Abdullahi Jama, 60, is a Somali professional
in Seattle, Washington. He is a man of medium height who has legal training and
is multi-lingual. He speaks Italian, English, Russian, and, of course, Somali
fluently. He is a walking encyclopedia having witnessed the historical events
of Somalia. He was born in the 1950s in what is now the Somali region of
Ethiopia but grew up in Mogadishu.
He was sent to several European
countries for officer training and law courses and later reached the rank of
colonel in the army. He worked in various government ministries, including a
stint in the president’s office under the Siad Barre regime. Amazingly, Jama
knows who is who in Somali politics and can regale one with tales from his
various sojourns in government.
However, one incident has left a
bad taste in his mouth. “It was a scalding moment of embarrassment for the
government,” he said. The unusual encounter with a foreigner left a lasting
impact on both men. Jama told me he only remembers his first name.
Abdisalam, a young Senegalese
freelance writer, came to Mogadishu in 1976 to interview the country’s
officials and people. He was vibrantly
intelligent, gregarious, and demonstrated princely manners. Abdisalam was
excited to write about Somalia, then an African regime that had adopted
socialism. He visited Ethiopia first, and then came to Somalia through
Djibouti. Somalia, during that period of heightened ideological fervor and rhetoric,
harbored anti-West sentiments, and the officials were suspicious of foreigners.
The fear was that some of these foreign visitors were under cover spies
commissioned by the American CIA or European governments. As was the custom,
Abdisalam was questioned by agents of the Somali National Security, better
known by its Italian acronym of NSS.
Abdisalam was a man of mystery to
the secret police. He was Senegalese by birth, but his mother was Gambian, thus
making him a man of dual nationality. He had visited an arch enemy of Somalia
(Ethiopia) and—most damning of all—he was a roving journalist. Somalia’s
dictatorial regime did not allow room for free press or give foreign
journalists the opportunity to roam the country.
The secret police were at a loss
of what to do: They opened a case file on Abdisalam and took him straight to
Laanta Buur, a notorious prison 40 kilometers south of Mogadishu. Abdisalam was
confused, helpless, and petrified. He was in an alien country and had lost his
freedom. He felt that his life was in utter shambles. No one told him why he was in prison.
That was 1976.Twelve years later, in 1988, something odd happened. Colonel Jama and Abdisalam came face to face for the first time. Jama was asked to inspect Laanta Buur prison. He was talking to inmates when someone tapped on his shoulder and asked, “Excuse me sir, do you speak English?”
Jama answered, “Yes."
Jama did not expect to encounter a
foreign inmate among the Somali prisoners. Moreover, to the officer, Abdisalam
did not stand out: A black man, lean-built, and haggard-looking. “Can you help
me?” the foreigner requested. “I have been in prison for 12 years and no one has
told me why.”
Jama conferred with the man on
the side to learn his story. Upon hearing the man’s ordeal, Jama’s face
contorted in pain. The Senegalese man seemed oddly relaxed for someone whose
life had been taken from him. Jama wondered how this man had spent 12 years in
a prison without anyone charging him with a crime or checking on his welfare.
It was stunning news that drew incredulous stares. Gasps of disbelief echoed in
the corridors of the prison administration. Abdisalam himself could not provide
an adequate answer about his presence in the prison. Jama first notified his
boss, General Ismail Ismail, the head of the country’s prison bureau. Jama then
contacted the NSS to inquire about the man’s case. To his astonishment, the
Senegalese man’s file was bare and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There
was neither an ongoing investigation nor a closed one, a case of purgatory
coming early, only no one knew Abdisalam’s sins.
Furthermore, there had been no
entries since the foreigner’s initial arrival date in the country. This was a serious
matter and a ghastly tale. Intelligence officers are paid to be suspicious, but
this was a case of smart people making elementary mistakes. No one had followed
up on the case for 12 years.
President Siad Barre was immediately
informed. Barre was shocked and asked for more information about Abdisalam.
The secret agents went through Abdisalam’s
luggage and made a discovery, one that turned the case upside down. The Senegalese
man had written laudable articles about Barre and his socialist-leaning
government. Some of the clippings of his
writings were worn out, others torn, but there was no iota of doubt that the
writer was progressive in his ideas and supportive of the regime. Barre ordered
Abdisalam released and he was taken to Shabelle Hotel. The International Red
Cross was immediately contacted to locate the man’s family. Jama told this
writer that the government apologized profusely to Abdisalam and gave him
$20,000 in cash as compensation for his ill-treatment. He left the country in
1988. His important message to Somalia was one left unsaid: “I have survived.”
The president of International Red
Cross was pleased with Jama and his hard work of doing all the legwork in the
process of releasing Abdisalam. Jama received an award from the international
organization. “This is the best job recognition and award I have ever
received,” said Jama. That, however, did not provide solace for how badly he
felt about the case. ”It is the saddest incidence that I ever witnessed in my
long civil service career,” he added.
Sometime in 1988, Abdisalam
contacted members of the Somali government and told them he wanted to visit
Somalia again. It was not clear whether his request was a sign of Stockholm syndrome—a
psychological condition in which one develops positive feelings toward his
captor— or whether Abdisalam was seeking
closure to his harrowing ordeal. He was politely advised not to come to Somalia
due to the political turmoil the country was experiencing. “No one has heard
from him since,” said Jama. “I wonder what he is doing now.”
Like a camera revealing an image,
Abdisalam’s case exposed a web of incompetence, cruelty, and a broken system of
injustice and accountability. The case was a tale of sadness and tragedy. No
one was blamed for the string of catastrophic errors. Jama makes no excuses: “The
Somali government messed up, big time,” he laments.
(Reprinted with permission from Sahan Journal, December 11, 2013).
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