No idea by whom. أيَـا مَـن يَـدّعي الـÙَهْـم .. .. إلÙـى كـَمْ يَـاأخَـا الـوَهْـمْ تـÙعَـبـّÙÙŠ الـذنـبَ والـذّم .. .. وتـÙخطÙـي الخـطـأ الجَـمّ أمَـا بَـانَ لـكَ الـعـَيـبْ .. .. أمَــا أنـذرك الـشـَّيـب وَمَــا ÙÙŠ نـÙصْحÙـه رَيـــبْ .. .. وَلا سَمـعÙـك قـَد صَـــــمّ أمَـا نـَـادَى بـÙÙƒÙŽ المَـوتْ .. .. أمَـا أسْمَعَــكَ الصَّـوْتْ أمَــا تخشَـى Ù…ÙÙ†ÙŽ الـÙـَوْت ... ... Ùـَتحـتــَاط َوَتهْـتـَمّ Ùـَكـَم تسْـدَر٠ÙÙـي السَّهــوْ.. .. وَتختـَال٠مÙـن الـزَهْـوْ وتـنـصَّـب٠إلـى اللـهْـــوْ .. .. كـَأن المَّـوْتَ مَـا عَـمّ وَحَـتـّـامَ تـَجَـاÙÙـيـكْ .. .. .. وَإبْـطـَاء٠تـَلاÙÙـيـكْ Ø·Ùـبَـاعـاً جَمَّعـتْ ÙÙـيكْ .. .. .. عÙيـوبـًا شمْلـÙها انـضّـمّ إذا أسْخَـطـْتَ مَـولاكْ .. .. .. Ùـَمَــا تَـَقـلـَق٠مÙــن ذاكْ وإن أخـÙÙŽÙ€ÙŽÙ‚ÙŽ مَسْـعَـاك .. .. .. تَـَلـّظـّـيتَ Ù…Ùــن الهَــمّ وإن لاح لـَـكَ النـقـشْ .. .. .. Ù…Ùـنَ الأصْـÙـَـر٠تهْـتـَشْ وإن مَـرّ بـÙـكَ النـعـْـشْ .. .. تـَغـامَـمْـتَ ولا غـَـمّ تÙـعَـاصÙÙŠ النـّاصÙـحَ البـَـرّ .. .. وتَـعْـتـَاص٠وتــَزْوَرّ وتـنـقـَـادَ Ù„Ùـمَـن غـَرّ .. .. ومَـن مَــانَ ومَـن نــمّ وَتسعـَى ÙÙÙŠ هَـوى الـنـّÙـْسْ .. .. وتحْـتـَال٠على الـÙـَلسْ وَتـنـسـَى ظـÙلمَـة ÙŽ الرّمْـس .. .. وَلا تـذكـÙـر٠مَـا ثــَمّ ولَـَوْ لاحَـظـَك الـحَـظ Ù‘ .. .. لمَـا طـَاحَ بـÙÙƒÙŽ الـلحَــظْ ولا كـÙنـتَ إذا الـوَعْــظ Ù’ .. .. جَلا الأحــزَانَ تَـَغـتـَـمْ سَـتـÙـذري الـدمَّ لا الـدَمْــعْ .. .. إذا عَــايـنـْتَ لا جَـمْـعْ يَـقÙــي ÙÙـي عَـرصَـة٠الجَـمْـعْ .. .. وَلا خَــالَ ولا عَــمْ كـَأنـّÙـي بÙـكَ تـَنـحَـط Ù’ .. .. إلـَى الـلـّحْـد٠وتـنـغَـط Ù’ وَقـَد أسلـَمَـكَ الـرَّهْــط Ù’ .. .. إلـى أضـيَـقَ Ù…Ùـن سَــمّ Ù‡Ùـنـاكَ الجÙـسـم٠مَـمـدÙودْ .. .. Ù„ÙـيسْـتـَأكÙـلـَه٠الـــدَّودْ إلـÙـى أنْ ينخَـرَ العÙــودْ .. .. ÙˆÙŽÙŠÙـمْسÙـي العَـظـم٠قـَـد رَمّ ÙˆÙŽÙ…Ùـنْ بَـعـد٠Ùـَلا بÙــد Ù‘.. .. Ù…ÙÙ†ÙŽ العـرْض ٠إذا أعْـتــÙـدّ صÙـرَاط ÙŒ جـÙسْرÙÙ‡ ٠مـÙـد ... عَـلـَى النــّـار٠لÙـمَـن أمّ Ùـَكـَم Ù…Ùـنْ Ù…ÙـرشÙــد٠ضَــلّ .. .. ÙˆÙŽÙ…Ùــنْ ذي عÙــزّة٠ذلّ وَكـَم Ù…Ùـنْ عَـالÙـم ٠زلّ .. .. وَقـَـالَ الخـَطـب٠قـَـد طـَمّ ÙـَبَــادÙر أيـّÙـهـَا الغـÙمْـرْ .. .. Ù„Ùمَـا يَحْلــÙÙˆ بÙــÙه٠المÙـرّ Ùـَقـَد كـَادَ يَـهـÙÙŠ العÙـمْـرْ .. .. وَمَـا أقـلـَعْـتَ عَنْ ذمّ وَلا تــَركـَنْ إلـÙÙ‰ الدَّهــْـرْ .. .. وإنْ لانَ وإن سَـــرّ ÙـَتـلـÙÙ€ÙŽÙ‰ كـمَنْ إغـتـَرّ .. .. بـÙØ£Ùـْعـَى تـَـنـÙÙ€Ùث٠السّمّ وّخَـÙـّÙـضْ Ù…Ùـنْ تـَراقـÙـيكْ .. Ùـَـإن المَـوتَ لا Ù‚Ùــيـكْ وَسَــار Ù ÙÙŠ تــَراقـÙـيـك .. .. وَمَـا ينكـÙـل٠إنْ هــَمّ وَجَـانÙـبْ صَعـَرَ الخـَـدّ .. .. إذا سَـاعَـدَكَ الجـَـدّ ÙˆÙŽ زÙمّ اللـÙـْـظ ÙŽ إن نـَـدّ .. .. Ùـَمـَا أسْعَــدَ مَـنْ زَمّ وَنـَÙـّÙـسْ عَـنْ أخÙـي البَـثّ .. .. وَصَـدّقــه٠إذا نــَثّ وَرÙمّ العَـمَـلَ الــرّث Ù‘ .. .. Ùـَقــَد Ø£Ùـْـلـَحَ مَـنْ رَم Ù‘ وَرÙشْ مَـنْ ريشـÙÙ‡ انحَصّ .. .. بـÙمَـا عَـمّ ومَا خـَصّ ولا تــَأسَ عَـلى النـقـصْ .. .. ولا تحْـرÙصْ عَـلى اللـّمّ وَعَــاد٠الخـÙـلـÙـقَ الـرَّذلْ .. .. وَعَـوّÙد كـÙـَّـكَ البـَذلْ وَلا تسْـتــَمÙع ٠العـَـذلْ .. .. وَنـَـزّÙهــهَـا عَـن ٠الضَّـمّ وَزَوّÙدْ نـَÙـْسَـك َالخـَيـْرْ .. .. وَدَع Ù’ مَـا ÙŠÙـعْـقÙـب٠الضَّـيـرْ وَهَـيّÙـىء مَـركَبَ السَّـيـْرْ .. .. وَخـَ٠مÙـنْ لـÙجّÙـة٠اليـَّـم بـÙـذا Ø£Ùوصيتَ يَـا صـَاحْ .. .. وَقـَـد بÙـحْت٠كـَمَـنْ بـَـاح Ù’ ÙـَطـÙوبَى Ù„ÙÙ€Ùــَتـىً راحْ .. .. بـÙــآدَابــÙÙŠÙŽ يَــأتـــَم This poem and many others can be found in the following website. Arabic Poems

