Nomadic Ramblings

As the bus drove through the main, road a loud bang was suddenly heard! The people at the front stuck their heads to the windows to get a better look. The people at the back crowded round their own windows to have a better view. The driver put his hazard lights on and stopped.

Those in the middle started murmuring and asking what the matter was.

Woman at the front: A car just hit a little boy.

Woman at the back: The driver could not break in time.

Man at the front: He was going too fast.

Man at the back: The boy came out of nowhere.

Woman at the front: It was the driver's fault.

Man at the back: It was the little boy's fault.

Man at the front: The driver should have slowed down.

Woman at the back: He was going at the required speed and had no time to slow down.

Man in the middle: Well, if the boy came out of nowhere then it must be his fault. This is a main road and the driver must have been going at the required speed.

Woman at the front: One day, these crazy young drivers are going to kill us all.

Woman at the back: I feel sorry for the poor driver. Can you imagine how he's feeling now?

Man at the front: How do you think the poor boy feels? How do you think his family feels?

Man at the back: His family should have taught him how to cross the road properly. It's partly their fault that he's lying there now soaking in his own blood.

Woman at the front: Is the driver related to you or something?

Man at the back: Fair is fair, my dear lady.

Man at the front: What is fair about killing young children?

Woman at the back: Don't twist things and make it sound like murder please. It was an accident and the kid was at fault.

Woman at the front: It is murder if the child dies.

Man at the back: You are taking things out of all proportions. If the child dies it would be accidental murder at best.

Man at front: Still murder though.

Woman at back: Would you be saying the same thing if the victim was an adult rather than a child?

Woman at front: I would say the same if it were a darn cat.

Man at back: Well, it is not the driver's fault. We at the back had a good view of the accident and clearly saw the child run in front of the car.

Man at front: No. We had a much better view at the front and saw how fast the driver was going.

Man in the middle: I bet the bus driver had a better view than most. What do you think, driver?

Driver: I did not see anything. I was daydreaming about when my shift will end.

Woman at front: See? All drivers are just dangerous. I bet the other driver was also daydreaming about something or another before hitting that poor child.

Driver: In thirty years of driving I have never had a single accident.

Man at the back: Don't listen to her. This lady has her own agenda and is trying to distort things.

Woman at the back: That's obvious. It is shameful to take advantage of such a sad situation.

Man at the front: She is right though. Most drivers are only interested in how nice their cars are and how fast they can go instead of public safety and careful driving.

Man at the back: That is not true.

Man at the front: Look at his car, mate. It is a brand new Porsche! Do you think someone that drives such a fast car, bought it because of its safety record? He is obviously a speed nut.

Woman at the back: What has his car got to do with anything?

Woman at the front: You can tell a person by the car they drive. Most drivers are egotistical maniacs.

Man at the front: Indeed. He is driving a Porsche, my good lady. If that means anything, it shows that he has more money than sense. I despise these spoilt rich kids.

Man at the back: You are using your prejudices to analyse this accident.

Man in the middle: Sounds like it to me.

Woman in the middle: Does the driver look like an irresponsible person? Can you really judge just by looking at him?

Woman at the front: Actually, he just came into view. He looks like a middle-aged man.

Man at the front: He does not look like the type that would drive such an expensive car!

Man at the back: He looks like a university professor or something.

Woman at the back: Poor man looks distraught.

Woman at the front: What's poor about that? He just killed a child!

Man in the middle: If he does not look like someone who would drive this kind of car then maybe he borrowed it and was struggling to work out how to drive it. These sorts of cars are very tricky.

Man at the front: If that is true, he really should not have tried to test it in a public road. Don't put other people's lives at risk just because you want to try a fast car.

Woman at the front: True.

Woman at the back: This is mere speculation. For all we know it might be his car.

Man at the back: Exactly. Besides, he would have hit that kid even if he were riding a bicycle instead of a Porsche.

Woman in the middle: I wish he were riding a bicycle.

Man at the front: I wish he were not, the child murderer.

Man at the back: Stop calling him that.

Man at the front: Don't order me around. Come and stop me if you can.

Man at the back: I have too much respect for the ladies present to start a fight with you.

Man at the front: Stop ordering me around then.

Man at the back: Just shut up and carry on talking the rubbish you were spouting all day.

Man at the front: How about I come over and reconstruct your face instead?

Man at the back: I would like to see you try.

Man in the middle: Gentlemen, gentlemen, stop this silly argument.

Man at the front: He started it, the big-mouthed coward.

Man at the back: I'll show you what a big-mouthed coward looks like


They jump on each other and start to fight. The middle man and the driver attempt to stop them. The police, who turned up to attend to the accident, see them and get on the bus to stop the fight.

Policeman: What do we have here then?

Woman at the back: He started it (pointing at the man at the front).

Woman at the front: No. He threw the first punch (pointing at the man at the back).

Woman at the back: Are you his wife or something?

Woman at the front: Fair is fair, madam.

Woman in the middle: There really was no need for all this trouble.

Man at the back: He was being aggressive towards me and I hit him in self-defence.

Woman at the back: Exactly.

Man at the front: We were having an argument and he got violent and used his fists.

Man at the back: You dared me to do it you coward.

Man at the front: Yes I did and I will again if you ever call me a coward again.

Policeman: Simmer down, gentlemen.

Woman in the middle: Is the child from the accident dead, officer?

Policeman: No. He's fine. He only has minor bruises.

Woman at the front: Was it the crazy driver's fault?

Woman at the back: Of course it were not.

Woman at the front: Was I speaking to you, lady? I was asking the officer. Mind your own business please.

Woman at the back: MAKE ME!

Man at the front: You people are very aggressive.

Man the back: Us people? You're a racist too?

Woman at the front: Oh here we go. The minute they get a chance they pull out the race card!

Woman at the back: I knew it. I just knew it.

Policeman: Everyone clam down please.

Man in the middle: This is getting silly. When is this bus going to be allowed to move? I have an urgent appointment in half an hour.

Driver: As soon as the police tell me to go, sir.

Woman at the back: Doubt if he'll allow you to go now. He needs to deal with that racist couple first.

Woman at the front: I am not racist, you opportunistic peasant.

Man at the back: Not just racist, you're an elitist too.

Man in the middle: I don't know about that, my friend. Do elitists take the bus?

Man at the front: Everyone is allowed to take the bus.

Woman at the back: Haha! He didn't understand what elitist means.

Woman at the front: And I suppose a peasant like you does?

Man at the back: Enough of that, lady.

Policeman: This is your last warning. If you people don't stop fighting I will be forced to arrest the lot of you.

Driver: How long before I move, officer? My shift ends in less than an hour.

Policeman (getting really fed up with all the noise): You can go now, mate. If any of these people fight again just drop them at the nearest police station.

