The Towbad-keen of Toogane(Part 1), and other ramblings.

[Kashafa]

*Kaftan mode: on. Reason: Caffeine overdose. Vehicle: Mountain Dew. Kaftan level: semi-satirical.*

 

Many of you are familiar with Toogane, the controversial self-proclaimed 'Somali MuslimMennonite Sufi' poet with a penchant for lampooning Somali tribes, his own most of all.

 

Dude left Somalia in the '60s and never looked back, embarking on a journey through academia, religion, and the arts. Call it enlightenment, or call it brainwashing, whatever the heck it was, Toogane came out of his 40 literal years in the wilderness as a qurbo-joog, a thoroughly changed man, perhaps even to the level of mutation(ahem, the slight resemblance to a soccer-ball). The most UnSomali-like Somali, if you will.

 

Except for one little detail: His dormant Qabyaalad'ism. You can take the Somali out of the Tol-ka jungle, teach him how to wear a fancy suit, and give him a Phd, but you can't take the Tol-ka out of the Somali.

 

You see, Togane was supposed to be immune to any feeling of tribal pride, by virtue of his 40 year stay in North America and his Memmonite-Sufi-Kumbaya-New Age-y education. And in fact, for a long time he did appear to be an apolitical poet satirically blasting Somali tribes, reserving the choicest of insults for his own. He even managed to fool himself for all those years. Waxuu iska qanciyay that he, the great Togane, floats high above the riff-raff savages that put any stock in clan pride. No, Sir. Not him.

 

Anyway, macalinka woo fashilmay . And the event that lit the fires of his clannist reawakening was none other than the handpicking by Meles Zenawi of Mudane Xaaji Sheep-Doctor Cali Gheedi as Baraym Minister, who coincidently just so happens to be his fellow Tol-ka member. In a moment of sheer euphoria, Macalinka forka uu tooray. We can only speculate, but we have strong cause to believe his thought process went along these lines:

 

"My cousin is the boss-man of all of Somalia ? Chhhheaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh, nigga, we runnin this shit now. Who got it like we do ? We da realest killaz, da hottest shiz-nit, da beastest looterz. All y'all my b!tches. Pick up yo face, , it's in the dirt. Somalia is XXXXX(clan name) Country, owned, signed, sealed, and thanks to them Eto-Boyz, f'ing delivered. XXXXX was here: I'mma tattoo dat anthem on yo bigass forehead. It's our turn to cash in, yo. Manz can't get rich just standin' at Isbaaro cornerz or slingin' charcoal. F that shit. We done hit the jackpot, nigga. We gon take half the Cabinet positions, we gon grab the best real estate in Moga-Dish. Dayum, I forgot, we already done took the best real estate.

, we got it made, yo. XXXXX fo' life, till da day we die nigga. All y'all b!ches can eat dust and die. XXXXX in da house."

 

Ok, so I exaggerated a little bit(still working off the caffeine high), but it's safe to assume that was the gist of it. Anyway, Togane pens a effusive love poem to Barayim Minister Ghedi and Tol-ka, the work of a man rediscovering his long-lost qabyaald(tears in my eyes, dawg, and I caint see).

 

And before you can blink, Oday Toogane has become a enthusiastic convert(revert, I should say) to the Tol-ka cause, jumping on the Gheedi bandwagon promoting his Brayim Dhabo-dhilif cousin as Somalia's Savior with zealous fervor.

, he is the speaker introducing Geedi at a gathering of our local Dhabodhilifs(heh). He then goes on a truly disgraceful streak of hateful 'poems', where for example, he whole-heartedly embraces the Ethiopian army, hails Meles as a liberating hero, calls the Islamic Courts cannibals(among other things), all the while praising his Barayim cousin. All this of course, is being done in the name of Dawlad-nimo, Somali-weynimo, and Qaran-nimo. Apparently, he too suffers from Irony Deficiency Syndrome. In the name of Tol-ka, our hero is chart'ing new territory in dhulinimo, a pioneer on how to act like a loyal well-proper(?) dhabodhilif.

