesy of Somaliland’s private schools, our local guide Guled approaches us. He recognises me from my WhatsApp photo, he says. Or perhaps it’s more because we are the only white travellers in Wajaala today. “Please everyone, follow Guled,” I tell the group, happy to let the expert handle the border formalities.

How, you may wonder, do you obtain a visa for a country that doesn’t exist? The most straightforward way is via a Somaliland overseas mission, London being the only option in Europe. With a letter of invitation from a local tour operator, visas can be issued within a day. Four members of my group went through this process before the tour. In the modest but pleasantly cool office of the Somaliland border authorities they present their rare visa stickers. I catch a faintly amused smile on the face of the border official. The others, myself included, have taken the risk and plumped for visas on arrival. Either way, our passports are duly stamped without delay.

Hargeisa
With fresh entry stamps we continue on our journey to Somaliland’s capital city Hargeisa. We now get an armed guard joining us, a former employee of Somaliland’s Ministry of Tourism. Is he really necessary? I ask Guled.

He simply replies, “it’s for security” but we should “not to worry, it’s safe here.” His answer raises suspicions in my group. A politically engaged tourist asks if members of the terrorist organisation Al Shabaab, with its grip on neighbouring Somalia, has ever illegally entered Somaliland. Guled brushes this off with a, “They try, but we don’t let them.”

We are to stay at a hotel next to the infamous MiG-monument, one of Hargeisa’s most significant sights. This is an actual fighter jet on a pedestal, placed there to commemorate the Somalian civil war of the 1980s that led to Somaliland’s declaration of independence.

The socialist Somalian government in Mogadishu under dictator Siad Barre, Guled explained, was backed by the Soviet Union in the 1970s. This was how Russian jets ended up being used to bomb Hargeisa in 1988, in one of the bloodiest episodes of recent history in the Horn of Africa.

The bombing destroyed nearly 90% of Hargeisa. The city we are seeing as tourists is the product of a major rebuilding programme that began in the 1990s. Somalilanders who fled the civil war and made money abroad invested their money back into the country after it claimed independence. There are now only a handful of buildings left with bullet holes in them. At least on the surface, no visible scars of the horrible episode remain.

Taking a closer look at the monument, I spot a Somalian flag painted onto the rear of the downed MiG 17: bright blue with a single white star in the middle. Behind the plan stands a row of at least thirty flagpoles with Somaliland flags, a tricolour of green, white and red, with a single black star in the middle and in white Arabic calligraphy, the shahadah: “I bear witness that there is no god but God, and I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of God”.

Guled tells us that the current flag of Somaliland symbolises ongoing hatred and rivalry between Somaliland and Somalia. “After independence from the British in 1960, we designed the blue flag. But our independence then only lasted one week, and Somaliland merged with Italian Somalia. The government in Mogadishu took our blue flag and made it the national flag. So after 1991 when we declared independence again, we had to design a new flag that is wholly our own.” The flag was adopted in 1996.

Street life
Our following of local Hargeisians grows as we head out to the market. We have a lot of interactions with kids who came up for a fist bump and want to know where we are from. An older man tells us, “You have to go back to your country and tell them to recognize Somaliland. Somaliland is the 55th African country!” The call to tell ‘our country’ about Somaliland echoes through the streets as we walk.

We are not just visitors or tourists here. We are witnesses. Guled smile at every encounter. He is pleased with the spirit of the people on the streets, and delighted we are being told to take the news of Somaliland home.

The markets of Hargeisa are a mishmash of wooden stalls, with vendors mostly selling spices, herbs and fruit. In between these stalls are the money changers. Heavy inflation and the troubles of upkeeping an unofficial currency in an unofficial country has rendered the Somaliland Shilling nearly worthless. It is more reasonable to pay in the weight of cash, rather than its actual value. We each exchange around 100 USD into Somaliland Shillings, and as the money exchanger prepares the piles of cash – about 10 centimetres-worth per person – there is a tap on my shoulder.

After a string of enthusiastic encounters, I heartily greet the man behind me who introduces himself as Isa. His demeanour is calm, but he is on the verge of unfriendliness as I hold out my hand to shake his and he refuses. His soft voice dims slightly as he asks me where I am from.

“Are you from… Israel?”
“No, I am from The Netherlands.”
“And you are…”
“A tourist.”
“I see.”

A tight nod. Isa walks on. Israel’s formal recognition of Somaliland as an independent nation in December 2025 is still sinking in. Somaliland has opened up to Israeli tourists, but “not everybody likes that,” said Guled.

Laas Geel
In the pursuit of becoming an independent nation, Somaliland’s Ministry of Tourism boasts a variety of sights and activities. The Laas Geel cave paintings are slated to become the standout destination.
These five- to six-thousand-year-old rock paintings are lying unprotected on a natural rock formation. In the early 2000s, a team of French archaeologists (re-)discovered the rock art and studied it for a few months, after which they took some findings back to France for research purposes, never to return. In the meantime, the Ministry of Tourism put up some concrete steps to reach the cave paintings.

Somaliland’s prime tourist sight is along a dirt road midway between Hargeisa and the coastal city of Berbera. Forty minutes from the capital, the smooth rocks of Laas Geel loom in the distance.

At the foot of the rock formation, the wall of a small concrete house display the basics. One panel reads that Laas Geel is possibly the oldest set of rock paintings in all of Africa. The sight’s sole employee from the Ministry of Tourism is without doubt. Lass Geel had, he said, “The oldest paintings in all of Africa!” Superlatives, I have found over my years in tourism, still have their place in the industry, charming most tourists.

While we scramble up the steps and along the rock walls, taking photos of painted depictions of cows, herders, lions and a giraffe, possibly the oldest things I had ever seen in my life, the group talk over the experience with Guled. “How is it possible that no other tourists come here? Those researchers need to come back,” a history buff in the group says indignantly. Guled explains, “Last year, the total foreign visitor count was around 400.” I think back to my encounters on the streets of Hargeisa, where residents call out to encourage me to take the story of Somaliland home. If Guled’s numbers are correct, our two tours to Somaliland per year made up about 5-6 percent of annual visitors.

As we descend the smooth rocks and make our way back to the bus I imagine a tarmac road leading up to Laas Geel, with hordes of tourists clambering up the rocks to see the paintings. For now though, we are alone.

Ambassadors
At our farewell, a group member praises Guled’s skills at showing us his country. Something else has sunk in too. “Not only have you shown us Somaliland, but you have also made us ambassadors of your country,” he says to Guled’s delight.

His words linger in my mind as we drive towards the airport for our flight home. Guled has never outrightly begged us for any form of ambassadorship, yet he and those we meet in Hargeisa have made it clear they want us to tell their story. Somaliland is desperately seeking to present itself to the world as a nation, and will go to great lengths to do so. For now though, this is a nation at the cusp of being a country, despite its fervent desire for the status.