The policeman gets off. The driver drives off and everyone gets back to their seats.

At the next stop, a new man gets on and goes to sit in the back of this quite and ordinary bus without realising how much the passengers hate each other.

Amid heightened security and great noise, the right honourable Sheikh Sharif Sheikh Ahmed, president of Somalia and former Courts Movements leader entered Villa Somalia. Within thirty seconds of walking into the presidential lounge, he dismissed his companions and demanded to have a minute alone. The room was vast. The big western style sofas looked expensive. The faded blue curtains looked depressing. The Kashmir rugs looked comfortable.

He coughed and heard the echo of his cough reverberate around the room. He coughed even louder and the echo came back louder. A civil servant poked his head through the door and asked if everything was ok. The president waved him away and carried on surveying the room. As he did so, he thought about the task ahead. He knew that a lot of work would have to be done to make his plans succeed. He knew he’d have to make many compromises. He was sure he’d be ridiculed. But he was a man on a mission and he had a clear picture of how he wanted to proceed.

“First, I am going to get rid of these ghastly sofas” he said. “Then I am going to order two dozen pillows and a few mattresses,” he added.

He took a step back and started to examine the ceiling. He noticed some cracks from the endless bombardments of the previous few years. “Hmmm! We will have to repaint this and, we’ll also have to change those ugly curtains” he mused.

He walked to the centre of the room, stood straight and widened his feet. He looked at the empty space between his feet and said, “This is where I am going to put my plant”. He slowly swirled on the spot and took a look at all corners of the room. He seemed to imagine different people sat in various places. He beckoned an imaginary person to him and sat on the floor whilst facing this phantom adversary. He smiled, nodded, shrugged, stretched his arms in a besieging way, smiled again and then bid whomever it was he was imagining to bear with him for a minute and hear him out! He stuck his hand in his upper coat pocket and took out a miswaak. He beckoned his opponent to come even closer and pointed him to a spot on the ground. He suddenly gasped and was out of his reverie in an instant. “Sand! We need to have some sand here!” he said to himself.

Now the picture was really forming in his head. He will bring the outside to the Inside. His meeting room is going to be a replica of a Somali traditional summit! “The blue colour will have to go,” he said to himself. “We will have to blend sandy yellow with bright green,” he added.

He called for his assistant to enter the room and gave him instructions on how he wants things to be done. The assistant stood there looking at him with an open mouth and confused look.

“ What’s the matter, man?” Said the president.

“You really want to have a tree in the middle of the room, sir? An acacia tree?” asked the assistant.

“YES. Please see to it that it is planted here as soon as possible. I have no time to waste and have many other things to deal with,” Said the president.

“But, sir, can you not have the tree in the presidential garden? We do have a very spacious garden,” Said the assistant.

“Do you even know why I want the tree here?” asked the president, irately.

“ I am guessing you want to follow the traditional Somali way of sorting disputes, sir,” replied the assistant.

“ Good man. Good man. You are not as retarded as you look after all!” beamed the president.

“But, sir, I still cannot see why you can’t do that in the garden” Asked the assistant patiently.

“The garden will not do, man. Do you not understand? These are secret affairs of the state and I can not conduct such affairs in the open air, the wind has ears” reasoned the president.

“ I understand, sir. So, you want an acacia tree planted in this here spot and you want lots of sand around it, right?” asked the assistant weakly.

“Yes and yes. Hurry up and see that it is done as soon as possible” said the president. “Also” he added, “Make sure that all the other adjustments I asked for are done at the same time”.

The assistant disappeared out of the room for five minutes and returned carrying some urgent dispatches.

“What are these, man?” Asked the president.

“Some paperwork that needs your signature, sir” Replied the assistant.

“Later. Later. First let us get this place in total shipshape. You can’t expect me to fix the country if I can’t even fix my own residence?” He shouted.

“No, sir” Said the assistant.

“What is the presidential bedroom like?” asked the president.

“Err, it is very spacious, sir” replied the assistant.

“Does it have an en-suite bar? I don’t mean an alcohol one, I mean does it have a fridge?” He asked.

“No, sir. But you can order anything you need from the kitchen and someone will bring it to you straight away” said the assistant.

“NO! This will not do. I want you to make sure that the bedroom has a fridge, a TV, a phone or two and an en-suite bathroom. Make sure there are towels and some of that free soap in the bathroom too,” he said.

“As you say, sir” said the assistant.

President Sheikh Sharif stood contemplating for a few minutes. Scratched his beard. Looked down at where his tree shall be planted. Looked at his assistant, and finally said:

“I have noticed that at the entrance to the building there are a couple of soldiers sat on stools by the gate and asking visitors for ID before letting them in”.

“Do you want to get rid of them and open the doors of the palace to the populace, sir?” asked the assistant expectantly.

“No. NO. I just find it queer that only one set of people are meeting and greeting these visitors! Here is what I want you to do. Just before you reach the doors to this room, I want you to put a huge desk and place two pretty girls on it so that they can meet and greet our visitors” said the president.

“Like in a hotel foyer you mean, sir?” asked the assistant.

“Exactly like a hotel. I want the star of Somalia placed behind them in a big green crest” he said.

“But the star of Somalia is blue, sir” said the assistant.

“Not under my leadership. I am an Islamic president, man. The Islamic colour is GREEN,” bellowed the president.

“Very well, sir. Any other orders?” asked the assistant resignedly.

“NO. That is it for now. Just send me the masseur on your way out” he said.

“We don’t have a masseur, sir. Should I employ one?” replied the assistant.

“What? You don’t have a masseur? The presidential palace of the Somali president does not have his own masseur? Why even the worst hotel in Asmara has one!” He shouted and secretly wondered if this job was worth all this hassle after all.

She was sat in her room angry, ashamed and bewildered! She was dying to find out who told her parents about her smoking habits. Deeqa was always careful and only had one cigarette a day. She also only smoked after her afternoon lectures. Now the secret was out and she knew she could never smoke again (without being caught).

As she lay in her bed, looking at the ceiling and thinking of ways to convince her family that she has ditched the habit and shall become a good girl from now on, her friend Huda slithered into the room.

Huda was very small for her age. She was short, petite and had a very innocent face. However, one look at her eyes is enough for any passing onlooker to realise how much of a snake she is.

She went and sat on the edge of the bed and started giggling at Deeqa.

‘I hear your smoking habit has been discovered’ she said.

‘I would love to know who was it that told on me’ replied Deeqa.

‘Probably someone that hates you! Hmm, could it be Maryam?’

‘No. Maryam never saw me smoking’ said Deeqa.

‘Well then, don’t worry yourself about it. What is done is done’

‘I suppose you are right’ replied Deeqa.

