At the edge of the Red Sea, a diplomatic standoff is tightening — and Djibouti is the one pulling the drawbridge.
President Ismaïl Omar Guelleh has slammed the door shut on Ethiopia’s decades-long push for sovereign access to the sea. Instead of collaboration, Djibouti is betting on foreign militaries and Egyptian port deals. The implications? A rising regional power is being boxed in — and the Horn of Africa could pay the price.
Ethiopia’s maritime hunger: more than ambition, it’s survival
Since Eritrea’s secession in 1993, Ethiopia — with over 120 million people and one of Africa’s fastest-growing economies — has remained landlocked. It relies on Djibouti’s ports for more than 90% of its imports and exports. That’s not just dependency. It’s geopolitical vulnerability.
Ethiopia’s push for sovereign sea access isn’t about expansion. It’s about stability. In January 2024, Ethiopia signed a landmark memorandum with Somaliland to develop Berbera Port and establish a naval base — a bid for alternative access that reflects both strategy and desperation.
Djibouti’s response? Not cooperation. Not concern. Just rejection — and a symbolic counteroffer of shared use of Port Tadjourah, with no sovereign corridor and no serious infrastructure guarantees. It was, in Addis Ababa’s view, an insult.
Guelleh draws a red line — and invokes Crimea
President Guelleh’s rhetoric has only escalated since. He’s equated Ethiopia’s maritime initiatives with territorial encroachment. He’s even gone as far as saying, “Djibouti is not Crimea” — a bizarre Cold War analogy that paints Ethiopia, Africa’s historical empire, as a would-be invader.
But here’s the problem: Ethiopia hasn’t threatened war. It hasn’t demanded land. It has asked — diplomatically — for a sovereign maritime corridor. A lifeline, not a land grab.
Meanwhile, Guelleh’s government welcomes over half a dozen foreign militaries onto Djibouti’s shores: the United States, China, France, Japan, Saudi Arabia, the UK, and Italy. Their bases bring in hundreds of millions annually — money that props up Djibouti’s tiny economy.
Ethiopia, which powers Djibouti’s port economy and supplies much of its electricity and water, is offered nothing but suspicion. This double standard reeks of opportunism.
Follow the money — and the ships
Let’s not pretend Djibouti is a neutral party. The port nation has deepened its alignment with Egypt — Ethiopia’s fiercest opponent in the Nile water dispute. In November 2024, Djibouti signed a logistics and infrastructure MoU with Cairo, giving Egypt expanded port access and control points near Red Sea chokepoints.
Then came the high-profile visit: President Abdel Fattah al-Sisi in Djibouti in April 2025. There, both leaders declared that “Red Sea security must be led by littoral states.” Translation? Ethiopia — with no coastline — should stay out.
This is no coincidence. Egypt has consistently tried to isolate Ethiopia regionally in response to the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD), which threatens Egypt’s Nile water hegemony. Djibouti, knowingly or not, is now a piece on Cairo’s board.
Strategic irony: Djibouti needs Ethiopia more than it admits
Despite its military-hosting clout, Djibouti remains economically tied at the hip to Ethiopia. Over 95% of Djibouti’s port traffic is Ethiopian. Addis Ababa’s goods fill Djibouti’s rails and roads. Its payments keep the ports running.
Yet Djibouti’s leadership treats Ethiopia as a risk, not a partner.
This would be strategic suicide — if it weren’t also deeply hypocritical. The Guelleh government frames Ethiopia’s peaceful request for a corridor to Tadjourah as a threat to sovereignty, while opening its ports to external actors who wield military power, spy stations, and strategic agendas that have nothing to do with Horn of Africa stability.
Guelleh’s stance blocks regional integration and undermines IGAD’s vision of shared growth. It’s a move that isolates not just Ethiopia, but Djibouti itself — at a time when the Horn needs unity more than ever.
A corridor to nowhere?
Ethiopia’s proposal for a sovereign corridor — a narrow, secure link to the Tadjourah port — is practical, legal under international precedent, and diplomatically moderate. It’s not unprecedented. Landlocked countries across the world have been granted similar arrangements without it triggering existential alarm bells.
Morocco, for instance, has offered port access to several landlocked Sahel nations. Even within East Africa, Kenya and Tanzania are exploring corridor partnerships for trade without stoking nationalist fury.
But Guelleh refuses to budge. His government paints any sovereign corridor — even with economic compensation and infrastructure guarantees — as neo-imperialism.
This refusal is not about law or security. It’s about control. And leverage. And profit.
Somaliland in the crosshairs
Djibouti’s resistance isn’t limited to Ethiopia’s Djibouti port ambitions. It has also fiercely opposed the Ethiopia-Somaliland agreement over Berbera — accusing both parties of undermining regional stability.
Why? Because Berbera could one day rival Djibouti as a major port. Because Ethiopia’s reduced reliance on Djibouti threatens the rent-seeking status quo. And because regional competition — even peaceful, constructive competition — undermines Djibouti’s monopoly.
Guelleh’s strategy isn’t to expand Horn cooperation. It’s to freeze the playing field.
A choice between rent and respect
At its heart, this isn’t just a port fight. It’s a philosophical divide about what kind of future the Horn of Africa wants.
Djibouti has chosen to monetize its geography — to lease its land to global powers while rejecting local solutions. It has become the landlord of the West and East alike, while denying its closest neighbor even a sliver of sovereign coastline.
Ethiopia, by contrast, has chosen diplomacy. It’s sought peaceful access. It’s invested in shared infrastructure. It’s offered partnerships, not ultimatums.
Guelleh’s comparison to Crimea is a distraction. Ethiopia doesn’t want annexation. It wants dignity. And options.
The path forward — and the cost of intransigence
If Djibouti continues down this path, the consequences could be grave. Ethiopia may fast-track its investments in Berbera, bypassing Djibouti altogether. Tensions may escalate in ways no one wants. Egypt’s growing presence in Djibouti may deepen divisions that IGAD, the AU, and the region have tried to avoid.
There is still time to change course.
Djibouti could embrace its role as a facilitator — not a gatekeeper. It could acknowledge Ethiopia’s legitimate needs and help design a corridor that benefits both countries. It could leverage its status not to block, but to build.
Because if Djibouti keeps shutting Ethiopia out, it might one day find itself alone — surrounded by ships, but starved of solidarity.