Ma anaa waalan mise lugta la iga qaniinay?

[NGONGE]

Three months ago, a new member was added to my young family. We named her Dahabo.

 

Dahabo is not my biological daughter (and, no, neither is she the milkman's). Dahabo is an original Burcaawi with all the mannerisms and attitudes associated with that city. Furthermore, Dahabo is only six years old.

 

Poor little Dahabo suffers from epilepsy (and god knows what other related behavioural problems). On average, she was having at least five seizures per day and would wake up with the darkest moods imaginable once the seizures were over (in other words, she was always in a bad mood). In addition, having grown up in Africa, where discipline is usually administered via a stick, wire or old shoe, she (naturally) lacked any sort of discipline or manners that we would expect from the naughtiest western child.

 

Now, don't you let you imagination run with you and start picturing me in one of Madonna's dance outfits. I did not adopt an African child, I merely took charge of a family member here.

 

Dahabo is my little sister-in-law and, on that point, let me ask you all; who amongst you can boast about having his sister-in-law on his lap each night and showering her with kisses or whisper sweet nothings into her ears? Exactly. Now bow you lowly mortals.

 

On the first day that Dahabo arrived, I was sat in the living room and watching a game of football. I greeted the adults that came with her but was secretly hoping that they would leave very soon so that I can go back to watching my beloved LFC win their game. After exploring the house and picking up fights with the other children within minutes of her arrival, Dahabo was bored. She saw me sat there with one eye on the guests and another on the (muted) TV screen and decided to attract my full attention. When words failed, she decided to put her hand on my knee and shout “adeero, adeero”. I, absent-mindedlyy, replied “hee adeer” but without really intending to hear what she had to say.

 

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain travel from my thigh all the way to my head. Dahabo had bit me on the leg and was still biting as I jumped off the chair and was trying to shake her off! When I finally managed to dislodge her mouth from my leg, she stuck her nails into my arm and when I managed to get them out, her mouth was back on my leg. It was quite a battle that I (am happy to report that) finally won. However, once I got hold of both of her arms and kept her at a safe distance from me, the spitting insults began to rain on my face and body. Our eyes met and for the first time since her arrival I actually managed to have a good look at this little ruffian that invaded my peaceful Sunday.

 

When I say that our eyes met, I strongly mean that our eyes did meet. For, you see, Dahabo is all eyes. In fact, if I were to describe her, I would say that she looks (or rather looked) like a burned matchstick with flash-lights on (those being the big dark brown eyes, almost black that she has). She was as light as two bags of sugar and as fast as a mouse (even though her seizures have robbed her of the use of one side of her body). After five minutes of spitting and swearing, she realised that I was not speaking and was simply staring at those magnificent eyes of hers.

 

“i daa” she pleaded.

 

“hadaan ku dhigo miyaad I qaniinaysa” said I.

 

“Maya” she replied whilst looking bewildered (though I'm not sure if that was due to my silly question or silly Somali).

 

I gently put her down and went back to sit on the sofa. She did not move but rather stood there staring at me. This time and because of the pain I received the last time I dared not ignore her, I too kept a very close eye on her.

 

“maxaad naga eegaysa” said she with an irritated look on her face.

 

“adigaan ku eegaya” I replied with a challenging tone.

 

“hana eegin” said she dismissively.

 

“waxaan doonaaan eegaya” I replied whilst being ready for any sudden attacks.

 

“magacaa?” she asked whilst still keeping that disgusted look on her face.

 

“adigu magacaa?” I replied angrily.

 

“Dahabo!” she innocently replied.

 

“Ma adiga?” I asked with an incredulous look on my face!

 

“Haa!” she innocently said.

 

“Dahabo ma tihid.Balayo baad tahay”. Said I.

 

“Adiga balayo” said she as she prepared to attack me once more.

 

I put one arm in front of me and said “Waayahay, Dahabo baad tahay ee xaga iga joog”.

 

“Wan ku dilaya” she said as she made the sign of someone having their throat cut.

 

I confess now that I shuddered a little but the famed blood of my ancestors would not allow me to show it and I countered with the words “Ma bahashaadan gaaban ayaa I dili karta?”

 

“Waan ku xaganayaa” she threatened.

 

“Ciddiyahaan kaa guraya” I warned.

 

“Wan ku qaniinaya” she said.

 

I was about to reply with a clever retort when she suddenly ran forward spat at me and quickly jumped back.

 

“Car ku so celi” I fully dared her.

 

Others in the room tried to intervene when I shut them all up with a wave of my hand. This was a personal disagreement and we needed to sort it out amongst ourselves.

