In Mogadishu’s corridors, a new choreography is unfolding. Turkey has long cemented its role as Somalia’s partner in rebuilding its military, establishing a major overseas training base, supplying special forces, committing to naval security, and forging a ten-year defense pact that many local voices hail as necessary protection. Pakistan now enters the stage with its five-year defence cooperation MoU, promising technical assistance, vessel maintenance, naval training, new units, and joint committees, all under the banner of helping Somalia reclaim control of its waters. However, underneath these “hollow” promises, strong currents of dependence and alliances flow that promise strength but risk sovereignty.
Turkey’s engagement in Somalia is well documented in both its domestic relationship(s), as well as the international commons. In February 2024, the Somali parliament approved a landmark deal with Ankara, granting Turkey the powers to help rebuild Somalia rebuild their barebones naval fleet, whilst protecting its coastline. Prior to that, for over a decade, Turkish instructors have trained thousands of Somali recruits, built infrastructure, offered health and education services, and even donated combat helicopters. The Turkish base at Mogadishu is not just a symbolic institution; rather, it hosts training academies, command-and-control operations, and has become a focal point of influence in East Africa.
Pakistan’s new MoU, approved by the Somali Cabinet in August 2025, promises similar training and logistical support, with the pledges by the Pakistani government including watershed tasks such as technical assistance, modernization of equipment, training in Pakistani war colleges (which humbly are not worth their salt), maintenance of vessels, and a Joint Defence Cooperation Committee. This overlap with Turkey’s broader footprint may seem like added capacity, but it introduces risk. When two patrons offer similar frameworks, their doctrines, supply lines, maintenance standards, and operating procedures differ – and so do their expectations.
Dependencies get installed in the details. Which model of vessel does Pakistan support? Where are spare parts imported from? Who owns the technical manuals? How is command knowledge shared? A divergence in equipment means divergent maintenance regimes – which strains budgets, complicates coordination, and increases risk of downtime when a ship fails during a mission. Use of different training syllabi means naval officers may disagree on best practice, leaving Somali leadership torn between competing advice. Turkey, by contrast, has built long-term relationships with Somalia. Its military base in Mogadishu opened in 2017, its special forces training programmes have operated consistently, its T-129 ATAK attack helicopters and other assets have already been delivered or pledged. These are visible commitments, visible tools, visible expectations. Pakistan’s entrance magnifies its presence, but does it deepen autonomy? Or does it spread dependence across more axes?
The danger is that Somalia’s naval policy will become a patchwork of foreign influences. One donor supplying helicopters, another providing vessels, a third training staff, each with its own covenant, its own maintenance schedules, its own loyalties. In such a system, Somali sovereignty is not the obvious loser – but it becomes stretched thin. The Somali government will be forced to manage foreign priorities, mediators, providers, budgets and expectations. Every agreement adds weight; every provider wants outcomes aligned with its own strategic interest. More help, yes – but more strings.
Is there a way out of this knot? Perhaps. Somalia might insist on transparent contracts, insist that training, equipment and maintenance be interoperable with existing systems, insist that technical manuals and logistical control rest within Mogadishu as much as possible. It could demand that donors coordinate among themselves rather than compete over influence. It could build oversight mechanisms so that Turkish and Pakistani partnerships are not hidden tracks but integrated into broader multilateral frames.
The allure of bilateral pacts is strong. Speed, visible help, new gear, trained officers, prestige in signing ceremonies. But these are siren songs if the price paid is invisible control. Dependence often creeps in at the edges – a spare part unavailable unless supplied by a donor, a doctrine learned elsewhere, a demand made without negotiation. For Somalia, the test is not whether it can win more deals; it is whether it can sustain its navy without asking permission.
Turkey and Pakistan both offer capability, and both provide resources. But capability without autonomy is hollow. Aid without sovereignty is a transaction, not a partnership. If Somalia allows successive bilateral ties to dictate its strategy, training, maintenance, and patrol jurisdiction, it may find that its waters, which belong to Somalis by right, are managed by others by habit.
Somalia stands at a crossroads. Should it deepen its ties under its own terms? Or should it let the map of its seas be drawn by external hands, the rhythm of its patrols set by foreign clocks, and its sovereignty bookmarked in pacts rather than lived every dawn.