Memoirs of a Man in Denial

[Abtigiis]

19 years ago, one Tuesday noon, me and Fitsum traded vicious insults and vowed never to speak to each other again. Fitsum – a classmate and something else to me – had a fiery temperament, a trait she no doubt inherited from her half-Eritrean parents. I had the pride of a nomad. How can an Amahara whore look down on me – son of Mahdi Ciil-nuug, owner of over hundred camels?!

 

What made the brawl stick to mind is the commotion it caused. The whole class witnessed it. Most did not know of our furtive courtship until that moment.

 

For a whole semester, the vow was kept on both sides. The greeting of God – as the perfunctory hello is known in Ethiopia – was flouted. Until, one day, I left a note by her desk without speaking to her. It read “it seems there is a dearth of intermediaries to reconcile us, why can't we reconcile by ourselves?” She obliged.

 

Two years later, Nigatu – my roomate in the University who is now a lecturer in Addis Ababa University –introduced me to an afternoon pastime. We would walk out through Afinjo ber –the smaller gate of the University, walk towards Piazza, teasing lonely girls on the way. Before we reach Arada, we would turn back and hit the main road that links Arat Kilo to sadist kilo and walk as far as Shiro meda.

 

Just before we reach Shiro meda, there is a big church – Medhane-Alem (the holy saviour), on the right side of the road. Nigatu would ask me to wait for him as he pays the customary respect to the “Father, Son and Holy Spirit”, by kissing the wall of the church and kneeling down for around five minutes. I wait by the road. On Friday’s he would sip tea at a nearby café and wait for me as I perform Jum’a prayers for one hour in a Mosque at Takle-Haimanot safer. My tolerance of the beliefs of others was cemented in those days.

 

And then Ismahan happened. Unlike me, she was from Addis Ababa and has not lived with Somalis although both her late father and mom were Somalis. We met at the college when one Amhara friend told her that there is a Somali boy in the campus.

 

That Amhara friend was from Dire Dawa. He was Taye, who was later arrested for bad-mouthing Tigrean fighters in a Televised address when Mengistu Hailemariam visited the University in his last days. Taye used to upset me by calling me a “ fake Somali”. “Just look at him when he starts eating magna Injera. Just be honest. Does he really look like a Somali or a veteran from Dabre-Birhan?” he would tell my friends in my absence and they would tell me later.

 

Ismahan and I developed such an intense platonic friendship that rumors abounded that we were not just friends given the time we spent with each other.

 

Ismahan did not speak Somali. But I started teaching her to the extent she felt she can talk about others in Somali when she wants to tell me something urgent that she doesn’t want others to hear. “Wiilkii iyagii madaw weeyaan?” She said one day, trying to tell me that a boy standing next to us looked like an Afro-American.

 

Like me, she must had instructions from her family. Be yourself. Know you are a Somali. A goat that spends time with sheep doesn’t become a sheep. My mom’s words –whenever she sees me after six months –were wakening. “Hooyo, don’t eat their meat. Don’t take their culture. We are better than them. We are Muslims. We are Somalis. We are clean. If God made you a Somali, you couldn’t possibly ask for anything more." Mom had underestimated the profound impact environment and interactions have in shaping attitudes and identity.

 

Ismahan always, always mentions the day we spent revising calculus in empty classroom at night and I somehow noticed that her chest was almost like mine because nothing was protruding from the tiny T-shirt she was wearing.

 

“Ismahan, you need to grow those things" I said. She laughed, and laughed and laughed, and in subsequent years, asked me why I came up with that joke.

 

Of course, by the time I made the joke, there were no secretes I did not know about her, or she did not know about me. But I think she may have been startled by me noticing something she did not expect me to notice.

 

Despite mom’s advice, I ate their meat, slept in their houses and adopted some of their etiquettes. But always, my outward integration masked an inward longing to be a Somali. So, Radio Mogdishu, news about Somalia, Somali music was to be obsessively tracked. There was no internet, no TVs to follow then. The only way of connecting with your roots was through audio cassettes you collect when you go on holidays to home once or twice in a year.

 

Ketema Mekonen – the late quintessential Ethiopian Kirarist, sings this breathtaking lyric:

 

Your tender heels are like a lemon,

I am afraid you may rapture (them) if you walk bare-footed,

Why can’t you wear me as your shoes?

