On the wall behind the woman is Salli or Derin. It is mainly used as a prayer mat, but it is also used to sleep on and sometimes it is spread out for the guests to sit on when they arrive. Notice that the man is sitting on one. The object on the wall where the man is leaning on is called Masarafad or sometimes called Masarafad Hilbood. Its main use was to take the large amounts of meat to the guests. The nomads often have many guests and huge quantities of meat is eaten. Receiving a guest with such generosity is often praise worthy and the theme of many verses of poetry. In the Somali culture, where families are judged by their hospitality, Sooryo (receiving guests well) is very important and so is Sagootin (seeing them off well). Now both these items are used for decoration purposes.
This woman is weaving baskets known as Dambiilo (single – Dambiil). Behind her on the wall is Kebed made from threads obtained from trees and strings. The object on her right handside with the blue and white patterns is called a Masaf or Xaarin and is used to separate soil and the impure particles from maize – a process called Haadin.
The mysterious containers (on the left) wrapped in a white cloth and laced by a red rope in the middle are called Xeedhooyin or a Xeedho for a single one and are carved out of wood. Though they are used to store food, they are also used mainly for wedding purposes and this is usually in the Northern regions. I will explain this in more detail in another post.
The other two similar containers (on the right) with the one single lace running across the top part are Dhiilo. This is just one of the many types of Dhiil and it is made from Caw. It is usually used in the Northern parts of Somalia.
Between these two sets of containers is a small object. This is called Dabqaad and is carved out of a special stone primarily found in Ceelbuur, in the South and many other Somali regions. It is used for burning Frankincense, Myrrh and other kinds of incense. The coloured object standing on the far wall facing you is called Alool, the other two facing each other are Kebdo (Single – kebed). They are all now used for decoration purposes. The Kebed is primarily used for building and a protection against the strong Jiilaal winds.
These brilliantly patterned objects are also Dhiilo (single – Dhiil). The object at the forefront, however, is not a Dhiil but a Mooye and is used for grounding spices. These Dhiilo are used throughout Somalia but the methods of making them slightly differ in North and South. The ones above are carved out of wood and are particularly used in the Southern regions of Somalia.
This is the Dhiil used in the Central and Northern regions of Somalia. Notice the difference between the two. This Dhiil is made out of the Qabo tree and the thin fibres of the Booc tree which are then skilfully interwoven. Both types of Dhiilo are used for storing milk and water.
Whoever spent some of his childhood years in Somalia would automatically recognise this thing. It is called Garaangar and every child makes his own by hand. I remember running around all day behind my Garaangar knowing that I had the best toy in the world.
These are the traditional clothes worn by the Somali women. Known as Subeeciyad, it is a one single long cloth draped around the waist and over the shoulders.
The man you see above is being drenched in milk. A rather strange thing to be doing when you consider that that milk is much needed and many children sleep hungry at night. This is called Caana Shub and the man being treated in such a manner is the Sultan, Ugaas, Caaqil, Nabadoon, a sage or a leader of a certain tribe or region.
This is how older generations of Somalis dressed and kept their hair. While travelling men usually carry a Barkin to rest their head on and keep their hair from touching the ground.
Barkin
This is what a Somali spoon or a Fandhaal looks like. I am sure you can guess what its uses are. It is also carved out of wood.
Dabqaad.
Note that all these items may have several name variation in different regions of Somalia.
After travelling for several hours, the family had just settled into their new location with ample grazing ground and access to water nearby. The mother was disassembling the hut, sticking the Dhigo and Udub firmly into the soil and in close proximity were the two young girls holding the harness of the camel on which their elderly grandmother sat. Just as the two girls approached the hut, they were ambushed by loud chanting and the cries of ululating women drifted along the cool breeze and landed on their ears.
This they realised was an emancipation of the soul (it is not very often that weddings take place in the nomadic settlements) and were quickly impassioned. Imbued with an intense passion to participate in that wedding, the girls exchanged giggles and elatedly talked of attending the dance session afterwards. And quite rightly so, for this was their chance to mingle with the locals and exchange some verses of poetry.
Their grand-mother who, due to infirmity of age was too weak to walk and had to travel on camel-back, heard all the girls’ excited wails from her resting point. She too, though, hears the voice of ululating women resonating from the dark plains, not far from where they were now settling. After the girls had discussed their plans to attend the wedding, the grand-mother interrupted them and said:
‘Girls, girls! Would you stop the camel so that I can dismount and join those ululating women…’
They girls were taken aback by this request and stared at each other in amazement, unable to decide whether the old woman meant what she said or merely spoke in jest. This feeble woman, they thought, could not stand the noise and the dancing that takes place.
