
Young entrepreneur
Somaliland, located in the northwest corner of the Horn of Africa, is a former British protectorate that gained independence in 1960. After breaking free from Britain, it voluntarily joined Somalia to form the Somali Republic, but then re-restored its independence in 1991 after the collapse of Somalia during their civil war. Despite regional volatility, Somaliland boasts a well-functioning democratically elected government, along with its own military, police force, and even currency. In fact, throughout the African continent, Somaliland is respected for its peaceful atmosphere and stability, yet it remains formally unrecognized by most of the international community. (It’s a long story, but when it comes to African politics, tribalism, and the legacy of colonialism, borders are complex issues.)
According to the President of Somaliland, with its natural desert beauty, white sandy beaches along the Gulf of Aden, ancient caves filled with 7,000-year old Neolithic art, friendly people, and overall chill environment (if desert heat is your thing), it’s the ideal place for adventure on the road less traveled.
I had to agree. Other than being located near one of the most volatile regions on the planet and, of course, being practically unheard of, Somaliland had everything a budding tourism industry needed.
I swung out of my hammock. Adventure was calling.
After a quick pit stop in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to get a travel visa (Ethiopia is one of only eight countries to have a Somaliland embassy), my GSD partner Andy and I soon touched down in Hargeisa, the capital of Somaliland.
Outside of customs we were met by our friendly, English speaking guide— as well as our assigned-by-the-Somaliland-Ministry-of Tourism-armed-escort. Despite their progressive society, poverty is significant— and foreigners attract attention.The last thing a budding tourism industry needs is the guests getting jacked.And nothing creates a wide berth like an AK-47.
For the next several days, we blazed across deserts in our land cruiser, climbed through the ancient caves of Las Geel, collected shells along the Gulf of Aden, bought exotic fabrics in the markets, pet camels, and ate goat curry on the patio of our not-quite-luxury-but-still-solidly-four-star-hotel— enjoying all Somaliland had to offer a couple of whirlwind tourists on a sightseeing spree.
[For a more balanced TripAdvisor review, Somaliland still struggles with Third World issues. Paved roads are at a minimum, anti-malaria mosquito nets a must. Due to the lingering effects of the civil war, sanitation, water, and electricity are still luxuries the masses only dream of. But still. The place had a great desert vibe and serious tourism potential. Vegas wasn’t built in a day either.]
Back at the Hotel Mansour— surfing the web under the mosquito net in my little cabana— I came across yet another curious article on Somaliland. It was about the Abaarso School of Science and Technology— a private boarding school for Somaliland’s best and brightest.
Hatched in 2008 by a young Wall Street whiz/hedge fund founder named Jonathan Starr (who apparently caught Somaliland’s Vegas-vibe on his own visit), he too saw more than sand and scrub brush in Somaliland’s future. But counter to pulling tourists in, his vision was to harness the raw potential of young Somalis, prepare them for elite schools abroad, and return them as world changers capable of reshaping the economy of the entire Horn of Africa.

Civil war ruins
Was Jonathan daunted by the fact that 100% of schools had been destroyed by civil war, or that only 45% of school age kids were in primary school, or that only a mere 10% of high schoolers ever actually graduated? Hell no.
Did Jonathan (and his staff of foreigners) worry that they didn’t speak the language? Were clueless to local customs? Or were trying to recruit students in a country so isolated from foreigners they were met with total suspicion? Nope.
The dude was a serious gambler and believed that “brilliance had no boundaries.” So, armed with just enough charisma, cash, and ‘crazy’ he moved to Hargeisa and got to work kickstarting his vision (despite some of the worst odds ever).
I could feel myself crushing on him already.
Jonathan also didn’t care that most enrolling students had only early-elementary Math and English skills. To make sure Abaarso wasn’t setting the bar too low for the kiddos, his plan was to push them through 2+ grade levels per year and have them graduate ready for top universities across the globe.
Who says nomadic goat herders can’t ace AP Calculus anyway?
All odds aside, it was working. In just eight years, the first crop of Abaarso grads were off matriculating at a host of prestigious universities— including Harvard, Brown, Columbia, and MIT. And not only were they returning home to begin developing their own country, they were teaching classes at Abaarso, tutoring local village students, as well as educating children at regional orphanages. It was almost too much to believe.
All I knew for sure was that I had to see this place for myself and get a selfie with Jonathan. Maybe an autograph as well.

