Somali Hospitality II

 

A story has it that once a weary traveller came to a nomadic family by dusk. Unable to continue on with his journey, he decided to stay the night with the family that night. But due to the rainless season, the family had nothing much to offer. Noticing this, the guest did not expect a grand feast from the family and decided to be content with whatever he was given. Preserving his name, the head of the family ordered the children to bed and asked his wife to slaughter one of the lean goats in the pen, which she did immediately and served the guest. In the morning, before the man embarked on his journey, he turned to the head of the family and asked:

‘Do you want me to repay you five-fold for your hospitality or mention your name among the meeting with elders?

And the man replied: ‘I’d prefer it if you mentioned my name in your meetings with the elders.’

Though I cannot confirm the truthfulness of this story, it is indubitable that to be perceived a generous man is a gift too great to be conferred upon a Somali nomad. In order for the guest to have suitable bedding, the young ones must sleep on bare earth; in order for him to have a plenteous meal and milk to quench his hunger and revitalise the deteriorating muscles, the children must sleep hungry that night. At all cost, the guest must be fully accommodated with sufficient food and bedding. Sometimes if the drought intensifies and the head of the house has nothing to offer the guests (if they are in number) he then runs to his nearest neighbours, requesting their help in lending him some food or accommodating the guests on his behalf.

 

Xirsi Cilmi Goolle was a man much loved for his generosity and genteel manners throughout Berbera and its vicinity. And when his time had come, a great devastation spread all over the area. When the news of his death reached Cali Jaamac Haabiil, a well-known poet who lived during the era of the great Sayyid Mohamed Abdulle Hassan (Known as Mad Mullah to the British) and renowned for his retaliatory poems against the Dervishes, he was exceptionally affected. Therefore, he composed a poem detailing six distinctive things by which he cannot forget Xirsi for. He said:

• Galgaladkaygii xalay iyo Faaraxow gama’ la’aantayda
• Gogoshaan ku jiifsaday hurda goodkii igu yaacay
• Gasiinkii la ii dhigay waxaan gowska uga daayey
• Dad guryii ka yimid baa war baas iila soo galaye
• Gablamooyin waxay ii wadeen guul darriyo hooge
• Geeridii Xirsey sheegayeen gacal ha waayeene
• Gabbal baa u dumay reerihii geliga Booc yiile
• Abidkii rag waa go’i jiree tanise waa gawre
• Lix haloo u wada gaar ahaa gocanayee mooyee

 

• My tossing and turning last night O’ Faarax and my sleeplessness
• The bedding that I slept on and the bugs that bit me
• The reason why I did not eat the food that was kept for me
• People from the settlement have reached me with distressing news
• Woe to them! They have brought me but sadness and despair
• Xirsi’s demise they mentioned, may they lose their dear ones
• Darkness has befallen the residents of Booc and its vicinity
• Though men had always met their deaths, yet this is devastating
• Except for six distinctive things that I constantly yearn for

In a manner similar to that of Asnaan Sharmaake, after the first few opening lines of his poem, Haabiil goes on to state six things distinctive to the character of Xirsi. Without having to go through the entire poem, here is the stanza that talks about his hospitality:

 

• Geb haday martidu soo tiraahdo goor uu nala joogo
• Godka lagu janneyoo haduu goosan la carraabo
• Garabsaar rag weeyee haduu gogosha soo daadsho
• Gasiinkii lasoo dhigay hadaad gol iyo daad mooddo
• Bakhayl bays gamiimee haduu gaarka ka qoslaayo
• Godolkuu ku haasaawinirey gocanayaa mooyee

 

• When the guest suddenly arrive while he is in our presence
• May paradise be his, if he gathers the absconded flock
• He is a benefactor of men, if he spreads out the mats
• The food outspread; if you’d think it but a valley of flood
• And it’s misers often sulk, if he blissfully beams from the corner
• The pleasant banter with which he entertained I constantly yearn

 

Qawdhan Ducaale and Cabdi Gahay Warsame Baanje were two great poets renowned for their brilliant oratory throughout Somalia. It is said that they were bitter enemies when it came to poetry and used to recite unpleasant verses about one another. After several inflammatory poems, Qawdhan recited a poem insulting Warsame Baanje (Cabdi’s father) of stinginess, lack of hospitality towards his guests. He said:

 

• Marti daasha leh oo goor maqrib ah dadabta loo heelay
• Inuu meyd digaaga u qalo dudana mooyaane
• Inuu gool dureemada ku koray dacal ugu logo laga waa

 

• When at dusk the weary guests are shown their quarters
• Except that he serves them dead chicken and then sulks
• That he slaughters them a healthy camel is against his custom

 

Image

 

Technorati Tags: Cultural Heritage, Gabayo, Poetry, Somali, Somali Culture, Somali Nomads, Somali Poetry, Somali Traditions, Somalia, Creative Non-Fiction, Somali Customs, Family

Somali Hospitality

 

Somalis are renowned for their hospitality. Though in their breast lies an indomitable spirit, sculpted by the asperity of their surroundings, Somalis are generally a pleasant people with a keen eye for generosity and are known to indulge in the pleasures of conviviality.

In the vast arid countryside, where the nomadic settlers roam, hospitality is of utmost importance. Here, in these boundless miles of barren lands and parched terrains, the nomads’ lives become interdependent; so much so that hospitality has become something of an obligation upon every nomadic settler. Regularly a nomadic family would receive a way-wanderer or a traveller lost for directions or people just passing by. These consist of nomads looking for their lost camels/sheep, or nomads on a long trip wishing to rest for the night or even Qur’an teachers who wish to provide their services to the nomadic families in rural areas.

It is the custom of the Somalis to provide for their guests, once they arrive, with all means available. It could be Diraac, the dry season when water is scarce, when the camels udders are empty, when the sheep are weak and the general atmosphere of the house is rather bleak and chaotic. Yet, despite this the family must provide food and shelter for the weary travellers who come their way no matter what. Even with most nomadic families already leading an abstemious way of life owing to their locality and meagre resources, to be able to serve a guest appropriately is highly commendable and to turn a guest away is the most dishonourable deed.

Being able to serve your guests is an honourable act and highly esteemed throughout the Somali society, however inappropriate a time they guests arrive. In the Nomadic lifestyle, the father who is the head of the house is ware that at any time he might receive guests and travellers, so he is always looking after his name and his honour. If a man is in possession of several milking camels, it is within his means to milk one or even two camels for his guests to serve them with fresh milk, and even slaughter them a camel, but during the times of Diraac/Jiilaal when milk is in short supply, when the sheep have become emaciated and the camels are taken to far away places for grazing, what is the head of the house to do to preserve his dignity?

