Nomadic Ramblings

Just as Abdi sat down to have his Iftar, his phone started to ring. His wife told him to ignore it and continue having his food but he paid her no attention and answered it anyway.

It was a call from Somalia. He could tell by the interference on the line and the loud hello ringing in his ears. It was his childhood friend Ali. As usual, he wanted money. Eid was coming and he claimed to have nobody else to approach for some financial help. It is the month of giving, he said. It is the time when friends remember needy friends and families are charitable to each other. Abdi reluctantly promised to see what he can do but insisted that he was broke and could make no promises. I will try my best, he said.

Sado, Abdi's wife, was sat staring at him and trying to work out who the person on the other side was. She waited until her husband finished his call and then coolly asked him to eat his food.

Abdi: I will, as soon as I finished praying.

Sado: At least you pray! Though I am not sure how good that is when you don't really fast.

Abdi: I did not fast for health reasons. I had an upset stomach.

Sado: Today it was an upset stomach. The day before you claimed to have vomited. The one before that you had bloody gums. The one before that you felt sick and dizzy. There are only five days left and I'm not sure if you'll ever be well enough to fast. But at least you're praying, eh?

Abdi: I know you don't believe me but I was truly sick on all those days. Besides, when I was feeling well, I did fast the first three days. I am not so weak as not to be able to fast, you know. It's just this illness of mine.

Sado: Well, you'll have to make up for them sometime.

Abdi: Or feed some poor people. In fact, this reminds me of the phone call I just got. It was Ali and he needed help with the Eid expenses. I think I am going to send him the money to account for all the days I missed.

Sado: This friend of yours is a waste of space. He's married to three women and yet he phones other people to help him look after his family. If you can't afford it, why marry all these women? I truly despise men that marry two or three.

Abdi: You're a typical Somali woman, always ready to talk behind other people's back. Were you not the one who was just looking down on me for missing a few days due to illness? Where is all the virtue when it comes to talking behind people's back? I mean, you just broke your fast, woman!

Sado: I know. I know. Sorry, but I just can't stand men that marry more than one wife.

Abdi: It is his life. It is his choice. He asked for help and, if I can, I will help him with no preconditions. What do you want me to do? Tell him I'll send him the money only if he divorced two of his wives?

Sado: Don't be silly. I was just making small talk. I really don't care how many wives this friend of yours has. He is not my concern. The only time I would worry about such a thing is if YOU decided to marry a second wife.

Abdi: Where did that come from? Are you looking for an argument, woman?

Sado: No. Again, I was just making small talk.

Abdi: Keep talking that way and I am sure to get me a second wife.

Sado: Now who is looking for an argument?

Abdi: Never mind all that. I am going to pray.

Abdi finishes his prayers and comes to sit down and have a cup of tea.

Sado: Are you angry with me?

Abdi: No. Why should I be angry with you? Like you said, you were making small talk.

Sado: You know how much I hate guys that marry multiple wives and the mention of that friend of yours always gets on my nerves. He lives in poverty yet he is not poor and is probably having a better life than both of us. It doesn't stop him from asking for money though.

Abdi: So it is about the money then? Ok. I will not send him anything if it makes you happy.

Sado: No. No. It is not about the money. Send him whatever you can. After all, it is not the fault of his many wives that he is a good for nothing so and so.

Abdi: Ok. I actually can't send him anything in the next few days and Eid is just round the corner. Do you mind if you go to the xawalad and send him the money yourself? I'll give you all the details, and the money of course.

Sado: No. I don't mind. Just so to prove that I don't begrudge your friend the money.

The next day, Sado goes to the xawlad and tells the man behind the counter to send the money to Ali. She gives him the details and the money Abdi gave her. The xawalad man asks her who should he say the money was from. She gives him her husband's name. The xawalad guy enters the name of the husband in his computer system and turns to Sado asking if her husband ever sent money through this xawalad before. Sado replies in the negative.

The Somali xawalad man who, typically, does not understand nor believe in individual privacy looks shocked and asks her if she's sure.

Sado: Yes. I am sure. My husband never goes to any xawalado. I always do these things for him while he's at work.

Xawalad man: But his name is here. He sends money back home every month.

Sado: Every month? Who to?

Xawalad man: Do you know a lady by the name Nimco Maxamed?

Sado: Never heard of her before!

Xawalad man: Are you sure she's not his sister, mother or aunt?

