A Tribute to Said Samatar

The passing of Professor Said Samatar, 71, was sad and sudden.

I never met the good professor in person, but we had exchanged several emails.  I was very familiar with his research and books. In fact, his book, Oral Poetry and Somali Nationalism: The Case of Sayid Mahammad Abdille Hassan (Cambridge, 1982), is perhaps one of the best books ever written on the role of poetry as a tool to gain and maintain political power in the Somali society. 

 

Samatar’s writing, sometimes hilarious, mostly insightful, made the reader ponder and laugh heartily. He also had a whiff of disdain in his interviews and writings for past and present Somali governments.

Two years ago, I wrote an article about a conflict between former President Siad Barre and Samatar in the 1980s. I wanted to get Samatar’s take on the story so I sent him a draft of my piece. To my amazement, the professor had another idea. As an editor of the journal Horn of Africa, he asked me if I could perhaps publish the article there. I was stunned. I’d written the article for a general audience and wanted it that way. It was flattering, however, that the good professor liked the article to the extent he wanted to publish it academically.

 

Aside from the political spat between the president and Samatar, my article touched on something of a taboo: the professor’s past conversion to Christianity. I was concerned that Samatar would not discuss the matter, and on this I was actually right. He saw his change of religion at an early age as a personal matter or, as he said in one of his articles a year ago, pure pragmatism. It was, after all, the missionaries who had helped him get an education, employment, and an opportunity to come to the U.S. Most of all, he had also met his wife, Lydia, through her missionary work in Somalia. In 2005, however, Samatar made it clear in an interview that he was back to his religious heritage. He stated he had gone “from one kitab (book) to another. And now I am returning to the original kitab.”

 

Professor Samatar was one of a kind. A year ago, he wrote that he wanted to change his clan affiliation from Lelkase to Geri. (Incidentally, did Faisal Roble, a close friend of the professor, have anything to do with this?).  Samatar had a knack for courting controversy, however, his supposed clan change yielded blinks, squints and blank stares. He was so impressed with the Geri that he wanted to be adopted by them. In essence, though, he didn’t make a big splash when he switched from one Darod sub-clan to another.  Once, I thought Samatar almost came close to switching to the Dir clan in the way he extolled the virtues of a Biyamaal intellectual who had eloquently spoken about the plight of his people in Lower Juba. I thought that would have been big news: a Darod scholar switches to Dir. But Samatar saw something in the Geri—and only in the Geri—that appealed to him. 

 

One thing we all know is that every one of us is born into his clan and, hence, we have little choice. Once upon a time, Saddam Hussein was asked about his equally bloodthirsty gangster son, Uday. In response, the dictator rolled his eyes and said in a melancholy voice, “What can I do about it? I can’t choose my relatives.” Being born to a Somali clan is either a blessing or a curse, depending on whom you ask. However, Samatar succeeded in sparking a healthy debate among Somali intellectuals: Can anyone forsake his clan in favor of another?

 

I will certainly miss Samatar’s writings, his courageous radio interviews, and his sharp insights into the everyday absurdities, quirks, nomadic tendencies, and feisty spirit of the Somali people.  

 

Going Somewhere: Joe Biden and Somali Cab Drivers

The Somalis are in the news this week in the U.S.

No, it is not about piracy or Al-Shabaab bombing in Africa. It is actually about something that is work-related. In a White House conference addressing the issue of stopping extremist violence (Oops, there we go again), Vice President Joe Biden expressed his positive attitude toward Somalis.  He said he knows them and has in fact some Somali friends. Anyone who went with him to the train station, he told the press, will see his connection with the Somalis.  “I have great relationships with them because there is an awful lot driving cabs and [they] are friends of mine.”  As if to punctuate the message, Biden added: “I am not being solicitous. I am being serious.”

After Biden’s statement, it was a shock-and-awe moment. All of sudden, he has been accused of stereotyping Somalis. How dare Biden say that about Somalis, many questioned. Doesn’t he have any modicum of sensitivity? Critics said that there is more to Somalis than cab driving.

