Where once rival militias battled for control of these docks,
giant container ships now line up to discharge their cargoes of cement,
vehicles, pasta and rice. Huge cranes swoop up and down. Some operated
by Turks, others by Somalis.
As a container swings uncomfortably close above my head, the
sprightly Turkish manager of the port tells me that since his company
took over in September, it has been bringing in a monthly revenue of
$4m, and rising. Fifty-five percent goes straight to the Somali
government.

It’s not just the port. Turks are everywhere in Mogadishu.
And so is their flag. This visit, I think I saw more Turkish flags in
the city than Somali ones.
Turks run the airport and are busy building a new terminal.
Turkish Airlines now flies to Mogadishu four times a week, the first
international airline to do so in more than 20 years.
At a gleaming new hospital, built by the Turks, Turkish
doctors wear simple white polo shirts. On one sleeve is an image of the
Turkish flag. The Somali flag is on the other.
Outside, Turkish builders in cowboy hats and Somalis in tatty
T-shirts are putting the final touches to an Ottoman-style mosque with
room for 2,000 worshippers. Craftsmen were flown in from Turkey to hand
paint the ceiling in rich blues, reds and gold.

Even the garbage trucks trying to get rid of the 20 years’
worth of rubbish and rubble come from Turkey. I saw one such truck
hosing down a street after a suicide bombing, to make sure every trace
of blood and wreckage was removed.
It all started with the famine of 2011. The then Turkish
prime minister, now president Erdogan, flew to Somalia. Unlike other
foreigners, who keep at a safe distance from the country, preferring to
do Somali-related business from neighbouring Kenya, he walked through
the streets of Mogadishu. In a suit. Not body armour.
Somalis still talk to me about how he picked up dirty,
starving children. How his wife kissed members of the despised minority
clans.
And hence the love affair began. Somalis called their boys Erdogan, their daughters Istanbul.

Recep Tayyip Erdogan and his wife Emine during their visit to a camp for displaced people in August 2011

This affection for a foreign country is highly unusual in
Somalia. Somalis generally do not like outsiders, and have all sorts of
abusive nicknames for them. But I struggled to find a Somali who would
criticise Turkey, apart from the complaint that they hadn’t provided
adequate drainage for the new roads they’re building in Mogadishu, and
that they hadn’t done enough to help other parts of the country.
In private conversations, Western diplomats have told me
Turkey doesn’t communicate or co-ordinate with other donors, that it is
too unilateralist.
Turkey, like many other countries, is keen to lay its hands
on Africa’s natural resources and to exploit new markets as the
continent develops. But it has chosen an eccentric way in – Somalia is
classed by many as one of the world’s most dangerous countries.
The Turks in Mogadishu seem to have a different attitude to
danger. On the day of a suicide bombing, I was forbidden access to the
highly fortified airport, where I was due to meet the British
ambassador.

Before Turkey resurfaced the roads they were full of holes

But just nearby was a Turkish school, guarded by a couple of
lightly-armed Somalis. Turkish children scampered about, playing hide
and seek amongst the papaya trees. They share classes with Somali
students, who the teachers say are especially good at computing and
languages.
The Turks have paid a price for this more relaxed attitude to
security. A few have been killed and injured in attacks by the Islamist
group al- Shabab; some have been shot dead in disputes over money and
other issues.
The next day, I managed with some difficulty to get into the
airport compound, this time to meet the United Nations, based in a
sterile, grey complex of containers.
Somewhat to my embarrassment, I didn’t have a pen. The UN
lady kindly lent me a pencil. I forgot to give it back, and later on I
gave it to a Somali friend.
Wielding the pencil, he rushed off to his friends shouting,
“Look. This is all the UN has to offer us, after more than 20 years and
billions of dollars. In just three years, the Turks have helped
transform our man-made earthquake of Mogadishu into a semi-functioning
city.”

Goods are loaded on to trucks at the port

Of course, it’s not as simple as that. The UN and others are
paying for African Union soldiers who are helping make Somalia a safer
place. The Turks have gone for highly visible projects.
But as I sat eating the cube of Turkish delight offered to me
by the sleek stewardess on my homeward Turkish Airlines flight, I
couldn’t help wondering whether the rest of the world could learn
something from what the Turks are doing in the broken city of Mogadishu.

BBC NEWS MAGAZINE