Home thoughts from abroad…

Dear Mum and Dad,

How are things back home in Mogadishu? I am writing this from a place called ‘Molter’. I arrived 10 days ago and it has taken me that long to get hold of a pen and paper to write this… honest.

From what I’ve been told, ‘Molter’ is about halfway from where I really want to be, but I suppose it will have to do for the time being.

Now where was I? Oh yes, after I made my way to Libya I arrived in the capital port of ‘Triplee’, which is very nice and much cleaner than Mogadishu… which isn’t difficult I’ll agree.

I stayed with a nice man near the dockside for most of my stay and I have to say the Libyan people are very generous.

In fact, every evening they even laid on a fireworks display for us with brightly coloured fireworks lighting up the sky. It was very pretty.

More than that: Every day a man in a uniform would come down to the port area, put me in a truck, then take me – and a lot of other Somalis, Chadians, Sudanese and others to the centre of ‘Triplee’.

Once there, we would be given a little green flag, then be told to stand in front of a lot of TV cameramen, wave our flags and shout stuff.

You’d be really proud of me because – apart from appearing every night on TV in countries all over the world, I can now say: “Long live Gaddafi” in 27 languages. So my time there wasn’t wasted… you see, I even got an education!

And that’s not all. After the TV cameramen have gone away, we were all taken back to the port area and given money. Isn’t that great!

To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have minded staying longer in ‘Triplee’ – and I would have done but for the chance meeting with Abdul. He is my new friend and – when he saw I had made so much money from shouting out: “Long live Gaddafi” he very kindly offered to take me on a boat trip around ‘Triplee’ harbour… and here’s another lucky thing: the money I earned from waving my green flag and shouting: “Long live Gaddafi… was exactly the right amount to pay for my boat trip.

Now here’s the funny part. As soon as we set out on our excursion – 168 of us in a rather old motor launch – the captain – another nice man whose name I didn’t catch – pointed the launch out to sea, he said the steering was broken or something.

Anyway… the next thing I knew, the engine also got broken and we were sort of still and not moving in the middle of the sea.

To keep our spirits up, I led everybody a few choruses of that rude song that Aunty Meera taught me, but I must admit that the complete lack of food and water was, well a bit of a bore.

But all was well, ’cos after five days adrift and seeing five Italian patrol boats come close to us… and then run away at full speed, we were taken on board a ‘Moltese’ patrol vessel and brought here to ‘Molter’.

Which brings me neatly to the point of this letter. As you can imagine I am a bit short of the readies at the moment, so… do you think you could have a word with cousin Omar?

Tell him the next time he ventures out into the Indian Ocean on yet another hijack mission could he please remember me when he ransoms the ship and cargo of his next oil tanker? That should – at least – get me to the port in ‘Vee-enner’.

Well, that’s all from me for this time. The next time I write it will be after I take a ship to ‘Vee-enner’ in ‘Ostrya’ where Uncle Bashir is expecting me.

So bye for now.
Your loving son,
Mohammed.

PS: Mum I saved all the little green flags they gave me in ‘Triplee’ and I’ll send them to you under a separate cover. There should be just enough for you to make yourself a new burkha.