For decades, North Eastern Kenya has been synonymous with neglect, marginalization, and state-sanctioned oppression with its people treated as outsiders in their own country. But in February 2025, a seismic shift took place.
As Kenya’s President William Ruto landed in Mandera, Wajir, and Garissa, he was met with an outpouring of emotion, jubilation, and optimism. Unlike past presidential visits that were marked by tension, security crackdowns, and political divisions, Ruto was welcomed with unity and enthusiasm—a rare sight in a region that has long been treated with suspicion.
But what made this visit truly historic?
It wasn’t just about the development projects he commissioned—the roads, schools, healthcare centers, and electrification programs. It wasn’t just about the economic opportunities he promised for a region brimming with entrepreneurial potential.
It was his bold and public commitment to righting a historical wrong.
At Orahey Grounds in Wajir Town, Ruto stood before thousands and made an announcement that sent shockwaves across the country.
“Our fellow countrymen from Northern Kenya will no longer suffer the indignity of extra-vetting and ethnic profiling in order to acquire national identification documents.”
With these words, he effectively ended decades of institutional discrimination—a painful legacy that has haunted Kenyan Somalis since the country’s independence.
But to truly understand the weight of this moment, one must look back at the long and wrenching history of exclusion, violence, and persecution that North Eastern Kenya has endured.
A Legacy of Pain: The State’s War Against Its Own Citizens
Since Kenya gained independence in 1963, successive governments have systematically alienated, persecuted, and brutalized the Somali community.
Under Jomo Kenyatta, the first president, the people of the Northern Frontier District (NFD)—who had overwhelmingly voted to join Somalia in a British-sponsored referendum—were denied their right to self-determination. Instead, the government waged the Shifta War (1963–1967) against Somali secessionists. But this was no ordinary war. It was a war of collective punishment, marked by forced displacement, curfews, military rule, and massacres.
Kenyatta’s administration enforced draconian emergency laws, restricted movement, and treated the entire Somali population as hostile insurgents. Women, children, and the elderly bore the brunt of these measures, planting the seeds of deep distrust that still linger today.
Then came the Wagalla Massacre
In February 1984, under President Daniel Arap Moi, the Kenyan military conducted a so-called “security operation” in Wajir County. Thousands of Somali men were rounded up, stripped naked, tortured, and executed at the Wagalla Airstrip.
Women and girls were raped and brutalized as soldiers unleashed terror on an already traumatized community.
While official government reports downplayed the death toll, independent accounts estimate that between 5,000 and 10,000 Somali civilians were massacred in cold blood.
To this day, no one has been held accountable.
For Somali families, Wagalla is not just history—it is a wound that has never healed.
In 1989, the Moi administration introduced the infamous “screening exercise”, forcing Somalis to prove their citizenship despite generations of residence in Kenya. Thousands were detained, harassed, and denied national IDs, pushing them further into statelessness.
Under Mwai Kibaki (2002–2013), the War on Terror became the perfect excuse to continue the repression. Kenyan Somalis—whether refugees or citizens—were arbitrarily arrested, rendered to Ethiopia, and profiled as terrorists.
Then, in 2014, during Uhuru Kenyatta’s presidency (2013–2022), the government launched Operation Usalama Watch, a nationwide security crackdown that specifically targeted Somalis.
Thousands were rounded up, detained at Kasarani Stadium under inhumane conditions, beaten, extorted, and forcibly deported.
In Nairobi’s Eastleigh estate, home to a large Somali population, homes and businesses were raided, families were torn apart, and the entire community was treated as suspects.
For more than 60 years, Kenyan Somalis have been labeled as:Terrorists, Illegal immigrants, and Security threats.
They were denied national identity cards.
They were barred from government jobs.
They were treated as second-class citizens.
This was the reality that President Ruto publicly acknowledged—and promised to end.
A New Dawn or Another Broken Promise?
For the first time in Kenya’s post-independence history, a sitting president not only recognized the injustices inflicted upon Kenyan Somalis but also took executive action to correct them.
Beyond rhetoric, Ruto’s administration has appointed Somali Kenyans to key national positions, including:
Aden Duale – Cabinet Secretary for Environment
Noordin Haji – Director General of the National Intelligence Service (NIS)
Mohamed Amin – Director of the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI)
These appointments sent a strong signal—that the Somali community is no longer being sidelined, but rather integrated into the highest levels of government.
In response, Ruto has gained widespread support among Kenyan Somalis, with some even dubbing him “the President of the Somali people”.
But will his government deliver on its promises?
History has taught North Eastern Kenya to be skeptical—for promises have been made before, only to be forgotten.
Will the 750-kilometer Marsabit-Mandera road become a reality?
Will electricity and water infrastructure reach every corner of the region?
Will the high unemployment rate be tackled through genuine investment?
Or will this be yet another chapter of empty political pledges?
For the Somali community, this moment is not just about hope—it is about accountability.
The Verdict: A Presidency at a Crossroads
President Ruto’s visit was undeniably historic. His words carried weight, his proclamations sparked hope, and his policy shifts signaled change.
But the road ahead is long.
If Ruto follows through on his promises, he will be remembered as the first Kenyan president to break the cycle of marginalization and oppression in North Eastern Kenya.
If he fails, he will join the long list of leaders who have used the Somali vote, milked their support, and abandoned them when convenient.
The future of North Eastern Kenya—and Ruto’s legacy—hangs in the balance.