The road was paved most of the way, surprisingly, and the roadblocks seem to be merely a formality at this point. I can imagine that at one time these roadblocks were serious danger.






Tiny craggy mountains dot the plains from Hargeysa to Boorama. To imagine that all of this land is unspoilt, unexploited, and still in many ways the mystical property of the Nomads.... where they grow fields of Qat for the population at large. The road disappears about 45km from Boorama, and continues in the more Somali – like dirt track.
The towns between Hargeysa and Boorama are quiet places often made up of destroyed buildings. But still, life goes on, and people simply live in and around them. One of the most interesting sights, which I failed to snap a photo of, were the graveyards – people bury their dead under rocks, and find a long vertical rock to stick out of the top to act as a labelling post. No crosses. These people are muslim.









Boorama: a drifting, dusty, quiet place with no paved roads. Plenty of stone houses, plastic bags galore, two mosques. A town made of nomads. Unreal in its middle-of-nowwhere feel.
I found the Somaliland Aerolite Telecommunications building and spoke to a man there. I gave him a letter for Said – Said – was in Hargeysa. Oh well, too bad. The letter has been delivered. The man wasn't much into conversation, and promptly shook my hand and walked away. Little help from these people, although a boy showed me the way to a hotel. The bus to Jijiga goes tomorrow; the hotelier told me to be up at seven in the morning. Let's see what happens.

Later on in the evening I asked the hotelier where I could go eat; instead of simply telling me(and his english was not really bad at all), he escorted me to a restaurant to eat. I sat down and asked for spaghetti; surprisingly, I was given utensils. A few minutes later, the guys from Somaliland Aerolite Telecommunications wandered into the open area where the tables were. They sat down; I think they saw me. After a few minutes of drinking water, they got up and left. Something tells me that these guys really don't want to be my friend.

I went back to the hotel and relaxed outside with the hotelier and his friends. A clean cut teenager, wearing clean clothes and glasses, approached me. He remarked to me that I was perhaps the first Canadian to come to Boorama; I told him otherwise. Duane, the man in Kelowna, had been here a few years ago.

"He was Canadian?" the boy asked. He remembered him . I guess every white face that comes through here, as rare as they are, is one to remember.

He also helped to illustrate a few points about Somaliland and Somalia to me – the fighting is tribal in the Somali regions. Tribes are a deep-rooted facet of Somali society. It will dictate many things, including who will and will not help you. The boy told me that he could not find a job in many places because he was not of the right tribe. So, he studies english. He asked me to send him an english dictionary when I get back. I agreed.

The hotelier was more definitive in his opinion of Somali conflict – "Qat is the number one reason Somalia is messed up. People eat it all day. It messes up your mind; you cannot make decisions."
"Do you think Somalia would be peaceful if no one had Qat?"
"Yes," he said. "Will you visit Mogadishu soon?" he asked.
"Inshallah," I said. As Allah Allows.

Very interesting. Somalia is a land of drug-induced tribal conflict. No wonder a resolution seems so far off.



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