Hospitality has been the subject of a countless number of poems and is peppered throughout the Somali literature in various forms, but to emphasise the importance of such noble act, I will post a few:

When Asnaan Sharmaarke of the Sultanate of Hobyo had an argument with his ruler, Ali Yusuf Kenadiid, he was later heard composing the following lines:

• Tixda gabay guraasow beryahan daayey tirinteedee
• Xalaan tow kasoo iri hurdada goor dalool tegaye
• waxaaan tabayey mooyee anoo taahayaan kacaye
• Halkiiyo toban jirkaygii waxaan tabayey lay diidye
• Boqol tiirshihii aan ahaa lay tix gelinwaaye
• Kol hadaan tawalo oo u kaco tu aan la gaareyn
• Shan haloo aan laga toobaneyn sow la tebi maayo?

 

• The composing of poems O Guraase these days I have abandoned
• But last night I stirred from slumber with part of the night gone
• I know not what I was in search for, but with grunts I awoke
• Since the age of ten I have been denied that which I sought
• For a man equivalent to a hundred men I was not valued
• But once I resolve to pursue that unattainable quest
• Five indispensable things wouldn’t you miss?

After these few opening lines into his poem, Asnaan relates the five character traits that he is distinguished for. Without detailing the whole poem, below is the stanza in which he exalts his quality as a hospitable man:

 

• Erga toban habeen soo dhaxdayoo timi halkaan joogo
• Tulda geela inaan loogo waad igu taqaaniine
• Waa laygu wada toosayaa taajir saan ahaye
• Gacantaan tashiilada aqoon sow la tebi maayo?

 

• If after travelling ten nights messengers come to my dwelling
• You know that it is my custom to slaughter them a camel
• And all will awake to the feast as if I am wealthy
• The hand that gives without restraint wouldn’t you miss?

Though Somali custom dictates that every traveller/visitor is received with open arms and cordially entertained regardless of ethnicity, region or tribal allegiance (even enemy tribes), this custom is gradually diminishing. I will add a few more poems in the next post.

 

Technorati Tags: Creative Non-Fiction, Cultural heritage, Family, Gabayo, Poetry, Somali Culture, Somalia, Somali Nomads, Traditional Heritage, Somali Customs, Somali Poetry

Sorry

 

Dear Friends and Fellow Bloggers,

Please accept my sincere apologies for I have neglected this corner of mine for a very long time. Though I have no very good reasons to explain my long hiatus, I have been inundated with work and moving houses but will resume posting (hopefully regularly) from now on.

 

As many of you are aware, life as I knew it before has changed tremendously - The life I led as an unbound, young and vibrant man has now given way, justifiably some may say, to the perpetually petulant old bore that sits here guffawing. And in many ways too, that once spirited soul has now been replaced by its mature and more conscientious adult alter ego that is more concerned with fetching bread and milk from the newsagents than blogging.

 

Worry not though, there are many more interesting posts to come once the old bore gets his bearings right…

Gaaf Poetry

 

Once the drumming starts and the Gaaf is initiated, silence fills the air. Every ear is tuned towards the person reciting the poetry or singing, in order to assess and judge the worth of his/her words. Addressing everyone present, the young girl starts the ceremony with these lines:

 

Hoobe hobaala hoobala hoobalow

Ee hoobe hobaala hoobalayey hadaba

Salaamu calaykum safiya iyo daahirow

Salaama calaykum safkan meesha joogayow

Salaama calaykum soomaaliyey dhamaan

 

Hoobe hobaala hoobala hoobalow

Ee hoobe hobaala hoobalayey hadaba

Peace be upon you O’ Safiya and Daahir

Peace be upon you O’ who have assembled here

Peace be upon you Somalis in your entirety

 

One she has passed her greetings to everyone in the room, then she explains her reason for travelling so many nights to attend this grand occasion:

 

Beryaan soo dhaxayoo bogoxaa shishaan ka imid

Calaf ma dooneyn cagahana ma daalineyn

Oo soor ma dooneyn saaxiibna uma gudeyn

Boqorada iyo boqorka soo booqo baan is idhi

Ciyaarta ka tiiri oo caawi baan is idhi

 

For nights I have been travelling, coming from distant lands

Neither was I in search of my destined partner nor was I tiring my legs

I wasn’t in search of food and for a friend I did not travel

To visit the Queen and the King was my intention

To perfect their dance ceremony and help them was my intention

 

Then a few words of the merriment of the occasion and the Gaaf:

 

Oo wiilka guurkiisu gacaleeye waalanaa

Afartaa geesoodba gurmad baanu kaaga nahay

Oo gaafka kuu taagney wiilal iyo gabdhaba

Oo ku guulayso anna iga uga gudoon salaam

 

O’ how dear is the man’s wedding to us

From the four corners arrives you an entourage

And at your Gaaf we assembled both boys and girls

May this be a triumph for you and I bid you peace

 

Then she would praise the girl:

 

Gabadhu waa ubax la beeroo uroon indhaha

Waa iftiin belelayoo waa ilays la shiday

Ragbaa u janaaney jaaheeda inay arkaan

Badda kuwaa jiiray Beledweyne orod ku tegey

Kuwaa ka sahwiyey salaadii Ilaahigay

Kuwaa riyo moodey oo aan rumaysan weli

Kuwaa dhuuniga la quutaa dhunkaal ka yahay

Oo walaal Dhooley nimaad dhaaftay dhimasha gaar

 

The girl is pleasing to the eyes like a flower sown

She is a glaring beam; she is that kindled light

Many men have gone mad for a glimpse of her sight

The ocean many have stormed and reached Beledweyne in a sprint

Some have blundered and mistaken the prayers of Allah

Some thinking it a dream have not believed it yet

For some all things edible have become but poison

O’ dear Dhool, he whom you have missed has reached his death

 

Further praising the girl, she says:

 

Shan iyo toban geela niman baa ka shubi lahaa

Kun baa loo diidey boqolbaa berriga fadhiya

Adaase lagu qaadi waayee qalbiga ku hay

Oo gabadhu caynkay tahaan kuu cadaynayaa

Casaan weeyaanoo midabkeedu waa cajiib

Casarkii ma wareegto oo waaberi lama celcelin

Timaha ma casaysan oo baarra kama cashayn

Kuwa cishaha dheelmadana caado uma lahayn

Waxaa dhalay reera dhiirdhiiran oo kulkulul

Dheregna ma ay waayin guri dheelan bay ka timi

 

15 camels some men would have paid to have her

A thousand have been rejected; a hundred lie wretched on land

You were too worthy to let go, so that you should know

And now I will shed light on the type that the girl is

She is fair in complexion and her tone is astonishing

She neither roams in the evening nor restrained in the morning

She hasn’t dyed her hair and from bars did not eat

And those who travel at night, she isn’t among them

She is born to a family hot-blooded and passionate

And provisions she lacks not, coming from a wealthy house

 

Then, praising the man (I haven’t got many poems praising the man) she says:

 

Markuu lebisto markuu laamiyada marmaro

La wada damacyee ma dumar buu u qaybsamaa

 

When immaculately dressed and strolling the streets

Though desired by all, is he divisible amongst women?