‘So, are you going to quit smoking now?’ Asked Huda

‘It is not that easy to quit smoking. I want to but I really don’t think I can, not that quickly anyway’

‘In that case, you will have to find a hiding place to continue with your filthy habit’ winked Huda.

‘What hiding place? I spend all my time either at home or at Uni. You already know that I only smoke at Uni. Now that I got caught, I don’t think I can smoke there anymore’ reasoned Deeqa.

‘Of course you can! You just have to do it in disguise’ chuckled Huda.

‘In disguise? HOW?’

‘Put on a jilbaab and niqaab, silly. That way you can smoke to your heart’s content and nobody would know it is YOU’ laughed Huda.

‘NO! That’s evil’ replied an appalled Deeqa.

‘Nothing evil about it, my dear. In fact, you get to hit two birds with one stone’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Deeqa innocently.

‘For a start, you get to show your parents that you have mended your ways and are now fulfilling your religious obligations. In addition, you will continue to indulge in your smoking habit without anyone knowing the person under the niqaab’. Hissed a smiling Huda.

‘It does not sound right to me. I don’t want to be a hypocrite’ protested Deeqa.

‘You think smoking behind your parents’ back is not hypocrisy?’ Asked Huda.

‘Well, yes, but it is not the same level of hypocrisy’.

‘Nonsense. Hypocrisy has no levels. You are either a hypocrite or you are not! You already proved that you are one, so what is with the coyness now?’ Said Huda.

‘Well, I am just not comfortable with the idea’.

‘Ok. Let us look at things from all angels, shall we?
Number one: you have been grounded
Number two: your family does not trust you anymore
Number three: you are getting a bad reputation because of this story
Number four: you are losing the respect of your nearest and dearest’ Shouted Huda.

‘I suppose you are right’ mumbled Deeqa resignedly.

‘The jilbaab and niqaab are not that ugly by the way’ said Huda soothingly ‘I have seen girls wearing lovely combinations of the two’.

‘True. I did too’.

‘Give it a try and see how it goes. Or, better still, quit smoking and save yourself all the guilt and hassle’ said Huda.

‘I wish I could. It is really not as easy as you seem to think. It takes willpower and dedication, which I really don’t have now’

‘Are you talking about the smoking or the disguise?’ asked Huda

‘Both. Though wearing the niqab shouldn’t be that hard I suppose.’

‘Do it and see how it goes, what do you have to lose?’ said Huda.

‘I’ll think about it’.


A week later and as Deeqa finished one of her lectures and was standing outside the University building ready to light up, she saw Huda walking past.

‘Psssst. Huda!’

‘Who is that? Do I know you, lady?’ Asked Huda as she peered closer to the niqab-clad lady.

‘It’s me, Deeqa!’

‘Oh! So you finally listened to my advice and started wearing the niqab? What does it feel like?’ asked Huda.

‘It does the job’

‘What do you mean? Islamically?’ asked Huda

‘Yes. That too! It also allows me to smoke freely without anyone around me batting an eyelid!’

‘Surely not! I would have expected the Muslim brothers and sisters to at least look down on your shameless shenanigans’ said Huda winking.

‘Not many of them saw me smoking. I still have enough sense to hide the cigarette whenever I spot one of them walking by’

‘Did any of them recognise you?’

‘Not a single soul! In fact, this niqaab idea seems to have had a strange effect on everyone around me. Most people look at me with a perplexed look on their faces. The Muslim brothers avoid eye contact and the sisters always greet me!’

‘A popular disguise, huh?’ Said Huda

‘Yes. Some of the girls even invited me to a couple of religious lectures’

‘Did you accept the invitations?’ said Huda chuckling loudly.

‘What else could I do? I could not really refuse, could I?’

‘We didn’t think of this possibility when we came up with this idea’ Said Huda whilst tapping her fingers against her lips thoughtfully.

‘No we didn’t. But it is not all bad. I went to one of these lectures last night and it was quite interesting’

‘From the way you said it you make it sound like you are going to go to more lectures in the future’

‘Yes I probably will’

‘Haha! Now you have had it. You really have to quit smoking, you know’ retorted a laughing Huda.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because you seem comfortable with this new disguise of yours and are already immersing yourself with all it contains. Being religious and being a smoker do not tally, my dear’.

‘But I don’t want to quit smoking, I can’t.’

‘You will have to give up one of the two. There is no two ways about it’

‘I can’t take off my niqaab now. The family will wonder and think me a fickle little girl’ Said Deeqa.

‘Give up smoking then’

‘I really don’t think I can, even if I wanted to.’

‘Something has to give, my dear’


Two weeks later, as Huda was standing by a traffic light and waiting for the light to go red, she felt a tab on her shoulder. She turned around to see a tall niqab-wearing lady with smiling eyes.

‘Oh hello, bat-woman! Long time no see’ said Huda.

‘Al Salaam Aleekom Wa Rahmato Allah, sister’

‘Ooooh! I see you got your disguise down to a tee now! Wa Aleekom Al Salaam’ said a laughing Huda.

‘It is no disguise. This is the way I am now’

‘What do you mean this is the way you are?’

‘I finally managed to quit smoking but decided to keep the ‘disguise’ because I feel comfortable in it’ replied Deeqa.

‘It is those wretched lectures you have been going to that did this, is it not?’

‘Yes, and they are not wretched. They are great. You should come sometimes’ said Deeqa.

‘What are you up to, woman?’ asked Huda whilst narrowing those tiny eyes of hers.

‘Up to? I am up to nothing. Just trying to tell you that those lectures are great’

‘You expect me to believe that someone could change their entire life in the space of a few weeks?’ asked Huda.
‘You make it sound as if I was not a Muslim before! All I am doing now is trying to be a good Muslim. What is wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. Nothing. It is just not YOU! I am finding it hard to accept that you have changed that much in the space of a few weeks’ replied a stuttering Huda.

‘I don’t think I have changed at all. All I did is try to adhere to the rules of my faith. I am not perfect you know’.

‘Nobody is. So, err, does that mean you will not be leaving the house on your own anymore? Would you need a muharam and all that stuff?’ Asked Huda eagerly

‘I don’t know. I have not thought about that. I shall ask in the next lecture I go to’.

‘But for the time being you will carry on acting as normal, right?’ Asked Huda.

‘Yes, around the girls at least. I have decided not to interact with any boys though’

‘No boys? Ok. But are you allowed to sneak a look here and there?’

‘I am not sure. It can’t do any harm I guess’


‘In that case, come on, I am taking you to this new coffee shop that opened recently. The workers there are to die for’ Said Huda.

‘Ok. I’ll come but I am not talking to any workers’

‘Fine. You just drink your coffee and ogle, I’ll do all the talking’. Laughed Huda as she took her hands and walked with her towards the coffee shop......

