Mogadishu Farewell

After a lot of travel and various activities keeping me busy, I’m using time in the Seattle airport to catch up.

Farewell(s)

When the thought entered my head that I was leaving my job, it was more conceptual rather than real. My workdays continued as they always had and over time everything has felt more or less normal. In the backdrop, however, there has been this looming thought that life as I have known it is drawing to a close. As the weeks have passed, the thought has become more and more real. To some degree, my sentiments have been influenced by my staff and colleagues. There has been an increasingly palpable somber mood. Frequent gloomy comments about the upcoming changes. It’s as though I’ve had a death in the family.

Some are apprehensive about things to come given that I have been the longest serving country director the program has ever known – an uncomfortable disruption to the status quo. Some are concerned about me, whether it’s because they think my family will end up financially destitute or that I will have difficulty adjusting to the thought of not being relevant anymore. I suppose it’s fair to speculate about such things since so many people that go through this sort of transition experience these things.

I don’t know how I will react since it hasn’t happened to me yet. But I will soon find out.

* * *

Mogadishu

After returning to Nairobi from Zanzibar, work towards my departure began to accelerate. Handover documents, performance evaluations, logistical arrangements, meetings with various stakeholders, etc. Then, as I slowly made my way to the end of all these efforts, I needed to make my final trip to Mogadishu for my third, and hopefully last, farewell party.

There has been considerable drama surrounding this whole transition. I won’t go into it here, but it has made me realize how much of an impact my role has had on so many people over the last decade.

* * *

I arrived in Mogadishu as I normally do. There was this strange feeling that everything was normal but, given that this was likely my last time to travel to Somalia, the lens through which I was looking at everything was different.

The driver, Bashir, was waiting for me after I made my way through immigration. We drove the 2 km. to the office in the armored vehicle and I settled into my room in the guesthouse. I spent some time greeting and chatting with colleagues before attending to some emails. I had a couple of hours before we would be off to the farewell party.

I wasn’t told anything about the event except that it would be rather large and that, in addition to staff, it would be attended by some representatives of the Somali government as well as some of our partner organizations. I also was altered to the fact that it would be at a location on the beach that I had never been to.

In my vehicle, we had my deputy director and a couple of directors from a couple of other organizations with whom I have worked closely over the past few years. I didn’t know where we were going exactly (something that would not have been allowed in normal times), but I was aware that we would be going southwest of the city. After passing through a series of police and military checkpoints, we entered territory that was a no-go area until not that long ago. But we continued on into territory that was no-go. I knew my head of security had signed off on this so I, uncomfortably, watched and monitored all the while conversing with my fellow travelers. They were all Somali and had been on this road before. In fact, I would be the only non-Somali attending this large event. Though movements on the outskirts of Mogadishu are precarious for Somalis and non-Somalis alike, someone from the US, a country conducting drone strikes on Al-Shebab militants, is far more of a target.

I’ve been at risk off and on over the past ten years and, working with my team, we’ve been able to navigate the evolving security situation safely (for the most part). After all this, and on my last trip, I didn’t want any mishaps.

Jazira Aqua Park

After what seemed like forever, we arrived at the gate of our destination. After some discussion with park security, our armed guards would not be allowed to enter and would remain at the gate while we were there. We would reconnect with them upon departure.

It was a sprawling compound with its scope identifiable by the fortified walls and guard stations. The parking area was close to a hundred meters from the event facility and we were given a lift in a golf cart, the first one I’d seen in a country that has no golf.

Buses were arranged to bring guests from Mogadishu. People would trickle in over the next hour or so. About 45 minutes into the event, everything came to a stop as it was prayer time. There was apparently a small mosque on the facility so while everyone disappeared to the nearby mosque, I made myself comfortable in a chair overlooking the amazing turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean.

It was such a beautiful setting and so incongruous given all of the war, poverty and hunger that the country faces – some of it a short distance away. Somalia has the longest coastline in Africa and very little of it is enjoyed by the local population and virtually no tourism. Very few outsiders would have the opportunity to experience what I have experienced.

One thing that was less beautiful was a poster of me that they had put up. I would have voted it down had I been aware of it, or at least requested to choose the photo. Ugh.

* * *

After prayers, the pace of the festivities increased. By the time the welcome speeches were finished, it was time for food. An assortment of Somali dishes had been laid out buffet-style. The weather was mostly cloudy and you could see rain in a couple of different directions. Though we did end up with some precipitation, it wasn’t significant. Though heat is always a concern for outdoor events in Somalia, the cloud cover kept temperatures comfortable.

Following dinner, it was time for a series of speeches – probably close to twenty in all. Though it was uncomfortable to sit there and listen to close to an hour of people talking about me, it was nice to hear people say how they’ve been impacted through working together over the years, some of which was in surprising ways. After so many years to hard work and sacrifice, you want to have a feeling of accomplishment and that you have left something behind.

