Mogadishu was once a beautiful city. But after nine years of internecine warfare, the Somali capital is one of the most lawless places on earth.
Order is imposed by ruthless warlords and their gun-toting militia. The poor squat in buildings that look like Swiss cheese from rocket and bullet attacks. The stink of rotting rubbish floats on the salty air.
And the streets are littered with the abandoned husks of American troop carriers from the disastrous intervention of eight years ago. For almost a decade there have been few reasons to hope in this gun-crazy city until now. A peace conference in neighbouring Djibouti has just given birth to a transitional parliament composed of previously warring clansmen and women. A president is about to be elected.
Twelve earlier peace initiatives have failed but none went this far. War-weary Somalis are pinning their hopes on this being lucky 13. A wave of cautious optimism has washed over the country, from the bustling market place where guns, dollars and even passports are sold, to the hospitals where victims of violence are patched up.
Last week Dr Mohamed Mohamoud stood over a bed where a man lay gasping desperately for breath, having being shot through the chest by a stray bullet. "There is no law and order here. Somalis are tired of fighting clan to clan. They now recognise it is time to rebuild," he said.
But one crucial group has refused to join in the chorus of enthusiastic approval: the warlords who have carved up the city into turf zones and who realise that a return to peace would spell an end to their chaotic rule.
Men such as Osman Ali Ato claim that the Djibouti process has been hijacked by an unholy alliance of Islamic fundamentalists, meddling foreigners and former cronies of dictator Siad Barre's regime.
The warlords have dusted off their image as violent psychopaths and now present themselves as agents of stability. "What has come from Djibouti will destroy what we have achieved in the last nine years," Mr Ato said without irony at his heavily guarded compound.
The new parliament will lead to renewed civil war this year, he warned. Returning delegates that try to establish a new government will be met with violent force, but "only if necessary".
But just what the warlords think and do has mattered less and less in recent years. A combination of forces has eroded their influence, from the court system run by Islamic clerics to the wealthy businessmen, both of which groups are backed by small armies well enough equipped to rival any warlord.
And most significantly, ordinary Somalis have lost their sense of fear. "We're not afraid of them because we think it's going to end now. We're hoping that they will be banished or put behind bars," said Mr Abdullahi Mohamed Hussein, a manager at one of Mogadishu's two thriving phone companies.
"One faction leader [warlord] came to us asking for a free line because he wasn't even able to pay $100," he added mockingly.
Some say the writing is on the wall for the gunmen that hold sway. In the tea-rooms of the sprawling Bakara market Somalis have been chuckling at the story of how one young warlord, Hussein Mohamed Aideed, had an expensive four-wheel drive stolen from him by his own men who demanded a $20,000 ransom.
Mr Aideed is the son of Gen Farah Aideed, the fearsome warlord who humiliated the UN during its botched intervention of the early 1990s. When the general was killed in a battle four years ago, Hussein took over.
The son has eschewed the militaristic image for a smart black suit and greets visitors with a tray of soft drinks. He presents himself as a democrat and peacebroker. "For five years I've been working day and night to solve our problems through peace and reconciliation," he says.
But perhaps a more accurate source of his authority is found outside his front door, where an anti-aircraft gun is mounted on a jeep and a dozen heavily armed gunmen stand guard.
Like Mr Ato, he rails against the Djibouti initiative because it has been hijacked by "foreign interests", he says. Yet when asked where the brand new armoured personnel carrier parked outside comes from, he says "from the region". Locals say the answer is either Eritrea or Libya.
Now Mr Abukar Omar Adan is one of Mogadishu's most powerful men. He control a 30-kilometre strip of coast to allow safe access to his private port, the biggest in Mogadishu. He does it with the help of 400 militia to whom he pays $40,000 a month.
"The people need a government," he said. "And if this parliament works, the warlords won't be able to do anything."
But the warlords will not relinquish their power easily. And even if the parliament does take off, it will have a rough ride in a country where a whole generation has forgotten what it means to be governed.