Sophist Posted December 14, 2006 A good read indeed for those who experianced sipping camel milk under the starry heavens above. --- Maan-hadal in the Jungle A brief, worthy sojourn in Hawd By A. Duale Sii'arag December 11,2006 “One hundred years ago, at the Berlin Conference, the Colonial powers that ruled Africa met to divvy up their interests into states, lumping various peoples and tribes together in some places, or slicing them apart in others like some demented tailor who paid no attention to the fabric, color or pattern of the quilt he was patching together”. Wole Soyinka, Nigerian writer and Noble laureate High with the effect of the stimulant Qaad, someone in Maan-hadal floated the idea of taking a journey to Hawd - the land of my birth and home of the vast dwindling vestiges of traditional Somali way of life. A group of us cherishing romantic longings for the picturesque settings of the camel grazing land of the Hawd were enthused by the idea. I had always romanticized at heart the idea of revisiting the Hawd and the refreshing vistas of its wild scenery, and often reminisced the good old days of my formative years. We started our trip at daybreak next morning, leaving behind the din and blare of the car horns and polluting exhaust fumes of the fast sprawling city of Hargeisa. We took a winding rough track through the countryside. With dark thunderclouds overhead, we were greeted with cold, fresh and sweet-smelling air of the rainy season. The vast plains of the countryside were carpeted with luxuriant grass and lush green vegetations, thorn trees and dense thickets of various plants. Here and there, tall green anthills dotted the landscape. In the rain-soaked reddish-colored earth, we could see fresh imprints and spoor of various animals. Birds of varied colours and feather, some in flocks, were singing on the branches at the top of the galool trees. It was a journey of few hours by a four wheel jeep, or so we thought. The car stereo played a selection of Qarami music – my all-time favorite classical songs. With nostalgic intent, we listened to the melodious singing voices of Mohamed Ahmed, Abdillahi Qarshe, Magool, Sahra Ahmed, Khadra Daahir, Ahmed Ali Cigaal and many more and mellowed out all along. From time to time, we sang along with the songs in chorus, irresistibly. As we progressed towards the interior of the countryside, the fresh morning air was filled with the fragrance of sweet smelling forest flowers. We scented the pleasant aromas of the wild flowers wafted along by the morning breeze. A cold, thick blanket of white mist crept over the ground, enshrouding the scattered acacia trees and making visibility almost nil. The blurry outline of low-lying hilltops stood silhouetted against shrouding dense fog. It was a beautiful romantic scene. With our nostrils stormed by the pleasant aroma of the fresh rainy breeze, we switched the music to Sahra Ahmed and Hassan Adan Samatar’s famous duet “Saxansaxo udgoon badan sanka kuula raaca”- the lyrics of the prominent poet, composer and playwright, Hassan Ganey. After two and half hours drive, threatening thunderclouds overhead opened on to us an immense heavenly deluge, rendering the muddy track slippery. In the past one week, the Deyr rain had fallen heavily and in abundance with rainwater standing in tantalizing puddles. We got stuck in the mud twice. All around us was green foliage and waving grass of the freshest hue. As the driver struggled to disentangle the wheels from the mud, we alighted from the vehicle and drank voraciously cold draughts of the pure rain water as it ran in streams down the vehicle track. Bountifully, the water rushed down the rut of the road and nearby gullies. Released from the mud we continued to steer through the drenched track for several more hours. We crossed the imaginary, arbitrarily drawn “border” with a sense of defiance and disgust. As a testimony of a living disgrace, the unnatural border virtually dissects me from my brother. As the eminent professor Wole Soyinka aptly laments, the 1884 Berlin Conference where Africa was arbitrarily partitioned, sow the seeds of eternal conflicts. The problems in Africa, whether ethnic or inter-state conflict, economic stagnation, prevalent instability or lack of adequate interaction and cooperation among African states are all rooted in the artificial borders that became stiff barriers to economic development, and the much-needed people-to-people interface and cross-cultural fertilizations. (That is for another article). Down the road, we sighted a camel foaming at mouth; several gazelle and ostriches and a female antelope with two young ones gamboling beside her. Further afield, we espied a solitary oryx standing in an open field, a pair of warthog sporting white tusks and a long line of grazing camels, with the camel bell jingling melodiously in the breeze. We crossed a mighty vastness of rolling grassy plains stretching away as far as one can see, before we struck a belt of dense forest. We were mesmerized by the heavenly beauty of the Hawd. We journeyed for ten long hours before we reached the outskirts of a black thorn-fenced encampment where