‘O’ grandmother, are you joking or have you finally gone insane’ they said.
Their grandmother smiled and then laughed, shaking her head slightly. Little do the girls know about the feelings of the old woman and what she is going through! Little do they know that over half a century ago, in an evening very similar to this, the very place that they have now settled bore witness to their grandmother’s first wedding! And in a manner similar to this evening’s wedding that the girls were planning to attend, many people from all over the countryside attended her wedding too. It was even perhaps here where her firstborn’s umbilical chord was buried. But to all this they were unaware, over taken by the wails of the wedding nearby. Even before the start of their long journey to this place, the grandmother was well aware of where they were headed and the wedding taking place.
In a short, succinct poem, the old lady relates her complete life story to her adolescent grand-daughters, wistfully lamenting her ripeness of age and the different stages in her life. She said:
Beri baan, beri baan
Wax la dhaloo dhulka jiifta ahaa
Beri baan, beri baan
Bilig bilig baraar celisa ahaa
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was newly born, lying on the ground
There was a time; There was a time;
when I scuttled around tending to lambs
Beri baan, beri baan
Daba-jeex dabka qaada ahaa
Beri baan, beri baan
Rukun rukun, reeraha u wareegto ahaa
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was entrusted to kindle the fire
There was a time; There was a time;
when aimlessly I ran around the huts
Beri baan, beri baan
Raamaley riyo raacda ahaa
Beri baan, beri baan
Habloweyn had hadaafta ahaa
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was a juvenile guarding the goats
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was a strolling mature girl
Beri baan, beri baan
Aroos indha-kuulan ahaa
Beri baan, beri baan
Mar curad marwo reerle ahaa
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was a mascara-clad bride
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was a first-time mother and a housewife
Beri baan, beri baan
Laba-dhal laafyoota ahaa
Beri baan, beri baan
Saddex-dhal sit sitaacda ahaa
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was an elegantly ambling mother of two
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was a dazzling mother of three
Beri baan, beri baan
Afar-dhal afo aada ahaa
Beri baan, beri baan
Shan-dhal sheekaysa ahaa
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was the finest mother of four
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was a gossiping mother of five
Beri baan, beri baan
Lix-dhal liibaantey ahaa
Goblan talo aduunyoy
Ma hadaan gabooboo
Laygu qaaday guro awr.
There was a time; There was a time;
when I was a triumphant mother of six
Woe to you o’ world!
did I now become old
That I am carried on camel-back
Image by Photogenic. Story translated from Guri Waa Haween.
Everything in life has its peak then its glory fades. And we are no different. After a man’s life has reached its pinnacle, having attained all the sagacity and prudence it could, it starts to wane. Soon everything he possesses will start to either diminish or disappear. Whether he likes it or not, the dreaded wrinkles begin their assault on the once handsome face and the inevitability of age becomes certain. Then he starts to walk on threes, and finally on all fours. Like a toddler learning how to walk, the old man staggers and stumbles a multitude times. Hesitant and unable to walk long distances, he becomes confined to his resting place. Rendered immobile and almost out of touch with the community, he rests under the shade of his hut or a nearby tree and awaits any passerby to inform him of the events and news around him. Despite being hungry and weak, he is unable to eat and meals become almost unpalatable to him, except for whatever he could gulp down of camel milk.
As the sun sets everyday, his uncertainties grow – unsure whether he would be fit enough to see the break of dawn. And if he makes it to the daybreak, he becomes even more uncertain of its dusk! He starts to realise that soon, like his friends, he too will share a dark and dismal pit with the insects while the soil gnaws away at his fragile bones. If he was a poet it dawns on him that his friends with whom he would have exchanged banter with are long gone, as Dharbaaxo Jin said:
Raggiise aan la maansoon lahaa aakhiro u meerye
Raagihii mudnaa iyo Qamaan mawdkii baa helaye
Sayyidkii murtida sheegi jirey meel fog buu tegaye
The men I would’ve versed with have left for the hereafter
Death has caught up with the venerable Raage and Qamaan
The sagacious Sayyid too has departed to a far away place
In his feeble state, the old man become slightly petulant and develops an unpleasant disposition. The strident wails and laughter of frolicking kids annoys him. He is perturbed by loud noises and disturbances of any kind. Being in an isolated state, he often requires a constant companion to tend to his needs. And if not for a dutiful son or grandson or an unusually compassionate young man or woman to look after him, the old man if often left in his lonesome state.
