Tales of Interruped Dreamers

[N.O.R.F]

^^LoL, OK saxib

[Paragon]

Northerner, you might be aware but here is another short story I am entertaing in the blogosphere. Till tomorrow, Insha-Allah.

 

Part 1 - Fleeting moments and confessions

Part 2 - A play with emotions

Part 3 - The punishment of missed chances

 

...and still continues ...

[N.O.R.F]

I'll check 2mrw saxib. Long day is about to be wrapped up,,,,

[Paragon]

[There might be some spelling mistakes. Do forgive me. Written it in such a hurry]

 

IN THE LAST seventeen years of the civil-war, Liban always hoped that somehow one faction would rise to power and would defeat all other competing factions, strongly subjecting them to law and order. When it was at first reported that the UIC had arisen to supremacy, and had taken over entire Mogadishu, he felt sure that law and order would finally reign. However, having realized the strength and commitment of some in their support for clan Warlords, he couldn’t help but feel slightly pessimistic about the UIC’s religious cause. Somalis by nature, he thought, strongly support clannish causes over all other causes, including and especially, religious causes. This was not only Liban’s deductive reasoning and his brief observation of his community, but was a fact that has a strong validity. And it was that he was previously not willing to admit. In his belief of natural goodness of human being, he optimistically convinced himself that the majority of Somalis were good deep down.

 

When the tea kettle was readily boiled, instead of making his favourite cup of tea, Liban didn’t have any energy left in him to pour the hot water in the cup he held. Sluggishly, he left the kitchen and laboured towards the direction of his bedroom. Upon the standing beside the bed, he dropped himself on it and lay there with many thoughts whirling in his mind. Why, he asked himself, would my people hold such great enmity for their fellow members? Is seventeen years not enough to make them realize that clannishness is like sowing salt with no harvest to reap? These questioned repeatedly confronted him till thinking became painfully unbearable. Exhausted by burdening concerns for his people and country’s plight, he gently closed his eyes and dozed off into the oblivion of slumber.

 

--

Nurraddin, after a contemplative walk, was now entering his home. He immediately went to his wife, who was in the kitchen, to kindly request not to be disturbed by anyone. He asked her to keep the children away from his study - as he has very important work to do. And as usual with Jamaad, she accepted her husband’s request. Nurraddin promptly went upstairs to his study and locked the door and settled on a chair facing the window. Down below the window in the middle of a suburban road, the neighbour’s older children innocently played football. He observed them kick and toss the ball energetically, celebrating whenever one team scored goals against the other. The more he observed, the more he visualized his two children happily playing football in that same road, when they grow old enough. To see them grown into happy individuals has been a fantasy he has always dreamt of.

 

In a sudden consciousness, he suddenly stormed off the chair he was sitting on, screaming, ‘what on earth was I thinking?’ His scream was loud and violent that it startled his wife in the kitchen. ‘What happened honey’ screamed back, slightly petrified as ran up the stairs. He immediately rushed to the door of the study which directly faces the stairs and reassuringly shouted ‘oh nothing has happened, honey, nothing’s wrong’. By that time she was near the study’s door, ‘are you sure, honey, are you ok?’ she asked. ‘Yes honey, I am sure. It is nothing, trust me’ he told her and kissed her on the forehead, telling her to go back to the children.

 

Before he could close the study’s door again, the phone starts to ring, but instead of answering it, he nervously paces to and fro between the table, on which the phone rested, and the window he was previously sitting near. He kept looking out of the window and to the road, where the children played football and again at the ringing phone. In that moment, it seemed as though the window and the ringing phone promised two entirely different futures, of which he wasn’t sure which one to choose. The phone rang for almost five minutes and each ringing felt as if it was piercing sharply and deeper into his brain, until he could no longer withstand it. Desiring the ringing to just seize, he yanked-up the handle by total impulse and placed it on his left ear.

 

 

A brief ear comforting but yet nervous silence filled the atmosphere, which was broken by the caller’s hesitant ‘hello!’ ‘Yes, hello!’ responded Nurraddin asking ‘who is calling?’ ‘It is Abu-Zakaria calling from Mogadishu. May I ask who I am speaking to?’ returned the voice on the phone. ‘Nurraddin, you are speaking to Nurraddin sheikh’ confirmed Nurraddin. ‘Brother, as I informed you in our previous communication, I am calling you in reference to the recommendation of trusted brothers who’ve pointed out that you would of great asset to the noble cause we in which are involved. God-willing, we want you to play your role in the duty helping our people and country….’ Nurraddin, after hearing what Abu-Zakaria is suggesting interrupted him and asked ‘brother, I am flattered that the good sheikhs of the UIC think I am an asset to the cause, but to be honest with you, I don’t think I am well equipped to play any role in the struggle. I am sorry but that is the reality’ retorted Nurraddin.

