Land of the Gun

Warlords are once again on the verge of a major clash. But this showdown pits the interim president against members of his own Cabinet. Amid such animosity, can anything save Somalia?

MOGADISHU, Somalia - He is a star among Somali warlords.

Osman Hassan Ali Atto is a key character in Ridley Scott's film version of the book "Black Hawk Down." In the first scene Atto (played by George Harris) is captured by American Army Rangers. Understandably, he didn't care much for the movie.

"Military propaganda," he tells me during an interview at his Mogadishu compound, which is strewn with vehicle parts and heavy machinery.

His role in the movie does, however, illustrate the man's Gumby-like flexibility, shifting between roles that would leave most crying whiplash.

Atto's an operator at the most fundamental level. He's able to broker deals between competing interests or even with those he sometimes directly opposes -- as long they pay on time.

He's been a real estate speculator, an oilman, a construction contractor and a militia leader. Now he's the minister of public works in Somalia's interim government -- a government that he and other cabinet members are now threatening to go to war against.

"One single bullet," Atto says solemnly, "can ignite the old animosities, and at that point the fighting could start at any time."

Atto points the finger at Somalia's interim president, Abdullahi Yusuf Ahmed, whom he says has ambitions beyond the 2004 charter signed in Kenya that created the interim government. Atto says Yusuf is too closely aligned with longtime Somali nemesis Ethiopia.

And there are other major disputes. Among them, the decision by Yusuf not to set up the new government in Mogadishu, which he says still lacks basic security. He instead chose to operate out of Jowhar, a town closer to his own power base.

Like trash in the streets, rumors swirl in Mogadishu. Atto echoes some of them: that Yusuf has amassed a militia of 3,000 men and 100 technicals (pickups mounted with machine guns) ready to take the city and members of his mutinous cabinet, by force.

But a spokesman for the interim government, Abdirahman Yusuf Meygag, says the rumors are completely false.

"This is out of Atto's imagination," Meygag said in a recent Reuters wire report. "The government remains deeply focused and committed on seeking peaceful means to resolving disputes."

But Atto says he's not convinced.

"We are preparing ourselves to resist and I believe we have enough arms to defend ourselves," he says. "If Mr. Yusuf wants to renew the fighting between Somalis, he's quite welcome, but if he behaves like a decent individual -- he is president of this country -- there is room for him. But it's up to him to decide whichever way he wants."

The legacy of inter-clan fighting here has been as consistent as the waves pounding the Somali shoreline. Warlords like Mohammed Farrah Aidid, as well as both Yusuf and Atto, helped to overthrow Somali dictator Siad Barre in 1991.

Unable to agree on who would replace him, the warlords started fighting among themselves, plunging the nation into 14 years of chaos during which there has been no central government.

This anarchy, combined with bouts of famine and disease, has led to the deaths of almost one million people.

Habibo Hassan fled her home in southern Mogadishu during the fighting in 1993 and never went back. She's been living in a refugee camp with her six children since.

"Everything was destroyed," she says. "We had nothing to go back to."

Rumors of new clashes make her concerned again for the safety of her children.

Thirty-year-old Abdi Hashi sells Chinese-made electronics from a wooden stall in the Bakhaara Market. He says the potential for violence has hurt his business. He's lucky, he says, if he sells a few items a day -- bringing in the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars.

"It's not enough to take care of my three kids," he says. "If one of them gets sick and I have to buy medicine, then we go without a meal."

Abdi pulls out a 9 mm pistol from a bag at his feet.

"But if the fighting starts, I'll be ready," he says with confidence, proud to have at least a little control in his life.

"Which side will you fight on?" I ask.

"Neither," he says. "This is just for protection -- for me and my family."

If the fighting does begin again, however, opposing sides seem to agree Somalia's misery index could rise to a whole new level.

Turf battles between warlords are already a daily occurrence, with fights over income-generating commodities like roadblocks, guns, and most importantly, the supply of khat (the plant many Somali men chew for its stimulant qualities). With renewed fighting, turf battles could get even fiercer.

Ali Muhammed, deputy director of the International Red Cross-funded Medina Hospital in Mogadishu, shows me the triage board in the emergency room. Under the heading "weapons related injuries" there are at least five or six entries every day.

"When there are militia clashes," he says, "those numbers will go up to between 15 and 25 a day. It's all we can do to keep up with them."

As he finishes the sentence, orderlies push in a gurney with a blanket-covered body with only a hand exposed.

"One of the gunshot victims from last night," Ali tells me.

In the recovery ward, 24-year-old Abdul Khadir has a tube sticking out of the right side of his chest. The night before, he tells me, he was watching a football match on television at a local cafe when three men from a nearby village drove up and sprayed the crowd with gunfire. Five people were killed. He was the only survivor.

"This would not have happened if we had a government, some kind of security," he says.

With Somalia on the brink of fighting once again, people here are beginning to question whether the warlords and political leaders even want stability because they seem to profit so much from the chaos.

Atto insists he wants peace, despite beating the drums for war. He says only international intervention can stave off the violence.

"Somalia must be given a chance," he says. "Instead of letting us sink in the mud, the international community must assist Somalia."

The United States says it is the largest bilateral donor to the "Somali people," providing $30 million annually.

According to the State Department, the U.S. does not provide direct assistance to the transitional government because "it has not yet established itself as a functioning government inside Somalia."

On the diplomatic front,

"We are facing one of the most difficult conflicts in Africa," he said in a release after a recent trip.

Despite being a central player in the latest crisis, Atto begins to sound more conciliatory during our interview.

Perhaps it's a demonstration of that deal-making flexibility that has profited him so well in the past. Atto is a man whose life is summed up by the current juxtaposition of artillery shells next to a construction backhoe.

"I think there is hope," he says, "if the international community and Somalis decide they want to stop the fighting. If we establish a government with security, the gunmen will disappear in a minute."

Optimistic words from a man whose own gunmen nearby adjust the sights of an anti-aircraft gun mounted on a Toyota land cruiser.

--Corrected Sept 29, 2005, to clarify that George Harris played Atto in the movie "Black Hawk Down."

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