Interview with a Pirate

Interview with a Pirate



Piracy off the Horn of Africa has developed into an international headache and spreading into the Indian Ocean. Piracy is also a lucrative international business whose tentacles reach far beyond the countries in the region. I was asked to interview a young thirteen year old Pirate and determine what desperate decisions led him into such a high-risk career.

I started the interview with simple questions in order to build rapport and establish a bit of empathy towards the wary and frightened youth.

“My name is Gene. I have been asked to talk with you and see how you are being treated and to assure you that everything will be fine. What is your name?”

The young man placed his hand over his mouth to muffle his words or hide his expression. “Chapet…” he mumbled.

“Sorry, I didn’t understand that.” I said with a big smile. “Did you say chap?”

“Chapati!” the youngster practically yelled. “My name is Chapati.”

“What a beautiful sounding name… Chapati. What does it mean in your language?”

Chapati looked at me with dark suspicious eyes. I noticed his carotid pulse was beating very rapidly, a sign that he was scared and suspicious of my motives.

“Chapati means bread. It is the bread of life. I often stole bread from my aunts and they started calling me Chapati. I like the name.” The young man almost grinned at some thought he kept hidden.

After half an hour of simple talk, Chapati was starting to open up a bit. He was extremely thin and malnourished and I could tell his first thirteen years had been extremely difficult ones.

“You were found by American Navy SEALS when they captured a fishing boat. The fishing boat had many men aboard who were accused of kidnapping a wealthy man. Do you know these men Chapati?”

“Of course, they are my uncles and cousins. One of them is our business agent. He could not get off the boat before the Navy men came.”

“Business agent? What do you mean business agent, Chapati?”

“We are in the business of finding and selling people.” Chapati scratched his arm. “It is a business like banking or being a carpenter or a fisherman.”

“Are you proud of your profession?”

Chapati looked puzzled.

“Business,” I rephrased. “Are you proud of your business?”

“Very much so. I someday want to become a business agent and make lots of money.”

“What does your business agent do, Chapati?”

“He do it all.” Chapati’s smile showed a set of yellowing teeth. There were also lingering red stains indicating that even at his age he had been chewing the narcotic leaf called Khat. “He call the man in America and get the money so we can buy the ship to make the business.”

Chapati was talking about venture capital. It is well known in Intelligence circles that piracy financiers are usually ethnic Horn of Africa businessmen who live outside the area and who typically call a relative in Somalia, Ethiopia, or Yemen and suggest they launch a piracy business. The investor will offer $200,000 or more in seed money, and the relative goes shopping.”

“So Chapati, does your business agent live in your village?”

“No! Garow Man lives in big city in America.”

“Would you like to live in America?”

Chapati was really starting to warm up to me. I could tell by his body language that I had opened the trust barrier.

“Everyone wants to live in America,” Chapatti grinned. “The land of unequal opportunity.”

“Equal opportunity,” I corrected him. “What do you like about America?”

“Mickey Mouse, Michael Jackson and Pepsi. But most of all I like Rambo”

“What did you do with the money when Garow Man sent it to you?”

“My uncle start the business.” Chapatti looked at me as if I was stupid. “It takes money to buy speedboats and weapons and food. We also have to pay the radioman who tells us where the best ships will be and what they are carrying on them. And food, we buy much food because we must eat when we are out on the water for many weeks.”

“Sound like you’re starting up a cruise line business,” I smiled. “Everything but the entertainment and Champaign?”

“No alcohol!” Chapatti was suddenly angry. “Allah forbids it.” I didn’t tell him that Allah also forbid the use of Khat.

“Do you have many men in your crew?”

“Many men. Everyone is needing food.”

“What do you mean by that, Chapatti?”

“To live man. “You Pahnchapatti (white bread men) all have plenty food. Everyone is rich. In my country few are rich, most are very poor with no jobs. There are many people who have no work.”

“How does your business agent find you work?”