First, I did not know that the American VP is still taking the train to his hometown in Wilmington, Delaware. Second, Biden is a veteran politician, but he is unique in a way because he operates without a filter. In other words, he has been one to speak his mind. After he speaks up and there is uproar, Biden has a tendency to apologize to calm the storm. “My statement was taken out of context,” he would say. That is when he resorts to being a typical politician.

However, Biden is right this time about Somalis and cab driving. He has nothing to apologize for. Many Somalis in urban areas are cab drivers. That is a fact. Of course, not all Somalis are cabbies. Biden only spoke about the ones he has known, the cabbies at the Amtrak Station. Somalis were not always associated with taxi driving in America. This is a new phenomenon.

In the 1980s, I moved from Ohio to California. Then, there were many Ethiopians who worked as taxi drivers or parking lot attendants. In essence, the Ethiopians dominated these two lines of work. In the early 1990s, Somalis started arriving in California. After a while, the Ethiopians moved on to other careers; a few stayed in the taxi business but as owners rather than drivers. Many years later, Somalis entered the field and cab driving became the favorite job among many because of two reasons: It did not require fluency in English and it gave these taxi drivers a chance to get together with fellow countrymen and talk about politics. There is another sinister motive for some because the taxi work, which is mostly cash-based, can be underreported to both the welfare agency and to their wives. 

I have always wondered why so many educated Somalis drive a taxi. I can understand the ones with limited skills being cabbies and the ones who are doing it for a short period, but why do the rest make it a career?  I have seen former government officials in Barre’s regime driving taxis. Some were ministers and others directors of government agencies.

The saddest case was a Somali professional in California who drove a taxi in the weekends. When his son graduated from high school, the young man became a cabbie. I talked to his parents about the matter but the father gave me an interesting response: “My son has to drive a cab because I have relatives back home to support.” I asked the father if he had thought of his son going to college, getting an education and then being in a better position to support his family. The father kept quiet.

I have two anecdotes about Somalis and cab driving.

Many years ago in a California court, a judge asked me if there were any Somali-speaking therapists or psychologists in the city so he could refer a Somali defendant to them. I answered no.

“Are you kidding?” the judge exclaimed.

“None,” I reiterated.

The judge fidgeted and kept starring at the defendant’s case file. He was probably asking himself why a 10,000-strong Somali community in a major California city has not yet produced a specialist after being in the state over 20 years.

“No medical doctor either?” he asked curiously.

“Your Honor, not yet,” I said, “But fortunately we have a lot of cab drivers.”

The judge looked at me in disbelief and exploded: “But I am not going anywhere!”

The other story is about my university studies many years ago. I was accepted by the University of Chicago to do an advanced degree. I became ambivalent as to whether to leave California, where I had a good graduate fellowship, or go to the University of Chicago, a private institution, which offered me only a tuition waiver. At the time, I had a family with two young children. I asked a veteran professor at that university how the graduate students in Chicago survived in that very expensive city. “Well, there are fifth-year doctoral students who drive cabs,” he answered, sympathetically. Frankly, I was stupefied but at the same time I thought these students at least saw taxi driving as a temporary means to survive to obtain their degrees.

I have a friend in Mogadishu who is a successful businessman. He did not leave the country when many fled in 1991. He called me one day. “Hassan, what is wrong with you diaspora people?” he inquired. I asked him what the problem was. “Well, there are many cab drivers from North America everywhere in Mogadishu who all want to be either cabinet ministers or parliamentarians and nothing else.” His anger was understandable because he was wondering, in his mind, if the Somalis abroad have produced any other careers. That was a typical Joe Biden moment!

Some solace comes to my friend, the businessman. There have been some high-ranking Somali officials or celebrities who were once cabbies but they had moved on. They include two presidents of Puntland, one Puntland VP, a federal Attorney General, cabinet ministers, and a famous female singer, to mention a few.