After a thousand dates, a million bedtimes calls and a billion gifts and anniversaries, Warsame had had enough and decided to get on with it and marry Yasmin. He lost count of the number of times he proposed to her and how she usually just giggled her assent. ‘This time’, he decided, ‘I am going to get her to say yes’.

He was waiting in his car outside her work place and watching her through the window having a last chat to one of her female co-workers. ‘I wonder if she knows why I asked to see her this urgently’ he thought. ‘I wonder if she will accept!’ he mumbled worriedly. He did not notice her opening the passenger door and getting in the car as he sat down thinking about the conversation to come.

Yasmin (slapping him lovingly on the shoulder): all right, wawa?

Warsame: Hmm? Yes. Fine.

Yasmin: Are you sure? You seem to be miles away!

Warsame: Hmm? Oh! Yes. Yes. I am sure. Just lost in my thoughts as usual. How are you?

Yasmin: I’m ok. Had a horrid day at work though. That annoying manager of mine did it again...

Warsame: Err; lets not bother with her please. You’ll only spoil my mood and yours by talking about her.

Yasmin: True. But what is wrong with you? You seem a bit tetchy! Has it something to do with why you wanted to see me urgently? You’re not breaking up with me, are you?

Warsame: Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about...

Yasmin: YOU’RE BREAKING UP WITH ME?

Warsame: No! No. Stop being paranoid.

Yasmin: What then? What did you mean by ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about’?

Warsame: I wanted to talk about us....

Yasmin: So you ARE breaking up with me? If you are going to do it, just get on with it and save me the sob story and all that nonsense of ‘it is not you, it is me’.....

Warsame: I am NOT breaking up with you, woman. Calm down and let me finish what I am saying.

Yasmin: Ok. FINE. Just don’t snap at me like this.

Warsame: Now you’re upset! GREAT.

Yasmin: I am not upset. Just say what you have to say and lets end this conversation. I have had a long day at work and don’t need any more headaches...

Warsame: I am not sure now this is the right moment for it.

Yasmin: Right moment for what?

Warsame: Never mind. We’ll talk about it later.

Yasmin: Warsame Cali luugo-muruq, you did not spoil my mood, get me all worked up and angry only to change your mind now and postpone whatever it is you wanted to tell me. Spit it out, NOW.

Warsame: Ok. Ok. I wanted to talk about us and how long we’ve been seeing each other.

Yasmin: What about us?

Warsame: Well, we can’t keep it up forever, can we?

Yasmin: So, you do want to break up with me?

Warsame: No! I want to marry you, you paranoid woman!

Yasmin giggles and looks away.

Warsame: This will not do. I want a straight answer not a giggle.

Yasmin: Well, you didn’t ask a question for me to give you an answer.

Warsame: You want me to get on my knees and present you with a ring? What difference would such an action make?

Yasmin: That would be nice of course but how about just asking the question itself?

Warsame: What difference would that make? You know I want to marry you. Just say YES or NO.

Yasmin: You are spoiling the moment for me now.

Warsame: Does that mean you will not marry me?

Yasmin: No. It does not.

Warsame: So you will marry me?

Yasmin: I did not say that either. Ask a straight question and I will give you a straight answer.

Warsame: I am not sure I want to ask it now. You are toying with me as if I were some besotted teenager.

Yasmin: Are you not besotted? If this was your idea of a proposal, you are really not doing a good job of it, are you?

Warsame: Ok. Ok. I am besotted, smitten and entirely infatuated. Now, will YOU marry me?

Yasmin: That’s more like it.

She giggles and looks away.

Warsame: See what I mean! You are treating the whole thing as some kind of joke.

Yasmin: No darling. You just took me by surprise...

Warsame: Surprise? After all this long build up and you insisting on me asking the darn question?

Yasmin: Hush now! You took me by surprise because I thought we still had another year before we seriously thought about getting married.

Warsame: True. That was our initial agreement. But I think we better bring the date forward. Now what is your answer?

Yasmin covering her mouth with her hand and looking down at her shoes mumbles the word ‘yes’ and carries on looking at her shoes.

Warsame: What was that?

Yasmin turns around to look at him and shouts the word ‘YES before looking away again.

Warsame: Good. You tell your family and arrange date for me to come asking for your hand. I’ll go gather up a few respectable old men from my clan.

Yasmin: So soon?

Warsame: Don’t panic, silly. I am not going to ask for your hand tonight. It will take a few days to arrange things from my side and yours.

Yasmin: You’re serious about this, aren’t you?

Warsame: Aren’t you?

Yasmin: Yes but...

Warsame: Oh you coward! Just tell your family and I’ll deal with the rest.

A few weeks later, Warsame is at home and is getting ready to go to Yasmin’s house with his father, uncles and a few prominent clan elders. His mother is pestering him about having a full breakfast and telling him that it’ll be embarrassing should his stomach start to rumble in the middle of proceedings. His sisters are harassing him about changing the shirt and tie he’s wearing and getting into something more bright.

‘You are not going to a funeral’ shouts his younger sister.

‘Yes he is. It is the death of his single life’ jokes his older sister.

‘When are the old men arriving?’ asks his mother

‘In two hours’ says Warsame.

‘And when are you expected at Yasmin’s house?’ asks the older sister.

‘In three hours’ replies Warsame.

‘Typical! You could have given yourself more time’ says his mother.

‘It’ll be fine’ says a tired Warsame.

A couple of hours later, the old men arrive and they all go to the living room to agree the strategy for today’s event. With them, they bring a couple of young men, another old man and a clan mullah.

Fifteen minutes later, having agreed the details and gathered everyone up, they get in their cars and drive to Yasmin’s house.

In Yasmin’s house, the living room is heaving with brothers, cousins, uncles and other elders. There is a constant hum of voices and endless supply of tea and sweets. Yasmin’s father is sitting in the middle of two red bearded elders and is shouting to one of his sons to go to her and find out what time are the groom and his gang arriving. The son runs to the kitchen and asks his mother as he greets yet another female cousin he has not seen for months. A girl runs down from upstairs to inform the women that the groom has arrived then runs back upstairs to spy from the window.

Warsame and his companions walk in and are given the best seats in the house. Small chitchat ensues as Warsame sits down with a vacant look on his face and tries to wipe the sweat of his face. A cousin sitting next to him whispers ‘See that lion there? That’s your father-in-law! I bet he crashes your hand when you put it in his’.

