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“Forgiveness does not mean forgetting the wrong done to you; it means refusing to let that wrong cause more suffering.”Abdiaziz Yusuf Mohamed (Maygaag)
Some stories stay with you long after they are told. They reveal how deeply conflict can wound a community, but also how much courage it takes to reject revenge. One such story was shared with me by Ahmed Isse Geedi, who was four years old when his father, uncle and cousin were killed while fetching water for their family.
I met Ahmed while helping produce Safarka Nabadda (The Journey of Peace), a documentary about reconciliation after intercommunal fighting over grazing land between communities in Guriceel and Balanbale, in Somalia’s Galgaduud region. His account did not appear in the documentary we broadcast, which drew a strong public response, but I felt it deserved to be told.
On 8 September 2026, I travelled to Galgaduud on a work assignment. That evening, at around 8:30 p.m., two colleagues and I met Ahmed at Bader 2 café in Guriceel. I recorded his interview the following day, 9 September, at 1:02 p.m.
“My father, my uncle and my cousin were tied together while they were out fetching water, and then they were shot,” Ahmed told me. He said men from the opposing side in a grazing-land dispute had bound the three relatives and killed them at the same spot.
Ahmed was left as the eldest son, with a younger brother who now lives abroad. Despite their loss, he said, both brothers chose to forgo revenge. Ahmed decided to leave his father’s killer to God and the reckoning of the hereafter rather than make an innocent person pay for a crime he had not committed.
That decision came at a cost. Ahmed said members of his community mocked him for not avenging his father and uncle. They praised his father as a hero, called his peace work cowardice and urged him to abandon his efforts to encourage reconciliation.
On one occasion, after another kinsman was killed, Ahmed and several others approached a group to appeal for peace. Instead, they were threatened with five bullets to the head each. According to Ahmed, what restrained their would-be attackers was the fear that another round of retaliatory killings would follow.
His critics could not accept that a man who had not avenged his family nearly forty years earlier was trying to save others. Yet Ahmed persisted. Today, he is among the prominent voices advocating peace in the area, having refused to turn his grief into harm against someone else.
Residents I met expressed gratitude for government intervention, particularly the role of the National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) and the peacebuilding efforts of Mahad Mohamed Salad. Local residents and officials said NISA had deployed personnel to seven locations, strengthened arms controls and extended patrols into grazing areas as well as towns.
People were warned against carrying weapons. Some who were caught armed were reportedly arrested, with detainees transferred to Mogadishu or held at security bases between Guriceel and Balanbale.
A Somali National Television (SNTV) report dated 6 July 2026 said NISA arrested two suspects, Abdi Mohamed Ahmed and Dahir Tahlil Egal, in the Kaxandhaale and Balihowd areas while they were carrying two AK-47 rifles.
The report said the suspects were transferred to Mogadishu and were expected to be brought before the judicial authorities. It did not report any conviction. SNTV linked the operation to resolutions adopted at the Balanbale peace conference to control illegal weapons and prevent renewed fighting.
Residents also spoke of how internal conflict had taken respected community figures and loved ones, even as they expressed opposition to terrorist groups. Their accounts showed how profoundly the fighting had affected everyday life.
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As we left Guriceel for Balanbale, Ahmed Khalif Guure told me about his sister, a girl of around twelve. Today, she can play during the afternoon and cook dinner in the evening. In the past, she had to light the cooking fire earlier: a fire after dark could reveal a household where men were present and make it a target.
The freedom of a child to play and of a family to prepare supper after sunset may seem ordinary. In these communities, it is a profound sign of peace.
I also met a man who said he had survived being shot as many as ten times at home. His injuries were so severe that few expected him to live. After treatment in Mogadishu, he returned home, cheerful and accepting of what God had decreed.
Another woman, about fifty, recalled a time when women had to herd camels, goats and cattle because men feared being hunted down and hid among the trees. What struck me was how closely connected the opposing communities remained through marriage and kinship. I had never before witnessed such extensive fighting among people so closely related.
My first visit lasted from 8 to 20 September 2026. I returned on 28 September to continue filming. During both journeys, I did not hear a single gunshot. I worked without fear and slept peacefully in places where I had never imagined doing so.
People welcomed us warmly, and my travels took me into Ethiopia’s Somali Regional State. Still, the fear built up over years had not entirely disappeared.
One night, we needed equipment from a young man in Caabudwaaq, roughly ninety kilometres from Balanbale. Even with our assurances, he was reluctant to travel after dark. When he finally reached our hotel, he was surprised by how safely we had made the journey. Long-held fear does not disappear overnight.
My route included Guriceel, Balanbale, Oodaalle, Gaxandhaale (Kaxandhaale), Turbi, Xirsi Lugey and Bali-Dhiig, along the Ethiopian border in the Qoraxey Zone of the Somali Regional State. Everywhere, I encountered generosity, hospitality and stories of people who had lost loved ones but refused to perpetuate the violence.
The journey reminded me that conflict harms far more than those killed or wounded. It touches children, mothers, families and entire communities. And peace means more than the absence of gunfire. It means travelling freely, children playing, evening meals cooked without fear and neighbours meeting one another in safety.
Ahmed’s story taught me that forgiveness is not forgetting. It is refusing to pass suffering on to another innocent person. The peace now achieved must be protected through trust, coexistence and continued reconciliation.
May God have mercy on those who died, heal those living with injury and grief, and protect the communities of Guriceel and Balanbale from returning to the pain they endured for decades.
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About the Author
Abdiaziz Yusuf Mohamed (Maygaag) is a Somali journalist, blogger and media specialist.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Dawan Media.