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Somalis rebuild and cling to hope

When Abdirahman Farah, who is blind, returned to his native Somalia two years ago, his friends in Britain worried about him because of the country's lawlessness.

But Farah was not deterred by the peril, or by the lack of a functioning government to provide services or security. He started a school for the blind in Mogadishu, the capital, by raising tens of thousands of dollars from local businesses and enrolling 22 students, with 100 more currently on a waiting list.

Farah is among the thousands of Somalis who have adapted and plunged ahead with businesses, schools, and service organizations despite the continuing violence and leadership void. As Somalia this week took another important step to resurrect its national government after 15 years without one, many Somalis say they would welcome even a minimalist government, one that would guarantee their security but also allow their recent initiatives to flourish. They worry about a return to a dictatorial government that would quash many freedoms, including a free-market system.

In the meantime, Somalis operate as if the status quo will hold for a while.

''We're not waiting for a government anymore," Farah said during a recent business trip to this coastal city about 60 miles south of Mogadishu. ''We've been waiting so long for a government. Now there's a belief that Somalis can advance on their own."

In the absence of a government, some businesses and grass-roots initiatives such as Farah's school have thrived. Mobile phone calls, for instance, are the cheapest in Africa because of competing brands and no regulatory agency charging a levy. No one pays taxes. Importers pay landing fees at ports, instead, as well as larger amounts to warlords for the services of armed security guards.

But insecurity still haunts the lives of Somalia's 9 million people. Warlords and militiamen -- what local journalists call ''armed governors" -- battle for territory. In some areas, an uneasy peace exists; in others, fighting is the norm.

Late last month Mogadishu erupted in the worst street fighting in several years, leaving more than 20 people dead and 80 injured in battles -- in part over the rising influence of conservative Islamic courts. Farah said bullets whizzed by his school, and he was briefly caught in a crossfire in a market.

But the fighting stopped as quickly as it erupted. ''I'll stay," Farah said.

Some believe that the recent violence is also linked to the latest effort to resurrect a national government. Thirteen previous such attempts -- none of which succeeded in convening a parliament and all of which ended in renewed violence -- had failed since 1991. That was a disastrous year for Somalia: The last president, strongman Siad Barre, fled Mogadishu; two rival factions engaged in all-out war in the capital, killing at least 14,000 people; and the former British protectorate of Somaliland in north Somalia declared independence.

But on Feb. 26, a transitional parliament convened for the first time on Somali soil since it was formed 18 months ago. It met for a single day, recessed, then reopened this Monday, establishing committees to start its work, a small but vital step.

Even holding the meetings -- in the west-central community of Baidoa, a town without a single hotel room, inadequate water supply, and bordering an area suffering the worst drought in several decades -- represented a breakthrough. Trucks brought in water, food, and tents; parliament members are sleeping three and four to a room in rented houses.

Many Somalis, even though hardened by the tumultuous years, guardedly are holding out hope for a new government, even if it takes lawmakers months to work out details in Baidoa.

But they also believe that even a 14th failure would not doom the country.

''Life has to go on -- even in Somalia," said Mohamud Arush, country representative of the Italian charity Coordination Committee of the Organization for Voluntary Service, who is based in Merca.

For many Americans, the overriding perception of Somalia remains frozen in time from the violent day in October 1993, when US special forces and Somali street fighters, plus armed women and children, battled in the streets of Mogadishu. Eighteen US troops and hundreds of Somalis were killed, and the corpses of US soldiers were dragged through the streets. Months later, the US mission, which started as ''Operation Restore Hope" aiming to create a secure environment for the delivery of food aid, ended.

Today, the biggest dangers remain clan violence, as well as an emerging threat: The country is home to perhaps a few hundred sympathizers or members of Al Qaeda, according to Somali and Western analysts who have studied the situation.

Mogadishu, even before the latest surge in violence, has been largely off-limits to Westerners because of recent threats to kidnap or kill them. The United Nations also has kept its expatriate staff from traveling to the southern city of Kismayo because of suspected terrorist activities.

