Mother’s Day

“A mother is she who can take the place of all others but
whose place no one else can take.”
— Cardinal Mermillod

This public observance of Motherhood is rather pointless and insincere and has turned into a Birthday celebration. We are being gradually conditioned to thank our mothers on just that one day! One day for all the years of nurture, for all the times of tending to our duties, for giving up her life to give us life?

Mothers do not ask for any acknowledgement for being Mothers and do truly cherish the children and expect their children to do likewise – every waking day! They do not ask for any gifts and flowers, that will soon wilt, to decorate their rooms, nor do they ask for appreciation – they deserve and expect it. People are still hold the notion that buying expensive gifts, flowers and cards do more to convey one’s love for their mother.

In Somalia, we do not celebrate mother’s days, well, certainly, my mother has never heard of it and does not acknowledge it. As for me, everyday is Mother’s Day for me. From the moment I wake up to the very moment I close my eyes, she is there in my thoughts and I am forever thanking her for everything. She is thousands of miles away, and very little of my life has been spent with her due to necessity, yet I am indebted to her for… everything and can’t wait for the day I see her again.

If today we celebrate Mother’s Day, what of those who have no mothers? How would they feel? One cannot begin to imagine the loss of a mother, and the value of a mother is seldom known until its lost. Appreciate the value of a mother while you still have her, for there will come a day when she will leave you to deal with the world on your own.

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The Second Encounter

>> Read First Encounter here

The evening came and I was all expectations. The sun and its heat had descended down the horizon, and the few trailing clouds were following in sequence. A clam breeze, playfully wafting to and fro, restored the sense of serenity that has eluded me during the day. Maybe it was the enthusiasm and this newfound excitement about Sacdiya.

The cinema, as anticipated, appeared animated and dynamic. Several people lined up at the box office, again, displaying their usual carefree comportment at such a place. A little child, in a pink frock ran in circles between her parents, her golden ponytail bouncing in the air. Though I was displaying a somewhat convincing feel of placidity and composure, inside my body a fiery argument ensued. Why was I doing this? I was neither besotted with her to be behaving like this, nor so was I engrossed as to revisit her. It was a simple. There was nothing much there, well, except for her smile and her expressive eyes which, indicative of delightful times ahead, prompted a unique form of understanding and communication, implicit in its approach – partly because of her beauty and partly a self-induced embellishment.

I walked over, almost mechanically, to the Ben & Jerry’s counter looking here and there. But Alas! She was not there. A part of me sunk immediately, but kept staring into the delectable ice creams whilst conjuring up images of the day her bright smile sedated me. I walked to and fro, enquiringly, looking for her cocoa skin or her scarf somewhere behind the counters. Several minutes had passed, before I decided to look in a different place. I walked round to the Mainstand, an extensive counter mounted with several tills stationed in the middle of the sphere-shaped lobby of the cinema, and my eyes began their hunt. Dilated and deficient, their source of delight was missing, and find her they will if she was there by any means. It was not long before they found her, carefully scooping popcorn from the popcorn maker. Under the enormous light that looked down upon her, her skin glowed. She hadn’t seen me for a while, as I stood there, staring at her, exploring the contours of her body.

A long queue awaited at her till, all expectant customers, including myself. I advanced towards her, hands twitching, eyes bright, and face beaming. With one customer after another being served, it wasn’t long before the file shortened. Two people now stood between her and me and, no doubt, she had seen me. At once her eyes gleamed in gladness, or so I thought, and her wide smile took its natural form across her face, broadening it, shaping it and transferring it onto mine.

She hasn’t changed a bit. Her smile was still as captivating, her face still seamless, her lithe body unblemished, and her eyes inviting.

“Hope you weren’t offended,” I said as I came within reach of her and the two other customer in front of me had left. I knew very well she wasn’t offended, but this was to give her a chance to have a say about the incident and expand on it. It was what I saw fit to open the conversation with
“No I wasn’t, not at all,” she replied
“Are you sure, or are you just being polite about it?” I enquired, teasing her to say something and get a depth of her reaction
“Yeah.” Came her reply, timidly
There was a slight pause. She waited for me to ask the next question. I didn’t. Sometimes a slight interval is indispensable – it creates a room for imagination and leaves the person slightly lingering. It also creates a brief moment of discomfort and imbalance at this initial stage.
“I actually thought it was quite sweet,” she said, after that brief period, bashfully lowering her head slightly with a half-smile – a sort of an impromptu flirtatious smile which seemed so natural and hard to conceal.
“Thanks,” she added.
“Your welcome,” I said with a smile, though not a beaming smile so as to conceal my liking. “I just had to make sure, you know, some people have sensitive spots and might get offended by such stuff.”
“No, its alright,” she responded, still smiling splendidly.
I found her behaviour obliging and came across as greatly affable. The willingness was there and so was the openness and her guileless eyes could not do much to conceal her swelling appetite.
“What film are you watching?”
“Oh God, I don’t even know…What was it? Oh yeah, that’s it, Blood Diamond,” I had briefly forgotten about what film I came to watch and my friend who was in the auditorium already waiting for me. He came before me and I was to meet him there.
“Oh ok. It’s a nice film.” She replied.
A short moment of silence once again ensued. We looked at each other briefly, eyes staring at each other, following the same path in unison, and smiled.
“Can I have a medium tango please?” I said
“Why don’t you go large for 10p extra”
“I’ll have large one then, but bear in mind, I won’t be able to finish it”
She smiled and pulling a large Pepsi cup from the cup dispenser below started pouring my drink.
“You look exhausted,” I started, observing her sluggish movement, “had a long day?”
“Yeah I feel tired, I started at 2” she replied, placing her left hand on her forehead, furrowing her brow.
“What time are you finishing?”
“10 pm”
I looked at my watch – The short hand was on the verge of 9 and the long hand on 10.
“About an hour and you’ll be in a cosy bed I presume,” I said
I looked at her, now observing her as I always do. God! She is beautiful. There is a hint of naivety about her that is even more ravishing.
“Enjoy your film,” she said as she handed my drink and serviette, to which I courteously smiled a thank you.
I took my drink, went upstairs into the auditorium and reclined on the comfy seat, placing my drink in the holder. I picked the drink up to take a sip, as the trailers ended and the film was about to start, just to realize that I had forgotten my straw downstairs – with her!

