The land that never was

Sometimes I think the land thing is a bit odd. Borders have been shifting throughout history for no other reason than some king's or queen's need or obsession with ruling over it. "Sphere of interest" to use an euphemism. And the people in those countries have just become one. And in some cases, even if the people of an area are de facto their own country, nobody recognizes them as one. As with the country I am writing these words in now, Somaliland. 

I had problems finding info for whatever I searched for, since every time I searched for info about how to get in, I was always referred to Somalia. The name Somaliland is a remnant of the colonial era when men sat around in sigar-filled room (I imagine) and decided which country should own which part of Africa. Who cares what the people living there wants.

Long story short, Somaliland became part of Somalia after the colonialists left. But the military dictator in Somalia didn't much like the people in that part of their country, and decided to bomb them back to the stone ages. So 18th of May 1991, Somaliland declared independence. And they have been a de facto separate country since then. But nobody recognizes them as such. So on any map of the horn of Africa, they don't exist. Only Somalia. So when people have asked me where I was going, I made sure to point out I was going to SomaliLAND, not SomaliA. Big difference. They have a functioning government, they have had peace through the years and they, unlike SomaliA, have successfully arrested and sentenced pirates in the bay of Aden. 

So, that's the pre-story. Now for my current trip.

I love Africa, have been here multiple times, and was looking forward to going yet again. This time to a place I didn't even know existed until a few years ago. And I decided that I wanted to go there this year. Much because it didn't "exists" officially, but also because I wanted to see one of the main sights here. Laas Geel. 

Laas Geel is a place where people have lived for thousands of years, and they have left their mark on the landscape by leaving behind wall paintings in bright colors. Depicting what they saw. I am looking forward to seeing that.

The main problem with getting into Somaliland was that in order to get a visa (which I as a European could get on the border), I might need an "invitation" from people or businesses in Somaliland. And as mentioned before, finding stuff in Somaliland was not easy. So I stressed a lot about finding something or someone willing to give me send me an invitation letter. But as I mentioned before, I "might" need it. I had read reports online that they don't always care. And I was unable to get anybody to send me any letter. Not my hotel, not the tour company I tried unsuccessfully to book with. So the day before I left, I still had no letter of invitation. Only some emails from the hotel and a tour company. I was hoping and praying that it would be enough if they asked for any documentation.

Morning over Africa

International airport in Hargeisa. Not exactly giant hub

A bit uneasy, I got on the flight via Addis Ababa to Hargeisa. The capital of Somaliland. And with "Soulshine" by Allman Brothers blasting in my ear, we landed at Egal International airport in Hargeisa. The airport looked like a local airport in a small town in Norway. I packed my things and walked down the airstairs. The strong breeze made me grab for my hat to avoid it flying off my head. I entered the door marked "Arrivals" and as the only white person on the plane they pointed me to the visa desk. I walked over and handed the guy my passport. He started punching in some info. "Where is your invitation letter?" he asked. My heart sank. But unfaced, I pulled out all my email printouts and handed him one. He looked at it and nodded. Sweet relief. Then he looked at the visa application form I had in my hand. "You need to fill out that form!". I pulled out my pen and filled it out while he served other passengers from other countries. After I had finished, I gave it to him, and he hammered on his computer. And then stamped my passport. I was allowed in! Miracles still do happen... I paid my $60 visa fee and walked on to the baggage hall. 

The short baggage belt could only hold so many suitcases, so some guys where busy pulling them off and placing them in a "holding area" a bit away. In the end, my backpack arrived. I pulled it off the belt before the guys could take it. And walked towards the exit. There, some guys checked the tags on the suitcases against the tags on their tickets. They just waved me through. There is a weird respect for white guys in many parts of Africa. As if we never do anything wrong. Despite our history on the continent... Anyways. I walked outside in the scorching heat. And waited for the driver that was supposed to meet me from the hotel. But after standing in the heat for 40 minutes, I gave up and took a taxi. A young guy in his Toyota drove me through the city to my hotel, while discussing my travels around the world. Obviously something he wanted to do, but likely never will get a chance to. I try never to loose sight of how fortunate I am.

"Bad in city center now!" he said. "I will take you through shortcut". I later realized he was talking about "rush-hour" in Hargeisa. Where the local traffic cops where trying their best to keep people in line. But not very successful at that. Causing complete lockups where people basically just sit in their cars honking. Hoping somebody will move. 

As we were closing in on my hotel, we got into the jam ourselves. At one point, my driver started talking to a guy in the car next to us. And waved him through. "Police Head Officer" he later explained. He was stuck in traffic like the rest of us. After a long, hot and dusty drive through the suburbs, we finally arrived at my hotel. I paid the driver and walked into a checkpoint boot. An old guy sat there and demanded to see the contents of my bags. He was satisfied after he had run his "beeper" along my bags. I was allowed into the hotel. 

I didn't bother asking them about the driver they were supposed to send. But they did find my reservation. And then came payment. "No cards. Only cash. You can withdraw money from the ATM over there!". In the corner of the lobby was an ATM. Where I could withdraw US dollars. They have their own currency, but they prefer dollars or, surprisingly, digital payment. Even people on the market accept digital payment. A local thing many countries here uses.

One of the receptionists showed me to my room and demonstrated how to operate the fossit in the sink... And then I was alone. Tired and sweaty, I threw off my shoes and my pants, and jumped onto the bed. And "passed out". It had been a long trip.

Ragnar

Traveler with providence