Like you say, this is not the only Somali mosque where our qabiil conscious has caused real conflicts. Indeed, my local somali mosque has had the same problem. Alas, narrow minded (and more often than not, unqualified) individuals are elected to these 'boards' in order to satisfy every qabiil. And as the board itself is based on qabiil, every issue will then be decided, executed and supported along clan lines. Too much emphasis is put on qabiil, and not enough on individual merit. Institutionalisation of qabiil is never the right answer.

Good luck with that DS.

Ilaahey ha u naxariisto A million strong our diaspora is, yet the number of murders per year seem punishingly high.

Let's hope this Asmara group plays it smarter than the ICU or the TFG. At this moment in time it won't be turning many heads, but things can change quickly in politics. If they focus on building a rigid hierarchy, a well balanced/representative assembly, and a sound constitution, in time they might attract some significant international attention. One potential blunder could be naming Aweys as leader, the US will never accept that, and if they dont, then nobody else will. I'd not be suprised if the end-product of this conference was stillborn, and its impact but transient in the political landscape. One more thing, Farah Aidiid has to go, the man is an oaf.

^^ We're painfully aware of that MC, forget the gigantic potential of tourism ('Relax on the beautiful unspoilt beaches of the longest coast of Africa..') There are yet untouched resources in our waters, unexploited mineral deposits, and the prospect of oil. For now we can but hope we aren't robbed blind whilst old men bicker and waste time in the shamefully primitive business that is Somali clan politics.

The crew of a Danish cargo ship held by Somali pirates since early June have been released, Denmark's foreign ministry says. It said the pirates had turned the Danica White over to a French warship. The Danish vessel was hijacked on 2 June off the Somali coast while heading for the Kenyan port of Mombasa to deliver a cargo of building materials. The five crew members are undergoing a medical evaluation before being reunited with their families. The Danish foreign ministry said the crew are in good condition, "although the hijacking has been a great strain". Dangerous waters Days after the Danica White was captured a US ship fired several warning shots across its bow and destroyed three boats the pirates had used in their attack and were towing behind the Danish vessel. The US ship stopped its pursuit after the pirates navigated the Danica White into Somalia's territorial waters, where the US does not have jurisdiction. It is not clear whether any ransom was paid for the crew's release. In July, Kenyan maritime officials said the pirates had demanded a $1.5 million (£75,000) ransom. Somalia's waters are reported to be among the most dangerous in the world. Somali pirates are trained fighters, and often use speedboats equipped with satellite phones and Global Positioning System technology. They target passenger and cargo vessels for ransom or loot, and use the money to buy weapons. source Waa la il-baxay! GPS & Satellite phones

Understatement of the century. Obviously you didn't fully pick up the heavily sarcastic undertone.

This, if anything reveals the weakness of science in the Muslim-world. Today's reality is that Muslim nations don't produce any scientific or technological advancements worth mentioning, wonder why?. Your take !! So, you highlight the well known fact that the 'Muslim world' is lacking, and has been for more than a century when it comes to Science and Technology. Rather than baiting us into impulsively defending Islam, and then ridiculing attempts to argue against the notion that Islam somehow doesn’t harmonise with Science, why don’t you be so bold as to expand on what you think is the reason? Whilst sifting through your mildly insulting prose, I came across this One can't help but correlate the reason why Muslim nations don't contribute much and the ability of individuals who labor under oppressive social milieus where one is expected (demanded)to be intellectually thankful and not question as that would degrade his "a must have highest" degree of Faith. So Muslims do not get involved in Science, for fear of incompatibility, and because they would feel guilty for questioning all that is around us. You are assuming that Science in essence requires the questioning of the existence of a Creator, as if its goal is to disprove it. Atheists would like it so, but Muslims, and all those who believe in a greater Power believe that Science proves the existence of such a Being. So in actual fact, Muslims would encourage scientific advancement, to bring to light more reasons for why God must exist. You also imply that there is a mass disregard for Science - apparently because the majority of Muslims unquestioningly accept the words of religion, and that consequently millions of Muslims look disfavorably on the intellectual probing of scientific research as somehow unnecessary. Characteristic of such a social ‘phenonema’ would be a clear unbalance of development amongst the numerous branches of Science; Mathematics isn’t a ‘threat’ to Islam – so it follows logically that from the 100 or so Muslim nations, several should be world leaders in this field, but they aren’t. The fact is that Muslim nations are behind in Knowledge, not just in the Science which you claim they perceive as threatening. Now the question is why, and is religion to blame? It can’t be, because Islam explicitly encourages the seeking of knowledge, the Prophet SAW said “Seeking knowledge is compulsory on every Muslim.” “Wisdom is the lost property of the believer.” “Whoever follows a path seeking knowledge, Allah will make his path to paradise easy.” And with this in mind, the Muslim world in its Golden era, became the beacon of Scientific and technological advancement, I do not need to recount its epic scale, nor mention any names. It remains then, that there must be other explanations. The lack of scientific research in the Muslim world today, is a direct consequence of the social, political and economical decline of the Muslim world. The decline of the Muslim world in the last 100-150 years was a result of diverse internal and external forces. The rapid rise of the Western World, economically, militarily and socially hastened the demise of the Ottoman Empire - perceived by many the last Muslim superpower. Colonialism and other forms of foreign subjugation became common place in the Muslim world; with difficulty can one name a Muslim nation which hasn't endured European imperialism. I hope I don't need to explain why colonialism resulted in Muslim nations lagging behind in almost every department. Rarely does a country transition smoothly from Colonialism to effective self government; indeed independence gives rise to a multitude of social problems, obstacles which make scientific research not a priority to say the least. Issues such as lack of investment into education, ethnic conflicts, wars and frequent regime change have beset many Muslim nations post independence, and consequently they are behind in many areas, they aren't amongst the 20 wealthiest nations in the world, and there isn't even a single Muslim university in the top 500 universities in the world. The Muslim world is trailing economically, scientifically and technologically. Less than a dozen dodgy scholars are not the reason why. Nor (To the contrary of some ridiculous claims being bandied about), do most Muslims shy away from education or Science, they simply lack the opportunities to study in their un/less developed countries, which lack the proper investment and hence the proper infrastructure to produce scientific and technological research of international standard.

Interesting article, although it matters not whether Africans cringe at being treated as endangered pets. I'm afraid Africans can look forward to many more decades of young westerners determined to save Africa in their gap year. Since their independence, most African nations haven't exactely dazzled the world with their economic and social progress, indeed many nations seem to have made none at all. Of course there are many reasons, some shared and some individual, which have contributed to their current predicaments, but the bottom line is that since their independance their futures have been in their hands. The West feels guilty for Colonialism, manipulating African regimes during the Cold War to their political advantage( then providing them with the arms to slaughter their populace), and of course their wealth. Their aid should not be shunned, but neither should it be mindlessly lapped up - for not all help is beneficial in the long term, and may serve to prevent the country from developing required infrastructure, and make it reliant upon others for key resources. Other than being more selective with the aid they receive, they can take advantage of their vast mineral resources, invest into the huge tourism industry, and tap into numerous niche markets. Of course none of this is possible without even the semblance of a mediocre government. Africans need to better govern themselves before anything else, they need to settle their social problems first. On Fair trade, Western nations subsidising their agricultural sector does has a significant effect on Africa, perhaps even devastating some part, but it doesnt condemn them to being helpless, a proper government can take proper action to diminish the effects (and the causes) of unfair trade, but a corrupt, resented and [inevitably] ineffectual government can do nothing, but ask for alms, and it will be even longer before they wean themselves from international aid. Furthermore, Latin America, the Indian subcontinent and South East Asia are much more agriculturally driven than Africa, but they cope because their governments have structured their economy appropriately, Africa shouldnt use Fair trade (or rather the lack of) as an excuse.

And here i thought she named herself after the ancient Greek City of Xanthus, human/yellow horse is just not as elegant

Chinese investment into Africa is encountering a few [deadly] hiccups. I suspect they must've been aware of the dangers. Plus they are finding it difficult to operate in countries where the government and the people are at each others throats, they have to effectively sate both their appetites, which is as tricky as it is expensive.

