Babyhood

I was watching my daughter today, and bias aside, she’s kind of amazing! She shouted out to me “mama look!” and started to jump. Her feet never left the ground but never the less she chanted ‘jump, jump, jump’ with the widest, happiest smile. So proud of herself for what she could only deem an achievement.

And she talks to me. Nonsensical jumbles of sounds and mispronounced words in a non-stop stream that can last 5 minutes.  The assurance that I’ll not only understand her but respond appropriately is a reminder of what confidence and belief are.

When do we lose this complete belief in one’s ability, to the point that you cannot begin to fathom that what you’re doing or what you think you’re doing may not be ‘how it’s done’. When do we start taking for granted the pure joy of being able to walk, talk and kick without falling over. I wish I could have a bit of that back. Granted, we’re not discovering any more…and yes, we have control (usually) over our faculties. But when did we stop reaching further?

Caveat: This is a Rant

Dear "big people"

I hate that you can adress a crowd of hungry constituents..in a 3000$ suit barely able to walk the three steps to the plush chairs you had brought in for you for the occasion, after alighting a 3000cc car that we pay for from out taxes and say

"we are sorry to hear that you are hungry and that people are dying, our thoughts and prayers are with you"

And get back into your airconditioned cars, out of the constituency that you represent, back to the city so you can make it in time for lunch at that place you love to go at 60$ a plate.

I hate that you can't plan, that you can't anticipate that their might be a draught in the country seeing as how there's been one every year for the past 4 years.
I hate that surplus food in other counties rots and is thrown away..why doesn't the government buy these from the local farmers and take it to the areas tha need it before the food rots?

I hate that you don't pay taxes..and you get allowances and paychecks and you live in the suburbs in the city.
I hate that I preach this gospel to people, I write it down and I go to all the council meetings and they say that they hear and understand. But Lo! Come election year, the fat cat in the suit starts his spiel and they think that this time will be different, this time he'll build that hospital, this time there will be drugs in it. This time is our time. But it never is and he never does

The Clash

A girl was raped. Brutally and repeatedly.
So, a line was drawn. with the river between they became A and B. A girl was raped and a war began.
Clan B, who live on the other side of the river, are casual workers and domestic help for clan A. The girl was from clan A and was raped by a gang from clan B. Now B need to come into the city which on the north side and heavily populated by A who also own the monopoly on the transport system that they rely on to get to the city and their jobs. A is notoriously hot headed they have refused to release the cars that would have transported the B's into the city...everyone knew there was tension between the two, now the excuse has been found.
The girl? Not even half the lynch mob know who she is, or that she's in intensive care while they froth at the mouth and wave their panga's(machete's) in the air. All full of righteous indignation that THEY would dare an attack on the person a chaste, beautiful woman of the A.
A girl was raped, her body desecrated and abused. She's dying in a hospital bed but all they care about is the restoration of pride.

The bars of convention.

You're not supposed to have a child alone, not where I'm from. It's just not done. That they would rather I had stayed in a dead marriage with someone I cannot and do talk to anymore, can show just how much of an oddity I am. The single mother here is usually a poor creature left alone after the inevitable death of her geriatric husband, or the woman who was not quite up to snuff..who's tea was served just a little bit colder than it should have been. But the woman who would choose of her own volition to serperate herself from the protection of a husband regardless of his character or lack thereof is a woman scorned for her un-ladylike independance.
I don't care where you live, or how much of a forward thinking..freedom and equality and justice for all kind of place it is. The fact is anything other than the husband and wife and kids scenario is called "a non traditional family"
Tradition being defined as a societal norm transmitted through time by being taught.
It is not, therefore, a ritual or belief that is worth being passed down..it is not something that they want to give for safe keeping.
So, when they label you a "non-traditional family", it's just their way of saying it's not something they want to keep.

Writing

They said I was a good writer, and they read everything I wrote but now that they've said it I can no longer be that gift on christmas morning that you can't wait to open up. I'm selfish, I want to be the person they read and enjoy without feeling the need to gush. I love that they can't put down my stories and that my poems are their status updates. And that is enough for me.
They never told me I could write, I never needed to be told.
The magic is less magical and now when I need to be mysterious and luminous in print. Now when I tackle the RIHLA, they tell me I am a good writer.
I cannot believe what they say.

Living Somali

Living Somali isn’t simply about being alive and Somali, it’s about dealing with “pirates” and “al-shabaab” on a personal level. It’s about a language and a culture so encompassing we live in communities of ourselves because no one else can fathom what it is. It’s about a history of poets and warlords, a society of pastoralists so in tune with their animals that if they were four or four thousand they would know them each by face.



We read the news and we know what is. The ‘current events’, but then what we read and know is a land wasted and destroyed by a violent, capricious and utterly unconscionable people. Somalia, the picture that comes to mind is one of myriad gun-toting pre-teens, hard faced men proclaiming their divine sentences and beauty. If nothing else Somalis are a beautiful people. But there is so much more than that. Yes we are divided and sub-divided and divided again by our tree of clans; the main clans of Dir and Darood from which every Somali stems, right down to Abdul-waq and ‘Auliyen who were brothers. And yes these clans and sub-clans are constantly at each other for this or that, water for their animals or paying blood money for the death of a distant relative – the third wife of a second cousin twice removed-. But we must understand, the terms I’ve just used to describe a relation would not be used by a Somali. To him or her, the dead

person is simply ‘our daughter’ or ‘our sister’ because despite the divisions we are united the way no other nation is. There is a saying



Where two Somalis fight it is best for the outsider to stay outside, to separate them would bring the wrath of both against you.



This more than anything says what it is to be Somali like I never could. We would support each other against Them, so to speak.

And as for economics, well suffice to say that what’s mine is yours. And let me clarify by saying that individuals do exist who aren’t so communist is their view but then again they’re the exception and not the rule. Somalis are friendly, I love being home with my grandmothers because we sit down and eat together, we talk, they teach us the history’s and sing the great poem of old from memory!   I can’t pretend that we’re all so woefully misunderstood and we’re really calm, underneath it all. But the fact is we are passionate, proud and often unforgiving. We are strong and loving with a strong sense of responsibility.  We are extravagant, extraordinary, and exquisite. We are Somali, unrepentant.                                                                                  

meeow

I didn't think I had the patience to be someone's everything. Coming home to a little person who runs to you because you just started the best part of their day, is a gift I cannot hope to explain to anyone. My daughter tells me exactly what she wants, I'm so glad there's someone in my life who doesn't make me wonder or guess. Wathching the awe and joy on her face when the cat rubs up against her leg (he's almost as big as she is and so tolerant of her pulling and grabbing!) Delighted screams when he nudges her hand with his kinda wet nose.