The Naming and Shaming of Ambassador Ali Americo

The United Nations Monitoring Group Report on Somalia and Eritrea, which was released this week, offers a scathing attack on former Somali ambassador to Kenya, Mohamed Ali Nur “Americo” for engaging in a widespread graft and misappropriation of state funds. Americo, who was stationed in Nairobi for a decade, has yet to respond to the allegations.

Many loved the popular ambassador for his accessibility, humbleness, and activism. In April of this year, three weeks after he was recalled to Mogadishu, he told Abdi Latif Dahir of Sahan Journal that he was honored to be liked by many people. “I was doing my job, and it is really nice when you are liked for what you did,” he humbly said. “God forbid the other way around,” he added. As if to punctuate his message and legacy, he said “I am leaving on a high note.”

Not so fast.

Per the UN Report, Americo ran the Embassy like his own fiefdom. He controlled embassy funds, personally paid the staff, paid all expenses, and, on rare occasions, even personally transferred money to Somalia. In one case, he opened an account in the name of the Embassy that was different from the official account and had a friend outside the Embassy to run the bank accounts. Mohamed Ahmed Anwar, a friend of Ambassador Americo, told the UN Monitoring Group that he was never an employee of the Embassy, but nevertheless he acted as the envoy’s private accountant. Here is an account of how much money Anwar, the “private accountant,” handled for a major Somali Embassy under Americo:

1.      From June 2014 to April 2015, the Embassy collected USD $960,836 in fees for issuing 7,500 Somali passports and countless emergency travel documents. In that same period, only $486,258 was remitted to the Central Bank in Mogadishu, leaving about $474,578 unaccounted for.

2.      The Chinese Government donated $1 million to Somalia through the Embassy in Nairobi. Only $479,314 was deposited in the Central Bank and the remaining $517,686 was allegedly paid to a law firm (Ibrahim, Issack & Company) that provided services for a case that involved the illegal sale of the Somali Embassy property many years earlier. According to the UN Report, the invoice from the law firm was different from the actual amount allegedly paid. Fowzia Adam, then the Somali Foreign Minister, corroborated the irregularity of the way the Chinese donation was handled. When Mohamed Farmajo was prime minister, he had authorized the release about $112,000 specifically to the Embassy for the legal fees. However, Americo said he had no knowledge of that fund.

3.      The Somali Foreign Ministry allocates $49,200 to the Embassy every quarter ($196,000 annually) for operational costs and the Somali Federal Government an additional $246,000 every year. With the fees the Embassy collects for issuing passports and travel documents, the total yearly revenue for the Embassy is about $720,578. This rivals the annual budgets of three important federal ministries such as the Ministry of Health ($793,032), the Ministry of Labor ($760, 116) and the Ministry of Youth and Sports ($572, 220). 

Ten days before Ambassador Americo was to return to Mogadishu, he brought a team of information technology specialists to the Embassy to delete all sensitive files in the Embassy’s computers and furthermore “hard copies of documents” were “systematically destroyed,” according to the report. When the Embassy was handed to the new ambassador, per the UN report, only about $4,000 was left in the Embassy’s bank account. Moreover, Ambassador Americo had not paid the rent ($6,000 monthly) for the Embassy for months.

The UN Monitoring Group observers contacted Ambassador Americo about these allegations of misappropriating of funds. He was adamant he had done nothing wrong. In his words, he said that the missing funds had been used for the “assistance of refugees in Dadaab and Kakuma camps, rent of vehicles for dignitaries, assistance to Somalis accused of piracy in Mombasa, assistance of needy Somalis in Kenya, i.e. tickets, school fees, and hospital fees. Function for the Embassy. Assist Somalis throughout Kenya who needed assistance. Paid for school fees for students who got good grades for encouragement. Held seminars for the youth in Eastleigh, Mombasa and other cities. Paid hospital fees for the mothers, elders and other Somalis who could not pay their hospital fees.”

When Ambassador Americo was asked if he had any documentation for those services, he couldn’t furnish any.  No documents were found in the Embassy either.

