The Wild West With a Smile

Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need . . . {flips glasses} . . . roads.
-Back to the Future



When I first entered Somaliland I had the intention of staying five days. I left six and a half weeks later feeling a genuine appreciation about the region and its people. Traveling back into Ethiopia I took along a promise that someday I would be back.

Two years later, I’m here.

What is only very technically the country of Somalia is shaped like a 7. At the top lies Somaliland, an internationally-recognized autonomous region that is unrecognized as an independent nation. Its borders were originally drawn by their British in their almost comically-disastrous colonial tendencies from the mid-1800s. When given independence in 1960 it voted just days later to join the south and from then onward the country was simply part of Somalia.

Quickly disenfranchised from the majority south, however, Somaliland eventually launched a civil war to regain their independence. Despite being outgunned and outmanned by the Soviet-financed south led by dictator Siad Barre, Somaliland managed to keep fighting even after its cities had been leveled to the ground, many of their water sources poisoned, and its herds slaughtered by the thousands.

When Barre was killed in 1991 Somaliland won its freedom by default simply because there was no government left in the south to fight. Though left to its own devices for the last two decades and with extremely limited international support or investment, Somaliland has developed into a perfect example of just what is RIGHT with Africa.

The elections here are free and safe, a new president just having been sworn in this summer. It is moderate and friendly to the west, its citizens are safe and its security forces helpful and friendly. The region has taken surprisingly little notice to the storm of violence and protests hurtling their way across North Africa and the Middle East, evidently content with the small but clearly stable democracy that it has created. Money changers sit on the streets with giant piles of Somaliland Shillings stacked in front of them, not even considering the possibility of being robbed. And its people are absolutely the friendliest I have ever encountered.

There are some sticking points, of course. To the east Somaliland has developed over the years a sticky relationship with its Somali neighbor Puntland, a semi-autonomous region that claims part of Somaliland’s territory. Upon arriving in Somaliland, in fact, I was informed that border skirmishes had once again developed, immediately casting my hopeful treks and the school building plans into disarray and doubt.

Adding the tension, there are rumors that Puntland has teamed up for the moment with the Somali version of the Taliban, al Shabab, in this fight.

Fighting in the east aside, Somaliland is under Sharia Law and though it is a moderate form it still takes some getting used to remembering just what exactly I can and cannot do (e.g. whiskey . . . no). Westerners like me are usually forgiven for minor transgressions of course so I have little need to be worried about getting in trouble unless I open an underground distillery. But in the case of a German man a few months ago, he did something so stupid it’s hard to even fathom.

I have to preface this incident by saying that I get nervous even talking to a woman here because of the strict moral code with which Somalis in general have towards member of the opposite sex interacting. This German man, an expat who lived in Hargeisa and was married to a Somaliland woman, was caught making pornographic films with his wife and some of her friends. He was lucky to have only gotten four years in prison but westerners here – of which there are few – for the most part wish he had gotten a heavier punishment because of the uncomfortable position that he has put us in.

With so few westerners here that is a terrible impression to give this overwhelmingly conservative region. For a group of people usually so friendly and forgiving, this move was way over the line for Somalilanders. Everyone knows about it, and to make matters worse for me both times I have come here the locals have for some reason thought me to be a German. What before was only a vague insult is now an actual liability and I get the occasional Somalilander marching up to me and shouting defiantly that Germans are scum and I should go leave the country. Yesterday I had a rock thrown at me by a particularly cranky woman (though in fairness it also could have been because she just thought I was really ugly or something).

Despite the apologies to my by all the other locals who witness such incidents, these reactions have left a sour taste in my mouth in a country that otherwise has treated me better than any other I have been to.

I view all of this with a grain of salt though. I think of Somaliland – and I mean it when I say this – as safer than even the USA. As anywhere, danger lies less in where one travels than in how one travels. I am determined to travel well and be safe. In truth, my real challenges lie not in safety here but infrastructure.

After having been throttled in the civil war Somaliland was left with no infrastructure. The international help that would normally have arrived never did because of Somaliland’s curious diplomatic state, so it has been left to its own devices to rebuild. While government and aid have provided good water, business has provided decent mobile phone service, and the authorities have made inroads in education, many essential projects have been ignored if only because of absolute lack of funds from which to address them.

There is, for instance, only one tarmac road in the entire country. It is a huge, winding beast that starts in the northwest in the mountain city of Borama. It travels to the capital Hargeisa, then to the port of Berbera, onward through the livestock town of Burao, into troubled Las Anood, and then into Puntland and all the way to Mogadishu. It is up this road that incredible numbers of refugees fleeing the anarchy in the south have fled.

Other than that road I am left to 4X4s to see the country or finding a desert truck to hop atop with the locals. While perhaps a fun mode of travel for backpackers, the road system here has to be dramatically improved before and real positive change can be brought about here.

They can start that change with the city of Wachale, my entry point into Somaliland and a place in the running for Ugliest City Possible. You wouldn’t believe me if I went into detail but I’ll summarize everything by saying that the actual border is demarcated by – and this is true – a smoldering trash field. To say Wachale could be Satan’s weekend retreat would be a compliment and I never spend more time there than I absolutely have to.