Apologies to the non-Arabic readers. بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم لامية شيخ الإسلام ابن تيمية رحمه الله تعالى يا سَائÙلي عَنْ مَذْهَبÙÙŠ وعَقيدَتÙÙŠ رÙزÙÙ‚ÙŽ الهÙدى مَنْ Ù„ÙلْهÙداية٠يَسْأَل اسمَعْ كَلامَ Ù…ÙحَقّÙÙ‚Ù ÙÙŠ قَـولـÙÙ‡ لا يَنْـثَني عَنـه٠ولا يَتَبَـدَّل Ø­Ùبّ٠الصَّحابَة٠كÙلّÙÙ‡Ùمْ لي مَذْهَبٌ وَمَوَدَّة٠القÙرْبى بÙها أَتَوَسّــل ÙˆÙŽÙ„ÙÙƒÙلّÙÙ‡Ùمْ قَـدْرٌ ÙˆÙŽÙَضْلٌ سـاطÙعٌ لكÙنَّما الصّÙديق٠مÙنْهÙمْ Ø£ÙŽÙْضَـل وأÙÙ‚Ùـرّ٠بÙالقÙرآن٠ما جاءَتْ بÙـهً آياتÙـه٠ÙÙŽÙ‡ÙÙˆÙŽ القَديـم٠المÙنْـزَل٠وجميع٠آيات٠الصّÙÙات٠أÙÙ…ÙرّÙهـا حَقـاً كما نَقَـلَ الطّÙراز٠الأَوَّل٠وأَرÙدّ٠عÙقْبَتَـهـا إلى Ù†ÙقَّالÙهـا وأصونÙها عـن ÙƒÙلّ٠ما ÙŠÙتَخَيَّل٠قÙبْحاً Ù„Ùمَنْ نَبَذَ الكّÙتابَ وراءَه٠وإذا اسْتَدَلَّ يقول٠قالَ الأخطَل٠والمؤمنون يَـرَوْنَ حقـاً ربَّهÙمْ وإلى السَّمـاء٠بÙغَيْر٠كَيْÙ٠يَنْزÙل٠وأÙÙ‚Ùر٠بالميـزان٠والحَوض٠الذي أَرجـو بأنّÙÙŠ Ù…Ùنْـه٠رَيّاً أَنْهَـل٠وكذا الصّÙراط٠يÙمَدّ٠Ùوقَ جَهَنَّم٠ÙÙŽÙ…ÙوَحّÙدٌ نَـاج٠وآخَـرَ Ù…ÙهْمÙـل٠والنَّار٠يَصْلاها الشَّقيّ٠بÙØ­Ùكْمَة٠وكذا التَّقÙيّ٠إلى الجÙنَان٠سَيَدْخÙل٠ولÙÙƒÙلّ٠حَيّ٠عاقـل٠ÙÙŠ قَبـرÙه٠عَمَلٌ ÙŠÙقارÙÙ†Ùـه٠هنـاك ÙˆÙŽÙŠÙسْـأَل٠هذا اعتقـاد٠الشاÙÙعيّ٠ومالك٠وأبي حنيÙـةَ ثم أحـمدَ يَنْقÙـل٠ÙØ¥Ùن٠اتَّبَعْتَ سبيلَهÙمْ ÙÙŽÙ…ÙوَحّÙـدٌ وإن٠ابْتَدَعْتَ Ùَما عَلَيْكَ Ù…Ùعَـوَّلًًًً By the way, I’m not using this poem as a proof of anything, I just thought it was a nice poem and might throw a hint or two here and there.

