I hope inay safaaradooda dhan wada xiraan, dib dambena loo furin.

Showqi, waaku Ciidday bistoolad, laakiin xiligaas iyo xiligaan isku xili ma'aha. I remember inaa for weeks sugi jiray soo noqoshada hooyadey oo in 1985, I think, mar ee xajka aaday. Waxee ii balanqaaday dhar isku joog korneelada booliiska gishtaan oo ciyaaleed with its own bistoolo. Oh, she brought. Oh, saa u farxay lee markee ii keentay. Days dhan la qabi jiray maalin walba, bistooladana bush, bush, bush lagu heyn jiray. Eniwey, saan ayeena Reer Oslo u ciideen: Biyuutiful.

Waa laguu soo wadaa, waa haddaa Pearson airport kasoo doonaneysid. :-) By the way, I don't even remember eating cuntadaan, I mean I ate it, but qalbigeyga iyo maankeygaba ma joogin. I see on cajalka anigoo cunaayo, yet maba ogeyn goortaa cunaaye. I guess mashquulnimada igu badnayd.

Continued.

Today's blog: Xaflad cunto iyo Islii Since this blog features about everything and anything and nothing about Islii and SOLers are virtually an extended family, I would like to share my own wedding's food oo lagu dhigay xaafadda Islii, gaar ahaan hoteelka . Daawasho wacan.

Valenteenah, ma saxankaas ayaa la yaabtay. That family more channels amee fiirsadaan taloow. Chocolate, Islii one week ayaaba joogtee ma adaaba wax badan joogay. And that week happened maalmuhuu roobka da'aaye, oo qorax ma arkin. On upside, at least busteeda ma arkin. Oh, its tornado-like dust haddaa arki lahayd waaba sii qeylin lahayd. Eniwey, everyone who comes to Islii for first time has exactly same reaction as you do. Just as you stay longer ayaa la qabsaneysaa, some even weyba iska jeclaadaan. By the way, ciyaalka Soomaaliyeed oo tobanka sano jiro oo wax jidadka ku gad gadaayo wali ma arkin. Perhaps saas uma badna filaa. I have yet to see one.

Today's pictorial blog: Xaafadda Burhaan Estate Burhaan Estate waa xaafad balaaran oo gated communities ah kuna dhex taalo isla xaafadda weyn ee Islii. Burhaan Estate waxaa la dhisay afartii sano u dambeysay, waxaana degan Soomaali, una badan qoysas qurbojoogta ah oo kasoo wada noqday dibadaha.

Malika, maxaa, don't worry, booqasho u joognaa this wonderful planet. First Ciid in Afrika in 15 years ahayd, and I was really looking forward to it, sadly I got soooooo tired in around 12 pm that I needed a little nap. Let's just say the little nap inay hurdo dheer isku badashay that I missed a lot of folks to see. Sad. Sad. Sad.

Ciid wanaagsan oo wacan oo wareer, warbahaar iyo wiswis midba lahayn idiin wada rajeynaayaa.

nuune;743346 wrote: Mine is Friday, kolleey Dariiqadaan ku xirnahey waxey dhaheen waa Jamcada Inshaa Allaaj A happy early Ciid wanaagsan, xaaji. Mine too waa Axadda soo socoto, Eebba ha idmee. Marka waa inoo Axadda dambe iyo xalwada iyo buskudka iyo shushumoowga iyo qumbaha iyo icunka iyo sisinta iyo caano baraawaha.

I don't know. Sawir xusuus mudan u egyahay. It could be me, perhaps. Sawirka maanta ayaa la qaaday, ciyaal ku ciidaayo Boosaaso.