Well, another chance to catch a glimpse of her, I thought – and before you say it, it wasn’t deliberate!

p.s It seems like a Third Encounter is well worthy here.

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The First Encounter

“What shall we watch?” I said to my friend, as we entered through the double doors of the Multiplex Odeon cinemas.
“Anything. I don’t mind” she replied. After browsing the film lists for about 10 minutes or so, we settled for The Freedom Writers, a film they said was based on a true story. I was in an ecstatic mood, the day was bright and the mere presence of my friend A was an added pleasure. Her company is always alleviating.

With a cloud of joviality, we left the box office and went over to the Ben & Jerry’s counter to relish in the assortment of ice creams colourfully displayed before going into the auditorium. As soon as we approached the counter, laughing and preoccupied in our own world, I caught sight of her standing behind the counter – a Somali girl, approximately 5’7, of slender build with smooth, well-defined features and a complexion akin to darkening of cocoa on a soft skin, with her black headscarf accentuating her glowing colour. The unusual radiance that emanated from her face was incandescent against her cocoa skin.

My surrounding teemed with a multitude of people, laughing, giggling, kissing, holding hands, queuing at the counters, eagerly awaiting their films in excited movement. Nonetheless, she was, by some means, very conspicuous in that crowded place, and at once our eyes interlocked in harmony -in complete accordance – for a few seconds, after which I was compensated with a cordial smile – a smile that I am, hitherto, still rummaging through my brain to find ways to describe. Her burnished lips concealed a beautiful set of perfectly aligned white teeth that glared when she smiled, hence the added radiance. To say that she had the most beautiful smile is an understatement. Her eyes – the windows to her soul – were of dark brown pupils with a bright glint in the middle. When our eyes synchronized with one look, I had, for one moment, thought I stared deep down into her soul and forged an understanding – an amicable understanding though not by spoken word. Something about her eyes uncannily befriended me and, simultaneously, attracted me. They have an unusual power these eyes. They do. A man of sanity would, with one gracious glance, find himself lost wandering in an unfamiliar territory, all at loss for words and gumption.

Our turn came to be served.
“Hi. How can I help you?” she said, upon which we ordered our Oatmeal Cookie Chunk and Caramel Chew Chew.
“Sacdiya” I said, reading the name on her badge and looking at her. She smiled. I took this as a cue to further the conversation.
“Is that your real name, or one of those names they just randomly put on the badges?” I said, my mind not finding anything else to say. I had forgotten about my friend A, still standing beside me. From the corner of my eye I can see her smiling too, perhaps at the oddity of my question or my brashness at such an inopportune a time.

She smiled again, parting her lips widely.
“No, it is my real name,” she beamed.
“Sacdiyaay jacaylkaagi, hurdadan ka salalaa, sariritiba qaban waayey” I said uttering the lyrics of the famous song. “Heard of that song?”
“Of course, Axmad Cali Cigal” she replied with a fervent urge to prove her knowledge of Somali songs. Still A stood beside me patiently, listening to our conversation, whilst Sacdiya, behind the counter, stood with a scoop and a paper cup in her hands – ready to serve us, but stopped midway as we chatted.

After a while, we received our servings of ice creams and bidding her goodbye went to enjoy our film. Throughout the film, her infectious smile lay in front of me, plastered on the extensive curtain on which the picture was projected. The surround sound echoed the few words she uttered behind the cold counter, whilst her name resonated in my ears…

After the film finished, as I walked past her, I handed her a serviette as she waved me goodbye with one of her smiles. On the serviette – the very same serviette she gave me with the ice cream – was written;

If anything has made my day today, it is your smile – your captivating smile.
Keep smiling!

…And I walked away still spellbound by her smile.

p.s Second Encounter to come soon, as it occurs.

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His Highness Sheikh Mohammed Blunder

Did anyone read the Metro today to find that now His Highness Sheikh Mohammed Bin Rashid – The ruler of Dubai – is a suspect for the 911 terrorist attacks. But sorry guys, it was an error!

