Remembering my trip to Berbera in 2016. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

We arrived at the airport. Mo’ helped me get my luggage out of the SUV and shook my hand. We each said we would see one another soon but, in fact, this was the last goodbye. He asked for a few shillings to pay the airport exit fee, got back in his vehicle and drove away. That was that. 

Moments later, I was surrounded by airport helpers. The most aggressive of the bunch pulled my backpack off and lunged for my duffel bag despite my protests. Alas, he was too persistent and I gave into his offer of assistance 

The helper carried my bags on his back to the first security checkpoint and threw my belongings on the conveyor belt so they could be scanned for explosives. There was a recent attack on a flight departing from Hargeisa, en route to Mogadishu. The plot was thwarted when passengers noticed the terrorist attempting to detonate a bomb hidden in his shoe. Before he could, the passengers mobbed him and threw the would-be attacker out the emergency exit to his death.   In the aftermath, there was a heightened awareness of potential threats and many security personnel were posted throughout the airport. 

A guard standing next to the conveyor belt barked at me to remove any electronics from my bags. I let her know that I had many and this seemed to only make her angrier. She went through my backpack and pulled out my laptop, the other laptop my employers asked me to take home from the conference, my cameras, my batteries, my phones, and my microphones. The process created a traffic jam behind me; yet, the guard was still unsatisfied.

“Power on!” She yelled.

“Okay, okay,” I replied. “Hold on.”

I was unsure how me turning on suspicious-looking electronics would avert any threat of blowing up the security line but I complied anyway. Most everything turned on except for the spare laptop. Its battery was dead. The guard found the computer’s AC cable and plugged it into the wall. Still nothing.

“I am going to miss my flight!” I pleaded. 

The guard didn’t seem to care. After what seemed like an eternity, the laptop became recharged just enough that the startup screen flashed on. That apparently was good enough. I was allowed to move on through the metal detector. The guard flung my belongings into bins and tossed them through the conveyer.

“Pay me!”

My helper appeared again, and pointed to his vest that had “$5” printed on it. The guards didn’t seem to mind that he had sidestepped the metal detector to accost me.

“Here you go,” I said and passed him my giant wad of Somali shillings.

“No, no!” He protested. “US Dollars only.”

I had had enough.

“Do you want this or not?” I said waving the bills and then gesturing that I would put them back in my pocket.

Begrudgingly my helper took the cash and disappeared, leaving me alone to repack and haul my bags into the next building where the ticket counters were housed. Once inside, I made my way to the end of a line if it could be called that. A large group of travelers merged into one big blob, regardless of which airline they were taking, and pushed up against an unmanned counter. 

Whole families, with what seemed to be all of their earthly belongings piled on carts, mixed in with well-dressed individuals, also with a great many bags. Everyone waved their passports at one another as if to signify their place in the global food chain. A few of them even thrust their way through the crowd to the front to further prove their importance. Of course, this upset everyone else but their shouts of protest did not make a difference to the deaf ears of these indignant elites.

Airport attendants finally appeared and shoved and yelled at the crowd until the lines formed semi-tidy rows. Then a single representative appeared at one of the airline desks and everyone scrambled toward his direction, breaking the fragile order. Eventually all the travelers made it to the counter to deposite their bags. However, from time to time, representatives would send a passenger away because they didn’t have the right visa or ticket. After what seemed like an eternity, I made it to the front, checked my bags, and received a boarding pass.

I was then instructed to go to another desk to get an exit visa. This made me panic because I had forgotten about this step and frantically patted myself down for some cash. How much did I need $50, $100? All of my big bills were used to pay for the hotel. I could never be sure when I traveled through the Hargeisa airport when I needed to pay or not. In the end, I suspect it was up to the discretion of the customs agent who was manning that station. On this particular day, the official seemed disinterested or could tell I would be more trouble than it was worth. He just stamped me through without demanding a payment.

At this point I was ready to get on the plane and fly home, but instead, I turned the corner to encounter a second security screening. Once again, I pulled out all my electronic equipment and powered it on. And once again, the security personnel were very interested in my lavalier wireless microphones and asked me to turn them on to demonstrate they were not bombs before removing their batteries and tossing them into a trash can.

With that screening complete I entered the terminal. While a few people occupied seats in the waiting area most of the activity centered around the adjacent cafe. Crowded around a bustling counter were what looked like regulars. They were shouting happily to one another over espressos. Cans of Pringles potato chips of all varieties lined the back shelves. Natural light filled the terminal. A bird flapped around, trapped inside it.

Uncertain as usual about what was coming next, I went to the bathroom; not just to take a piss, but to fill up my water bottle in case there was a delay and I got dehydrated.

I opened the restroom door. The place was packed in heavy rotation with other travelers. A veiled washerwomen pushed her way through them with a squeegee. It possibly was the worst job in the world and a puzzling situation given the strict Sharia law in the region. Yet, no one seemed to mind, including her. I did what I needed to do until she prematurely cut me off and I made my way to the sink.