They Were Supposed to Protect Us: The Hidden Epidemic of extended Family Members Stealing Orphan Inheritance in Somalia

There are some crimes that make headlines, murders, explosions, coups, robberies. They come with loud noise, bold statements, and international condemnation. But there is another kind of crime, one that makes no sound, leaves no smoking gun, and is rarely ever spoken of in public.

It is a crime committed in silence.

It happens behind closed doors, within family homes, over tea, and under the illusion of trust.

It is a betrayal so deep, so common, and so accepted that people no longer even recognize it as a crime.

That crime is this: Somali uncles'aunts stealing the inheritance of orphaned children, and doing so with full impunity, cultural backing, and sometimes even applause.

I know this crime.

I almost became one of its victims.

When my father died, I had the blessing of being close to him during his final years. I was the one taking care of him. I was the one he trusted. And in that short, precious time, he told me the truth about everything, what he owned, where the documents were, who could be trusted and who couldn’t. He prepared me.

What my father gave me before he left this world wasn’t just information. He gave us protection. He gave us foresight.

He gave us armor.

But many others, most Somali children who lose their parents, don’t get that chance.

They are left in the dark.

And it’s in that darkness that the wolves come.

Let me be honest: I’ve lived and worked in Somalia since 2012. I’ve seen ministries run like personal businesses. I’ve seen warlords wear suits and call themselves MPs. I’ve seen foreign aid disappear before it reaches its target. But nothing shakes me more than watching how orphans are betrayed by their own blood, especially by the very men who claim the honorable title of “Adeer.”

Let’s not sugarcoat this.

Across Somalia, from Mogadishu to Beledweyne, from Baidoa to Garowe, there are thousands of children who are legally entitled to land, homes, shops, vehicles, farms, and money left behind by their deceased fathers. But instead of receiving their rightful inheritance, these children are robbed blind by uncles who manipulate, lie, forge documents, and use their status as family to loot what is not theirs.

I’ve met these children. Some of them are now adults. Many of them live in rented rooms, struggling to eat, unable to finish school, stuck in endless cycles of poverty. And yet, they were born into families that had land and wealth, wealth that was stolen from them by the very people who raised them.

I’ve sat in rooms where young men trembled with anger, telling me how their father’s land was sold when they were ten, without consent, without explanation. I’ve seen women break down in tears telling how their uncle took the family house, kicked them out, and told them to go “live with their mother’s people.” I’ve even seen the legal papers, stolen, forged, re-printed, altered with fake signatures, all to make sure the children could never reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

And you know what the worst part is?

Everyone knows it’s happening. But no one says a word.

Because he’s the “adeer.” Because he’s the elder and he sits at the head of the table. Because questioning him is “disrespect.” Because calling him out is a tribal insult. Because “it’s a family issue, not a government issue.”

We’re watching children be robbed of their future, and we’re justifying it with “dhaqan.”

We’re watching elders become predators, and we’re calling it “responsibility.”

We’re watching Islam be trampled, and we’re calling it “xigto.”

Let’s stop pretending.

There is no ayah in the Qur’an that says “Uncles have the right to take orphan property.”

There is no hadith that says “If you’re older, you can do whatever you want with the dead man’s house.”

There is no Somali proverb that justifies betrayal wrapped in the cloak of family.

This is not culture.

This is not faith.

This is organized theft, dressed in traditional clothing and protected by a wall of silence.

Do you know what Allah says about people who steal from orphans?

“Indeed, those who consume the property of orphans unjustly are only consuming fire into their bellies. And they will be burned in a blazing flame.”

(Qur’an 4:10)

Fire. In their bellies.

That’s not metaphor. That’s not poetry.

That’s divine wrath.

And yet, in Somalia, this sin has become common.

This betrayal is normalized.

It has become part of the silent trauma that so many carry but are too ashamed to speak about.

Well, today we speak.

Because enough is enough.

How many children must grow up bitter and broken because their uncle sold their land and built his own life with it?

How many young girls must drop out of school because the inheritance money meant for their education disappeared in a fake real estate deal?

How many families must suffer silently while a well-fed “adeer” tells the world he “raised the children out of mercy,” when in fact he looted every last coin?

This isn’t just a social issue. This is a moral collapse.

This is a spiritual disaster.

This is a national crime.

Where is the Ministry of Justice?

Where is the legal protection for orphaned children?

Where is the national database of property, so that uncles can’t steal and forge ownership?

Where is the public campaign to stop elder corruption in families?

If we can set up anti-terror units, climate response teams, and diaspora conferences, surely, we can create a Special Orphan Protection Unit.

Yes — an official state-backed force, with legal authority to:

• Investigate inheritance fraud

• Enforce documented ownership for orphaned children

• Protect original documents from being stolen or altered

• Freeze land transfers after a death until proper custody is verified

• Prosecute any guardian found guilty of stealing from orphaned children

Let that sink in: we need a police force to protect children from their own family. That’s how bad it’s gotten.

And if you think I’m exaggerating, walk into any district court in Somalia and ask how many cases of land fraud involve dead men’s property and relatives fighting over inheritance. Most don’t even reach court — because the child is too young, too powerless, or simply too afraid to go against their own family.

What kind of society are we becoming?

Where are our religious leaders? Where are the Friday sermons denouncing this sin?

Where are the elders who are supposed to call out wrongdoers in the name of justice?

Where are the educated men and women of Somalia who have benefitted from truth and now remain silent?

We love to talk about “Somali resilience.” But resilience means nothing if we allow betrayal to wear a Kofi and call itself “care.”

To every Somali who was orphaned and betrayed: 

you are not alone.

We see you.

We hear you.

And your pain is not yours to carry in silence.

To every uncle who thinks no one will remember: 

the child remembers.

Even if they stay quiet.

Even if they grow up poor.

Even if you erase the evidence.

Allah remembers.

To the Somali government:

This is your chance to do something righteous.

Pass legislation.

Create protection.

Open reporting offices in every regional capital.

Show us that you care about the next generation — not just the elections.

To Somali youth:

Don’t accept the silence.

Ask questions.

Demand answers.

Speak truth to your elders with adab — but speak it loudly.

Start organizations.

Create legal help centers for orphans.

Become the generation that ends this darkness.

And to every elder who is doing the right thing — may Allah increase your barakah.

But if you are doing wrong, know this:

You may fool the clan.

You may silence the mother.

You may manipulate the child.

But you will never escape Allah.

Theft from orphans is not a family issue.

It is a national crisis.

And Somalia will never become a just, strong, or peaceful nation as long as the wealth of its most vulnerable children is being stolen in silence.

About the Author:

Mohamed Hassan is a Somali social advocate, researcher, and analyst. He has worked in Somalia since 2012 and writes from personal experience, community engagement, and a deep belief that justice is the only foundation for peace.