 

Then giving advice to the man she says:

 

Gabadhu waa hogol guyoo waa hilaac mar baxay

Hadba ninbaa haybinaayoo adaa hantiyey

Harraad iyo gaajo midna yaaney halis u noqon

Oo yaaney saxar taabanoo siigo yaaney qaban

Minaad la qosleyso mooyee qallooc ka dhawr

 

A girl is like thunderous rain; she is a flash of lighting

Every now and again a man sought her but you won her

To thirst and hunger may she not succumb

May not a speck of dirt touch her, or dust stick to her body

Except that you’re laughing with her, protect her from evil

 

Giving a classification of men and women and praising the newly-weds, the young girl adds:

 

Nimanku ma gudboona guntigay ka siman yihiin

Garkaa wada marayoo garashey is dheeryihiin

Midbaa is garaadiyoo geesi loo filaa

Midbaa gurigii lasoo goodey kala gilgila

Midbaa garanwaaya hawshiisa gaar ahaan

Adiga guulaystow kuuma qabo gedaa

 

Not all men are of the same calibre though equal of the girdle

The beard runs along them all but wisdom, one another they excel

There is one that professes nobility and perceived to be brave

There is one that shakes and disassembles the assembled hut

There is one that is oblivious to his duty as a whole

You, o’ victor, among them I count you not

 

And the women:

 

Dumarku ma gudboona gambadey ka siman yihiin

Midbaa is guduudisoo gaarri loo filaa

Midbaa garanweyda hawsheeda gaar ahaan

Adiga guuleysatoy kuuma qabo gedaa

 

Not all women are of the same calibre though equal of the scarf

There is the one that brightens herself and perceived to be obedient

There is the one that is oblivious to her duty as a whole

You, O’ victor, among them I count you not

 

And she ends with a general advice for the girl:

 

Laba nin oo haybta sare ka siman

Naa hooda guur iyo haween bey ku kala hadhaan

Haweeyoy inanka hano hilib hadeynu nahay

 

Two men, though equal on the outer appearance

It is through marriage and women that they each other surpass

Look after your man, O woman, if we are of the same meat

In Peace, May Thou Rest

boaters sunset

Whenever I close my eyes I see her. Her ageing face, pleasant with a few incipient delicate wrinkles; her skin, dark against the resplendent multicoloured stole gently resting on her shoulders; her wizened eyes still bearing the same reprimanding look that she had always effortlessly maintained; her greying hair neatly tucked away under the pale black scarf, with a few protruding strands softly lapping at her brow; her cheerful disposition and her ‘always vigilant’ outlook on life. Now here she lies, withered and wasted, under the soil that constantly gnaws away at her bones; her throbbing heart had finally come to rest, her muscles have renounced the battle, her limbs lie unconstrained and her body tranquil.

It was a sombre March morning when I became aware of it, 19 March 2006 (two years ago today) to be precise. A forlorn mist ominously hissed past the damp and empty Greenwich streets. It seemed colder than usual. The car’s windshield had been frosted with a thin coating of ice and my friend Abdi, drove along the A406 with extra care. I gazed out the side window into the early morning mist; the yellow sun’s lingering rays were slowly emerging, with a few fragmented beams that thawed the thick fog on the bare-branched trees along the road and far into the fields. The fields themselves seeped of insipidity and a motionless mist had cast a permanent gloom over the grass. I was on my way to the airport that Sunday morning when I received the call that changed my life as I had previously known it. ‘Unknown’ said the little screen as my hand hesitantly held it up and answered it. A crackling noise, with half unintelligible words and half drowned by the fading signal, greeted me on the other end. My brother Mursal’s voice it was, I recognised. And though indiscernible it may have been, the message was deafening clear. She had passed away; my aunt Maryan.

Ever since I became aware of my surroundings and was able to determine right from wrong, I remember her as always being there – a statue-like figure, imposing in its appearance, permanently ingrained in my mind’s eye so that it constantly stared down at me like a silent sentinel. Like a majestic tree in its full glory she once towered over my life. Not like the trembling Aspen whose lithe frame and slender branches sway with the slightest breeze; nor like the beautifully soaring Beech with its vivid mosaic of colours and a canopy of foliage that falls off at the hint of autumn, but like the mighty Oak whose sturdy trunk and rigid roots, though furrowed with age, stand strong in the face of unsettled seasons. Such was her character – bold, brash and dominating. Now, drained and debilitated, the mighty Oak has, at long last, given in. Its broad leaves have now wilted and finally dropped; its inflexible branches, that once sheltered a variety of life, have now shrunken and its strong roots have shrivelled.

Along with the frost and mist, time too had frozen. The seconds slowly gave way to minutes and minutes to hours; faintly the tarmac rolled, like a giant carpet that was being pulled smoothly beneath me in slow motion; the wind howled past at great speeds; horns blared and brakes screeched, but I was benumbed by the news and deaf to the noise, and quietly insentient and oblivious to my surroundings. Her face had covered my horizon - her image draped itself on the canvas of motorway signs, her words chimed and swam soothingly in my ears and my mind relapsed to a time many years ago when I left her.  

Had it not been for a broken leg and the bouts of illnesses she had suffered a few years prior to her death, no age could wither her nor slow her down. At 66, she could walk faster than any man her age so her death was a bolt from the blue. Having grown from toddler to a man under her care, my entire life revolved around her. My parents, nomadic pastoralists, have entrusted me into her care at the tender age of five. So I was beholden to her for things too many to mention, but before I could be of any service to her and repay the kindness of her guardianship in my childhood with compassion and care, we became separated as I left for England.  

And as distance makes the heart grow fonder, everyday life’s little pleasures had started to dwindle without her presence to illuminate them. And now, all life’s subtle joys and attractions have abruptly been terminated when that stream of consciousness was ended by her death. The cool shade of the oak had been lifted and the cloud that constantly overshadowed and sheltered me from life’s trials, even in her absence, had, in that very instant, disappeared – it felt as if she had entered into a deep slumber, taking all she’s ever given me along with her. Know my Aunt, that the caravan awaits and I am coming too…  

My mind now solemnly gravitates towards the lost stream of consciousness; towards the unattainable past. Her malevolent scolding has now mellowed down to a mellifluous melody with a tuneful, comforting resonance. And her memory leisurely lingers to fill me with hope. The Mighty oak may have withdrawn its branches and departed with its abundant shade but it has dropped its acorns, and from among these acorns another mighty oak shall soon grow…

Somali Cultural Weddings - Gaaf

   

As the sun plummets down the horizon, the joyous people of the village depart company after the Gelbis to prepare for the more interesting part of the ceremony and the festivities continue through the night. Demonstrative of the happy times they are having, everyone in the village as well as the neighbouring settlements congregate at the hut of the newly-weds. An unrestrained enthusiasm sweeps across the surroundings and the sounds of ululating women travels several kilometres upon the open fields.