I would like Somalis in the diaspora to approach cab driving as a transitory job, not a career. There is so much our community can do because opportunities abound in North America. It starts with ambition, then discipline and hard work. It will only be then that other nationalities will recognize our brains, skills, and contribution.

Meet Mr. Cantarbaqash

He is the first man I have met so far who has told me about his intention to run for the Somali presidency in 2016. Because he has not yet made a formal announcement, I will call him “Cantarbaqash,” (Baloney).

Cantarbaqash is in his fifties, short and round. He has a well-trimmed beard and wears suits that are oversized but help him conceal his protruding belly. He once was a cabbie, a career that spanned 23 years. He has never attended school but speaks two African languages with ease. His English is self-taught and limited; his Arabic is at best pedestrian. His line of work is the nonprofit sector. Throughout the years, he has raised several million dollars for the agency he heads to feed the poor and indigent in the Horn of Africa. The organization’s website is littered with pictures of internally displaced people receiving food, cooking oil, and blankets. The name of the charity is widely displayed in the background for emphasis. Other images are of goats being donated to people or on their way to the slaughterhouse for meat donation.  It is not clear if these images of goats are recycled from various projects across the country. Cantarbaqash shows pictures of starving people to Somalis in the diaspora so that they donate to his agency.

He has fared well and leads a comfortable life. He travels constantly. All the monies collected as donations—which are all in cash—are supposedly used for staff traveling, offices, restaurant food, and hotel accommodations. Only a small fraction of the funds goes to the needy, according to Cantarbaqash himself. “We have high overhead costs, like some of the big Western NGOs,” he says, putting his foundation in the same realm as Save the Children and the International Rescue Committee. After many years in the field of charity, his foundation has yet to build a school, a clinic, or a warehouse for food distribution. Once or twice a year, Cantarbaqash calls local media in Mogadishu and bribes a few journalists to cover his distribution of aid to a select one or two hundred poor people. Then Cantarbaqash flies back to his splendid house in North America.

One day, Cantarbaqash had a new revelation: He wants to be elected president of Somalia in 2016. Since then, he has fixated on 2016. He has told his family and friends that he is serious about pursuing his dream of becoming president. Cantarbaqash has visited Somalia—from Hargeisa to Kismayo—in his capacity as a charity manager. He is absolutely certain that—don’t laugh—people in Somaliland and Puntland will support him. They should, he says with smugness because their leaders have welcomed him before. In reality, Cantarbaqash is in it for personal gain. He is as greedy as a chipmunk and as unscrupulous as a hyena.

Where does Cantarbaqash stand on the issues?

Q: What is your political plan for the country?

A: Um, I want to serve my country. I love Somalia.

Q: What is your economic plan?

A: I believe in entrepreneurship.

Q: What do you think of the provisional constitution?

A: Somalis are not happy with this document. It must go.

Q: What is the problem with the constitution?

A: The people that I talk to are opposed to this document.

Q: What are your thoughts on peace and reconciliation?

A: We are one nation and we need to build our future.

Q: What role do you see for Somali women in rebuilding the country?

A: [Laughter] You know me, I love women. [More laughter]

Obviously, Cantarbaqash has not yet formulated his “plans” but he might still surprise many by having his political “agenda” in glossy pamphlets, just like the glitzy, eye-catching literature about his foundation. He asserts that he is no different than some of the recent presidents who, in his words, “came from nowhere to be the leaders of Somalia.”

There is nothing to be expected from Cantarbaqash, a man of obvious limitations. The only thing outstanding about him is his mediocrity. Unfortunately, given the state of Somalia over the last three decades, Cantarbaqash’s mediocrity may not seem strange after all. Ladies and gentlemen, Cantarbaqash’s presidential candidacy is coming to a coffeehouse near you. Until then, sit tight and enjoy the “fadhi-du-Dirir” (political chatter). Cantarbaqash is oblivious to one thing: Political chatter among Somalis has become an art form and is much more popular than even the office of the presidency.