 

Abu-Zakaria paused for a while before responding to Nurraddin and started explaining ‘Oh Akhii, don’t under-estimate yourself like that. I am certain that, without a shadow of doubt, you are exactly the sort of brothers can make or break the cause. Brother, none were equipped to do what we did. It was simply necessity that brought us the victory we have today and each and every one of us has a religious and national duty to maintain it. So, brother, please tell me you are ready to become part of a victorious history in the making’ pleaded Abu-Zakaria. Nurraddin didn’t know how to reply to this but sputtered out a faintly voiced agreement. ‘Jazaakallah, brother, thank very much’ said Zakaria and urgently went into the details of duty to which Nurraddin has been assigned. ‘Listen now, my beloved bother, it has been decreed by our good sheikhs, due to the fact that you have been known to have a good reputation for being well-spoken and informed, that you become the UIC’s spokesman in the United Kingdom. We have thought about the consequences which this position would entail, and in order not to jeopardize you and your family’s life, we have determined that you would not face any dangers by becoming our spokesman in London’ narrated Abu-Zakaria and continued talking. All the while, Nurraddin nodded his head with an uneasy agreement.

 

Already he was going into mental state of psychological readiness, and gathered together thoughts about how he would carry out the duty of being a spokesman. Although he was never been involved in direct political engagement such as the one expected of him by the UIC, his imagination was mapping out the responsibilities, challenges and expectations of the role to which he has been charged. ‘I need full information urgently, brother’ interjected Nurraddin, ‘pass me all the literature, manifestos or the mission statement of the UIC. I need that. How soon can you deliver such information to me, brother’ requested Nurraddin. But Abu-Zakaria did not respond quickly. It took him sometime to speak. ‘Nurraddin, brother, brother’ he stammered, ‘I am really sorry but we have no such information…none of us compiled anything close to the information you are requesting. All the time we were busy fighting not writing and we were hoping that you would help gather information and write literature for us. This is why we contacted you’ revealed Abu-Zakaria.

 

This revelation came to Nurraddin as a shock. ‘What do you mean? You mean in the whole two months of your rule you have prepared no literature or information of any kind to educate the public and the International Community? You mean there isn’t even a single person who knows how to write?’ exclaimed Nurraddin with dismay. Abu-Zakaria frankly responded, ‘none amongst us is a man of letters in English, brother, we only write Arabic and we have ready information only in Arabic, Nurraddin. What we are in utmost need of now is English literature for Western educated brothers and sisters such as you.’

 

All of a sudden Nurraddin’s assigned role assumed a great importance and responsibility. Unable to find the right words to say to Abu-Zakaria, Nurraddin scratched his head and forced few sentences past his throat ‘Ahem, brother Abu-Zakaria, I didn’t imagine the role I have been assigned will entail such great seriousness and responsibility. By God, I don’t even know where to begin now. I don’t know. I don’t know what to say and to be honest; I would need some time to think through all you are asking me to do.!’ Realizing that Nurraddin is now feeling heavily burdened, Abu-Zakaria gently responded with ‘I am sorry, Akhii, I can imagine we’ve burdened you greatly but you are among the few people we can turn to. I hope Allah will reward for all your noble contribution, and now I will give you the time you need to think, for a week. Remember brother time is not on our side so please try your best.’ Nurraddin thanked Abu-Zakaria for calling and bid him good bye.

 

This ends the first chapter

 

Second chapter coming up soon...

[Paragon]

Second Chapter: Start...

 

Unknown to both Liban and Nurraddin, group of five former university friends were meeting up for their usual Saturday night get together. Every weekend, they meet in their favourite in Edgware Road – Western London. All of them having graduated with degrees in wide-ranging fields such as International Relations, Diplomacy and Development Studies, and currently working in jobs not affiliated to their fields of specialty, they often meet to exchange news of opportunities. In addition to that, their meeting up allowed them to hold discussions on various political matters, and whichever other subject that appeals to their curiosity. Among the group, is a recent Somali diplomacy graduate, Dahir, with the aspiration of working as a diplomat some day when a state in re-instated in his native country, Somalia.

 

Of the other four, Kevin, Carsten and Aslam, they were not Somali or even African. Kevin was a middle-class English man in his early twenties; Carsten was a German was almost the same age as Kevin, who came to London to study but never went back; Aslam, on the other hand, was a 27 year old British-born Pakistani whose members of his family live in Pakistan; and John was a 30 year old American who has come to do his doctorate in a London university and works part-time as a Socialist Students official within the Socialist party. The common denominator that has brought these men together was their active participation in the organization of leftist political campaigns. Campaigns ,which organized rallies and protests against, what they saw as being, the discontents of Capitalist global exploitation- exacerbated by the deployment of the power wielded by willing Western liberal states. Theirs was a cause of fighting for economic fairness and political non-intervention in Third World countries.

 

In all their campaigning efforts, however, the issues of Somalia have never taken a centre stage in their agendas. Thus, their political radar did not extend to Somali and African politics. For them, Somalia’s internal and clan civil war, if they were endeavour to speak about, this might lead to criticism from one clan and label them partisans in what is an ugly vicious cycle of blame game. But, often Dahir did not shy away from making his views and aspirations towards his native-country known. The rest of the group always joked and warned Dahir that his involvement in Somali politics, let alone other African politics, might be as good as signing his own death warrant. Thus, slightly feeling discouraged, Dahir gradually began worming up to the idea of staying clear of African politics, and instead trying his luck with working in British overseas embassies, as he was also a British citizen. He felt as though the group has been intentionally trying to avoid initiating a real discussion about current Somali issues, and for the most part of their meetings; this feeling made him keep the issue on a low profile.