The chitchat smoothly moves on to the topic of marriage and the benefits of completing half the faith. The two groups ask their respective mullahs to come into the middle of the room and start the ceremony. A gentle argument ensues. They agree to use the groom’s Mullah for this purpose. The cousin whispers again ‘they had to choose our one. Theirs looks and dresses like Osama bin Laden whilst our one is wearing a suit like Sh. Sharif’. Before Warsame could reply, his father pats him on the shoulder and tells him to move to the centre of the room next to the mullah. His legs carry him there whilst his mind remains vacant. The Mullahs starts giving a short speech about marriage and the benefits of matrimony when a phone suddenly starts to ring! People start looking at their neighbours and try to find where the ringing is coming from. After what seems like an eternity, Warsame finally realises it is his phone that is ringing. In his confusion and nervousness, he forgets where he is and answers it!

Warsame: Hello!

Yasmin: Hello. Is it finished?

Warsame: No. It has not started yet.

Yasmin: Why did you wear that dark shirt and tie with a dark suit? It is as if you’re going to funeral.

Warsame: I do not think this is the right time to be having this conversation.

Yasmin: Ok. Sorry. Oh! If they ask you about the dowry and what we agreed, tell them it is five thousand.

Warsame: FIVE? But we agreed on two only!

Yasmin: It is a long story. Amran was here, you remember Amran? Well she was bragging about how her dowry was four thousand and how this is the norm these days. So, when my mother asked me what my dowry was I could not let Amran get one on me and said five. I knew you wouldn’t mind. Do you?

Warsame (resignedly): No. I don’t mind.

Mullah: Everything ok?

Warsame: Yes. Yes. Sorry.

Yasmin: Who was that?

Warsame: Never mind. I will tell you later. I have to go now.

Yasmin: Wave at me when you leave. I’ll be watching you from the second floor window. The middle one.

Warsame: Ok. Bye.

Mullah: Are you sure you want to get married? It sounds to me like you are already domesticated.

Warsame wipes away some more sweat and sheepishly smiles at nobody in particular.

Yasmin’s father gets of his chair and comes to sit opposite him. The mullah gets them to shake hands and starts the ceremony. Warsame looks the old man in the eyes and sees a warm paternal smile. He tires to smile back but the pain of his hand being squashed by the lion’s massive palm only helps him to manage a half scowl. The ceremony finishes and the old man winks at him before letting go of his hand. They both get back to their seats but, in his confusion, Warsame manages to stumble and kick away a few cups of tea that were lying on the floor behind him!

More chitchat ensues before the food is brought in. Thanks to his mother’s heavy breakfast, Warsame starts feeling sick by just looking at the food. His cousin nudges him and tells him to eat. ‘You have a long night ahead of you and need all your energy, cousin. Eat! Eat!’ he says.

Just as he’s about to stick his hand in the plate of rice, his phone rings again! He answers it!

Mother: Is it done?

Warsame: Yes.

Mother: Mabrook ya caroos.

Warsame: Thanks.

Mother: What are you doing now?

Warsame: Eating.

Mother: Ok. Phone me as soon as you leave.

Warsame: Ok.

He hangs up and starts eating but his phone rings again. His cousin tells him not to answer it. ‘I am going to switch it off’ he replies. But then notices it is Yasmin’s number. He answers it!

Yasmin: Is it done now?

Warsame: Yes.

Yasmin: Are you eating? The rice is a bit oily, isn’t?

Warsame: I have no idea. I have not tried it yet.

Yasmin: Ah bless! Are you that nervous?

Warsame: No. But I can’t eat and talk on the phone at the same time, can I?

Yasmin: Ok. Ok. I got the message. Don’t forget to wave at me when you leave. I will phone you later.

Warsame: Ok.

He hangs up but notices there is another call on his phone. He answers.

Distant cousin: I am on my way. Don’t start without me.

Warsame: We are done here. Stay where you are. I’ll come and get you on my way.

D cousin: Ok. Can you get me some food?

Warsame: I can’t go to the kitchen and ask them to give me a plate of rice to take away on my bloody wedding day, inadeer.

D Cousin: ask your wife to do it.

Warsame: War I can’t. Have some sense.

D Cousin: Ingrees xishood badan waaxid.

Warsame: We’ll talk later. Now I have to eat.

D cousin: Yes. You eat and I starve! I came all the way from Scotland for this wedding of yours and you can’t even spare me a plate of rice? What sort of cousin are you?

Warsame: It’s not my fault you were late. Now hang up.

D cousin: I know what you are like now. See if I ever come to any weddings of yours.

Warsame: I am not planning to get married again.

Father: War o kaadi...

Warsame: No. No. You misunderstand me..

D Cousin: Did you mother cook anything?

Warsame: Yes. She cooked plenty of food. Go and eat there and I’ll come and get you later.

D Cousin: Ok. See you later.

Warsame finishes eating. Suffers the usual old men chitchat and gets introduced to Yasmin’s womenfolk before he leaves the house with his party. As he walks to the car, he looks up and sees a group of girls looking at him from the corner window of the top floor. He waves back. His phone rings!

Yasmin: Why are you waving at the neighbours’ girls? I said to you second floor middle window, not top floor corner window!

Warsame: Sorry. My fault, Mrs Warsame Cali luugo-muruq....

Consider the case of poor little Qamar and her infamous Qarxis!

There she was, sixteen years of age. Pretty. Intelligent. Hard working. Sociable. But she had one bad habit; she always went home after eight o’clock even though her father had warned her about it several times.

In his youth, Mr Ducale was a computer buff. He was a founding member of the first generation of Somalis to use the Internet and was popular in many forums, chartrooms and newsgroups. He was so obsessed with the Internet that even his love life revolved around it. It was there that he met Mrs Ducale. Chatted up Mrs Ducale and fell in love with Mrs Ducale! They got married three months after meeting. They were both twenty years old!

25th May 2009 was the darkest day in Qamar’s short life. It was not a bad day to begin with. She woke up early, had her breakfast, got dressed and went to school. After an uneventful day at school, she went to her friend’s house where they sat chatting and surfing the net. As usual, she got carried away and stayed at her friend’s house way beyond her eight o’clock curfew!

When she returned home and walked into the living room, her father who was sat at his computer and having a heated argument with a suspect child on a net forum, swivelled in his chair and gave her a severe look.

Qamar: Sorry daddy. I know I was late but there was a traffic accident and the bus was late and I had to walk half way and I would have been here on time but I can’t control traffic and I....

Mr D: ENOUGH! You are late again and no matter how many reasons you give you are not going to get away with it this time.

Qamar: I am really, really, really sorry.

Mr D: It is too late for that. I have tried to punish you in the past by sending you to your room, but it didn’t work. I have reduced your allowance, but it didn’t work. I have banned you from going out, but it didn’t work. Now I am going to use the only method available to me.

Qamar: What? Dad, I am truly, honestly, really really sorry. I promise I will not do it again.