 

“Car ku so celi” I repeated.

 

“Car I dil” said she whilst reminding me that it was actually my turn to do something.

 

“Dahaboy xaggaad ka timid?” I asked as I tried to buy time for my next move. “Addis” She quickly replied.

 

 

“Af Xabashi ma ku hadasha?” I asked.

 

 

“ldkfjlkd kdjfdld eyehehje” she said.

 

 

“Ha I caayin dee” I jokingly said.

 

 

She spat at me again!

 

 

 

Someone came into the room and Dahabo, finding that I am not going to engage her in an actual physical fight, decided to try her luck with them instead.

 

 

 

Whilst she was busy biting the new arrival, my Mrs and her side of the family were all desperately trying to apologise to me and tell me that they never expected her to be this wild. They also talked about having second thoughts about keeping her for long now that she turned out to be such a handful. However, I was a man who was bitten on the thigh and I was hell-bent on teaching this little girl a lesson ( real, literal lesson in manners). Therefore, I insisted that she stays.

 

 

 

Later, once we realised the extent of her illness and found out that in order for her to get better (and remain better) she will have to stay in the UK for good, the others worried about having to look after such a troublesome child and the time and effort it will take to do so. I, however, with the noble blood of my ancestors bubbling inside me and reminding me of that painful bite on my leg (she left a mark by the way, an actual mark) was a man looking for revenge and knew that such revenge will not be gained if we sent her back, which is why I insisted that we keep her and told them all that I will have her fixed within three months.

 

 

 

Nobody believed that I could do it and they kept throwing comments such as “gabadhan dilis kama baqato oo waligeed ba waa la dili jiray” or “war tano ma daasho” and, of course, the typical “tano waxbaa o dhiman, adeer”.

 

 

 

I admit that I am no expert on problem children but I know that I am as stubborn as a spoilt kid having a tantrum on a supermarket floor. Also, my burning desire for total revenge insured that I would never give up on my goal to fix this uncontrollable Burcawi. So, the mending of Dahabo's wayward ways began.

 

 

 

First of all, like an old colonialist on a divide-and-conquer mission, I had to enlist the support of her sister. So, I sat the Mrs down one evening and told her of my plans.

 

 

 

“Kursigaa ma argta?” I said as I prepared her for my evil plan.

 

 

 

“Kursigan?” she asked.

 

 

 

“Haa kursigan. Markaad ag marto ba, waxaan kaa doonaya in aad tidhaahdo waa kursiga xun” said I.

 

 

 

“Oo maxa xumeeyay?” She asked.

 

 

 

“Nothing. Adigu kursiga xun iska dheh uun” I told her.

 

 

 

“Oo waayo dee?” she asked.

 

 

 

"Caruurtaan doonaya in aan ka bajiyo” I said.

 

 

 

“Ma waxaad I leedahay caruurto kursi ayaay ka baqaan?” she asked.

 

 

 

“Way ka baqi doonaan insha allah. Adigu dhowr cisho uun kursiga xun ku tilmaam” said I.

 

 

“Nin waalan baad tahay. Lakin waayahay, kursi xun ayaan iska odhan” she resignedly said.

[NGONGE]

For the next week or so, I spent every minute one of the children was being naughty making threats about putting them on the bad chair. Dahabo, who I noticed was observing everything, did not miss the point about the chair being bad or that bad people would be put on it. However, during the same week, I also entirely ignored anything and everything Dahabo did (including more bites and scratches on every member in the house).

 

 

 

On the following Saturday, Dahabo, in one of her now usual tantrums, decided to pick up a remote control and throw it at me. Just as she was in the process of throwing it, I shouted “Car tuur, kursiga xun ayaan ku saaraya”. She stopped herself and defiantly replied “Car I saar”.

 

 

 

“Hada hadaan ku saaro maanto dhan kama kacaysid” I warned her.

 

 

 

“Car I saar” she replied.

 

 

 

So, I calmly walked over to her and picked her up with one arm whilst insuring that her mouth was far away from my body and put her on the chair. She quickly jumped up, I quickly grabbed her and put her on the chair. She tried to bite me, I held her head away from me without uttering a single word. She kicked, spat and scratched. I put her on the chair and stood back only for her to try to get up again. I put her back on the chair again. People came and people went but me and Dahabo kept the chair game up. Two hours later, Dahabo began to cry! I tried to console her, she bit me. She tried to get up again, I put her back again. Two hours later, Dahabo gave up. I told her that she will have to sit on the chair for five more minutes and that if she tried to get up before I allowed her to, I would keep her for another five minutes. Dahabo stayed in the chair for the agreed five minutes but not without making endless threats and sign gestures about killing me and cutting off my throat!