 

 

However, that night, Dahir was adamant and insistently upbeat, about making recent political developments in Somalia, the night’s discussion. Even when his friends had tried to digress from the topic he has proposed, he found a way to bring them back to Somalia’s political on-goings. While the group discussed recent news coverage on Somalia casually, Dahir was at all not satisfied with such general details. He was growing more eager for a serious and in-depth discussion on Somali political development. Among this group of friends, expect for him, it was only Carsten who was most knowledgeable on Horn of African geo-politics. Carsten was sitting opposite to where he was sitting and was silent, as though completing on serious philosophical questions, as is usual with him. Snapping his fingers rather loudly, to get Carsten’s attention, he leaned forward and asked ‘Carsten, oh dear Carsten, would you be so kind in enlightening us on recent change in Somali politics. Please tell us, what do you think these changes mean for the country, and saliently, for regional geo-politics?’ Carsten smiled at Dahir, his facing assuming a brighter shade and looked around at his friends. Carsten is by nature someone who demands complete attention of his audiences if and when he decides to lecture them as if his words are too missed or misheard. His quick glance at friends has registered in him that feeling that Dahir’s question to be of some importance, as it has made them attentive in anticipation to hear his informed answer and analysis.

 

‘A very important, Dahir’ began Carsten, ‘what has happened in Somalia in the last few months, was indeed so dramatic and completely unexpected, that one can confidently claim that the UIC’s rise, was nothing short of a revolution.’ ‘Alleluia!’ exclaimed Kevin. Kevin’s timely Alleluia threw the group into laugher, which solicited a low inaudible comment from Aslam. ‘Shush, quiet, quiet!’ demanded Dahir as he made himself comfortable in his seat, ‘continue please, Carsten! Please elaborate!’ he kindly requested. ‘What I am trying to say here is that really, with such grass-root revolutions however impressive they appear are likely to be short-lived in Africa for they come with domestic legitimacy!’ explained Carsten. But instead of continuing, looking somewhat hesitant to continue and faced Dahir. He knew what he has was about to say next would dampen Dahir’s enthusiastic attitude. The night has so far been enjoying and he didn’t want to spoil with his seemingly negative assessment of the Somali situation. Yet his slight hesitation met with the group’s demanding ‘continue, don’t stop now!’

 

He realized he couldn’t stop there abruptly. He had to pick it up from where he stopped. ‘And legitimacy, friends, guarantees the assured longevity of the ruler!’ he posited. ‘Exactly how is that relevant in current Somali political atmosphere, if I may ask?’ inquired Aslam. ‘Yes please tell us then’ added John. Whatever the outcome, Carsten thought; I must display the brilliance of my grasp on this particular matter. He sat upright and stretched his hands upon the table in preparation. Concentrating his eyes on the cup of mint tea before him, he began to explain: ‘the legitimate, lengthened rule of the victorious Union of Islamic Courts in Mogadishu really appears to me to be a political paradox.’ ‘What do you a political paradox?’ interjected Dahir with a less enthusiastic face. ‘If you would just let me explain further’ requested Carsten. ‘Please do by all means’ Dahir said agreeably. That is when Carsten, after clearing his throat for better delivery of speech give a long explanation beginning with:

 

‘There is a political paradox because what you have in Mogadishu is the incredible clash of domestic political legitimacy and regional/international disapproval! The UIC fighters, who have come to power with the help of wide-spread grass-root support, are considered legends by the Somali public, and the paradox is, I am afraid to say; regionally and internationally, these fighters are beginning called names with negative political connotations such as Islamists, extremists, terrorists, and being accused of providing a safe haven for alleged terror networks like Al-Qaeda and so on. And one fact that we derive from such name-callings is prelude to being included in America’s so-called ‘Axis of Evil’. What we must also remember about the raise of the UIC is this: the very initial necessity that has miraculously brought them to power has the likelihood of ironically driving them out of power! In their rank and file, the UIC consists of figures who have taken arms against local War-lords, armed with Ethiopian weaponry that was financed with American dollars.

 

Both the Americans and the Ethiopians of course have their predicable lame interests in shaping Somali politics, or even better for them, maintaining it in its chaotic state. Americans says it wants to capture the suspected terrorists who have masterminded the bombing of their embassies in East Africa. Ethiopian, in turn, has many multi-faceted and history interests in Somalia. As the prime enemy of Somalia even in ancient times, she was wants to assure no strong government comes to exist; a government that may ‘threaten’ its national security. These two countries are willing to enforce their interests in Somalia through either full-on invasion or gun-boat diplomacy, and it is for this reason that Ethiopia has thousands of troops already inside Somalia, closely stationed near Mogadishu in the town of Baidoa. Similarly, American war-ships are station in the Somali Ocean with Mogadishu in sight. Their reason for being there was to imprison wrongly suspected religious leaders and businessmen, whom their Warlord minions were to hunt and deliver.

