Puff The Magic Qaxooti

[Jacaylbaro]

Life was not easy in the refugee camps in Ethiopia after the war break out in Somaliland in 1988 resulting in a major displacement of thousands of people. The cold, the new environment, hunger, disease, sickness and all the bad things that you ever heard of were there waiting for our arrival. It was a bad welcome for a human being who doesn’t have a shelter, food and clothing. I always thought I was going to die.

 

But things were becoming easier by the day and getting into the new life was taking its effects. We soon started to create our own fun, new friends, places to hang around and things to make time pass as fast as possible. There was nothing else to do apart from bringing water from far off places and collecting some more sand to the small shelters so that the flood wouldn’t come to the inside in case it rains.

 

The water supply stations were the most fun places we had. There was a possibility to meet new friends as well as new and old enemies. Besides, it was the best place to meet girls. As teenagers, we had some sort of freedom in those camps where you’re free from parental control because we had no schools to attend, no assignments to be done and nothing to follow up the next morning. We made all sorts of excuses to our parents so that we could go out and get water. With water being the precious commodity that it is and with its various uses it was easy to convince our parents to let us out to go and get yet some more water; the old lady next door finished it while washing her falling hair. The family on the opposite side all suffered from diarrhoea and needed more water. A passing Ethiopian defecated in the alleyway outside and we used up the water getting rid of his filth, etc.

 

Those places were a beehive full of girls. Apparently they used the same excuses to come out of their homes and they came with the same intentions - to meet boys! In the queue lines, the conversation usually started with the closest one and we really hated it when the line moved closer to the pipe because we did not want the party to be over so soon. One of the best times was when the night descended slowly and darkness enveloped us. That is when the conversation could then move to a different level. Usually it got more intimate; voices were becoming lower and lower until all you can hear were the whispers. Things moved smoothly from an open everyday conversation to something more private and warm. Ah! Those were the days.

 

One of those evenings, a good friend of mine was there to tell me he had a date with a girl and wanted me to accompany him. I wasn’t quite sure if that was a good idea but he was very persuasive. It was a general custom that the girl might bring another with her to the first date. He said if she was alone, we would be introduced to each other and I could then make my excuses and leave. But if there were two of them, then I had the responsibility to entertain the other one or even date her if things really worked out. Don’t forget, this was a refugee camp. There were no streets, no discotheques and no free houses. Those families who got small huts were the luckiest in the whole camp.

 

Now where did we meet them, I hear you ask. Well, that is a very interesting question. We met them in the open air! There was a wide area of land where the darkness covered us from all sides with no trees at all. Things were done with military precision. We would hang around a little bit, find a way to finish the mission, and call the session off as soon as circumstances permit. It was, as I say, always interesting.

 

On that beautiful night, we were standing there and waiting for the girl but it was taking too long. It was very dark, cold and the limited clothing we had was not permitting us to stick around any longer. I kept repeating the question: where is she? But he would always look around and tell me: let us wait a little bit more. We then realized there was no one coming but were not sure if we should just go home or think of a Plan B. He suggested we head to the girl’s house and see if she was there but of course, according to all cultural barriers and customs that was not possible. However my friend was very smart and always on the ball. He said the girl’s family had a little hut where they sold some stuff and that we should go and pretend to be customers.

 

Now the plan was to go there, ask if they have cigarettes and buy one. We could only afford one cigarette. If the girl was the one selling then we would ask why she did not come, otherwise we would just buy the God damn cigarette and leave.

 

We were not lucky, again. The girl’s mother happened to be the one selling. Eyes wide and hardly breathing we bought the cigarette and left quickly like thieves in the night. I still don’t know why we were looking down and trying to hide our faces as if the old woman would describe us later to the police or something!