* * *

In the meantime, local musicians had set up and they began to play. I was then whisked away and was dressed in local elder attire. I suspected this might happen and I wasn’t entirely excited about the idea, but it was my farewell event and I was obviously going to comply. The last time I was subjected to this sort of thing was back in 2018 during a visit to central Somalia with our regional vice president. It’s awkward but the team seemed to enjoy it.

After a while, I was asked to move to the center of the room. I say room but it was more of an outdoor, thatched roof structure with open sides. As the music played, the women had gathered and began dancing in single file, snaking around me in different directions, off and on handing me an assortment of gifts. I remembered that in Burundi they had a similar tradition.

A common gift in Somalia is the traditional wooden camel milk jug. The ones given as gifts are elaborately decorated. I also received several gifts for my wife which is not uncommon in Somalia, even though only a couple of my staff have ever met her. Off and on we discussed the possibility of her joining me on a trip to Mogadishu but it never happened. It was weird for her to hear all the stories over the years and never meet the people nor see the place, unlike previous places I’ve worked.

* * *

After the gift presentation, I moved to the sidelines and the local dancers began to perform. They were so good and it was just nice to sit and enjoy the music and the dancers, all the while with the ocean as a backdrop. My moment of not being the center of attention didn’t last long as I was soon pulled back to the middle and instructed to dance alongside the dancers. It’s obviously a source of entertainment to see me flounder, still in my traditional garb, but I obliged. At a pause in the music, I made my exit and returned to enjoying from the sidelines.

Soon I would be beckoned back to the center again, this time for the presentation of the cake. There was more singing and dancing and then I was asked to cut the cake. I’ve mentioned before that Somalis are respectful of women in some ways, and definitely not in others. They generally board the airplane first. For something like this, women are often served first. On this occasion, men would pay the price. By the time the ladies had all been served, nothing was left but crumbs.

One thing that is noteworthy about all these events in Somalia is that, as you might guess, there is no alcohol. Alcohol in Somalia is illegal. It's not that no one ever smuggles it in. But it's rare and I've never seen it outside of the "green zone". I have to say, entirely sober events like this are rather refreshing. No one gets sloppy drunk and it's simply people as they are. 

By now the sun was low in the sky and I looked at my security guy to see if we were going to be heading for the vehicle. With a 45-minute drive (figuring in military checkpoints), we would likely not arrive before dark even if we had left right then. But he gave his nod of approval for the party to go on a bit longer. Staff were having such a wonderful time. People were dancing. One of my team sang a couple of traditional Somalia songs. I was torn between insisting that we head out and being more in the moment, allowing everyone to soak in the evening just a bit longer.

I took one last walk along the beach, soaking in my final evening in Somalia, breathing in the sea air, and then Mohamud and I agreed it was time to go.

* * *

Back to Mogadishu

It was fully dark by the time we were all in the vehicle. We headed towards the compound gate and were joined by our armed escort. It wasn’t long before we encountered our first checkpoint. In broad daylight, these can be scary encounters. In the dark of night, they are scarier. Also, checkpoints heading out of Mogadishu are tough to navigate. Checkpoints heading into Mogadishu are far more difficult. At night even more so.

Sometimes they have concrete dividers blocking the road. Sometimes they use spike strips.  These roads don’t have streetlights and drivers need to use caution just to see them.

At our first one, there was lots of discussion with our escort vehicle. Mohamud was in that one and he usually takes the lead in these exchanges. He’s good at it. He keeps his cool and it’s nice to have him on your side for these sorts of things. Two of the checkpoint guys walk over to our vehicle and open the hood. They use phone lights to check out the vehicle. They open my door and are notably surprised to see a non-Somali. I’m sure they were thinking that no intelligent foreigner would be on the outskirts of Mogadishu at this hour. The UN would never have authorization to do this sort of thing.

Eventually they waved us on and it was less than five minutes until the next one. The drill was similar to the first one. The other concern with these things is that you can’t even know if they are legit. Al-Shebab has been known to set up checkpoints without warning. In fact, checkpoints are a major source of revenue for militants. The thought of this happening was far more frightening than the military checkpoints.

Eventually, we were in Mogadishu and back on roads that I recognized. It was good to have streetlights. As we approached our compound, I exhaled. I was happy that the day was over and we were back safely.

* * *

 The next day, I wouldn’t travel back to Nairobi until the afternoon. I filled the morning with final meetings with some key staff. I tried to keep them upbeat but it was inevitably a bit strange knowing that this was it.

