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.