More famously he journeyed to Mecca and medina in disguise. And in those days being discovered meant death.

While in the queue for people waiting to touch the holy stone I felt a hand run over my butt. I thought this is just a coincidence as I am jammed against so many people. The next second the hand traveled my entire bum feeling every inch of me. I was DISGUSTED. I turned around and saw this brother in Islam standing behind me with a ‘Yeah it was me, what can you do’ smirk on his face. I had traveled from that high spiritual feeling of calmness to disgust so rapidly that all I could manage to say was, ‘Half of my body is touching the holiest place on earth, how can you even touch me!’ A lot of men, being the ‘ever ready for a fight’ kind, grabbed the guy but I was too sickened to wait and watch. For me this was it! Albert Einstein's famous line comes to mind 'Two things are infinite, the universe and human ********* - and i'm not sure about the former'.

Thiefs are unfortunately quite common place in Makkah, but i doubt there are many men who are preoccupied with caressing an ample bossom or pinching a shapely behind whilst doing the dhawaaf.

Hasan had been excluded from his school six days before the attack on Kiyan for assaulting pupils and urinating in front of a teacher. Aye, his ilk are numerous (although declining), hopefully this may be a lesson to the others. I think this is only the second high profile case in the UK, but nevertheless there are thousands of young Somali men and women in British prisons. This is a matter of the gravest concern for the Somali community in the UK, unfortunately there is no unifying agency which has the capability of representing the community in such serious social matters.

Civil War casualty 1992

I have remained silent on this issue thus far, because i was curious to see how things would unfold, plus my own kinsmen were involved in the fighting. The Gedo group has shown it's true to its word, overunning Buulogaduud like they promised. The ball is now in the TFG's court, and their next move could worsen their already desperate position and spell the beginning of the end for them. One thing is for sure, the Gedo group will not relinquish its vice-like grip on Kismayo. Only frank diplomacy or brute force will make them budge.

There's nothing like the aya Sofya, ah what i would give to have lived in Istanbul in the golden era of the Ottoman empire! Dhulqarnayn,one could say what we see today is a blend of Byzantine and Ottoman architecture, since the ottomans did a lot of renovation and repair work, and also added the minarets. But you are correct in saying that it is predominantly a Byzantine architectural masterpiece, which has inspired the Ottomans, amongst others. You need but look at the Sultan Ahmed (Blue) Mosque for evidence of that. This would be an appropriate time to mention our own Masjidka Isbaheysiga in Xamar, overlooking the Indian Ocean. Anybody have some information on who designed and built it? I know it was funded by the Saudis..

And as long as they & their supporters are claiming that enemy is a loving brother,NOTHING will be solved!! Of course, and that is why this regime is doomed to failure sooner or later.

The key issue is trust. Until the majority of Somalis can trust a 'government' of any part of Somalia, nothing will change, since there is no unanimous body representing a majority. Any such entity must firstly be worthy of the precious little trust we Somalis have to give. The ICU was riding on the crest of the people's discontent, but they have crashed rather abruptly due partly to their own political mistakes but also as a result of the machinations of the enemies of peace in Somalia. A trusted government will have the support of the people, which will allow them to revive the state of Somalia, and in time the other problems like this forlorn secessionist movement will be addressed. Until we can form a real unbiased and competent government, different groups will continue to take advantage of the anarchy, be they foreign fundamentalists, Ethiopian minions or calooshood u shaqeesteyaal. Whilst millions continue to waste away in the no-mans land that is our country, whilst millions of Diaspora kids gradually lose all traces of their culture, religion and language.

That is a Somali child.

