Exiled Journalist Plans Return to Besieged Mogadishu
It’s shocking to meet young Somalis with great journalism skills. I know that sounds prejudiced, but the country has not had a public school system since 1991. Private school costs about $400 a year, the average monthly income is about $220, and families average at 7 or 8 children, so not every child can go to school unless parents are extraordinarily prosperous. Then there’s the problem of schools and entire cities being shelled. Those who do get to attend will be expected to chip in wages to the family once they get a job. Most of them start their own businesses in high demand sectors like transport or food retail.
So, while journalists worldwide get crap from their families for choosing such a poorly paying, unstable field when they could be using their good brains to be doctors or engineers, the stakes are higher in Somalia if you fail to make a living as a reporter. You may be the only one in your family who got to go to school and now you’re sqaundering your literacy for pennies. That said, someone’s got to do it. A society without intellectuals is prone to fascism, a local and international threat.
Abdiaziz Hassan is one of hundreds of brave Somali journalists who don’t just buck convention by going into such an impractical profession but put their lives in grave danger. His father sent only a few of his 10 children to school and several dropped out early to start their own businesses. The dad himself is a farmer and a shop owner.
Abdiaziz is 25, and ever since he was a kid he wanted to be a journalist. He memorized the voices of the BBC and studied hard in school, avoiding warlords who would have liked him to drop out and work as a gunman. After finishing high school he went to a two-year trade school in Kenya where he earned his associates degree in journalism. He applied to the only two media outlets that were operating in Somalia at the time and was given a job as a reporter and host at the radio station Shabelle in Mogadishu. He was paid $200 a month.
At that time in 2006, the popular Islamist uprising had taken hold in Mogadishu after chasing out the warlords. But the weak transitional government didn’t want to cede to the Islamists. Neither party would negotiate a power-sharing deal. So any journalist who reported on the government would be targeted by Islamists as pawns of the government and any journalist who reported on the Islamists would be targeted by the government as pawns of the Islamists. So much as interviewing one side for an impartial story could get you killed and soon two founders of one of the two radio stations were assassinated. In 2007 eight journalists were killed and the government forced radio stations to close several times.
Abdiaziz says transitional President Yusuf’s spokesman would call press conferences and when reporters arrived they would be taken to jail without being charged. Abdiaziz would receive death threats by text message or anonymous voices. He had no idea whether they were from the Islamists or the government.
“When I was leaving the station heading for home, I would think, ‘When will I be shot? Two minutes later? Three minutes later?’ It was so frustrating. All of my relatives would call me and tell me to stop this.”
Last year Abdiaziz left Mogadishu along with any other journalists who could. Those who remained have militant routines for staying alive; BBC reporters, one of whom was shot dead two weeks ago, have to inform their editor of all their moves. If they are traveling from home to an interview, the editor must assess the risk/reward ratio of such a journey and then say yes or no.
But if they are willing to stay they will have work. Somalia is at war, and while it’s a blip on the news radar compared to Iraq and Afghanistan, international outlets and wire services still need reports from Mogadishu. Abdiaziz has the opportunity to go from a freelance reporter in Kenya to a full-time correspondent for Voice of America’s English service if he returns to Mogadishu. This is what he wants. His mother and father don’t want it.
He would live in their house in the center of Mogadishu, a dangerous neighborhood where Ethiopian soldiers, government troops and Islamists exchange fire and rocket propelled grenades. Islamist fighters plant carbombs and land mines for Ethiopian, African Union and government cars, but taxis and passers-by often suffer the consequences.
Abdiaziz’s family is long gone, living in another province, other African countries or on the farm. Their house is empty and abandoned. He plans to go back in two months. “It’s my country, my people,” he says. “I must go.”