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Oh!

another year has gone by another wrinkle has appeared, as a friend of mine aptly put it! Yes, today is the day I should officially celebrate my ageing, but I have never celebrated a birthday in my life nor do I intend to. Why celeberate growing old?

To be quite honest, I don’t even know if today is my actual date of birth. There are some contradictions you see, and I am sure you understand why…! ;)

Go ahead anyway and send me those “God gave a gift to the world when you were born…” cards! ;)

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Finally I have decided to join WordPress. With this being my first post, I am still in the process of familiarizing myself with its features. I have, using help, managed to successfully import posts from one of my previous blog (instead of giving them new dates and making them seem recent). But unfortunately some of the images cannot be seen as you can see from the ones below. If anyone knows how to mend this, please let me know.

Also if anyone can tell me how to import posts from this blog then i would be grateful.

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Julian Beever…

Julian Beever’s is an English artist famous for his “Pavement art”. He has painted on the streets of England, France, Germany, USA, Australia and Belgium, creating a striking illusion of 3-dimensionality when viewed from the right angle. Here are sopme of his paintings – Very creative one must admit!

by Julian Beever

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The Four Wives…

I received this by e-mail and thought I’d share it with you…it is something worth reflecting upon
Once upon a time there was a rich King who had four wives. He loved the 4th wife the most and adorned her with rich robes and treated her to the finest of delicacies. He gave her nothing but the best. He also loved the 3rd wife very much and was always showing her off to neighboring kingdoms. However, he feared that one day she would leave him for another. He also loved his 2nd wife. She was his confidant and was always kind, considerate and patient with him. Whenever the King faced a problem, he could confide in her, and she would help him get through the difficult times. The King’s 1st wife was a very loyal partner and had made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and kingdom. However, he did not love the first wife. Although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her !
One day, the King fell ill and he knew his time was short. He thought of his luxurious life and wondered, “I now have four wives with me, but when I die, I’ll be all alone.” Thus, he asked the 4th wife, “I have loved you the most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I’m dying, will you follow me and keep me company?” “No way!”, replied the 4th wife, and she walked away without another word. Her answer cut like a sharp knife right into his heart. The sad King then asked the 3rd wife, “I have loved you all my life. Now that I’m dying, will you follow me and keep me company?” “No!”, replied the 3rd wife. “Life is too good! When you die, I’m going to remarry!” His heart sank and turned cold. He then asked the 2nd wife, “I have always turned to you for help and you’ve always been there for me. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?” “I’m sorry, I can’t help you out this time!”, replied the 2nd wife. “At the very most, I can only walk with you to your grave.” Her answer struck him like a bolt of lightning, and the King was devastated.
Then a voice called out: “I’ll go with you. I’ll follow you no matter where you go.” The King looked up, and there was his first wife. She was very skinny as she suffered from malnutrition and neglect. Greatly grieved, the King said, “I should have taken much better care of you when I had the chance!”
In truth, we all have the 4 wives in our lives: Our 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it will leave us when we die. Our 3rd wife is our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, it will all go to others. Our 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how much they have been there for us, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave. And our 1st wife is our Soul. Often neglected in pursuit of wealth, power and pleasures of the world. However, our Soul is the only thing that will follow us wherever we go. Cultivate, strengthen and cherish it now, for it is the only part of us that will follow us to the throne of God and continue with us throughout Eternity.
Wa-Salaam!

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A man may meet a woman and be shocked by her ugliness. Soon if she is unaffected, her expression makes him overlook the fault of her features. He begins to find her charming, it enters his head that she might be loved, and a week later he is living in hope. The following week he has been snubbed into despair, and the week aftwerwards he has gone mad.

STENDHAL, Love, Translated by Suzanne Sale

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It happened right at the traffic lights of A4. We were in the middle of a three lane motorway when it happened. A BP vividly stood on the left of us and Gillette within a few meters away. I was behind the wheel and had just started changing the CD from a Somali Mix to a Mohamed Mooge Liiban’s classics when we heard a clunk of metallic object hitting the road surface. It felt like something fell from underneath the car and hit the floor. My worst fears were ignited, and reassured when I got out of the car and examined the incident – The Exhaust of the car fell off!

During our journey, constant loud grunts were coming from underneath the vehicle. We merely dismissed those sounds as being nothing major and continued our journey to Southall. On returning, the grunts were getting louder and louder, until the unprecedented incident occurred at the Traffic lights. The car was not mine, I didn’t know whether it was insured or not, and I had left my wallet with my licence and credit cards at home so did my friend.

With care, we moved the car from the main road, onto a side-road besides BP and parked it in a parking bay in front of an off-licence. My friend suggested that we remove the exhaust and drive home, but upon assessing the damage we found that the petrol was leaking too! We didn’t have a lot of bean to spend and thus had very limited options: walk to the nearest station to get a train and go home!

The idea seemed plausible, since we can neither take the car nor call the AA recovery to tow it for we weren’t a member. Before the exhaust fell off, we had passed Osterly station about five minutes earlier. So it was within a walking distance, but my friend thought that Hammersmith station would be a better option. We started our journey on foot from the Borough of Hounslow towards Hammersmith – walking along the A4 motorway, since that’s the only route we know.