Mr D: I already told you, your apologies make no difference to me now. No, this punishment of mine is going to make you wish if you were dead.

Qamar: Please, dad, please. I am really sorry.

Mr D: Don’t tell me that. Tell it to all your friends when I start publishing your photos on YouTube.

Qamar: You’re going to put my pictures on YouTube?

Mr D: And Facebook, Hi5 and every other site Somalis use. Since you refuse to follow my rules, I am going to play by your rules, daughter. I am going to ‘qarxis’ you.

Qamar: You are going to do that to your own daughter? Your own daughter?

Mr D: You are not better than your mother, Qamar. How do you think me and her got to know each other?

Qamar: You exposed your own wife? Why has nobody told me this?

Mr D: Because it is none of your business. Now stop turning this into a conversation, as if we are friends or something. I have warned you about your conduct and you chose to ignore my warnings. Suffer the consequences, dear.

Qamar: But, dad....please dad..don’t do it, dad..I’ll be a good girl, dad..

Mr D: No use in crying now. If you listened to me in the first place you wouldn’t be crying now.

Qamar: I swear dad..I swear I will be good. Give me one more chance.

Mr D: Hmmm.

Qamar: One more chance dad. I am your only daughter, why would you want to do this to your only daughter?

Mr D: Because my only daughter never listens. Because my only daughter acts like a big woman who can handle anything. Because my only daughter needs to be taught a lesson.

Qamar: Please dad. Please! .................... ..Hoyooooooooooooooo ooooooo!


Mrs D walks in and asks what the matter was.

Qamar: He wants to expose me on YouTube!

Mrs D: WHAT?

Mr D: She needs to be taught a lesson, dear. She never listens to us.

Mrs D: But, YouTube? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?

Mr D: She needs to be taught a lesson I said.

Mrs D: Let her off this time. Use a different punishment and if she repeats the offence, I personally will put her pictures on YouTube!

Qamar: I will not do it, I promise. I will listen and be here before eight, I promise.

Mr D: Fine. You are lucky your mother managed to convince me. But I still have to punish you.

Qamar: Anything but YouTube, dad.

Mr D: Very well. For the next two weeks, you are not allowed to go anywhere other than school. I want you home all the time. You are grounded.

Qamar: Ok, dad. I am really really sorry.


Qamar behaved herself for a month afterwards and was always home before eight. However, one day there was a real traffic accident and the bus was really late! She got home at half past eight and all hell broke loose.

Now the whole world can see videos and pictures of a naked Qamar with her legs up in the air (albeit a three-month-old having her nappy changed). They can see pictures of her when she lost her milk teeth and other photos when she’s not wearing the most colour coordinated items of clothing. There are videos of her singing childish songs with snot trickling down her lips and others where she’s having a juvenile tantrum and banging her fists against the floor..........

In the Muslim world, Ramadan brings with it a lot of time for prayer and contemplation. The days of this holy month are unique and the nights memorable. It is a time when families visit each other, have dinner feasts and pray in large groups. A time when the poor are remembered, the orphans are looked after and the needy are given a helping hand.

It is also a time for entertainment and fun. TV stations from Mecca to Merca have plenty of dramas, comedies and game shows dedicated only to this holy month. Here, the Somalis are not much different to their brethren in other Muslim countries. This is the time when the famous Somali TV Show Inna Way Kan is in its element.

The show is written, directed and produced by the famous Somali presenter Mustafa Microphone. Mustafa is a stout man with a three story belly and two cheeks that resemble the iconic Hargeisa mountains of Naaso Hablood! He’s intelligent, witty and very engaging.

After breaking his fast tonight, he left his house in London city and headed to the headquarters of the international Somali TV Station SBN (Somali Broadcasting Network). Tonight, he was hosting another segment of his popular show Inna Way Kan! It is a dedication show where viewers phone in and request their favourite songs, poems, comedy clips or historical political Somali speeches to be played on air. As ever, his co host tonight was going to be none other than the popular female presenter Maryan Makeup.

After having their instructions and exchanging a few pleasantries with each other and the crew, the couple were ready to kick start the show. Their first caller was a Mr Abdullahi who was calling from Yemen.

Mustafa: Hello and welcome to the show that captivated the hearts of all Somalis. Welcome to two hours of continues entertainment and endless banter. We promise you a show full of fun, jokes and great music. I, Mustafa Cabdi Ducale - you all know me as Mustafa Microphone - promise to ensure this will be one of your most memorable nights. And, now, let me introduce you to my co host; the favourite of the younger men, the softener of old men’s hearts, the reason why the number of our hard of hearing viewers increased ten fold in the past year. Let me bring in our resident beauty and my esteemed colleague, Maryan Moose.

Maryan: Thank you Mustafa and welcome to all our viewers. I think we have a caller waiting on the line already.

Mustafa: Oh yes. We have a Mr Abdullahi calling from Yemen. Hello!

Abdullahi: HELLO! HELLO! Adeer I want to speak to Maryan!

Maryan: Marxaba adeer. Can you give us your full name please?

Abdullahi:[b] My name is Abdullahi, I am calling from Yemen.

[b]Mustafa: Welcome adeer Abdullahi but can you give us your full name please.

Abdullahi: My full name? Err..Abdullahi..err. .err..Younis.

Mustafa: Abdullahi Younis from Yemen! Gartay adeer. Welcome to our show and we hope we can grant your request.

Abdullahi: Where is Maryan? War I want to speak to Maryan!

Maryan: Way Kan, adeer. What is your request?

Abdullahi: Can you please play a Maxamed Yusuf & Magool duet?

Maryan: Do you have any song in mind, adeer?

Abdullahi: Haa! Haa! The one that says "Amba dhamay qadhaadhkee, waa inaad dhadhamisaa
Sow caawa dhaantiyo, filanmaysid dheel dheel"

Mustafa: I am afraid we don’t have that song, adeer.

Abdullahi: Is he telling the truth, Maryanay?

Maryan:Haa, adeer.

Abdullahi: In that case, can you play Tupac’s Only God Can Judge Me?

Maryan: Absolutely adeer. Tupac Shakuur coming right up. Who do you want to dedicate it to?

Abdullahi: I dedicate this song to my family in Somalia, all my friends in the Somali capital, my friend Mansuur Zidani in Ethiopia, all your listeners and all the Somali people across the world.

Mustafa: Thank you, adeer. I think we have another call. Hello!

Caller: Hello, is this SBN?

Maryan: Haa walaal, how can we help you?

Caller: My name is Cabdi. I am a security guard in London. I am at work now.

Mustafa: Marxaba Cabdi. Can you tell us your full name please?

Caller: No. I can’t. I am at work. I’ll get in trouble if I do.

