The Pirates of Somalia_ Inside Their Hidden World - Jay Bahadur [85]
But the lobsters had not been the only victims, Abdi Hersi lamented. “One time, four young men—lobster divers—were caught up in a trawler’s drag net. They all drowned. We’ve lost a lot of boys, about twenty of them. The foreign ships come and run over their small fishing boats. They used to die every day … and no one cares about them.”
Though small-scale sustenance fishing continued, exports had trickled to a halt.
“We don’t even have a market here where we can sell our fish,” explained Abdirizak. Referring to the ubiquitous laid-up refrigeration trucks, he continued: “They’re all rusted and broken down now. There used to be a lot of business here.”
Where were their export markets? “Dubai!” the townspeople enthusiastically exclaimed in unison, where they used to receive a good price for their lobster and shark fins. The 2004 tsunami, they said, had destroyed Eyl’s fishing economy, as well as reduced local fish stocks. In the aftermath of the disaster, an immense NGO relief mission had distributed new fishing gear to 105 fishermen, but it was soon destroyed by illegal fishing vessels. This type of hostility had spurred local fishermen to fight back, beginning, if Boyah is to be believed, with his attack on a Korean fishing vessel in 1995. But Eyl’s townspeople did not appear ready to take Boyah at his word.
“It was in 1999 that Boyah started attacking ships around Eyl; in 1995 it was a different one—near Garacad,” they debated. Each time I had attempted to establish a piracy timeline—whether through Boyah, members of his gang, or the people of Eyl—the dates seemed to change. Only a hatred of the rampant corruption and double-dealing miring the illegal fishing trade united the various accounts I had heard.
“In 1999, we caught an Italian fishing trawler and brought it to court,” said Abdirizak. “But a Somali businessman arrived and arranged for its release. There was one Somali stationed on board the ship, who translated for the crew.” Indeed, since 1999 many illegal fishing vessels had placed armed Somali guards on their decks, and there was a widespread belief amongst local Somalis that local businessmen in the diaspora were responsible. “Somali businessmen from overseas are organizing it. They call their cousins, some local guys here, and tell them, ‘Go on that ship, I’ll give you a hundred bucks,’ ” Abdirizak added.
A voice addressing me in English drew my attention to the periphery of the circle. It belonged to a man by the name of Hussein Hersi, whom I had first met months earlier during my first trip to Puntland, when I had found him sitting by himself on a plastic lawn chair in the middle of Bossaso prison’s courtyard. Having spent much of his recent life in self-exile in various cities across North America, Hersi had returned to Puntland some months earlier to visit relatives. His presence in Eyl was no coincidence; I learned later that day that Hersi’s cousins were members of the gang responsible for hijacking the Victoria.
“Western warships, you know the NATO ships, all the European countries are just here to protect their own fishing ships,” he began. “These people are victims. We’re seeing a lot of diseases that never used to happen: skin diseases, cancer—Somalis never had that problem.” The crowd murmured its assent—yes, yes, cancer, they said.
“One thing we’re one hundred percent sure about is that they’re dumping a lot of things in the ocean, because every month we find new diseases that we never had before,” said Mohammad. “Also, there are a lot of fish and birds dying for no reason all along the coast. It’s been getting worse and worse over the last three years.”
“Even in Garowe, a lot of people refuse to eat fish from here because they’re worried about it being toxic,” my interpreter Omar interjected.
These claims were supported by an initial UN assessment mission sent to the Puntland coast in February 2005, which confirmed reports that the tsunami had stirred up tonnes