^^^Dysentery is the trendy disease these days I hear. They’ve gone all retro on us. This year, my nieces and nephews (eight of them) all went back to Somalia for the first time. These are children between the ages of six and fourteen. When they got back, I asked them how did they find it and if they were going to go visit Somalia again! Apart from the six year old who enjoyed chasing the goats about, all the rest swore not to ever set foot in “that†country ever again! I tend to trust children these days. But, I’ll still go just so I can see what it is that scared these kids that much.

I could not find that one again But here are a few samples from others: web page web page web page web page web page hmmmm! Arabic Poems by a Somali poet (he's got a cool photo of himself there too)

Xoogsade, stop dreaming saaxib and get the hint.

P a c e Y o u r s e l f , you good humour and mood should ideally remain with you to the final day of this year. Yeah, I’ve got a bit of a slow day here (minor queries here and there but nothing major). I spent my day looking up Somali sites. I’m amazed at the number of Somali individuals that set up their own sites; never expected to find that many. Some guy had a photo of himself with a copy of his degree (cute photo).

These are the people that built that place up, saaxib.

^^^^^^ :eek: Slackening off already? Morning

I leave work an hour early, take my time going home and make it home on time. The food is already ready and waiting to be sampled of course. In the next couple of weeks, things will change! We’ll change from British Summer time and they’ll put the clocks back. I’ll have to break my fast on the tube on the way home. Or might linger around at work for an hour, break my fast then go home.

Heh. Out of the frying pan and straight into the fire, eh? Businessmen and intellectuals are likely to wreck worse havoc in Somalia than the politicians and warlords. Despite my total abhorrence of these bandits and their malicious ways, I actually believe that the recent “election†was the best ever outcome for the Somali nation. The dreamers talk about “democracyâ€, freedom and justice. I, on the other hand, believe in absolute power. Somalis proved time and again that the best way to deal with them is if you beat them into submission. They’ve spent all their lives round those wretched goats and camels; they’ve started to pickup their characteristics! As awful as my words would sound, I believe the best man for the job has finally been chosen! Give him a stick big enough and let him beat us all into total compliance. As the former UN envoy to Somalia remarked all those years ago, Somalia now is like a broken glass! Diplomacy, trade or intellectualism will not put that glass back together again (nor will the king’s horses or men). No, what’s needed is an expert glassmaker, one that will unleash his fire on all the scattered pieces and glue them all back together again. Of course, amateur observers will grumble and nag at the severity of this glassmaker when trying to remould the place again! Others will be indignant at his audacity and hint gloomily on his intentions to drink that glass dry! Nonetheless, few will dare to air their grievances in his presence; they’ll all shout from a distance and lament their inability to douse his mighty flame. I say let the glassmaker have his way with us. Let him rule and dictate. Let him remind us of how healthy it was to kowtow and grovel. Let him become the biggest monster of all. Let him reacquaint us with the importance of whispers. We need to be put in our place and only a wicked, red-eyed parasite can humble our rebellious natures. It’s going to be a long journey full of pain, sorrow and infinite bigotry. The glassmaker’s men will oppress us, torture us, exploit us and steal our dignity. It might last days, months or years. But, one day, one day we will grow tired of his relentless wickedness. We will come to life again and hunt his men around the bloodstained streets. We’ll swear our refusal to be ruled in such a way ever again. We’ll shed our blood, lose our livelihoods and homes in the names of justice, freedom, honour and dignity. This time though, we better have a plan or else; we’ll have heaps of budding warlords and a brand new glassmaker. PS Mr. Annan is not picking up his phone.

^^ I had a feeling that when you fall it's never gentle, you crash. Bang. Wallop. Head over heels. Too much effort for a guy if you ask me.

Thanks Rahima, I'll look it up when I get home insha allah.