Head of state in uu yahay qof diidan ma jirto, but he is not head of government. Rajab Dayib waa a head of government in Turkiga. Madaxweynaha Turkigana waa C/llaahi Guul, taas ayaa jirto. Protocol jirto haddii la raacana a head of government always waxaa soo dhaweynaayo his/her counternpart. Saas u ah protocol adduunka. Hadduu his/her counterpart maqanyahayna, ku xigeenkiisa ayaa kusoo dhaweynaayo garoonka. Shariifka in uu soo dhaweeyo garoonka qof u diideyso maleh but protocolka uu jibiye, then again everything about Soomaaliya protocol kuma taalo. Kan Turkigaba head of state and commander of chief waaye, yet hadduu ra'iisul wasaaraha Soomaaliya si dhab ah u tago asaga masoo dhaweynaayo, but Rajab Dayib's government soo dhaweyneyso. Waxaas waa protocolka caalamiga iyo kii Soomaaliya u deganaa in '60s. Magac u yaal haku marmarsiyoon, sharci ayaa jiro ama ha lagu dhaqmo ama ha lagu tunto, laakiin sharci ayaa jiro. One needs to follow that. Anyway, waxaan wax muhiim ma'aha laakiin runta in la isku sheego wey fiicantahay. Shariif iyo Gaas shaqsi aan u kala jeclahay ma jirtee, cidee soo dhaweynaayaan shuqul kuma lihiyee ee sharciga jiro lee ka hadlaayaa.

Today's pictorial blog: Isku diyaarinta Ciidda iyo Islii The pictures don't do justice since Islii is too crowded in the past couple of days -- filled with Soomaalida Ciidda isku diyaarinaayo. Runtii Islii waa iska Soomaaliya, you are always reminded that all the time. I will post a video of it soon.

Adaa mudan, Soomaalina. Mustaf, saaxiib, saas maa u xasuusataa macalinkaas. Wax sahlan kuguma sameynin ileen.

Waxaa rajeynaayaa in uu lacag kaash ah u dhiibin dowladda. Laakiin mucaawino kale u keenay dadkeena dhibaateysan.

Nuunka, aamiin, yaa xaaji. Waa mahadsantahay. Wararka aad inta kusoo qortayna laga maarmaan waayeba, hadda dib u aqriyee. Wargelinta saas noogu sii wad. N. B.: Goormaa meeshii iskeenee? Bisha dambaa?

Maahmaahdii Reer Miyiga ku maahmaahi jireen maxee ahayd? Haa, nin daad qaaday, xumbo cuskay ayee ahayd.

Reer Liibiya, kusoo dhawaada, kuna soo biira Xamar iyo Baqdaad. Nin hadduu waalanyahay lalama waasho. Qadaafi waa qaldanaa, qalalaad ka daran ayee wadaan kuwaan jabhadda la baxay. Haddaaba telafashinka ka aragtid, waxaaba moodeysaa dad marqaansan, xabbad inta u tuur, xaga ka tuur, xaga ka orod, inta u soo orod. Disorganized to the core. And sidee telafashinada ugu muuqdaan ka garaneysaa inay dad xasuuqeen oo cadowtinimo weyn heyso, no doubt about that. Eebboow u sahal Reer Liibiya.

Cabdi Ismaaciil Samatar has a point, Soomaalina. Shariifka is a head of state, not head of government. His Turkish equivalent is madaxweynaha Turkiga, inkastoo with much less powers compared to madaxweynaha Soomaaliya. Still should a Soomaali president welcome a head of state, it is for madaxweynaha markaas jiro, and for a head of government, ra'iisul wasaaraha markaas jiro ayaa leh soo dhaweynta lagu soo dhaweynaayo garoonka. Shariifka went quite a few times to Turkiga, and mar walbana waxaa soo dhaweyn jiray madaxweynaha Turkiga, C/llaahi Guul. Yes, madaxweynaha Soomaaliyeed wuu soo dhaweyn karaa a head of government, but only at madaxtooyadiisa ama hadduu casho sharaf u sameynaayo, not at the airport. That privilege belongs to the prime minister. The charter you posted implies that, at least to my interpretation.

I welcome this. And this time, let it last for decades, not a mere two or three years.

Today's blog: Meeting the legend: Bacalwaan Some seven days ago, I was at a foreign exchange kiosk in the heart of Islii, when suddenly coming out of it there stood a familiar looking man. It suddenly registered waa fanaankii caanka ahaa ee Bacalwaan. Last time I read about him online, his health aad u liitay. Laakiin daraad aan arkaaye, Eebba mahadiis, he looked so healthy. Walaahi aad ugu farxay. Si qadaran ii salaamayna, just like laba qof istaqaano camal.