 

(patience ye sack of lazybones, we'll get to the subject manner in a minute, all this background exposition is kinda necessary. If ur tired just from reading, whattaboutme, typing it all up and doing all the searching and hyperlinking, bloggers get paid $1.25 per word, and I'm doing this half-assed pseudo-investigation pro bono, i've already wasted my whole morning, so shut up and read will ya)

 

Duq Togane flies into Muqdisho(or was it Baido ? Both maybe) as a celebrity of sorts, to kinda give the TFG the stamp of approval from the 'artistic community'. Sorta like Nobel laureate Toni Morrison endorsing Obama(the other black heavyweight, Maya Angelou endorsed Clinton, i know, useless information). Somebody please find the photo where he looks a terrified chipmunk with his eyes buggin' out. Ninka waxaa ka muuqata cabsi on another level. As if in lagu bishaareeyay Jahanama. A photo is worth 1000 bajillion words, and this one is really telling. Deep down inside, the man is fully cognizant of his criminality. No judge has to try him nor any jury convict him. The verdict is in his eyes. The slump of his shoulder. The tepid waving of the baloog Somali flag. He's uneasy. His shoulders are practically cracking under the heavy burden of dhulinimo. He knows his actions, his words, his pathetic lobbying are all for a wretched cause, one that history will forever remember.

 

(You over there, whatshername, find that doggone picture. Yes, it's an order. No, I'm not a chauvinist. Don't raise your voice at me, young lady. No, I don't think I'm better than you. You have to do it because I'm tired of googling and because I said so and that's that. Inyo ? Did you just say Inyo ? )

 

At this point, the trail runs cold. Nobody knows Toogane's next move or whereabouts. It's like he locked himself up in a cave somewhere in the frozen wastelands at the end of the Earth...... somewhere like Ottawa. Or Toronto. Matter of fact, anywhere in Canada would probably qualify as a frozen wasteland; but the where is not important so don't you worry your purty lil head about it, whats important is the why. After such a public and loudmouthed championing of the Dhabodhilif cause, why-maxaa dhacay-limaathaa did Toogane suddenly ....like shut up ? At a time his services were needed more than ever ? It just doesn't make sense. This is a man that makes Labo-Alifle Duke sound like a preschooler. Toogane is the Mack-Daddy of clannist rhetoric, a walking encyclopedia who could tell you that your great-grandfather was a thief who specialty was chicken-theft or (depending on how charitable he is) that he used to routinely fly to the Kacba to perform his 5 prayers. (Visitor: Aaway Aabo ? Children: Cirka uu ku jiraa, woo soo dhawyahay. He's about to touchdown soon.) Having the special powers of fictionalized Qabiil mythology in the shape of 'poems', why would he suddenly fall quiet ? Hint: Look at the subject line.

 

(To all those ingrates who are not appreciating my investigative prowess and the Herculean efforts I am extending to bring the Togane Saga to the public eye, The New York Times will be my vindication: Writing can kill. But some of us are prepared to do whatever it takes, by any means unnecessary, to go above and beyond, the call of duty, and bring to the Netizens of the Internets, something to waste a few more minutes of their already wasted days. Get off the damn komputar, Talkin to you Jacaylbaro. Waraa kubad(who in the world says kubad in 2008 ? Banooooooni, mayn, it even rolls with the tongue, waa ergonomic xataa) so laadh(or is it laag ?) ama geel so liis or somethin. What do you guys do for recreation horta? I wish we had geel where I am. You don't know how good you got it, duqa.