Come nightfall and the Gaaf begins. With a mixture of several forms of poetry, songs and riddles, the Gaaf is perhaps the most entertaining part of the entire wedding ceremony. The villagers look forward to the Gaaf in anticipation. Settlers from far areas travel several nights just to witness the fun-filled night as a young girl recited in her poem in one Gaaf I attended:

 

Hoobe hobaala hoobala hoobalow

Ee hoobe hobaala hoobalayey hadaba

Beryaan soo dhaxayoo bogoxaa shishaan ka imid

Calaf ma dooneynoo cagahana ma daalineyn

Oo soor ma dooneynin saaxiibna uma gudeyn

Boqorada iyo boqorka soo booqo baan lahaa

Ciyaarta ka tiiri oo caawi baan lahaa

 

Hoobe hobaala hoobala hoobalow (these set the rhyming pattern for the poem)

Ee hoobe hobaala hoobalayey hadaba

For nights I have been travelling, coming from distant lands

Neither was I in search of my destined partner nor was I tiring my legs (in vain)

I wasn’t in search of food and for a friend I did not travel

To visit the Queen and the King was my intention

To perfect their dance ceremony and help them was my intention

 

 

Right: The Bride and groom in the middle and the Malxiis & Malxiisad on either sides

The hut is decorated to the best of their means (the above is not a hut but a tin-roofed house), with all sorts of elegant decorative utensils and Nomadic handicrafts at display; the bride, in her wedding apparel, is covered with brilliant patterns of henna, the women in their Subeeciyad and the man in his best clothes, each according to his means.

The Gaaf is simply a congregation at the house of the newly-weds for seven nights, where singing, poetry and riddles are preserved through the nights and it too, like the Xeedho, has some strict rules to be observed:

• As soon as you enter the hut, it is customary that you first shake hands with the groom, then the bride, then the best-man (malxiis), then the best-woman (Malxiisad) – and in that precise order also. After that you are permitted to greet any other attendees of your acquaintance or liking.
• When many people have attended and food is lavishly consumed, the entertainment then starts. Entertainment here is to be understood primarily in terms of extended verbal jousts and battle of words and intellect. Poetry, riddles and songs, all either wishing blessing for the newly-weds or expressing self-avowal of one’s intellect or wisdom is composed or recited; sometimes it even culminates in a battle between the sexes, as often is the case.
• Once the entertainment starts, the groom is appointed his two male helpers. One of these helpers acts as the ‘court’ (Maxkamad) and the other as the ‘public prosecutor’ or a ‘policeman’ (Askari). The Askari with his baton walks around the room and initiates the ceremony by either singing or reciting a poem first. Then he points his stick to someone in the gathering and that person must stand in front of the ‘court’ to be sentenced.
• The sentencing of this person could comprise of answering several riddles, a poem recitation or singing a song. If that person does not comply to any of these, he/she has one chance to pass on the sentence to someone else.
• Everyone attending the Gaaf is subject to such random picking to be sentenced to a public performance.
• If a person gets a riddle wrong, he/she is punished and the punishments sometimes include being branded on the face with ashes or something similar for the duration of the night. Sometimes the punished are made to drink water filled with salt.
• Several bottles of perfumes are brought in to spray on the performer who sings well or recites a good poem or answers all his/her riddles correctly.

When the house was filled the man with the blue shirt on the right was the Askari and picked performers.

Though the customs of the Gaaf have somewhat diminished now and its tradition is not fully observed within much of the Somali community in Somalia, and is extinct in the western world, yet the Nomads practice it and for them it is a great occasion. They take great pride in their ceremonies. Utmost care is ensured so that everything is in its due place and the hut, adorned in a variety of woven mats and decorative material, looks as ornamental as their skilful hands can make it.

But what makes the Gaaf interesting is not the decoration of the hut or the number of people attending; it is the words recited by the performers and the wisdom behind them that lightens up the gathering and the more versed a person is in poetry the more esteemed they are in those circles.

Poetry in this forsaken land is not simply a hobby of the erudite gentlemen of high nobility; each and everyone is in possession of an admirable wit for words and is capable of composing either rabble-rousing speeches or laudable verses of praise. Here are laymen and ordinary Nomads on whose tongues fountains of words flourish, so everyone on the night composes poems on the spot. It is these words that are imparted, the feelings they embody and the sentiments they arouse that become the highlight of the night.

Observing these nomads had now strengthened my aforementioned predilection for a residence among them. Their simple ways of living and care-free life had appealed to me for a very long time. As for the exchange of poems during the nights of Gaaf, I will post a few examples in my next post…

To be continued…

Somali Cultural Weddings - Gelbis

The Gelbis (escorting the bride to her new home), as I said earlier, is the occasion that marks the commencement of the wedding ceremony. And this (above left) is how it starts, with the women slowly making their way to the hut ululating, drumming and singing songs of praise and various wedding songs as well as the Gelbis song. In the middle of them would be the bride shrouded in a white cloth. In the olden times, a bride and groom would be escorted to their new hut with a convoy of the finest horses in town, but those days are long gone now. I was received with scepticism while taking the pictures of this particular wedding, with each individual wanting to see how they became magically transformed into my digital camera’s small screen. An inquisitive look filled most of the faces present, while some, as the girl with the glittery face, braved their way.

 

 

The entrance of the hut, Ardaaga, would be decked with Alool (above left), though the earth would not normally be as barren as above and would be beautified with leaves and pebbles as underlay and then ornamented with a beautifully crafted mat. Once the women reach the hut, the men then make their way to the hut, humming Islamic songs of praise of the Prophet. As they approach, the gunmen take their prominent places near the hut. Once the men approach the hut, they assemble outside the hut and let the groom enter the hut alone. The gunmen then fire several (usually three) consecutive shots into the air, before the blessings and prayers are showered upon the newly-weds. Then animals are slaughtered and a grand feast is declared for the night!

    

But before the feast, right after the prayers and blessings, all congregate to watch young men assemble in a circle and partake in a jumping contest. The elders watch their offsprings from the sidelines, whilst the women ululate and the young ones, frolicking in the open land, learn the moves to the dance being performed.

 

 

The dance though usually vibrant and energetic, escalates in harmony, as if it were choreographed. The dizzying swirls and the gravity-defying leaps all appear to effortlessly flow from the dancers as they waggle their bodies up and down and side to side in unity. The particular dance being performed in the above images is called Shurbo and the men chant Hoo lebi whilst leaping in the air. The group of dancers below are jumping to the Muraasenyo which is very similar to the Shurbo but with different chants. Though the young ladies now watch from the sides, their turn will come once night falls. As soon as darkness engulfs the land, a troupe of dancers consisting of young men and women escort each other to an open field, far off the newly-weds’ hut and prepare their grounds. There the young women gracefully gambol and compete in a war of verses with the young men.