Nadiifo Cabdi THE KHAT-SELLER: Rescuing husbands and saving marriages I started the khat business a week after the dictator's regime was toppled in 1991. That regime banned khat but permitted cigarettes and wine. Our faith does not allow for the consumption of alcohol, so very few people indulged in it. I was a housewife and my husband was a driver and life was good. In 1991, hungry Somalis looted factories and banks. Khat became an open business. My husband had no government car to drive, so I tied my scarf at the waist (made more effort) and started earning our daily bread -- you see how life changed. My husband became the babysitter. Women became the breadwinners of the families. Sixty percent of the women started selling khat and the rest sold jewellery, tea, milk, fuel, meat and vegetables on the streets. Most of them were widowed. Men were either killing or being killed or becoming house husbands. Women from rich families also started running businesses. Hungry men with no jobs were looking for women who sold khat, milk or had a small shop to marry. The period after 1991 was good for women. Women who were neglected like pet animals ruled the family. Men had to be loyal or else they were told, “Take this cash and give me a letter of divorce.” Men who looked after the children enjoyed life, chewing whatever their wives sold -- khat, meat or vegetables. Unlike wine, khat is good. Any man who chews its leaves or branches becomes alert, aroused, happy and stimulated. Old women whose husbands chew khat appreciate it. They say, "My husband sees me as a young girl but to him I will look my real age if he stops chewing khat.” However, the young wives of khat-chewing men say their husbands are not active in bed. I'm sure warlords were good for Somalis. Life was cheap and business was open for all. Militias bought a plane of khat, tanks of fuel, meat and vegetables daily, so there was a circulation of money. A kilo of khat was only $2 but now it's $13-$15. In 2006, brutal Islamists emerged. Their main aim was to destroy society. First of all, they destroyed the warlords and their militias who were mainly driving the economy. They forced us to put on heavy veils in Somalia’s hot climate. And lastly, they banned khat. People talk of six peaceful months under the Islamic courts but this is nonsense. They prevented women from working and people almost died of hunger during their rule. Ethiopian troops came and drove out the cruel Islamists in December 2006. This was a joy. We never wanted the Ethiopians but Al-Shabaab forced us to love them because Al-Shabaab beheaded our people and closed our businesses. Unfortunately, Al-Shabaab came back and carried out many explosions in 2007. But they did not ban khat this time. Instead they took thousands of dollars in daily tax from the K50 airstrip where planes carrying khat always landed. I always sold khat in the government areas but Islamists conducted guerrilla warfare almost every day in this place and Ethiopian troops kept on fighting these Islamists. Many women died in buses and in the streets after Islamists targeted them with roadside bombs. The worst moment was when a masked man hurled a grenade at us in the K5 area where hundreds of women sell khat. Five people including women and street boys died on the spot and a dozen others were injured. The masked man escaped. I could not eat food for two days. I always remembered how their flesh was scattered in front of me, but we did not stop business because we did not have any other source of income. The government grew weaker. Al-Shabaab took most of the country save small portions of the capital Mogadishu and most of central Somalia. There is no life in the areas under Al-Shabaab control -- women have been banned from working. Today, khat from Kenya is sold in Mogadishu and central Somalia. The problem with khat is that you cannot avoid fighting men. We buy khat on credit and sell on credit. What else can you do? There isn't much employment. Only a few people work for the government. Most customers wait for the couple of hundred dollars their relatives in the diaspora send at the end each month. We get by by putting our jewellery down as a deposit. Then you know what follows. We look for customers who hide because they are unable to clear their debts. We cling on them and drag them in the streets -- that's the only time we get money back from the relatives. The good thing about Somali culture is that it's taboo for men to fight women. You drag him like a cat until his next of kin tells you, 'Just leave him and tell me how much he owes you.” You get the cash on the spot or a promise that you'll be paid after a few days. What shame for the khat-eaters but life goes on like that. A woman who sells khat never shies away from collecting her profits. Those are the pros and cons of khat. The problem is when the one who owes you money joins Al-Shabaab. It's happened to me. All wanted people -- murderers, thieves and those limping with debts -- join Al-Shabaab. There's no other option. You have to give up hope of being paid. Big men in Nairobi who hire planes to transport khat are today millionaires. They buy buildings in Nairobi and send their children abroad. For us, we are struggling with life. I sell 15-20 kilos a day and earn $40 dollars a day. I have employed a man at $150 and a woman at $200 a month. I have also employed two young street boys at $30 each a month. All these people help me sell khat, collect money and serve customers. Men smoke cigarettes too much when they chew khat. They also buy flasks of tea. Women do not chew at all in Somalia. I heard about two or three women who furtively chew but I have never witnessed it. When khat is banned the whole economy is destroyed because businesses and people depend on the income from khat. Five of my kids are now in secondary school. I pay their fees from khat. You cannot talk about love when you come home tired at 10pm from working all day. You only have some minutes to ask the husband if he fed the children and washed them, then you throw yourself onto the bed like a log. We rarely see our husbands. We struggle most of our time to generate income for food, clothes and school fee. Selling khat is a tedious task. I would do other work if we had peace and effective central government. Khat-eaters are the losers. I remember men who lost their villas because of eating too much khat on credit. We never give khat on credit to someone who has no property. If he fails to pay, you auction his property. I once took the car of a customer who failed to pay $2,000. I pray for my children always, so that they do not eat khat in the future. Xigasho