The UN Monitoring Group Report raises legitimate questions about the way the Somali Federal Government and its officials handle public funds. The case of Ambassador Americo is one of many examples that need to be examined and, of course, the ambassador has every right to due process. Abdi Hosh, a Somali parliamentarian, has recently proposed in the social media that the Somali Attorney General “initiate prosecution proceedings against the individuals named, their properties put on a temporary lien and their passports confiscated.” Hosh added, “It would be courageous of the government to indict everyone who is mentioned in this [UN] report for misappropriation of money and recover all these monies.” This is the right course of action to leave the endless loop of recriminations and shenanigans on the side and to find the truth.

For Ambassador Americo, all the hoopla and the informal talk about possible 2016 presidential run might be prudent to be put on hold until he answers to these serious allegations .

Relationships in Flux (Part 2): Somali Stories

This is the last installment of a two-part series of true stories of Somalis in the U.S. and their relationships. The series is part of “Courtship and Marriage: The Somali Experience in America,” a book project that the author is finishing. The names and locations of these individuals have been changed for privacy reasons. I will let each protagonist tell his or her story.

***

Family Meddling

I am going crazy because I can’t stand my wife’s family.

In reality, my wife and I come from two different regions: I from central Somalia, and she from the south. Her family tradition is for relatives to live together or close by. Her grown-up siblings and their families all live either in the same building or a block away from their parents. When I married my wife, her father asked me to live with them but I politely declined. Apparently, he has not forgotten this snub and has carried a hateful resentment toward me ever since. In fact, he has declared war on me. Quite simply, this man hates me.

My father-in-law tells my wife what to do, how to spend her own money, and how much money to give him. Once, my father-in-law collected a sizable amount of jewelry from all his adult daughters and paid off a debt totaling $30,000. He also stockpiled obscene amounts of money from a dozen community members for a failed business venture. My father-in-law’s daily drill includes calling his adult children and inquiring about their circumstances, grilling them to tell him if anything is new in their lives. At times, he talks to his grandchildren, like my daughter, 11, and reprimands them for some infraction here and there. To him, I am merely a figurehead, not the head of my household. Two of my sisters-in-law went through a divorce because of their father’s interference in their marital relationships. I have talked to my father-in-law about all his meddling, but to no avail. My wife, on the hand, is too accommodating to him and fearful of him for a legitimate reason: He is known for his temper and confrontational behavior.

I tolerated my father-in-law for a long time and, in fact, I was resilient in the face of derision. However, I finally snapped.

One day, I went to a city 300 kilometers away from home for work and ended up staying there longer than I anticipated. I sent an airline ticket to my wife to visit me over the weekend. On her arrival day, I went to the airport and eagerly waited for her. Unfortunately, she was a no-show. Concerned, I called home and, surprisingly, she answered the phone.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I decided to stay home.”

“Why?”

“My father said so.”

“What?”

“It is not safe for me to travel, he advised.”

“Who is your husband? Me or him?”

“You are, but I have to listen to my dad, too.”

I was burning with fury and started unleashing a litany of vile Somali curses on her and her dad.

“I am done with you,” I screamed.  “I have had enough of you and your father.”

All hell broke loose after my split from my wife. My father-in-law was elated because he had finally dispatched his old nemesis with ruthless efficiency. However, my children and their mother were heartbroken. Subsequently, my ex started to challenge her father for the first time and, according to my children, became more assertive and rebellious toward his demands. It was indeed a new imbalance of power dynamics: A father who once was a stern presence in his large family’s life suddenly becoming a man with a diminished role. For me, it was a painful two-year period in which I was single and miserable. I missed my family and had allowed one man to ruin my marriage.

Long story short, I am now back with my family but things have changed drastically. My wife is a changed person and tells her family that she will not allow anyone to come between her and her husband. My father-in-law is not involved in our life, and everyone in my immediate family is ecstatic with the change. Mark Twain once said: “Adam was the luckiest man on earth because he had no mother-in-law.” In my case, it was my father-in-law who was a thorn in my flesh. At least, for a while.

The Unforgettable One

I have been married three times.

My current husband is kind and generous, a great provider. He is good to my children, who are both from a previous marriage.

Husband number two was a hard-working man whose loyalty was unmatched.

My first husband is the one I still remember today. In fact, I have developed an ongoing habit of comparing all men to him. He was my first love. I was barely 19, and he was 27. The age difference was a blessing for me because he was mature, responsible, and attentive, and he spoiled me rotten. We joked around, laughed, and cherished each other a great deal. I grew up in a small village in southern Somalia and he came from Kismayo, the third largest city in the country. We lived in Portland, Maine, in a sizable Somali community. We were true partners with a strong love for each other and a stable marriage. I still shed tears when I recall all those good memories. What is painful is that our union came to an end four years later.