The following is a poem; song, nursery rhyme and story all rolled into one. Hope you enjoy it. Abdul Abulbul Amir Written By: Percy French Copyright Unknown The sons of the prophet were hardy and bold, And quite unaccustomed to fear, But the bravest of these was a man, I am told Named Abdul Abulbul Amir. This son of the desert, in battle aroused, Could spit twenty men on his spear. A terrible creature, both sober and soused Was Abdul Abulbul Amir. When they needed a man to encourage the van, Or to harass the foe from the rear, Or to storm a redoubt, they had only to shout For Abdul Abulbul Amir. There are heroes aplenty and men known to fame In the troops that were led by the Czar; But the bravest of these was a man by the name Of Ivan Skavinsky Skivar. He could imitate Irving, play Euchre and pool And perform on the Spanish Guitar. In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team Was Ivan Skavinsky Skivar. The ladies all loved him, his rivals were few; He could drink them all under the bar. As gallant or tank, there was no one to rank With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar. One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun And donned his most truculent sneer Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe Of Abdul Abulbul Amir "Young man," quoth Bulbul, "has life grown so dull, That you're anxious to end your career? Vile infidel! Know, you have trod on the toe Of Abdul Abulbul Amir." "So take your last look at the sunshine and brook And send your regrets to the Czar; By this I imply you are going to die, Mr. Ivan Skavinsky Skivar." Quoth Ivan, "My friend, your remarks, in the end, Will avail you but little, I fear, For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive, Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir!" Then this bold mameluke drew his trusty chibouque With a cry of "Allah Akbar!" And with murderous intent, he ferociously went For Ivan Skavinsky Skivar. They parried and thrust and they side-stepped and cussed 'Till their blood would have filled a great pot. The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes, Say that hash was first made on that spot. They fought all that night, 'neath the pale yellow moon; The din, it was heard from afar; And great multitudes came, so great was the fame of Abdul and Ivan Skivar. As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life - In fact, he was shouting "Huzzah!" - - He felt himself struck by that wily Kalmuck, Count Ivan Skavinsky Skivar. The sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly, Expecting the victor to cheer; But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh Of Abdul Abulbul Amir. Czar Petrovich, too, in his spectacles blue Rode up in his new crested car. He arrived just in time to exchange a last line With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar. A loud-sounding splash from the Danube was heard Resounding o'er meadows afar; It came from the sack fitting close to the back Of Ivan Skavinsky Skovar. There's a tomb rises up where the blue Danube flows; Engraved there in characters clear; "Ah stranger, when passing, please pray for the soul Of Abdul Abulbul Amir." A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps, 'Neath the light of the pale polar star; And the name that she murmurs as oft as she weeps Is Ivan Skavinsky Skivar. Don't be fooled by the website

This reminds me of the Beatles' song “Nowhere Man†He’s a real nowhere man, Sitting in his nowhere land, Making all his nowhere plans For nobody. Doesn’t have a point of view, Knows not where he’s going to, Isn’t he a bit like you and me? Nowhere man, please listen, You don’t know what you’re missing, Nowhere man, the world is at your command. He’s as blind as he can be, Just sees what he wants to see, Nowhere man can you see me at all? Doesn’t have a point of view, Knows not where he’s going to, Isn’t he a bit like you and me? Nowhere man, don’t worry, Take your time, don’t hurry, Leave it all till somebody else Lend you a hand. He’s a real nowhere man, Sitting in his nowhere land, Making all his nowhere plans For nobody.

Not at all, saaxib! Though I thought it was excessive and unworthy of such an irrelevant topic - One where most contributors are unlikely to be paying any attention to customs and standards of appropriate discourse - I still appreciated the beauty of it. A “lot of writing†is only reserved to those who waffle when all is needed is one sentence! Despite your occasional deviations from common sense, I’m happy to report, a waffle merchant you are not.

Like I said, read what the guy thinks before you accuse him of being insensitive. He thinks the story sounds dodgy (I don’t share that opinion with him); maybe you should give him the URL to the BBC story. He thinks that whoever started this thread did so to score points (you already know my opinion on that). BBC can get it wrong spectacularly, dear. Ask poor Dr Kelly! (though on this occasion I think they might be right). Glad to hear that you try to be fair, 3amo. That’s my girl. PS لما الموقع يكون Ùاضي كده انتي لا تروحي تكتبيلي ÙÙŠ مواضيع سياسيه وخرابيط...ترا انا من الملل مرات اهاجم كلام انا كاتبه من اسبوع

^^ Mind that halo, dear. You do realise that the guy doesn’t even acknowledge the existence of such a story, don’t you? How could he show compassion and sensitivity to a story he thinks is propaganda, OG? You claim to be FAIR to everyone (I suppose by fair you mean impartial, right?). :rolleyes: Well, come on, be impartial and criticise Jumatatu on not believing this story is genuine rather than asking him some crazy questions about his sister! Oh, while you’re being FAIR again, maybe you need to praise the efforts of the remaining posters. Don’t single anyone out for praise though, the others might get jealous and you have to be FAIR, remember. PS If you tell me off then you will not be fair, dear. You’ve already done that, see. Allegedly, I’m Jumatatu.