Maryan: It is ok. What is your request, Cabdi?

Caller: I wanted to know what time is the Imsaak tonight?

Mustafa: We will pass you back to our operators and they will give you all the information you need. Thank you, Cabdi.

Maryan (giggling): We have another call. Hello!

Caller: Hello. Is this SBN TV? Can I speak to Mustafa?

Mustafa: Hi! What is your name and where are you calling from?

Caller: Err…hello..err..my name is Sharif and I am calling from Mogadishu.

Maryan: Welcome Sharif. Can we have your full name please?

Caller: Err…Sharif Ahmed.

Mustafa: Sheikh Sharif?

Caller: Err..no..no..not him. I am normal Sharif.

Maryan: Ok, Sharif. What is your request walaal?

Sharif: Do you have any Cusmaan Gacanlow songs?

Mustafa: We may have one or two. Which particular song would you like to hear?

Sharif: The one that goes "mar hadaan muftaaxi midigtayda ku hayo,
Waa inuu ma gaalada magacaygu gaadhaa
meeshii aan doonabaa, waa inaan mushaaxaa
waa inaan mushaaxaa!!"

Mustafa (trying to suppress his laughter): Maya saaxib, we don’t have that particular song. Do you have any other requests?

Sharif: Do you have any Edwin Star songs?

Maryan: We have all his songs.

Sharif: Hadaba play War.

Maryan: Who do you dedicate it to?

Sharif: EVERYBODY.

Mustafa: Thank you, Sharif. We shall play your song as soon as we return from this commercial break.

A collection of Money Transfer and restaurant adverts follows.

Mustafa: Welcome back everyone and, just like the advert, with our show too: Sertu Wa Dhadhanka!

Maryan (giggling): Waa sax! I think we have another caller. Hello!

Caller: HELLO! Maryan iyo Mustafa, M&M, ii warama?

Maryan: We are ok, adeer. What is your full name and where are you calling from?

Caller: There are two of us. I am Ahmed Mohammed and my friend here is Faysal Cali! We are calling from Hargeisa.

Mustafa: Good evening to both of you.

Maryan: Haa. Good evening. How is Hargeisa tonight?

Caller: There is an unfriendly storm brewing but otherwise the city and the country are both good.

Mustafa: Haye adeer. What requests do you have tonight?

Caller: Do you have the song that goes "Anu dablaan ayaanayaa, dalkayga waan difaacyaa, cadawga waan u diidayaa, waliba waan sii dadaalayaa..."?

Maryan: Ya salaam! Omer Xassen Rooraye’s song? I am afraid we don’t have it, adeer.

Caller: Ok. Faysal is asking if you have the one that goes "Ileen dhuumashada qaar, uu dhabarku muuqdaa..." ?

Mustafa: Eesh cala! I am afraid we don’t have that one either. Can you think of any other songs?

Caller: Ok. Just play Nas’s If I ruled the world. Faysal wants MJ’s Wanna Be Starting Something...

Maryan: Ok adeer. We have both these songs.

Mustafa: I think we can squeeze one last caller in.

Maryan: Yes. I think we can.

Mustafa: Lets hope it is a young man. There has not been many calling us tonight.

Maryan: That’s because our show appeals to all ages and tastes.

Mustafa: Indeed. Hello!

Caller: Hello.

Maryan (giggling): A young man!
Caller: I don’t want to talk to the woman.

Mustafa: Ok caller. What is your full name and where are you calling from?

Caller: Abu Quxafa.

Maryan: Your full name please walaal.

Caller: I said I don’t want to talk to the woman!

Mustafa: Don’t worry about it, saaxib. What was your full name again?

Caller: Err..my name is Abu Quxafa Al Kismaawi, I am calling from Somalia.

Mustafa: Where in Somalia.

Caller: It does not matter. Every place in Somalia is the same. Can I make a request please?

Mustafa: Of course you can. What would you like?

Caller: You see, I may be going away and not coming back anytime soon. I would like you to play a song that I can dedicate to everyone I know.

Mustafa: Go ahead. What is your request?

Caller: I don’t like nor approve of music but this is the one and only time I’ll request a song. Can you play the one that goes Ambabaxaye socodkaa inaan eebe igu qadin?

Maryan: For someone who does not like the art you seem to know your music. Axmed Cali Cigaal, right?

Caller: I repeatedly told you I do not want to talk to the woman.

Mustafa (laughing): Yes you did. And, yes Maryan the song is by Axmed Cali Cigaal.

Maryan (pulling a face): Tell him we’re sorry that we don’t have his request.

Caller: Err..ok..can you play Tupac’s Hit Em Up?

Mustafa: Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac! Haha! And that, ladies and gentelmen was the final song for tonight.

Maryan (giggling again): It was a great night of music and dedications.

Mustafa: Indeed it was. As are all our nights. Until we meet you all again, I would like to thank all our callers on behalf of myself, Maryan and all the crew. Ramadan Kareem and good night.

Maryan: Good night.

Abu Mobile has been promoted. He was to leave the town he was ruling in the name of Al Shabab and go to the Somali capital to finally fight alongside his brethren against the powers of oppression and treachery. He calls his deputy to discuss the situation and prepare for their departure.

Abu M: The call his at last come, Akhi. We are finally summoned and, after all these years of waiting and rejection, we can go and taste martyrdom.

Abu Tusbax: Yes my brother. I know how impatient you were to fight for Xaq and sacrifice your life for god and country. Now we can both do it.

Abu M: But what should we do about this town? When I asked the Amir, he told me he is going to leave it to me to choose a capable man. He could not spare any of his good men for such a small town.

Abu Tusbax: Yes. This is a problem. All our followers here are young and inexperienced. We can’t leave the town in the hands of such young men.

Abu M: So do you want to stay and look after the town?

Abu T: And miss my chance to frolic with the Xoor Al Cayn? Not on your life, saaxib.

Abu M: Well, I can’t stay either. The leadership specifically asked for me.

Abu T: And ME! No, we have to choose one of these young men to run the town. Someone sensible.

Abu M: But who? It has to be someone who knows and understands the deen, akhi.

Abu T: That’s a tall order.

Abu M: What do you think about Abu Qalin? He can read and write. He may be the man we want.

Abu T: No. The man is bad tempered and will turn the entire town against us within hours.

Abu M: True. How about Abu Latifa?

Abu T: He’s a good man but there are some rumours that he still smokes.

Abu M: May Allah protect us from the devil and his temptations. Who can we choose then? I am drawing blanks here.

Abu T: How about Abu Fas?

Abu M: Isn’t he too young for the job of a Waali?

Abu T: Osama Bin Zayid was young, Akhi.

Abu M: True. Abu Fas it is then.