My faithful HR guy accompanied me to the airport. He never does that sort of thing but he chose to do so given that this was the last time. It turned out to be a good thing that he did. When I arrived at the check-in counter, the guy said I didn’t have a reservation, in spite of the fact that I was holding a copy of it in my hand. My time in Somalia wasn’t going to end without one last hiccup. After about 20 minutes of calls and discussion, the guy at the counter came over with a boarding pass. I went through immigration and then to the lounge for a cup of coffee and a much-needed bottle of cold water (as is my custom). I have a tendency to see people I know in the waiting area given that I have done this so often. This time was no exception. Word was out regarding my departure so it was news to no one.

It’s rare for an international staff to work in Somalia as long as I have, particularly outside the “green zone”. It’s been a long journey. Usually difficult. Often wonderful. Frequently tense. But time to go.

Zanzibar Meetings 3 - Stone Town

An Evening Out

On Thursday late afternoon, they organized a trip into Stone Town, a tour of the old city and a dinner near the water. We loaded up into three buses and we made our way to town. I’ve visited Stone Town several times, but I’ve never had a guided tour of the place. Though Zanzibar has changed quite a bit since I first visited back in 2005, Stone Town’s old city was much the same. Some of the buildings have been cleaned up and/or renovated, but, thankfully, they have done some amazing work in preserving the historic architecture. I had heard that the prominent House of Wonders Museum partially collapsed in 2012 (sad). I guess the renovators didn't get there in time. 

We had a guide, a former deputy mayor of Stone Town and expert on historical architecture, and we followed him around as he recounted the history of the city and some of the key buildings. We were a large group and the old city is full of chaos and noise, so it was difficult to catch everything he was saying. It’s such a rich history that it’s impossible to do it justice in just a couple of hours.

 

Stone Town

Zanzibar is an archipelago rather than a single island or a city.  The main city is often referred to as Zanzibar by tourists but it’s actually called Stone Town. The archipelago was an independent state until it united with Tanganyika on the mainland to become Tanzania. But the place has experienced considerable drama over the past few centuries.

Amazing doors

After Vasco de Gama’s visit at the end of the 15^th century, Zanzibar was sucked into the growing Portuguese Empire. It’s the same empire that included Mozambique, Angola and Brazil, and why they all still speak Portuguese to this day. Zanzibar, however, ended up taking a different path. As the Portuguese leadership strangled trade and diminished local power, the island’s Swahili elites collaborated with Mombasa (on the Kenyan coast) to invite Omani aristocrats to assist them in driving the Europeans out. By 1698, Zanzibar came under the influence of the Sultanate of Oman. This was one of the most significant developments in the island’s history as much of the historical architecture and cultural influences stem from these centuries under the Sultan. After significant investments into the island, the Sultanate’s capital was even moved from Muscat to Stone Town for a period of time.

This serene square was previously Stone Town's primary slave market

Though the Sultanate seemed like a better option than the oppressive Portuguese, they did maintain the nasty habit of exporting slaves, primarily from the mainland. These slaves were destined for the Middle East, Arabia, Oman, Persia and the Red Sea. With the combination of slavery and other exports, including spices, ivory and other crops, the island became a wealthy center of commerce in East Africa.

During part of the tour, I was walking with a couple of Somali colleagues. We were remarking how similar the historic architecture resembles that of the old city in Mogadishu. The guide pointed out that both were part of the same Sultanate and thus share the same beautiful architectural influences. In fact, he said that he still has some extended family in Somalia going back to the 1700s.

By the 1800s, European influence returned, only this time it was the growing British Empire. Zanzibar officially became a protectorate in 1890 and would remain so until 1963. Though there was a brief attempt at independence, by 1964 Zanzibar agreed to unite with Tanganyika to become part of the new country of Tanzania. And though there have been some efforts to become independent over the years, for the most part, Zanzibar has been content to maintain its semi-autonomous status as part of Tanzania.

 

Farewell

After the walking tour, we ended up at a restaurant called 6 Degrees South. It was not there when I frequented Zanzibar back in the mid-to late 2000s. It has become fashionable to name buildings and restaurants after their street address. This place derives its name from Stone Town’s location south of the equator.

Our group had rented out the terrace on the main floor with a view overlooking the Indian Ocean. We were facing west so we were able to catch the sunset as we were ordering drinks. I sat next to the meeting facilitators (an English couple) who also had about two decades working with international organizations around the world. It was interesting swapping stories and discovering how many people we had both worked with over the years. 

At one point conversation was broken by the sound of Hakuna Matata being sung by restaurant staff as they filed into the dining area. Normally in Tanzania and Kenya, this means that someone is having a birthday. They usually beat a traditional drum or, in this case, a cooking pot, and clap their hands as they wind their way through the tables and end up surrounding the birthday person. In this case, I was the hapless victim and it was not my birthday. The regional team had arranged a small farewell ceremony complete with speeches and a small gift. I wrapped things up by thanking everyone and acknowledging those in the room that I had worked with for so many years. I pointed out how fitting it was that this is taking place in Tanzania where my work with the organization began two decades ago.