 

 

The dance continues all the way until nightfall. Once the last few rays of the sun plummet down the horizon and the bewitching mosaic of colours across the sky start to fade, the villager return to their homes to prepare for the Gaaf.

Salaam

Greetings all,

I am back after my inexplicable month-long hiatus. Much has been happening lately and that has kept me occupied for over a month or so; so much so that I haven’t even had the time to visit this blog. Bear with me friends, I will resume posting in a few days insha-Allah.

Spot the difference!

 

The Raw Somali

 

The trained Somali

 

Is there anything wrong with these two images, or is it just me?

 

obtained from JSTOR.

Xeedho

The Xeedho is a custom usually prevalent in the Northern parts of Somalia. After the wedding is consummated and the bride and groom settle peacefully in their newly constructed home, it is time for opening the Xeedho or as it is called in Somali Xeedho-fur. This usually occurs on the seventh night, - the final night of the seven-day honeymoon period. The roots of Xeedho lie in the pastoral lands with the Somali Nomads. The custom though, is dwindling in the rural areas and has, as of late, taken a great following in the urban areas

Left: The Xeedho. Middle: The veil is uncovered. Right: Naked

In the olden times the villagers would gather outside the hut of the newly weds and the Xeedho-opening ceremony would take place. The gathering in the city does not differ much from that of the villages as all people congregate in a large hall.

The Xeedho, with its gracefully winding shape is designed with the bride in mind. It actually signifies the bride. As the members of both the families gather around in big circles, the Xeedho is placed in the middle and the ceremony begins.

So it must be tended to as if it were the bride herself and as a result, the opening of the Xeedho has fixed rules and regulations, though many of them are no longer practiced by majority of people. The tradition is slowly dying and losing its formal procedures, some of which are:

• The Xeedho MUST be opened completely so that the groom can publicly declare the bride as his wife.
• The groom cannot partake in the opening of the Xeedho
• A male member from the groom’s tribe, usually a close relative such as a cousin, etc. is chosen to open the knots on the Xeedho. First though, he must take the upper veil off, just as he would a new bride in her wedding gown, and then process with the untying of the ropes.
• A guard, usually a woman and from the bride’s family, holding a gentle stick stands beside the Xeedho and watches as the man carefully tries to untie the labyrinth of knots. Being one of the few women who spent days and days interweaving the rope on the Xeedho, she knows every opening and every knot.
• If the man places his hands on the wrong end of the rope, or tries to open the rope from a different knot, the female guard lightly whips him with her stick. That signifies that he has to change the course of his opening of the rope and find a new lead. This will continue until the Xeedho is opened.
• There is nothing wrong if the man finds the opening end of the Xeedho easily and it is opened quickly, though sometimes this might cause a squabble between the female members of the two parties.
• There is only one opening of the rope on the Xeedho. This opening is a tiny knot hidden in the maze of ropes. If the man finds the opening, he would simply pull it and it disentangles itself completely – thereby opening the Xeedho.
• Several male members from the groom’s family will attempt to open the Xeedho, and all that time, the Guard keeps watch for any mistakes.
• If the Xeedho is not opened that night, they congregation returns the following night to try and open it.

     

The above images show the untying of the ropes on the Xeedho.

If the relatives of the groom fail to open the Xeedho, a great deal of disgrace follows them wherever they go. The bride is (sometimes) repossessed by her family saying that the groom, whose relatives could not open the Xeedho, will not be capable of catering to the needs of the bride. The women engage in verbal scuffles and a war of songs while the men resort to spiteful words of poetry being recited over a course of time. Sometimes even battles between tribes came about as a result of a Xeedho not opened properly or not opened at all.

 

The two images above reveal the Sati (which the Xeedho is made of) after the removal of the white cloth (Salaq) and the container with the contents.

The white cloth draped around the curvy container is called Salaq. The Xeedho is the complete thing and the outer hard covering that it is contained in is called Sati. Inside the Xeedho is small container with the Subag covered with a thick coating of dates. The dates are mixed with several spices and then ground together to make this chunky substance. It is not just Subag though, but there is also Muqmad/oodkac - small dried meatballs immersed in the Subag. After the successful opening of the Xeedho, its contents I.e. the Subag and Muqmad are distributed among the male members of both families/relatives/attendees. It is customary that the women do not eat from the Xeedho – for them is a special one taken to the girls house which is then distributed accordingly.

   

Left: The thick mixture of dates and spices is sliced open.   Right: Once opened, a rich mixture of Subag and Muqmad lies at the bottom ready to be consumed

Gelbis

 

Gelbis - the process of escorting the bride and groom to their newly constructed hut/house is one of the pre-requisites of Somali weddings. The above song is usually sung during such processes.

Somali Cultural Weddings

 

During the rainy seasons of Gu’ and some times throughout the moderately infrequent rains of the Dayr seasons, the pastoral nomads of Somalia’s countryside rejoice in the abundance of wealth that they have. It is at this time when most of their animals give birth. The once barren earth now becomes fertile; the top layer of soil remains constantly damp (sayax) and with water covering the ground, it produces fresh green grass called Cosob for all animals to graze nearby. With the continually dropping rains, and the abundance of lush pasture for the animals, there is always a plenteous supply of fresh milk and water.

The men, relieved of the burdens of trekking countless number of miles with their camels in search of green pastures, the salty Daran plants that their camels love and watering places, can now sprawl out under the fully blossomed branches of the nearby Galool trees and relax. They celebrate as their milch-camels usually give birth during these seasons and consume the highly cherished milk just after a camel has given birth. This milk is called Dambar and is often highly prized. The camels, with their front legs loosely tied are let out into the fields nearby to nibble at the freshly sprouting leaves. The entire plains are covered in soft green grass and the elders of the village gather under trees and brilliant verses of poetry acclaiming the sweetness of the seasons are sung.

The female nomads, alleviated from the arduous chores of disassembling huts during the dry seasons of Xagaa and Jiilaal to move to greener pastures, are now engaged in conversations and endless moments of merriment. There is a plenty supply of water and milk – the two essential nutrients of the Somali nomads.

Weddings and cultural dances are a regular occurrence during these seasons. It is also a time when young men who have come of age go about, usually to far away places, scouting for their brides. Local cultural dances and wedding ceremonies are the best forms of entertainment and differ from region to region. And scouting usually takes place at the dancing circles where many young men and women come to compete in a war of words.

Though impoverished and penniless, they have neither money nor jewels to bestow upon their soon-to-be brides, but one thing is prized above everything here – eloquence of speech. And what a deadly weapon it can be! In this Nomadic culture, even the amount of camels a man owns or the aristocratic lineage from which he hails may sometimes mean little where articulacy in speech and poetry are considerably triumphant. The more eloquent a man is – I.e. the more he is able to extol the virtues of his clan, family, valour and exalt the woman he admires by showering her with praise, using an array of metaphors and descriptions of the nomadic life with a clear indication of his wisdom and intellectual capacity - the more appealing he is to the observant eyes of the young clapping ladies.

