Sharing my experience of back home

[N.O.R.F]

^We can forgive him for the airport experience.

 

naturally, some people are more perceptive than others

Wide eyed haven't travelled for a while type perceptive?

[Somalicentric]

Lets get to the nitty gritty Sir, by the way i love how people are blogging about their traveling experiences, speaking of which MMA needs to update from isili.

[chubacka]

I am thinking you are taking the suspense thing to a whole new level, write a bit more next time. (thank you)

[OdaySomali]

^ chubacka I do intend to [when I have time].

 

NORF, lol gudn but no

[Nina Fox]

Funny thing is they actually have security checks while entering Mexico, Somalia, Afghanistan and Iraq. Why bother taking your own drugs and weapons when you can get them cheaper in the country?

[Jacaylbaro]

[N.O.R.F]

I'm having doubts Oday actually went anywhere.

[Jacaylbaro]

He is giving us a story from someone else ,,, and that someone is not around to update him

[Beer-Gaal]

If i were you Oday ,sheekadaan waxaan ka bilaabilaahaa gadaal gadaal you know what i mean, si aan pessimist laguugu arag,and hey your experience at Dubai Airport or the heat in DJ andChaotic JA and terminal2 somalia maaha dee!, bal dhinaceeda sana noo taa taabo.

[A_Khadar]

Lol.. Somalida waa wada kar masugaayaal..

 

In Dubia airport, I guess Oday missed the part where business women (there could be men) ask you to use your baggage allowed weight if some left from you for their shipping goods to Somalia.

[OdaySomali]

CONTINUED - Part 2

 

We proceeded to the check out as were assured that the flight would depart as originally planned and full of renewed anticipation we waited near the the boarding gates. As we sat and waited, the supposed check-in time passed. Luckily a representative of Jubba Airways showed up and I, and many others, flocking one after the other, as Somalis do, questioned him about what was happening, with our usual noise, commotion, raised voices and plentiful hand gestures. As he informed us that the check-in time would be delayed, and we would just have to wait, we returned to our seats.

 

As the flight departuretime also passed people started to become restless. All in all, we waited from midnight to ~4 p.m the following [same] day. It was no comfort to be told that the reason the flight was delayed was because there were technical problems witht he plane on which we would be flying and that instead of Berbera, our destination was to be Djibouti.

 

Having relentlessly complained to the managerial staff of the Airport/terminal, the management had become as frustrated with the company as we had; to the extent that by the time the company had managed to get the plane ready for takeoff, the management was not willing [or unable] to provide a crew as well as time and a runway to facilitate the departure of the flight.

 

Eventually, many, many hours after we were scheduled to depart, our plane took off from the runway and we were finally underway.

 

....

 

My first taste of the Somali peninsula was when we touched down in Djibouti and boy was it hot. It was certainly 37-40+ degrees. When the plane landed and the aircon was switched off, we felt the real impact of the heat. It was like being in a sauna and everyone, desperate for some relief, used anything they could to cool themselves. As we stepped outside the plane, relentless and searingly hot winds, worse than those in Dubai, welcomed us to Djibouti.

We proceeded to a small building in front of us and we climbed some stairs to get to a narrow foyer and two rooms leading off it - one being a small shop and the other some sort of attempt at passport control. The 170+ people on the plane quickly filled the space and queued outside the room to have their passport checked and their fingerprints taken. As we waited in the waiting area we were informed that the follwing plane would take us, surprisingly, to Hargeisa. Our original destination was Berbera where all connecting flights [to Boosaaso, Galkacayo, Mogadishu] depart from.

Suddely there was a flurry of activity as the waiting people gathered that the plane outside, by the looks of it a much smaller propeller plane, was the one taking us to what would be [unwillingly] our final destination, they rushed towards the exit and an elderly lady fell and was trampled over.

We boarded the plane and we were met again by the searing heat. The state of this 'plane' was terrible. The seats and hand-luggage 'compartments' were broken and would fall back on you, there were no seat betls, the material of the seats was ripped, dirt and trash had collected inside the plane to the extent that the smell was so unbearable that one was forced to hold one's nose. The smell itself was also so peculiar and familliar that the notion that this plane was also used to transport livestock quickly became accepted. At this point the feeling of being inside a sauna had returned and this was confirmed by the crying and screaming children, unable to bear the heat, and the loud complaints of their worried mothers.

