Perhaps it's the climate of Bossaso that draws you in - the hard unrelenting sun. Perhaps it's the landscape - barren, hard as the sun that bakes it. Perhaps it's Islam - as fixed and permanent as either of the above while providing a meaning, a framework, for comprehending both.
At 5 a.m., and half an hour later again, and then again, the visceral wail of the first Calling to Prayer tugs at the soul giving voice to its tormented earthly exile. Every morning. Just as surely as the sun rises. Every morning. It is a source of solace and comfort. It is a force that binds and provides cohesion while chaos threatens all else. It is a profoundly spiritual moment.
Then, the first sounds of rising humanity float up on the cooler morning air. Men, in particular, seem to have a lot of purpose at this hour. They can be seen walking along Bossaso's dusty streets vigorously brushing their teeth with toothbrush sticks, caday, while women fetch water, revive charcoal fires and busy themselves with the first household chores.
Children - dozy, bedraggled and often half naked - watch and absorb the certainties of their day and of their lives: this is how it was; this is how it is; this is how it will be.
There is little impulse to development in Somalia. Organisms that have evolved complex characteristics to survive in harsh environments do not lightly throw these off, for the slightest shift in the ecosystem can cause total havoc and bring about demise. The human ecosystem of the Somalis is a finely-balanced and successful one by any standard. So, who would be so foolish as to tamper with it? Not they!
Bossaso is its port and the port is Bossaso. The rest is semi-arid scrub, inhabited by real survivors: nomads, their camels, their cattle, sheep and goats. There are big markets for these animals just across the Gulf of Aden (Aden is a two-day trip away). Pilgrims to the Hadj in Mecca are fond of Somali livestock: it makes lean and flavoursome meat. Yemen and other Gulf states are also partial to meat from Somalia which is shipped on the hoof in stately dhows, from this desert port. It has been thus for centuries.
The port is modest but has, on average, a livestock monthly throughput of 200,000 head.
The monthly trading figures amount to an impressive $1 million but it has unlimited potential. What is lacking is tug-boat capability, which seriously inhibits major shipping. Livestock represent 85 per cent of Bossaso's exports through the port. However, environmentalists and agronomists have pondered the advisability of rapid expansion here. There is a sense that Somalis alone know the carrying capacity of their land. Over-grazing has been known to cause serious problems in an environment as precarious and fragile as this.
In November 1996, the Chamber of Commerce opened its doors. It has five sectors: commerce; industry; agriculture; handcraft; and services. It is headed up by a typical son of the area. Omar Abdulahi Sheikh Osman studied chemical engineering in Mogadishu, worked in the sugar industry in southern Somalia until the war got the better of him, when he went abroad to work in Saudi Arabia and Libya. He eventually returned to Bossaso and in 1992, became one of the five permanent members of the regional assembly. The 21 members of the chamber's Board of Directors meets once a month and the membership (70) meets every quarter.
Apart from livestock, ". . . frankincense brings in approximately $150 million per year," Omar explains.
Frankincense! The summation of all things mystical and exotic to the Christian ear. Gold, frankincense and myrrh. Gifts for a king. The resin oozes from the trunk of two rare kinds of tree, boswellia sacra and frereana which grow high up in inaccessible reaches of the mountains behind Bossaso. Some 50,000 people are engaged in growing, harvesting, sorting, and exporting the crystalline sap. Depending on quality, it fetches from between $15 and $50 a kilo in Saudia.
From there, who knows what price it can command.
From exotic to weird, Bossaso does not disappoint: "We export shark fins to Hong Kong," Omar blithely announces. "The fins, the whole fins, and nothing but the fins. We have no facilities to take the whole fish," he says with evident pain at both the environmental and economic loss implicit. They are damned for lack of proper infrastructure in the form of freezer vessels, processing factories, electricity supply, and even air transport.
Commercial artists are finding business booming, too. Their talents are solicited for a range of burgeoning private enterprises which need to promote their services to a largely illiterate population. This gives rise to the most colourful street art to be found anywhere. Restaurants and pharmacies - often next to one another and sharing the one proprietor - specialise in naive stilllifes of the dishes or tablets on offer. The names of the establishments are often described in lettering ressembling palm trees which in turn have the trompe l'oeil effect of reflecting desert scenes. It is entirely cheery.
At around 5 p.m., the dead heat of the day begins to abate. At this hour, it is pleasant to take in street life. The men are at their most loquacious and philosophical now, the tea-shop warriors at their most indignant. Hanging out sipping tea and chewing qat (amphetime leaf and ancient stimulant of these parts), their elegance of posture is impossible to emulate. Whether reclining on the ground or seated in a modern plastic garden/cafe chaise, the men effect the easy equilibrium of an anglepoise lamp. It has to do with the long femur and shin bones, the proportion of one to the other, an arm casually draped over a knee, a long bony hand dangling free in the 45 centigrade heat. Flowing clothing and turbans with tails complete the languid tableau.