 

 

 

The following morning, we had another argument and made another two hour visit to the chair. The morning after that, we had yet another argument and made an hour's visit to the chair. The Mrs and all concerned did not notice the reduction in time but I fully did. The day after that, wanting to reduce the damage Dahabo made to my arms, I tricked her (in one of her rare quite moments) into playing the game of nail-cutting with me. I allowed her to cut my nails first and then to my utter delight, she allowed me to cut her weapons of mass xagatashin.

 

 

 

Dahabo has not been to school and is only proficient in different fighting styles. She can not tell the difference between colours or even the meals of the day (which she refers to as Breakfast). Therefore, I had to teach her to count from one to three (even though, for some strange reason, she knew the number seven). Once she learnt to count to three and memorised the sequence, I used the counting method to warn her when she behaved badly. On the first day, I could have counted to a million and she would have still ignored me. On the second, a thousand might have done it. However, today, she behaves before I even get to the number TWO (or laba – she is bilingual like that).

 

With some children, a bribe of chocolate or sweets works wonders. Watching a bit of TV or going to play in the park can also be used as a bargaining tool. Somali children (more so those that come from crazy old Burco) do not recognise such treats. TV is boring and the park is only a place where they can find rocks and other stuff to throw at people. Chocolate is not something they know and most sweets too are alien to them. The only bribe that works is the tried and trusted NANAC-QORI! At any rate, I did reason that if it did not help her behave, it would hasten the rotting of her teeth and save me from a lifetime of bite marks and pain (but, thankfully, it did work).

 

 

 

I did not come out with the secret weapon straight away nor did I offer it to her for a couple of days. Rather, I carried one in my hand and walked around with it in full view of Dahabo's large spotlights. Whenever she misbehaved I would use it as a stick to shake it in her face and tell her to stop what she was doing. She, of course, would stop and stare at the lollipop being waved in front of her.

 

 

 

“Nanaca I sii” she would say.

 

 

 

“Nanaca aniga leh. Waxan aad sameenayso jooji” I would sternly reply.

 

 

 

“Waayahay. Nanaca I sii” she would brush me off and say.

 

 

 

“Nanaca aniga leh ban ku idhi” I would reply as I walk away and catch her still staring at the sweet in my hand.

 

 

 

The next time she misbehaves, I would do the same thing and she would ask the same question (fully unaware that she did actually stop misbehaving as I walk off with my sweet still in my hand). Just as she was giving up on ever taking the sweet off my hand (and she did try on a couple of occasions only to end up on the bad chair), I waited for a time when she was having one of her good moments and approached her with the sweet. I smiled at her as I waved the sweet in her face.

 

 

 

“Adeer wan ku baryaaya, nanaca I sii” she pleaded gently.

 

 

 

“Ma kan?” I asked absent-mindedly “Hoo! Inan fiican bad tahay”.

 

 

 

The next time she misbehaved, I went to tell her off without any sweet in my hand. She noticed and said “Kuma maqlayo, nanac ma haysid”.

 

 

 

“Dee ma inaan fiican bad tahay?” I asked her with a pretend shocked look on my face.

 

 

 

“Maya! Ianan xun ban ahay” She replied as she tried to make me angry.

 

 

 

“Waan ogaa dee. Waa waxan nanaca o keeni waayay. Ma inaan xun ba nanac la siiyaa? Orodo kursiga xun fadheeso”. Said I with a serious look on my face.

 

 

 

After her three minutes on the naughty chair (for she knows what naughty means now), she came calmly to strike a deal with me.

 

 

 

“En..en..en..en..en..en..had..had..hadaan inan fiican noqodo, nanac ma ii keenaysa?” she innocently asked.

 

 

 

“Haaa!” I carelessly replied whilst insuring that I don't look her in the eye.

 

 

 

“Ma ii keenaysa? En..en..en..en..run..run..runta sheeg!” she asked expectedly.

 

 

 

“Haa waan kuu keenaya. Lakin waa inaad inaan aad o fiican noqotid” I said, whilst still not looking her in the face.

 

 

 

She stood there looking at her feet for what seemed like an eternity (but was actually no more than ten seconds) and looked up at me to say “En..en..en..en..Inaan fiican noqonaya”.