The memories of expatriats make for interesting reads. ------------------ Africa will teach it to you, that God and the Devil are one, not two uncreated, but one. The Somali neither confounded the person nor divided the substance." - Isak Dinesen Mogadishu is an old slave port on the Indian Ocean, under the Horn of Africa, a pocket in the billiard table that is a rising coastline of coral rock, a place of contact with the other world, a port without a harbor. It is there because the Shebelle River is but a day's walk away, and the river is a highway that comes down from the Mendebo Mountains of Ethiopia, bringing the meanest commerce on the tracks beside its banks, before it peters out in the sand. Ibn Battuta, the first recorded tourist, visited Mogadishu in the 14th Century, and left in tears. There one finds the genes that traders left behind, genes of the Turks and Egyptians, of the Arabs, the Persians, the Italians, the British, the Galla, and the Amhar, products of history not written but breathed, speaking the trade languages left behind by the Persians and Arabs, Cimini and Swaheli. There in a city out of time the illegitimate little half-brothers of the Arabs have business to do with the Somali proper, those impetuous, quarrelsome, abstinent, greedy, zealous, faithful, warlike, violent sons of noble and ignoble tribes of nomads. Somali dervishes fought against the British under the Mad Mullah, Mohammed bin Abdullah Hassan of the ****** clan, who tried to expel the missionaries. The Saliyah religious order in rebellion had the example of the Mahdi, who killed Gordon of Khartoum, to follow in hating the Western intruders. An old map of Italian Somalia has the legend: Che Multi Elefanti Qua. That map includes Addis Ababa, Asmera, Jigjiga, Harer, Dire Dawa, and Djibouti, the French Territory of the Afars and Issas in the Danakil Desert, across the Bab el Mandeb from the victualizing and coaling station of Aden, where Britishers on their way to India used to look down from the decks of passenger ships to see the Fuzzy Wuzzies. The Somali are the only people in Africa sharing a native language and living all over their own country and in contiguous countries. Ninety-eight percent of the people there being ethnic Somali, there is one language that everyone speaks. They do not have to use a lingua franca like English or French or Arabic in order to get along with each other. The land of the Somali was not formerly as small as it is today. The British, French, and Italians took parts of it away so that the five points on the Somali flag stand for the five nations of the Somali, who were formerly or are presently told what to do by the British, French, Italians, Kenyans, and Ethiopians. To the Somali, everyone seems to be against them. And they have no center, no unifying economy or tradition, except religion and language and pride in lineage, clan, and tribe. They earn their living competing for grazing land, following the monsoon rains and the grass it brings, killing and stealing in a regulating system of rights and obligations. Blood money is paid and received according to ancient traditions of agnate kinsmen. A man's life is worth one hundred camels. The ***, ****, Hawiya, and ***** families, the proper Somali, have precedence in all tribal matters, which are, by necessity, basically commercial. In order to survive in such a hard world, one must be fit and strong and able to run and protect the beasts that comprise the precious herds of camels and cows and sheep and goats. So Somali men are handsome, wiry and tall, as fit as marathon runners, full of pride, quite self-contained, having no need of you. They are tall because of natural selection; tall people see trouble in the bush coming sooner. Their beautiful maiden sisters, crowned with tonsures of black ringlets, are the infibulated property of their fathers. In the middle 1960s several American families lived in the savannah bush among one hundred or so young Somali men, clustered around the only mosque ever built, surreptitiously for sure, by the American government, an extra-legal but necessary, indeed required, addition to the classroom buildings and monkish cells of the students at the little college, a high school for a few of the prescient Somali who saw the West coming. The National Teacher Education Center provided basic adult education for them through contact with us, the American teachers. There was electricity sometimes in the evenings, if there was diesel fuel for the generator, if the foreman remembered to turn it on. We went regularly into the capital city, Mogadishu, to pick up supplies at the commissary, to buy fresh meat and bread, to watch an old movie making the rounds of American consular offices projected onto a whitewashed wall at the side of a tennis court. I recall son John, age three, sitting on my lap, peeing in fright, as John Carradine turned into the vampire in the film 'Dracula Meets Billy the Kid'. In Mogadishu, we always went to lunch or dinner at an 'Italian' restaurant, The Capucetto Nero, a restaurant out of the Middle Ages situated on the Viale Garibaldi, its main room touching the sidewalk, separated