海角大神

Faisa Xajji Yussuf will likely never know the exact date her son died, but聽March 6聽is the day the call came. 聽聽

It took about 10 seconds for the voice at the end of the line鈥攑resumably calling from a satellite phone somewhere in聽Libya鈥攖o relay the message: 鈥淵our son suffered, and now he is dead.鈥澛犅�

Months earlier, this son, Mohamed, was working as a wedding photographer in Somaliland, the small self-declared nation in the Horn of Africa. He was one of the lucky few to have steady work in a聽country where youth unemployment rates of 70 percent have stunted the young population鈥檚 earning potential.聽聽

But still, he had聽decided that the glorified prospect of Europe was worth wagering his own life. 聽聽

Mohammed鈥檚 story is far from unique: the masses of Somaliland youths who are leaving are joining thousands of Middle Eastern and African nationals also making the perilous journey to Europe. The government estimates that as many as 300 鈥斅爐ypically those between18 years old and 30鈥攍eave Somaliland each month to begin聽tahriib, as the journey is known. Official statistics are hard to come by due to the illicit nature of this type of migration.聽聽

While the numbers are a fraction of the more than half a million migrants who have crossed European Union borders this year, their mass emigration has been gnawing at the fabric of聽Somaliland鈥檚 3.5 million population. Dubbed a 鈥渘ational tragedy,鈥� this youth flight is stressing tightly knit communities and deepening the poverty that many of them struggle with. And officials also appear at a loss as to how to stem the growing exodus.聽聽

It鈥檚 increasingly becoming a question of when a young person will leave, not if.聽聽

Somaliland, a territory that is not internationally recognized, has prided itself on its stability. Since it broke from neighboring Somalia almost 15 years ago, it has developed,聽against all odds,聽a working political system, government institutions, a police force, and its own currency. Yet development has not kept pace with a younger generation鈥檚 appetite for professional jobs, nor created policies that engage them. Many are restless and bored, and their flight eats at the potential of a country hungry to be acknowledged by the international community.聽

鈥淭hey are easily influenced," says Edna Adan, a well-respected politician and female health care advocate. "They think the streets [in Europe] are paved聽with gold. They are not.鈥�

Facebook envy

For Mbused, a 24-year-old divorced mother of one, leaving is the only option. She, like many young people interviewed, didn鈥檛 want her name used because her family doesn鈥檛 know about her intentions.聽

鈥淗ere there is nothing. No jobs,鈥� she says. 鈥淭here are cultural restrictions on women. I just sit in the home.鈥澛�

Somaliland is still largely a patriarchal society. Women are often forced to contend with conservative Islamic religious views, and a deeply entrenched tribal system that inherently favors men. Mbused says the best-case scenario for her in Somaliland would be to work as a cleaner for what she calls a negligible amount of money.聽

She scrolls though photos on her smart phone and points to a girlfriend who has been in Germany for more than a year and is now married to a German man.聽 That鈥檚 the life that Mbused wants, and if she can save $6,500 鈥斅爋f which she now has $1,500鈥斅爏he will pay for her own tahriib so as to not to put her family in a tight spot. 聽If she makes it and finds a job, she wants to send back money for her son. 聽

The government is struggling to convince its young to stay. Anti-tahriib advocacy campaigns, backed by international organizations, were made a priority in 2013, says one government official.聽 Advocates went door to door trying to raise awareness about the dangers of tahriib, but the successes, they admit, have been limited.

The government also created the聽Somaliland聽Job Center as a measure to tackle soaring youth unemployment. Tucked away in the capital, Hargeisa, the ambitious center has had limited victories.聽 Of the 700 applications it currently has on file, it says it has placed 70 people in full-time jobs since the building opened two years ago. 聽聽

Local investment

Salah, a 26-year-old who runs his mother鈥檚 clothing stores, empathizes with his generation鈥檚 frustrations over slow development in a forgotten corner of the world, but he fears his cohorts are lured by false expectations portrayed in Facebook photos. 聽聽

鈥淚nstead of investing $10,000 on tahriib, think of something new and bring it here,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 know there are no jobs but make one.聽 Working in a supermarket is better than risking your life.鈥澛犅�

He, like most of his peers, knows a handful of friends who are in Europe and some who have died along the way. It is dehumanizing to watch friends perish in such an unnecessary manner, he says.

Yussuf, who lost her son Mohamed to tahriib because she could not cobble together his $3,000 ransom, had to pay another ransom demand a year earlier when her other son made the same trip. She聽scrambled to pull the money together, borrowing from friends and family, and selling property and belongings. He now lives in Austria.

It is these photos, of one son's life in Austria, that pulled the other to make the same trip, she acknowledges. She knows that聽even if employment was forthcoming in Somaliland, as it was for Mohamed, it would still take some convincing for many to stay. 聽

鈥淗e thought he could make it.聽 I am not mad at him.聽 He鈥檚 a good boy,鈥� she says, pulling up photos of Mohamed on her cracked smart phone screen. 聽鈥淏ut he knew the risk.鈥