2010 Sep 03

Give us jobs, say Somali pirates

 The pirates of old often took to the seas to rebel against the social order but in lawless Somalia, many pirates say they would happily pay taxes and take a job in a factory.

Among the pirates of Hobyo, there is no hint of libertarianism nor any assertion of an alternative lifestyle. Most describe their activity as a crime of survival.

Ahmed Osoble is too young to have witnessed any form of organised government and like many young men in central Somalia's remote coastal areas relied entirely on fishing for his livelihood.

"Since around 2003, the quantity of fish in our waters started decreasing badly and it became almost impossible to live off the sea," says Ahmed, a soft-spoken 27-year-old.

He remembers the day in 2008 he left his nets on the beach and set off on his first piracy mission.

"I wasn't scared, it was a do-or-die situation. I had nothing to eat."

On another outing the following year, Ahmed and his comrades lost their way as they were prowling the vast Indian Ocean.

"We got lost, it was raining heavily... We had no idea where we were when we saw some small yachts. They were tourists I think, we asked them and they said we were in the Seychelles. We were so confused we didn't even think of kidnapping them," he says.

"Later we saw two patrol boats and a helicopter coming our way, it was all over," Ahmed says, recalling the episode with near-embarrassment. He spent several months in detention in the Seychelles before being swapped with hostages.

"In the Seychelles, they didn't torture us but we didn't have enough to eat. We used to tie our shirts around our stomachs very tightly to stop the hunger."

Now, he is still a pirate but doesn't go out at sea, has never successfully hijacked a ship, and struggles to make ends meet.

"If I could get a job in a fish factory near Hobyo and a pay every month, I would start right away," he says.

The problem is that there is no functioning industrial and marketing facility in Hobyo, no more than in any of the coastal areas from which the pirates come, nor anywhere else in the country.

Ecoterra International, a group which has campaigned for the protection of coastal communities' rights and resources in the region, has offered to implement such a project but no significant funding has yet come through.

Ismail Haji Noor is in charge of anti-piracy efforts for Galmudug state, a regional administration that recognises the federal government in Mogadishu but is trying to obtain more international recognition.

"Until we get more help, piracy will remain a reality," he says. "But what the Europeans are offering at the moment is a prison sentence or a bullet."

"I think that if these boys had an opportunity to get monthly wages, they would stop going out to sea to capture ships."

Western powers have responded to the surge in Somali piracy by dispatching dozens of warships to the region and focusing on the arrest and prosecution of suspects but have done nothing to develop alternative forms of employment.

While most pirates are former fishermen, their leaders have tasted power and someone like Mohamed Garfanji - Somalia's top pirate - heads a little army.

"I don't think Garfanji could return to fishing," admits Mohamed Aden "Tiiceey", the president of Himan and Heeb, another regional administration trying to take hold south of Galmudug.

"But if we get help building our administration, he would have a place as head of the coastguard. He already knows all the tricks out there."

Aweys Ali Jimaale "Madehe" ("Big Head" in Somali) is a top commander in pirate-run Hobyo who has a permanent brooding frown etched on his face.

He says he joined piracy in reaction to what he sees as collusion between foreign navies and fishing fleets to take advantage of the Somali chaos.

Jimaale insists that a chance to protect his country's waters would mean more to him than money.

"I would love to be a coast guard, even if the pay is small."

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