The Pirates of Somalia_ Inside Their Hidden World - Jay Bahadur [37]
Like “Butch Cassidy” or “Billy the Kid,” “Garaad” was an outlaw sobriquet that had grown notorious in its own time—at least within the borders of Puntland. Like most pirate handles, his was an assumed name, taken from the Somali word for “clan elder,” and was thus a sign of his status amongst his colleagues. In the world of Somali seafaring careers, Garaad had scaled the corporate ladder with remarkable dexterity, rising from artisanal fisherman to fishing vessel hijacker, and finally to one of the most famous pirate organizers and financiers in Puntland.
As I began my questions, Garaad instantly prickled when he heard the word “pirate.”
“Illegal fishing ships, they are the real pirates,” he rejoined. “I don’t know where they all come from, but there are nearly five thousand ships doing illegal fishing in our territory.” Garaad’s estimate, far more generous than the 200–250 illegal ships projected by the Puntland Ministry of Fisheries, may have been coloured by his strong personal sentiments.
“I was one of the first to start fighting against the illegal fishing, before Boyah,” he bristled. So far, his quest against the “real pirates” of Somalia had netted Garaad a total of about a dozen illegal fishing ships. Despite these successes, he assured me that little in the way of ransom money has come his way. “Ransom negotiations over captured fishing ships are very difficult,” he said, “because the people you’re dealing with … drag the negotiations on and on. They don’t care how long you keep the ships, they won’t pay you anything.” But Garaad insisted that his goal was not to make money, but to fight illegal fishing. Aiding him in his crusade, he said, was a pirate army spanning the entire length of the Somali coast.
“I have direct control over a total of eight hundred hijackers operating in thirteen groups spread from Bossaso, through Hafun, Eyl, Harardheere, Hobyo, and Kismaayo,” he said. Each of these groups had a “sub-lieutenant” who reported directly to Garaad and did not make a move without his authorization, he claimed. “Independent groups”—those whom he did not control—accounted for an additional eight hundred individuals. To take Garaad at his word, therefore, would have been to give him credit for exerting a half-Stalinist, half-Mafioso grip over half of Somalia’s estimated 1,500–2,000 pirates, spread over a criminal empire stretching almost twenty-five hundred kilometres of lawless coastline. Given the decentralized nature of most pirate operations, it was an understatement to say that Garaad’s self-portrayal stretched credulity thin.
“If the international community ever pays us our rightful compensation for the illegal fishing,” he said, “attacks will stop within forty-eight hours.” As to what this compensation might entail, Garaad was less than specific. “Nobody can count it,” he answered. “It’s a lot of money. The people of the world know how long they have been doing illegal fishing, and from that they can calculate how much they owe us.”
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Throughout our interview, Garaad seemed anxious to prove that he was no profiteer. His manner was evasive whenever I asked for specific monetary details, and persistent questioning invariably caused him to retreat. “I’ve never personally attacked commercial ships,” he said. “The only one I’ve ever captured is the Stella Maris, and the reason for it was the financial problems we were having then. At the time, there was a lack of illegal fishing vessels to attack, and we needed money to keep our operations going.”
The MV Stella Maris, a Japanese-owned bulk carrier, was seized in the Gulf of Aden in July 2008 and held for eleven weeks before being released for a ransom of $2 million, which Garaad reinvested in future operations. His operating expenses since then must have been rather high, because Garaad insisted that he was broke. “I