Metro would like to apologise for an error in today’s edition of the newspaper (Friday 9th March).

A photograph of His Highness Sheikh Mohammed has been incorrectly used instead of a picture of terror suspect Kahlid Sheikh Mohammed.

The incorrect image accompanies a story about the Guantanamo hearings on page 21. Khalid Sheikh Mohammed is suspected of masterminding the September the 11th attacks on the US.

Source

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Somalia

Somalia – Reloaded

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Be Grateful

He walked with the support of crutches, taking very little steps at a time. Without much heed, I rushed passed him by the revolving doors at the entrance of the Library, hurrying to get to my house in time to eat.

I have been walking for about five minutes when I bumped into an old friend, with whom I exchanged greetings and a few gossips. We had been talking for about 15 minutes when, just before departing, I realized that I had forgotten the book I borrowed from the library. So I returned, huffing and puffing, to get it back and came to the revolving doors when I saw him again, still walking with tiny baby steps, his bag on his shoulders, merely 10 steps away from where I last saw him 20 minutes ago.

There two diverse emotions I felt. One was the sudden wave of guilt that gripped me as I stopped in my tracks – guilt because of my lack of empathy at first sight for someone beset by misfortune and running past him without noticing. The second was gratitude to God for what He has bestowed upon me. There are times when we become too absorbed in our own little world and overwhelmed by other things in life, that we forget the great gifts we have and forget to be thankful for them. The gift of sight is one, the gift of hearing, the gift of speech, etc. It took that man to remind me to be grateful, and I am ever grateful for the gifts that I have.

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Museveni arrives

With the mounting pressure for a Peacekeeping Force to be deployed, Museveni’s first few soldiers have set foot in Somalia today. With a strong statement he also added that Ugandan troops were not in Somalia to disarm the militias wreaking havoc throughout the capital city, but to help empower the infant Government.

Since the Islamic Union was ousted last year by the Ethiopian forces, Somalia’s capital city has witnessed a spate of attacks from both the Ethiopian forces as well as the opposing local gunmen. This has led thousands of people fleeing from their homes and cities and moving on to other neighbouring areas.

Uganda’s presence in Somalia is opposed by many and if it doesn’t help root out the militias in Mogadishu and its vicinity, then what use have they? If they are going to watch the country burn and slide back to the road of anarchy, clearly paved out for it now, then they can surely be dismissed can’t they?

Other possible contributors for the peacekeeping mission include Burundi (1700), Nigeria (850) Ghana and possibly Malawi.

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Random Quote

I was walking past a few men huddled in a corner when i heard one of them say:

…Try to find the good even in the bad

My ears caught it and it never left me from that day on. On the way home, it was all I thought about – how could you find good in the bad. If it is already bad, how could something possess some goodness?

But then upon closer scrutiny one realizes that there might be a good in the bad – as the terms “good” and “bad” only signify goodness and badness of something based upon the perception of the person who deems it good or bad. Another person might perceive differently, of course, and see some good in the bad and some bad in the good or negate both. Does this make sense? It’s like the word “beautiful” – what might be beautiful to one might be ugly to another and vice versa! it is only relative in what context it is said in and the sentiments – how passionate the person feels about the object of his perception.

Have you come across certain words that you’ve heard quite randomly, yet made you think though they did not concern you at all?

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Right & Wrong

As the children went to assembly, I retained D, a young black child, behind to help him with his Maths as he was struggling a bit with it. On the course of the 15-minute session, as we went through multiplication by chunking, we discussed a whole range of topics from his favourite football team, to his favourite film, to what he did on the weekend, to cartoons, etc. And then an unusual subject cropped up:

“I’ll get you a DVD, Mr Said, what film do you want? He said.
“Isn’t it a little expensive, D? I replied thinking how he could get hold of one.
“No, I’ll get you a pirate one,” came back a casual answer
“You watch Pirate DVD’s? You know it’s illegal right D?

He laughs.
Pause.
Laughs again.

“I once stole a DVD from the China-man,” he says with a smile
“You stole a DVD? How?”
“I was looking at it and the Police came after him, so I put it in my bag”
“And you went home and watched it?”
“Yeah”
“What did your mom say? Would she allow you to watch it if she knew you stole it from the China-man?”
“She knows I stole it. She helped me steal it”
“What? I say surprised, “your mom helped you steal a DVD?”
“Yeah, we ran and the bus was there and we pretended to be running for the bus and we went home”
“So you think it’s alright to steal, D?”
He shrugs his shoulders, turns towards me, and smiles
“I don’t know”

He is right. How could he, at 9 years old, contradict his mother decision and discern that the actions she approves of are wrong? And could I tell him that stealing is wrong?

A mother is the child’s first teacher, his first insitution where he learns almost everything there is to learn about life. He soon will start to imitate her actions and this lays a rigid foundation for everything he undertakes later on in life. Would he take it from me then, when, at home, his parents consent to such behaviour? Most black parents are very strict with their children and teach them enough discipline to distinguish whats right from wrong from an early age, but the few that condone such beahviour tarnish the reputation for many good black parents.