The young man is in a tough competition though, for poetry here is a pastime for all. So he must be able to evoke deep sentiments through recitation and complement it with a hypnotising dance. The women too are venomous in their speech and often respond with sharp words. Perhaps one of the most famous cultural dance, that most people have heard of, is the story between Hurre Walanwal and Cambaro (I will write more about this famous story in another post soon)

The Engagement & Wedding

These cultural dances usually occur after a wedding. Weddings are perhaps one of the most important aspects of the Somali culture. A wedding denotes not only the union of two souls but the relationship between two families and, more importantly, two tribes. The engagement or Meher usually takes place a few days before the wedding, and sometimes on the same day. The wedding arrangements and agreements are all settled on that day to prepare for the big day. But before the jubilant groom can lay hands on his beautiful bride, there are many hurdles to cross and many gifts to bestow upon her family. These include

Gabaati – This is usually a gift conferred upon the girl’s family when the groom and his father go to ask the girl’s father for her hand in marriage. It is given to the soon-to-be bride’s family. Usually a young camel is given.

Yarad – This is a present given to the immediate family of the girl and is given on the day of engagement as a form of gratitude. Usually a shawl or money wrapped in an expensive shemagh or keffiyah is given.

Sooryo – this is a present given to the male members of the girl’s family. Usually it is her brothers/cousins etc who take this and is always in the form of money.

Meher – this is the engagement. The amount of camels or money the man must make a pledge to bestow his wife as Dowry is usually known as her Meher. The Meher does not need to be paid straight away, but is a promise which the man is bound to fulfil. In earlier times, when camels were in plenteous supply, a woman would be given about 100 camels just for her hand in marriage. Today, due to the lessening amount of camels in the nomadic countryside, you would be hard pressed to find a man who can afford to pay 10. The importance of Meher cannot be underestimated - without it the wedding cannot take place, so the lady needs to be clear as to what she wants for her Meher and the man is obliged to pay it.

 

Gelbis

Once the hut is constructed for the wedding in a remote place and all the essential utensils are decorated within it, the wedding starts with something called Gelbis – this is usually done just before sunset in most places. Everyone is invited on a specified date and then the Gelbis starts. Gelbis involves a disciplined routine. All the women attending the event in their colourful dresses escort the bride who stands in the middle of all of them, shaded by a long sheet of cloth. Standing far away from the designated hut, about a hundred metres away, they slowly make their way to the hut whilst drumming, clapping and ululating (mashxarad) loudly. They sing;

Nuur Allow

Nebi Allow

Maxamad Nebi

Magac samow

 

O’ Light of God

O’ Prophet of God

O’ Prophet Mohamed

How excellent your name is!

The groom, who is also at an equal distance on the other side of the hut, along with all the men present, too, slowly makes his way to the hut with the men chanting songs of praise of the prophet.

Allahuma salli calal xabiib Muxamad

Oh Allah, shower your blessing upon our dear prophet Mohamed

The women approach the hut first, and the bride alone, still clouded in mystery under the long sheets held by the women above her head, enters the hut unseen. The rest of the women assemble outside the hut, leaving adequate amount of space for the approaching gentlemen. The men then arrive, with the tribal chiefs and revered elders on either sides of the groom, buzzing like bees in their mantra.

With slow, calculated steps, and chanting all the while, the groom makes his way into the hut while the rest of the men align themselves outside the hut, still persistent in their chants. With both parties now standing at the entrance of the hut, Ardaa, the chanting finally stops and the most notable member of the congregation gives a short speech and blessings are showered upon the newly weds. After verses from the Holy Qur’an are recited and Amen is declared en masse, three men fire three shots in short succession into the air to conclude the ceremony. This concludes the Gelbis After the feast of fresh meat and milk is consumed, the bride and groom are escorted with horses and camels to their new home and the party begins. 

As the poet, Cabdullahi Faarax Warsame ( Lecture) stated in one of his poems;

Waa gob iyo caadkeed
Aroos inay gangaamaan
Guri ay yagleelaan
Gelbiska iyo shallaadkiyo
Gole lagu kulmaayoo
Giringiro ciyaartii
Dadku gaaf ka boodaan
Wa gob iyo caadkeed

 

It is of Nobles and their custom

To coordinate a splendid wedding

And construct a house

The Gelbis and the chantings

At the places of gathering

Where the dance take place

And the masses leap at the Gaaf

It is of Nobles and their custom

As the sunset dips into the horizon and darkness engulfs the area, fires are lit and dances continue on through the night. After the Gelbis several routine and mandatory tasks are performed as part of the wedding. These include Gaaf, which is also known as Todoba Bax, Xeedho, Shaash saar, etc. depending on the region where the wedding is taking place. Even the dances differ from region to region.

This is one long post, so I will stop here and explain more about Gaaf, Xheedho and Shaah Saar in another post…

Image 1

Image 2

Somali Music back

Salaan Sare,

The Widget on the side, which had stopped working for a while, is now back on track. For all those who have requested, the songs are all there, with plenty more to come soon.

And if you can’t find the song you are looking for, just let me know by dropping me a comment and I will try to upload it. And none of these so-called fresh, talented singers please, I only deal in originals. The fresh copycats can utilise their talent where it is needed most and compose their own lyrics which, admittedly, is too intimidating a task for them.

Give some credit to the originators of much of the Somali music today and boycott the imitators.

p.s Happy New 2008 and New Hijri year to all. I haven’t had the opportunity to update the blog for a while but will do very soon insha-Allah, bear with me as I go through this phase and will reply to your comments too.

Wa-Salaam

The politics of Crop Rotation

Somalis have suffered much. They have endured much conflict and have lost countless citizens as a result in the past twenty years of fighting. Yet, to this day, no one knows exactly why we went to war in the first place! In order to find a solution to the problems currently facing Somalia, it is imperative to understand and consider the causes of war in the first place. People from all walks of life, inside Somalia as well as the Diaspora, have raked their brains in a futile attempt to understand the Somali problem – the cause of the war and the civil unrest. Their efforts yielded nothing fruitful so far. Their answers, as expected, turned out to be nothing more enlightening than the blameworthy Qabiil which we all know. But there has to be some deeper meaning to be unearthed…

Several attempts have also been made at reconciliation, and they too produced nothing effective of several reasons, which include a Lack of Common Objective - With each and every individual thinking primarily about his/her own concern, then his family’s, then his Jilib’s, his clan’s, his Qabiil’s interest, and his land’s, it is hard for Somalis to have a unified common objective to be progressing forward. We are stuck in a rut!