If Wachale is disgusting then the rest of Somaliland’s towns might be described as just plain ugly. To get a decent picture of Hargeisa – really the entire region of Somaliland, picture Edina. Well-care for lawns, sparkling houses, perfect traffic patterns, and cliché suburban restaurants. Now that the opposite of that and you have what I see here.

Except for the pretty mountains that wind through the country the landscape that I’ve seen is mostly yellow sand with thorn trees poking up through the ground. Often one might wander into a dry river bed, but beyond that you shouldn’t expect more than the occasional hill. Unless distant from the highway or other main paths here, villages and towns are covered in litter, the plastic bags often stuck to the surrounding thorn bushes almost as kind of a discouraging Christmas tree. Buildings and structures falling down from age or war are left as they are, similar to rusting hulks that once were cars, trucks and army tanks and dot the roads and paths.

When it comes to Hargeisa I have always maintained that it acts considerably more like a frontier town or border city than the capital that it is. More than any other city, Hargeisa offers pandemonium and an overwhelming assault on the senses. The roads – bumpy dirt tracks created with no sense of planning – are filled with mini-busses and 4X4s who have little sense of driver etiquette. It is common, in the narrow lanes, for a driver to see a friend on the side of the road and stop the car in the road for a chat, seemingly oblivious to the line of increasingly irate drivers behind him who lean on their horns and yell curses.

The sidewalks are lined with hawkers and khat sellers, constantly shouting out to friends and pedestrians, all of whom shout back even if the car is right next to them. And I want to impress upon you the volume of hollering that is done here so you don’t think I’m just making some general observation. Somalis are – and I suppose this can be argued, but definitely not against my experiences - the loudest people on earth.

I do not say this lightly. They are naturally gossipy and are extremely prone to arguments, often joining a discussion that has nothing to do with them and then loudly proclaiming their viewpoint to anyone that will listen. I have been kept up to ungodly hours both in the rural and urban areas by the impassioned arguments of the locals as they beat up some inane subject long into the night. Upon questioning the next day, they deny there was any argument and simply say they were having a normal discussion, something my bloodshot eyes clearly show is false.

A nearly complete lack of white people here combined with Somali curiosity means that every few steps someone shouts "Wah-ria!" ("Hey!") at the tall white guy passing by, so if walking around for the entire day I am forced to exchange greetings and pleasantries with up to a couple hundred people. This practice alone exhausts and sometimes overwhelms me. I try not to dally long because sometimes a crowd gathers around me and I am roped into answering the same trio of questions (“What is your name? What is your nationality? What is your job?”) in a mind-numbing Sisyphean punishment until some passing elder takes pity on me and yells and everyone to leave me alone, waving his cane at the gawkers.

Mixed with all this on the streets and sidewalks are donkey-driven carts, goats, the occasional sheep, and the even less-often camel who wander the streets at will, threading their way through the crush of pedestrians and poking their heads into anything that appears as though it might possible have once been edible.

Finally, on the outside of this chaos, are the legit stores and restaurants who offer imported goods, most of which comes from the Arabian Peninsula and Asia. The stores are clean and well-kept, the restaurants are not. Most every building is one story, though some buildings are two and in the city center a small group of buildings may rise five or six high.

Flies are everywhere here and are really the most aggravating part of Somaliland. I took a repellent of 99.8% deet to help deal with them but even this is only partially effective. Somalilanders appear to have at least slightly less hatred towards them but despite my best efforts to ignore the obnoxious buzzing horrors they drive me absolutely batty. The one saving grace is that Somalilanders often burn incense, mostly frankincense and myrrh, to dissuade them. It is a lovely, calming smell. In a true contrast to the annoying flies, the incense here is among my very favorite sensations.

In short, the country is controlled chaos. It’s the Wild West with a smile. The place takes some getting used to but once that happens it feels wonderful.

This dusty region, an isolated pocket in Somalia, should make me feel lonely. Sometimes I do. But much more often this feeling evaporates because I feel so welcomed and liked by the local people. Walking down the streets can be exhausting after answering all the greetings and it can be nerve-wracking to be stared at by so many people so consistently. But many of the locals and the returned diaspora are quick to invite me to tea and I’ve found it easier to make friends – genuine friends, friends who will call me up to chat as though we’ve been acquaintances for years even after having talked to me for maybe five minutes – than any other time in my life. These people have a hospitality I have encountered nowhere else, a resilience to match, and a belief in the future that makes me proud to be here.

-----------------
Before I sign off, I want to write one final note.

Three days ago I lost two people from my life back in Minnesota. One was a relative, one a friend who I knew through my work in politics. Expressing any sort of feelings about those who have passed is difficult and, in the form of a side note on a blog post, probably trite. Maybe I shouldn’t write anything at all. But I wanted to say that both were good people – really, truly good people – who always treated me well and who will be missed by many. That is all I’ll say about them here. To those who knew them better than I . . . really, to those who knew them at all . . . I wish you the best in working through the thoughts and emotions you will be dealing with in the coming days, weeks, and beyond.

Sometimes, words will not suffice.