In today’s Times newspaper, one of the columnists ridicules the British government’s plan of moving 600 hundred of its soldiers from Basra to the “Sunni Triangle†in Iraq. He quotes a couple of lines from the old poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. In it, he praises the dedication and loyalty of soldiers and mocks the silly decisions politicians make. Enjoy. The Charge of the Light Brigade 1. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! "Charge for the guns!" he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 2. "Forward, the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldier knew Someone had blunder'd: Their's not to make reply, Their's not to reason why, Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 3. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. 4. Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air, Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred. 5. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. 6. When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made, Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred.

^^^^ That dancing man woxo ela egyahay eno wareeray, saaxib.

Heh. All true and very informative, saaxib. I for one welcome this voluntary lesson. Still, I believe the topic of discussion to be unworthy of an academic like rigorousness when penning a reply. I might be wrong.

^^^ I think she was talking about her “difficulties†with the Somali language. See? Now you scared the poor girl away. Heh.

^^^ Heh. I always wondered why I found Jumatatu the most agreeable of folks. I don’t know him in person, yet, from the very first minute that I read his words, I found myself enthralled by him. Now I discover that we even work in the same field! Registered on this site within the same period! Both use African monikers! We even LIVE in the same city? I’ve got to meet this guy, man! Separated at birth and reunited in SOL. I should also enter our names on that TWINS thread I suppose. Seriously though, Warrior, your efforts are amusing and admirable but we are two different people. You’re only half right on the East African guesses however. Jumatatu is the Simba here; I’m merely an Osama. If I were to imagine what my dear Jumatatu would say upon seeing this post of yours, I’d be confident that he’d employ these words (or their like): “Heri kujikwa kidole kuliko ulimi†Unless my esteemed friend insists, I think I’ll withdraw from this discussion and watch him single-handedly corner the lot of you and wreck havoc in your ranks. Perhaps you’ll accuse him of being “one of the girls†next.

I reread this thread again. Although I still stand by my original arguments, I also realise what a delicate and sensitive topic this is for many readers. Therefore, I wont reiterate any more objections or prolong the argument. If this story is true, lets hope the perpetrators of such appalling acts are severely dealt with. And those in the Somaliland administration that condone such behaviour, are exposed for the corrupt and dreadful bullies that they are. In the case of mistaken identity, I also seem to have got my wires crossed here. As promised, I hereby issue a full and sincere apology to Samurai Warrior. All this ruefulness and even-handedness is making me light-headed.

I’m proud that I’m African, proud that I’m a Brit, proud that I’m a Somalilander and just because I can, I’m also proud that I’m a Somali. Arabs consider me an Arab and I’m proud of that, women view me as a man and that also gives me immense pride, animals think me a human and some humans treat me like an animal, I’m proud of both. I’m proud of me wherever I come from or may be. If my brother is a great singer, I’m proud of him but more importantly proud of me. If my cousin a great sportsman, it’s probably because it’s down to me! My sister is good looking; she’s got my genes. My father is kind; he’s got my manners. My neighbour is helpful; he copies me. My boss is mean; it makes me full of pride for I played my part in honing that meanness. The whole universe revolves around me and navel gazing is my greatest hobby.

My lovely Burco city looks nice there. What a posh hotel! Such photos clam the heart and deceive you into thinking that the whole city is as nice and modern as these images reveal. This seems to be the case with most pictures of Somali cities. They’re all modern! All their residents live in newly built houses and cars a plenty. Nobody who goes back and takes photos ever comes back to show a full and real image of the poor, the orphans, the drugged up, the lost, the dirt, the street dwellers, et al. Is there logic to this madness? Do we get shown these impressive photos so we’d go back and make use of those hotels or maybe invest in something similar? Are they trying to “protect†us from the harsh reality of Somali life? Nice photos though.