We ran to the crash site.
And we were praying to come face-to-face with the Americans.
We were very angry.
We only wanted a chance to get at them.
I was among the first people who arrived at the crash site.
We thought they were all dead.
Then we saw a wounded man.
He was wearing an American Marine's uniform.
He knows what he did. He bombed us and killed my relatives.
He screamed, "Help me! Help me!"
A Somali youth went to shoot him.
I grabbed and twisted the gun from him.
I saved him!
By sparing his life, it shows we are better than the Americans.
The unit that I was part of came across a convoy that was passing nearby.
We fired at each other.
We hit them and caused damage to the convoy.
We could hear vehicles.
I was trying to breastfeed my baby,
but she would not feed.
We were in a horrible situation.
Somali fighters were attacking our house.
They were targeting the Americans inside.
I thought this was the end, and I felt scared.
I felt as if that rescue team was for me.
I was very happy that the ordeal was over.
I was running away from the school because of the fighting.
When I left the school, I was barefoot.
A helicopter was flying towards me.
The helicopter was never gone for long.
It kept flying over us, one way and then the other.
It would go very low to the ground.
They would fire indiscriminately, not knowing what they were shooting at.
When the helicopter got very low, I would take cover.
In my head I believed that it was stalking me.
And then it flies away and then comes back shooting.
I went into the house and checked every room.
I found the house was empty.
I was sure my family were dead.
When I left the house, despair settled in
because I couldn't find my mother.
When I went outside, I was not looking for hope or life.
I wanted to sit outside and cry until the helicopter killed me,
as it had the other people.
I lost hope in life.
I told myself I will die today.
I was in the thick of the battle throughout.
My gun never had a rest.
Every time we fire a shot
or brought down any of their soldiers,
our sense of triumph increased.
You can't come back from being dead.
But being injured, there's still hope.
You're still alive!
I was shot here.
I am going to show you.
There is a hole now.
It does not matter being shot and the pain. It's not a big deal.
We are made to either shoot or get shot.
Debris from the house had fallen on top of me.
I was under the rubble.
I spat blood from my mouth.
My daughter, Ifrah, said,
"Mom, I can't see anything, and my eyes are bleeding."
"My brother is not responding."
Her eyes were bleeding.
I said, "Don't you have eyes anymore?"
"No," she said, and I cried a lot.
I asked, "Where are the boys?" I was told they are dead.
My eldest child, the one next to him, and my husband have all died.
The remaining four were injured.
Ifrah asked, "Where's my father?"
She was told, "He's dead."
"The Americans killed him."
She said, "The Americans should be killed and their eyes taken out too."
God is great! God is great!
God is great!
America, fuck off!
Can you see my bullets?
Curse America!
If you are Rangers, we will beat you!
If you are Americans, we will defeat you!
Get out of Mogadishu! Leave, leave! Move!
The United States, claiming to be a superpower,
should feel ashamed
for highlighting their loss of around 20 soldiers,
when on 3rd October they were killing every Somali on sight.
For the Americans, October 3rd is a tragic day,
but for us, this was a dark moment.
When I think about what happened, my head starts hurting.
It left me with a grudge and painful memories.
I hate to see Americans.
Dying is one thing, but my daughter being blind is what hurts my stomach.
The dead are gone, but there's nothing worse than losing the eyes.
But when I see Ifrah, I get tearful.
She would fall, here and there.
Praise be to God.
She was just a child.
She was a beautiful baby girl.
She inhaled the dust and smoke caused by the rockets and the helicopter crash.
All this is not something a newborn baby can endure.
She became so sick, I thought she would die.
But, thank God, He saved her for me and now she is beautiful.
Amina was the name of her grandmother.
And she was born on the day of the war with the Rangers.
So we called her Amina Rangers.
When I found my home empty, I was terrified.
I thought I was the only one left.
When I saw my mom, I couldn't believe it was her.
But then I recognized her, and we hugged each other.
My heart relaxed.
I was overjoyed when my mother came to me
and told me everyone was okay.
Getting my mom back was so precious to me.
It was just a battlefield for them, but it was home for me.
Subtitle translation by: Anu Akiyode