The Pirates of Somalia_ Inside Their Hidden World - Jay Bahadur [86]
“That’s the real problem,” Hussein Hersi said. “Fish can be replaced, but twenty years from now these people are going to have a lot of problems. Even if they get millions from piracy, it doesn’t pay back what they have lost.”
The millions had come recently, though the townspeople could again come to no agreement about when the attacks on commercial vessels began. The numbers flew at me: “ ’95; no, no, ’99,” the voices argued. A consensus was reached: by 1999, illegal fishing ships had become too tough to handle, arming themselves with anti-aircraft guns and other heavy weaponry. But it was not until 2007, according to the townspeople, that attacks on commercial shipping began in force.
And was Boyah the leader? A round of laughter rippled through the crowd.
“Yes, yes,” many exclaimed in unison, except for Aaul Mohammad, the sole dissenter: maya, no, he said. “Leader, no. Member,” he added in English.
“They didn’t have a leader at first, but Boyah just naturally took on that role over time,” Abdirizak said.
“He’s the one who first put the idea in their heads,” added Hussein Hersi.
In those early days, the pirates had been welcomed in the local community. “They were heroes at that time. We encouraged them. Now it’s out of control, and we’re not happy with them,” said Abdirizak. “They drive up all the local prices for everything, especially for food.” One farr—about half a kilogram—of khat cost twice in Eyl what it did in Garowe.
“Also, it’s against our religion. We’re too ashamed to support them,” said Abdul.
Another reason for the townspeople’s recent hostility was that pirate operations had been increasingly taken over by outsiders. “The pirates here now all come from somewhere else,” said Mohammad. “They’re not allowed to come into the town, or people will get angry. The pirates don’t want to study, they just want quick money. People here don’t want their children mixing with the pirates, exposed to such bad role models. They want their kids to grow up with good behaviour, to study.”
Perhaps they had forgotten, I suggested, about the good example that Boyah had set by giving a portion of his earnings as charity to the local poor. This set off another round of laughter.
“The only person he ever gave charity to was himself,” someone said.
“We don’t even want Boyah to talk to us,” added Abdi Hersi.
“If they had brought money here, you would see it. Take a walk around the town, go into every house if you want,” said Abdirizak.
The discussion turned to Boyah’s recent coast guard aspirations, and I asked if the people of Eyl believed he was fit for the job. A huge clamour of nos rippled through the crowd.
“But that’s not our business. That’s up to the government,” said Abdirizak.
Was Boyah serious about his desire to reform? I asked.
“Yes, yes, he is serious,” came the universal response.
“But we can’t give him a job,” said Mohammad. “That has to come from the government.”
I could not resist asking one final question: What had Boyah been like as a child?
“He was a good boy,” said Abdi Hersi, smiling. “He wasn’t that well educated, but he was a really good fisherman.”
* * *
With my impromptu town meeting accomplished, I decided to turn my attention to another goal: getting on board the Victoria. For the past few weeks, I had been shooting footage for CBS News with a small hand-held video camera. No Western journalist had yet been able to get a camera on board a hostage ship, but I intended to try. The difficulty lay in making direct contact with the gang; the pirates, despised by the local community, were lying low. My only potential foot in the door was a pirate who went by