Idinkaa mudan, aqiyaarta. ________________ Cabdi Kaarshe Cabdi THE SOLDIER: War in a time of warlords and extremists I was recruited as a soldier in 1967. I never thought Somalis would ruin their own country and destroy people's property. Back then my salary was only 120 Somali shillings and with this I could feed my family well and save some cash in the central bank. Only 25 cents was enough to dine at a restaurant. Now we don't have coins or notes of less than 1,000 shillings. See how illiterate Somalis have spoilt our life? The worst moment in my life was the Somali-Ethiopian war in 1977, which lasted eight months. At that time, Somalia was called the lion of Africa. We had jets and T-55 tanks. Somalis had courage and dignity. We captured many towns from the mighty Ethiopians. Thousands of soldiers from both sides died, although Ethiopians died the most. As we neared Ethiopia's capital, Addis Ababa, after capturing its highlands, Russian planes began unloading tanks to fight us. Fighting escalated and we were in hell. Our commanders were ordered to shoot any Somali soldier who turned back. We had to fight to the death. Anwar Sadat, Egypt's president, called our president, Mohamed Siad Barre, to warn him that we would be overrun by troops from Russia, Yemen and Cuba. Barre ordered us to back to Somalia and we finally had a chance to run for our lives. I appeared like a ghost to my family. When they hadn't heard from me for eight months, they carried out my funeral ceremony. They never thought I was alive. My wife, kids and I hugged and shared tears of happiness in 1978. I was by then a captain. We expected Barre to stand down because of the shame he brought on Somalia. But he didn’t. In 1985, Somalia started deteriorating. Barre’s regime worsened and the democracy he only paid lip service to turned to cruelty, prompting citizens to turn against his government. Hargeisa (now the capital of Somaliland) started a revolution and Barre fought them like he fought with the Ethiopia, with tanks and jets. Eventually, he overpowered Hargeisa. But what happened next? A more powerful revolution led by General Mohamed Farah Aideed started from central Somalia. General Aideed, Ahmed Omar Jees and Abdirahman Tur together planned to topple the dictatorship and form a broad-based government for Somalia. They toppled him but the other dream did not come true. Hargeisa split and formed Somaliland, Bosasso split and formed Puntland. General Aideed struggled to pull the parts together but in vain. Somalis turned into wolves - camel herders, thieves, street boys and prisoners took up arms and started robbing, looting, raping and shooting. There was no reason for me and men like me to carry a gun. There is dignity in soldiering only when there's discipline. The looting started at the central bank. They even dug up tarmac roads and took away the electric cables. The airport was destroyed and crushed rocks collected to build private houses. Government buildings were destroyed and their bricks looted. I threw down my gun and started selling watermelons on a wheelbarrow in the streets. Most of the literate men or those who depended on the government died of hunger in the streets, fled abroad or were killed in gunfire. They could not cope with the new life. General Aideed was patriotic and he hated extremists. I'm sure Al-Shabaab would not exist if he were alive. He was the only man in the world who made the mighty U.S. surrender. He dragged their corpses through the streets of Mogadishu. I never left Mogadishu. I kept on selling watermelons and lemonade as the season allowed. I will never forget my beloved wife who was devoted to helping me bring up our seven children. She used to sell tea. None of my family was killed or injured but the list of friends and relatives who were casualties is endless. In 2002, an interim government led by Abdiqasim Salad Hassan was formed. Warlords were better than this government, which after three years were unable to control the same amount of territory that even a weak warlord had in his power. In 2006, the worst morning was born for Somalia. Somali extremists enlisted cursed foreigners. The Islamic courts led by the current president bred all evils. It was a strange culture of beheading, cutting lips, ears and limbs, digging graves of great sheikhs and taking the bones. They started beating any woman who wore no veil and any man who did not grow his beard. Extremist Islamists do not give a cent to their parents or relatives unless they conform to their ideology. Cockroaches breed in toilets and extremists in collapsed countries. A relative of mine leads a dog’s life. His wives and children were indoctrinated by Islamists in 2006. They told him he was not a good Muslim and threatened him with death. One of his wives and two daughters married jihadists and his sons became fighters, hunting down their old father. Since then, he's been hiding in hotels in the areas under the control of the government and African Union forces. This is where I also hide. I cannot go to Al-Shabaab areas. They will obviously behead me. Somalis were deceived by these Islamists. They supported and helped them fight the warlords but afterwards the Islamists slaughtered them like animals, stole their money and took their wives and daughters. Most Somalis now regret ousting the warlords, but gone is gone. Only minority clans and two or three powerful sub-clans support Al-Shabaab and believe in the so-called jihad as a means of attacking the other clans. Al-Shabaab is totally hated but the current president, who was head of the Islamic courts in 2006, has deprived civilians of their weapons. He says, “Help me fight Al-Shabaab,” but people cannot fight weapons with their fingers. In January 2011, I said to myself: "You should join the military again". I saw some dignity in this new government of Prime Minister Mohamed Abdullahi. I'm still a captain but now we are given $130 per month. There is a bit of law and order. Nowadays a military officer is saluted and his orders are followed. That is what I see. Xigasho