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British Media: The Politics of Skin Colour

I attended the National Union of Journalists (NUJ) Black Members Council (BMC) conference today and learnt of some staggering issues regarding the Media. For all those Black and Ethnic Minority Journalism hopefuls, be warned, a bumpy ride awaits you my friends, so be ready!

There is no one Black person that manages or has a senior position in any of the national newspapers and Television in the UK – even the BBC, which seems to be the best portrayal of Ethnic Minority in the Media. Most of these companies are owned by middle-ages white men with very rigid ideas as to what they want to see on their TV and whom they want to be represented by.

Today, you are more likely to see black people on National Television (as news reporters, presenters, etc) than ten years ago, but have you thought why? Traditionally, black people were in the backroom. For example, if you go to a hotel, you will always find a beautiful white woman sitting at the reception to welcome the visitors, and where are the black people – always in the kitchen. So why has this changed now? Why are black people all of a sudden appearing on National Television screens as the faces of major news channels despite the fact that they hold no managerial positions? The answer is simple – Because they are there simply for decoration purposes.

Black people, after coming across hundreds of hurdles, rigorous job interviews, and endless hours of fetching tea and biscuits for their senior white editors, might faintly have a chance of being employed by a National newspaper (if they are lucky). And once employed by a newspaper or a Television, retention rates are very, very low and there is absolutely no chance for progression. Management is always the specialty of a White, Middle-class, Oxbridge-educated male. You won’t find black people in roles where decision making is required or to represent a National Newspaper! They don’t mind having black people as long as they are not too many and are doing subordinate roles.

The prime reason the Media employ black and Ethnic Minority journalists is solely to ‘show’ the powers that be that they are recruiting on fair grounds and are fully aware of the Discrimination Laws, and, of course, to re-assure the Ethnic Minority that there is a voice for them in the Media. However, whether the black people in the media represent the voice of the Ethnic Minority groups they were born into or not is still a bone for contention.

Which left me wondering, is it that Black people are not “British enough” to represent or manage a British newspaper, for I have nothing else to think of that could be deemed rational in the light of these findings. But whatever the reasons are for such domination of the Media by the white-middle-class-males, it is not something that will be easily ended soon I believe!

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Mogadishu Massacres

As Somalia plunges further into an abyss of darkness with the spate of daily mortar attacks and shelling, one can only question what the “government”, that was established with the support of Ethiopian and US forces, has done to stabilize, reconcile the differences of the people and exhume the country from the grave.

With more and more rockets pounding the capital, the cause of this deadly violence is pretty clear – at least to us, if not to the world that chooses to close its eyes over this obvious transgression. It is not because of remnants of the Union of Islamic Courts why Mogadishu is in such a debacle, it is the Ethiopia soldiers who keep carrying out their indiscriminate attacks on largely civilian populated areas of the capital and the lackeys who carry the banner for them.

So where are the vassals that we have for a government and what have they done so far? A Government should have the power to make and enforce laws and administrate over an area, can they honestly say that they have an authority anywhere in Somalia? With little power (due to the presence of Ethiopian artillery) and no support at all, the Transitional Federal government is now simply a transitional government and many people are just waiting to see the back of it, for they doubt that it will last long.

The UN and US can instil their lackeys as government figures and support them endlessly with their money and weapons, but will they be accepted by the Somalis?

With the peacekeeping forces on their way, as authorized by the UN, the Somalia that the world envisages is significantly dissimilar to the one Somalis have in mind – based on the appearance of the situation, a bumpy road lies ahead as far as the eye can see!

As for the UN, the famous Abwaan Yamyam, May Allah rest his soul in peace, once said:

Waxa faqriga keena UNka
Waxay jecelyihiin colka
Waxay necebyihiin khayrka
Waxay abaabulaan shirarka
Waxay dabraan heshiiska
Waxayna rabaan khilaafka
Wax dan ah kama laha xishoodka
Afkoodu ka weyn duleelka
Dhurwaa liqi kara dameerka!

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Intelligence

We often hear ourselves say, “oh, he is really intelligent” when they get better marks than the rest of their classmates. But are they really intelligent or simply revised more? What is intelligence anyways? We often hear people mention it everyday, yet very few have a precise meaning as to what it is?

If intelligence is knowledge and the ability with which to learn this knowledge and comprehend it, then every human being has the capacity of becoming an intelligent individual

If intelligence is the ability to comprehend and learn from one’s experience, then since every human being, at one point in their lifetime or another, face unfavourable experiences or something negative, and learns from his experience then by all means we can say that every human being is intelligent. They have learned from their experience

If intelligence is simply a matter of great thinking skill, then this too can be acquired with a little practice

If intelligence is the ability to cram books into ones head and produce them with great accuracy from the memory, then this too can be done without much hassle and a few sleepless nights

If intelligence is the ability to cope with different situations in life’s and adapt to them with vigilance and astuteness, then again this is to do with life’s experiences and one can learn from them. The more he experiences, the more he learns

So why do we say that some people are intelligent whilst others aren’t?