Both areas, along with Bossaso in the north, are believed to have cells of Al Qaeda sympathizers, according to analysts and Somali local authorities.

Yet, by many indicators, most Somalis have adapted to the volatile circumstances, creating private companies that lay water pipes or string electric wires to homes; setting up money-transfer operations that distribute tens of millions of dollars every month sent by Somali expatriates to their families and friends; and establishing private schools that often rely on volunteer teachers.

In Mogadishu alone, a city of 3 million, 100,000 students attend private schools, many of them funded by Islamic charities.

''The absence of a central government has many, many people used to functioning without it," Nuruddin Farah, Somalia's most famous writer, now living in Cape Town, said in a recent interview. He visits Somalia regularly.

Christian Balslev Olesen, UNICEF's country director in Somalia, said the growth of private initiatives is easy to understand, even with the risks. ''Why?" he asked. ''Because they can make a business out of it."

In Jowhar, about 50 miles west of the Mogadishu district, Hunshey Ahmed Arale started his private water business a few years ago with help from UNICEF, which rehabilitated the town's largest water tank. Arale ran into trouble in his first year, though, when several warlords demanded money, sometimes as much as $100 a day.

But one warlord, Mohammed Omar Habeb, also known as Mohammed Dhere, eventually wiped out the others. Now Dhere, who is the self-declared governor, charges Arale $50 a month for security. ''We call it a public-private partnership," Arale said.

Arale's business is flourishing: He provides drinking water to the town of 36,000 at the cost of 70 cents for every 250 gallons, and has enough profit to also pay the salaries of all 14 teachers at one school as a community service.

''We do it better than the old government," he said.

Across town, in a particularly poor section, one elementary school is run by a local women's group, which recruited volunteer teachers.

''Since the government collapsed, almost all the men were involved in violence and war," said Halma Mohammed Haji, the head of the Jowhar women's group. ''It has been the women who have built back the livelihoods and helped the community survive."

In two canvas tents one day recently, four teachers gave lessons on mathematics, Arabic, and Somali to 170 students.

''I love education," said Khadija Abdulkadir Omari, 8, who had never gone to school until this one opened two months ago. ''I love it so much that I want to be a teacher."

In Merca, the Italian charity COSV had been supporting three hospitals, 11 health clinics, and nine small health offices for many years.

But its funding ran out two years ago, forcing the health institutions to support themselves, said Dr. Abdi Hersi, COSV's health manager for Somalia.

''When projects used to end here, the programs would collapse," Hersi said. ''But this time it was different. They've found money themselves for two years." Among the sources: small patient fees, community groups, and Somalis living abroad.

Although Somalis have grown increasingly independent, many crave the return of a government that would provide security.

In Merca, local officials recently captured a pirate allegedly responsible for last year's hijacking of a World Food Program ship carrying donated food.

In town, men with guns often ride in the back of pickup trucks and pedestrians reflexively move into the shadows. When men stop for evening prayers at the COSV guesthouse, they face in the direction of the holy city of Mecca and also toward a wall on which the guards lean their AK-47 rifles.

Even at a wedding, guns nearly spoiled the fun.

Before the arrival of a bride named Zam-Zam and a Somali-born groom who lives in Chicago, one of eight armed guards at the door confronted a young man across an open courtyard.

Before 400 guests, the two soon were shoving one another. The gunman raised his AK-47 to the chest of the man, who refused to shrink away and shouted at him angrily in Somali.

Several guests spoke to the armed guard, who departed in a huff.

And then the party continued, the episode history. Bride and groom entered and traditional dancers took the floor.

One woman threw off her head covering, and the guests roared. Another woman wiggled her hips within inches of a man's hips, and the crowd cheered.

''Oh, Osama bin Laden wouldn't be too happy with this," whispered one joyful guest to another.

Amid the cheers, the master of ceremonies boomed over the sound system, ''Peace, peace to all!"

John Donnelly

John Donnelly can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it

Published March 8, 2006 Globe Newspaper Company.

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