a number of wonderfully erected traditional huts made of craftily woven reed-mats and curved wood sticks were ensconced. We were awaited and greeted with generous hospitality characteristic of the noble men of the Hawd. After a short exchange of warm pleasantries, we were ushered into one of the huts carpeted with fine-looking hand-woven traditional mats. The hut was lit with two bright kerosene lamps and the inner walls were lined with beautifully decorated thick pillows. We sat on the mats; reclining on the pillows and stretched our legs. I fetched from the car a carton of my favorite Haregisa spring water, several packs of cigarettes, a case of coca cola, a Thuraya phone and my all-time travel companion laptop. Almost immediately, our host furnished several traditional wooden milk vessels overflowing with frothing fresh and sweet camel milk - a particular favorite of mine. With pure delight, I drank plenty of the delicious milk in one gulp. Having quenched my yearnings with the delectable and nutritious milk, I declined to delight myself with the wonderful meal of camel meat and rice served shortly afterwards. Yet, true to my camel-boy traits, I never ceased the urge of taking a deep draught of the camel milk, every now and then. As the night fell, a full moon rose from the mist of dark clouds, magnificently clear, pure and bright, as if bathed in the day’s heavy rainfall. Vivid and bright stars began to peep out through cranny in the black heavens. With young lambs gamboling in the corral and goats bleating in the distant and men chatting round the fire and milk laden wooden bowls within hands reach, my friends and I, and a group of men from the host community, literally commenced munching, in earnest, the small tender leafs of a fresh Awaday qude, specially procured from Jigjiga for us (thanks to the generosity of the King of Qaad - the indefatigable Kawsar Afdinle, who agreed to supply our daily intake of the dearly beloved bitter-tasting plant during our brief sojourn in the Hawd). We impeccably set for an all night long Maan-hadal session. Nocturnal chewing was unusual in good old days. But that was the olden days when Qaad was in short supply and chewing remained an urbane peculiarity of the sanctimonious middle class. From the setup of the huts to the tasty food and flavored tea, the fingerprints of the womenfolk were all over the place. Their absence in our midst was not felt, though, as we lovingly talked about them, now and then. To the delight of all of us, someone from our host recited the famous poem of Abdisalam, who lampooned the historical war poem of the legendary Ismael Mire, Annagoo Taleex naal, jihad taladi soo qaadnay. Duhurkii toggaa Herar Haddaad Qado ka soo tuurto Hurdo laguma taamee naftaa lala tacaalaaye Aniga iyo toddobo aan ku jiro tumasho soo qaadnay. Rag tabaabushuu leeyehee wax is-tusaalaynay Laba tubaha noo soo cayima horay u tuuryaynay Tooraha warkay noo sideen noogu tibic siiye Taksi lagama maarmee nin waday suuqa nagu tooci Tog Wajaale jaadkii ka yimid tacab ku baandhaynay Kolkay laba tobnaad noo xidheen toobiyaha qaadnay Tilmaan quruxsan goobtay fadhiday ee agabtu noo tiilay Iyo tusmadii gabdhaha lagu ogaa saani ugu toosnay Tubtii horaba boqol jaa’ifo ah teebalka u saarray Ninwaliba tankii uu lahaa xaraar tiilay ugu laabay Barkimooyinkii teetsanaa suxul ku taageernay Iyadoo falaash lagu tamiday laysu tabi shaaha Tirsan mayno naag laga tagiyo tu’aan la doonayne Labo tafiirtii jannada lagu tilmaamaayo Iyo labo wax la iskuma tirshee sida tiriigaas ah Iyo laba aad turkiga mooddo oo tikhilka naagood ah Iyo taan lahaan jiray markaan tumasho soo qaadno Intaas oo intay toobab soo xidheen timaha soo feedhay Oo tal iyo xisaan leh, salaan gacanta noo taage Annaguna gabdhaha kama tagnee geerash lagu teedi Heesaha ragbaa u tacab galay loona tiriyaaye Tiraanyo qayshaha rabaab gacanta taabsiiye Annaguna tastuurkay lahayd sacabka tiitaynay Ilaahay ha tabantaabiyee noogu tacab sawdka Markay cabbaar naga tumeen tegis u qoondayste Kaftan aan turxaan lahayn la isku taataabay Sheekadu hablahay noo taxnayd iyo togonay haasaawe Rag takooran baa nagu jiree tabaha qaar diidnay Inkastooy taftuba noo dhaweyd teetka sharaf eegnay Sidii adhi tigaad loo dhigoo lagu tiraabaayo Warmihii tumaatida caddaa tiirka qabadsiinay Anigu waan talax gabaa markaan taabto geedkaase Habeenkaa ninkii tamar lahaa togay mirqaankiisa Our usual desultory, but lively intellectual discourse veered perforce from one subject to the other without any conclusive ending. We drifted back and forth through the annals of our recent past. Folk memories were fondly evoked. Stories of the inter-clan camel wrestling - the favored game of the gallant men of the Hawd - were narrated with nostalgic reminiscence. In Somali context, the clan is the embodiment of a large family with roots dating back (as widely perceived) to a common legendary ancestor and its members are bonded by a line of genealogical family tree. It provides its members a secure identity and serves as a vital social security in times of need. The search for green pastures and the contest for access and control of meager water resources have