To hell with the intellectuals, everyone is intelligent – we just need to utilise our brain more efficiently that’s all! The more you take what life throws at you, the more you learn from the experiences, the more intelligent you becomes. Simple!

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On Smells

I was reading a selection of Montaigne’s work extracted from The Complete Essays and stumbled upon the subject of Smell

The best characteristics we can hope for is to smell of nothing. The sweetness of the purest breath consists in nothing more excellent than to be without any offensive smell, as the breath of healthy children. That is why Plautus said

Mulier tum bene olet, ubi nihil olet.
A woman smells nice, when she of nothing smells.

And when people give off nice odours which are not their own we may rightly suspect them, and conclude that they use them to smother some natural stench. That is what gives rise to those adages of the encient poets which claim that a man who smells nice in fact stinks:

Rides nos, Coracine, nil olentes,
Malo quam bene olere, nil oleres.
You laugh at us Coracinus, because we emit no smell: I would rather smell of nothing than smell sweetly.

And again:

Posthume, non bene olet, qui bene semper olet.
A man who always smells nice, Posthumus, actually stinks.

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Understanding women

I once fell out with a good friend of mine because I called her stupid. That’s it, stupid. I found it somewhat ridiculous that anyone would be upset by such a word, which is used very loosely. I was baffled and resorted to the usual “such is a woman’s heightened level of sensitivity” attitude, but I believe that it was more than just the word that annoyed her.

It was I perhaps, and the word stupid, which I uttered carelessly as I often do, was used as a mechanism to “instigate” a squabble. I couldn’t understand it and dismissed it at the time as something insignificant, but later I tried hard to figure out why and how it came to such a situation after several years of friendship and couldn’t. All I was left with was that I believed it to be an intense emotional need for drama – nothing else. It has happened on several occasions after that too, quarrelling about trivial things such as “why didn’t you return my calls?” “Your just like every other man”, and so on and so forth. This led me to question, are women in constant need for such drama in their lives, or am I misjudging things here?

To be honest I do not worry my mind trying to figure out why women do certain things at times, because I believe would be of no benefit to me and to them. Many times, though, I tried to offer advice to several female friends of mine who at the time sought it, and in most cases all I could do was have some sort of sympathy towards them but nothing more. How could you empathize with someone when you don’t understand their problems and are not au fait with their habits. And then they become upset and say ridiculous things such as “You don’t care do you?” I even sometimes think that women perceive things somewhat differently than they originally see them and even process them in another way in their minds.

Probably they are not even looking for any advice but merely need someone to share their melancholic tales with, or perhaps they just feel obliged to get the weight off their chest, or maybe they don’t even need to solve the problem but need to experience it once again by invoking it, I don’t know! Though I do show sympathy to their feelings, and reassure them, I cannot say I understand them, nor am I trying to. But I love observing them. It always gives me great pleasure to see how they react to different situations. I often utter ridiculous words myself at times and come up with absurd theories as to why women behave this way – just to see how they react! Priceless pleasure, I say

On a lighter note, a joke I read somewhere stated “there was only one man who finally understood women, but he died laughing before he could tell anyone” ;)

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Traditional thinking habits

I was tidying my room this morning when my little nephew came. He is eleven years of age.

“Abti!” he said alarmed, “ what are you doing?”
“Am cleaning my room abti, as you can see.” I replied.
“ugh! Come off it abti, you are a disgrace!” he said
“Why is that abti?”
“Come on abti, boys are not supposed to do that!”
“Not supposed to do what?” i asked surprised. Did i hear him say that?
“Clean!” he replied casually
“What? Who is supposed to do it then?” I was speechless at this point
“The girls”
“So what would you say if I cleaned the kitchen?”
“Nah abti, don’t do that. You will be an embarrassment to the Somali boys”
“Somali boys?” and wondered who had said these things to him
“Yes, abti, boys are not supposed to do that?”
“What if there were no girls to do it?”
“Get someone to do it”
“someone like who?”
“I don’t know – just someone!”
“What are boys supposed to do then?”
“Work and bring money”

Do you see something common here in the young chap, or is he just an odd one?
The thing is, at such a tender age, common inherent mentality and thinking habits are evident in him and I am starting to wonder is this how most young Somali boys see themselves – bread-winners and girls as the home-makers? how is this tradition passed down, for i am sure he hasn’t picked it up verbally?

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What women really see…

We always hear women say “I’m looking for Mr right” and the usual character traits that they ascribe to Mr Right always tend to be caring, honest, friendly, compassionate, etc, etc… but in reality they never see a Mr Right. Here is what they actually see…

The Religious One:

The guy doesn’t really mind being around women and hanging out with them though he claims wadaad status. Having found some solace in religion, he decided to keep a beard. Though he suppresses it vehemently, his desire for the woman in his company is great. He has the urge to let go of his inhibitions but cannot do so. So he resorts to the usual “you would look so good in a Hijab, you know!” stuff. He always talks about marriage and Hijab and soon finds himself being absconded from by his female company.

