Somali journalist's personal tale of a terror attack

5 years ago a day like today.

Wednesday night 14th Sept 2011 around 8:00pm, I left my place of work at Radio Gaalkayo, where I was working then. I was offered a lift by our station manager Abdullahi Hirsi Aade without hesitation I jumped in because it was a bit late.

 After we drove a quite short distance, I requested Uncle Abdullahi to drop me on the main road around the market place from there I could walk since my house wasn’t far from the main road and I didn’t want to bother him to drive me all the way, he insisted but I convinced him, it was all God’s plan.

I bid him bye and he requested that I should come to work early the following morning as he had some extra work for me.

As I was walking home from the main road, I received a call from Radio Risala in Mogadishu where I also worked as a news monitoring agent in Gaalkayo.  I couldn’t talk to them so I asked them to call me back after a while.

I crossed the main road to the path leading to my house, due to previous threats on my life through texts by unknown people; I decided to use a different path to make my movements unpredictable. Journalists in Somalia are always under attack- worse female journalists. Somalia is one of the most dangerous countries in the world for media people. My phone rang again and this time it was the editor probably wanting to ask something concerning work. Before I could answer the call I felt an eerie feeling of imminent danger and I remembered through the horde of horror. I forgot to end the call; I looked back just to see a person in plain white clothes facing the other way-it was a male figure. I sensed he pulled out a pistol from the back of his belt, then deep inside I knew something dangerous was about to happen and I had no way to escape from it.

The person in the plain white clothes fired shots in the air to scare away few men who were in front of the mosque-prayer building. Another person wearing a black jacket appeared from the back, cogged his gun and fired shots aiming for my head. I bent down placed my hands over my head knowing that my hands wouldn’t protect my head from bullets -human nature, but reflex worked at its best. The first bullet hit my right hand, I decided to run for my dear life or die trying. The shots were coming like rain I didn’t know where it hit –my shoulder, belly, upper chest, leg a total of seven bullets penetrated through my body. I could see sparks of light as I was running as bullets burst out of my body while other bullets missed me. 

I ran as far as I could for I wanted at least my body to be recovered, most of the victims of such killings, their bodies could not be recovered. I decided to take my body to the main road which was few metres away.

My right hand was shattered and its veins lay open blood oozing out profusely. I used my left hand to hold my busted belly.

They stopped shooting when I reached roadside- no one was at sight. The main road was clear and dead empty as everyone ran for safety. By the road side was where people come to rest and drink fresh Somali tea, was usually packed with customers but then there was none.

I leaned on a wall. Two boys came out of an adjacent coffee shop; tip toed looking at the side I came from with such horror. They asked me if the shots hit me and I nodded, I was drowning in my own blood. I don’t remember much after because I became dizzy.

At that moment the only thing that was lingering in my head was my mum and how she would dissolve the scenario and how my family would find out about my death. My biggest worry at that moment wasn’t about the pain or death, it was my mother and how she would mourn and how this would break her heart. I love her so much and she loves me more.

As I lay there a crowd of people gathered around me each wanting to know what had happened. I had no power, energy and desire to listen or answer all their confusing questions. They could see my lips moving but they couldn’t hear what I was trying to say as I had no energy.

A lady who I didn’t get her name or face shouted, ‘aren’t you not human beings, carry the lady from the street’ and asked me to say my last prayer. They carried me to the junction where there were shops and miraa stalls and requested a taxi driver to rush me to the hospital because I was in dire need of medical attention. I could feel people speculating, worried that the attackers might strike again. The guys who carried me were shouted, ‘’She is alive!!!’’.

My mother was worried about my safety and many a times she advised me to resign, her fear was because of the constant threatening texts that I was receiving- they would tell me that I work with infidels and the price I was going to pay will be with my life. I would call my mother to confirm that I was okay and safe- that’s how dangerous my job was and will be.

