Earlier this year I found out via Monocle magazine that some countries actually have PR representatives, begging the question…who does Djibouti’s PR and how do I get that job?
A few weeks ago however, the New York Times published the following article about a man who is the public relations representative for a group of pirates. I had no idea the wealth of possibilities that my future in PR may hold.
NAIROBI, Kenya — It was probably my 50th call. The line had always been busy. Or the phone had been shut off.
But on Tuesday morning, someone actually picked up.
“Can I speak to the pirate spokesman, please?”
Pirate p.r? Strange. Stranger still to be interviewing, via satellite, a band of seafaring thieves bobbing in the Indian Ocean 700 miles away from my table at a sidewalk cafe in Nairobi. These were the buccaneers who on Sept. 25 hijacked a Ukrainian freighter crammed with tanks and grenade launchers, and by last week had the world’s two most fearsome navies, the Russian and the American, breathing down their necks.
Somali pirates may not go for eyeliner like Johnny Depp. But they seem almost as image conscious. In the 21st century, pirates have talking points, too.
Like: “You only die once,” according to Sugule Ali, their official spokesman.
Or: “We see people who dump waste in our waters. We see people who illegally fish in our waters. We see people doing all sorts of things in our waters.” Also Mr. Sugule.
And: “They can’t catch us like goats.” Again Mr. Sugule, who I was told in no uncertain terms was the only pirate allowed to be quoted. Or else.
Mr. Sugule seemed nonchalant. Maybe a touch gruff. I could, I imagined, almost hear a cavalier shrug in his voice.
Not a lot is known about this particular public relations professional. He sounded like he was somewhere between 25 and 40. His band of pirates is part of a group of former fishermen who hijack ships off the coast of anarchic Somalia and ransom them back to their owners, often for a million dollars plus. Mr. Sugule said he was from the central region of Somalia; in a country where the real geography is clan, “central region” is code for the Hawiye clan and most likely the Habir Gedir subclan, which has not exactly thrown its formidable muscle behind Somalia’s fledging government.
“Sugule may not be educated,” my translator said. “But he’s definitely street smart.”
I was given his number by a high-level contact in Nairobi who was involved in trying to bring this drama on the high seas to a peaceful end. In our 45-minute chat, Mr. Sugule educated me on all matters pirate, including what his group calls itself (“the Central Region Coast Guard”) to why he became a pirate (“We are patrolling our seas”) to what they want (“just money”).
I asked Mr. Sugule if he ever went to school. So many young men in Somalia haven’t. The central government collapsed in 1991, putting a whole generation out on the streets, where the only real authority is the business end of a machine gun.
“These questions are getting strange,” Mr. Sugule said. “Call back later.”
Click.
As it turns out, a bona fide Gene Simmons is in Vegas for the SIA show to pimp his new line of wallets and hats. So, Dax waited in a long line with other adoring fans and finally got the chance to meet the man, the myth, the golden tongue: Gene Simmons.
So Dax, now that you and Gene are BOYS, can you get me a pro deal on one of his dope hats? Because frankly, in this economy I can’t see spending $70 on a truckers hat. $35, maybe.
As a single twenty-something PR lady in a ski town, I have to say that I now agree that the old saying that “the odds are good but the goods are odd” is completely on target. No drive, no passion for anything in life, no desire to see and do and spontaneously explore. Or at least the ones I attract lack all that. Aces.
The winner… 
The signs are all there. We have so much in common. He surfs; I’ve read West of Jesus. He makes organic clothing; I bought organic coffee this morning. He claims to lack financial savvy; I broke the bank on my new mountain bike and PBRs. He spends much of his time testing boards in California breaks; I spend much of my time testing inner tubes on the local Jackson Hole rivers. And let’s be honest with ourselves, “Sarah Chouinard” rolls off the tongue like a chocolate croissant.