One of the people who spoke was the outgoing field coordinator, Elijah, who handed over to me when I joined back in 2006. Four years later, when I was outgoing country director (heading to Burundi), I handed over back to him. We’ve both moved around the continent since then but have stayed relatively close. As he is in the process of moving to Nairobi, we’ll be able to stay in touch with both him and others even though I’m leaving the organization.

* * *

The next day, Friday, a group of about twelve were all flying out around the same time. We crammed into a bus at 6:30am and began the half-hour drive to the airport. I’m a rather pensive person by nature, and, as we drove through the Zanzibar countryside, I was taking in the scenery and reflecting on the fact that this chapter of my life is coming to an end. I may end up taking on some short-term assignments here and there but, in all likelihood, this career as I know it is reaching its conclusion. I looked out the bus window as we drove through poor communities, small children playing on the dirt roads, women opening their small shops, bicycles carrying goods to market, groups of girls wearing matching hijabs making their way to their madrasa (school based on Islamic instruction), etc. Though I’m not leaving Africa, I will be shifting away from being active participant in supporting communities like these.

It’s both sad and wonderful. The sad part is probably obvious. I’ve been steeped in this sort of work for nearly 22 years. It’s what I know. Indeed, it’s been a constant headwind throughout, almost always stressful and, occasionally, dangerous. But it’s also been incredibly fulfilling, and I’ve worked with some amazing people. In addition to becoming acquainted with a variety of cultures and some remote parts of Africa, I’ve also learned a lot about myself. Overall, it has been a fantastic journey.

The upside is also probably obvious. I need a mental and physical break from all this. I need to recalibrate what is “normal” to me and lower my baseline stress levels. And I need to spend more time with my family. My girls are in their last years of secondary school and it’s important that I be there for them. It’s time.

To use a horseracing analogy, we’ve turned the last corner and have entered the homestretch.

Zanzibar Meetings 2 - Reconnecting

In the end, my flight arrived in Zanzibar late evening. I was stunned at how the airport had changed since the old days. 

The airport back in 2006...

It felt like it was the size of a large house. Most transactions were done on paper. It was rather quaint.

 

... and now, twenty years later

I'm told that tourism has increase fourfold between the time that the two photos were taken. Very impressive.

We arrived at the hotel by midnight. I made my way to my room, tired but happy to be back in Zanzibar. My room was large, clean and had everything I needed. I didn’t realize until the next morning that I had a view of the Indian Ocean (and the pool). Things were looking up.

 

* * *

While I enjoy meetings in locations like this, the problem is that we don’t really have much opportunity to take advantage of it. You have limited time to take a dip in the pool or go for a swim in the ocean. I suppose that there’s a feeling that the organization has spent all this money pulling people together that we need to squeeze in meetings sunrise to sunset. Though there have been complaints in the past that there hasn’t been enough unstructured time, they haven’t been heeded. The temptation is too great to load up the schedule and not feel like you’re wasting people’s time. Case in point, after getting in late the night before, I had an early breakfast meeting with my supervisor prior to the full day of meetings.

It was good to reconnect with people, some of whom I’ve known for almost twenty years. It was strange at times. The comradery. The discussions. It all seemed normal after all these years except that, given that I’m leaving at the end of the month, it’s not.

 

New Room

At the end of day one, which was day three for those who hadn’t been struck in Nairobi, I went back to my room, considering maybe a dip in the pool. There was a knock at the door and it was one of the organizers of the meetings along with a guy from the hotel. He told me that there was a mistake the night before when we arrived and I was put in the wrong room. After telling him that I was perfectly happy with my room (ocean view, spacious, etc.), he assured me that the change would be an upgrade. So I packed up my bag, met them at the reception and we took the elevator towards my new room.

As the elevator took us to the top of the building, I thought that at the very least, the room was going to have a nice view. That ended up being an understatement.

We went through the double doors and the view was stunning. Not only was it the penthouse, it was the top two floors of the building. I’ve had a few decent hotel rooms throughout the years, but this was in a different league. It will easily be the biggest hotel room I will ever have.

There was a massive common area – the width of the entire building – which included a second-floor loft. Floor to ceiling windows offered amazing views. There were about six TVs, three dining areas, a kitchen area, etc. I would share the room with two of my country director colleagues though I never ended up seeing them in the room. It was a bit of a shame that I didn’t get to spend much time there given how nice it was. Apparently, it was at no extra cost so I didn't feel bad.

I was on the top two floors of the high-rise

 

Dhow repair guy working near the hotel

Sunrise from my room