The two call Abu Fas and brief him on his new job and ask him to pray for them and wish them a speedy martyrdom. They call a meeting and announce to the forces the election of this new leader and then depart, leaving the town in his capable hands.

After the Maghreb prayers are finished, Abu Fas calls a couple of his trusted friends to one side and starts discussing his new responsibilities with them.

Abu Fas: Brothers. I have been given this responsibility and I am not sure if I can cope on my own. What do you think?

Abu Surf: Don’t worry brother. Allah is on our side and nothing can ever be difficult when Allah is on your side. We will be ok.

Abu Gambar: True. Trust in Allah and you will be fine.

Abu F: But I don’t know much about running towns and applying Islamic justice.

Abu S: If you encounter a problem, could you not phone the leadership and ask for their help?

Abu G: I don’t think the leadership have time to waste on small problems and disputes, akhi. I think our Wali will have to manage this one on his own.

Abu S: Can we not ask the Imam of the Masjad to help us out?

Abu F: That Imam is not a certified member of our movement and I do not want to risk the anger of the leadership by using him as a trusted advisor.

Abu G: Don’t worry, akhi. We shall create a Shuura council of our own and get the collective opinion of our followers whenever we encounter a problem that we can’t deal with on our own.

Abu F: That is a great idea! Yes. This is what we shall do.

The days pass and Abu Fas manages to run the town in an exemplary mannar and without encountering any great new problems. However, one Tuesday afternoon, his followers bring to his Majlis a group of screaming and wailing young girls.

Abu Fas: What is the meaning of this?

Soldier: We caught these girls laughing in a shameless manner whilst walking outside the mosque. Their laughter was heard all the way inside and was distracting the devout worshippers from their Khshuuc!

Girl: It was a mistake, sir. We didn’t realise we were walking past the mosque.

Abu Fas: Mosque or not, you should not have been laughing in such a way ANYWHERE!

Girl: We are sorry. Forgive us.

Abu Fas: It is not for me to forgive. I could only pass judgment. Take them outside soldier whilst I confer with my advisors.

Abu Surf: What are you planning to do, sir?

Abu Fas: I don’t know. What do you think I should do?

Abu G: I think we have to go with precedent. That Kismaayo girl was stoned.

Abu F: But her crime was Zina not laughing!

Abu S: I think I heard somewhere that when women laugh in a loud and unguarded way it is regarded as the equivalent of Zina. The soldier already told us they were heard from inside the mosque, and not by only one man I bet.

Abu G: Stoning them is a tad harsh. I heard of a story of a woman in Afghanistan who was given a hundred lashes for not wearing the hijab. Maybe this is the punishment we should apply here. I mean, isn’t said that a woman’s voice is Cowra? A woman’s hair is also cowra. So if a woman gets a hundred lashes for letting men see her cowra, she also should get a hundred lashes for letting them hear her cowra.

Abu F: So the choice is between stoning and a hundred lashes?

Abu S: It seems so, sir.

Abu F: Stoning it is then.

Abu G: Why did you choose that and not the lashes?

Abu F: Easy. The story of the lashing that you told us happened in Afghanistan. And though our brothers there are Muslim, they may not be following the exact madhab that our movement follows. This is why I decided to play it safe and follow the precedent set by our more learned Al Shabab brothers in Kismayo.

Abu G: Masha Allah! May Allah increase your knowledge and strengthen your Iman, Akhi.

Abu S: Amiin.

Abu F: Jazzaka Allah, Akhi. May Allah show us the right path.


A few days later, as Sheikh Abu Fas was sitting to lunch with his two companions, a soldier burst in dragging a father and son behind him.

Soldier: Sir. I arrested these two as they were chasing each other down the street and making lots of noise.

Abu Fas: Why were they chasing each other?

Soldier: It seems that the son has stolen his father’s apple and his old man was trying to get it back.

Father: It is nothing, sir. He’s an eight-year-old kid that knows nothing. He was only teasing me and I was chasing him to scare him. He can have the apple.

Soldier: the father was also swearing and blaspheming, sir.

Abu F: So we have a thief and his kaffir father here, huh?

Abu S: He is not strictly kaffir yet, sir. We do not know what swear words he used.

Father: I only said things about his mother, sir. I did not say anything about the deen. I was angry, I am sorry.

Abu F: It is too late for sorry, akhi. This is not a jungle where every man can do what he likes when he likes. This is a Muslim town run by Muslim people. Take them out soldier and let me confer with my companions.

Abu S: The son’s case is easy. We’ll just have to cut one of his limps. My only worry is that he may be too young for such a punishment. Should we phone the leadership for help, sir?

Abu F: We can’t disturb them with such a trivial story, akhi. They are busy with bigger things. No, we have to make our minds up here.

Mr G: I agree with Abu Surf, the kid is too young.

Abu F: He is eight not six. If he is obliged to pray by seven then he must be old enough to be punished according to the Shareecah!

Abu S: But should he not become a man first and reach puberty?

Abu G: Maybe he did. Some children reach puberty at seven.

Abu F: It does not matter. I am using qiyaas here and saying that if he is required to pray at this age then it must also be ok for us to apply the xad.

Abu S: I see where you’re coming from. It makes sense.

Abu G: True. Plus, it will send a message to all eight year olds and stop them from committing any similar crimes.

Abu Fas: What about the father?

Abu S: He did not blaspheme as the soldier alleged. He only called the boy’s mother names.

Abu G: There is nothing wrong with calling your own wife names. We all get angry from time to time.

Abu F: True. But that happens in private. Calling a married woman names in public is an offence. I know she is his wife but she is also a married woman. The Shareecah is very clear on this. Though I forget now what the punishment for such a crime is.

Abu S: Yes. I forget too. It must be lashes or something but how many lashes does such a crime entail?


Abu G: We can just cut one of his limps like his son and have it done with.

Abu F: We can not apply the law as we like, akhi. It has to be well thought and follow precedent.

Abu S: Well, lashes apply to all sorts of crimes. It must be lashes.

Abu F: That’s what I am leaning towards too. But I’ve got this nagging feeling that tells me this man should be stoned.

Abu S: Stoned for calling his own wife names?

Abu G: It sounds a tad extreme, akhi.

Abu F: What would you do if someone called your mother names?

Abu S: I will kill him with my own hands.

Abu G: Yes. Stoning makes sense. Lets stone him and may Allah forgive his sins.

Abu F: May Allah forgive all our sins and give us the chance to be called to do his bidding in the battlefield instead of sitting here and having to wrestle with these trivial cases.

Abu S: Amiin.

Abu G: Amiin.


Two weeks later, Abu Fas and his companions were summoned to the Somali capital and sent to the front lines to carry the fight to the enemies of Islam. They perished by a stray AMISOM rocket.