Picture this: landing on a single-lane tarmac, the plane parked on a two-football field patch of concrete. Then, walking down stairs attached to a car to get the passengers off. A dozen men are all scattered, pointing to a building that is attached to a ten-foot fence around it. Picture walking into a dimly lit room. People are lined up for a man in front of four glass panels in front of him. Your group then walks to another line where a man who looks like he’s selling lemonade is sitting. You all slowly go through the line, person by person, feeling nerves and stress as you collectively question if you will get in this country. You approach the man, pass him your passport, look at the camera, and go on through. Your group pays your visa fee and then are given access through a man dressed in a military guard uniform, a rifle in hand, not seeming to care where it was pointed. You walk past him, the first of hundreds of men like this. Your group enter a room the size of a classroom. A group of men throw luggage from a belt going in circles. You grab your things, then walk past two more armed guards. You are now standing in a parking lot in Somaliland. Here we go.

Somaliland was wild, driving through the desert with absolute barren sand, then seeing a few camels and some brush once in a while. Suddenly, we’d hit a city where people seemed to be fighting over space, as each section of land was crammed with people and things. The roads have no patterns or direction. It’s either get hit or get out of the way while driving. We drove to the entrance of the hotel as our car was being bomb-checked. Then the hotel employees went through each of our bags and luggage to check for weapons, drugs and other prohibited items. Our stay at the hotel was brief, as we then traveled through the desert escorted by police vehicle to the beach town Berbera. The drive was long and we passed camels and small towns. Houses were made up from garbage bags and scrap metal. The locals in these villages spoke no English and were deeply afraid at first. We stopped so our drivers could pray at the local mosque.  As we arrived at our next location, the sun was setting and we were staring out into the Arabian Sea. A desert next to waves– a complete oddity to me. A beach that as you looked down you couldn’t see the end.

Our hotel was fenced off with 24-hour security that scanned us every time we entered the facility. The main guests were Europeans hired by the United Nations who were there for weeks at a time to teach the local police and scuba diver instructors. Our purpose was to teach the locals how to surf. We were invited by the tourist board of Somaliland and that’s why we were able to enter the country. The country was confusing, a third world country that wasn’t recognized by the world as a country yet. It is sttill fundamentally undeveloped in areas like hygiene, plumbing, food, structure of buildings, and many other things. Parts of the country was trying hard to be modern and Western, but once you leave a building or shop you realize you are in an impoverished nation. The people there were traditionally Muslims. Islam was there culture. Women were at the shops, but stayed mostly indoors or at home. The men would pray five times a day. Carpets and washing stations were put everywhere for this practice of kneeling down and praying to Allah, as the speakers through the city shouted their prayers. The men would go on their phones all day as they laid around waiting to do something. Police, security guards, store workers, and people with most other occupations did nothing all day. Khat is a local drug that is very prominent throughout Asia and Africa. The plant is green and is chewed on, people’s mouths full of it as it drooled out of them. Over time it causes teeth to rot and become brown and black. The drug is about a few days’ wages. It is a hallucinogenic and causes extreme zombie-like symptoms, such as mumbling, swaying back and forth, laziness, and erratic behavior in some cases. It causes the user to be immobile for days afterwards.  It’s against Islam to practice this as well as the consumption of alcohol, which would be done inside people’s homes. The people justified it, that it wasn’t bad as long as it didn’’t affect their bodies permanently. The reason people use it in Somaliland is from boredom and a lack of resources to do anything else.

We returned to the beach the first day to teach the locals to surf. Our first interaction with anyone was a local football (soccer) team that would practice early hours of the day because of the extreme heat any other time. They would eventually start joining us everyday by running into the water straight from their practice. No swimming gear, all in the football outfits they were using earlier, they would go straight into the water, with pounds of weight holding them down while trying to stay afloat. The first problem we encountered was that none of these people knew how to swim. They were living beside an ocean their whole lives, but never knowing how to stay afloat. Because of the lack of resources for swimming safety and from them being very thin and not strong, swimming was a bad idea. Several people drowned in the ocean we were swimming in a week prior, causing extreme fear from the local authorities about what we were doing. Several guards on our first day came running out telling all the men to get out of the water for fear of drowning. We then had to reassure him of our abilities to swim and teach these men. One morning, as we were swimming and trying to get these men on a board without falling off or pushing each other off, a man looked at me and said “Teach me to swim.” It was a profound statement, as I had never been asked by a man such a basic ability. So I got him to start doing basic movement with his arms and legs as best he could for never attempting before. I left realizing that we were moving too fast and these people needed to know how to swim first, and that I don’t have the qualification to do that but we need people who do. This was the first time on the trip that I realized the need for us to regularly commit to return and teach basic skills.

