Archive for December, 2006

Eid Mubarak

A very happy Eid to everyone. May this day be one filled with happiness and laughter.

What a day to hang Saddam


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Xudduntii dhulkaygaay
Xaruntii dadkaygaay
Xamareey ma nabad baa?

I am not someone to engage myself in politics for it is often trivial and always biased. Especially when it comes to Somali politics and now, I am but inclined to follow incidents in Somalia as they occur. It has now become another depressing tale. The clouds are darkening over the once beautiful horizons of Mogadishu. Soon the houses will turn to rubble and the roads to pebbles. It has already started – the pillaging, looting, kidnapping and all sorts of hideous crimes have already seized Mogadishu. Ethiopian drugs have taken their respectful positions as vendors exhibited their carts on the sandy roads.And we will soon even see a wave of HIV cases spiralling out of control.

Though it wasn’t an entirely safe city and had its fair share of violence and atrocities, Mogadishu and the rest of southern Somalia were for once starting to see a glimpse of hope. A faint light of hope that negated all previous ruling methods. From chaos to order, from insecurity to some sort of security, from instability to working together, from havoc to understanding and settling differences. The Courts weren’t the best of rulers with regards to their ruling methods and collaborating with some warlords, but I have to admit, any sort of governance is better than non-governance at all, right? At least the flaws in the governing methods can be challenged and corrected at a later stage when some sense of stability is achieved. But the Courts were too hasty and a short term victory has ignited in them a wave of enthusiasm and keenness to capture other cities and indeed haste makes waste.

Now Ethiopian troops have advanced deeper into Somali soil and I very much doubt their motives. Are they simply lending a hand to the weak Somali TFG or do they have some underlying motives?

How long do we have to wait for more Ethiopian troops to settle in Somalia? And how long before they decide to move up towards other Somali cities?

My heart aches for Somalia. And though the world ignores its plight, again Mogadishu will carry the burden on its shoulders and bury its dead with streets coagulated with blood!

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Well folks…

I have deserted this place for a few days, and though plenty has been happening, still there is nothing interesting to write about. The school is closed and so is university – isn’t it amazing when both your work and studies end on the same day! I have been doing nothing much except for sleeping, eating and some more sleeping. I feel fresh but slightly lethargic too, probably due to excessive sleep. the more i sleep, the more i need to sleep.

I love my sleep and nothing can come between me and her. But my sleep has been disrupted last night, as I took a trip to Sheffield, The City of Steel, to drop some guests arriving from Norway. Most of the flights were delayed and after having been waiting for them for hours at Stanstead Airport drove them all the way to Sheffield – some 120+ miles away. The fog was so thick that you could hardly see a mere 50 feet in front of you. Visibility was limited and this was confirmed by the multiple blockages on the motorway due to several accidents involving lorries and smaller cars.
Its better to be safe than sorry! The journey that would have taken me about 2 – 2.5 hours on a normal day took me 4.5 hours and to make it even worse I had to come back on the same night.
To make up for this lost sleep I have slept to my fill today, until my sides swelled. I said I love my sleep, didn’t I and anything lost must be regained in multiple quantities!

p.s I will be going back to Sheffield tomorrow and funny enough to attend a wedding on sunday. Even more bizarre is that I am supposed to be the Bestman at the wedding. Wish me luck – too many eyes!

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Celebrating Fatherhood

The Reception:

Enormous chandeliers luminously lit the hall as you walked in through the double doors into some lavishly arranged sets of round tables and chairs. The outstretched red carpet beneath your feet, matched by the red seats gave the hall a feel of cosiness and a friendly welcome to the arriving guests. A beautiful hall I thought and having arrived early, patiently awaited the arrival of the esteemed guests – fathers, mothers, children and soon-to-be fathers as well!

By 18:30, when the event was ready to start, I looked around to see that only ONE father had arrived. What a disappointment! It is something we do not know, isn’t it – time management that is. To us Somalis, it seems that time is something of no relevance – means absolutely nothing! The starting of the event was then delayed for a while, but when it began, the crowd received it uproariously.

The Stage:

Speaking in front of an audience regardless of their number is always frightening. There is something about the stage that intimidates a person; so much, that at times they consider hiding somewhere behind the stage and not come out. Despite forcing myself to fabricate boldness and confidence by putting on a lively and energetic personality, yet my heart violently thudded in my ribcage with every foot I advanced towards the podium. My breath, too, came in heavy pants, which I forcefully retained in my lungs. But then everybody has an inclination or a tendency to act in a certain way under pressure – the way that is natural to him or her. To stay calm and composed and in your natural manner whilst on stage is a very challenging task, which I could not do. I doubt there was anything coherent from the all the things I said on the stage, but it doesn’t matter now, for that was Yesterday!