My husband wanted children but we couldn’t conceive. We went to numerous doctors and clinics, but no problem was ever detected. I also wanted children, but I was more flexible than he was. I believed we had a unique marriage full of compassion, passion, respect, and love—a marriage that could grow without children. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. My husband and I talked about the problem of conception, and he decided that we had to split.

After the divorce, my life spiraled into depression. I quit my part-time job, went to live with my parents, and isolated myself from all my friends. I was a total wreck. My husband left Portland and moved to Columbus, Ohio. He found a nice job, and, after a year, got married again. I also moved on after two years and married my second husband. Then, three years later, I got divorced again and married my current husband.

Something interesting has happened, however.

Both my first husband and I are now parents, separately: He has three children and I have two.

Many intense memories came back to me when my first husband and his family came to visit us in Maine. My current husband and my first husband were schoolmates in high school in Somalia. They had stayed in contact and, of course, my current husband knew about my earlier marriage to his friend. What a small world! It was a most awkward moment, seeing my first husband so many years after our divorce. At dinner, I found myself going out of my way to give more food to him. “Do you need anything else?” I kept asking. In a way, my question brought back the memory of how I used to overfeed him. His wife and my husband definitely noticed how I was catering to my ex much more than to anyone else.

After our guests left, I was depressed. I was obsessed with thinking about my ex-husband and the life we could have had. I know it was not meant to be. Most likely, he is happy with his new family, but now I am no longer happy with my life. I am miserable. I feel that another woman has taken from me what was rightfully mine.

Suddenly, I view myself as unhappy. My current husband does not know what is bothering me. I keep telling him that I’m not feeling well, but I don’t want to get professional help. He is patient, but deep down I know he is frustrated with me. I have a feeling that one day my husband will leave me. Maybe I should get divorced and try to win back my ex-husband.

Do you think I’m crazy?

I think so.

My Best Friend

Okay, online dating has been getting a bad rap, but I can’t complain. I met my best friend, Anab, through online dating several years ago.  

Anab lived in Europe and I in New York. That, of course, made our relationship desperately hopeless. She told me upfront that she would not move to the States and I told her I would not move to Europe. She had a big family there and most of my family members and friends live here.

Thank God for the internet. Anab and I have exchanged emails for the last five years. I tell her what I do every week and she does the same. We have—and still do—exchanged pictures, gossip, and ideas. I constantly seek her input and she gives me her honest opinion. I look forward to her frequent emails because they are nourishing. I never had a female friend—or male friend for that matter— with whom I felt so comfortable. In a nutshell, Anab was the woman who got away, but instead ended up being my best friend.

Anab and I have never met; however, there is a new development in her life: She got married two years ago to a “wonderful’—that is her word—man. She is happy and I’m rooting for her to have a successful and lasting marriage. I’m not married yet because I’m a workaholic. I haven’t tried online dating since 2010. Anab is always encouraging me to settle down, to which my usual answer is: “Insha’Allah” (God willing). What else am I going to say?

I was looking for love and matrimony on the internet; instead, I got a best friend. I got a jewel from the bedlam of the internet. Not everything about online dating is bad. That is my personal view.

 (This article originally appeared at Sahan Journal on October 19, 2015 and is reprinted with permission).

Relationships in Flux (Part 1): Somali Stories

Background: The following is a two part series of true stories of some Somalis in America and their relationships. The series is part of a book the writer is finishing titled, Courtship and Marriage: The Somali Experience in America. The names of these individuals and their locations have been changed for privacy reasons.
                                                                                      ***
Bad Apple

I was 20 when I met Ali, a young man whom I thought would be my future husband. He was a year older than I, smart, charismatic, friendly, and charming.  My parents and his parents were fully aware of our courtship and blessed it. We agreed to get married after I finished my university degree. Ali wasn’t cut out for school; he had dropped out of high school and was working as a cabbie, but I was in love with him and he did not mind my pursuit of higher education. I have never met a man who was as smooth a talker as Ali; he gave the phrase “used car salesman” a whole new meaning. If I were angry with him, he always managed to make me forget about my anger. He had a way of reassuring me and calming me down.