 

Another thought while I'm off-topic: Can I buy Somaliland ? How much ? No,no,no,no, I'm not talkin about the citizenship, I'm talkin about purchasing the whole damn country. Meeqo camal aa ku helaa ? Saaxib, no worries, I will be a far better owner and caretaker than Riyale. And unlike Riyale, I can and will deliver the Holy Grail, dearer and more important than breathing itself, the reason why when you wake up in the morning, you go to that hole you have dug in the ground, squat down, and take a dump, my friend, because it is so important to have bowel movement in the morning, I am speaking of a matter of similar grave importance, the Holy Grail: Recognition. I can turn the dream into a living reality. How ? This will be my sales pitch, I mean, my persuasion speech. You don't tell people, I'm buying your country, that's like crass and seriously uncouth. You just...nuff talk, check it out:

 

"My Bruddas ! Brave Somalilanders ! We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a loooong life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Miiiiiiine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of Somaliland, the glory of the coming of recognition. Together, my bruddas, with me as your owner/buddy/CEO, we will rise up and when the conditions are ripe, and when the time is right, we will look unto yonder horizon annnnnnd be transported via laser beams to spaceships that will take us to Recognition."

 

Our test runs of this speech with an audience, delivered at various decibel levels, showed that, at the end of the speech the majority of Somalilanders were in hysterics, a heightened state of what is known as Jidbo/jidbaysan. Nomads were seein chanting : SOMALILAND LIVES ! RECOGNITION REIGNS ! KASHAFA FOR BOSS-MAN OWNER !. Some demanded to "go to the Promised Land, RIGHT NOW.Hada baan ku niri". Others tried to make contact with the spaceships with the FM radios provided to them. There was one distinguished-looking gentle-man that acted in a different manner tho, to wit: With super-human discipline, he only allowed a single trail of tears to stream down his grizzled face down to his formidable jowls. No other movement or indication of emotion was observed. Only the tears which flowed steadily like the mighty river of De Nile. Truly, a remarkable study of stoicism. When we asked him what caused the tears. He inhaled a huge gust of air, stepped back 2 paces to give himself some room, and replied:"

 

Dear Lad

 

Firstly, thank you for a delivering such a stupendous speech , one which will surely lay claim to the top lineage in the annals of history, vis-a-vis speeches go, and in such context be ranked as the manliest of manly speeches ever to be given by Men.

 

And a speech which, also consequently, could be said to give, in a roundabout subtle manner, a simultaneous trifecta of a whipping applied rather effectively in a expertly fashion by Your Eminence, Mr. Speechmaker, Sir. (ie, insomuch as we have not had the pleasure of acquiring your given name, ie, meaning what you prefer to be called amongst peers of your rank, bearing, and carriage, therein included without needing to explicitly state, of course is myself vis-a-vis a'la my belonging to the same position in life as Your Eminence so that we can converse as gentleman of our mutual deeply-rooted aristocracy are wont to do when in the company of those they find of similar background) , As I was saying before my brief elucidation on such issues of life-and-death importance as heritage and social position, lest we find ourselves in the awkward position as we sometimes do when we leave our government-subsided dwellings and head to the downtown of this Glorious World Capital , I speak, of course, of the City of London, and during such jaunts about the City(as we locals are fond of calling it),often undertaken after a lively chewing session, we are sometimes bound to meet up with lesser forms of humans, who occupy the lower rungs of the social ladder if you do indeed understand what I am alluding to(which I am sure you do). During such meetings, it is awkward and unseemly to stop and engage in small talk with persons who could never in a million years reach the exalted nobility of gentleman, such as us, who pick up our welfare checks with such awe-inspiring dignity, so that the even the clerk asks me as to whether I am an Zulu Chieftain, partially, I assume due to my slight resemblance to Kunta Kinte , and partially with how I carry myself. My Answer to her is of course nothing short of Magnificent: "We are The Ones In Whose Honoured Sacrifice In The Battlefield Of History, The Bells Of Victory Have Tolled The Most Times For....And To Whom The Destiny's Verdict Is Theirs To Rendered It.... " What all that resounding verbiage exactly means, I do not know, nor does any of my kith and kin, but I heard it once said being said by the 13th Earl of Dover as he was expounding upon British history to his friends from the Her Majesty's Commonwealth(which if I may add, and not to boast, but I am a member of, forsooth) when I had the honour to be serving him and his guests at the world-famous Le Foi Gra restaraunt as his Head-Chief Dishwasher during my earlier days in London, and I thought to myself: That is how the Nobility speak of themselves. And from that day on, it became my motto. So you can say I borrowed it, from one Gentleman(the Earl) to another(myself).