 

Thank god the flight to Hargeisa would take only 30-45 min.

 

When we reached Hargeisa there was relief as the deafning noise, the crying and screaming of children and the heat inside had far outreached tolerable levels, Also, I had expected this outdated russian piece of engineering which had already far outlived its use-by date to fall out the sky at some point during the flight. As people queued in the gangway of the plane, the mothers pleaded, some in tears, to no avail, they be let off first as their children could not bear it.

As soon as I stepped outside the plane I was met by a delightfully cool breeze of wind which instantaniously made the entire journey worthwhile. Walking towards the building of the 'airport', I basked in the cool breeze of Hargeisa and enjoyed every step. What pleasant and welcoming weather that city has.

After having my Passpport checked, I continued to a sideroom to collent my baggage. There was only one problem: the bags had been left behind in DJIBOUTI as the 'plane' could not carry all of the passengers as well as the luggage. At this point I was too tired to even be angry and I accepted that that is the way things are done here. I did feel sorry for those catching the connecting flights to Boosaaso and Galkacayo [via Berbera of-course] in another of those propellor planes.

As the airport staff and other fought each-other off to carry my luggage, in return of a 'tip' of-course, I decided that it would be a hotel for tonight.

 

It would be another two days before I received my luggage.

[Abu-Salman]

Around 50 mins to get to Hargeysa, u seems observant;

flying during mid-day and chaotically is due to those airlines exigencies, Djibouti has little to do with it.

I don't think ACs in the airport should be considered as important.

[A_Khadar]

Waryaa OdaySomali thus far nothing new about your trip as many winked here.. Dee tell the meat of your exprience iskadaa too much intro and stage setting-ka..

[OdaySomali]

CONTINUE - Part 3...

 

As we familiarised ourself with our new surroundings, we were indicated to walk towards a small building, which was the terminal building, to check in. We entered the small building and were met by a dark, dirty little room with metal benches in the left and right-hand corners of the room; to the front end of the room were makeshift plastic cubicles between which you had to pass in order to get a 'visa', have your passport checked and pay a sum of money... a sort of arrivals tax, if you will. This wouldn't be the first isbaaro we came across. The small room, perhaps slightly wider than than five metres, was crowded and chaotic with hurrying of bodies and the echoing shouting of people. These people it appeared, being the kind-hearted volunteers they are, were competing to 'help' the arrivals. Being as exhausted as we were, we took a seat at one of the metal benches and observed the shouting and loud mannerisms of all the Somali people in the room... this would be my first experience in a long long time of an area and place filled entirely with Somali people; for some strange reason I was expecting at every turn to see a white, asian or non-Somali black person. No sooner did we sit down than we were approached by two hurrying individuals, who we were unclear of as to whether they were workers at the airport, who demanded we give them our passports and a specified sum of money, so that they might check us in... after some heckling, being as tired as we were, foolishly perhaps, we caved in and did as they asked.

 

We sat their and rested for a few minutes and wondered who we had just given our money and passports to, and whether they would even return. To our surprise the two individuals re-appeared after a while (15 minutes perhaps), gave us our passports and took us to the area where they said we could collect our bags. As we walked, I was still pleasantly surprised and my guard started to come down as my perception of distrust towards the local people began to wane. We walked through the narrow space between the cubicles and turned right into an even smaller space of about three metres wide and five metres in length where a man was manually pushing luggage and cargo through a hole the size of a 2x2m window in the exterior wall to the right of the room, below which a conveyer belt of metal rollers was positioned. The luggage rolled down the metal rollers and fell into the room, and each passanger had to look through the room to find his/her luggage. There was only one problem: many of the bags, including ours, had been left behind in DJIBOUTI as the 'plane' could not carry all of the passengers as well as the luggage. At this point I was too tired to even be angry and I accepted that that is the way things are done here. We did leave a telephone number at which we could be reached with one of the airport staff who would give us a call as soon as the remaining luggage arrived.