When the poet Faarax Xasan Cali (farax Afcad) was in a ripe old age, he recited a poem describing the sort of woman he would marry, if he were to do so. He said:
Caanaha cidey kama bogto oo badey gugeygiiye
Hadba balaq midaan ii shubeyn waan ka boobsanahay
Cidey’s milks I am not satiated with as my years have increased
And she who wouldn’t readily pour me [milk] then I am wary of
It is also usual for an old Nomad in this decrepit state to completely lose his eye sight and/or become deaf or become partially sighted or partially deaf. When night falls and others are in deep slumber, he lies awake in his lonesome place twisting and turning, his groans and grunts filling the dark space. he is rendered sleepless at night and restless during the day, waiting for the angel of death to cast a shadow of gloom on his sombre existence.
Sheikh Axmad Gole was an erudite scholar, renowned throughout the Somali lands, particularly Western Somalia, for his understanding of religion. But when old age got to him, he was asked about his state and he replied thus:
Indhihii mid waa jaw the eyes, one is completely gone
Midna jeex yar baa haray and a portion is left of the other
Jaaha iyo gacantii the face and the hands
waa wada jirkoodaas are but that mere skin
Dhegihii waxbaa jooga a fraction is left of the ears
Waase sii jufmahayaan But they are deteriorating
Ushaa ii jifada dheer that stick with the steel end
Waa jimicsigaygii is my tool for my exercise
Gol hadaan ku joogsado if one a hill is step
Waan luqun jubaarmaa I lose my footing and tumble
Dhul hadaan jadi maago if on land I decided to walk
Waa badi jugleeyaa I stagger and fall on my bottom
Jidba geeljireentana if on my back I lie
Dhabarkaa I kala jaba my back would break
Hadaan jimicsi doonana if I decide to stretch & exercise
Jiliftaa I kala baxa my spine splits into two
Hadaan jeenan waayana if nourishment I don’t get
Sidii inan yar baan jalan like a toddler I’d whine
Jil hadii aan qaatana and if I swallow a little
Waa jululuqeeyaaye my stomach starts to rumble
Jirkaygii hufnaanjirey my once beautiful skin
Waa meela joolla ah is decrepit and old
Jismigii madoobaa my once dark hair
Hadmaa jookh cad lagu rogey when was it encased in black?
Naagihii aan jeelkeenay the women that I married
Way I jidi necbaadeen have started to despise me
Wiilashaan jeclaan jirey the sons that I used to love
Jawaab igama qaadaan take no response from me
Odaygu waa jinoobaa that the old man is possessed
Waaba lagu jalbeebtaa they say and secretly gossip
Jiriidow Allahayow Oh Allah, you are Omnipresent
Kolba joogi meynee and we won’t last for eternity
Jidkii nebig na qaadsiiyoo guide us to the path of our prophet
Jahanama hanoo geyn and keep us away from hellfire
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:
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
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:
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.
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…
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
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…
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…
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.
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.
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 – 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.
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…
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:
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.
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…
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
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.
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:
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 QaroorandMuxurandMuqloand 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.
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 Dhiiloare not carved out of wood, but made from Caw and special tree fibres. The Dhiil on the top left is decorated with Aleel or tiny sea shells.
Gambar – This is the classic Somali stool called made from cow’s hide.
Various forms of Somali arts and crafts. In front of the wooden camels are two carved wooden bells called Koor. These are tied to the camel’s neck.
Salli/Derin – this is another design of the same Salli/Derin I’ve explained earlier here.
Xaaqin – made from the leftovers of Caw. This is a brush used for sweeping the house/hut.
Saqaf – This is a Somali comb. The original name of this comb is Wafti.
Birjiko – A Somali stove. Food cooked using one of these is only matched in taste by the food cooked using this Dhardhaar. ;)
I have been rather busy lately and have been unable to update this blog, and probably would not be able to do so for the next few days either. So, until we meet again in a few day’s time, I shall leave you with this brilliant video. Do enjoy…
Native, I haven’t forgotten about the Somali weddings account
and as I promised you I will bring you an extensive write-up of what the custom
entails. Bear with me…
has completed its investigation and has charged the Briton Gillian [Gibbons] under article 125 of the criminal code
My interpretations of the situation thus far are here:
Surely when Miss Gibbons was on her way to Sudan to teach English to the young impoverished kids there she would have taken into consideration the culture of the people there, the religion and the laws and jurisdictions that govern them.
