I've been in Somaliland for five months now, and I wanted to share my experience with y'all. Below is one chapter in my autobiography, my trip to back to my motherland. ( I hope not to offend anyone, this is just my point of view)
Testimony of a Jaded BeingWaking up in the cold in the hour where the sun meets the sky, I peer off to the garbage filled fields as sadness grows deep within. The stench of burning trash stings my senses and my eyes begin to water. Tears flow rapidly down my cheeks. Why have I become overwhelmed with sorrow? In fact, any person who has a working brain can recognize the horrid within these borders. This country will become the death of me. I am sending out an S.O.S to my fellow Canadians. Help this poor individual whose soul is in rage. I question my psyche as the minutes pass. Convinced that I am, I’m losing my sanity. I wish no other human being has to go through the pain and anguish I experience on a secondly basis. Never will I take for granted the greatness of living in a first world nation. Lesson Learned.
When my grandmother let a young man into our house, nothing seemed unusual. It was night, yet I supposed that he must have been one of the many family members that on no account cease to come into our home. I was preoccupied with my Arabic teacher to question the young mans’ presence. Concentrating intensely on the Arabic lesson, I didn’t get a chance but to look at the imposter twice. Embarrassed at my level of speaking Somali I decided not to ask the man anything. It appeared to me that the man needed to use the phone to contact someone.
Minutes passed on by while I was staring at my book and listening to my teachers’ translation and explanation. All of a sudden my grandmother leaves the room. She finally reappears five minutes later and asks my teacher if the young man using the phone was his brother. Confusion hit my teacher like a hot slap from a stranger. His answer dawned on my grandmother like the up coming hour of Judgment Day. The young man using the phone was without a doubt not the brother of my Arabic teacher and the second my grandmother realize the situation, she froze. Shortly after she let out a little shriek and informed us that the young man had stolen our cell phone.
Quite sad how trusting someone could be and how others take benefit of those honest. A cell phone can be replaced but the fear of someone coming into our home and jeopardizing our security is a deep wound that only time can heal. All praise and thanks is for the Lord of the worlds who permitted no physical harm on us. The pathetic individual who stole our cell phone will get what he deserves for taking advantage of a vulnerable senior. Allah is the Judge and He will judge him accordingly. After the fact, what’s even more depressing is that the thief who came to us after Isha prayer and stole our cell phone would have prayed before coming. How twisted his soul must be.
This is a prime example of some of the individuals in Hargeisa and their distorted image of Islam. Those who testify to the commands of Allah and outwardly perform the basic rituals prescribed by the Divine are hypocritically following the footsteps of Satan. This is evident in the market place where a simple orange will cost more if the person who is buying the fruit seems to look like an ‘outsider’; wealthy. Everyone who lives in Hargeisa confirms that the electricity bill is fewer than twenty dollars but every month when our bill comes it’s in the seventies. Let’s not bring up the water bill!
What are most daunting are the constant feelings of envy that lurk in the atmosphere. Those several families that were fortunate enough to leave the country at the time of war and destruction are now having the fate of being envied by the not so lucky ones that stayed behind, majority being dirt poor. As the individuals who were given the opportunity to live in a first world country come back to visit their mother land, the feelings of envy are broadcast in the streets of the souq (market place). Deliberately throwing cigarette buds, unpleasant name calling and endless pick pocketing are just a few of the many abuses the outsiders have to look out for.
However, one must absolutely not forget the amusing and sometimes irritating way some Hargeisawi young folks will do just to get your attention and then possibly if he or she is really charming will have you take them to the ‘outside’ or Europe as many of them like to call countries beyond Africa. For instance, if you are in the souq, looking around window shopping and you happen to go into one of the shops, pray that the owner or worker is not a young man in his twenties. If he is, prepare to answer questions about where you come from and practice in your head how you are going to let him down. To make things easy, pretend to be one of those individuals from the outside who do not speak a word of Somali. Sometimes if the worker is educated in Hargeisawi standards, he’ll start to speak English with you. Now that, I find hilarious. You could have a third eye sticking out of your head and still if he finds that you’re from foreign lands, he’d strike his own mother dead just to have you take him out from the horrid hell of Hargeisa. For all parties, this confrontation is truly pathetic and truly depressing.
P.S.There is more to come inshaAllah, maybe after Ramadan.