Binti Cumar Gacal THE SINGER: Love songs defy bullets and brutality I became a famous singer in 1980 after winning a singing competition in Mogadishu. My father played trumpet; he was in the police band. My mother sold tea. I sang in the school choir in the late 1970s. “You have a sweet voice. You could be a professional,” schoolmates and teachers said, and this inspired me. But when my mother heard the story she took me out of school. She shaved my hair and chained me. Back then, it was taboo for women to sing publicly. A famous Somali composer came and convinced my mother to release me. In 1980, I entered a singing competition and came first. I was awarded 200,000 Somali shillings -- a lot of money then. My parents argued over my singing. My father said it would bring him a name while mother said it was shameful and she demanded an immediate divorce. I bought very expensive clothes and a villa for my parents which placated them for a while. I joined the Hobalada Waberi band and continued singing love songs. My famous love song which is even now most liked is “Let me be in trouble if I cry for you again”. I was expressing the problems of ladies who lamented after the men they loved. The government used to pay every singer 500 shillings a month. It was good money but I never needed to take it. I was singing for wealthy men at their homes and earned thousands of shillings a day. Later, a relative to the dictator president tried to force me to join the military band. He jailed me when I refused. There was nepotism in every department and not all singers were allowed to be famous. Eventually I was freed. I continued singing for my favourite band but after seven years my father moved out of the house I built for him. He said he did not want anything bought from singing. I continued my work. In 1990, we, the singers, sang in a campaign to oust the dictatorship. We could not tolerate how he bombed his citizens. Good singers must always express the feelings of the people. “Down with Siad Barre,” we chanted. Our aim was to tell the people to oust that regime and then form a better one, but what happened was we ousted a bad government and failed to form even a similar one. We regretted it then and still we regret it. The dictator regime was ousted in 1991 and the bullet replaced the guitar. Music was no longer wanted and singers faced a tough life. The wealthy ones fled. Our lives were in danger. Three singers were killed in the civil war -- I always remember them. They were not involved in the conflict but when clans fought, each clan killed the most important people of the other clan -- it was barbaric. After some years the civil war died down and we started singing at wedding ceremonies and were able to earn a living. Most of the singers and musicians fled the country. But I stayed in my house and often sang with other musicians privately. Four of my kids died -- two remained -- and I have three grandchildren. My parents died years ago. My husband and I also separated sometime back. The world is like that -- people depart in the end. As I was going to a wedding ceremony in 2002, I came across militia killing a man who killed one of their relatives in a family feud. More than 13 bullets hit me. My legs were broken and I was taken to Keysane hospital. A local woman's NGO paid for my operation. But the problem was hospitals were run by militia and doctors were paid very little, so they killed patients unless they were bribed to save you. The doctor operated on my right foot and killed the nerves in it. We hid guitars and trumpets and locked ourselves up in rooms in 2006 when the Islamists came to power. To them a singer was not a Muslim and so deserved to be killed. This was the worst period in the last two decades. The information minister has done us a favour recently. He has starting bringing together us musicians and singers. He pays us $100 a month -- may God bless him. This is not enough but it is better than nothing. There are some musicians and singers who sing for national television. But I and Abdi Tahlil, another well-known singer, just take the $100. I can walk with the help of my stick but Abdi Tahlil cannot walk. He's in his house, paralyzed. I've been coming only to this hotel, the Sahafi, for all these years. I'm sure you always see me sitting here. I chew khat just to make me forget the past -- that is is how life is. Xigasho

