How do I begin to explain my second trip to Mogadishu?
So much had changed since the first time I traveled to the motherland.
Somalia became a federal republic, abaaba became the Prime Minister of said federal republic and I just finished my first semester in university. Usually, I spend my December holidays back home in Holland, away from the equatorial climate I have grown to love over the past years. But the longing for Somalia was too strong to ignore this holiday season.
So there I was, on a Thursday afternoon almost sick with nostalgia. 'Hooyo, I am going to go to Xamar'. Two hours later my ticket to Mogadishu was booked.
I purposely didn't allow myself time to think about the abrupt nature of the decision I had made. Who goes to a conflict zone for a holiday?!
Four days later I found myself at Aden Abdulle International Airport in Mogadishu. The feeling I got upon landing in Somalia is one that I can never do justice with just words. It is almost as if my emotions were throwing a 'welcome home' party in my body. From tears of joy to sighs of awe.. my God, I was home.
Reality only sunk in when I saw the armed convoy waiting outside the airport for me. I shook off the initial feeling of panic and took a deep breath to remind myself that this is where I really wanted to be. I swear, there were nights in Nairobi where I would stay up just to look at pictures of Mogadishu in her glory days. The beauty she had then is still evident, at least it is to me.
The only reason my words about Mogadishu are filled with love and hope is because I got to see multiple sides of her that others are deprived of. I can never argue with the reality on the ground i.e hunger, clan based segregation, corruption, terrorism and so on. BUT the baby steps that are being taken should have a focus too. Somalia has ice-cream parlours now. The ice-cream might not be very good but isn't that something worth mentioning? If we only choose to amplify the negative when will the cycle of negativity in Somalia end? Tell me about the young children facing incredible odds by pursuing an education in a broken nation, about the women learning to drive in a country where the men have broken the roads with their anger and the thousands of people that have returned because they've seen the flicker of hope in a land that the world gave up on.
Mogadishu the second time round was beyond amazing. I didn't get my heart broken this time. Doesn't that sound like progress?