I was taken to Gaalkayo General Hospital (GP) and while I was undergoing treatment, the news of my attack reached my family and they were informed that I had succumbed to my injuries. Definitely they were coming to see and retrieve my body from the hospital. They called my work place to confirm of the incident but no one at the studio was aware of it. On air was a recorded program of mine.

After the confusion, some of my colleagues who were around the market place where the attack took place were given a description of the victim and they were the first to arrive at the hospital. They were the first familiar faces I saw. They confirmed to my family that I was alive and in hospital. I was yet to receive medical assistance, a young doctor kept on trying to calm everyone. He was shouting that the injuries are of knife and not bullets. I garnered the little energy I had left and shouted ‘please help me! Don’t let me die of neglect here’. There were no doctors available at the time in the hospital. Efforts were made by my media friends and I was transferred to Galkaayo Medical Center- a better hospital with better facilities.

My situation was deteriorating as I had lost a lot of blood which made me weak. When I arrived at the medical center, I was taken straight to the emergency unit. After a brief examination, the doctor explained to my friends that I needed an emergency surgery on my belly. He explained to them about the procedure and the expected outcome-both positive and negative. The first thing I asked for was to speak to my mother; I talked to her via the doctor’s phone. I asked her not to worry and that I would be fine. I could hear her pray,’ may Allah ease for you both in death and life’. I could feel the agony my mother was in and I begged her not to inform my father about the incident because my father wasn’t in the country. The doctor took the phone away.

 Two of my colleagues – Mahat Jamaa Korane and Roble Hassan Abdi came into the theater with me. I was induced and my only hope was to live and see the world again. I had been  shot two hours earlier and this would the first attempt to save my life. Despite the internal bleeding and the pressure building in my interior we had confidence in the doctor and facility.

I don’t remember what happened after. I was induced. When I woke up to the doctor calling me ‘Xoriyo, how are you doing’.

I went back to sleep ad when I woke up hours or a day later, my family and media friends were by my bedside. All were eagerly waiting for my recovery- my extended family and many other people were there ? hallway was fully packed. They shared the difficult time with me and I am so grateful to all of them. In a short time I was getting better, gaining my health and my wounds were healing.

28th December2011, I was brought to Kenya for further treatment and for my recovery to be monitored. Every person who faces such tragedy will regain normalcy through spiritual confidence and courage but the encouragement and hope offered by my family and media colleagues played a big part in my healing process both mentally and physically. I am also grateful to the general public because of  them I am who I am today, the youth and all who shared this trying moment with me.

The tragedy that happened five years ago up to the present, I owe my biggest gratitude to the almighty Allah who brought me to this world for a purpose, I will be always thankful to all those who stood by me during this hard time in my life, starting with my able doctor Dagaade and all the health workers at GMC may Allah bless your efforts all the time, the other doctors included; Dr. Burhan Ali Gelle, Dr. Sala, Dr.Bashir Ali Bihi, Dr.Mohamed Jamaa Salaad. I am deeply thankful.

The energetic tireless media friends from all over Mudug region, they were my morale medications I couldn’t have managed to smile again if it wasn’t you guys. The regional commissioners for Mudug State….Mohamed Yussufe Tigay, Said Abdi Farah, Farhan Ali Haa and  the former speaker for Galmudug State Ahmed Basto. I am also grateful to the former Somalia Ambassador to Kenya Ambassador Mohamed Ali Americo, Kenyan media friends who received me with open hands  when I was brought to Kenya for further treatment, I hold you  dear, Abdiqafar Ahmed Shine, Mohamed Ahmed Ilkaase,  Mohamed Garane Ade,  with your solidarity and courage am alive and kicking, the Somali journalist associations, you’re my light at the end of the channel,

May Allah bless and have mercy to all those that have been murdered by this blood sucking nihilistic gangs, may the almighty guide us to the right path, I will die for my people and my country, I will fight for  the truth however bitter and dangerous it may be, I don’t believe something above pan Somalism it satisfies me. Struggle for the land and the flag, die a hero and a patriot don’t succumb to ideology and affiliations.