By Abukar Albadri
إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ
On April 7, 2025, Somalia mourns not just the death of a man, but the loss of a dream—a dream of unity, justice, and redemption that General Shegow Ahmed Ali carried in his heart until his final breath. Just three years ago, in 2022, when Somalia celebrated the election of President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, Shegow returned to his homeland from a two-year exile in Uganda, his spirit alight with hope. He believed his country was ready to heal, to reconcile its fractured soul after decades of war and division. But instead of open arms, he was met with betrayal, arrest, and a death shrouded in suspicion—a stark reminder of the deep wounds that still fester beneath Somalia’s fragile surface.
Shegow’s journey home was not an easy one. He had fled to Uganda in 2020, escaping death threats from political rivals within the administration of former President Mohamed Farmaajo. A brilliant military commander from the marginalized Jarerweyne (Bantu Somali) community, Shegow had dared to challenge the status quo, to demand a Somalia where loyalty and sacrifice outweighed clan affiliations. His exile was a bitter necessity, but his return was an act of faith that crumbled when he was attacked in his own home, arrested on murky charges, and tried in a shadowy courtroom.
On August 18, 2024, after a night of fierce clashes between Somali police and militias loyal to the former sergeant, security forces captured Shegow and his men. He died in custody two days ago, his body bearing the silent scars of a nation’s ingratitude.
I first met General Shegow Ahmed Ali on September 22, 2012, under the relentless sun of Garsale village, a dusty plain between Jowhar and Qalimow. As a Public Information Officer with the AU-UN Information Support Team, I stood witness to a moment that felt like Somalia’s rebirth. Shegow, then a young officer, led 250 former Al-Shabaab fighters—men hardened by violence—away from the grip of terrorism and into the embrace of the Somali government. Alongside UN colleagues, AMISOM officers, and Somali officials, I watched as these fighters surrendered their weapons, their pasts, and their fears, pledging allegiance to a nation desperate for peace. The air buzzed with hope, pride, and the quiet hum of possibility.
Those 250 men, many from the Jarerweyne community, were whisked to Maslah Military Camp in Mogadishu. There, they were welcomed by then-Defense Minister Hussein Arab Isse and Internal and Security Minister Abdisamad Moalin Mohamud, registered, rehabilitated, and trained to serve in the Somali National Army (SNA).
Shegow’s courage that day was seismic—no one else dared to confront Al-Shabaab head-on, let alone convince hundreds to defect. It was a feat of leadership, a testament to his unshakable patriotism.
From that moment, Shegow’s star rose. He became a general in the SNA, a commander revered for his discipline, tactical brilliance, and moral clarity. His troops—drawn from a community long sidelined by Somalia’s clan-based power structures—fought with ferocity, liberating towns like Baidoa and Afgoye from extremist control. But Shegow was more than a soldier. He was a statesman in khaki, a soft-spoken visionary who dreamed of a Somalia unshackled from tribalism, where every citizen—Jareerweyne, Hawiye, Darod, or otherwise—stood equal. “Somalia can only rise,” he once told me over tea in Mogadishu, his voice steady, “when no one is made to feel less than human.”
Yet that dream made him enemies. His advocacy for the Jarerweyne, a silent majority enduring systemic neglect, rattled those who thrived on division. His death—veiled in secrecy, marked by an unjust arrest and a dubious trial— reeks of political vengeance.
Professor Mohamed Omar Dalha, a towering figure from the Jarerweyne community and former Acting President, captured the nation’s grief: “Our hearts are gripped by anguish, our eyes clouded with tears—some mourn, others rejoice.” His words, heavy with sorrow, underscore a chilling silence from the Somali government, which has offered no answers, no accountability.
Shegow’s death is not just a personal tragedy—it’s a national wound. In Somalia’s Lower Shabelle region, where the Jarerweyne farm much of the fertile land, his legacy as a unifier still echoes. In the displaced persons camps of Mogadishu, where his community languishes, his name is whispered with reverence. He was a bridge between Somalia’s past and its potential, a man who turned terrorists into patriots, who fought not just Al-Shabaab but the deeper enemy of inequality. And yet, he was discarded—his loyalty mocked, his sacrifice erased.
President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud stands at a crossroads. If he seeks to mend Somalia’s soul, he must act: release the soldiers detained with Shegow, launch an independent probe into his death, and honor this fallen hero with the recognition he deserves—a state funeral, a medal, a legacy etched in stone. The Jarerweyne, and all Somalis, demand justice, not silence. Shegow’s blood stains the nation’s conscience, deepening divides that threaten to swallow Somalia whole.
General Shegow Ahmed Ali—May Allah grant him Jannah—was a rare light in a land too often cloaked in shadow. He led boldly, loved humbly, and died unjustly. Somalia cannot heal until it reckons with what it has lost: a hero betrayed, a dream deferred, a patriot silenced too soon. His life and legacy will remain “A national lesson.”Regardless of who loved him and who hated him.”
May Allah forgive him, widen and lit his grave with light, and grant him the highest level of Paradise, Jannatul Firdaws.
اللهم اغفر له، وارحمه، وعافه، واعف عنه، وأكرم نزله، ووسع مدخله، واغسله بالماء والثلج والبرد، ونقه من الخطايا كما ينقى الثوب الأبيض من الدنس.
May he rest in peace. May he rest in paradise. Aamiin.
Abukar Albadri is a seasoned media professional with over 20 years of experience in journalism, writing, and cultural production. He can be reached at abukar.albadri@gmail.com