The most dangerous city on earth?

The Nairobi press corps is a little stunned by the murder yesterday in Mogadishu, Somalia, of a veteran Swedish journalist. Martin Adler was shot at point-blank range while covering a rally that was organized to celebrate a truce between Somalia's interim government and the Islamist militias that recently seized control of Mogadishu. A BBC report on the murder says "a lone gunman (shot) Martin Adler in the chest, in the middle of a crowd of thousands."

A broken city of weapons, warlords and checkpoints since a coup in 1991, "The Mog" was a no-go zone for most reporters until two weeks ago, when the Islamists toppled U.S.-backed warlords - a big news story for the region because of fears by the United States and others that the new rulers would establish a fundamentalist state and offer safe haven to the terrorists known to be hiding in Somalia. The militias launched a charm offensive and have been inviting western journalists to come and see for themselves that the city - often called the most dangerous on the planet - was more secure than its reputation.

Last night I was at dinner with a few reporters, two of whom had recently returned from Mogadishu and one who was on his way in as a freelancer. One who'd been there said she'd walked unarmed and unprotected through the same kind of rally that Adler did, and marveled that her stupidity didn't get her killed.

But the reporter who'd gone in with her said, "Mogadishu is no less safe for journalists today than it was yesterday." The veneer of security that the militias have tried to promote is, frankly, just that - the city is still dangerous, full of men with guns who hate western countries, chiefly the United States. With one journalist now tragically dead, he said, it's probably safer for reporters because they've been chastened, and won't take the same chances.

I never met Adler. But some of my friends know him, and by all accounts he was no novice, having covered conflicts around the world, including in Iraq, Rwanda and Sierra Leone - perhaps the most brutal African war of the past decades. He'd won awards for his work. I don't imagine he took chances yesterday that were unreasonable, or chances that the rest of us wouldn't take if we were in his position. And yet he still was killed. It was, as the cliche goes, a sobering reminder of what can happen in places where violence is so pervasive, no matter how safe they might seem at a given moment.

You might be wondering: Will I be going to the Mog anytime soon? Well, when the militias took power and the world press was flocking to Somalia, I was on a beach in Jamaica, at Dean and Yasmine's beautiful wedding. A colleague of mine from Egypt went in my place. But, yes, I fully expect to see the Mog for myself at some point in the near future, and I can only hope for good luck.

In the meantime, on a happier note, here's a picture from Jamaica. It's from the Pelican Bar, perhaps the best located bar in the world - a wooden shack that sits on a sandbar, in the middle of the water, giving you the illusion that you're drinking your cold Red Stripe while floating on the ocean.