Granted, unless involved in the port, the men have little else to do since the war. Or they have got used to indolence since the women stepped in to fill the gap by petty trading. A Somali friend notes that the women's tone of voice has changed: they are giving the orders now and controlling the domestic economy.
To the Western ear, the Somali language sounds like a permanent family row anyway and conversations always involve subtle brow movements ranging from the merely quizzical to the glower, rounded off with a blast of laughter. It has only found a written form since 1972 when former dictator Siad Barre chose the Roman alphabet to represent its phonemes.
Literacy, therefore is a very new concept. While children always learnt to read, recite and write the Koran in ancient Arabic, they generally had no other schooling, despite a literacy campaign in 1974 and the institution of free education. Expansionist dreams undermined educational efforts and soon the education system collapsed. Today, UNICEF is introducing elements of a primary curriculum into some Koranic schools, including maths and Somali. The Koranic boards used by the children are rough planks of cedar wood which they cradle in the left arm. Using a sharpened stick for a pen, the children dip their sticks in ink made from charcoal and with extraordinary skill inscribe the boards in the caligraphy of the Prophet. It is beautiful.
Water for Somalis - biyo, no doubt derived from the Greek bio meaning life - is life. It is also death. The history of Somalia and its people is a harsh one based on the fight for access to and control over this most precious and scarce resource. Before the advent of modern technology and the drilling of boreholes, Somalis survived on surface water and water deposits just below the surface of the earth. The country boasts only two perennial rivers and they are in the southern regions. However, the aquifer is generous, sufficient to meet the needs of today's population of between five and six million people.
But again a problem arises if rapid expansion were to take place in Somalia. Would the subterranean deposits be able to satisfy such growth? Water use is a supreme Somali art form today but the demands of industry or urbanisation could upset a very finely tuned balance, a balance which is in the thrifty Somali genes and which perhaps explains a certain indifference to development.
Women, of course, welcome the arrival of water distribution points in Bossaso. UNICEF has lightened the burden of their particular chore by installing a townwide network of handpumps providing uncontaminated water which reduces the possibility of death from bad water, one of the primary causes of the high child mortality rate in Somalia, dramatically.
However, the water often gets contaminated in transit or in the home and this is where the next water war is taking place. Posteya Said Yusef (43) is the niece of Col Abdullahi Yusef, one of the region's most renowned leaders, and she is out there leading the battle against contaminated water. Chairwoman of the Somali Reunification Women's Union, a group which has played a significant role in ending internecine feuding, she currently organises a home chlorination campaign to prevent cholera and other waterborne diseases. UNICEF delivers the chlorine to her organisation and the women and some men redistribute it into small sachets of 4-6mgs.
Night falls, and the soul is once again reminded of the order of things with the Calling to Prayer.
And life goes on. High life now. Bossaso's 60-odd video parlours gear up for another packed house. The video parlours are no more than dusty patches of land cordonned off by branches jammed into the ground and sparsely interwoven with bits of plastic, cardboard, sacking and old clothes. No roof, of course. Inside, rickety benches with a capacity for about 200 posteriors are ranged in front of a 24-inch TV and video set perched high up on an equally rickety stand.
Outside Sagal Video, eager patrons examine the lurid poster of bleeding hearts suggestive of the delights in store in Lovebirds. "Don't miss tonight" is slashed across the notice in Somali.
At Mohammed Abdi Italiani's multiplex TV and video, the choice is stupendous. Here a discerning audience can view the BBC or CNN news all night. Facing the opposite way, but jammed up beside the English speakers, Arabic-speaking viewers can watch the news from the Gulf, Lebanon or Egypt on another TV. And beside this crowd again and facing the same way are the football freaks and Indian romance devotees. One can promenade between all three, of course, and all for the same 12 US cents.
Outside the multiplex, and part of the same enterprise, is a teashop with 10 gaming tables where the patrons play a 13-card game. Gambling is forbidden in Islam so no money is involved. Loss at the tables is publicised by streaking the face with charcoal ash for public humiliation. The ash is strategically located on the ground under the table where the dejected loser can easily dip his finger. The surprise arrival of gal (foreigners, infidels) on the scene unleashed peals of laughter and derision and much pointing at the mortified men having a bad streak.
They will play well on into the night enjoying the relief from the heat, going with the flow of nature, as they have always done. As they probably must always do. It is Allah's design.