 

That was the plan then but in a queer turn of events, the hunted became the hunters and miraculously defeated an entire coalition of Warlords. However, ousting them is one thing but becoming exempted from the US’ so-called war-on-terror is a whole different ball-game! Compositionally, most of the UIC’s members, which are united by political Islam, would almost certainly attract the US or its minions’ attempts to conduct a regime change! Sooner or later, the UIC, just like the Taliban of Afghanistan and Saddam of Iraq, may become subjected to a forceful regime. And this surely, will cost the war-ravaged people of Somalia very dearly!’

 

After finishing his analysis, Carsten, seeming somewhat displeased to have shared his not-so-positive analysis, exhaled and fell back into his chair. Of the group, Dahir appeared most saddened by Carsten apocalyptic but yet realistic analysis of the situation. Without making any effort to comment on Carsten’s analysis, he picked up the pot of mint tea and poured himself more tea. Carsten realized Dahir’s sudden fall into a mood of unhappiness. In his a bid to cheer him up Carsten commented ‘Dahir, please remember that my analysis is most probably inaccurate and I am hoping would be the case. Who knows, the UIC might not necessarily face any internal and external obstacles at all. Ten years from now, it is absolutely possible that I would be popping in to see you in a London Somali embassy as the Chief Diplomat, mate!’ Dahir chuckled at the thought. ‘You may very well be right, Carsten’ added John. ‘Dahir, I might even come seeking a position under you, mate. Just don’t ignore me, you hear?’ Kevin jokingly said. ‘Stop it guys! You are making me grow a big head now’ said Dahir sarcastically. Soon afterwards, John looked at his watch and told the group ‘guys I must catch the last train.’ ‘We might all do so as well. We’ve all got a long commute ahead of us’ added Aslam.

 

Before they parted Carsten stood to say few words. Feeling somewhat guilty about his previous negative analysis he advised:

 

‘Brother, the time has come again to up the ante against the disastrous and destructive American foreign policy, which, as we speak, is wrecking havoc on the poor of the Third World. We must strive intensively and extensively, to make sure the now peaceful Somalia and its people don’t become the victims of US’ and its minion, Ethiopia’s state terrorism. We must campaign and organize; we must inform the world and mobile support; we must write to influential political leaders and influence international politics spare the already wave-stricken people whose only chance to peace and life the US would destroy. We must undertake this project with utmost urgency, while we still have ample time. There is no second guessing the hawkish neo-conservatives in White House are planning against the UIC but we mustn’t give them the time of the day to do anything. I suggest that from this on-coming week, we draw the plans for this project. And since I am suggesting it, I intend to fully commit to it. I don’t know what you guys have to say about my suggestion, but I beg you to join me’ ended Carsten’s advice.

 

On that suggestion, the group immediately started clapping. They were impressed by Carsten’s fore-sight and suggestion. Soon as their clapping faded, Dahir moved closer to stand beside Carsten, place his right hand on his right shoulder and energetically began to chant, ‘Oh captain, my captain, sail across the high seas and I would follow; trek across vast terrains and I would follow; or lead me to war and beside you, like this, I shall fight to live or to die as is your fate!’ The group received Dahir’s animated and humorous chant jovially and began to sing and repeat Dahir’s chant. Their chanting symbolized a vow of committed comradeship in what they called ‘Operation Protecting Revolutions (OPR)’. On this note, they say their goodbyes and departed with the understanding communicating with each other via emails within the on-coming week days.

[xiinfaniin]

^^You are a true revolutionary/activist adeer---no matter how you burry your raw sentiments in fictional narrative, your radical views on Somalia’s tragic status quo innocently float up. The turn of phrases aside, yours has a distinct and genteel quality. Please do continue…

 

I will critique it IA, as time permits it.

[Paragon]

^^Thank you very much adeer. Much appreciated. Lol@innocently floats up. Adeer, wax qari baaban islahaaye siday wax iga noqdeen. I look forward to your critique xiinoow.

 

Remember i have written things in haste. Might come across as different as I intended.

[N.O.R.F]

Before he could close the study’s door again, the phone starts to ring, but instead of answering it, he nervously paces to and fro between the table, on which the phone rested, and the window he was previously sitting near. He kept looking out of the window and to the road, where the children played football and again at the ringing phone. In that moment, it seemed as though the window and the ringing phone promised two entirely different futures, of which he wasn’t sure which one to choose. The phone rang for almost five minutes and each ringing felt as if it was piercing sharply and deeper into his brain, until he could no longer withstand it. Desiring the ringing to just seize, he yanked-up the handle by total impulse and placed it on his left ear.

So he chose the red pill :cool:

 

Every weekend, they meet in their favourite in Edgware Road – Western London. All of them having graduated with degrees in wide-ranging fields

Edgware Rd? What happened to East Ham?

 

Good stuff saxib.

