***
But I have been to Mogadishu. In the five days I was there I became acquainted with the perimeter wall of the guesthouse. Daily I heard the shouts of workers hauling wet concrete up eight floors. They are making what might become an office tower across the road from the guesthouse. The concrete was in small buckets passed hand-to-hand up eight stories. One morning the electrician was trying to repair something at the junction box. He must have tripped some wires, for soon after there was a swooshing explosion as the junction box caught fire. We used the only fire extinguisher we had to put out the fire. It took several bursts of chemical powder before the fire was under control. The electrician was wearing laundry gloves when doing his work. It reminded me of visiting a friend's house in Nairobi for dinner. My friend forgot a pot of oil on the cooker. Soon the oil caught fire. Her husband rushed in and poured a glass of water on the burning oil. Swoosh!
I heard one gunshot during the five days. It was a policeman controlling traffic. There were no injuries or fatalities during the shooting. I am told this method of controlling traffic is fairly common in the city. In other places they use a whistle. Two days before I arrived, a businessman was assassinated in curious circumstances. Three weeks before I went to Mogadishu, a Kenyan businessman was assassinated in Nakuru.
In Mogadishu I had ate the best fish I've had in a long time.
While I was there my period came early; way early. Talk of being vulnerable in a strange city. The women rallied around me and provided my for my need.
The normalcy of life - people laughing, eating, loving, building - in such a dangerous city gave my expectations a headspin. I am not sure that I am ready to go shopping in downtown Mogadishu (I confess I don't even know where that is). I tend to go into cities expecting to have my worst fears and/or best hopes confirmed. But in Mogadishu I was refreshed by the details of people's being. Just being.
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