The Brother:

Though fascinated by his presence and she secretly admires him, she convinces herself that he is simply her brother – but cannot control her sudden gushes of emotion as soon as he enters the house. He is her brother’s friend that she only sees but does not know personally, for her brother is watching her. One false move and they both die. She makes up for this by making an extra-special effort to clean the house and prepare shaah and uunsi before they arrive. When her brother calls and says “I’m coming home” she asks “Ma keligaa?”

The Nice-Guy:

This is the worst status to be in as a man. This nice guy is overtly friendly and very accommodating with women. A woman who considers you to be a nice-guy – the sort of person that she can rely on anytime she feels her emotional lifeline is depleted – sees you just as she sees a tiny harmless puppy. And that’s what you will always be – a physically harmless puppy. She will always talk to you about her relationships and come to you seeking advice in relationship matters, but that’s all. You are not in the equation as a stirrer. The nice guys is simply there for the purposes of relaying emotional baggage and is worth nothing more than introducing to family members and other female friends. One of the girls, as they call him!

The Mr know it all:

This guy has women have trouble communicating with. He knows everything, yet knows nothing. Though they loathe his attitude, women are attracted to him simply because of his high level of confidence and arrogance. He never pays them any compliments of any sort nor says things to please them. He says things as he sees them and women don’t like the truth, especially about their weight!

The Loaded Lorry:

As a susceptible twat lacking self-confidence, women love this type of guy. He takes care of their expenses and drives a car to meet their shopping needs. He is simply a cab driver, but in return for his services, makes sure his friends see him with the girl to emanate a signal of “player-status” to his friends. He will always be there, but will never get nothing more than a goodnight kiss on the cheecks.

The Pseudo-Romatic:

He is the one that would be in the queue at the florist buying that nice bouquet for the woman he met three days ago. Or you might see him in Body Shop buying tropical scented moisturizers and exfoliating creams. Or he would be at Clinton cards purchasing an Anniversary card for his month-long love. Women do Not detest this guy – they laugh at him and turn an insincere face to him with “aaaaah! That is so sweet of you, you didn’t need to do that” as she tucks the Lavender Massage oils into her bag. At night, when the girls get together, she would relate how much he loves her and how much he is willing to do for her, but she will NEVER let her girls see him. She just likes his endless gifts.

The Mysterious guy:

He waits and watches – very meticulous in his observation. She observes him too in different places at different times and though he sees her, doesn’t approach her or talk to her. He simply smiles at times, to which she bashfully lowers her head in acknowledgement. He urge to get to know him becomes great as a fire is ignited in her insides. When they speak, finally, he listens intently as she in stages spills her innermost secrets. Gradually he ensnares her into a well-weaved web, withdrawing himself at times and lulling them into some comfort zone, and through several intricate mazes until they reach the destination he intended for them – i.e they start developing a severe inclination towards him. At this heightened point of sensation he withdraws, leaving her lingering for more, and she is lost. He resurfaces, months later, and the process starts all over again. Women love this sort of guy who stirs their imagination. So much so, that at the point of his withdrawal they start embellishing images of their own fancy. To him they are simply psychological experiments.

The Joker:

Fun and bubbly to be out and about with, yet a mysterious bubble surrounds him and he is luxuriate in false compliments that would buy so easily when he stops smiling. Girls know little about him since they spend most of their time in his company giggling about a silly thing he said, but he knows all about them – and they don’t know it. Women tend to like this guy a lot, and have the tendency of fighting between them. No strings attached, he sees them as toys. They all know that he sees each and every one of them separately, yet they are fine with it. He is charming and great to have when they go out. He doesn’t drive and doesn’t pay the bill when they eat – he simply entertains and pleases all. All expenses paid.

The Thick One:

This guy is a lucky bastard but doesn’t realize that. No matter how many hints a lady drops, this thick-skulled, hair-brained geezer will never get it. Hints as subtle as “so, what are you upto tonight?” never register in his head. “Nothing, am sleeping” he replies casually, killing any advancement fro the generous lady and the invitation he would have got for a night out. This miserable goon never learns and cares little for what the women think for he cannot read between the lines. Women find that he has potential but cannot tell him directly. Sometimes a woman has to adopt a masculine impatience and tell him straight up of his inadequacy to charm.

The Loafer:

He is the sort of person determining whether the woman he sees is worthy of getting laid or not! To him most women are simply sex objects to satisfy his needs and the women who flock to him are great in number – no strings attached! Simply a business transaction. A fair exchange?

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The Veil – again

Yes, here we go again! This case, highlighted a few days ago, might have turned into another Shabina Begum case, but unfortunately, the school lacks the wherewithal to fight the case without the council’s help.

I am not going to say that the 12-year old in question does not have the right to wear her Niqab – she has every right to wear it (especially in this case since she chose to wear it on her own accord). Her religion demands it (though there is still a debate whether it is obligatory to wear or not) and so she must. Everybody must have complete autonomy over what he or she does with regard to his/her religion. Right? It is the only sphere in life where a person can say he/she enjoys his freedom. Yes, it is a religious symbol for her and any basis of exclusion on this is totally unlawful, but Muslims also must understand that they are in a country where Islam is not the major religion and they are bound to face such threats. And, at times, in order to practice their religion to their best ability it would be advantageous for them to reside in places where it is practiced fully. The British are more than generous to have allowed us to practice our religion – despite the ongoing disputes.