The audience:

The event’s main target audience, as you would guess from its title, were the Somali Fathers. Yet, for some strange reason it seems like we advertised either to the wrong audience or the fathers decided not to turn up. From the thousands of fathers in London, very few turned up. But I guess we sort of expected that to happen, keeping in mind the nature of Somalis. The event was meant to highlight the father figures in our community, yet only a handful turned up to reoresent their respectful domain.

The Bloggers:

I would like to extend my warm greetings and a Big Thank you to the Bloggers who managed to make it to the event. I hope you all enjoyed it, though some of you came rather late, further validating the Somali’s authentic seal to the term “lateness” Lol. I am just kidding; I know you came straight from work, so thank you.

I am also particularly pleased to have met you guys, Advocate, Firely, FOC, a Sista’s Corner and Firdos. I can now put a face to each Blog!

Last but not least, Thank you, Mr A of SOL, a special guest all the way from Down Under!

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The pavement was spattered with blood. Carefully, I took a few steps further and more blood painted the pavement and fresh drops of blood leaked out a trail. I looked in the direction of the trail and there stood a young boy not older than 17, clutching his arm firmly. A jacket was wrapped around his arm and the white Tee-shirt he wore had become crimson red with blood. He wasn’t moaning, shouting or anything, but looked stood with a solemn face. I approached him, as he stood with two other friends, intending to find out what happened and offer any help I could. I was driving, and thought that they might at least need a lift to the hospital as sometimes Ambulances can be late too.

He looked Somali. “maxaa ku helay? (What happened?)” I said.
“Somali maha, Somali Maha” (I am not Somali, I am not Somali) he replied.
Then he spoke to his friend in another language and I gathered he was Eritrean.

He bled profusely, so I offered them a lift to the hospital before it gets worse. On the way he opened up a bit and told me what happened.

“This country is fucked up man,” he said, shaking his head. “Some idiot just stabbed me for no reason. I don’t even fucking know him”

“Don’t even know him? You mean he just lashed out at you and stabbed you” I said

“He’s a handicap man. A fucking handicap, what do you expect from a fucking Nigerian?” he replied

“How do you know he’s Nigerian?” I asked, upon which he said that he knew the guy and but not much. Just saw him around and had no “beef” with him at all, hence calling him a “handicap”.

My point is that carrying Knives has now become so common on the streets of London that the youth feel vulnerable without one. I say this because I witnessed the frustration and anger from the teenager. He felt disappointed that this had happened to him. For some reason a knife is seen as a symbol of respect on the streets, since most of them do not have the wherewithal to buy guns, which I believe they would have if they did. And the government can do nothing to stop this – Nothing. It is my firm belief, though, that these youths feel let down by the government itself and crime is for them simply a means of rebellion.

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The double-doors slid wide open as I approached them, welcoming me into the cool and pleasant atmosphere of the large store. I was in an excited mood, pushing my trolley and the list of things to buy had merely been fetched by my brain, when I notice that the security guards made themselves clearly visible, brandishing their dull grey uniform. I take notice of them, and advance towards the drinks isle. It’s a regular occurrence. Soon enough they follow me, as if they were my entourage. There are two of them. One follows me a few paces behind, on the pretence of re-arranging the stock, while the other quickly dashes to the other end of the aisle.

By their constant gazes and facial expressions, they simply emanated suspicion. I collected my drinks and proceeded down the large middle isle, towards the bakery section, and to my surprise a security guard was there too, wiping the glass on the display box. The irony of the whole incident is that both the security guards are Black and followed me throughout my journey inside the store.

I thought they’d picked on me without any reasonable doubt and made my shopping experience a disaster with their strict surveillance, but amidst the annoyance and provocation, I gathered that there was, obviously, a method in their madness, for they simply followed orders – Perhaps they were indoctrinated to believe that “every Black man is a suspect, and should rightly be ragarded so” But to what point were they following orders, for I was neither dressed as a common shoplifter nor as a thug. Doesn’t society yet understand that not every black person is the same?

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Google Translate

Amazing, someone actually bothered to translate my blog and read it in their language (i believe it is Chinese). Thank You whoever you are, for stopping by.

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