The locals were always friendly with me. I brought a skateboard along the trip which was an easy tool to meet new people. Cars pulled over with people asking to try it. Kids ran up to me to try, cops and local shop owners were all interested. It was the best tool for people to start talking with me. They were all eager to get on as they held tight to my hands with their knees wobbling, and they would eventually fall over or jump out of fear. The English was hard, but basic conversation, facial expressions, or waving my hands in the air helped me communicate. We would meet locals all the time asking us, “Where are you from? What are you doing here? How long will you stay?” We ended up surfing with many people, as fortunately the waves were quite small and easy to teach on.

Spiritual warfare was quite noticeable, as each morning I would wake up feeling disgusting and with the Islamic prayers shouting from the speaker. I would have thoughts of doubt and question why I was there. I had a feeling of failure and being sick in the morning. It would always lead to me praying, reading the Bible and sitting in silence. As a result, each time that would mean the day would be full of life and open doors. The entire trip was a consistent reminder of God opening the path for us. As we entered the country with invitation letters, we received them hours before flying in. We were invited by government officials and put into the most luxurious hotels this country had to offer. We were given special treatment at some restaurants from our relationships with these people. 

I had several experiences that I will remember from this trip for probably the rest of life. The first one was me almost getting shot by some locals. We were walking on a beach which had a lighthouse on it. The beach was mostly empty aside from some buildings that were falling apart. A road had been recently put in and our driver took us there for the beautiful views. We walked along the beach, chasing crabs and seeing some eels and other water life. I started to explore one of the buildings that was abandoned. It was a two-story cement building. No fancy architecture, just grey cement walls. The roof looked nice so I decided to enter the building. As I walked inside and took a turn, suddenly I was staring at a man with a rifle in his hand and a tent beside him where he was sleeping. I completely froze, stared at him and thought “OH NO!”. I then turned my body and walked as fast as I could outside of that building. Before I knew it, the man was chasing me and another man came out of the building as well with a gun he was waving around. Apparently a team member of mine told me that a man chasing me turned his gun around and was in the position to hit me aside with it. As I ran out of this building, I realized now the potential of a gun fight or just them shooting me or someone else. Our main guide went up to the gentleman and controlled the situation while other of my colleagues attempted to explain our exploration of waves and we meant no harm. I attempted to shake the hand of the man who was chasing me, but my tour guide pushed me back, insisting I go back to the car as I had made enough trouble. That’s the story of me almost getting shot.

During the trip I was meditating on the verses in the Bible about going out to the nations to preach the gospel, heal the sick, and cast out demons. As we were going to potentially an extreme country, my doubts were kicking in on what I actually believed. And was this applicable to me. On the third day we were there, I had a dream. I was standing on a cement ground looking out into the desert. A girl beside me said “Look, there’s Jesus”. Three men were walking towards us from a distance. They came up passing me and went behind me. I couldn’t see the face of the gentlemen beside the man in the middle. They were all wearing white. As I saw the face of the middle man, I thought to myself “That man sure looks like the guy who played Jesus in that show I watched.” The men walked to the front of the platform we were standing on. A building was behind them with a gentleman sitting, watching over. The men started to act out the Bible in front of us. As time went on, the progression of stories were presented. One thing I kept asking myself is, “He looks like Jesus, but he didn’t have the holes in his hands. Where were the holes?” I waited for his performance of the Bible to then somehow react to the cross and then I would see the holes be put into his hands and I would know. I waited and then I realized, why not just go ask this dude? I walk up to him and his friends and then I suddenly fell over. I fell to my face on my knees and was weeping with joy. The holiness of this man was so powerful it hit me and couldn’t contain it. My eyes were pouring with tears. It continued on for two waves of crying and sobbing. I kept saying “I need to know, I need to know. Is this the Messiah?” I woke up. I sat from my bed and was so frustrated and mad. I wanted to know what this man was? Was this Jesus Christ? I left that dream confused and sad. Later on as I write this I do believe it was him. It is a mystery though that I won’t find out until death.

We frequented a coffee shop because of the air conditioning. The climate caused us to stay inside from around 11am to 3pm because of the extreme heat. I met the manager of the shop. He was easy to talk to and knew English very well. He was a young guy who had worked there since he was 16. He was the eldest of many siblings and was learning as much as he could to go overseas and learn. Unfortunately, unless you went overseas, gaining any money to support your family was very limited. People in this country were all excited and amazed by where I came from, all wanting a better life. Unless you grew up learning English and then going to school somewhere to get you out of the country, your options were sadly limited. I ended up going back to the shop and talking to the manager extensively. We talked about religion which he was open to. He wasn’t afraid to share differing ideas because he believed his religion Islam was the one. He was convinced he couldn’t be converted from Islam to anything else because he knew the truth. I, on the other hand, believed the same. Tell me about Mohammad? I would ask him. And I would tell him about Christ. We mostly shared similar views on fearing God and not conforming to the new ways of the world. We both wanted to be providers for our families one day and work hard at what we did. I ended up leaving with his contact and believe if I ever go back we will see each other again. 

This trip to Somaliland was extremely eye-opening and the most odd place I have ever traveled to. I do believe I will go back one day. The country is currently on the verge to be recognized as a nation. I’m thankful I was able to go and will hopefully see some of the people I met one day again.