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January 18, 2005

"Ali has been shot!"

Mogadishu, Somali: “Ali has been shot!” What? I looked at my watch it was 6:30 AM. I got up in a hurry and a stiff breeze blew through the room. The sun was already up and cooking. I dressed quickly, and Will and I rushed out the door to the next room. Sitting with somber looks was the IAS staff. “What happened?” we asked making sure we heard right. “Ali has been shot,” Elias announced. He continued in a monotone voice, “Last night at somewhere between 2:00AM or 3:00AM Ali was shot in the stomach by a masked gunman.” All our hearts sank. We all prayed together that it wasn’t fatal. Ali lived about 4kms away. What would happen next? The IAS team was thinking about our safety. They didn’t know if we were targets, if the murder was exclusively aimed at Ali, if we were next, if someone would try to kidnap us, if a gunfight was coming to our front door, if, if, if…no one knew. “Can we go to the hospital?” I asked. “That is a problem,” returned Elias, “The hospital is in Medina”. He might as well have said Hades. Medina district is the Wild West and on arrival in Somalia we were told, “It is the hellhole of Mogadishu”. "Let’s do it," we announced. Ali is shot and we all wanted to see him. Elias told us to pack because after the Medina hospital run we were on the next qat plane out (Drug planes that run daily to Mogadishu from Nairobi carrying the amphetamine qat). We hopped in the Hilux’s with four more gunmen than usual. Everyone cocked there Kalashnikovs and we were on our way. Ducking and dodging militia controlled roads we squealed around corners and within five minutes we were at the hospital gates. Everyone was nervous, but the coast seemed clear. The gates opened and we entered. We rushed in to the hospital and the sounds of screams echoed through the pink halls with a horrific quality. Gun shot victims everywhere. We rushed to Ali’s bedside and there he was bandaged on the stomach and hand. His hand also sustained a wound. With lazy eyes he looked up at us and said, “I have been shot, what can I do, this is Somalia?” We told Ali we would pray for him and then said a quick goodbye. As we walked out of the gunshot ward I caught glimpses of the evil outcome of last nights bullet melees from across the city. A man lay quivering with a bandage around his head from a shot to the brain, but somehow he was still alive. His next of kin, I assume, sat by his bed with a traumatized look mixed with the plottings of bitter revenge. Gunshots to the legs, arms, back, anywhere you could think of, this ward was full, and each had their own stories I am sure. One curious injury we noticed was a man sitting calmly with a pipe stuck in his ribs, but by the look of things and how he smiled at us it seemed to have little effect on him rather than a nuisance for getting around. What could any of them do, this was Somalia?

We raced out of Medina and everyone let out a sigh of relief. We speed through the white washed city for the last time as we hurried to the “Qat air field,” so called in reference to the qat drug-planes that come 4-5 per day with loads of the stuff from Nairobi. The planes fly back to Kenya empty and offer a steady form of “regular” air service for NGO emergencies.

Guns, guns and more guns at the qat strip. Technicals sped by with 6, 8 sometimes 10 heavily armed boys looking for trouble. Only months before one of the chartered qat pilots, along with the plane, were held for ransom for two weeks until the ruling warlord of the area worked out a higher taxation for landing rights. Everyone was armed and even scarier everyone was high on qat (Qat is a green leaf that is a stimulant and one of the side effects is insomnia). We said our quick goodbye to the IAS boys and then boarded the empty cavern of the airplane. Next stop—earth! The reality of Somalia ended like being woke from a nightmare.

Upon arrival in Nairobi 2 ½ hours later we didn’t have much to say. It is like trying to tell a dream, you realize that not many will ever understand it, except you, so you say nothing. But now days have passed and ever thought is examined with the utmost detail. These are experiences and times you only leave up to prayer. And somewhere in both of us we know we will again make a journey to Somalia.

Posted by Admin at January 18, 2005 07:12 PM