 

We proceeded to exit the airport and a small fight broke out between two of the hurrying bodies at the airport about who would carry our bags to the exit (in return for a small fee), that we could carry/pull our own bags just fine unaided was apparently an overlooked fact that we also were made to accept.. made our way to the parking/driveway of the airport. We said that both the men could take some of the bags and as they calmed we proceeded towards the doors. Outside, it was pitch black, and we were met by a stream of waiting large 4x4 vehicles, the divers of which were all shouting and competing for passengers. One of the drivers jumped at us and forcibly began to take our bags, after fighting off the competition, and put them in the boot and atop of his car. We were exhausted and we needed a car, so without much arguing we got in and we were driven to our destination.

 

Slowly we drove out of the airport parking/driveway and made our journey into the city. As we left the relatively smooth airport road, the 'roads' - even the supposedly 'paved' ones - became less smooth and we were rocked from side to side. As I wound down my window and peered through, everything in my line of vision was dark, dirty, untidy and dazed - was that because I was so tired or because there were no street lamps or pavement or proper paved roads, I don't know. I wil be honest, as we reached the more established parts of the city the culture and underdevelopment shock well and truly began to hit me - I was sitting there with my window half down, an unintentionally dropped jaw and a perplexed and puzzled look on my face. I was overcome and consumed with yaab; what can only be described as shock. Where had I just come? I thought. Where is the city that is spoken of? I thought... surely they didnt mean this chaotic, dirty and underdeveloped oversized slum. yaabka yaabkiis. Here is another admission... naively, I was expecting at any moment to seen gun-wielding gangs of people atop of 4x4 Toyota trucks; or to be stopped and robbed; for the car to crash or hit a person/animal/lorry/hut. I was glad then, that none of those things happened. It appearded that in all this choas and disorganisation, there was some underlying sense of order and common understanding between the locals. Most importantly there was peace and every person went about their own business without hassling the other.

 

There was no road; no pavement; no stop-light; no fancy shops; neatly arranged houses; glass-fronted office buildings; no organisation of pedestrians and vihicles; or any of the other things I had become so accustomed to and taken for granted. Instead I was met by a few awfully paved and uneven roads with the remainder of the 'road network' comprising of dirt-tracks with deep groves caused by rain and flash-floods; a city in darkness because of either the lack of or low power of the 'street lights'; huts and make-shift houses and stalls along the 'roads'; visibly poverty sticken people walking everywhere; dust, sand and mud everywhere; sheep, goats, donkeys and cows wondering the city. All I can say is that it took some time (several weeks) getting used to this new environment.

 

The culture shock was such that after the first 10 minutes of our journey, our windows were quickly wound up; mainly to avoid the dust that would enter via the open windows, the the direct stares of those we drove past and so as not to catch the sight of 'police'/'traffic' workers who, from seeing your face alone know that you are 'qurbojoog' and thus instantly would stop your car and demand money. The car drove no faster than 10-20 KM p/h at most and this was due to both (a) the terrible state of the roads and (b) the animals, people, cars, lorries and huts cris-crossing and blocking the path of what would have been the road. Although our progress was slow, it meant we got a good sight of the surroundings we drove past.

 

Here is another admission... naively, I was expecting at any moment to seen gun-wielding gangs of people atop of 4x4 Toyota trucks; or to be stopped and robbed; for the car to crash or hit a person/animal/lorry/hut. I was glad then, that none of those things happened. It appearded that in all this choas and disorganisation, there was some underlying sense of order and common understanding between the locals. Most importantly there was peace and every person went about their own business without hassling the other. Another thing I noticed was the cool wheather of the city, which was simply mesmorising - there is this permanent light breeze that is very soothing and gives this city an aura of tranquility. It is also a relatively large city that has a unique character of having a 'metropolis' feel to it whilst maintaining a semblance of 'country' comfort. Waking up to the noise and hustle and bustle of Hargeisa and going to bed late at night with the city still roaring, full of energy - in that respect it reminded me of Dubai, the 24/7 city; although infinitely less developed, built-up and organised

 

We reached our hotel and booked in to our rooms. The hotel was semi-well organised but there were still some prominent evidences of disorganisation and low quality, the worst of which being the plumbing. As I lay there on my rockhard bed, waiting to fall asleep despite the very loud noise of the hustle and bustle of the evidently very large and busy city, I was both shocked and exhausted, and wondered what else was masked by the dark that this city had in store for me.

 

To be continued...

[OdaySomali]

My sincere most apologies to nina-fox and others who wanted to read this thread. Check back in the next few days for updates. This will probably be the most detailed description of what it is like to return home you will have read online in a long time.