Idiots with guns 2

Here’s a good idea: let’s cordon off a town at a time, freeze movements on the roads, and employ the military to do house to house searches to confiscate illegal weapons. We’ll exempt foreign aid workers and treat those whose properties we search with dignity and respect. It seemed like such a good idea at the time.

The morning after: 6 seriously injured and 2 dead.

Actually the time between conception of this, really quite good, plan and it’s implementation has been a while. It makes sense, too. The number of illegal weapons, most in the hands of young men, is shocking. But authority is easily misused and whilst searching for weapons the young, armed and sometimes drunk soldiers helped themselves to cash, store goods, vehicles women…The UN security report summed it up well: “the soldiers either were not instructed properly or chose not to follow orders,” and in traditional UN style makes no suggestions or statement for action.

You could sense the unrest in the town, but at sunset I accepted the invitation of our Somali trucker (Hassan) to have an iftar meal with him after prayers in the mosque. I was waved through the many checkpoints that had appeared –the advantage of being white. I arrived at the mosque to find the middle of town crawling with soldiers. There were a few shouts and skirmishes proportional the traffic, but nothing too hostile. I got out of the car and called Hassan – he’d been stopped and a soldier had stolen his motorbike. He didn’t sound too miffed by this and seemed more concerned that he was late to meet me. He said he was sending a boy who’d spot me. He did moments later. As we shook hands in greeting the shooting started about 10m away. I didn’t stop to look. We jumped back into the car and I took off out of town, unfortunately in the opposite direction of my compound. There was running, shouting, and screaming as it seemed that soldiers were emptying their clips. God only knew into what.

I saw a face I recognized and waved him into the passenger side. It was a guy who worked at a water bottling plant up the road a bit. “Don’t go back!” he shouted...as if our forward trajectory at 50kph suggested I was about to turn around. We continued up the road and were ushered through the metal gate by the plant’s very young-looking security guard. The guy we came with vanished, but the others in the compound – Ethiopians who I’d bought cases of water from numerous time before – were quick to welcome me and my companion. “We can accommodate you here if you wish.” The sun had set, it was time to eat, the gunfire continued.

My worry about being out of my compound quickly subsided. My homing instinct gave way to logic: stupid shit happens at night, soldiers are more drunk, darkness hides my whiteness, our compound is walled only by a bamboo fence and the watchman is about 60. Next time I’m not walking out my door without my passport.

These four Ethiopian guys gave us water to break our fast, a mat to pray on and cooked a fantastic meal of barbecued meat, tomatoes and onions, mango juice and Ethiopian coffee. We sat around sharing stories about how stupid we thought the Dinkas are. It was actually a very nice night.

Around 11pm a motorbike pulled up the front gate. As we got up to see the watchman blindly opened it. I was relived to see a grinning Hassan drive in with a soldier riding pillion. I wasn’t sure who’d hijacked who. Hassan was well known by all the Ethiopians, too. He’d navigated the roadblocks and brought cakes and a carton of milk for my breakfast and an apology for the situation. I was very touched. I was also touched by the Ethiopians making up a bed for me with a mosquito net.

The fighting quietened down quickly and by dawn the town was silent. I drove back through it at around 7 and there was no evidence of anything happening the night before. Apparently it was just twits firing into the air mostly, but some decided to fire into buildings and crowds. No one knows what started it.

I really wasn’t in that much danger, but I was scared. I called my colleagues in the compound perhaps a few too many times when the networks would allow it to make sure everyone was ok, let them know where I was, and to compensate for the fact that no one seemed to be calling me, dammit. I had a car, fuel, a flashlight, but no cash and no ID (stupid I know). On top of that: no mosquito repellent. I got bitten to shit. I’m going to turn into one of those “always ready” guys with a bum-bag and waist-hidden security belt.

No I won’t. It was a minor scare, but I’m not compromising on style. Lesson learned. It’s just another reason to relocate -- I'm pinning a lot on this move, you can see. I went property searching last week (very exciting) and saw some fun places that varied in price considerably. Like most things the initial quote varies wildly. In one conversation on a place shaded by beautiful mango trees (I was sold in an instant) the guy gave 3 prices ranging from $1000 to $3500. I think I better keep my fair skin away from the negotiating table. It's not always helpful.