traditionally cemented the cohesion of the clan and laid foundations for recurrent clan conflicts and enduring feuds. Hence, clan feuds lie at the crux of the Somali politics. As the creepy mirqaan (induced euphoric enjoyment of the Qaad) reigned, our discussion, inadvertently, turned to the differences of perceptions held on rural versus urban life. Despite the coveted trappings of the urban life, our countrymen from the Hawd ridiculed the city life and argued that cities are a den of thieves, lazy and cheating goons who are bent to swindle the unsuspecting honest men of the rural. Staunchly armed with undiluted indigenous customs, they portrayed the rural men as humble souls working jolly hard to eke a living below the level of subsistence, who are often exploited by the city-dwelling wheeler-dealers. This was repeated umpteen times. I felt the distinction between urban and rural life blurred, at best, in the Somali context. The ill-defined terms of Reer Magaal (urbanized) and Reer Miyi (pastoralist) have always been ambiguous. Barely can one discern a dividing line in the intermingling of the two. As many of my countrymen, I always felt that I belong to both ways of life. The trickle shift from rural to towns (initially to villages) started only at the turn of this century. Most, if not all, the origins of the Somali towns date back to late thirties. In the past, few coastal towns served as convenient conduits for goods imported from Asia and the Middle East. It was only in the thirties and forties that the significance of the small towns as centers for barter trade was widely recognized. But, even then, the shift to the towns was limited, and at best, was a trickle. It was in the fifties and sixties that the towns became more exciting, engaging and ideal destinations for young men from the rural nomadic milieu where life was a constant challenge. A city is a center of gravity for various antithetic currents, the axis for the dynamics of social changes and societal transformation, the hub for mutual interaction of diametrically opposed forces seeking to forge symbiotic relations. In essence, it is a civic center of “population organized as a Community”, with satisfactory services and amenities – a seat of knowledge, a breeding ground for scholars and intelligentsia. A city constitutes tremendous change of the way of life of the individual as compared to the traditional rural existence. Whether the term civilization is an appropriate definition or not, cities maintain their own advanced life-style and attitude and behavior largely divergent than that of the rural mode of life. In contrast, most of the Somali towns and even those few that could qualify for the coveted label of a city are still mere semi-urban centers. A single clan occupies most of them - thus, an extension of the clan territory. Before 1955, there was not a single secondary school in Somalia. Most of the regions were without hospitals until early seventies. And with the concentration of development programs in and around Mogadishu in the seventies and eighties, the regional cities and towns lost the initial charm and the glamour associated with them, hence resulting another exodus from the towns to the ‘city-state’. Somali towns and cities are largely dependent on the vast resources of the surrounding rural and their constituents are largely first and second generations of former nomads whose umbilical cord is still attached to their ancestral areas where their kinsmen are still pursuing nomadic life. All the present and past Somali leaders have originated from rural Somalia, most being pastoral nomads at some point and almost all hail their support from the rural. The clan mentality and the pastoral way of life were brought to the cities, making unattainable the ideal shift of attitude from rural to city life. A popular Somali adage epitomizes the basic discrepancy of the superficial assimilative appearance and the inborn traits peculiar to city life. “Dhar magaalo sida lagu xidho way dhib yar tahay e, dhal magaalo sida lagu noqdaa adag” (which translated means ‘that it is easier to put on city dress, but it is hard to become a city born’). Adaptation and acculturation of city life requires, above other things, fine-tuning of one’s mental attitude and outlook. In Maan-hadal, regardless of our varied social backgrounds and credentials, we regard ourselves as a bunch of good-natured, perfect hybrids of Miyi-Magaalo. Perched at the urban-rural crossroads, our umbilical cord still remains firmly anchored into our roots – roots that are in hand in close proximity. If anything, Maan-hadal is an epitome of rural values and urban liberalism blended into an evolving mainstream enlightened social paradigm. In the middle of a heated debate, an elderly man from a nearby hut who listened to the nine o’clock BBC Somali evening programme, greeted us with the news that the Security Council had passed a resolution lifting arms embargo on Somalia and authorizing African peacekeepers to be sent to Baidoa the seat of the beleaguered, fledgling transitional federal government of Somalia. The debate veered away from the mundane discourse