Last time when I was in Garowe, Puntland, I was met by a choir. In Kismayo, they didn’t even know I was coming. There was no one waiting for me. There were no dancers. It was like a normal day to them. I was so disappointed. But, I go ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.
I wish it had a different beginning, but they are all the same. Have you woken up, dressed, rushed out of the house arrived at the check in counter three hours before departure and are told, no sir, the aircraft is fully booked, come tomorrow? I had to go through several emotions from shock all the way to disbelief. You see, there was no way I was going back to my house. I had told everyone their byes till we see each other again. I wasn’t going to buy the nonsense of an overbooked flight, no, not that morning. To cut the short story long, I called the agent and told him I must be in a flight to Mogadishu. I went and that’s why I am telling you this story.
There is the interesting story of me running across the terminal at Aden Abdulle Airport, but this is story for another day. Or the man who started snoring before he could finish eating the light breakfast served in the plane or how close we were to being shot.