Once upon atime in Somalia, Evans Egualeona [dark books to read .txt] 📗

ONCE UPON A TIME IN SOMALIA

It all began in the early hours of Tuesday morning, as the news of the enemies’ encroachment filled the atmosphere like dew, pouring down from the sky, in a chaotic and nearly non-governmental nation in the horn of Africa, known to be the home of the world’s best contemporary pirates, a nation where civil war, drought, anarchy and chaos where the order of the day. The rebel group which controlled much of the south was few villages away from our location as the news of their advancement caused panic and great fear among the people of Marca, Port city, southern Somalia.

Leaving the city for safety and forfeiting the purpose of coming to Africa was difficult but the only option we had to stay alive. So we had to bury him in the most obnoxious of ways, which was unethical and a taboo against the tradition of the people. A sensible man would want to abnegate such act as unprofessional but believe me when I say that it was the only option we had to avoid becoming victims ourselves.

After burying him in the most disrespectful way which I find difficult to explain because it was really dehumanizing to begin with, we took to the road as quickly as possible in an attempt to elude the enemy from catching up with us. It was very difficult leaving the city because of the crowd which attempted travelling along side with us and also those on the way, taking to their heels by foot, causing heavy traffic. Men, women and children trying to find their way far from the enemies reach to the north which was a bit safer.

You could see the tears; you could feel the tension and perceive the fear from the heart of the people as they stumble upon each other in an attempt to escape the enemies’ wrath. As I watch from our moving convoy, mothers running helter-skelter with wrappers falling from their waste, children crying helpless on the floor and groggy granny’s log-jamming their way through the heavy crowd, I couldn’t hold back the tears of sorrow flowing from my eyes like rain drops from the deep blue sky, as I wept bitterly for these helpless ones. I could see the effect of war; I could feel the anguish emanating from the heart of these Somalis, I could see the importance of peace and countless reasons why we should seek it.

After we were able to maneuver our way through the heavy crowd, we travelled along the desert path from Marca, port city, southern Somalia towards Mogadishu which was 75km southwest. As we travelled along, I saw fathers and mothers, both old and young, and their children travelling by foot in the hot desert land without food, water or even shelter to protect themselves and their children against the wrath of the scorching sun. So many falling and dying by the way side due to the burning heat, thirst and starvation.

More than 800,000 Somalis had fled to refugee camps in neighboring Kenya and Ethiopia and an estimated 1.5million Somalis – a quarter of the nation’s population were currently displaced from their homes because of the war, severe drought and poverty. These problems where as a result of a failed state, a country without a government for over 22years. With the threat of the al-Qaida and the rebel militia, aid was not being delivered effectively. Humanitarian agencies were not able to access the south, the region hardest hit and some 500,000 famine victims remained trapped with the risk of being affected by other disease spreading in these areas or death from the hands of the militias. Among these were the exodus I saw travelling by foot, falling and dying by the way side in an attempt to reach Mogadishu for safety, water and food.

Somalia is more or less a desert country with less rain. There are two rainy seasons experienced in this region. The first occurs between the month of April to June which is called ‘’GU’’ while the second spell of rain occurs between the month of October and November which is called ‘’Dayr’’. There is another spell of rain that occurs in the month of July and August called ‘’Xagaaye’’ but it’s experienced in the areas of Kismaayo and Mogadishu. As a result of this drought, the people living in the northern part of Somalia finds it difficult to grow crops and rear animal’s because the area is considered to be the hottest place, around 78oF during winter and 105oF during summer, so those living in nearby villages and towns of Kismaayo and Mogadishu, have to travel to these cities in search of food and water which was not still available in much quantity to quench their hunger and taste. So many Somalis believed, the drought and starvation experienced in these critical times of their lives, was a sign the land had been cursed by the gods, because of the countless bloodshed.

As we travelled, I watched in fear for those travelling by foot because of the wild animals in the desert. These people were without any form of weapon or skill for defense or protection if when attacked by wild beast and would sever as an unpalatable meal to these animals, who would find them too skinny and very bony. As we continued our journey, we made several stops to help bandage wounds of helpless Somalis, those lying by the way side, victims of animal attacks, persons beaten either by a snake or survivals of lion attacks. This humanitarian aid slowed our movement and race for safety. It was a bit safer during the day for these foot travelers but under cover of darkness, it was a different story.