As for the British public, we know that this issue of wearing the Niqab provokes a wide spectrum of opinions and resentment alike. All the British public keep reiterating is the same old line “If Muslims want to live in our country, then they must learn our language and adopt our cultures”. But think about this for a moment. Many British people, or westerners for that matter, live in the Middle East and other Muslim countries. Now wouldn’t they take umbrage if the governments of those countries imposed the full Hijab clothing and the Niqab upon their women and daughters in the face of the sweltering heat?

“If you wish to live in our country, then you must learn our language and fully clothe yourselves!” What if that was the case?

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Thank You!

The power of these two effortless words is absolutely remarkable. But in today’s fast-paced world, who has the time to stop by and say Thank You, genuinely. Such pleasantries are outdated and old- fashioned. We are too busy and our lives are too hectic. Right?

I was at Tesco’s today, patiently waiting in a long queue to be served. A young black lady sat behind the counter. Her expressionless face greeted the customers as they paid for their items, but they were too busy to notice that and quickly dashed off after the receipt. At last my turn came. I smiled and said “Thank you very much for your help. Have a great day” after receiving my change and receipt. A broad smile decorated her face instantaneously and I could see she was significantly relieved – the feeling, as I perceived it, was similar to a thirsty person whose thirst has been quenched. It did not take much to say it, but the effect it brought about was immeasurable and on the way back I made a resolution that from today on, I will genuinely thank anyone who has done something for me – especially someone who has gone out of their way to do it.

We all need the acknowledgement. If you have received a great service at the superstore today, let the person who served you know. Their life is monotonous as they sit behind such counters for great lengths of time doing a repetitive job. And trust me, it makes a lot of difference. When your stop arrives and the bus comes to a halt, a simple Thank you to the driver would brighten up his day, or even the lady at the post office. If your grateful for something, let the person who made it possible know. They would greatly appreciate it.

And of course it must be very sincere, otherwise a feelings of resentment automatically grabs the person as they might think its manipulation. Be genuine. Say it and mean it. If you don’t mean it, its easy to see through some false-pretence.

How often do you say Thank you?

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A social experiment gone wrong

This case has become an international affair, caused a diplomatic incident, provoked protests in India, received nearly 22,000 complaints, reached the House of Commons – all this for what?

For calling her an Indian and describing her eating habits?

Big Brother is a social experiment, and it’s main objective is to cause controversy, and she very well knew the circumstances and what she was getting herself into before she signed the contract, didn’t she? So why all this furore? There are far more demanding issues to discuss and debate about at the Commons that a case like this, aren’t they?

I do not watch Big Brother – its vulgar, it’s obscene and the people taking part with the mercenary turn of mind are all undignified. I have, however, watched briefly, the clips of what was said and there is no denying that there could have been elements of racism there, but the fact is she was simply bullied! plain and simple. She was ganged upon. As for racism, it has been here since time immemorial and will always be here – there will always be the boorish ignorants with their bigotry out there somewhere, but it doesn’t deserve such coverage!

So, is the media blowing this thing entirely out of proportion or is it a reflection of how sensitive the British have become to anything related to racism?

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Safety concerns

On Saturday the Somali Parliament approved of a Martial Law to be imposed in the Horn. A day later and it is bedlam throughout the capital. A sort of guerrilla warfare has taken root, just as we expected. And if the president is still intent on disarming the entire Somali population, whilst Ethiopian troops live in our midst, then maybe its high time he mulled over his imprudent certitude . It is foolish to think that the Somali people can be disarmed or should be even expected to disarm whilst enemy soldiers freely move around the capital in convoys of military trucks! As long as Ethiopian soldiers are free to roam in Somalia, there will be no calm and tranquillity from these deadly attacks

All we wish for is a respite from the strife that’s tearing us apart, but that won’t be possible with the Ethiopians’ inflammatory presence. What needs to be considered here is the safety of the people; they do not feel safe with Ethiopians in their country, and the move by the government to disarm the militia is simply bound to rouse the commoners. By taking away their guns, their safety is at stake, and that is something they are not willing to compromise for anything! So we’re back to where we started…

Image

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Shooting in the Dark

Despite the skirmishes, countless guests and family members have gathered at the house of a young couple to witness the grand event of their wedding ceremony, and in order to shower them with blessings and prayers as they embark on a life of bliss and merriment. Little did they realise that, on the other side the Americans were contriving their next ploy. Amidst, the festiveness that surrounded the house came the shelling and the blitz of rockets rocking the house with force. Alas! The wedding ceremony turned into a funeral and the house into burial chamber, trapping several people under its rubble. At least 31 have been reported dead, though the numbers reported by locals are greater, including the bride and groom. They have been sent into an eternal honeymoon, before they even concluded their marriage vows!