We had now been walking for about a good half an hour, passing by Gunnersbury and EMC2 tower when we came to Chiswick Roundabout. It was only then we’d realised that we were miles away from our destination and regretted the decision we made. But it was no time for regrets now, and Hammersmith station was still about 5 – 7 miles away. We stopped for a while, to mull over the decision we’re about to make. Should we go towards Hammersmith which is about another hour’s walk or change route and go towards Acton, which is just about the same distance? We agreed on the latter.

So from Chiswick Roundabout we took a left following Gunnersbury Avenue towards Ealing and thought we’d get to Acton Station this way. Now my friend knows this route by car, so this route usually entails miles and miles of walking if reached by foot. Upon reaching the overhead bridge just past Gunnersbury Cemetery, he suggested we cross the road and take the side-road – Princess Avenue. I disagreed, loathing the idea of getting lost in the area and having to return to the main road again. I dreaded the long journey, and the uncertainty of his plan. But he had the courage of his convictions and led us to Princess Avenue. This then led us to a serene and predominantly white neighbourhood. We passed Trafalgar way and finally reached Acton.

The first signs were the herds of Somalis roaming the street – then a sigh of relief. The Nomads of Somalia used to proclaim upon seeing birds that there must be water nearby. In our case, upon seeing the Somalis we assumed that there must be a restaurant nearby, for our stomachs were empty and our feet were sore. After walking a few more paces we came to Leeban restaurant from where we filled our stomachs and took the weight off our feet. A cold chill ran through my vein, accompanied by thin needle stabs from the long walk. My muscles were aching, heart pounding and sweat dripping from my head. never have i walked for an hour and 15 minutes. Reaching my home on the other side of London – Woolwich – was just the best thing that happened to em on the day, as my warm bed awaited me!

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Yesterday, after a long day at Uni, my colleague, Leila, invited me to attend a play by some young Somalis at Wembley. I was informed nothing more than it was “a play by some young Somalis” so I went ahead without expecting anything much, thinking “nothing Somalis do ever fully succeeds”. But this was different. This was intended to raise awareness of the famine and droughts in Somalia and also to act as a Fundraiser! A very noble idea indeed and, one which all Somali Communities must strive to implement.

I arrived a bit late, after being held in traffic for about half and hour. At 6 Pm I entered the foyer, and someone informed me that the play had already started. I quickly rushed, taking my seat next to Leila and watched as the young Somalis staged a play.

The play starts at the Airport, with a young man, Adam, who had lived in the west from about a decade and now wishing to fly out. On the departure gates, he couldn’t find his passport, and at that precise moment a much younger fellow, Axmad, walks from behind the curtain and exchanges a long glance with Adam. At the very same time, a girl wearing all black exits from behind the curtain holding a placard which says “Ten years earlier”. We are now shown, through Axmad, how Adam first got into the country, standing this time at the entry gates while he was being asked for his passport by the Immigration officers.

The entire play was far too long to be mentioned here but it follows Axmad throughout his ten years stay in the United Kingdom and covers all aspects the youth culture in the west. It covers issues such as drugs, the generation gap and relationship between the young and the elder folks, gang related issues and influence of the bad guys over the newly arrived one, ending up in jail, getting out, education and achievements, etc. and ends at where it started – the airport as Adam is seen holding his luggage as he exits. It was quite a wonderful play.

After a short break, a girl I know of called Leila and a girl acting as Adam’s aunt in the drama, sang Mariah Carey’s “Hero”. Very beautiful! I was rather amazed by the talent these girls had.

Then there was the Clown Dance performed by some teenagers no more than 16 or 17. They danced, without missing a beat – popping and breaking every inch of their bodies simultaneously and in perfect harmony with the thudding of the rhythmic urban sounds. Very impressive I thought, as they exited the podium waving their green-gloved hands.

After that there was an interval and I decided it was time for me to grab a tender chicken breast from the Chicken shop along the same road. But to my dismay, the gates were locked refusing entry to the herds gathered outside also banning anyone from leaving the hall. This, I thought, was rather unnecessary confinement, but that thought evaporated from my mind soon as I realised the behaviour and tendency of Somalis to sneak in and out while their look-a-like gains entry claiming he just gone out for a minute! The organizers of this even must have thought about all this.

I went back and took my seat, after refreshments, and the show resumed. Now a young guy named Axmad took to the stage and sang a song that shook the crowd – “Guur aan rabaaye, Gaabsi kaama doonee”- A classic Niiko song, but the only thing missing was the dancers, which on inquiry I found out that the organizers had rejected that idea already. After a few more performances from other young singers, a dance competition was staged between two groups of dancers dressed in black. I personally favoured the group that “Leila” was in. Don’t be fooled by this girl – she is multi-talented! I watched as both the teams, spiralled, rotated, twisted and turned with great interest. But that pleasure had ended abruptly as a fight broke out on the upper floor, close to where I was sitting. From that moment, pandemonium reigned in the halls and fists were flying.

Before that exchange blows had started, I, for once admired the stillness and tranquillity of the Somalis attending the show and thought that this would set the standards for Somali parties, concerts, wedding and gathering “IF” it ended without a fight. And that quite seemed so, until the last minute, leaving me to resort to the known fact – We are violent people by nature. It is an inherent thing, violence that is!

Overall, the intention of the event to raise funds was wonderful and well done to the organisers.

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