 

 

 

On the 15^th of Apri, I took a two week holiday from work to spend more time on Dahabo's education. I am glad to report that Dahabo does not bite, scratch or spit (well only once in a blue moon now) and that she uses alien words such as please, thank you, sorry, hello, yes, no and bye. She can also recite surat An-nas off by heart and can point to the letters alif, baa and taa (in Arabic).

 

 

 

As I was telling Bob on another thread, I am contemplating a change of career now....

[Che -Guevara]

I could go two ways with this story-the Somali way (nin weyn cunug yar la tirsadey) or normal route (commend you for your hard work and dedication to the kid)-let's go with the latter :-)

 

A six yrs old sister-in-law is first. The old man should be stop from procreating.

[Valenteenah.]

What, you think you wanna be a teacher now coz you handled a six year-old burcaawi? Imagine dealing with 30 of them, well maybe not exact Dahabos.

 

I have to visit my aunt this weekend and I am thinking of ordering a taser off the internet in preparation for her kids. Yikes.

 

PS: You're a big softie, curuurtu xitaa wey ku dishaa.

[Aaliyyah]

I just read the first post and couldnt help laughing..ma sidan ba adeer aabe ku tahay? I know dahabo aint ur daughter bt from what I gathered over the years u have kids see bay ka noqotay lol..

 

between I love dahabo and ur funny conversations with her...

 

adiga laakin ka daran markaad cunug yar la tirsanasid loool no wonder shes talking to u like ur her age!..

 

habeen wacan..

 

salam

[Jacaylbaro]

Typical reer Burco ........

[Juxa]

you lot did not get this

 

Ngonge has watched too many Nanny 911 and super-nanny. lakin dahabo is 6, her time out in the kursi should be 6 minutes. you should warn her first then kursiga follow. when the time-out finishes, you give her a hug, explain why she sat there etc

 

your own tactics are burcaawi ones, gees-gees baad wax uwadaa

 

ps: well done on dealing with your SIL. I hope you put her into special programmes etc so she can catch up. she sounds smart and violent. two wonderful combination for a woman to have

[Paragon]

I like Dahabo. She has spirit. A good match for NGONGE.

 

Ha ku xagato.

 

PS: How strong is the accent? Kids from Burco have a fascinating way of talking strong words! 'Waaryaahe...':)

[NGONGE]

Valenteenah.;715172 wrote:

What, you think you wanna be a teacher now coz you handled a six year-old burcaawi? Imagine dealing with 30 of them, well maybe not exact Dahabos.

 

I have to visit my aunt this weekend and I am thinking of ordering a taser off the internet in preparation for her kids. Yikes.

 

PS: You're a big softie, curuurtu xitaa wey ku dishaa.

Thirty normal kids (and I use the word normal very loosley here) are not a problem. This one has the attention span of a drunk frog and the memory of a goldfish. And, anyway, the suggestion that I should change careers was not my own; it was the doctors, nurses and other experts who suggested it as they observed me regaining total control with a flick of my finger.

 

Talking of your aunt and her 30 kids ; tell her that I am willing to offer her my services on Saturdays between the hours of twelve noon to five in the evening. I only ask for fair payment and that I can bring Dahabo along (in case my methods fail).

 

Juxa, Supernanny works on gaalo kids. For the Burcaawis, some of the methods need to be modified.

 

p.s.

caruurta waa lala tirsada or else they will always view you as something "different". You've got to get down to their level and then wipe the floor with them using your (somewhat) superior intellect. The Alpha Male role is further reinforced by regualar games and challanges in which (naturally) I always win.

[Gheelle.T]

The more she learns the better she becomes. Keep her busy all the times with things she may feel interesting. Keep up the good work old man!

[N.O.R.F]

Well done duqa. Sounds like she was a handful. A change of career might be in order (you seem to be enjoying it).

[Libaax-Sankataabte]

NGONGE is sort of a "jack of all trades, master of all" kind of Burcaawi

[SayidSomal]

Dahabo sounds like the epitome of rough diamond - and it looks she has met the best diamond cutter in the world.

[Malika]

@ Ngonge, well done you!

 

Apart from her behaviour, she is ill and far from her parents - that alone is huge to a child of six. So friend be patience and continue doing what your doing.

 

Loool@Val - reminds me a neighbour, she insists everytime we meet , that I visit often - wax kama ogaa her kids terrify me.

[Chimera]

NGONGE = utter waste of talent! This story with a beginning, middle and an uplifting end in paper/hardback would see me buying one for myself and several dozen more for my friends.

 

Multi-dimensional Somali characters in a realistic comical situation? = Win/win.