[Paragon]

^^Edgware is more strategic. East Ham iyo Baangooliga do not inspire great stories sxb

[N.O.R.F]

LooL, seen

[Paragon]

^

 

Chapter Three (Lee and Mo) [some bits unedited - actually any volunteer editors? Im growing lazier by the day.]

 

A week has gone by since Liban’s hostile encounter in the Somali restaurant. And in the last few days, he did not bother going out of the house, save the odd visit to the local convenient store. He has been avoided all contact from anyone he might know. The area in which he lives has a large population of Somalis, and many of them know him in person. He made a lot of friends in the years he has lived in Southall, which is a immigrant dominated neighbourhood that comes under the borough of Ealing. Since he came to the United Kingdom, he has never for once moved away from Southall. As he considered it, Southall was the best place he could live in. Due to Southall’s proximity to Heathrow Airport, which many of Somalis have used to enter country, it meant that the number of Somalis settling in Southall was bound to grow. Thus, every day, to Liban’s delight, individuals whom he used to know in Mogadishu were joining Southall’s Somali crowd.

 

At most times, these individuals would bring news and accounts of the war or peace in Mogadishu. Sometimes, he was even lucky enough to find individuals, who have seen his family; who carried messages for him. In return, since he knows how things work in the UK, they would seek his assistance in all kinds of matters. Thus, his usefulness in assisting the new-comers has made him reputable and in high demand. Every day, not an hour passes, without receiving phones calls from those who require his assistance. However, over the last week, he kept his phone switched off. A week ago, he was angry at the fact that, the very people he has assisted in settling into the country, would be so ungrateful enough so as to threaten his own self. ‘To hell with them all’ he cursed before switching off the phone.

 

However, that was a week ago. Time seemed to have slightly healed some of his hurt. He picked up his mobile phone to switch it on, and no sooner have multiple various messages appeared on its screen. As usual, the messages were all about assistance sought except for one. This was not a message that was asking for assistance. To his surprise, it started with ‘so sorry about the restaurant incident the other day, Lee’ ending with ‘like to talk to you. Call me. Mo.’ The message puzzled Liban as he could not recognize who its sender was. He knew no one called Mo. He immediately wrote down the number of the sender and dialed it. After few rings, his call was answered with ‘ah Liban, I am glad you called’. ‘Thanks’ he replied ‘but if you don’t mind, do I know who you are?’ ‘Oh I am sorry for not introducing myself’ came back an apology ‘I am Mo, or Mohamed. I was in the restaurant that day you encountered the clannish man. I agreed with what you said, and after you have left, I got your number from one of the guys who was there’ explained Mo. ‘Thanks and nice to know you Mo’ answered Liban, to which Mo replied similarly.

 

Mo then continued to speak. ‘Liban, since we share the same stance, I was hoping we could meet sometime. It’s why I sent you the message’ stated Mo. ‘Sure we can, absolutely’ responded Liban. ‘That’s really great!’ enthused Mo, ‘if you are free, we could meet later in Red Sea café!’ ‘Yeah, as it happens, I am free from 8 pm. It’s now 6.30 and if you are OK with it, I can make it there around at 8.30’ said Liban. ‘8.30 its then’ agreed Mo, and with their meeting arranged, they ended the call.

 

 

Liban and Mo were not the only people arranging to meet up. Across the city of London and beyond, many like-minded Somali youth were arranging to meet, and discuss the role they should play in the future of Somali politics. A wave of optimism was sweeping across all the lands in which Somalis dwelt. From Mogadishu in Somalia to Burao in what is now Somaliland, from cities of the Northern Frontier Districts of Kenya to all Diaspora cities, Somalis become engaged in all sorts of meetings, and fund-raising projects, inspired by the victory the UIC brought about. At least, people felt, the peace that has eluded our country for so long, was finally back, and with peace, only the brightest future could be envisaged. The UIC and its senior figures suddenly became the symbols of hope and heroism. They were to be considered the saviors of the Somali nation from all the agonies of war, and the brutal Ethiopian incursions into the country’s porous territorial borders.

 

The people’s optimism about the victory of the UIC has even prompted a great deal conscientious self-analysis, in line with how best to facilitate the successful functioning of the future Somali state. Many parents looked to their grown and educated children to play vital role in the country’s rehabilitation, reconstruction and development process. They had good reasons to have such expectations of their children. In the last seventeen of the civil war, many families, who sought asylum in foreign countries, have been fortunate enough to have raised children, who gained valuable education in higher institutions across the world. There has never been a time when there were so many highly educated and qualified Somali graduates in all fields, not even during the heydays of the Somali statehood. This has been the upside of the war’s displacement, and now since there is peace, the educated youth would become a great benefit to a future Somali state.

 

Until now, peace was the only ingredient missing from the Somali life. But at last, many rejoiced, the heroic UIC has blessed our nation with the thing it most craved; peace. While the residents of Mogadishu were able, for the first time in seventeen punishing years, to get a good night sleep, Somalis in the Diaspora, especially the educated lot, could now dream of greater things to come. A feeling of great pride filled their hearts and for the first time in many years, they could now hold their heads high without any shame. Before the UIC’s victory in Mogadishu, the reality of statelessness in Somalia has negatively affected the morale of those living in the Diaspora. Everywhere they went, from social events to work places, the joke was always on them. Colleagues of other nationalities, cited Somalia’s chaotic statelessness to embarrass the Somali person, for his or her community’s inability to sort out their domestic problems, and co-exist like other civilized human beings.

