Shamso's Sailor
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
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
