Somalia: I came, I saw and wondered!

• Report

Somalia tops many a list of the world’s most dangerous countries. The state has been marred with piracy and internal conflict since the collapse of the Siyaad Barre regime in 1991. Feelings of fright or flight are what come to mind when anyone mentions Somalia. “Somalia?! Are you going to be okay?” or “Do you really want to go?” are some of the reactions I received at the mention of my trip to the conflict-torn state. It almost sounds like a subtle death wish.

Most people would give anything to leave the country, rather than go there. With the widespread humanitarian crisis engulfing Somalia, nearly half the country’s population (or 3.2 million people), are in desperate need of aid. The situation is worsening as people are forced to flee the conflict and five years of failed rains and flooding in some parts of the country this year due to heavy rains.

Fear and excitement bore witness as I packed my luggage and checked in at the airport. I sat next to Mohammed Ali, a resident of Mogadishu and we struck up a conversation as we ate our simple breakfast. Mohammed told me good things about Mogadishu which offered some consolation.

The immigration desk in Mogadishu was just like it is in any other country; calm, friendly and authoritative. But chaos took over as we collected our bags. People scrambled for what was theirs. Arguments ensued and even a few punches were exchanged. A small cloud of dust gathered at people’s feet as they stepped on each other. Was this a manifestation of the situation in the country?

My taxi through hell

With luggage finally in hand, I set out into no-man’s land. I was glued to the window sucking in every detail as my taxi rode through the unfamiliar streets to my hotel. At first glance, it seemed to be business as usual with hordes of people going about their daily business. This picture was reassuring, and my fears started to subside,  until I saw the heavily armed vehicles and soldiers patrolling the streets. Once I spotted them, they seemed to be everywhere. I was alarmed to see that their guns were pointed at the crowds of people.

Countless futile shots in the air

The sound of gunshots added to my tension and the soldiers appeared ready to retreat, but people in the streets just went about their business as usual! No ducking or running for the hills. A sudden shuffle of feet, a short pause in the drinking of coffee at a small café, a brow raised, a few turned heads…that was all. My taxi driver didn’t even stop.

This phenomenon reminded me of one of Freud’s personality theories where people subjected to certain trends over a duration of time adapt to them and make them a norm. Gunshots in the air are indeed a norm in Mogadishu, but not for me...

First sleepless night

My first stop was the hotel checkpoint. Here, a lady in a small room searched through my luggage and under my clothes. This gave me the illusion that I was safe in my hotel. The relief that accompanied this feeling of safety brought on a wave of exhaustion, and even the occasional gunshots became a backdrop to my heavy sleep.

You don’t wear Prada in Mogadishu

I had to wear an over-sized veil complete with a black niqab (hood). The outfit was nowhere near trendy and the scorching heat made it worse.  After a tasty Somali breakfast of liver and bread, my guides advised me on the do’s and don’ts of the trip ahead. I was only to go with a plain notebook and pen, no laptop, books, camera or fancy phone that could be used to take pictures or record. This was in observance of a decree by Al Shabaab militia instructing all media companies and journalists to leave the country and shutting down all the radio and television stations. The justification was to prevent western ideologies from ‘intoxicating’ Somali culture and religion. In 2009 alone, nine journalists were killed making Somalia the deadliest place in the world for journalists to work.

At around two pm, we set off for the Afgooye Corridor, stopping several times at government checkpoints. “They call it x-control”, one of my guides informed me. Our conversation was abruptly cut off when our taxi came to a halt at a checkpoint. “This checkpoint is controlled by one of the militias”, my guide said in a low voice. The armed men searched our car for any suspicious items, Upon confirming that we were ‘clean’, we continued our journey through the corridor.

The famous Afgooye Corridor

The Afgooye corridor is home to over 360,000 internally displaced persons and is said to be the largest concentration of displaced people in the world. People live in makeshift shelters made from cloth or plastic sheets in incredible concentrations, making for a strained and sad situation. I saw women fetching water from a tank while their children played. I was curious about how they lived their lives, and wanted to know how they felt and to hear their hopes and dreams—if Mogadishu could let them have any—but I didn’t get the chance to talk to them since the taxi was in motion. “Maybe next time”, I thought to myself.

