If you read only one Somali pirate story, make it this one:
“Mummy, mummy, please can I phone the pirates for you?”
By this time, with rain battering my windscreen and cars jamming the road, I was at the end of my tether.
“OK”, I said, tossing the phone into the back of the car. “They are under P for pirates.”
“Hello. Please can I talk to the pirates,” said my daughter in her obviously childish voice.
I could hear someone replying and a bizarre conversation ensued which eventually ended when my daughter collapsed in giggles.
This was a breakthrough. Dialogue had been established.