The following is a true story of a young man I met in California while
doing research on Somali families in the U.S. His short but powerful story intrigued
me because it debunks certain cultural myths, perceptions, and misperceptions
about the role of women in Somali culture. I will let Dalmar (not his real
name) tell you his account.
I was once a poor communicator, selfish, immature, and
antisocial. Today, I can comfortably say I am a normal, happy person—thanks to a
Somali woman who helped me undergo a transformation to become a better man. All
the negative perceptions about Somali women engendered by our proverbs and cultures
are bull. I can recite more than 20 proverbs that demean women and question
their intelligence, character, and judgment. For instance, one Somali adage
goes, “A man who follows a woman’s counsel is doomed.”
Rubbish!
Women are as smart, if not smarter, than men are. Furthermore,
there are a lot of men who follow women’s advice. I am one of them.
I grew up in a family in which my father treated my mother
like an appendage. He disrespected her, yelled at her, and made sure my
siblings and I showed her no respect. My father’s putrefied view of women
was—and, sadly, still is—contemptible. The fact that my siblings and I were all
boys further isolated my mother in our household. Unfortunately, she had no
support system, no allies, because her family lived several hundred kilometers
away.
My family settled in the United Sates when I was 15. I was
always a serious student and made excellent grades. In high school, I liked
some of the young Somali girls, but I was a bit insecure. In college, though, I
met a young woman who had been raised by her mother and stepfather, but did not
get along with her parents. Her mother always sided with her stepfather because
she did not want to alienate him as the father of her five children.
Idil and I clicked. We became best friends and gradually fell
in love. Initially, we were fine because I did not show her the real me. I was
polite, courteous, and respectful. However, after a few months, I started
dictating to her. It seemed I was dominating her every move and thought.
Though my family was dysfunctional, we were living in a middle-class
home. I knew the basics of etiquette—table manners, how to dress properly and
stylishly, and how to conduct myself. In reality, though, I had a limited
emotional repertoire. Idil, on the other hand, had been raised in a poor
household and her childhood had been one of scarcity. A short window was allocated to meal times,
and children ate anywhere but the dining table. If you were late for lunch,
chances were you wouldn’t find any leftovers.
After almost a year of enduring my verbal abuse, Idil finally
summoned the courage to split with me. It was a crushing blow for me because
she occupied an indelible place in my heart. I missed her all the more because
I had no one to pick on. My well-kept façade began to crumble. Suddenly, I
became deflated, lonely, and emotionally devoid.
I graduated from college and found a good job as a social
worker. It was at that time that I met Anisa. As a work colleague, she was
petite, smart, steady, confident, and intensely single minded, and motivated by
a bright future. She had a purity of heart that really attracted me to her. I started talking to her and asking her out.
She finally agreed to go out with me for lunch.
Anisa was a strong young lady who was opinionated and
outspoken, a woman of steadiness and constancy. She would stop me if I made a
sexist remark, or would constantly ask me the rationale for my actions. Like a
teacher, she lectured me but in a gentler, kinder way. She never seemed
overbearing because she mixed humor with her corrections of my faux pas.
Instead of constantly complaining, I started expressing myself in a
non-threatening way. Instead of pointing fingers at her, I began listening to
what she had to say.
Anisa and I became an item and we decided to get married. She
saw me as an ambitious young man with leadership skills. I saw her as a woman
who made me a better man. I introduced her to my family. Surprisingly, Anisa, connected with my mother.
It was the first time I saw my mother relaxed and comfortable and was delighted
to see her and my mother laughing, joking, and having a good time when Anisa
was around. Then, Anisa and my mother
started shopping together. I was nervous because I did not want my fiancé to
know the embarrassing details of my family life. I was, as I said earlier,
insecure and ashamed of my family.
It was these social meetings between my mother and Anisa that
opened my eyes to the extent of my family’s dysfunction. Anisa and I talked
about my parents and the way I had been raised. It was like sitting in therapy
sessions. For the first time, I started seeing my mother in a different light,
as a victim of verbal and emotional abuse orchestrated by her husband and, to a
lesser extent, her own children. I also saw myself as a survivor of an
emotionally wrecked family environment. I felt pain for what my mother had gone
through.
My mother was a 17-year-old girl from a rural area who got
married to my father, an educated 26-year-old urban man with a good government
job. My parents’ relationship was not only unbalanced but also toxic. She had
to depend on him financially, and did not have anyone to lean on. Essentially,
she was trapped in a bad marriage. When my mother decided to go to an adult
school in our neighborhood, my father balked. He did not want her to learn.
I am getting married to Anisa very soon. I am fortunate to
have met her because today I am a better man. Most of all, I am a better son to
my mother. My mother and I are very close now and she has shown no evidence of
a lingering grudge against me. I am lucky to have two beautiful women in my
life. Unfortunately, the only person to whom I am not close is—you might have
guessed right—my father. He never liked Anisa, nor is he happy with my close
relationship with my mother. Truly, you can’t please everyone in this life. I
saw an interesting quote somewhere that said, “Don’t dwell on who let you down.
Cherish those who hold you up.”
End of the story.
In a nutshell, men do not have to go far to appreciate women
or to realize that the myths perpetuated about them in Somali society are
absolute nonsense; they can look at their mothers and sisters and realize that
apart from often being smarter than their husbands, they play an invaluable
role in sustaining and nourishing the family—sometimes against all the odds.
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