Scotland On Sunday
Sunday, April 04, 2010
By Jeffrey Gettleman
"Salaam Aleikum," she says, greeting a man who has called in to the radio station.
"Yes, hello," he replies anxiously. "I want to talk about pirates. These guys aren't being treated fairly."
This is a typical day at Radio Mogadishu, the only relatively free radio station in south central Somalia where journalists can broadcast what they like — without immediately worrying about being beheaded.
The station's 90ft antennas, which rise above the rubble of the neighbourhood, have become a beacon of freedom.
Though the callers enjoy the safety of their anonymity, Radio Mogadishu's 100 staff are still considered legitimate targets by the Shabab insurgent group which associates them with the government. The journalists eat and sleep here, in very primitive conditions, rarely venturing out. Most get paid a few hundred pounds a month.
Some, like the station's senior political correspondent, Abdi Aziz Mahamoud Africa, strut around the compound in baggy jeans and Western-style jerseys, a dress style that could get them killed in other parts of town.
The country is in the hands of a weak but internationally recognised transitional government that does not have a grip on the capital but is ensconced in the hilltop neighbourhood where the station sits.
Few people even live here anymore.
Somalia has become one of the most dangerous places in the world to practise journalism, with more than 20 journalists assassinated in the past four years alone.
"We miss them," Africa said about his fallen colleagues.
He cracked an embarrassed smile when asked about his name. "It's because I'm dark, really dark," he said.
Africa used to work at one of the city's other ten radio stations but decided to move on after fighters with the Shabab dropped by and threatened to kill the reporters if they did not broadcast pro-Shabab news. Africa called the Shabab meddlers "secret editors" and now carries a gun.
"I tried to get the other journalists to buy pistols," Africa remembered. "But nobody listened to me."
Another reporter, Musa Osman, said that his real home was only about a mile away. "But I haven't seen my kids for months," he said.
He drew his finger across his throat and laughed a sharp, bitter laugh when asked what would happen if he went home.
The station is a crumbling, bullet-scarred reflection of this entire nation, which has been essentially without government for nearly two decades.
One of the buildings on the compound is a heap of pulverised rubble with a blown-out ceiling. "Black Hawk Down," one young journalist explained, almost proudly. The building was apparently bombed in 1993, when the station was run by General Mohammed Farah Aideed, a notorious Somali warlord whose militiamen fought against American troops in a vicious street battle, later immortalised by the book and film, Black Hawk Down.
Indeed, Radio Mogadishu may be one of the last surviving repositories of Somali history.
In a shadowy back room, past ancient turntables and gutted speakers with wires shooting out, are miles and miles of reel-to-reel tapes stacked floor to ceiling in 10ft-high racks. They are carefully labelled in fading ink: old speeches, cultural songs, patriotic songs, interviews with nomads and other mementoes of a vanishing culture. The United Nations is trying to help the Somalis convert the vintage tapes to compact discs before humidity and time overtake them.
"This place is a cultural treasure, believe it or not," said Mukhtar Ainashe, a presidential adviser.