from it only by a wall of perforated blocks so that air could waft away the mildew and cooking odors. Parking our ancient, dusty Volkswagen nearby, there being no traffic except driven animals, because there were few cars, we always had to engage, that is, to hire two watch boys to guard the car against watch boys. It was their primary source of income, the extortion racket of the crippled boys who patrolled the streets looking for business. If you did not pay two boys to watch your car, when you returned to it you found toothpicks broken off in the door locks, and the tires deflated, a model of that insurance industry we call a protection racket among Western criminals and victims. Watch boys wore rags. They scuttled about on their hands, dragging their twisted and emaciated lower limbs behind them, living a miniature version, a dumb show after the play, of life on the savannah, making a profit with few resources, like their sound of limb herdsman brothers. The watch boys were children of nomads who had been carried to the city after they were stricken by malaria, tuberculosis and yaws, and crippled by infantile paralysis. Those few nomads would not kill their worthless sons, but there were no crippled girls in the city. The boys scuttled about in the dust, begging and extorting money. Many of them were beautiful, with clear almond skin, large, dark eyes, noble noses and aquiline features that distinguish the noblest Somali from other, lesser people. Many were leprous. Of them there were dozens, of us few. They knew us by name; we were called "Johnny" after the blue-eyed baby I carried everywhere on my right hip. We knew one watch boy by name. Juma was special in that he never begged aloud like the others, but sat smiling on his withered haunches, watching the other boys. I always hired him to protect our car, and was never disappointed. Once I gave him an outgrown boy's shirt. Then wherever I went in the city, all the watch boys demanded that I give each of them a shirt too. True princes of that land, they were there in the dirt, scrounging for bread. For it was better to be alive than dead, and there was no way that any one of them could have grown up to become a warrior, to carry a spear most days all day, to tease his hair into a giant black ball to show that he wants a wife, to lope forty miles just to say hello to a friend, to keep his cattle safe, to take others' cattle for fun and profit, to drink blood borrowed from the shoulder or butt of his beasts for breakfast with tea and sugar, to grow tall and hard and proud, with the force and knowledge of generations keeping his life the way it had always been. The first lesson a Somali boy learns is basic spearsmanship. How will you live if you do not know how to kill an attacking leopard? Leopards enter the camps, jumping over the thorn fence, the zariba, even into the houses, the grass aqal, and steal babies and eat them. They always try to take our young animals. There are ways to defend oneself, Doctor, although these ways are not apparent to the ignorant. The best is to cause the leopard to impale itself on your spear. In fact, that is exercise number one in the Book of Spear: impalement. It simplifies everything. No motion is wasted. There are no real problems with this method, so they say. You must first get the damned creature to throw itself toward you. You kneel down, your right hand at your right heel, holding the butt of the spear in your right hand. Your left hand directs the spear point. At first contact, you roll in the direction that seems clear. Then you get up and run, fast, hoping that the animal is dead or at least wounded. If it is wounded, run and get help. Bravery is a story that women tell. Throwing a spear is good for frightening people away, or for killing small animals, little else. One cannot be serious about the throwing of a spear; it is too easy to miss the target. There are better ways of killing when you are the attacker, using the spear as a long knife, for example. One sees adolescent boys throwing spears at rolling hoops. That is good practice for killing running birds, but not for serious business. The life of the nomad is our own life. We tend our flocks. We kill when we must, and we do it in very subtle ways. However, it is against all our ways to do it directly by throwing a long spear. It is better to let the leopard jump, and then meet him with cold steel. Of greater utility is the stick, which every Somali man wields with great dexterity. Withes of the acacia tree, hard wood saplings cut well before the monsoon rains in March, are dried and stretched in the sun, much as one makes a walking stick from the penis of a hippopotamus, by tying a weight, a block of wood, to the end and suspending it from a tree limb. The resulting flexible stick the length of the height of a man, two meters or so, and a centimeter in diameter is swung and flicked with deadly accuracy. The spear is usually left behind where you sleep unless predators are known to be, or suspected to be, near the herd of animals. If one suspects the presence of hyena, jackal, dog, leopard, or lion, he carries the spear that day. Otherwise he must