Mogadishu
(Sunatimes) Lisa ShannonLisa Shannon, center and in black, and Fartun
Abdisalaan Adan, in blue directly behind her, surrounded by participants in the
new organization Sister Somalia, which helps Somali victims of gender-based
violence.
“Why did you come here when no one else does?” The African Union communications
director asked us over dinner at its compound in Mogadishu. Good question. We
were warned against it, especially by war-zone regulars. It’s been called the
most dangerous city—or place—on earth. In fact, we had to delay our trip for
two weeks due to multiple suicide bombings and riots inside the area controlled
by Mogadishu’s transitional government (TFG). So, why go? I gave the short
answer, “We’re supporting a local social entrepreneur in launching a sexual
violence hotline.”
But the real answer was more complicated. Somalia bothers me. The 1993 Black
Hawk Down incident was tragic not only for the loss of United States
servicemen, but because many experts credit this loss with a shift in American
public sentiment and policy toward mass atrocity in Africa. In effect, we
collectively flipped off our empathy switch, approaching African crises like
Rwanda, Congo and Darfur as “Operation Not Worth It.” But no country has been
more written off than Somalia. And in Somalia, no group has been more written
off than women.
When I initially inquired about helping women in Somalia a few years ago,
Washington DC-based policy experts told me, “No one goes to Somalia.” So I let
it go. Then a few a months ago, I met Katy Grant, co-founder of Prism
Partnerships, a non-profit that links donors with local social entrepreneurs in
several African countries, including Somalia. The 38-year-old British mother of
three had traveled to Somalia on humanitarian missions more than 40 times in
five years, including during two pregnancies.
Katy was proof positive that working in a place most aid groups deemed too
risky was, in fact, possible. The two of us traveled to Mogadishu earlier this
week to help launch a new women’s program with a local social entrepreneur.
After leaving the African Union- secured area, we wove through the
sun-bleached, sand-and-rubble strewn back alleys of Mogadishu’s bombed-out
Kilometer Four neighborhood. We reached the Elman Peace and Human Rights
Center, where we were greeted by director Fartun Abdisalaan Adan.
Fartun’s husband was murdered in 1996 for his human rights work. She escaped to
Canada to raise her three daughters, but in 2007, when her girls were old
enough to live on their own, Fartun moved back to Mogadishu to continue Elman’s
work. “I still worry. My husband got killed.” Fartun told me. “Every day I get
home at night and am relieved, okay, today we are safe. But I take the risk.”
Recently, survivors of gender violence have begun to flock to Fartun and the
Elman Center for refuge, and to participate in group counseling sessions over
tea and snacks. The women of Somalia—recently named one of the five worst
places to be female—face multi-layered issues: The culture devalues women, with
rigid structures of inequality including near universal female genital
mutilation, domestic violence, and economic dependence. Add to that the chaos
of conflict, forcing women to pack up and run from here to there and back again
to avoid flying bullets, daily struggles to keep their children alive amid food
shortages, no access to health care, soaring maternal mortality rates, and
total breakdown of access to livelihoods and coping mechanisms, all in the face
of rampant sexual violence.
And then there is Al-Shabab. The radical, militant Islamic group linked to
Al-Qaeda rules 90% of central and south Somalia with utter impunity. Not only
do they abduct and imprison through forced marriage, terrorize and gang rape.
If women complain, they are often accused of adultery and speaking against the
brotherhood, punishable by death. The execution methods of choice: Stoning or
beheading.
In our meeting at Elman, the first woman to share was petite 17-year-old Amina
(not her real name). Her best friend, Hawa, who lived next door, helped with
childcare and cooking duties. Then a foreign Shabab came to Hawa’s home and
asked to marry her. Her father refused. They killed him. Shortly afterward,
Amina was at home when she heard a commotion out front. She walked outside to
find a group of Shabab higher-ups digging a hole. Amina watched as they dragged
Hawa out of the house, shoved her in the hole, and slammed large rocks against
Hawa’s head. She died. They buried her in the hole. Then last month, a Shabab
followed Amina home. He pushed her inside her own hut, followed by five more
Shabab. The six gang raped Amina in front of her younger siblings. She sees her
attackers every day, and is now afraid to leave the house, afraid to sleep,
afraid to go to the bathroom at night for fear of another attack.
And yet Amina has left the house, empowered by assistance by and support from
Sister Somalia, a new program developed by Fartun, in collaboration with Prism
Partnerships and my new organization, A Thousand Sisters. Sister Somalia was
developed to support female Somali victims of gender based violence, like
Amina, or Nadifa, who was gang raped in front of her children and then arrested
for making “false accusations against the government.”
Sister Somalia offers the first sexual violence hotline in Mogadishu, which
hopes to serve 300 women a year with counseling, medical services, business
starter kits, and other assistance specific to a particular case. Amina’s
assistance package, for example, will additionally include an emergency grant
to relocate with her family, away from her attackers.
A new Sister Somalia participant, holding her child and a letter from her
American
Lisa ShannonA new Sister Somalia participant, holding her child and a letter
from her American “sister.”
Each woman who walks through the door will also receive a letter from a
“sister” abroad. We hope to raise $120,000 per year to make it happen. How is a
broke activist like me planning to pull this off? Just like every stage of my
journey with Congo, I don’t know exactly. But I’m betting we can find at least
1,000 Americans who would welcome the opportunity to show up for women in
Somalia, through writing a letter or giving at least $10 per month.
Yes, Mogadishu is scary. Our security detail offered us our perfunctory
flak-jackets like he was passing out after-dinner mints. But sitting in a room
with these women smiling sweetly, fanning themselves with the colorful cards
and photos sent through our first batch of supporters, Somalia did not feel
like I expected. We spent many months in anxiety-ridden discussions about
security risks, engaged in “is it worth it?” debates about a 24-hour trip.
From left: Katy Grant, co-founder of Prism Partnerships, Fartun Abdisalaan
Adan, director of Elman Peace and Human Rights Center, and Lisa Shannon,
founder of
Lisa ShannonFrom left: Katy Grant, co-founder of Prism Partnerships, Fartun
Abdisalaan Adan, director of Elman Peace and Human Rights Center, and Lisa
Shannon, founder of “A Thousand Sisters.”
Yet, Fartun chooses to face down death every single day. Amina, only 17 years
old, crossed the frontlines of this war, alone, to talk with us. Every woman
who spoke risked her life to do so, with the hope of help. As Katy pointed out
in our many discussions, security may be the last frontier of equality: “Why do
I deserve security, when another does not?” In hindsight, all my frantic
measurements of risk seem self-congratulatory and, quite frankly, embarrassing.
How could I have ever thought these women weren’t worth it?
In a place like Somalia, big picture solutions are scarce. Like in so many
conflicts, women are caught between men with guns, shrouded in a culture of
impunity, with no refuge. I asked the women what they would like to say to
people around the world. They mumbled and echoed each other, quickly arriving
at a single message. “We all have individual problems,” their appointed
spokeswoman said. “But we all want support. And for people to hear us.”
Our visit was a first step. On our second day, Nadifa showed me her now
sweat-worn letter that,since receiving it, she had kept tucked in her skirt,
next to her belly, for comfort. As we said our goodbyes, I heard the women
mumble between themselves and to us: Walala. Sister.
Lisa Shannon is author of the book A Thousand Sisters, and founder of Run for
Congo Women and the new organization, A Thousand Sisters.
By LISA SHANNON
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A Lifeline For Somali Rape Victims
“We’re supporting a local social entrepreneur in launching a sexual violence hotline.”