When I say, it’s hard to live in Mogadishu as a child I mean it’s as hard as no-one can imagine. I was somewhere 7 to 9 year old, when I came back from traditional Madrasa (small school for religious teachings).
- image source: nydailynews.com
- that is not me, some other picture from fighting in Mogadishu
I was hearing very loud noises of bullets, shells and hand grenades, I was confused which direction to run, when an old man behind me said in a loud voice “stop”. I almost shit myself, fear of the strange telling me to stop.
I sprinted but within seconds, I found myself crossing a wide street, where the two fighting sides are on my either sides, I was directly between the two fronts.
I couldn’t go back because that will slow me down and put me in more dangerous situation. I kept running, but the time was passing so slow, that a second felt like an hour.
I wanted to be on the other side as quickly as possible, but it was taking too much time. I was hearing the shock waves created by the bullets passing in front of me and behind me.
When I was finally through, I looked back to the old man that was telling me to stop, because now I realized why he was telling me to stop, he was on his knees covering his eyes with his hands, in order not to see me hit by bullets.
I felt so sorry for not listening to him, but I was told before there are some strangers who harm young children.
I was very lucky and people who saw me cross directly in the middle of fighting fronts, checked for me by removing all my clothes, but no one could believe his eyes.
When I watch movies and they play scenes like these in slow motion I realize that it’s closer to the truth than what a lot of people think as cool effects to make the movie look cooler.