/ 24 June 2008

Going home to Somalia

Fear is perhaps a word that has been misused in many parts of the world. But in my short trip to my country, Somalia, for the first time in two decades, fear was my overwhelming sense. I was there just less than a week but I lived in fear as I lay down in bed, walked in the streets or talked to people.

The advice everyone gave me was to be vigilant. They told me not to talk about politics, because I might offend certain people. Also, I was to avoid walking into areas controlled by a particular group.

At the hotel where I stayed, there was a fear that a bomb might land on it. All of these realities could have cost me my life.

Initially, I planned to travel by car through the country’s southern regions to Mogadishu, but I could not go beyond Dhobley, the border town in southern Somalia on which American naval forces fired missiles in early March this year.

The Pentagon claimed to have targeted a known al-Qaeda terrorist. Since then, US warplanes regularly fly above Dhobley, apparently seeking ”terrorists” and al Shabab, the military wing of the Somali Islamic Courts Union (ICU), which was ousted from power in December 2006.

Local residents have grown accustomed to the sound of US warplanes; they seek cover and some stand still, pretending to be trees when they hear the noise.

Nevertheless, the bombing is one of many issues that create uneasiness in the area.

An old schoolfriend told me to look out for people who are helping ”the rich man who is looking for Hodan”. At first, this advice did not make sense to me, but after he explained, it did.

He told me a story: there was a rich guy who was married to a beautiful woman and after a few years of a happy relationship, the wife disappeared. So the rich man walks the streets with a bag full of money, asking passers-by if they have seen Hodan. If someone answers ”yes”– whether it is true or not — he will give them some cash. But anyone who answers ”no” will get nothing.

My friend explained: The rich man is the US and the missing wife is al-Qaeda. American officials offer a lot of money for anybody who says ”yes, al-Qaeda is in Somalia” and no cash for anybody whose answer is, ”al-Qaeda is not in Somalia”.

This practice has become common and has become a real money-spinner for many Somalis. But, unfortunately, it has also made innocent civilians suffer.

The ”informers”, however, are in a difficult position: Somalis are one of the poorest people in the world and they will do anything to survive. Abdi Ali*, a father of three who has never publicly admitted giving information to the Americans, said: ”I have to feed my family and if I have to tell lies to achieve that, I will do so.” Ali does not even believe that al-Qaeda exists.

”I know al-Qaeda is not in the area that I live, I do not even think such [a] group exists, but it is [the] easy way to beat the hunger,” he said.

Cooperation is not without its risks. Some residents have been killed for allegedly helping the Americans. On June 6, the day I arrived in Dhobley, news came that three people were killed by al Shabab fighters.

Immediately rumour spread that they worked with the CIA; in this part of the world people easily believe rumours to be hard facts. The suspicion of CIA involvement arose from the fact that one of the victims was a well-known local who worked with the United Nations Development Program (UNDP).

For al Shabab fighters, charity workers employed by Western organisations are a prime target, as they could be working with US intelligence officials. Carrying any sort of electronic gadgets, such as mobile phones and cameras, could also be a matter of life and death. People are aware that the US possesses advanced technology.

Al Shabab members, who operate in the area, think that possessing such materials means that you are helping their enemy.

I have tried to film the place where the US missile that killed the leader of al Shabab, Adan Hashi Ayrow, on May 1 landed, and talk to some of the residents, but I was warned not to carry any electronic equipment with me while on the streets.

During my stay in Dhobley, I learned that life is worth almost nothing in Somalia. I also learned the immense difference between being on the ground to that of learning of events through the media.

I left Somalia at the beginning of the civil war that erupted after Siad Barre’s regime was overthrown, in early 1991. I am lucky to have missed the dreadful experience that millions of Somalis have endured for the last 17 years. Having lived in Britain for most of this time, I decided to go back to my birthplace to see what life is like for my fellow country-men and women.

Before I arrived in Somalia, I was looking forward to seeing my home country, but the experience of my first few days has changed that. One positive event was seeing my older brother Mohammed for the first time in almost two decades. So much has changed since we last saw each other face to face. I asked him what happened to make him look so old.

He said: ”Circumstances make people who they are and that is the reason I am in this condition.”
Later during my visit he told me that as much as he was glad to see me, he was losing sleep due to my arrival. Mohammed was particularly distressed on the day when Nasteeh Dahir, a BBC correspondent in Kismayo, was shot dead; since the victim was a fellow journalist, Mohammed thought I might be the next one to get killed.

One of the groups that the civil war has affected most is the children. If you ask children living in peaceful countries what they want to be when they grow up, they will tell you that they want to become doctors, lawyers and football players. Teenagers from Somalia grow up looking forward to becoming murderers.

Hamdi Bashir Arte, an eight-year-old boy, said: ”When I grow up I will shoot all the bearded men because they killed my father.” Hamdi’s father was killed on May 13 by members of al Shabab. According to the victim’s family, the businessman was trading at a village which al Shabab controls when he was captured and killed.

Hamdi also refuses to go to madrasa as a way of avoiding bearded men — a typical madrasa teacher will have a beard just like the al Shabab fighters.

Hamdi is not alone in his desire for revenge. A group of us were watching the Al Jazeera English channel at a restaurant in Dhobley when an 11-year-old boy screamed loudly: ”I wish I could shoot him [George Bush] dead through the TV screen.”

The boy stood up and demanded the television be switched off until the piece about the US president was over. I later found out that three members of his family, including his mother, were killed by the Ethiopian forces supporting the Transitional Federal Government (TFG) of Somalia.

The youngster is well informed about the current US administration’s support for the Ethiopian government. He believes that without the backing of the White House, Ethiopia would not have invaded Somalia, resulting in the death of his loved ones.

Many Somalis blame the US for its role in destabilising the country. Since the start of the civil war, the only period during which Somalis have experienced security and have dared to hope for a better future was during the ICU’s reign.

In 2006 community leaders, business people and religious leaders came together under the banner of the ICU, fought against warlords who have ruled the country for many years and successfully formed an administration.

The most senior figures in the ICU were religious leaders, but they had the support of the majority of Somalis because they brought stability to the nation. Washington chose to assist the TFG, which is unpopular among Somalis, rather than working with the ICU. Worse yet, the US gave the green light and logistical support to the Ethiopian forces which ousted the ICU.

Somalis regard Ethiopia as their biggest enemy, but the Bush administration thought it knew better. A question that many Somalis ask is, how can Ethiopia bring security to us?

But, as much as we criticise others for the chaos in our country, we, Somalis, are responsible for our actions. Back in Britain, I have always found it difficult to give a convincing answer when people ask me, ”Why are you killing one another?”

The irony is that Somalis share a common language, religion, culture, colour — they are one family, one clan — yet they cannot agree to coexist. I would love to conclusively explain the causes of the war, but it is beyond my imagination.

The worst thing is that the situation is worsening day after day, the society is becoming more divided and I cannot see the prospect of a peaceful Somalia for another two decades.

* Not his real name