Abaarso students hang out before class begins
Piling back into the Landrover, Andy, our guide, our bodyguard, his AK-47, and I set off across the desert until we pulled up outside a walled compound on the top of a remote hilltop. The ten-foot high cement walls were accented with floodlights, armed guards, and scribbles of concertina wire— leaving little to distinguish between a prison and an elite educational institution. (If Somaliland itself was unrecognized, the school could have been aptly named “The Last Place on Earth.”)
But beyond the bleak exterior, inside the compound was a vibrant, oasis of education where Somaliland’s rising stars were hard at work. Girls in colorful headscarves and boys in low-slung hipster pants drifted in and out of classrooms, worked on robotics projects, and cooked in solar ovens that they designed themselves. Fueled by a love of learning, these kids were stretching their minds and embracing everything they could get their hands on.
I popped a few breath mints in anticipation of my introduction to Jonathan, but according to the headmaster he was out of the country (dang— no selfie). Nevertheless, we had an enlightening meeting with James Linville who gave us the complete, mind-blowing lowdown on Abaasro’s first eight years. He also introduced us to several of the students who were hanging out between classes.
For an hour, we chatted candidly with girls Amira and Nicmo and guys Abdiselam and Abdiqani. These kids were amazing, bright, funny. So cool and impossibly adorable. They spoke perfect English and shared their thoughts on everything from which countries they were following in Rio’s summer Olympic Games, to the latest episode of Game of Thrones, to the nail-biting drama of the Trump vs. Hillary US presidential election.

Abaarso students Amira, Nicmo, Abdiqani, and Adbiselam
Although they were only in 9th grade, they had the world in the palm of their hands. They had the latest social media apps on their smartphones, and, like all the other Abaarso students, they were staking everything on winning scholarships to elite American schools.
But despite feeling awed by their intellectual drive, I also felt unsettled by a sad irony. How children feel about themselves is often a greater determinant to their success than what they know. Growing up affirmed by the world around is what helps them affirm themselves. Being recognized as human beings with all the same potential and life and color and culture and history— no matter how seemingly insignificant in comparison to others— is how healthy identities are formed.
Here were these brilliant kids watching the world from their TVs and devices with all they have to offer. But despite being informationally connected, to the rest of the world they didn’t even exist. Unrecognized teens living in a country nobody knew about, in a corner of the world that nobody really thought about. Unless something bad was being reported.
How must it feel to be one of these young prodigies watching the outside world through this one-way mirror? Or how must it feel training to be the hero but seen as the pirate, the terrorist, or the Feed My Starving Children charity recipient?
To help them knit together their drive for education, their yearning for recognition, and their cultural pride, Andy and I came up with an ingenious (if I do say so myself) plan. And with the blessings of the headmaster, our group set off on the spontaneous mission to make the possibly-first-ever “Welcome to Somaliland” commercial and music video.
I know, right?
Bouncing along in our big car— with bursts of laughter and the intoxication of the open road— the teens toured us around Hargeisa while introducing us to notable sights and favorite hangouts. We rolled through bustling markets, toured gleaming shopping centers, and goofed around at arcades, amusement parts, and ice cream parlors.
But when the camera came out it was all business.
Heads up. Shoulders back. They looked straight into the camera— giving a shout out to the rest of the world: Hey! We are here! We are fun! And we rock!!
Young people need the opportunity to feel pride in whatever specialness they have— no matter how small or seemingly insignificant in comparison to others.

Shooting the "Welcome to SOmaliland" commercial
After returning to the US, I edited the video, threw it up on YouTube, and emailed it to the teens. They forwarded it to everyone they knew, and over the following weeks we watched in anticipation as the view counter climbed. Would it go viral, we wondered? Would there be comments back from kids on the other side of the world who saw their “message in the bottle” and were excited to include them in their lives somehow? Would the president of Somaliland call and hire me as his new tourism PR manager? Would I ever get the selfie with Jonathan?
Mysteries for the future to someday answer. But as of 2019, with over 100 students attending top international boarding schools and universities— and returning loaded with knowledge, ideas, and energy— Jonathan Starr’s gamble was paying out. And he’s already doubling down. With an unflinching, card-shark gaze and metaphorical-green visor firmly in place, Abaasrso’s next ten-year plan include:
• A network of elementary schools across the country to bring quality early education to tens of thousands more students.
• A School of Education to train the next generation of Somali primary school teachers.
• A School of Business/Management.
• A School of Information Technology.
• And a Nursing School to provide Somali women with core skills required to help build the country’s infrastructure and support their families.
Abaarso students are proving they are NOT the world’s victims waiting to be rescued by the next donation drive. THEY are the heroes and have the proven mettle to problem-solve alongside the best and the brightest.
We see you, kids. You are recognized— and you’re going to make the world proud. I’m betting on it.
Visit the
Abaarso School website. Abaarso's mission: To develop the next generation of Somali leaders who will effectively and ethically advance their society across all sectors from education to business, government, healthcare and technology.
Watch: Abaarso School
featured on 60 Minutes"How children feel about themselves is often a greater determinant to their success than what they know. Growing up affirmed by the world around is what helps them affirm themselves."
"Welcome to Somaliland" commercial/music video
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