But how can Somalis have a unified Common Objective when, particularly after the war broke out, they don’t live with each other and every clan lays allegiance to his region and piece of land. I suggest:

 

Land Rotation

Just as the case is in plants, if the crops are left in the same place year after year, the many pests under the soil that thrive on these crops will soon diminish the health and vigour of the plant. The soil needs to be balanced in order to yield good quality crops and it is for this reason that rotating the crops is essential.

The diseases that thrive on Somalis are many, but the incurable Qabiil Syndrome (QS) has reached endemic levels and needs to be curtailed. And as I mentioned QS is nourished primarily by the Somalis’ allegiance to land. So, as to eliminate this I suggest a rotation of land carried out on a massive scale.

Just as it is important to consider that the crop doesn’t have to be in the same place for two years in a row, Somalis should not be allowed to settle the same region or Gobol for more than two years in a row. Then the intrinsic meaning of Nomads shall be applied to all and adhered by all.

People of Bay should be relocated to Mudug and vice versa, people of Awdal to Hiiraan, people of Bari to Shabeelada Hoose, people of Togdheer to Bakool, people of Sanaag to Galguduud, people of Jubbada Dhexe to Sool, people of Gedo to Waqooyi Galbeed, people of Nugaal to Hiiraan and so forth…

Before the rotation begins though, the land needs to be tilled completely. Once the land is tilled, and sprayed of the previous pests and diseases that might have been infesting it for the two years, relocations should start promptly. It is essential that the soil is treated as there are some greedy feeders that have some strong roots and are hard to get rid of.

It is also important to remember that:

1. No matter how much the crop is rotated, the pest will always find it and soon reach epidemic levels once again – but the more we keep rotating it, the more of a chance we have of curtailing the problem and weakening the pest.
2. The pest cannot be killed.

To Mogadishu

 

Another year went by - almost slipped without being noticed much. It has been one long volatile year for Somalia with the arrival of the Ethiopian forces to help the incredibly incompetent Transitional Federal Government (TFG) of Somalia. Today the Ethiopian forces have almost obliterated the weak and vulnerable people of Mogadishu and the very government that was supposed to protect the feeble residents has but given the scrawny Ethiopians carte blanche to exercise their authority. The residents of Mogadishu, instead of celebrating the New Year with their loved one, are burying their dead relatives, mourning the deaths of their young one while despondently clinging on to the one thing that unites them all- hope! They are bracing themselves for another year of misery - their cheerless eyes half-heartedly fixed on the perilous road ahead, expectantly awaiting their fortune or misfortune… They have become refugees in their own country!

 

I am hereby wishing the residents of Mogadishu in particular a very Blessed Eid and all the best for the bleak year ahead. The following song is dedicated to them as a show of support. It is patriotic song from the legend Muse ismaciil Qalinle and it is called “Hadii aanan dhulkaygow” Enjoy…

 

Hadii aanan dhulkaygow

Dhuux cadaawe kuu Karin

Hadii aanan dhulkaygow

Dhiig kuugu fool dhiqin

If, for you my land, I don’t

Cook an enemy’s marrow

If, for you my land, I don’t

Rinse your face with blood

Hadii aanan dhulkaygow

Gobanimada soo dhicin

Soomali kama dhalan

If for you my land I don’t

Sovereignty reclaim

I wasn’t born of a Somali

Maalkaaga maan dhaqan

Caanihiisa maan dhamin

Ciidana dhab uma ladin

Your wealth I did not keep

Its milk I did not taste

And the soil I did not truly inhabit

 

Hadii aanan dhulkaygow

Gaaja kuugu dhuubnaan

Hadii aanan dhulkaygow

Dharka kuugu duubnaan

If for you my land I don’t

Become emaciated with hunger

If for you my land I don’t

Become draped in your clothes

 

Hadii aanan dhibaatada

dhexda suunka ku adkayn

Hadii aan dhaxantiyo

milicdaba u dherernaan

Soomali kama dhalan

If for the difficulties I don’t

Fasten my waist with the rope

If the bitter colds I don’t

and the scorching heat endure

I wasn’t born of a Somali

Dhirta miraa kamaan guran

Dhuunigaaga maan cunin

Kuma dhaqaaqin magacaa

The fruits I did not pick from your trees

Your food I did not consume

And your name I did not preserve

Maalkaaga maan dhaqan

Caanihiisa maan dhamin

Ciidana dhab uma lihi

Your wealth I did not keep

Its milk I did not taste

And the soil I did not truly inhabit

image

Eid Mubarak

 

image

The Battle of Jidbaale

 

click on the above image to read entire letter or click here to read

 

This letter dated January 1904, speaks of of the tragic battle of Jidbaale where so many Somalis lost their lives. Though the Dervishes lost a thousand men in the Battle of Jidbaale, yet the opposing forces led by the British Army also consisted of thousands of Somalis, many of whom lost their lives on that day. Speaking of this battle and other battles the Dervishes engaged in, Ismaciil Mire composed the following poem and speaks about the gravity of the situation.

History has it that Ismaciil Mire and his friend Maxamad camped at some people’s hut one night and a woman charged towards him and accused him of several things, including killing her sons, looting her camels and so forth, in order to set the local men against him in retaliation. Ismaciil Mire was at the time the leader of some regiments of the Dervish army, being the second in the chain of command after the Sayid Mohamed Abdulle Hassan. Relating the tale of the woman and her accusations as well as shedding light on the conditions of the battlefield, Mire said:

 

Gelin dhexe xalaan Maxamadow, geyrtay oo kacaye
Gam’ina waayey hadalkay i tidhi, gacallow naagtiiye
Adigay gabley tidhi markaad, geyshka wadateene

Midnight last night, oh Maxamad, with a jolt I awoke

And I couldn’t sleep, my dear, of what the woman told me

You murdered my offspring, she said, when you with your army came

Waxay tidhi adaa igu gondolay, garangartaan iile
Waxay tidhi aday guridhigoo, ma lihi gaadiide
Waxay tidhi adaa gelengel tubay, garayartaydiiye

She said that you have tied me to this uninhabited wilderness

She said you have rendered me home-bound and I have no camels*

She said you have, in the deserted fields, left my flock of goats

Waxay tidhi guyaalkii adaa, gaajo ii dilaye
Waxay tidhi gurboodkii adaa, geesaha u dhigaye
Guhaadeeda aan jirin bal aan, gabay ka soo qaado

She said you have, over the years, starved me to death

She said you have killed all the youth

Of her false intimidations now, let me recite a poem

Gumburo iyo Cagaarweyne iyo, geedkii Daratoole
Goobtii Jidbaaliyo Xargaga, guuldarradii joogtay
Gembigii ka dhacay Ruuga iyo, gudurigii haagay

At Gumburo* and Cagaarweyne* and the tree of Daratoole*

The location of Jidbaale* and Xargaga*, the defeat that prevailed

The turmoil that took place at Ruuga* and the Guduri* that feasted

Gabooddeeda Beerdhiga wixii, la isku gooraamay
Maydkii gabraday seerigay, Good ku tumanaysay
Gawarkaad maraysaba laftaad, galayaxaa mooddo

