My Somali Neighbors Won't stop their damn ululating

[macalimuu]

Well, there goes the neighborhood. Last week, the moving van pulls up to the Petersens' old house and—yup, you guessed it—a bunch of Somalis move in. I haven't even met The Faarahs yet, but already I can't stand them: All night long, they won't stop with their damn ululating!

To be honest, I haven't the foggiest notion what they're even wailing about. Maybe they're lamenting a deceased relative. Or retelling the traditional Somali folk tale The Tortoise and the fox. Or maybe they're just performing some Minghis and Saar devotional trance music. All I know is, that damn ululating of theirs is loud, it's in D-sharp, and it goes on well past 12 p.m. Next time, I'm calling the cops.

Last Monday night, I'm trying to relax in my own home—which I paid for with my hard-earned American dollars, mind you, not some wad of Shilin—and enjoy the big game. The whole time, The Faarahs are out on their backyard patio, ululating up a storm! They've even got the Durbaan dulcimer and five-stringed lutes going. I try to ignore it, but, finally, I just can't take it anymore. I open my window and shout, "Hey, would you mind keeping that benadir-thumping down to a dull roar? A man can only take so much of those cylindrical, single-membrane tambourines, you know!"

It usually gets better for a few days. They promise they'll try to keep it down. But like clockwork, the ululating always starts up again. And even on the days when their voices aren't raised together in a long, sorrowful cry, their teenage daughter is usually blaring that Somali pop singer Samatar out her bedroom window. As if that's an improvement.

Isn't that always the way: You work hard to make a nice home for your family, and then, just when you're ready to enjoy the fruits of your labor, the whole neighborhood goes to the Somalis. They move in and, just like that, Halal Meat and Bacadleh stores start popping up on every corner. Guys are out there selling meat goat and onions right on the street corner. Next thing you know, property values are plummeting.

It gets worse, though—you should see what The Faarahs have done to the Petersens' front yard! They've got handmade rugs which they call Darin and Sali hanging out to dry and some sort of pet chicken flapping around. They're laying hand-painted tiles left and right. It's an eyesore for the entire block

Then there are those horrible smells that come from their house—coriander, cumin, saffron. It's awful. Haven't these Odkac-eaters ever heard of a Big Mac? spicy rice made with grilled lamb, Somali salad dribbled with lemon and oil... I've got to smell that crap seven days a week!

Then, to add insult to injury, I find out that The Faarahs come from the port city of Merka. Well, I don't have to tell you what those Somali coastal types are like, especially the men. They get all hopped up on chewing Qat leaves and go out and have their way with white women. Thank God our daughters are grown up and out of the house, that's all I have to say.

And I haven't even mentioned the bonfire dances they call it Nayruus or Dabshid. You know what I'm talking about. That Booraneh dance, where the woman starts out kneeling, hidden completely under a black veil. Pretty soon, her fingers are swaying to the music and, from there, it's anything goes. Before long, everyone is dancing the Niiko and Baraanbur, beating the ground rhythmically together in a circle. I won't have it! Not in my neighborhood, dammit!

The way I see it, if you want to go bangy-bangy on your goatskin-topped wooden shareero drum, go back to Somalia. This is America, land of the Dallas Cowboys, John Wayne, and barbecued ribs. We don't cotton to that kind of stuff around here.

Nothing, though, is worse than that incense wafting over the fence. When you smell that, you know exactly what's going on over there behind those walls. They're doing that crazy religious stuff, what with the dancing and the singing and the instruments. Damn Sufis. That's just what this country needs: more Gnostic sympathizers going on about tahajud, the total reliance on God, and dhikr, the perpetual remembrance of God.

We could move, I suppose, but it probably wouldn't do any good. My brother lives over on the east side of town, and he's having the same problem with the Oromos. No place is safe these days, I tell you.

[ferocious]

soore badana :rolleyes: :rolleyes:

[macalimuu]

This is a based on a fictional white SOB observation on his new Somali neighbors and is just for satire and fun. Not intended for the sensitive judgementla ones. add your take here and spice things up!!

 

just like that forwarded email circulation that originated from Dixon " u know u r somali when.."

you get the point!!

[Xafsa]

looooooooooooooooool!!! HAbartaa buufkeed dheh to that fictional white man!!1

We have a rich culture walaahi...but we are not that loud. And who in their right mind would complain about somali food?!!! :eek: Our bariis, shaah, and salad is why I survive....its why aan la feero weeynahay!!!

[Juxa]

macalimuu u have no idea how lucky u are kakaakaka

 

u said reer markood,,,,,do they ever bake maleeexaan,,,,,,,,that is dried up fish,,,,,,memoriesssssssssssssssss

[mojam]

it was entertaining reading that shit!