There are many conflicts in Somalia, not just Al-Shabaab vs the good guys. Clan fights probably top the list.
“Let me explain some of what I do,” a peacemaker tells me over lunch at the heavily fortified Jazeera Hotel in Mogadishu.
“You see there are these two clans, ve-ery important,” he says, stretching the ‘very’ as Somalis are apt to do. “The Dir, and the Maheran.”
Soft spoken, more of an academic than a fighter, he spoons the traditional green grated hot chili mixture into his soup.
Ibrahim Mohamed works on conflict transformation for the Zamzam Foundation.
“These two clans have been fighting, and I have been going there for two years, trying to get them to talk. I have one man from each clan who accompanies me, but at first only to an imaginary line in the sand, he will go no further.”
We are talking of a remote area called Galguduud, and then of an even more remote area called Inagebeli in central Somalia. The latter is an area where there is no cellphone reception, an important consideration when you are sitting under a tree trying to make peace between two warring clans.
“Eventually,” Ibrahim says, pushing his spectacles up his nose, “I get one clan to accept the other clan’s man coming with me all the way, after promising the man that he will be safe, telling him if he is killed I will be killed too.”
“So we meet, and then one clan leader agrees to go with me to the other clan, a big step, and then the other clan leader comes to his clan without me, which is a good sign.”
Now we are into negotiations. In a war between the clans some 15 years ago, 20 more Maheran died than Dir. But if you calculate things only after the war, 12 more Dir died in those past 15 years. Each side calculates from the date that suits them.
Restitution for the balance is at an agreed 100 camels per person. Plus you must return the killed person’s weapon, and the weapon with which he or she was killed.
“Of course you don’t have to pay that. There is the 30 percent forgiveness factor, so you only pay 70.”
Naively I ask: “So the family get 70 camels, or AKs?”
“Oh no. No, no, no. Only 10 percent goes to the family, the clan gets the rest.”
So seven for the family, 63 for the clan?
“No. It is calculated on the original amount, so 10 for the family.”
For each one killed in excess of those killed on the other side?
“Yes. Unless it is a woman or a girl of course.”
Huh?
“They are only worth 50 camels, minus the 30 percent.”
So girls are worth camels, men worth AK47s?
“No, no, no. An AK is worth $1,200, and a camel is worth the same. So in my negotiations I have asked if we can swop the AKs for camels to exact retribution. So far they have not accepted this.”
What if the UN bought the camels and paid everyone at 70 camels per deficit?
“No good. The killer’s family must feel the pain.”
This negotiation style is 2,000 years old in Somalia, so to change things is difficult.
Who is the ‘they’ I ask him.
“The elders. We sit under a tree, clan elders at the back, behind them the women. Last time I went, we hoped to conclude in two days, but we were there for two weeks. During this time, they slaughter animals daily to feed everyone. And provide water in a tanker every day.”
How many people?
“About 400, more or less, with the women.”
And did you get a resolution?
He sighs. “No. We are still talking. We cannot get around the problem of 12 for one side and 20 for the other.”
Like most Somalis, he is confident the country is on the up and up.
There is still the small matter of defeating Al-Shabaab. And there are not enough camels even in Australia to do that. Guns might. Somalia is counting on it.

Death Measured In Camels And Guns

Under the scorching African sun, in Sudan, a seven-year-old boy stands at attention. His fragile frame struggles to hold the AK47. The blank stare on his face betrays the atrocities he has lived through so far. At the command of his superior he runs into the bush. His mission is simple: no prisoners; kill them all. The stutter of the firing gun drowns out the screams. This is one of millions of boys who will never know what it feels like to play with Lego and toy trucks. With each passing day his hardening heart stifles a distant dream of a joyful childhood.
That boy, Emmanuel Jal, now in his thirties, has a made a career by telling his stories though music as a hip-hop artist. But the memories of death and destruction stick with him like the bullets in the chamber of an assault rifle.
“Everything I do today is mostly inspired by my past. I consider myself a soldier, but I fight with a microphone instead of an AK47. The battle that I’m fighting now is not because I am bitter; I am fighting to create change and I’m using dialogue and ideas instead of using force.”
In many ways Jal is still one of the lost children. He doesn’t know when or where he was born, but he thinks it was in the early 1980s. At the age of seven, after both his parents died, Jal went to a refugee camp in Ethiopia where he was recruited by the Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA).
“Just as we approached the SPLA training facility, some members jumped out of the bush and started beating us… The next day we were shown how to attack towns, make weapons, make houses for ourselves and how to cook. The training was harsh and I thought that once we had finished I was going to kill my trainer.”
When Jal was around 13 years old, the SPLA began to turn against each other. During this time, a group of them plotted their escape. The plan was to walk to a place called Waad. They thought it would take one month, but it took three. Only 16 of them survived.
Jal was taken in by a British aid worker who smuggled him into Nairobi. After her death, he was on his own again. The night terrors of his time in Sudan became worse and often left Jal on his knees. He may have left Sudan; but it never left him. Although he had dreams of being a pilot or a doctor, music was where he found peace.
In 2005, Jal released his first album Gua, meaning peace. The album focused on life as a child soldier, government corruption and the future of Africa. Although Jal’s music connected with many; it was too real for others.
“Music with a message behind it is very dangerous because you are educating the public; you are letting people know their rights… The system is scared of highly intelligent people who have more information about life because once they know, they can’t turn away.”
Jal’s music has seen him perform alongside the likes of Bob Geldof, the Soweto Gospel Choir and Josh Groban. In 2008, Jal performed in London for Nelson Mandela’s 90th birthday.
In 2008, a documentary on his life, War Child, received international praise. It was shown at various festivals including the Tribeca film festival where it won the Cadillac Audience Choice Award.
From child soldier to musician and activist, Jal has one mission. It’s highlighted in the lyrics to his song War Child: “I believe I’ve survived for a reason to tell my story to touch lives&#8230;”
Through his music he is doing just that. With the mic as his weapon, he fires words of hope for those who suffer in silence.

Tag: AK47

FORBES AFRICA SOCIAL MEDIA

Death Measured In Camels And Guns

Music To Dull The Nightmares