This
is the first diary of war by a veteran
Somali Journalist 1990/1992-a war
fought under the merciless Somalia sun
in the immediate aftermath of the
ouster of military dictator,
Major-General Mohamed Siyad Barre from
power after ruling the country for
more than two decades with an iron
fist.
Like any great-war diary, the force of
the talent behind it makes it forever
timeless. This is the brutal expose'
of the rotten core of a country ruled
by ruthless, bloodthirsty warlords,
their sinister power and barbaric acts
that divided the Somali people along
clan, sub, sub-clan lines. Mr. Afrah
wrote the Diary (slightly edited with
new material) before the international
task force spearheaded by the
Americans stormed the beaches of
Mogadishu on December 9, 1993--
The Webmaster banadir.com).
M. M. AFRAH'S WAR
DIARY 1991/1992
PART SIX
LIDO BEACH, December 7, 1991.
7. 30 A. M.
This morning we wake up with the sound
of machineguns cracking at high tempo
followed by artillery guns and
Katyusha rockets in the hills beyond
the former official residence of the
US ambassador. They continued to pound
Shibis and the surrounding residential
areas with angry echoes. At times more
than 20 separate fires can be seen
blazing across the city, a city that
had been prosperous and well tended. A
militia loyal to Ali Mahdi is fighting
desperately at their positions in
Kaaraan to hold their northern
stronghold of the divided city. On the
other hand, General Aideed's militias
are using all the arsenals at their
disposal to dislodge Ali Mahdi and his
Manifesto Group who elected him to
fill the vacuum left by Mohamed Siyad
Barre. In a speech on arrival in
Mogadishu with his seasoned militia
gunmen from the small town of
Mustaxiil (pronounced Mustahiil) in
the Ethiopian-occupied Ogaden region,
the General vowed to crush the group,
which he called "Afar Jeebleyaal"
(Men with four pockets, i.e.
merchants).
Already the conflict is snarling hot,
but we are safe at the beach-at least
for the moment.
1. 45 P. M.
We rushed to the top of the gutted
Lido Night Club for the second time to
watch the artillery exchange from
there, and we were shocked at the
intensity of the fire works between
the two clans. "It is always the
innocent civilians who are
dying," Prof. Elmi remarked as we
watched smoke bellowing high from
several targets hit by the Katyushas.
I mentioned in an earlier entry in
this Diary the blood-cuddling
Katyushas are Soviet made multiple
rocket launchers that could destroy
whole blocks of buildings, leaving
behind huge craters in their wake.
One vexing question is: What to do
with those who massacred countless
civilians and destroyed whole cities,
town and villages, and wiped out
infrastructures in the process? Would
there be a war crimes tribunal? Would
all these end up in the dustbin of
history?
I watched with the
help of my ancient binocular, two
young men enter a building. Fifteen
minutes later they re-emerged with
spoils and entered another house
nearby. Soon white smoke was pouring
from its windows.
Several hours after
the shootings stopped there was uproar
at the beach. The entire population of
Lido Beach, men, women, children and
the elderly are swarming around a
flatbed truck in front of the old Lido
Night Club, yelling and cursing in the
Rahan-weyn dialect. A Red Cross flag
was flying on top of the truck's cabin
and a white man and two Somalis
holding high the logo of the Somali
Red Crescent Society, trying to calm
down the inhabitants but all in vain.
One of the Somalis recognized
Professor Elmi who was standing at the
end of the huge crowd, and with me
taking pictures. The people are
fighting over packages of food and
bottled water. Many of the women and
the elderly are too weak to raise
themselves from the sand. Babies are
born at the beach with the help of
frail old midwives.
One woman distraught
to the point of madness flung herself
at the Red Cross official; she begged
him to give her some money to buy milk
for her newly-born baby she held in
her arms. The official then turned to
the cartoons at the back of the truck
to search for cans of powdered milk.
Then she put the baby in the arms of
one of the Somali RCS, then she run
off saying she would get milk for the
baby because there was no milk in her
breasts. And when the Somali Red
Crescent official opened the bundle of
rugs to look at the child he found it
had been dead several hours ago.
At that very moment
Professor Elmi took matters into his
own hands. He quickly jumped on the
flatbed truck and ordered the rowdy
people to stand in three lines-one for
the women and children, one for the
elderly and one for the able-bodied
young men. It worked and everybody
obeyed the order and behaved
admirably. What surprised me, however,
is that the professor, a Northerner
who hails from Hargeisa, spoke the
Rahan-weyn dialect perfectly!
Later over a cup of
tea, he told me that one of his
students at the university, who hails
from Baidoa, taught him the rudiments
of the Rahan-weyn colloquial speech.
He then showed me a translation of the
Rahan-weyn vernacular in Latin and in
standard Somali, which he
self-published it at a private
printing press in Nairobi after the
Ministry of Education refused to
include it in the national curriculum.
After that he became highly respected
and admired person among the Lido
community.
To be continued….
Afrah's War Diary 1991/1992
Afrah95@hotmail.com
TALKING
POINT By M. M. Afrah©
