When it’s Time to Go 

A large van speeds down a dusty road headed towards Jijiga. Swarms of people trudge in the direction of Somalia. Some walk with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and some with their entire lives stuffed into a potato sack. Most are young men and teenagers fleeing the chaos that has erupted behind them.

“Stop. Stop!” shouts Khalid. He opens the passenger door. “Imran!” A teenage boy in a Pelé jersey walking against the crowd looks up towards him. Khalid is sweating furiously, his singlet stained with sweat and dirt, the droplets on his forehead spawning one after another, his denim jeans as dirty as his singlet. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” replies the teenage boy.

“Haven’t you heard? There’s no home for rebels anymore,” Khalid laughs to himself, the teenage boy unamused. “Where are you coming from?” Imran doesn’t answer. Another boy, younger than him, almost 13 years old, catches up to him. “Yasin!”

The two boys look to the ground regretfully. In their eyes, they’ve been caught. After their mother left for Dire Dawa, knowing her travels could last as long as two, even three weeks, the brothers saw an opportunity for a quick expedition. A passenger begins complaining from the back of the van. The driver calls out to Khalid. “We can’t wait any longer. Are they coming or not?”

Whether she’ll understand or not, Khalid’s afraid to make a decision that might come back to haunt him. He knows their mother very well, in fact, he has much respect for Hasanat and her family. He jumps out from the van, walks over to the two boys, and crouches down in front of them. “We cannot go back home now. Not you, not me. Your mum asked me to take you somewhere safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imran. You’re the big brother, yeah? You need to be a man now. We will come back together when it’s safe. Get inside now. We need to go.” Khalid guides the two boys into the van. They’re greeted with the curious eyes of those that have already entered and found their seats.  Khalid returns to the passenger seat and prays he made the right choice.

As soon as Hasanat enters the gates of her neighbourhood, there’s a crowd of women outside the intersection that leads to her home awaiting her. Before she can get out of the car with her bags, Amina Abdosh grabs her by the shoulders and asks her to brace herself. “Listen, two of your boys have not come home for a while. We can’t find them anywhere.”

Hasanat spends the next three days searching for her boys all over town without a moment’s rest. She walks down every alleyway, knocks on every door, she looks in every room and cupboard, looking for a trace of them. She’s a patient woman, but the thought of not knowing is just too much. She doesn’t sleep, she doesn’t eat; she must find them.

Amina and a few of the neighbourhood women conclude they must check the places the foreign soldiers have taken as their own. If there’s one place that hasn’t been searched, it’s there; the jails, the army houses, the places they frequent, the places everyone avoids. They pray into the night for Imran and Yasin’s return.

“Hasanat Abdullahi Fethi-yo! Hasanat Abdullahi Fethi-yo!” a woman calls her name as she marches through the marketplace.

“Stop your yelling!” barks Malika Mahdi. “What do you want with her? You will talk to me first!”

“I have word for her and only her. Take me to her!”

“Who are you!” From first glance, Malika knows she’s not a local woman. She whispers to her daughter in Harari to bring Hasanat, certain the woman cannot understand her tongue.

Within minutes Hasanat, Amina Abdosh, and an entourage of neighbourhood women gather in the marketplace.

“Go on, speak! They’re her relatives,” yells Malika, smirking, confident that she’s concealed Hasanat’s identity.

The woman scans the crowd and immediately locks eyes with Hasanat. “Mother of Imran and Yasin, I have word from Khalid Musa.” Hasanat immediately steps forward, the name carrying hope of good news. “He told me to tell you: Your boys are safe. Imran and Yasin are with me. I will take them to Djibouti where my blood relatives will care for them until we decide what to do next. I thought it was the best thing to do.”