use the ever-present stick, with which he can remove an eye from an aggressor, cut a snake, a mamba, a cobra, or a krait in two, or break a bird's neck. The marabou stork stands two meters tall, and loves to eat baby goats. Skill with the stick is highly prized, cultivated, and taught. It is also the shepherd's staff. Every February stick fights between village teams are held among the sedentary Digil and Rahanwein people of the river valleys. These bloody contests are attended by everyone, including medical teams in Red Crescent ambulances to succor the wounded, of which there are hundreds. After the contests and the dressing of wounds, there is held a grand fertility dance that lasts all the night, with stick-fight heroes preferred for copulating in the bushes. That way the farmers make sure that it will rain in March. The Capucetto Nero was the best restaurant in Mogadishu, or Mogadiscio as the Italians spell it. There were few other restaurants where Europeans would dare to eat. The food at the two hotels was suspect and original, having no known provenance. The one Chinese restaurant, Smiley's, served barely passable Cantonese food without Chinese vegetables. So we were drawn to the Black Helmet regularly, with simple tables, walls of coral stone blocks, the diners sitting next to the sidewalk where the watch boys congregated to receive the bits of food that the children passed to them through the perforated blocks of the wall. Inside, the Italian patrone sat at his dais with the cash box, surrounded by desserts in trays - especially zuppa inglese, a gooey cake soaked in rum that we all loved. In the back at one side was the kitchen where big black Negro men in white aprons attended a huge wood-burning range. Our own special waiter Damisi, an old gray puttering fellow, always greeted us warmly in anticipation of the big tip he would receive for his incompetent service. He seldom got more than half of the orders right, but we were six, and he was one who could barely speak six languages. Since all the dishes were good, it made little difference what he brought. We never sent any food back. When he saw that he had made mistakes, as usual, he would slap his forehead in penance and cry "Perdonne mi. Mi scuzi. Idioto!" And we would reassure him "Tutti va bene. Non che problema. Mangiamo, Damisi!" We ate lots of pasta and zuppa asciuta, and sometimes a real soup with tortellini. Then we regaled ourselves with steak and eggs cooked on the cast-iron wood stove, a roast chicken, or veal fried and served in a butter sauce with tomatoes, or fresh tuna steaks, or pizza ala vongole, frutti di mare, the sea with its rich Somali Current only a few meters away. Of course the steak was always a thin slice of some less tough part of the animal, there being no refrigeration, or ageing of beef. The animals from which our food came were driven by boys carrying sticks to the municipal slaughterhouse each morning, an abattoir on a cliff over the crashing waves of the Indian Ocean. The animals were led into the open stone building, their hind feet bound, and a man hit them between the eyes with a sledge hammer. They were then hoisted, gutted, skinned, and quartered. The effluvium of wastes was washed with seawater through stone troughs into the sea below, where thousands of sharks fought for the bloody guts. It was a popular entertainment to watch the roiling of huge fish eating the lights and each other, while fishermen stood below the abattoir, trying to catch them from the rocks. These many dishes we ate with common red wine from Italy, shipped to East Africa in big twenty-liter fiaschi covered for protection with woven straw. The wine was served in tall water glasses, always with a few drops of oil on the surface, as it had been sealed in its fiasco with cooking oil. So many good, hearty meals we consumed, sitting in the glare of fluorescent lights at the big front table of the Capucetto Nero, the watch boys watching us eat our fill! Through the perforated coral stones of the front wall the large eyes of the wretched cripples told us that they were always there, squatting and lying on the sidewalk outside in the dust just inches from our chairs, hoping for morsels that our children passed to them through the holes. While we were eating, as each course arrived, carried by the obsequious, smiling Damisi, the little boys on the cleaner side of the wall passed morsels of food to the dirtier side of the wall, to waiting, grasping hands. Small loaves of bread, panini, pieces of cheese, joints of chicken from the hands of four well-scrubbed, healthy, inoculated and vitamined, safari-suited, Aryan, blond American boys, princes of the world, to whom all was owed and given, God and the Devil one.

Mr Rich has yet to appear on the scene, unfortunately for many xaliimos .

typical British journalism Inhaler solution to premature ejaculation hasn't come too soon

You have the wrong end of the stick Kashafa, one does not need to approve of someone's cause to be able to call them 'quite heroic and admirable' . Nor are all those who [you think] are fighting for a cause you believe in, worthy of being called heroic and admirable.