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As he sat on the terraces of the stadium, Bashir thought about the problem at hand. This was a problem that was eating at his head for sometime now. He had grown broke as a result of his many escapades the previous week in what he now termed an unknown destination. He had come to the place with very high hopes, hopes of prosperity and a better life. Nothing prepared him for the kind of life he now lived. Bashir had left his home country of Sudan in the thick of the politically instigated violence in Darfur region. He would just have moved to another part of the Horn of Africa country had it not been for his boss who encouraged him to emigrate to Somali, a country alleged to have viable opportunities.
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Mr. Abdenoor, Bashir's boss, was a very persuasive person. It was his convincing mouth and sweet tongue that wooed Bashir to this now terrible place.
"Considering your hardworking personality and resilience at work, I feel that you ought to get the opportunity to manage our company's stake in that part of the region. I know you are fit to the task ," Mr. Abdenoor's words continued sounding in Bashir's head as tears welled up in his eyes, even as he began chewing at his very dry pancake.
Bashir stopped his reverie and looked up to see small children running after one another as they left the stadium. He felt a deep ache within him as he remembered his two lovely children and their mother back in Sudan. He felt an emptiness that made him long to embrace his family once again. He had been made to believe that his wife and children would be brought to join him in Somali in a matter of days. This was not to happen as the truth of what was happening started to dawn on him. It was something that had been preplanned and executed without him getting wind of it. He had been sent away as a prisoner of war to a militia group. This he did not know until after a week in the new country. He eavesdropped a conversation between the people that were hosting him.
"The Master says the dude only has two days to fatten up before he is sworn in as a life member of Al Qairat....." one of the voices seemed to say
"Ayee," the other one asserted, "the nigga has lots of brains to assist the gang!"
The same day Bashir took whatever he could and took off, not knowing where to go. He took all the money he had and then journeyed to a different town, a town totally unknown to him. He went and put up in a lodging for a while hoping that a miracle would happen and that he would somehow get back to Sudan. However, this was not to happen. Everything else came to a standstill after he discovered he had no money left.
That was when his nightmares began. Bashir had to leave the motel he had been staying in, and since he had nowhere else to turn to, he got himself in the shanties of the town ,a shanty by the name Shaqq. He tried to interact with the local people but then there was a language barrier problem, he became a loner in a very strange place.
Every other person looked at him with lots of suspicion, he could not blend with them. He became a beggar in a foreign country, a country full of instability and without a government. He would move from home to home, and hotel to hotel begging for food and then to the darkest corners of the town to rest his head.
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That became his order of the day for nearly a whole week. He would remember the days when he lived the life suiting a king . He hated the place with a passion like no other. There was no way he would allow himself to get swallowed up by this void that was now peering at him just like the gates of hell. He had to do something about his situation.
That was how he got himself seated at the stadium. He had to act fast, if at all he was to get back to his home unscathed.
"Allah, it is my humble prayer that you be with me from this moment on. Whatever am planning to do I ask for your guidance . I Praise you, Allah Akbar!"
No sooner had he finished his prayer than he felt a hand on his back. He heard a mumble from behind him, but he couldn't understand whatever was being communicated.
It was a man standing behind him. He later knew that this was the one charged with managing the stadium. Bashir could not make head or tail of what the man was saying, he therefore tried speaking to him in English. Luckily for him, the man seemed to understand him and answered him back in English.