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East Africa Journal | Somaliland | Mar 2023

Khat and Kalashnikovs

During my time in Somaliland, I was able to spend some time with a young member of the Somaliland police. His name was Axmed (pronounced Ahmed), he was 28 years old and lived in the capital Hargeisa. I was interested to find out what it was like growing up and life in Somaliland as a young person.

 

Axmed has lived in Hargeisa his whole life, living at home with his parents and two younger sisters, one of which is enrolled at Hargeisa university. He had joined the Somaliland Armed forces when he was 20 and had spent a few years working as a soldier, mostly going on patrols in the east of the country as well as civil duties. At the age of 24 he decided to leave and join the police force as the army was getting repetitive. The police offer him a much better life he tells me, with the option to go home every night and being treated better. He occasionally works with the army still, assisting check points in and out of the capital, something he dislikes as it can go on late into the night sometimes. Because Axmed was in the army, he gets assigned as an armed escort occasionally, whether it be for tourists, government officials and businessmen, he explains “This job is the most fun as I get fed well and I sleep in hotels”.

 

I asked Axmed what it was like growing up in Somaliland, to which he began to explain how enjoyable it was. He was born in 1996, 5 years after Somaliland had declared independence from Somalia. He had mentioned the war of independence, and how his mother and father were both refugees back then, taking cover in the far north-west. Upon the return to Hargeisa his parents’ families knew each other and arranged for them to be married in 1994. Axmed tells me how when he was a small boy, “Hargeisa was not as good, it was still destroyed from the war, they had to use the rivers to wash, and electricity was not always there”. He goes onto say how he enjoyed playing with the other children, and that all his friends lived in his neighbourhood. School was very good, it is where he learnt English as well as some Arabic, and reading the Qur’an was a large part of school, he had loved playing sports and missed his time there as he grew older.

 

When I asked him about life in the army, he tells me it was fun but tough. Upon leaving school, he was unemployed for a while, but eventually got a job in a car shop selling parts, manning the desk, and doing the paperwork. He found this boring and many of his friends had or were joining the army. He tells me how he thought it was his duty, and within a couple weeks of deciding, he was in basic training camp. Axmed hated the early starts every morning, the shouting, and the awful food, however made some lifelong friends that he still sees to this day, one of which moved over to the police force shortly after him. The fun time with his friends in the army is what made it worth doing I’m told and the time on patrol with them when they would talk was some of his good memories. “I’m lucky I never saw any fighting, it was peaceful”. The pay was not good, it was easy to be out of money he goes onto say. Axmed then shows me his Kalashnikov rifle, he calls it ‘my baby’ and tells me “I know this better than a pencil”. The Kalashnikov is his, he was assigned it when he joined the police and is allowed to take it home when off duty. “I always clean her [the rifle]. When you are police, you are always at work”.

 

Axmed loves Somaliland, He is proud to live here and not be part of the rest Somalia. “Isaaq people are strong, we live in our own country, we fight the Somalia army out when they wanted to kill us”. He knows however that the de-facto country doesn’t come without its issues. When asked, he quickly replies with “Khat, khat is biggest problem in Somaliland. Every man and even the women they want to chew it all day, even my father”. Khat is a psychoactive drug that is native to Eastern Africa. It’s the leaves and stems of the Catha edulis plant that when chewed, give a stimulating euphoric effect. “People spend all their money on it, they care more about khat than making money, even young people just want to eat khat”. It is noticeable, walking around any Somaliland town or city, by 2pm most shops shut up or wind down, and many people sit in the shade chewing khat. “Many have nothing to do, so they chew every day, but it is bad for health. My father has no teeth now”. Khat has caffeine like affects as well, making it hard to sleep. I found many Somali cities do not get quieter when the sun goes down, and the hustle and bustle extend well into the early hours of the morning. “I don’t like it, I even see others [police] chewing, but I do not want to do it”.

Men chewing Khat in Hargeisa.

 

Another point that Axmed seemed upset about was the number of young people leaving Somaliland. “My friends from school, when we finished, they move to London, United States, Europe, even whole families go”. One of his best friends from school moved to live with some family they had in London, and many others as soon as they get a chance move abroad. “I know Somaliland is a poor country, but it is our home. With no young people we are worse”. I’ve heard the same views in other poorer countries where young people leave. “Even my sister who is in university, she wants to go to Ethiopia, or Egypt. She thinks there is nothing in Somaliland”. Somaliland’s economy heavily relies on foreign currency being sent back home that Axmed knows, “Our parents and their parents couldn’t live without it coming”.

 

I ask about his future, something Axmed is very optimistic about, as he lists what he wants. “I need to get a wife first. My parents want me to marry now, I am getting help with a wife, and I want to be sergeant in police. Maybe soon because of more money”. He tells me how he wants to have children; his friends have had children now and sees them as ‘hope for Somaliland’. As with many Somalilanders, Axmed tells me he knows they will be recognised as its own country soon, and he hopes the United Kingdom does as it is Somaliland’s ‘brother country’ as it used to be British Somaliland in colonial times. The conversations end by letting me fire some rounds of his rifle into the desert.

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