Sado: I know all his family. There is no Nimco there. Are you sure he sends it EVERY month?

Xawalad man: That's what my system says.

Sado: The cheating, lying, non-fasting so and so!

Xawalad man: Steady now, sister. I presume you're still fasting.

Sado: What fasting are you talking about? MY HUSBAND IS CHEATING ON ME!

Xawalad man: Calm down, sister. Maybe it is a misunderstanding.

Sado: We'll see, we'll see. Cancel the transfer I asked you to make for now. I'll return and make it later.


Abdi did fast the remaining days of Ramadan but all those around him suspected that he only did so as a result of being homeless and not having ready access to a full fridge.

When I went to the maqaaxi last night, some man that reminded me strongly of our very own Xaaji X was telling everyone that Somaliland shaaydaan ma laha!

He was adamant inuu shaaydaanku ka qaxay Somaliland. Marka hore wuxuu na yidhi:

"Anaa shaydaanka arkay isagoo safaarada ingiriiska ku socda. laakiin malaa waa loo diiday"

He added:

"Aakhirkii, markuu wax waayaay, fake passport buu ku baxay . Anigaa ku arkay isagoo Daalo airline saaran"

When we asked him why did the shaydaan leave Somaliland, he replied:

"meel xataa daaayeerkii wax ku xadayo maxa dhigaya?"

When we said that this was good news he replied:

"yaa idin ku yidhi waa good nayooos? wadan baad sheeganaysaan idinkoon shaydaan lahayn! waar orda sasabta ama madaxweyne ka dhiga ha idin ku soo noqdee"

When we said that the Shaydaan was bad, he replied:

"Hadaa ma Rayaalaa fiican?"

When we said he can't compare Rayaale with the Shaydaan, he said:

"Waa runtiin. Shaydaanka cidna may dooran lahayn lakin Rayaale 97% baa doortay".

When we said what does he think of the future of Somaliland now that it has no resident Shaydaan of its own he said:

"Ha u bixina! Shayaadiintu way badan yihiin, Puntland ayaan mid kaaga afduubaynaa".

When we said that this was impossible he said:

"Wax impossible la yidhaahdo ma jiraan. Xaabsade hadaan la wareegnay, shayaadiinta na waanu afduubi karnaa"

When we all laughed, he laughed back too and said:

"duushay ninmanyahow, duushay"

Man with red hat: War maxay leeyheen. This line is not moving at all.

Man with green hat: stop pushing and wait for your turn.

Man with no hat: Rag waaween bad teheen. Stop complaining and don’t show us up. The women are in the opposite line and can hear you.

Man with red hat (whispers): Badw bad tahay ninyaho. Why else do you think I am making all this fuss about the non-moving queue?

Man with green hat (whispers back): Ninyaho kan eska dhaf. Mala xaaskiisa linka ku jirta.

Man with red hat: Hahaha

Man with no hat: Uuuf. War maxay leeyheen. This line is not moving at all!

Man with green hat: say ma yaroox fooq, say ma yansol taxat ayaay carabtu ku maahmaahda

Man with red hat: Haahay. Waxay na yedhaahdan: qaala wa qaala kalam kateer.

Man with no hat: War I dhiga ban edin edhi.

Man with green hat: maskeen ya dallas

Man with red hat: cajeeb el cajaayib

Woman with orange jilbaab: War ninka mad eska daaysan.

Man with green hat (to man with red hat): So kuu man sheegin?

Man with red hat: Bow!

Man with no hat: War I dhiga ban edin edhi

Man with green hat: Do you support Udub?

Man with no hat: Maxa kaa galay?

Man with red hat (to man with green hat): Does he look like an Udub supporter to you?

Man with green hat: Ninyaho wa runta. He does not look like one. Woxo wa eska badow. He must be a Kulmiye supporter.

Man with red hat: He looks like one.

Woman with orange jilbaab: You are calling him badow but neither of you understands the meaning of democracy. Maxa ka jira hadoo K or U taagiro?

Man with red hat: Arr ninyaho xaaskaga naga qabo dee.

Man with no hat: Ninyaho wad caytamaysa. This woman is my and your sister. Stop spreading rumours about her.

Woman with o.j (to man with no hat): inadeer, don’t waste your time trying to reason with these two jaahils.

Woman with yellow jilbaab: Naa. Amus. Adiga hadalka eso keenay. What possessed you to get involved in men’s conversations?