The tragedy at Beerdhiga* and the bloody slaughter that ensued

The death that filled the grounds where Good* had trampled upon

On every bank that you tread and the skeletons that dried

Gob ninkii ahaan jirey wuxuu, gibil madoobaadey
Giddigiis naflaa’iga wixii, gobolba meel aaday

When the noblest of men became emaciated with hunger

The entire population, when every region scattered to a place

Dayuuradaha gowliyo wixii, samada guuraayey
Daarihii gelgelintaa noqdiyo, gebiyadii ciiray
Wixii guuldarriyo hoog ka dhacay, dunida guudkeeda

The planes that roared and the things that travelled the sky

The buildings turned to rubble and the walls that collapsed

The defeat and devastation that overwhelmed the world’s pinnacle

Gembiyo jahaadkii arlada, gaday wixii joogay
Gaaliyo Daraawiish wixii, uunka kala gaadhay
Keligey ma wada geysannine, la isku geeryooye

The destruction and holy war that engulfed the earth’s inhabitants

The infidels and Dervishes and between the people what occurred

It’s not only I to blame, for both parties suffered countless casualties

Geyigii rogmaday oo dhan baad, guudka ii sudhiye
Waxbana hay gurraynine dembaad, galabsanaysaaye
Gartaa maaha naag yahay inaad, ii gilgilataaye

All the ravaged land, you have saddled on my head

So accuse me not, for you are only accumulating sin

You have no right, o’ woman, to threaten me

Gashi kaama qabo oo ma layn, gabannadaadiiye
Gambana kaama furan baan u fili, gulufyadaydiiye
Naa gefkiyo beenta daa yaadan gelin, godadkii naareede

I owe you no blood money, and your sons I did not kill

And I don’t think my regiments robbed you of your scarf

So stop the transgression and lies, o’ woman, lest you dwell in the pits of hellfire

 

Gaadiid = the actual meaning of Gaadiid is vehicle of transport. So, since the Nomads’ only means of transportation is the camel, Gaadiid hereby refers to camels for transportation - usually Hayin

Guduri = a bird that feeds on corpses

Gumburo, Cagaarweyne, Daratoole, Jidbaale, Xargaga, Ruuga, and Beerdhiga – These are areas, stretching from the vicinity of Laascanood, and scattered all the way from the Nugaal valley to Burco, are the sites where the Dervishes engaged in battles with the British forces. It is in the battle of Jidbaale where they suffered most casualties. An anonymous man was cited to have said…

 

Abidkeyba meel lagu jabaan jiqila buurnaaye

Dagaalkii jidbaaley ninkii joogey baan ahaye

Ilaahay I jecelaa muxuu jiray arwaaxdayda

I have always dwelled in the horrible places of defeat

I was the man present at the war of Jidbaaley

O’ how God loves me for he has protected my soul

 

p.s I have removed a few lines from the poem containing tribe names simply because some people have the tendency to read tribal names out of context. The lines i have removed too shed more evidence of the disaster that struck the Dervishes.

p.p.s Any corrections/suggestions to the translations would gladly be welcome.

Nomadic Culture

Continuing on from my previous post on Somali Culture, here are a few other images that I managed to obtain from Somali heritage.

 

Dhiil la Culayo - The woman in this picture is inserting smouldering branches into the Dhiil. Once inserted, they are left inside for a while and then shaken vigorously. This process is called Culid. The burning sticks of wood are known as Culay. When shaken for a while, a black residue is left inside the Dhiil. This process is effective in killing germs and all sorts of bacteria inside the Dhiil. The first milk that is poured into this vessel is said to taste very sweet.

Maybe Cawrala knew the taste of such milk and hence sought to entice her lover, Calimaax, with it by saying:

Casarkii haddaan weel la culay, caano kugu siiyo

Cishihii haddaan sarar cusba leh, kugu cashaysiiyo,

Oo waa caafimaad rage haddaan, cagaha kuu duu go

 

if by evening if provide you with milk from a shaken vessel (dhiil)

and by night feed you with salted morsels of steak

it is in the health of men, if I rub your feet

Do not confuse this with the process of Lullid - which is where milk is put into a vessel (Haan is always for this process, never a Dhiil) and then placed horizontally on the floor. It is then shaken vigorously by rolling it to and fro on a pillow or a cloth placed on the floor to separate the fat (Subag) from the milk. The Subag comes out thick. It is constantly checked by tasting or feeling for the thickness of the fat that forms on the surface and finally when all separates and the Subag is taken out, what is left is pure sweet milk.

The Haan, however, also undergoes a similar process to disinfect it. The process is called Aslid (haanta waa la aslaa lama Culo). This is done by collecting the bark from the roots (and sometimes stem) of trees such as the Qaroor and Muxur and Muqlo and then cooking them in water. The bark obtained is often reddish/reddish-brown in colour and a reddish mixture is the result of the cooking. This is called Asal. This Asal is then poured into the Haan and shaken to ensure that it reaches everywhere.

Update: While the Haan is being disinfected, women usually sing songs to accompany the routine. One of them is:

Garangara lagaa goosey
Geed dheer lagaa soo lul

Laba qaylo kaa yeedhay
laba qaalin kula buubtay

Laba qaar laguu kala jar
Geeljire ku qooraansey

May a Garangar be made out of you
May you be hanged from a tall tree

May two scream be heard from you
May adolescent camels fly with you

May you be cut into two pieces
May a camel herder ogle you

The Haan is never used without Asal being applied to it first. The Asal is left in the Haan for several days to disinfect it and mend any tiny holes it may have had. The Asal is also used as a coating for the Dhigo, Udbo, and lool branches used for building the Somali hut (explained here).

The Qarbad/Xab (the hide used to store water) also undergoes the process of Aslid. After this process is applied to the Qarbad, the water that is stored afterwards tastes very sweet and is reddish/brown in colour. The Galool tree is used in this process.

 

 

Masaf/Xaarin – This is the same Masaf I’ve explained earlier in Somali Culture. It is used to separate impure particles from maize and is used particularly in the Southern regions of Somalia, since farming is almost non-existent in the drier North. After harvesting the maize, first the corn seeds are put in a Mooye mixed with a few drops of water and ground slightly – leaving the maize (Galley) seeds on their own, then the seeds are spread out in a Masaf/Xaarin above and left to dry in the sun. The Galley is now refered to as Galley buusha baxsan – meaning that the actual Galley seeds are left with all impurities and coverings removed. The Galley is then either ground to be cooked as soor or cooked in its state.

 

Babis - a Somali hand-held fan made from Caw.

 

Above are different types of Dhiilo (sing. Dhiil). All the above Dhiilo are carved out of wood and are used in the Southern regions of Somalia. Nothern Dhiilo are not carved out of wood, but made from