 

And then laments the self-centeredness of his lover who he alleges had taken his heart:

 

Return my heart to me, yours is enough for you

Where have you seen someone who became rich by collecting hearts ?

 

And the lines invoke memories of people, places, and times. People I don’t want to be but I can’t help to identify with, places I don’t wish to live in, but I can’t take off my mind.

 

Heck, I am a Somali. It is memories that make you or define who you are. But my defining memories are not Somali. Which means they are not correct. I delete them. I am not going to allow intrusive memories to dictate to me who I am or to stifle who I want to be. I am what my mom wants me to be.

 

I am a Somali. 100%, most of the time; except the devilish moments when possessing recollections seep into my mind.

[Alpha Blondy]

this is why you're the SOLer of the year 2012!

[NGONGE]

A&T

 

Have you read Orwell's "Coming Up For Air", saaxib?

 

p.s.

As with the Novel, a visit back should clear things out for you and tell you once and for all if you are indeed 100% Somali (which I doubt) or not.

[Alpha Blondy]

NG,

 

i've seen and spoken to both you and AT and he's more somali than a ciyaal arab third culture kid/grown man will ever be!

[STOIC]

You know my folks intermarry with your folks.You almost gave me a heart-attack there.I know Somone with the same description (of course not the bare chest part Istaghfurllah) .Waar maa tuumashiithey buukaahatlaya baan isiiri..A distant cousin of mine is married to a Somali-girl from Same city.Her Somali is worse than a Sijui...A highly educated girl.I suspect she went to University in Ethiopia before she cemented with her masters here in America...

[Abtigiis]

Stoic, characters in this story are fictional. Any coincidence with real people is purely coincidental! :D :D

 

Haday iyada noqoto ila soo xidhiidhi ama lambarkeeda ii soo ***. Waanu iswaynay. I am sure she will like to speak to me, and if this small indiscretion unites us again, she wouldn't mind.

[NGONGE]

Alpha Blondy;897549 wrote:

NG,

 

i've seen and spoken to both you and AT and he's more somali than a ciyaal arab third culture kid/grown man will ever be!

Err.. a chance meeting outside Imperial Hotel that lasted a mere TWO MINUTES does not count as "seen and spoken" to me, saaxib. If it were about judgments on first impressions, mine was "ninko waa caadi! Oo maxa loo yedhi waxba o dhiman?"

 

A&T, by his own admission (here and on other threads) has been greatly influenced by the Xabashi culture.

 

p.s.

 

STOIC, is your "distant cousin" Iranian by any chance? :D

[STOIC]

AT&T...Waar mayaa inaagaa xisshow hateey shekathaan ruuntahaay...Xaal baan Kaqathii hatikaale...Sorry for spelling mistakes...

 

Ngonge, My distant cousin is a sand-diver...I swear this story was plodding close to home..I think the Iranian part was purposely fictional...lol

[NGONGE]

^^ Well just be glad that your suspected dumaashi is Entisaar and not Fitusm. A&T simply stole glances at the first's flat chest but god only knows what unholy things he did to the second.

[STOIC]

^I'm glad he only satisfied his optical illusion...no harm...lol

[Abtigiis]

Ngonge, I will look for the book you suggested. These days I am totally immersed in a fascinating book by Richard Hall - it is an affront to just call it a book - Empires of the Monsoon.

 

Stoic - i should have known the name Ismahan is rare. But no damage done, and she will confirm the narration if she reads.

[Alpha Blondy]

AT,

 

how many chapters are there in your memoirs? also what are the main themes? i'm always amazed by the prominent role 'these' women play in your life!

[STOIC]

AT&T...this just shows how we are all connected in some ways..No harm If we are talking about the same person.Just let me know if you want to reconnect with your distant cousin....You never knew this Sijui guy of all people can relate to your story! haha

[Alpha Blondy]

Apophis;897554 wrote:

You seem to be suffering from first world problems while in the third world.

some people lack virtual self-awareness ma iistiri? do you even know where the term 'third world' came from?

[Abtigiis]

:D I know we are connected, more so in this age of internet. That explains why there is no Xaliimo girlfriend of mine in all my stories. Where they exist in real history, they assume the characters of Agnes or Sophie.