to the very thing that we knew best – war. In its fateful past, the Hawd has provided fine fields for many deadly battles that merely sow the seeds for future wars. One such war seems in the offing! Men with hawkish temperament and strong urge to kill are pressing the region to war for selfish personal aggrandizement. Many young men will soon be fighting and dying at the behest of the warmongers and without knowing the raison d’etre or the ulterior motives triggering the conflict. In the game of war, nationalistic rhetoric serves the purpose of fooling the untutored minds of the ordinary men who will be blindly swarming into the killing fields to kill or die. There is neither a permanent friend nor permanent moral principles, but merely permanent interests in the dirty, deadly and unpredictable art of politics. Neither the self-proclaimed spiritual chieftains of the ultra-Islamists aiming at the establishment of a theocratic state where the spirit of democracy and secularism could be in danger of being stifled, nor the power-hungry, bloodthirsty warlords guilty of crimes against their follow countrymen, are the answers to the woes of the downtrodden masses. Neither the hardhearted, egocentric Arabs who are indifferent to the agony of the Somalis ; nor the belligerent neighbors poised to spill their long-running feud over into this beleaguered country; offer one iota of conceivable remedy to the fifteen years old Somali debacle. Today, Somalia is on the verge of being torn asunder by the tug of love of its disingenuous neighbors. An outbreak of a war will do no good to the cause of peace and the much-needed stability in a region already mired in one of the worst humanitarian crises of this century. Given the political vulnerability of the region at this time in point, an outbreak of war, which is becoming increasingly likely, would entail far reaching consequences. Betrayed and battered by the powers that be and, justifiably, nursing deep-seated rancor towards the marauding Abyssinians, and bearing in mind that there is nothing to lose by defending the beloved motherland; the courageous men of the Hawd have always been keen to fight for a deserving cause. And that fighting spirit remains alive and kicking, these days. Our seasoned countrymen from Hawd opined that this war is neither ideologically based nor does embody the national interest of the war-weary and exploited silent majority, but rather symbolizes a well-orchestrated struggle for the domination of the large oil and gas reserves beneath the reddish earth of this land which the British dubbed as the Hawd and Reserve Area. Mighty foreign forces may kill and conquer for a period, but certainly no power, big or small, can subdue the resilience and spirit of freedom of the men of Hawd! At the crack of dawn, as we have devoured the Awaday ravenously, we agreed to retire with the hope that we will catch some sleep. I took a second helping of the sweet camel milk and, for the first time in many years, slept like a log and dreamt that I was in heaven. A. Duale Sii'arag E-Mail:baxaal@yahoo.com Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
xiinfaniin Posted December 14, 2006 lol@ Sheekadu hablahay noo taxnayd iyo togonay haasaawe Rag takooran baa nagu jiree tabaha qaar diidnay Inkastooy taftuba noo dhaweyd teetka sharaf eegnay Sidii adhi tigaad loo dhigoo lagu tiraabaayo Warmihii tumaatida caddaa tiirka qabadsiinay Anigu waan talax gabaa markaan taabto geedkaase Habeenkaa ninkii tamar lahaa togay mirqaankiisa Thanks sophist for posting this literary peace! And putting aside author’s seemingly glorifying attitude toward Qaad, which I was tempted to make a hard-edged ideological statement about, this is a very good read indeed! Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
ElPunto Posted December 14, 2006 ^y - good read - and down with the Qaad-heads Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Sophist Posted December 15, 2006 This is a satirical piece!! I think is taking a dig at the Somalis from diaspora who engage geerasheyn back home. Nophis PS: Xiin, the author is talented indeed. I like the way he used the rhyming of Anagoo taleex naal Jihaad taladii soo qaadney, todobaatan boqol oo darwiish tugadey neef doora....! though the original poem is moralesque this is tastes like sheer decedance and debauchery; how times has changed indeed. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Baashi Posted December 20, 2006 Tilmaan quruxsan goobtay fadhiday ee agabtu noo tiilay Iyo tusmadii gabdhaha lagu ogaa saani ugu toosnay Tubtii horaba boqol jaa’ifo ah teebalka u saarray Ninwaliba tankii uu lahaa xaraar tiilay ugu laabay Barkimooyinkii teetsanaa suxul ku taageernay Iyadoo falaash lagu tamiday laysu tabi shaaha Tirsan mayno naag laga tagiyo tu’aan la doonayne Labo tafiirtii jannada lagu tilmaamaayo Iyo labo wax la iskuma tirshee sida tiriigaas ah Iyo laba aad turkiga mooddo oo tikhilka naagood ah Iyo taan lahaan jiray markaan tumasho soo qaadno Intaas oo intay toobab soo xidheen timaha soo feedhay Abaaaaaaaaaaaba Sophist many thanks sxb. I enjoyed the piece. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