Woman with white maser: Don’t shut her up. She was right to tell those two to leave the poor man alone.

Man with red hat to man with green hat: Waliga ma argtay nin ween oo la leeyahay waa maskiin?

Man with green hat: Miya ninyaho. Kano wa bila dheeg.

Man with red hat: gaalado waxay ku maahmahda, at da wrong balayees at da wrong time.

Man with green hat: hahaha..waxanay edhaahdan, E-see come, E-see go.

Man with no hat (losing his temper): talyaanigo waxay ku maahmaahan Il diavolo fa le pentole ma non i coperchi

Man with red hat: Arr woxo eleen waa reer xamar. Nacala af talyaaniga eyo.... (fill in the gaps with a suitable swear word)

Man with green hat: Mala waa jaasuus!

Woman with yellow jilbaab: Ma Al shabaab ba?

Woman with white maser: Na miyanaad aheen tii na laheed ragga ha la hadlina?

Woman with yellow jilbaab: Naa aamus. Sacsacad yahay. Sheekado way es badashay.

Man with red hat: Waa ruunta. Aad bay eso badashay. Arr ma Al shabaab bad aheed?

Man with no hat: War wala shabaab wala odyaal ban ahay, I daa.

Man with green hat: Bacdan aad sidatid maxa ku yaala?

Man with red hat: oo ma bac buu sita? Balo! Arr baxsadaaaay. Arr cararaaaay. Tolaay...(fill the gaps again)

Man with no hat: War calm down all of you. There is nothing in that bag, only a new shirt and macawis.

Woman with orange jilbaab (hesitating): Walaal, ma run ba? Al Shabaab miyad ku jirta?

Man with green hat: Xita xaaskiisa ka shakiday. Arr kala yaacaaaay. Arr baxsadaaaay.

The line disperses and people run in all direction only for the men with the red and green hats to return and stand at the head of the line.

Man with red hat: war waan siginay.

Man with green hat: haa ninyaho.

Man with red hat: carabtu waxay ku maahmaahda, fe al baxar kabeer lasim saceema.

Man with green hat: hahaha. Waxay na yedhahdaan, talaata fi etneena ma yemshi.

The door opens and they walk in to register.

Dear Shamso

It has been three full years since I last set eyes on your lovely face. I miss you terribly and would love to see you again, even if for a mere second.

You probably thought I was dead or that I have forgotten all about you. I don't blame you. On that dark day when I had to leave our town and forcibly turn my back on you I did promise that I will return one day to make you my wife. But how many lovers in history made similar promises only to never be seen again? Not I, Shamso, not I. One day I will return.

I still remember the first day I fell for you. I remember your orange and green flowery dress, your black headscarf and your plastic sandals. I was leaning on a wall, lazily smoking a cigarette and waiting for a friend to arrive when you happened to walk past me. You must have walked past that particular spot a million times before. I must have stood on that particular spot a thousand times previously. But on that memorable day, you turned your head towards me as you walked and gave me a look. It was not a smile, a frown or even a beckoning look. You merely blinked at me twice and my heart skipped a beat then skipped again, twice.

Remember how I ran after you and started asking what you were up to and how your brother was? You were shy at first but you soon softened up and developed the courage to tease me and look me in the eye. Yet I always longed for one more magic blink.

Remember how your brother caught us holding hands behind the mosque? He and three of his friends bounced on me and tried to beat me up. I could have run away, I could have apologised, I could have begged for mercy. However, you were standing there and watching. I lost a couple of my teeth, had a busted nose and a swollen eye. But for you, Shamso, I fought like a lion.

The meddlers meddled. The fiddlers fiddled and the whisperers started spreading rumours. Our love affair was out in the open and your family refused to accept me even when I asked for your hand in marriage. Remember the excuses your father made? Remember how he claimed I had no prospects, job or future? When did prospects ever stop a Somali man from marrying? More importantly, which twenty year old Somali man has these so-called prospects? No, Shamso. Your father was like one of those cruel kings you hear about in old stories. He wanted me to slay a dragon to get my girl! That's why I left. But I promised to be back and, one day soon, I will return carrying the head of the dragon and flaunting my new found prospects in your father’s face.

You don't know the troubles I've seen, Shamso. Nobody does. In the three years of my absence, I have crossed deserts, swam seas and met many new people.