 

Now we had a cigarette that cost us all the money we had but neither of us was a smoker, I never put that thing in my mouth and he was the same. For me it was simple, to throw the damn thing and go back home but for him it was different, he wanted us to smoke for the first time in our lives. I refused and he insisted. He was telling me about the cost of the stuff and how we cannot waste that money. He said he would smoke half and I’ll take the other half. I told him to smoke his half and I’ll throw mine away. After a long argument he said he would smoke all of it in one go.

 

He quickly stopped a passerby who happened to be smoking and asked if he can use his cigarette as a lighter (as you do). My friend took the first puff and coughed like a long time TB patient in the deserts of Libya. He then had a second puff a third and a fourth. At this stage he stopped, looked down to his feet and finally sat down. He said he was feeling dizzy and asked me if the earth was moving. I noticed there was something going on. I grabbed the other half of the cigarette and threw it. It took him about 15 minutes to sit down and try to focus but nothing worked at all.

 

I helped him stand up again but he kept repeating that he was still feeling dizzy. I told him that I was going to take him home. As soon as we started to walk he said we were going in the wrong direction. He was so dizzy he got the directions all mixed up. We then had a long argument before I convinced him to follow me. Even on our way home, he would stop and ask me where we were heading and insisted that we should go in the opposite direction.

 

After countless fights, struggles and arguments I finally managed to bring him home and ask him if THIS was his house. He looked at it carefully and told me yeah, but who moved the door to this direction??

 

I took him inside and made sure that he was in the place where he usually sleeps. I told him to sleep right away.

I was really lucky because I didn’t participate in that smoking session or else both of us would have been lost in the middle of nowhere.

 

That was the first puff he smoked. To my knowledge, he still smokes.

 

 

As for me, that experience put me off smoking for life.

 

 

As for the girl and if we ever met her again, do you really have to ask?

[Ariadne]

i thought this post was reliving old times/high times.... man was i sorely disappointed when i found out it was not stoneresque in any way....

[Jacaylbaro]

I'm talking about 20 years ago .......

[NGONGE]

^^ You were chatting up girls twenty years ago?

 

and they call me old man...

 

Your first cigarette is like the first kiss, the first day at a new school, the first child, the first love and the first exam; they all give you a headache and leave you walking around in a daze for hours afterwards.

[N.O.R.F]

LoooL JB

 

1988 dhe!

[NGONGE]

A thought just occurred to me! How many years of your childhood were wasted with no schooling, JB?

 

(This question applies to all the qaxootis and former qaxootis here).

[Ms DD]

Just for 2 years.

These stories in qaxooti camps feels very familiar.

[NGONGE]

^^ You had two full years of running about and doing nothing at all? TWO YEARS?

[Ibtisam]

^^I had 8years. But I had aadi raac, daan raac, geel raac schooling. What makes the formal process more important than the nomadic one I had you Arab snob!

[Ms DD]

It wasnt all for nothing. I studied at school of hard knocks. Such experience at such young age prepared me for life. I am not ciyaal mama like you

[Fabregas]

u lived in a refugee camp. I had you down as a one of the mujahideen leaders of the SNM. With rastafarian style hair an all.

 

nice blog btw

 

 

Ibtisam, join the club :cool:

[NGONGE]

^^ A SOL member that shall not be named told me that JB was a member of the SNM.

 

Girls, girls, I am not criticising. I actually admire how you managed to turn it around and discipline yourselves. Lets hope there is no residue of your former jaahlnimo left.

[Fabregas]

The mujahid with cigarette:D

 

[STOIC]

Zero years of no schooling....then again I wasn't a REAL qaxoti...only on papers...

[Blessed]

LOL..JB.

 

Now, I want to ask.. What would you do if you saw her again?

 

 

Originally posted by NGONGE:

Girls, girls, I am not criticising. I actually admire how you managed to turn it around and discipline yourselves. Lets hope there is no residue of your former jaahlnimo left.

Actually, 'de-schooler groups' would argue the opposite. Schools don't make Einsteins, they ruin them!