Unfortunately, after three years of courtship, Ali became what young Somalis refer to as someone whom “a dog has eaten.”(“Eey baa cunay”). It means, he is out of my life and, hence, the relationship has come to a screeching halt. I have strong views about marriage being noble and honorable.  I do not believe in pre-marital relations, but Ali did. He got tired of me and as a result he ended up meeting another young lady.

One day, my father met me in the parking lot as I was coming home from the university. He seemed anxious and worried, and my immediate thought was that someone in my family had passed away. My father held my right hand and said: “There are more than 20 people in our house now because your mother invited them.” I asked him the reason for their presence. “Your mother and Ali’s mother invited them because you are going to have a marriage ceremony,” he explained. In our culture, a marriage ceremony is a small gathering in which marriage contracts are conducted. This ceremony is usually followed by a wedding, which can be performed at a later date, or sometimes the same day.

I felt like I had been hit on the head with a sledgehammer. No one had told me about the event. I entered the house to find all eyes on me. After I greeted the guests, I went straight to my room and called Ali. “Do you know anything about this so-called ‘marriage event’?” I asked. His answer was unconcerned and more problematic than I expected: “I have nothing to do with this matter,” he said. “It’s an arrangement by our mothers.” I was upset by his nonchalant attitude and his failure to warn me in advance. “If that’s the case,” I said in annoyance, “let our mothers get married to each other.” I slammed down the phone.

My father came to my rescue. Initially, he made only covert allusions, telling me that Ali was a troubled young man who lacked good values. “You are a fine young woman and well-behaved,” my father added. Then, he dropped a thunderbolt: “Do you know that Ali has impregnated a teen?” I was shocked and felt faint. I knew Ali had a wandering eye and was a bit flirtatious with other women, but I knew nothing about this important detail of his amorous life. The fact that he not only had cheated on me but also had gotten another woman pregnant was too much to bear.

I called him again and, surprisingly, he did not deny the affair or the pregnancy. His justification was indeed scandalous. “I did it,” he shamelessly said, “because you did not want to sleep with me.”

That was several years ago.

Ali has been married for the last five years and has three children. I married a man from another nationality and I am very content. Ali approached me a few times when I ran into him and had the nerve to ask me to have an affair with him. “I have an apartment downtown and we could meet there,” he told me. I reprimanded him, but this man never gives up. My husband knows about Ali and has threatened to confront him and teach him a lesson.

I think I am a blessed and fortunate woman that I did not marry Ali. I found out that he is involved in illicit activities and is no stranger to the law. Somehow, I feel God was protecting me from a toxic relationship. I am also grateful to my father for saving the day.

One bad result of my break-up with Ali was that my parents, after 25 years of marriage, divorced on that memorable day when the plan for the marriage ceremony collapsed. My mother and I are still close, but she never forgave me for not marrying Ali. She naively believes that Ali, the bad boy, would have changed if he had married me. “Look at him now,” I tell her, “he’s married but he’s cheating on his wife and seems hell-bent on self-destruction.”

The Bachelorette

My wife acts as if she is single. She is pretty, six feet tall, and athletic. Needless to say, she is a fitness fanatic and jogs five times a week. I know many Somalis are already spewing curses at me for saying that, as our women simply do not go out jogging. Right?  I, on the other hand, have a deep-seated aversion to most forms of exercise. However, I am slight as a sparrow and healthy. We have been married for four years and we have no children.

There is one thing that bothers me about my wife. Men constantly hit on her, but she never tells them that she is married. She hates wearing a ring. When men approach her to get her number, she does not mention her marital status, but she never fails to inform me about all the attention she gets. I give her a lot of credit for not hiding these things from me; however, I am upset that she does not have the guts to announce to her pursuers that she is married. She merely brushes these men off and never gives out her telephone number.

I think my wife likes all the attention she gets from men. It gives her a sense of power to reject them. Power, after all, is an elixir.

I am beginning to resent my wife’s double standard. I have always been faithful, and everyone who knows me is aware of my strong commitment to my marriage. I wish my wife would show the same commitment.

Other than this minor nuisance of not divulging her status, I have a happy and fulfilling marriage. However, I can’t wait until my wife becomes a mother. I wonder what she will tell her pursuers then.

(Reprinted with permission from Sahan Journal, October 5, 2015).