If after all this, and while cognisant of the religious aspects and the events of the Danish cartoons just a short while ago now, she managed to name or allowed the children to name the teddy Mohamed, then in all fairness, she was imprudently advised.
But if that was an honest mistake on her part, and she never meant any offence, then surely Miss Gibbons must be released.
Or is it this case has some underlying political connotations and Miss Gibbons is being used as pawn?
As with everything else nowadays, religion seems to be at the heart of every debate.
It is pretty simple though and the rule is universal. We live in Britain and being the law-abiding citizens that we are, abide by the rules and regulations that govern us here. Conversely, when the Brits go to live abroad, surely they must be expected to abide by the laws of that country, however extreme those laws may be… or don’t go!
Plumes of dust sombrely soar above the once beautiful city of Mogadishu. The putrid smell of decaying bodies and the stench of blood nauseatingly drifts in the atmosphere. In the ravaged streets, the ruthless sounds of bullets, rocket-propelled grenades and rattling gunfire coupled with the loud cries of bewailing mothers form a cruel cacophony. And in their hideouts, the mothers struggle to raise their under-nourished children and lay them in their laps knowing that they would soon breathe their last. They have nothing to feed them. The few buildings that are left now stand derelict and desolate. Life is slowly seeping out of Mogadishu. The last remaining inhabitants are either too weak to relocate or lack the means and wherewithal with which to do so. And the whole world stands unconcerned…
What is happening in Somalia today is nothing more than a systematic and a well-orchestrated displacement process and here is what I think is happening. The Ethiopians along with the much reviled warlords we have for a “government” intend to:
Kill as many Somalis as possible in order to curb/deplete the population
Make Mogadishu uninhabitable – so much so that it turns into a ghost city.
Repopulate the city with Ethiopian troops that gradually bring their families, relatives and their scrawny tribes to infest it.
Move to other cities
And this looks very probable and practical for an army with an implacable hatred for Somalis. But never would it have been possible for a withered nation to invade Somalia had it not been for one of our very own blood…
My God! What has become of us? when have we sunk so low…We live in a world where the perpetrators of crime are supported and applauded whilst the ill-fated victims are disparaged and castigated.
Quote of the Day: “Injustice everywhere is a threat to justice everywhere”–Martin L. King
These are the words to the classic song Soomaali Baan Ahay that I’ve tried to translate. I must say, though, that any translation from Somali to English doesn’t give much justice to the original and doesn’t convey the message accurately. If you spot any mistakes in the translation, or you find any better words to use, please do let me know..
Sinnaantaan la magac ahay
San-ku-neefle ma oggoli
Inuu iga sarreyn karo
Anna garasho sogordahan
Sooryo ruux ugama dhigo
Soomaali baan ahay!
I share names with equality
A mortal I do not allow
That he surpass me
And allusive words and hints
I confer not on anyone as gifts I am Somali
Inkastoon sabool ahay
Haddana waan sarriigtaa
Sacabbada ma hoorsado
Saaxiib nimaan nahay
Cadowgayga lama simo
Soomaali baan ahay
Though impoverished I am
Yet my hardships I endure
And my palms I do not extend
A man with whom I am friends
With my enemy I do not rival I am Somali
Nabaddaan u sahanshaa
Colaaddaan ka salalaa
Soomajeesto goobaha
Ninka nabarka soo sida
Gacantiisa kama sugo
Soomaai baan ahay
I am in a quest for peace
And from enmity I am terrified
But [from the battlefield] I flee not
And the man who brings wounds
From his hands I await not [I launch assault] I am Somali
Nin I sigay ma nabad galo
Nin isugeyna maba jiro
Libta weli ma sii deyn
Gardarrada ma saacido
Nin xaq lehna cid lama simo
Soomaali baan ahay!