Maxamed Bidey THE DOCTOR: Surgery and sutures under shellfire The ouster of Siad Barre was fair but we never expected the bloodshed and lawlessness that followed. I have been a doctor in Mogadishu since 1985 and I am sure few people liked that dictator's regime. Businesses were restricted, doctors had no right to own their own private hospitals. The parties that drove out that government were right but the problem was they had no plan for forming a better government. The hope we had turned into violence and evacuation -- out of the frying pan into the fire. Most people joined militias. Day and night, we doctors had to treat casualties caught up in gunfire and shelling for no pay, although aid agencies like the World Food Programme and International Committee of the Red Cross gave us food for work. Sometimes we worked at gunpoint. Gunmen ordered us to leave that patient and attend to this one or else.... Some of my colleagues were threatened with death. You treated a seriously ill or injured patient but if the patient died in surgery, the doctor faced allegations that they killed the patient. Some doctors were forced to pay a hell of a lot of money and then ran away for their lives. The situation was hellish. My family fled to Nairobi without my knowledge in 1991. My wife and six children got lost in the chaos. There was an economic crisis. To call a relative in the diaspora for help, one had to travel as far as the Kenyan or Ethiopian border just to call them: “Please send me money.” After three years, friends told me my family was safe in Nairobi. They were also told I was alive in Mogadishu. We reunited happily in Mogadishu in 1994. The country plunged into turmoil that was undreamt of. There were no universities that produced medical workers. Worse, 20 doctors died in shelling during the civil war and more fled abroad so the need for doctors grew bigger. In the end, we doctors opened Benadir University in Mogadishu in 2002. Benadir University has so far produced 81 doctors including female doctors. They all work in various hospitals in Mogadishu and other regions of the country. The suicide bomb blast at the graduation ceremony at our university on Dec. 3, 2009 was the worst incident. It is still imprinted in our minds. Glee and grief are mixed in the same memory. One minute we were talking about the happiness of issuing certificates to the first young doctors we trained, the next minute ambulances carried our dead and wounded -- 24 people including professors, doctors and medical graduates died on the spot. I lost some of my teeth and the shrapnel from the explosion injured my hand and tongue. I was among many who were taken to Saudi Arabia for treatment. Although our movement is restricted for fear of Al-Shabaab, we hope there will be peace and a central government in the near future. Here in Mogadishu, all doctors have their own private hospitals and work has been good but patients dictate. Somali patients do not want doctors’ prescription. Men and women come to you and tell you they have diseases like syphilis, diabetes, high blood pressure and so on. Most of our time is wasted in convincing patients that medicine should not be taken prior to diagnosis or examination. However, some of them do not trust doctors who find nothing wrong with them. They say, “I know I have such-and-such a disease because I feel nausea and burning in the stomach.” They say, “Write a prescription for my baby. It needs an injection of antibiotics.” We object but they dash to the pharmacies and order the pharmacist to inject their babies anyway. There has been no effective central government to control the quality of medicine and issues licences for pharmacies to operate. So businessmen import pseudo-medicine -- for example, liquids that have the colour of medicine but no quality at all. Patients keep on taking the medicine but the diseases become resistant, so patients complain and say, “If you are a good doctor, why don’t I recover after taking what you prescribed for me?” This is the problem treated by the businessmen who import expired and low quality medicine. Patients pay more and yet they are not cured. Xigasho