This desolation was thrown into sharp relief when we came to Ceelasha (pronounced “Ay-LASHA), a very large market bustling with movement, open shops and small-scale hawkers. This was a sharp contrast from what we had seen earlier at the IDP camp. Faces in this section of the corridor spelt a little more hope as everyone went along their usual business. Mogadishu was once a busy capital city of Somalia, known for its fish trade and its flourishing trade economy. I saw proprietors selling daily essentials here such as maize, sorghum, beans, peanuts, sesame and rice. The shops located in dilapidated structures were either partly destroyed by mortar shells but looked welcoming. Here, traders showed signs of a resilient Somali culture where they push on despite the strife.

An unusual public announcement

On the drive back we were stopped by three young men claiming to be from one of the militia factions. They were making a public announcement. The public was being asked to witness the punishment of two young men caught watching a film on their mobile phones. According to their version of Islam, a crime of such nature is punishable by 30-50 lashes or even worse:  ex-communication. A few months ago, a young man was shot dead in Somalia just for smoking. The announcement sent shivers down my spine.

The young boy with an AK47

On our way out of Mogadishu, we came to the last checkpoint for the day. A young boy approached the car and for a moment I thought he was coming to ask for a lift home. He couldn’t have been more than 12 years old.and had an AK47. My maternal instinct was triggered. I wanted to ask him what he was doing there and whether he should be in school, but checked myself. Child soldiers were another one of those ‘norms’ in this country that I found hard to accept.

The boy’s four-foot frame contrasted starkly with the huge 4X4 vehicles he was charged with searching. I saw how the AK47 gun increased his stature and brought him respect. He asked us where we were going and then asked to check our luggage, which included my handbag. Where I come from, it is morally wrong to go through a woman’s personal belongings. But with a child carrying a big gun and dictating the orders, we obeyed.  No questions asked.

He took the hand lotion from my bag and asked what that was. I told him and he put it back into the bag. Then it was time to check through our cell phones. I was thankful that I was carrying a simple one! He opened and checked it thoroughly. He was looking for memory cards or a camera on the phone. He then searched through my contact list to check if I had any foreign names or contacts in it.

For anyone intending to own a phone in Somalia, all the names in the phone book should adopt an Abdi, Fatuma, Mohammed or Ahmed format. A John, Larry or Mary would be a red alert indicating a possible espionage connection.

It is not easy being a woman in Somalia

In Somalia, women are not permitted to travel unaccompanied; so for my trip I had to travel with two men. Likewise, women are not allowed to talk or address men in groups in Somalia. This extends to public transport where it was initially forbidden by some of the armed groups for men to travel with women in the same bus. This decree was a step too far for most Somalis so women in public minibuses are allowed to sit at the back while men sit in the front. Ignorant of the reason why, I was told that this was to stop men from staring at the women.

The boy soldier asked who the men were and I told him that one of them was my uncle. He had to be an “uncle” and not a cousin, as cousins are allowed to marry, so they are not seen as suitable family escorts by these guardians of Islamic law.

We left the checkpoint in silence.

The final episode

The following day we traveled to Jowhar, 90 kilometers northwest of Mogadishu.  The road was terrible and it took us five hours to make a one hour journey when the road was in good repair. We spent the night in this picturesque riverside town before heading for our final destination further up the road at Jalalaqsi.

As we manouevred around the crater sized potholes, I thought of the people who were shocked that I was going to Somalia. But not half as shocked as myself. I had only spent two days in Somalia, yet the density of new experiences and feelings made me feel that I had been there for an eternity. Too much unfolds in Somalia in an incredibly short time . Too many innocent people are victimized on a daily basis by the senseless war. As we drove through across this country, my mind was crowded with these images and the sound of a country crying out for help.