As American forces pulled out of Somalia in spring 1994, young Muse Omar Jama started trading currencies in Mogadishu's bustling Bakara market. Over 30 years on, the 49-year-old continues the work, though he questions its future.

Jama occupies a plastic chair in the cramped, shared one-room office with fellow traders. Auto-rickshaws zip past outside, but inside, silence reigns; the usual haggling echoes have died down, and conversations are sparse.

Their dented metal safes, stuffed with millions of Somali shillings, sit shut and secured. The stacks of paper money within have abruptly lost all value. 'It's like we went bankrupt overnight,' Jama remarks.

Last month, frustrated by grimy, torn and worn-out notes, a few Mogadishu traders refused to take them. Quickly, shops, businesses and bus operators joined in, with the boycott spreading beyond the capital.

Prices surged right away, hiking costs for basics like food, drugs and rides. A modest packet of milk powder, for instance, more than doubled in cost.

With worldwide food inflation and Somalia's persistent drought, the poorest are hit hardest by an economy shifting fully to dollars.

Somalia ranks among the top remittance-reliant nations globally. Expatriates send billions yearly, mostly in dollars, channeled through informal hawala networks. UN agencies, NGOs, foreign troops and security outfits have bolstered dollar dominance.

No new Somali banknotes have been issued since 1991, after Siad Barre's regime fell, the central bank collapsed, and the nation earned its 'failed state' label. Over time, the 1,000-shilling note emerged as the main circulating denomination.

Lacking a unified currency amid clan wars and divisions - Somaliland introduced its own shilling - dollars and mobile transfers grew dominant. Eventually, only Mogadishu and southern areas accepted the Somali shilling.

Before the business backlash, Jama's Zoobe junction office drew crowds exchanging shillings for dollars via mobile apps, or converting digital remittances to cash.

Today, like countless others outside formal dollar banking, Jama's routine is upended.

'Before the shilling snub, I earned enough for rent, power and water,' he explains. Now he treks 3 miles (5km) to work, shunned by buses.

'This shilling rejection devastates the poor worst, beggars included. Passersby gave them thousands in notes for food and necessities, but now those are useless,' Jama notes.

'They beg me to swap shillings for dollar mobile credit, but I refuse - my safes, shelves and desks overflow with unexchangeable shillings.'

On May 4, scores of traders marched Mogadishu's streets, brandishing note bundles and chanting: 'Somalia lacks a real currency.' Jama stayed away, dispirited. 'Nothing will return to normal. Our money is gone, our livelihoods too.'

Asha Ali Ahmed, 39, vending vegetables from her late mother's Mogadishu stall, shares the gloom. 'This stand sustained us growing up,' she says. 'I'd buy produce in Afgoye with shillings, sell here for profit.'

Farmers now demand mobile payments, shunning shillings and jacking up veggie prices. 'Drought had them pricey already,' she laments. 'The shilling ban worsens it all.'

Somalia's brutal drought has wrecked harvests, spiked food costs and shattered incomes. The World Food Programme reports 6.5 million - nearly one-third of Somalis - in acute hunger, with 2 million young kids severely malnourished.

'My shilling-paying customers were the budget-conscious. Mobile fees mean higher tabs they can't meet,' Ahmed says.

In a TV address, officials declared shilling refusal illegal, mandating businesses accept it.

Yet Jama and peers see little enforcement from the weak government. 'The order is fine, but needs teeth - no cops or enforcers in sight,' he says.

'Real aid would mean officials raiding non-compliant spots, issuing fines even.'

Jama slumps in his seat. Opposite, sentries man machine guns at the foreign ministry. 'Millions will suffer,' he murmurs. 'Poverty will claim more homes.'