Jonathan Ancer
ABDI Hussein (30) grabs a fistful of spaghetti and, with great skill, swings it into his mouth. Hussein is one of the 3 000 Somali refugees who have come to South Africa since their country erupted into civil war six years ago.
I meet Hussein in a hotel that is unlikely to be listed in any travel guide. The hotel’s Fordsburg address is passed from one Somali refugee to the next. The room is full of men watching The Bold and the Beautiful on television, sipping shah (sweet tea) and eating spaghetti -a result of Italian influence from the days when it administered parts of Somalia before independence in 1960.
A bowl of spaghetti costs the refugees R4 and it’s R20 a night for a room.
Signs on the wall prohibit smoking and chewing mirra – a sort of twig that stimulates the senses. Mirra is to East African culture what boerewors is to the Free State.
Hussein’s home village is on Somalia’s border with Kenya. He recently completed his master’s degree in History at Rhodes University and has been accepted for a PhD in Conflict Analysis and Resolution at George Mason University in Virginia in the United States.
“Africa is going to need those skills,” he says. Unfortunately, they didn’t help him last month. The evening he celebrated handing in his thesis, he was assaulted. Somebody broke a beer bottle over his head. He boasts a forehead full of scars. “I came very close to losing my life,” he recalls.
Nevertheless Hussein claims he is one of the more fortunate Somalis in South Africa. He left the country before the war to take up a teaching post in Swaziland and managed to raise enough funds to study. When civil war broke out, many of his compatriots fled, leaving behind families and qualifications to put themselves at the mercy of foreign governments.
“We’ve crossed many borders to come here and on the way many people contracted malaria,” says refugee leader Mohammed Hirsi (41), who left Somalia in 1992. He travelled along the coast from Tanzania to Mozambique and then went to Swaziland. It took him two weeks to get to South Africa. “We travelled without documents and were harassed by officials in many countries. A lot of refugees were turned back when they reached Tanzania. It’s only the lucky few who make it,” he says.
The Somalis in South Africa recently formed a committee to represent their interests. Hirsi was given the social activities portfolio and is responsible for looking after newcomers. Why did they choose South Africa? “Because it’s the most economically developed country in Africa and offers a lot of opportunities,” he says.
There are not many opportunities for 60- year-old Mohammed Jama, or MJ as he is affectionately called. He clutches a walking stick to his chest and explains that he spends most of his time going to hospital to get treatment for his legs.
When fighting broke out in his village, he fled on the back of an overloaded truck. Soldiers ambushed the truck, killing the driver. The truck overturned. MJ jumped. His legs were crushed. He was lucky, though, because many people in the back of the truck were killed.
In Mayfair, about 8km from the Fordsburg hotel, is the Somali Community Centre. Forty young men are squeezed into a small room. The only noise that breaks the silence is the sound of lips smacking together. Bundles and bundles of mirra are stacked in the middle of the room.
The mirra, which costs R50 a bundle, was flown in from Nairobi and arrived that afternoon at Johannesburg International Airport. “It’s not illegal,” Hussein says, “they bring it in as vegetables and cover it in dried banana skins to keep it fresh.”
Mirra is farmed in northern Somalia, Ethiopia, Yemen and, according to Hussein, is now grown by a farmer in the East London area.
Hussein. who says he started chewing mirra when he was 12, peels the bark off the twig and chews the bark strips.
“It’s not like dagga or beer, it doesn’t make you dizzy or aggressive,” he says. “It’s very sociable. It helps you tell stories. It’s also a painkiller and very good for flu, because it keeps you warm.”
MJ and Hirsi and some other Somali elders are sitting in another room, also chewing mirra. Hirsi explains that in Mogadishu he was a wealthy businessman and now in South Africa he is a hawker. He says he studied political science for four years in Cuba, before working for Somalia’s communist government. He switched to a business career in 1984. When the Somali capital turned into a battlefield after faction fighting erupted, Hirsi fled to South Africa.
“Our plight is a hellish nightmare,” he says.”We’ve come to South Africa as asylum- seekers and we are only given temporary status. Because of this, we cannot get help from the Red Cross or any other non- government organisations and we struggle to find jobs.”
The dozen Somalis gathered around the table nod in agreement. Hirsi continues: “Some of us are hawkers, some of us are security guards and some help out in stores. As casual labourers, we earn between R150 and R180 a week.
“I sell shoes and clothes that I buy from Chinese wholesalers. I was chased away from hawking in Secunda because the locals there accused me of stealing their jobs. These days I hawk in Benoni.”
Hirsi says that most of the refugees who do not have jobs spend the day glued to the television set and at night they chew mirra.
“One day while we were sitting in the house, thugs with guns came inside. We could not defend ourselves. They stole our money and beat us. We went to the police station, but because we only had temporary documents we were told to go to the Department of Home Affairs. One policeman said that whoever doesn’t have a permanent document has no rights in South Africa. We are powerless.”
One of the reasons the Somalis congregate in Mayfair is to be near the mosques. They have received some support from the South African Muslim community. “We stick to ourselves. We live in one country, but we are in a different world. You are the first white person we’ve had contact with,” says Hirsi.
According to Hirsi, the United Nations High Commission for Refugees suggested the South African government set up camps for the Somali refugees. “But the government rejected the whole idea. We don’t have the power to contact the big shots in government to help us. We are refugees. We share rent and sometimes 15 people share a room. If a newcomer comes to South Africa we help him. We don’t even ask R1. We know how tough it is to survive.”
I get the impression that the Somali refugees are reluctant to answer questions about the problems in Somalia. They come from many clans, but in South Africa they only have each other to rely on, so they stick together, rather than quarrel about politics thousands of kilometres away.
Hussein believes that they will return to Somalia one day. “Yes,” agrees Hirsi. “One day when there’s peace.”