 

As I was saying before my 2nd brief elucidation interrupted us, in giving your speech, you, Sir, have inflicted a splendid trifecta-of-a-whipping via the old Cat O' Nine Tails albeit in a rhetorical manner rather than any literal meaning of aforementioned whip, to the present day clannish wailers and the Defeated Lot of yesteryear, as well as to all those who suffer the misfortune of not having being born as Glorious Somalilanders, to be inflicted with such a terrible calamity is punishment enough, but sometimes, a crack-o'-the-whip rhetorically is very effective, as I often wield said whip and give it frequent application, in keeping them in their places.

 

Secondly,.....

 

We had to stop the jowled gentleman at Secondly, because we were still recovering from the Firstly.

 

Jaca, you ok ? you look feverish, athiga-na ma jidbaysantahay ? Have you too seen the promised land, brother ? Duqa, athiga ciyaal-ka xaafada aa tahay nooh, thats why I put you in my scam. But I didn't expect a Beesaani like you to be swooning. What ? I know my words have touched your soul, that's why it's called a friggin swan-song ya fool. I'm peddlin' Snake-Oil and I'm tryna cash out, yo. So I can buy me a villa in Cairo ! Snap of it!. Aight, I shamelessly lifted the words

, believe me now ?

 

 

This topic was about Toogane and how in the world it made it's way to Jacayl-Baro and his offer(ok, our deal, if that makes u feel better) to sell me Somaliland, I do not know. I honestly started typing about Togane and next thing I know, I'm about to make a ton of cash-money simply by exploiting the deeply-rooted fears and hopes of average everyday people. Amazing what a shrewd study of the human psyche can earn ya, yeah ? It's bouta get me a entire friggin' COUNTRY. And all it cost me was one heckuva rousing speech that ain't even mine to begin with. Am I not the hotness ? I mean, people, for real, is this not true genius ?

 

I guess this is also what happens when you start drinking too much Mountain Dew. Caffeine is no joke, I tell ya that.

 

*Kaftan mode: Over. Reason: The Caffeine is out of my system. I'm back to normal now. I'm ok. I'm fine.Seriously.*

 

Edit: Towbadkeen of Togane(Part 2), the serious part will be up later.

[xiinfaniin]

^^ Caawa waa iga qoslisay saaxiib...xattaa cunugayga yarka waa igu qoslay

 

Shaactiroole waaxid...

[Nephissa]

. That was so timely addeer. Lately your posts have been reflecting the quite obvious serious side of your persona. Goormuu addeerkaa qosli doonaa aan is-lahaa.

[xiinfaniin]

^^ Kashafa of all people gets that credit...

 

SOL waxay noqotay meel dadkoo dhan habaysanyihiin; xattaa Bishaaro qori AK47 ah oo loo dhiibay aa la dhahay adeer!

[Nephissa]

ahahah@ak-47. Walahi waa nacay, madaxee iga waaleen.. . Caadi ma'ha meeshan. saa ugu diimaayay aan ku daysaday.. L0L. Ka dar aan sii marooyaa..

