A Foreign Native by Chester Hassan

Author:Chester Hassan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784627638
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd

IV

Bulhan began telling him how they fled Mogadishu during the war as confusion reigned supreme. Mothers left some of their children and their most prized possessions behind in order to save themselves and their other children, throwing their belongings out of the sides of lorries to make room for passengers; photographs littered the streets, children playing at Mogadishu’s Jazeera beach, family and wedding albums, even money.

“We were surprised at how easily everything was destroyed, how quickly the street lights disappeared, how quickly garbage piled up in the streets, and how people changed. Before that, I had not realised how dependent we were, without access to supermarkets and shops; everything became very scarce very quickly. The simplest of things, that all people usually take for granted and never think about, became so important in their absence and made us realise the fragility of life.

You see this gun, I have thirty rounds in it. I could just aim it at you, and… fire. Think about it, you could be dead within minutes. You have no way of stopping me, you are not armed. If I had any reason to shoot you, I would. There would be no consequences: no police, no courts, no prisons, nothing. I shoot you and take what I want and simply leave. This is how it was in Mogadishu.

There were just so many armed groups, fighting for all sorts of things. Some wanted Barre to go; some were fighting for their tribe; some were opportunistic thieves; some thought that they were fighting for Allah and others just enjoyed war and mischief-making. At the time, it seemed to me that everyone was shooting at everyone else.

No one knew what was going on, white eyed little boys everywhere, carrying AK47s and armed with dangerous ideas about their ethnicity, drugged to the hilt. Chewing Qat day and night. Killing was their only solution to every problem. The AK47s made everyone look like a target, for this was the only physical, mental, moral and spiritual weapon that these young men had and knew how to use.

We first fled to Kismayu in the hope that it would be safe there and we could wait out the conflict there but, to our horror, we had to flee the town three days later. What we left behind in Mogadishu had followed us to Kismayu. By then we were desperate… that is an understatement. It does not begin to describe our situation, but no language has words to describe our situation at that time. We were in hell. I don’t know what hell is like but if hell is as bad as that, it would be sufficient punishment for any sin. We had no income, no job, no money, no means of feeding ourselves, no food, no belongings of any kind, no home, no identity and most of us were sick with unidentified diseases. We were surrounded by death, destruction and suffering. Our own death could have come at any moment, without warning and for no cause.

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