The Chief of Chiefs - The Man Who Matters In Somali Politics

[NASSIR]

Amazing piece.

 

The Chief of Chiefs - The Man Who Matters In Somali Politics

By A. Duale Sii'arag

 

 

Feb. 10 , 2008

 

“Of all the races of Africa, there cannot be one better to live among than the most difficult, the proudest, the bravest, the vainest, the most merciless, the friendliest: the Somalis. Every individual Somali fights to stay himself, a person… The Somali fumed under discipline and loved the irregular life, the scattered patrol and the lone effort which might bring him to individual notice, to recognition for what he might achieve on his own”.

 

Gerald Hanley, Warriors, Life and death among the Somalis

 

With the crumble of time-honored traditional systems and state institutions, a new breed of leadership arises from the ashes. From Djibouti to Nairobi, the Somali-inhabited Horn of Africa has become the political grazing land of the blissful-looking His Highness the Chief of Chiefs. The Chief of Chiefs is becoming a household name which is simultaneously revered and dreaded. Politics and political gamesmanship are in his blood and the fates of many Somali political leaders are in the palm of his hand. Charismatic, controversial and loquacious, the Chief of Chiefs is a man to be reckoned with – a man of paramount exploits and of different stamp. Majored in the art of expedience, the Chief of Chiefs is extravagant and enjoys the trappings that come with celebrity-like popularity. With cohorts and fans across the Horn, the Chief of Chiefs is the foremost leader that Somalis would look up to when a matter of peace and death are being dealt with.

 

A self-made chieftain, a cheerleader, a clairvoyant, an emerging star pundit, a statesman of stature, a potentate of note in his realm; the Chief of Chiefs is undisputedly the most influential personality in the tumultuous politics of the beleaguered Horn of Africa region. From Asmara to Kampala, he is too cozy with those in powers who are often smarting from sagging popularity and are paralyzed by incompetence, corruption and dictatorship and with influence-peddling business elites, who mercilessly fleece and molest the less fortunate and are eternally wedded to the power usurpers. Intellectuals with glittering academic credentials are queuing and jostling at his doorstep simply to win his blessings and patronage. He is befitting to his alter ego described as one who “likes to feel that men are bricks to his trowel, to build with them what he likes; and they find a secret zest in being led by him”. Immaculately dressed, engaging and friendly and loved by women; the Chief of Chiefs is a trendsetter of a sort. Persuasive and articulate arguments are his inherent forte.

 

The Chief of Chiefs, an indefatigable genius, who has graduated from the school of a degenerating society, from the womb of an anguished nation, has effectively supplanted the natural traditional leaders, genuine politicians and intelligentsia. He is shrewd enough to grab every opportunity that comes his way. He may not necessarily tune to any melody, but orchestrates remarkable symphonies for others to dance to. He enjoys a flamboyant media presence and is outspoken on every issue. The Chief of Chiefs, an impresario of the highest order, can trigger enormous tremors in many shaky fiefdoms in the neighborhood and has the capacity to pull the rugs beneath sitting feeble presidents and prime ministers.

 

Born and bred in the sparsely populated, reddish, parched grazing lands of the Hawd – a much coveted dreamland for the mighty camels in the Somali peninsula, in a period of roiling instability, he commanded what seemed like a posse of bandits. In his formative years, he was a leader of a brutal clan brigand which took pride in raiding villages and settlements of nearby clans for the purpose of wresting the gorgeous beasts - the camel. His bravado and predatory habits enlisted both the fear and envy of his peers. He always carried a crucial item that no man who matters could do without – a rifle. Fickle and restless, unpredictability was deeply ingrained in his DNA.

 

As a conceited, young rogue cameleer with short-temper and swift hand for brawl, he was always quarrelsome and spoiling for a fight. He was inured to bloodshed from childhood, passionately vindictive and audacious in attack often on trifling issues. Boastful of his lineage and their prowess, he proved a highly dreaded bird of prey.

 

As a glutton of the delectable camel milk, the mainstay of the men of the Hawd, a herd of milk camels were always at hand to quench his insatiable cravings for the nutritious staple. Bending his left leg, he will stand on the right, squeezing the teats with his right hand and squirting a flow of milk from the udder to a vessel in his left hand and at times directly into his mouth, guzzling at the rate of about half a liter a minute.

 

Young and culturally untrained, like many of his generation of cameleers, he migrated first to the city of Hargeisa and then to Mogadishu in his late twenties, with virtually no practical skills to prepare him for the shift to the urban life. Apart from crude masculinity and inherent audacity, he was ill-equipped to weather the dynamics of the rough and tumble of city life.