As we provided the little aid we could along the way, we took precautions so as not to be mobbed by these desperate travelers who appeared very hungry, thirsty and tired from their grueling journey, desperados who would do anything for a drink. With the little help from the military escort moving with us, danger was averted. Among the people we helped and the aid rendered to these helpless victims of war, poverty, drought and animal attacks on our way to safety was a little child of about 2years old, whose mother was been eaten alive by scavengers’. The scene was so touching and heartbreaking; the experience was very irritating that we were forced at this very sight to make a stop. We rescued this little lad who was crying helplessly on the floor close to the mother, watching and waiting to be rescued as she was been torn apart piece by piece, eaten alive by these vultures while Sergeant Rahmo one of our military escort, who was greatly disturbed as we were by the scene, came down from the truck and shot the mother on the head to the amazement of all, claiming his intent was to relieve her from her misery. The convoy was not happy with Rahmo’s action because we felt she could have been helped to a point but Rahmo who thought otherwise, felt killing her was the only possible option we had and the best way to set her free from her misery. At first I blamed him for his action but later saw reasons with him as we travelled along, that there was nothing we would have been able to do to save her rather than to cause her more pain.

Somalia was truly a hostile place to live, bitter cold, thin air, relentless wind hovering the air and the likes of hunger, drought, civil war and anarchy which was the order of the day. Faced with trials like these, how could anything survive here, let alone flourish? Only the most resilient of men could live here, those that could meet the challenge of elementary extremes of drought, flood and fire. A place that was once known to be the land of the living was now a land for the dead.

As we travelled along into the dawn of the day, I was forced to ask Rahmo who was sitting at the back of the truck I was in, how far we were from Mogadishu. I could see the smiles on his face as he answered with ecstasy

“We are 10kilometers away, Dr. Lewis”

When I heard 10kilometers away, I felt a little bit excited and peaceful ‘’thank Jesus’’ I said with great relief, knowing that we were just few kilometers to safety.

As we journeyed along, about 7kilometers away to safety, I heard a sudden blast at the front of our convoy. The truck, two vehicles ahead of mine carrying five passengers, all military men given to us as escorts by the security agency of Somalia was blown to pieces by a rocket launcher. Panic raid the air, fear gripped everyone and our convoy came to a halt.

‘’ What is happening out there? Rahmo’’ I asked in fear

‘’we are been attacked by the Al-shabaab militia group’’ he answered, “everyone get down!” he exclaimed

‘’get us out of here!”I pleaded in anguish.

As we tried maneuvering our way pass the truck in front of us that was already on flames, we heard another blast from behind.

This time it was the truck carrying food, water, some supplies belonging to us and some Somalis we helped on our way, those that sustained injuries in the exodus to Mogadishu, whose majority were women and children, blown to pieces by another rocket launcher. Among these persons was the two years old child we rescued on the way, whose mother was been torn apart by vultures.

Two minutes after the blast, we heard gun shots, bullets flying from every direction towards our convoy. As I lift up my head to watch, I saw in front of us three vehicles charging towards us in high speed, in a triangular shape with men on board heavily armed with machine guns, caliber: 7.7 *55mm SR, Capacity: 30round clip, Fire modes: fully automatic (450 rounds per minute), shooting ceaselessly towards our convoy. The other escorts of our convoy who survived the bomb blast jumped down from their trucks, coked their guns and fired back in an attempt to protect us but this proved futile because of the heavy animation of the opposition force and their numbers. Out flanked and outnumbered, we were forced to surrender.

The bravery which was displayed by our escort who survived the blast, taken out five of the enemies finest in the brawl which lasted for about 20minutes before the surrender was unbelievable. These men of courage were never going to surrender if not that they were out of Ammo. They knew what the enemies were capable of and were determined to defend their line before the call for backup arrived but luck ran out of us because of lack of ammo. It became a surrender or die affair and dying was not part of the plan neither was it a thought to be considered.

We were captured and taken hostage by the Al-shabaab group made of seventeen men led by their captain Hussein Borow Mohamed a grumpy psychopath and born Somali who spoke both Arab and English. He joined the insurgent group after the death of his father, Mohamed Borow Mohamed, one of the leaders of the Al-shabaab insurgent group, a loyalist to the former al-Qaida leader Osama bin Laden. His father was killed by the then government of Somalia in his home town of Baidoa, southern Somalia. Due to his hatred towards the government of Somalia which was as a result of his father’s death, Hussein and his twin brother joined the insurgent group of Somalia.

Surrounded in the form of a circle, stripped naked after been seriously beaten by these militias, the soldiers amongst us, men from our convoy