Now it seems to be getting even more chaotic in the third day of consecutive strikes.The Americans, who were writhing with boredom on the coastline, have joined the battle for Somalia. And one wonders, what incited thwse incidents. We may not know, but it’s my presumption that they either:

1. Realized that the Ethiopians were firing at open spaces and pursuing the Islamic Courts in a languid manner. The Islamic men have proved to be rather tenacious than they have expected and the Ethiopian troops have become a bit slow on the uptake of orders from their masters, that they decided to bombard the whole area.

or

2. The wait agitated them, and their trigger-fingers started to twitch for some more Somali blood.

How will this turn out, though? Are we to expect a repeat of 93 – thirteen years after the failed mission – or is it simply an ostentatious display of musclepower? My prediction is as follows:

– Though Husein Aideed, the Deputy Prime Minister said that the only way we are going to kill or capture the surviving al Qaeda terrorists is for U.S. special forces to go in on the ground,” I am unconvinced about this.The Americans might be an impetuous lot, but not complete crackpots as to endanger the lives of their troops once again. Mogadishu and Aideed Snr. have taught them the harsh realities of war in Somali soil, and that is something they are not prepared to repeat. They cannot afford to risk the lives of their servicemen inside Somalia once again, so Mr Aideed Jnr’s pitiable pleading will simply be overlooked.

American intervention has included a new dimension to an already abysmal event. As for Aideed Junior, what a contrasting character display is on parade. Had the Americans been dealing with Aideed, the Senior, the war would have taken an entirely dissimilar course. I guess his heart is with his home country, but the question is which is home country?

…and to top it all, in the last few hours the Americans have denied, the attacks, despite confirmations by the Federal Government.

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What a turn of events…

…After 16 years of anarchy, came the Islamic Courts. And though regarded by many as hardliners, yet they managed to secure the capital and bring some much-need stability into the region, and the public heaved a much-needed sigh of relief, for once.

…The Transitional Federal Government, upon witnessing the heaps of praises and welcomes awaiting the Islamic Courts at most cities, became envious and implored the might of the Ethiopians.

…Then they came in numbers

…Along with heavy military arsenal

…overpowered and defenseless, we just looked on

…as they marched through our soil, city after city, armed to the teeth.

…They even belittled our former soldiers and generals, displaying their weaponry as they towered over them under the scorching sun

…so we took it to the streets and protested

…and burnt whatever dead branches and logs we could find

…and the few tyres we could uncover from the rubble

…but they just laughed at us.

…so we got on our SUVs

…and ran to the bordering country to escape the chaos

…but there too, the merciless kenyan gunman awaited, in ambush

…With great effort, we made it to the refugee camps in a desperate attempt for peace and some serenity. kicked out of our own houses, our own land, our own shade! Today we live as refugees in other countries,

…while they rejuvinated under the cool shades of our trees along with subservient warlords at their disposal!

Source

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United Nazis sex scandal

“In 1997, a military court sentenced two Belgian paratroopers to a month in jail and a £200 fine for roasting a Somali boy over a brazier. Another Belgian soldier is reported to have forced a young Somali boy to eat pork, drink salt water and then eat his own vomit. Pictures also appeared in the 1990s of Italian soldiers abusing and raping a Somali girl…”

Food, it was claimed, had been given out to teenage refugees by UN peacekeepers in return for sex…

Russian pilots who had paid young girls with jars of mayonnaise and jam to have sex with them…

Children as young as 12 were systematically forced to have sex with at least four Bangladeshi peacekeepers in the town of Juba, in south Sudan, for 18 months despite complaints…

…And we are literally imploring them to come to our country and disarm us!

Sorry, but anarchy is far better than actions of these United Nazis

Source

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Poetry and I

I started writing poetry some time ago and I don’t even know why I did it. I had no purpose and no aim and my passion for poetry wasn’t very intense yet. However, start it I did and somehow managed to scribble a few words on to paper, trying to invoke my remotest places for some emotion and any feeling that is worth describing.

At the time, it gave me great joy and I sensed that I found some solace in transferring my deep-rooted sentiments onto paper. Majority of them were neither profoundly philosophical nor meaningful at times, they were at best dreamy and melancholic. Now though, in retrospect, I have no justification for the words I jotted down. I somehow feel like they came not from my thinking, but someone else’s. This poem below, for example, makes me feel like I was somehow depressed to the bone, though I am certain I did not feel like that…

No One Cares…

Nights I lay crumbled in my bed
Trembling with dejection and fear
Sheets covered wholly by the tears I shed
Haunted by the ache and angst like a nightmare

Frowning with an unendurable agony
I pass the crowd with great stealth
Dragging my feet with melancholy
Would this rather jeopardize my health?

Tormented by my dire and distressing predicaments
Faintly I contemplate as my entire body deteriorates
Even though I show no sings on peculiar abasement
Reluctantly I succumb to an overdose of barbiturates

Imperceptibly and solitarily, I frequently whimper
And with my so-called friends I often clown
Hitherto, all my social activities my state did hinder
But owing to my pride, I never let them see me frown

Frowning is a sign of weakness and despair
Because I do see light at the end of the tunnel
A distant beam of luminosity, sunlight’s glare
An intense glow flowing through the aired panel

My life is filled with misery and woe
Yet at it with amazement I stare and stare
And sometimes I can’t endure it any more
But who seems to care?

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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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