 

A sinner turned a saint; the city life has altered the Chief of Chiefs in a big way. Within short span of time, he transformed himself from a dreaded cameleer brigand to a respected city suave – an influential powerbroker, a kingmaker, an enterprising magnetic personality with unparalleled political clout and patronizing smile. With no compunction and little contemplation of his past, he continues to conquer and explore the world of immense opportunities with vengeance. He peppers a much-needed spice to the often convoluted and murky politics of the region. His expertise in conflict resolution is sought after by governments, warlords and rival clans. Astute in playing his cards and with unusual knack for realpolitik and machinations, he evinces an aura of confidence, wielding wide-ranging political and social leverages, and patronizes trendy restaurants and cozy middle class Qat salons such as the Maan-hadal.

 

The Chief of Chiefs bears a truly regional distinction. With multiple veiled identities, his diplomatic tentacles are wide-reaching. He travels with Ethiopian, Djiboutian, Kenyan and Somali passports, to name a few. He is accredited to have miraculously succeeded in resolving some of the recent political gridlocks in the Horn. Among other things, he has allegedly persuaded Meles to dump the ill-famed former Prime minister of Somalia, Ali Geddi, and Rayaale to set free the incarcerated leaders of the Qaran political party. He is now eyeing the crisis in Kenya where his dexterous hands may be solicited.

 

The Chief of Chiefs is an altogether changed man but the cause for the change of his persona can neither be analytically quantified nor elucidated rationally. His rise to the commanding heights of social and political glory remains one of the inexplicable phenomenons of this century. Experts are unable to decipher into the mysteries as to how he has been catapulted to such pinnacles, but the fact remains that he is calling the shots. Is this the kind of leadership that can steer Somalis out of the quagmire in which they are helplessly trapped in?

 

It is somewhat baffling, if not a mere display of poetic justice, that Somalis, from all walks of life, remain pawns of cunning self-made characters such His Highness the Chief of Chiefs.

 

A. Duale Sii'arag

E-Mailbaxaal@yahoo.com

 

WardheerNews Contributor at Large

[Baashi]

"Entertaining. Well written piece. Two faryareeys up."

 

Waxa-La-Yirri Herald.

 

"Satirical field study -- in anthropological proportion -- that summarizes how uncultured camel-boys ill prepared to lead the caravan got lost in the wilderness and found a new occupation in bustling cities by becoming shamans of great importance in administering the political discourse of young nation grabbling with huge challenges."

 

Waa Siday Tahay magazine.

[Baashi]

Morning camel boy Oodweyne,

 

You seem to have missed the point mze Duale is trying to make here. The way I read it -- if I’m not mistaken -- the piece is a lighthearted sweeping generalization that satirizes the political class of nomad world and their art. He equates the current crop of political prostitutes that call the shots in that far away sand dunes -- unknowingly perhaps -- to the great Shamans.

 

Duale seems to be saying that our brand Shaman is a walking contradiction. The lead Shaman (chief of chiefs) is the cause of disturbances in this close-knit community. He also credits the lead chief the capacity to clam things down by employing skills unique to his class. His authority transcends the political boundaries of the region for he operates in the midst of his “nation” -- a reference that’s not lost on you I’m sure

 

The chief causes, diagnoses, and cures all the suffering of his folks. He’s brave and coward at the sometimes. He stirs trouble, disturbs peace, and then spends considerable time in resolving the very issue he himself alone is credited to have singlehandedly created in the first place. He cultivates animosities between close-knit communities, works tirelessly and diligently to widen the wedge -- and when the problem passes point of no return he spares no effort to bridge the very wedge he exploited.

 

Duale has correctly underlined the fact that the lead chief serves, at times, as the sole kingmaker (foreign hands not withstanding) of the sand dunes his folks inhabit. Amateurs in the art seek his mentorship; old hands solicit his advice; community exhort him to mend his ways; religious pray for his demise -- all these are indication of his shrewd skills of the art of real politick.

 

I think the piece is not meant to survey historical facts of those sand dunes we call home nor was it meant to analyze the political milestones Somalis have put in place in the short time they administered their nascent state. It was a lighthearted satirical rendition aimed at the marked class that some call afar-jeeble, laba-garaaadle, af-miinshaar, warxumo-tashiil, fadhi-ku-dirrir, and cyber-ku-dirrir -- and other garden variety out there.

 

In sum, Duale took aim at the great Shaman and walked away from the scene unscathed -- so much of the spirits ha!

 

Ur awoowe,

Firing this piece from Calaley fish market .

[Baashi]

^ That's a sharp one

 

That’s right my pal . You are right on the money. That’s it you got it. That's exactly smelly market I’m referring to. And just so you know when faced such precarious situation that you outlined up there I used to slip a couple of undetectable bones in the gashaar dish I serve to the gangsters.