“Garow Man makes good choices,” Chapatti grinned. “He tells me that he must make sure the ship has value, like wealthy European, or expensive cargo. Western men with money make good business for us. They have more money than poor Egyptian or Chinaman or Indian. No one will pay money for African.”

“Who finds the rich men for you?”

Chapatti was suddenly nervous when I asked this question. His posture and his eye movement changed and he shifted his position in the chair. His legs were crossed with his knee raised to protect his abdomen, a sure sign of discomfort.

“I’ll bet he gets a ton of money!” I jokingly stated to ease his sudden tension.

“He works for big shipping company and already makes a ton of money,” Chapatti finally answered. “He is big man.”

“I bet you’d like to have his job some day?”

“He has very hard job. He must take care to pay policemen so they do not catch him. “I want the job of Ransom Man someday. He is the one who gets us our pay?”

“Ransom man?”

“The man who calls and ask for the money for the rich man to go back home.”

“How does that work, Chapatti?”

“Ransom Man call insurance company and demand payment or ship is sunk or man is held long time, and Pahnchapatti (white bread man) maybe he dies. Insurance company pays so not to pay very big insurance if ship is sunk. Everyone is happy.”

“Sounds like Ransom Man has a difficult job. Who is your Ransom man, Chapatti?”

“My uncle. He is good Ransom Man. He asks for ten million and get two. He is good negoti….makes lot of money for us."

“He is a good negotiator. What happens then?”

“Plane fly over ship, drop money in the ocean. We send men to get money then everyone gets payday? Everyone is happy to have money to feed family.

“Who gets the money?”

“Ransom man gets big pay and American Garow Man gets big pay. Money goes to police and to pay for boat fuel and food. Everyone gets payday. Those who carry weapons get larger pay. They keep a timesheet for all who work. I get less pay because I am only a boy.”

“You get less pay?”

“But pay is good. My family makes maybe three hundred American dollars in one year to live. I make four hundred dollars on last job and will make more when I grow older and can carry rifle.”

“So you then go home and everyone is happy?”

“We stay with family group because we do not want other pirates to rob us,” Chapatti smiled. “Everyone is hungry, pirates steal from us too.”

“A man died on your last job, Chapatti. Was it an accident that someone shot him?

Chapatti took a long time to reply to this question. I could see his pulse rate climbing back up and he fidgeted back and forth in his chair. His eyes were roaming back and forth.

“Navy men shoot at us. My cousin Alam shoot back at navy men. He is not very good shooter and he chews very much Khat, so he hits Pahnchapatti by accident. He does not mean to kill the man because the man is worth much money. No man, no payday.”

I could tell that the youth was visibly upset over the memories flooding back into his mind. His life had been a difficult one, living in poverty, fearful for his family, running from warlords, stealing to prevent starvation, and the traumatic events during the rescue had burned ugly scars on his very young and impressionable mind.

This youngster was the feared ‘Pirate’ that the world sought to eradicate. Most of the men with him on that pirate ship were not much older than his thirteen years. They saw piracy as a high seas adventure, one that also supported their starving families.

I did not want to agitate the youngster by asking more detailed questions, but, it was part of the job I had taken on.

“How did you feel when the Pahnchapatti died, Chapatti?” If Chapatti told me that he felt good and the man deserved to die, I knew that he was beyond help.

“Very sad,” Chapatti whispered. “Man had family who needs him. It was very sad thing. Killing someone is very sad thing. Rifles are to scare man, not kill.”

Chapatti had passed the test. He knew right from wrong and he was not a killer. Environment and social strife had driven this child into piracy, because that is what he was…a child.

There is no way to condone piracy and the life threatening events that may evolve because of it. However, until stability and prosperity is reached in desperately poor countries like Somalia and Yemen, youngsters like Chapatti will seek any means of survival.

Yet, there is a glimmer of hope.

Chapatti and many like him are not monsters. They know good from bad. They also know desperation.

I handed Chapatti a Pepsi.

It was going to be a long session.



Word Count: 1,648