[Fabregas]

Originally posted by Kashafa:

*Kaftan mode: on. Reason: Caffeine overdose. Vehicle: Mountain Dew. Kaftan level: semi-satirical.*

 

There was one distinguished-looking gentle-man that acted in a different manner tho, to wit: With super-human discipline, he only allowed a single trail of tears to stream down his grizzled face down to his formidable jowls. No other movement or indication of emotion was observed. Only the tears which flowed steadily like the mighty river of De Nile. Truly, a remarkable study of stoicism. When we asked him what caused the tears. He inhaled a huge gust of air, stepped back 2 paces to give himself some room, and replied:"

 

Dear Lad

 

Firstly

, thank you for a delivering such a stupendous speech , one which will surely lay claim to the

top lineage

in the

annals of history

, vis-a-vis speeches go, and in such context be ranked as the

manliest of manly

speeches ever to be given by

Men

.

 

And a speech which, also consequently, could be said to give, in a roundabout subtle manner, a simultaneous

trifecta

of a

whipping

applied rather effectively in a expertly fashion by

Your Eminence

,

Mr. Speechmaker, Sir.

(ie, insomuch as we have not had the pleasure of acquiring your given name, ie, meaning what you prefer to be called amongst

peers

of your rank, bearing, and carriage, therein included without needing to

explicitly

state, of course is myself vis-a-vis a'la my belonging to the same

position in life

as

Your Eminence

so that we can converse as

gentleman

of our mutual

deeply-rooted aristocracy

are wont to do when in the company of those they find of similar background) , As I was saying before my

brief elucidation

on such issues of

life-and-death importance

as heritage and social position, lest we find ourselves in the awkward position as we sometimes do when we leave our

government-subsided

dwellings and head to the downtown of this

Glorious

World Capital

, I speak, of course, of the

City of London

, and during such

jaunts

about the City(as we locals are fond of calling it),often undertaken after a lively

chewing session

, we are sometimes bound to meet up with

lesser forms of humans

, who occupy the

lower rungs

of the

social ladder

if you do indeed understand what I am alluding to(which I am sure you do). During such meetings, it is

awkward and unseemly

to stop and engage in small talk with persons who could never in

a million years

reach the

exalted nobility

of gentleman, such as us, who pick up our welfare checks with such

awe-inspiring dignity

, so that the even the clerk asks me as to whether I am an

Zulu Chieftain

, partially, I assume due to my slight resemblance to

Kunta Kinte

, and partially with how I carry myself. My Answer to her is of course nothing short of

Magnificent

: "We are The Ones In Whose Honoured Sacrifice In The Battlefield Of History, The Bells Of Victory Have Tolled The Most Times For....And To Whom The Destiny's Verdict Is Theirs To Rendered It.... " What all that

resounding verbiage

exactly means, I do not know, nor does any of my kith and kin, but I heard it once said being said by the

13th Earl of Dover

as he was expounding upon British history to his friends from the

Her Majesty's Commonwealth

(which if I may add, and not to boast, but I am a member of, forsooth) when I had the honour to be serving him and his guests at the world-famous

Le Foi Gra

restaraunt as his

Head-Chief Dishwasher

during my earlier days in London, and I thought to myself: That is how the Nobility speak of themselves. And from that day on, it became my motto. So you can say I borrowed it, from one

Gentleman

(the

Earl

) to another(myself).

 

As I was saying before my

2nd brief elucidation

interrupted us, in giving your speech, you, Sir, have inflicted a splendid

trifecta-of-a-whipping

via the old

Cat O' Nine Tails

albeit in a rhetorical manner rather than any literal meaning of aforementioned whip, to the present day

clannish wailers

and the

Defeated Lot

of yesteryear, as well as to all those who suffer the

misfortune

of not having being born as

Glorious Somalilanders

, to be inflicted with such a terrible

calamity

is punishment enough, but sometimes, a

crack-o'-the-whip

rhetorically is very effective, as I often wield said whip and give it frequent application, in keeping them in their places.

 

Secondly,

.....

 

We had to stop the jowled gentleman at

Secondly

, because we were still recovering from the

Firstly

.

 

Where's that gentleman these days?