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March 10, , p. AS I sat recently on the back porch of our small apartment in Nairobi, Kenya, I spotted a bronze sunbird flitting about the branches of a nearby tree. A small, handsome bird with a long tail and a curving beak, its greenish, bronze-colored head glinted in the sun as it paused on a bending branch. Then it was gone.
That, to me, is Somalia today. Its good qualities, and those of its people, glint in the sunlight momentarily, all too easy to miss, then are obscured again by the violence. I've been reporting on Somalia for more than two years. Catching dawn flights to Somalia from Nairobi on military or relief aircraft has become a way of life. Sponge earplugs to block out the noise on cargo planes, plastic bottles of water, and a bedroll are must-have items on the frequent trips my photographer wife, Betty, and I make.
In January , we rode around Mogadishu, the capital, with an escort of armed Somalis, a practice that was to become standard in view of the many armed looters. Rebels had just taken over in a big battle a few days earlier. There were still some dead bodies in the streets. The city was badly damaged. Young rebels posed triumphantly on tanks.
I knew the brutality of the ousted dictator, Mohamed Siad Barre. Somalis I spoke with were hopeful that things would get better. I hoped so, too, but I wasn't sure. Then things began unraveling in rural areas. Somali factional leaders began fighting each other.
People fled by the tens of thousands to the towns, but found no food there. Many starved. Mogadishu itself exploded in four months of random shelling between rival factions from November to March Thousands died.