A man who endangers me lives not in peace
And there isn’t a man who did wait for me
Gratitude I have not yet abandoned
Nor do I support not any transgression
And a wronged man I compare not with others I am Somali
Ninkaan taydu soli karin
Uma yeelo suu rabo
Sida dunida qaarkeed
Sandulleynta ma oggoli
Ninna kabaha uma sido
Soomaali baan ahay
To whom my ways do not appeal
As he wishes I do not comply with
Like some parts of the world
Coercion I do not accept
Nor do I carry any man’s shoes I am Somali
Ninka Iga sed roonow
Siintaada magaca leh
Ogow kaama sugayee
Hana oran sasabo badaw
Dareen seexda ma lihiye
Somaali baan ahay
O’ you who is wealthier than I
Your offerings for name’s sake
Know that I expect them not
Say not, too, persuade the ignorant
For I have not a conscious that sleeps I am Somali
Ninna madax salaaxiyo
Kama yeelo seetada
Sasabo ma qaayibo
Sirta waxaan iraahdaa
Saab aan biyaha celin
Soomaali baan ahay
Neither man’s stroking of my head
Nor his lace on my legs [duplicity] do I accept
Persuasion I do not approve
As for secrets [about me] I say
A Saab [vessel] that hold no water I am Somali
Dabayshaan la socod ahay
Salfudeydna uma kaco
Waabay sunaan ahay
Marna samawadaan ahay
Samir baan hagoogtaa
Soomaali baan ahay
I am of a step with the wind
And on impulse I do not act
I am like fangs of poison [when provoked]
And at times, the bearer of good [when dealt with peace]
I am swathed in patience I am Somali
Nin I sigay ma nabad galo
Nin isugeyna maba jiro
Libta weli ma sii deyn
Gardarrada ma saacido
Nin xaq lehna cid lama simo
Soomaali baan ahay!
A man who endangers me lives not in peace
And there isn’t a man who did wait for me
Gratitude I have not yet abandoned
Nor do I support not any transgression
And a wronged man I compare not with others I am Somali
Saan la kala jaraan ahay
Summadi ay ku wada taal,
Rag baa beri I saanyaday
Anoo xoolo soofsada,
Xil midnimo anaa sida,
Soomaali baan ahay
I am like Saan [hide] split into two
That still bears the credentials
Some men once disintegrated me
Whilst I tended to my flocks
[But] the obligation of unity I [still] carry I am Somali
During the Jiilaal seasons when winds and scarcity of water hit the parched Somali terrain, the nomads dig wells – Berkedo – to accumulate rain water. Those nomads who live at a distance from the Berked usually water their animals after every 9 to 10 days of thirst, thereby reducing the amount of journeys they’d have to make to the well. On the journeys to the Berked, the drover, walking alongside the herd, guides them into the direction of the Berked. The goats, being the leaders they are, pilot the herd and often seem to automatically recognise where they are going – or at least show the Sheep that they have a clue as to where they are headed. The sheep are naïve creatures and simply follow them. They lag behind and often require gentle whippings from the drover and a pebble-filled canister thrown their way to move them. Sometimes even the whippings of the drover mean little to them because of their insensitive nature and the thick fur that protects them. They have no inclination to move on their own accord and appear to be very sluggish in their movements. Having been driven out early to the watering grounds, the herd is not allowed to graze, but the sheep are often seen nibbling away at the grass.
When soo hor, cries the young herder at the well to the drover for a part of the herd to be released to the Berked, the goats immediately rush headlong into the direction of the Berked, dip their heads into the containers provided and after quenching their thirst, play about joyfully with a rejuvenated oomph. The goats are born leaders – or have qualities resembling a leader’s. They are lively and enthusiastic about life’s prospects, though they are deficient in terms of experience and, some times, competence. The young Waxar gracefully gambols around the Ardaa soon after birth and imitates the Ceesaan, who in turn imitates the Goat (Ri) in its high-pitched bleating.
They are bold and brash, principally driven by an impulsive rush into things. Their skewed judgment of their own vulnerability hinders them from looking further ahead into the possibilities of their actions. Amused by their own frolicking, they are diverted from the flock, though their senses are promptly reawakened by the hint of fox’s presence.
The sheep, however, like inebriated beings in a moment of drunkenness, dawdle absent-mindedly into the open environment, confounded by the happenings. They glance at each other in a moment of murkiness, then at the goats rushing for the Berked and, being the insipid creatures that they are, walk with some trepidation and uncertainty towards the direction taken by the goats, blindly following them. Sheep are rather shallow and slightly slow on the uptake, thereby taking years to respond to little matters requiring little or no brain activity at all. The humdrums of daily existence mean little to the sheep who, in blithe disregard for any perils that lie ahead, graze in the thickest of the forest, unconscious of the darkness that looms and the jeopardy that seeps from within.