 

And in many cases, since the Somali community is inflicted with a divisive clan politics, which makes it impossible to have a common voice, the national media and the press tended to find them the easiest target to defame. Constantly, hurtful and outrageous headlines such as ‘Somalis steal Donkeys and eat them for delicacy’ appeared on the newspapers. To add insult to injury, the newspapers, televisions stations, and at times, high ranking political figures, have misleadingly accused the community of committing most of the serious crimes in the UK. But in fact, what independent research has shown more than once is that, the most victimized ethnic group in, for example the UK, is the Somali community. The number of Diaspora Somalis murdered or seriously injured every year, is extremely alarming –yet no effective measures have been taken by governments to avert or even minimize the community’s victim-hood. Far from such effective measures, the Somali community continues to suffer stigmatization in all aspects of social life. Moreover, as though prior difficulties were not painful enough, the July 7th 2004 London bombings had another explosively wrapped gift to offer – terrorism. The list of the negatives grew once more. And, as can be imagined, the latter charge of terrorism tarnished the community’s image beyond repair.

 

It thus was understandable, that the Somali community would jubilate at the news of the UIC’s victory. In the conversations they had, the great opportunity of returning to the Motherland greatly featured in it. While some talked about going back very soon, many others have already flown back to Mogadishu, congregating on the city from all the corners of the globe. They rejoined their families after seventeen, celebrated in the streets, and swam, for the first time in many years, in its beaches. Many of Mogadishu’s residents to whom the beaches were a no-go area, joined them too. The pictures of the peaceful city, coupled with the happiness visible on its residents’ faces, were beamed throughout the world. Their content and composition couldn’t be more encouraging. Printed out, the pictures could be found hanging from the walls of Somali-owned businesses and homes. Hanging them from the walls, somehow, symbolized an act of sharing happy moments with their fellow countrymen everywhere. Soon enough, they began to convince themselves that they would be back to a peaceful homeland, instead of living in the humiliating refugee status they have come to despise. The emotional connection to their homeland has been firmly established.

 

Talking of emotional connection, in every day of his life as an asylum seeker, Liban never missed to feel a strong psychological connection between him and the country. That psychological connection came in the form of innate grief or relief, in accordance with the country’s situation at particular moments, despite not watching or listening to the news. He just felt things and strangely enough they he felt true. On the one hand, whenever he felt that innate grief, he would retort ‘oh Allah, have mercy on my people’ and for the rest of the day he remained despondent. On the other hand, whenever felt relief, he would feel confident enough to go out and enjoy the day. Such being the case, according to Liban, Somalia isn’t just some old land in which his fore-fathers were buried, whose safety is comparable to that of any other country. Nor was Somalia a simple physical non-living location, on which those who’ve erected structural objects were to call it home. No. Somalia to him is his very heart and soul. Anything that affected Somalia hurt or healed his heart. Therefore, he was convinced that his fate was intertwined with that of his country. Peace in the country in the country meant success in his personal life. And now that peace has been established, nothing was going to stop to acquire his deserved success. To acquire success, he envisioned, he must quickly become engaged in activities contributing to the endurance of peace at home. Now he needed ideas immensely and hoped meeting with Mo would generate some.

 

As he entered Red café, because he didn’t know how Mo looked, he reached into his pocket and took out his mobile phone to call him. But before he could press dial, deeper inside the café, he spotted a man in his late twenties waving to get his attention. He returned the phone into the pocket and walked to join the man. The man was Mo, who, so eager to meet Liban, he arrived fifteen minutes earlier and was able to eavesdrop on the conversations others were having. In Somali cafes and restaurants, all conversations seemed to be about the UIC’s victory of Somalia. Even those few people who opposed the UIC, for tribal reasons, couldn’t avoid mentioning the name of the UIC.

 

This uniformity in discussion topics, impressed Mo during the fifteen minutes he waited for Liban to join him. ‘Greetings friend, welcome please’ said Mo while he shook Liban’s hand. ‘Likewise, my friend, likewise’ repeated Liban as he seated himself. After the unusually long Somali salutation has ended, Mo commented ‘by the way, your head-butting of the filthy old clannist in the restaurant was superbly delivered. It reminded me of Zedan!’ They both laughed. ‘I wasn’t as good’ replied Liban and said ‘seriously though, I was naïve enough to address such a filthy clannist in a debate. I always thought better of my people in the Diaspora, but I guess I was wrong. Some of them are nonsensically full of hate’ ‘So sorry mate’ sympathized Mo ‘sorry you had to find that out violently. I should tell you brother; some of these people have serious mental delusions. You just have to learn to spot the sick ones’. ‘But it is hard to spot them, isn’t it? People who otherwise appear sane go nuts at the mention of clan politics! That makes it hard to be sure to know the Somali person very well, isn’t it?’ wondered Liban as Mo listened with concern. ‘Yeah, it is mate. Just thinking about it is depressing the hell out of me Lee’ responded Mo and suggested ‘you know bro, I’d rather talk about happy things about our community’, to which Liban agreed. Liban then signaled at the waiter passing-by. ‘We would like some drinks. Bring me a cup of spicy tea, please’ he ordered. ‘Make that two, please’ added Mo.