 

Every time I managed to walk away from the scene with all my belongings intact and had the thugs seeking medical help in the Kismayo General Hospitals . If they're lucky they might stand a chance that they retain their vocal chords intact.

 

All of that success attained without lifting a finger. It is the way of manly men of this world. Empty boasting is a thing better left to the fairer sex and their offshoot laga roone variety buddy. In Sikta we keep our shrewd eye on the price, we use intrigue, and unparalleled calculation and if necessary we negotiate our way out of trouble. Force is our last resort. Right! He who laughs last is he who wins!

 

Double barrel guns! Is that what I’m hearing? Perhaps you oughta listen to the cowboy (your partner in the trade ) for he tells a good story with an excellent moral attached to it. I’m talking about the man in black -- Johnny Cash and his excellent song “Don’t Take Your Guns to Town” -- I let you chew that tender steak in laba cantuugo.

 

Back to the subject at hand! Awoowe we agree for the most part. Looks like we have different take on the group Duale is taking on. You seem to assume he’s aiming his salvo at traditional institution of leadership. I see it differently I thought he is tackling the new crop that are born to the humble life of camel herding and somehow ended up becoming the hustlers of the give and take, rough and tumble nature of nomad real politick.

[Baashi]

Awoowe in case you have lost the plot courage (especially moral type) and fortitude is a manly trade. Recklessness and qar-iska-tuur tendencies-- suicide by other name -- are not.

 

As the nomad once put it Gardaro iyo is yeel yeel yaa ninkii gudani diidaaye; Gablan wiil la'aaneed rag badan waa wada galayaaye; Good dheda laguma xidho, wuu ku kala goyne!; Masiibo geed saaran baad gacanta saadheene; Garansiineey ree hebel geed xadhaadh inaan nahay e!!! How one goes about the diidis part is a matter of taste if you know what I mean . There are those who set out to defend their waxar and in the process end up getting their entire immediate family killed without securing the waxar they set out to claim as theirs.

 

Confronting danger by employing tactical maneuverings or facing risk in ways and means that do not expose one to an avoidable situation is a trade excelled by manly men.

 

Showmanship that confuses life and death situation with popularity contest is something better left to those who excel in the limelight (arrogant, talkative, and haughty drunken with false sense of pride) and sh*t in their pants in the dark alleys when goings gets tough .

 

In the scenario you outlined it seems to me that the immature boy has demonstrated courage -- against all odds -- by confronting thugs albeit in different way. He realized that he is no match physically for the muscular gangsters so he resorted to what works best for him at the time.

 

At the end of the day with little recourse at his disposal the underage boy defended what was his -- all by himself. He was patient. He was willing to endure the indignity of serving one’s nemesis one whose sole intent is to finish one off. He knew that wouldn’t last. He had a plan and was willing to swallow his pride temporarily.

 

I don’t know where you get the notion of give it up easily and buy it buck cycle kinda conduct. Looks like you snatched that bit out of thin air . Overbearing pride, the sort that results unnecessary death or avoidable property destruction is not akin to standing your ground or defending what is yours.

 

Worse if that sort of act is done in order to jack up one’s standing in the community that is no doubt a feature (tookh iyo faan) attributed to fairer sex and laga-roon crowd -- two group that have unquenchable appetite for vanity.

 

As to the topic on hand as I said before I think the author has penned an excellent satirical piece on the state of afar-jeeble and their unquestionable status as the shakers and movers -- the heavy hitters if you will -- of nomad politicking. He doesn’t endorse them. He merely characterized that class in an exaggerated way.

 

The sort of analysis you seem to be itching for is not the thesis the man had in mind when he picked up the pen. In conventional parlance, leadership is said to be a quality a person may have in both categories -- actual and potential. Somali leaders, their failures, and what have you awoowe that topic is different but related topic and if you want I’m sure the gallery can give you your fill of the subject.

[NASSIR]

Originally posted by Baashi:

Morning camel boy

Oodweyne,

 

You seem to have missed the point mze Duale is trying to make here. The way I read it -- if I’m not mistaken -- the piece is a lighthearted sweeping generalization that satirizes the political class of nomad world and their art. He equates the current crop of political prostitutes that call the shots in that far away sand dunes -- unknowingly perhaps -- to the great Shamans.

 

.

Well said Baashi, senior librarian-Oodweyne often swirls his slinging-mud critique in putrid smoke both to divert the important message that this article makes and to grandstand upon visiting readers whom he believe would intuitively agree with his long but pointless responses.

 

Ps. Siiarag resides in Somalia and has lived there ever since Somalia's civil war. He is a true patriot who, on many chances, refused to live as expatriate.