By evening when the sun starts its graceful exit from the earth and it’s time to bring the herd home, the sheep walk fatigued as if in a state of infirmity and on a strenuous journey, nibbling away whatever grass they manage to scrounge around. Though in the hindsight they are aware that they would be returning home, their feeble mind convinces them of the possibility of grazing for ever…little do they realise that the cunning fox lurks in the corner burrow and the hyena is dreaming of a succulent meat tonight; even worse, little do they realise that the sun is setting on them and soon darkness will engulf them…
When it rains, the sheep are unruffled by the thunder. They are competent swimmers and will swim through any flood, come what may, despite several losses and injuries. Locking their heads together, they form a ring of black heads in the enclosure around their young one and withstand the pellets of rain. If they find themselves being swept away in a flood, the sheep wriggle their plump bottoms about in the water with their head always above the water – except when overcome by an enormous surge. They somehow manage to swim out of the tide that carries them.
The goats, on the other hand, are expert whiners and their Qalaad could be heard a distance away. Little floods could cause serious inconveniences to their health and a flash of lighting would agitate their nerves. If swept away they have little chance of survival and, as a habit, dip headfirst into the water. They are often heard making a racket of noises as they are seized by the surge.
The ones that perish in the floods, of Sheep and Goats, are never mourned for and the survivors never look back. That the floods could rise once again and swallow them is inconceivable to their brains. Death means nothing to both the Sheep and Goats. One lost Sheep or Goat does not render the average herd from pausing in their graze and reflecting upon the future that awaits them – even if that death occurs right in front of their eyes and a fox devours a young delectable Sabeen!
The Somali population’s mentality differs not much from that of the animals they rear. The general populace, with their Sheep Logic, are desperate to be led, having no capacity within them to do so. They largely follow their whims and desires and though they perceive the goings-on in their surroundings and the chaos that envelops them from within, they are too blasé about them do not comprehend all that they perceive. Their limited mental vision and the grass they graze on obstructs their view from the perils that lie ahead. Living off the handouts of other countries plotting bigger schemes on their country, the Somalis live in a state of almost total unconsciousness.
The elders of that population have passed down years and years of traditions and practices. The chain of Goat Logic is passed down through an uninterrupted chain until it reaches the Waxar. The young ones born either in or outside Somalia, with a developing sense of Waxar Logic, aspire to become just like their parents and are often seen regurgitating their ideas and behaviours. The dwelling of the young ones or their birth place, even if outsie Somalia, does little to change the inherent susceptibility to Sheep Logic which is passed down by the elders. Neither does the Waxar Logic differ much from the Goat (Ri) Logic, nor the Nayl Logic from the Sheep (Lax) Logic. From a young age, the progeny of this type of logic is infested with the endemic Qabiil Syndrome that takes root and eventually turns them into either whiners like their seniors or leaves them in a state of complete insensitivity. The middle aged ones, with a half-lived life and the logic of the Sabeen or Ceesaan, are in no position to change things and inflict the lashing of Qabiil on the growing young ones.
And just like the Goats and Sheep they rear, death is of little significance for they grasp it not. It does not engender a feeling of loss to say the least. The loss of hundreds or perhaps thousands is of no value and moves them not even in the slightest sense. This sense of insensitivity is shared by all and sundry.
The primitive admiration of inherited Goat/Sheep Logic supersedes any new rebellious, counterculture Waxar or Nayl willing to change the long-established and unequivocally revered perceptions of the elders – perceptions which any Ceesaan or Sabeen with a bit of nous would easily rubbish.
Those who rule, with their Goat Logic, are very much short sighted and scatter at the slightest hint of a commotion. They are an impetuous lot and carry huge, impenetrable solid heads above their scraggy shoulders – a weight too much for them to bear and as a result of which they disappear after a short time. With an imprudent penchant for control, they lead their susceptible flock astray into parched fields and dehydrated pastures where the Jiilaal winds have swept away the very remnants of life from the surface.
All in all, Waxar Logic=Ceesaan Logic =Ri Logic and similarly Nayl Logic =Sabeen Logic =Lax Logic.
There is no change in sight…We are all of the same Goat/Sheep
Incoherent Thoughts... 