 

As they waited for their tea to arrive, Liban turned to Mo and questioning him ‘Tell me Mo, what do you really think of the UIC and its nationalist agenda?’ Mo confidently smiled to answer that ‘the UIC were absolutely superb and their nationalist agenda simply impressive!’ ‘Elaborate on that please’ asked Liban. And Mo more than willing to elaborate, took a sip of his tea and explained ‘I think they have performed a miracle like no other in the whole Somali history. I am also impressed by their nationalist agenda which is, unlike the prevailing politics of divisionism, based on the beautiful concept of United Greater Somalia.’ ‘But don’t you think this concept of United Greater Somalia has a potential to cause a regional friction between and Ethiopia?’ interjected Liban. ‘Perhaps it could cause a friction, but the fact is that the UIC or no UIC, Ethiopia always has a bone to pick with us. Trust me, this is not going to change until we bloody teach Ethiopia a historical lesson they’ll never forget’ Joked Mo. ‘I know exactly what you mean’ admitted Liban, ‘but the problem is, before we can even contemplate teaching Ethiopia such lessons, we need to build a strong and powerful nation. For the moment all remains a distant dream. And considering the infancy of the UIC, I would not be surprised if Ethiopia deliberates to nip our only hope for a state at its bud’ worried Liban. ‘Don’t you worry mate, Ethiopia and her American backers can do all they want but the will of the nation cannot be defeated by their attempts. Even if they overpower us temporarily, the truth is what the people want the people get. They would bring back the UIC to power; just Hugo Chavez has been brought to Venezuela’s rule by the people.’ declared Mo. ‘Let us hope so brother. But most importantly we must play our roles to strengthen the UIC’s power’ replied Liban. ‘Of course, we must play our role, which is why I wanted to meet you today’ agreed Mo. ‘Is that so’ inquired Liban. Mo, before answering, picked his small brief case which was beside the chair he was sitting on. ‘The reason why I wanted to meet you’ he began saying as he opened the brief case and took out a piece of paper and handing it to Liban, ‘is all written on this paper, if you would believe peruse through it.’ He stopped talking as Liban’s eyes concentrated on what was written on the paper.

 

The information contained in the paper was written in Somali, which Liban found easy to quickly read. Liban then placed the piece of paper on the table and raised his gazed to adjust his eyes on Mo. ‘Impressed and gladdened’ said Liban. Mo couldn’t conceal the happy smile on his face. ‘Thanks. Judging from the comment you made that day in the restaurant, I had a hunch that would it the information on the paper’ replied Mo. ‘You knew al that by simply hearing my comment, eh?’ teased Liban. ‘Absolutely’ said Mo as he sipped on his tea again ‘you know you can now a man’s character by hearing less than a minute of his impassioned expression?’ said Mo. The confidence with which Mo had commented made Liban chuckled. ‘I don’t think everyone has that ability to learn about a man accurately, except one has a unique talent, Mo’ remarked Liban. Mo has often heard many people making remarks similar to Liban’s. ‘Many have said that before, Lee. But one thing you should know about me should be is that, my profession highly requires a quick accurate observation and assessment, of prospective candidates to be approached. And talking of candidates, I think you are one I am most eager to recruit’ revealed Mo. Liban shifted in his seat with a slight uneasiness. ‘No, no!’ exclaimed Mo, ‘it’s not what you think. I can almost sense your uneasiness. Please, relax’ encouraged Mo. ‘No, I am OK’ replied Liban, ‘I must admit that I was a little tensed, but I am OK, really.’ Mo laughed and sarcastically said ‘thought I was in the KGB, eh?’

 

Mo, looked around to reach for his small brief case, picked it up and placed it on the table. ‘Lee, I am happy to reveal to you that I am no one to be feared at all’ said Mo while he unlocked the brief case, ‘in fact I am successful political head-hunter hired to spot people with potential in a future political arena.’ He took out his business card stapled to his resume, and slyly boasting ‘and for your information, some people even call me ‘a king-maker. Probably this is what had attracted the attention of the UIC to commission me.’ Liban glanced at the business card, subsequently allowing his eyes to wonder down the list of impressive employers Mo has worked for. At the bottom of the resume, two reputable references were listed. But, since Liban doesn’t possess any English literacy, he quickly fixed his glance on the business card on which he could make out ‘Mohamed A. Abdullahi’.

