‘It was either killed or be killed’ – ongoing nightmares of an ex-child soldier in Somalia

The Conflict’s Roots and the Rise of Political Islam

It was either killed or be killed – The Islamist insurgency that gripped Somalia nearly two decades ago reshaped the nation’s political landscape, bringing with it a wave of violence that left deep scars on its people. When Yusuf Ali, a 34-year-old shopkeeper, was just 14, the Sharia courts—a coalition of religious authorities—seized control of the capital, Mogadishu, marking a turning point in the country’s history. This shift brought a semblance of order to a land fractured by clan-based warfare since the collapse of President Siad Barre’s regime in 1991. However, the Union of Islamic Courts (UIC) also heralded a new era, as it became the first political Islamist movement to establish a foothold on the African continent since al-Qaeda’s 9/11 attacks. Despite its promise of stability, the UIC quickly became a target of international skepticism, particularly in Washington, where its ties to al-Qaeda were suspected. Its militant youth wing, al-Shabab, or “The Lads,” emerged as a symbol of the conflict’s brutality, with fighters often drawn from the same neighborhoods that had long suffered under war.

Yusuf Ali’s Turbulent Youth and the Shadow of War

Yusuf Ali’s journey into the conflict began with the loss of his father, who perished during the infamous “Battle of Mogadishu” in 1993. At the time, the battle had drawn global attention for its chaotic clashes between Somali fighters and U.S. troops, an event that left many families in the north of the city broken. Ali, then just one year old, grew up in the impoverished district of Huriwaa, where the sounds of war were a constant backdrop. By the age of 14, he found himself enlisted in the UIC’s ranks, a decision that would alter the course of his life. The city, though gradually rebuilding, offered little respite to those like Ali who carried the trauma of their experiences. Resources for psychological recovery were scarce, leaving many former child soldiers to navigate their memories in silence.

The Ethiopian Invasion and Its Aftermath

In December 2006, Ethiopian forces launched a military operation to oust the UIC, a move supported by American drones that scanned the city’s neighborhoods for insurgent activity. The invasion, though initially effective, sparked widespread resentment among Somalis, who viewed it as an external imposition on their sovereignty. Al-Shabab, along with its allies—the Muqawama, or “Resistance”—mounted fierce resistance, turning Mogadishu into a battleground once more. The relentless fighting between Ethiopian troops and local fighters created an environment where civilians were caught in the crossfire, and young people, including Ali, were increasingly drawn into the conflict. For Ali, the invasion was a catalyst for a deeper immersion into the war, as he witnessed the destruction of his neighborhood and the growing desperation of his people.

Haunting Memories and the Weight of Survival

Ali’s most vivid recollections come from the nights of intense shelling that characterized the war’s peak. “At night, I’d often hear a buzzing sound. I was in secondary school and didn’t realise it then, but these were planes surveilling our neighbourhood,” he tells the BBC. The sound of planes, once a distant threat, became an ominous presence that haunted his sleep. By 2007, the fighting had escalated, with heavy artillery targeting densely populated areas suspected of harboring rebels. One particularly harrowing night stands out in his mind: “On one of the nights, a large barrage of shells hit our area and some of them struck our neighbour’s house. Our house shook and I felt like the soil under my feet had moved—then I started hearing screams,” he recalls. Amid the chaos, Ali saw a lifeless body, a young girl of his own age, motionless and bloodstained. “Someone aimed a torch and I saw blood stains and a body lying nearby. A young girl that looked around my age, but she wasn’t moving. I’ve seen death, but nothing prepared me for that night,” he says, his voice trembling with the weight of memory.

From Soldier to Survivor: The Psychological Toll

Ali’s transformation from a passive child to an active combatant was swift. By 16, he was part of a group of young fighters trained by the Muqawama, a coalition of splinter groups that united to resist Ethiopian and Somali forces. The training was intense, with lessons in small arms and hit-and-run tactics that blurred the lines between combat and civilian life. “We practised hit-and-run attacks,” he explains, his words tinged with both pride and unease. Yet, the reality of war was far more brutal than the drills suggested. Many of his targets were fellow young soldiers, some of whom had joined the transitional government’s ranks to fight alongside Ethiopian troops. “Street by street, from windows and doorways, we were firing on Ethiopian soldiers and the Somali soldiers with them,” he says. “At times I’d find myself shooting… and as we advanced and noticed a dead [Somali] soldier was around my age, I paused but then would keep moving because the fighting was so intense.” This mantra—”It was either killed or be killed”—became a defining philosophy for those caught in the conflict, a cause that demanded sacrifice without hesitation.

The Legacy of War and the Path to Healing

By 2009, Mogadishu had been reduced to rubble, with the war’s devastation leaving countless children orphaned and communities fractured. Ali’s experience mirrored that of thousands, as the streets he once fought in now echoed with the cries of the displaced. The transitional government, backed by the UN and Western allies, sought to restore order, but its legitimacy was often contested by those who viewed its collaboration with Ethiopia as a betrayal. Ali, like many others, struggled to reconcile his role as a killer with his identity as a survivor. The trauma of witnessing death and participating in it lingered long after the guns fell silent, shaping his nightmares and his sense of self. “It was either killed or be killed,” he repeats, a phrase that encapsulates the dichotomy of his existence. For Ali, the path to healing remains uncertain, as the memories of his youth continue to haunt him in the quiet moments of his life.

A Nation in Ruins and the Cost of Conflict

The Ethiopian invasion, while successful in dismantling the UIC, also exposed the vulnerabilities of a nation caught in a cycle of violence. International scrutiny grew as reports of civilian casualties and the use of heavy weaponry in urban areas emerged. For Ali, the conflict was not just a political struggle but a personal reckoning. His early exposure to war left him grappling with guilt and fear, questions that linger in his mind even as he tries to rebuild his life. The streets of Mogadishu, once the backdrop of his childhood, now serve as a reminder of the cost of survival. As he walks through the city, the echoes of gunfire and the sight of crumbling buildings remind him of the lives lost and the choices made. “I was a soldier then, but I’m not sure who I am now,” he muses, a sentiment that reflects the broader struggle of those who lived through Somalia’s turbulent years. The conflict may have ended, but for Ali and others like him, the fight for mental peace continues, a battle as enduring as the one that shaped their lives.