Remember the day I left town? I told you that I was going to head for Europe or America. Well, I did. I walked the deserts of Africa until I got to Libya. I got in a ship bound for Italy. The Captain fell overboard and died. We went in circles for ten days. We finally reached an Egyptian port. We were all deported back to Somalia.

The second time I tried to make it out of Somalia, I got in a ship bound for Yemen. I was thrown overboard. Just as I was drowning and thinking these were my last minutes on Earth, I remembered your pretty face. I saw you blinking down at me. I relaxed and stopped fighting the inevitable. This death was indeed sweet. I don't know how long it was but I noticed that I was not drowning anymore, I was floating. I learned to swim in the worst possible conditions! I thank you for saving my life, my love.

After hours of floating about, paddling around and praying a lot. I was finally picked up by a Somali speed boat. It was full of young men just like me. They had guns and they were chewing! They took me ashore, fed me and clothed me. I even found a couple of my long lost relatives amongst them. They were Somali pirates!

Now don't you panic, dearest. The title pirates was given to us by the western media. We (I and my comrades) do not regard ourselves as pirates. Just like our brothers who are fighting inland and call themselves Al-Shabab, we are fighting in the sea and call ourselves Al-Yaxas.

To tell you the truth, Shamso. When I first discovered what these people do I too thought of them as pirates and wanted nothing to do with them too. However, after meeting one of our captains and being told what our goals and aims were I am now proud to be called a Somali pirate.

This captain I am talking about goes by the name of Abdulwahab. He is not really a captain by trade. He used to be a sergeant in the old Somali army and he reckons that with the passing of the years he should have at least become a colonel. But Captain Abdulwahab is a humble man and therefore he decided to settle for the title of captain. He also argues that being a captain in the sea is miles better than a general in the land.

Our other captain is called captain Red Beard. We call him this because of his fondness for applying henna to his beard. Both he and captain Abdulwahab have explained to us the necessity of having a Somali navy that patrols and protects our seas. This is why we have been marauding the seas and stopping all offending ships.

I heard that the media reported that we kidnap ships and demand crazy ransoms. But all this is mere propaganda, my love. The truth is that we stop any ships that trespass into our waters and ask to see their papers, just as any respectable navy would. If everything is in good order we let them go but if we discover any violations we have to apprehend these ships and fine them for their wrongdoings. Yes we sometimes ask for extortionate amounts of money but that is only so that we set an example for other ships that wish to violate our seas.

Oh Shamso, the sea is beautiful. There we are, half a dozen young men on a speed boat, with the wind in our backs, the horizon in our front and the big open sea under our feet. We sail around and petrol the waters. We sing, we laugh and we uphold the name of mother Somalia. Oh Shamso, if you were here you would love the camaraderie, loyalty and sacrifices of these brothers of mine. They're the bravest, the cleverest and the most cunning to have ever set foot in the sea.

Last week, as we were sat in a coffee shop in the beautiful town of Eyal, we received a report of a ship that was trespassing on our waters. We roused ourselves, spat our khat out and jumped on our speed boats. After an hour of sailing, we spied the ship in the distance. After half an hour of parrying, maneuvering and chasing, that ship was ours. We towed it home and were received as heroes again.

I would love to come back and marry you now, Shamso. I have enough money to buy our whole town and don't think your father can look down on my prospects anymore. Alas, I have a bigger duty now. I am sure you understand the importance of defending this great country of ours (and to think I was planning to go to Europe or America and abandon my forefathers' land a scant months ago).

Wait for me for one more year, Shamso. One more year and I promise to come back and marry you, my love. In the meantime, every time I go out to sea, every time I find myself blinking when the sun is in my eye, every time the sea wind ruffles my afro, I am going to remember you Shamso. In fact, I once tried to convince the boys to name our speed boat after you but was soon put off the idea when one of them reminded me that this boat of ours was always boarded by no less than six men. I love these brothers of mine but I love you more, Shamso.

I shall end this letter now my love but, remember me every time an easterly wind brings you the salty smell of the sea. Remember me every time you hear of a man with prospects. Remember me every time you walk by that mosque. Remember me every time your brother has a fight....




Fifteen men on a dead man's chest
Yo ho ho and a mijin of khat
chewing and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a mijin of khat...

Yours truly,

Ismail


Ps
Our coffee shop has internet access now. I know there is a Net Cafe in our town so why don't you create an MSN account and contact me? I would love to see your pretty face again, Shamso.

My e-mail is: Nin_Taagan@hotmial.com