 

‘‘Mohamed A. Abdullahi’ that is your full name right?’ asked Liban. ‘Yes, that’s right, Liban’ replied Mo. ‘OK, Mohamed. I am sure you are good at what you do brother’ began Liban, ‘just I know one of you; it is only fair that I tell you one thing about me too.’ Liban paused. ‘Please,’ replied Mo ‘continue, do tell me.’ ‘Well, first of all, I am hardly the kind of person that could be seen as a candidate for any task, let alone a political one. I am basically ill-equipped for most tasks because I am poorly educated and trained. Shamefully, I could not even read the business card and paper you just handed me. So that rules me out as candidate you might wish to head-hunt’ lamented Liban. Mo attentively listened to what Liban to say, and realizing that Liban suffered from low self-esteemed. For half a minute, he remained silent as he went through his thoughts to assemble few words to encourage Liban. ‘Lee’ he began, ‘I think you have the wrong idea of what head-hunting means. ‘Head-hunting’ explained Mo, ‘especially the one I conduct, ‘pays no regard to one’s attained linguistic knowledge. No, its only interest concerns itself with one’s inner qualities and talents as a person.’

 

This definition of head-hunting relieved Liban enough as to ask ‘what inner qualities and talents do I have that you have so far noticed?’ ‘Believe me, enough, my friend, enough about you that I can reveal but on one condition’ replied Mo. ‘Hmm! And what might that condition be?’ wondered Liban. ‘On the condition that you accept my proposal, and in essence, become a member of political project I have been assigned. Of course that project concerns the advancement of UIC position within the Diaspora Somalis. And I pray that you would accept it. Would you, please?’ said Mo. Liban couldn’t believe that Mo thinks that he can be useful to the UIC in any way. He felt comforted by the way Mo seems to appreciate him. Never in his life has he met someone who considered him talented and useful. He felt as though Mo’s proposal would be his only opportunity, of taking part in a glorious Somali history in its making. ‘Yes! Of course I accept’ jumped Liban with his answer. Mo’s mood of anticipation about Liban’s answer quickly gave way to a triumphant cheer. ‘Good man’ shouted Mo, ‘you sure made me glad and made you a hero!’ Liban chuckled shyly at Mo’s dramatic reaction. Trying not to continue looking at Mo’s face, which seemed overwhelmed by a celebratory expression, he turned away. His eyes caught the waiter collecting some cups from a nearby table. ‘Oh, excuse me sir, could you attend to us when you are free?’ he addressed the waiter, to which the waiter nodded.

 

Liban desperately needed any sort of distraction that would keep off Mo from praising him, as this was reducing him to an embarrassment. Although the question of asking Mo what he saw in him tickled his curiosity, he just wanted the subject to change. He never felt comfortable when people commend him at such a level. But Mo, intending to motivate Liban even more, to the tasks in which he has accepted to partake, continued with his commendations. ‘You know’ said Mo, ‘I proud to declare to you that the UIC has gained a passionate and committed candidate to its cause. Tell you what; it is these two qualities – of passion and commitment – that you have that had impressed that day in the restaurant. The way expressed your opinion that day had showed what a good advocate you are for the things in which you strongly believe’ remarked Mo at the same time tightening his fist. Passion and commitment, thought Liban, I didn’t think I had them in me. ‘Thank you Mo’ replied Liban, asking ‘what is it that you want me to do then?’ ‘All in due time, Lee, I will tell you all in due time. But now I think the time for the evening prayer is due. We should head for the Mosque.’ suggested Mo. Although wanted to order another round of tea and could do with it, he couldn’t turn down an invitation to the Mosque. They stood up to leave, and Mo took out some money and threw on the table. As they walked out, Liban passed the waiter whom he had requested his attendance before and apologized for leaving so soon.

---

 

Chapter Four (Khadija & Friends) - Time to bring in the sisters, I believe

 

Khadija arrived home late at night from socializing some of closest friend. The night’s commute has exhausted her like never before. Naturally, she is an energetic young lady in her mid-twenties, who was used to traveling on the tube for hours on end. But that night, she was surprised that one train’s journey has taken its toll on her. Usually when she is that tired, sleeping becomes a problem and unwind herself, should had the habit of stretching herself out on the couch while she watches the news on the television. Soon as she made herself comfortable on the couch, she reached for the remote control and switch on the television. In the first few minutes, there was nothing that caught her attention. Then, at the bottom of the television set, the marquee began to roll a line that says: ‘Somalia’s UIC have gained more territory in and around Mogadishu.’ Hmm! She thought, the UIC is surely moving with rapidity it seems.

 

....To be continued..

[Faheema.]

^ Walee hurdo la'aan baa kaa il heshay.

 

p.s. Nice piece

[Paragon]

^^Thanks. But wait. Nice piece kute. Ma adaa akhrisayba? I just posted it .

 

Hurdo la'aan? Lol. Actually Afrikaan ku soo qorey - Im just retrieving the pieces from the USB stick I have saved them in. Just imagine sitting meel cidlo ah - semi-Miyi and tapping away on the laptop. No humans around only the odd hissing sagaaro .

[Faheema.]

^LoL, That is just surreal...Lakiin tell me where you got your laptop from, battery life waaba heersare ma istidhi

[Ibtisam]

How do you get time to write all this, and during Ramadan as well! seriously time most stop/ go slower for you.

 

P.s. Good stuff.