Somalia, a Dutch Marine Company, and a Murky Contract

While the Somali Federal Government and the nation eagerly await the final proceedings of the international maritime case between Kenya and Somalia at the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in the Hague, Netherlands, another legal case will soon be heard in the Netherlands between Somalia and a Dutch company named Atlantic Marine and Offshore Group (AMO). The proceedings of the case will take place before a Dutch arbitration and mediation entity in Rotterdam. Unlike the case before the ICJ, this case is hardly known to the Somali public. This raises the question: Are there other contracts the Somali government has signed that may have benefited a few Somali officials and deprived the nation from utilizing its resources? And how did Somalia get involved in a dispute with AMO?

Background

In May, 2013, a group of Somali leaders attended the London Conference on Somalia, at which some countries pledged about 270m euros ($300m) to help the country after two decades of conflict. A year later, another international conference on Somalia was held in Brussels, at which donor countries pledged 1.8b euros ($2.4b) to aid Somalia in its rebuilding and development.

It was two months after the London Conference, on July 29, 2013, when AMO and the Somali Federal Government signed a contract worth 132m euros ($146.2m). The provisions of the contract stated that AMO would build six Damen Stan 5009 long-range patrol vessels, develop, train, and maintain the Somali coast guard fleet, operate a coast guard training center for personnel and security officers, and run a ship repair facility. 

There were secret provisions of the contract that AMO later accused the Financial Governance Committee of Somalia of publicizing in breach of the agreement.

Somalia assigned a piece of land at Mogadishu airport next to Jubba Airways for AMO to use for the project. About 25% (33m euros or about $36.5) of the contract was due upon signing, and the remaining balance was to be paid in four installments. The first vessel was to be delivered to Somalia 18 months after signing the contract. Abdihakim Mohamoud Haji-Faqi, then Somalia’s Defense Minister, and Willem Kooi of AMO, signed the contract.

AMO officials believed the contract, once successfully completed, would address some of the major challenges facing Somalia. Such challenges included protecting its coast—considered the longest in Africa and the Middle East—from pirates and other constant violations of its exclusive economic zone, including illegal foreign fishing, toxic dumping, and smuggling.

Default Note

The first crack in the AMO and Somalia contract emerged when Somalia failed to pay the quarter of the contract, as was agreed upon. That was followed by bureaucratic bungling between the Somali Defense Ministry and Somalia’s Financial Governance Committee (FGC), which is under the Finance Ministry. According to published reports, the Defense Ministry failed to furnish a copy of the contract to the Finance Ministry. 

In 2014, the Finance Ministry acknowledged that Somalia was financially strapped and that the cost of the contract was more than the entire 2014 budget of the country. 

However, a year later, the FGC announced that the contract did not indeed exist. The reason was  that it had repeatedly requested a copy of the contract from the Defense Ministry, which the latter was unable to furnish the document.

The final blow came in 2016, when the Defense Ministry informed the FGC that the contract was  “defunct.”

The Atlantic Marine and Offshore Shipping Company (AMOSC), a subsidiary of AMO based in Cypress, filed for arbitration after Somalia reneged on the contract and failed to pay. The AMOSC demanded a payment of 66 million euros ($73m) plus 24.6 million euros ($27.2 m) in interest that had been accrued during the past six years.

According to AMO’s Kooi, AMOSC sent numerous correspondences and six invoices to the Somali government, all of which were ignored. 

Kooi was unsparing and reserved his most invective to Somali officials: “AMO only experienced an unreliable and untrustworthy contract partner in the form of a non-performing Somali Federal Government avoiding to take active ownership and owing AMO tens of millions of outstanding payments.”

The Default Note from AMOSC was hand-delivered on March, 2018 to Mohamed Mursal (then the Defense Minister), Ali Said Fiqi (Somali Ambassador to the EU), and the Financial Governance Committee.

Even after the case went to arbitration, Kooi told  a defense and intelligence publication, IHS Jane’s, that the Dutch company  was ready to complete the project.

Red Flags
Behind the hoopla of signing the contract between the AMO and Somalia, was a disaster waiting to happen. Several issues raised red flags about this contract. In fact, there may be more questions than there are answers:

First, it is mindboggling that a government that lacks basic institutions such as checks and balances between the executive and the legislative branches, financial means, and a system of viable quality control, would enter into such a contract. Both Somalia and AMO were misguidedly counting on the several billion dollars that donor countries had pledged to Somalia at the London and Brussels conferences. In reality, these were (and remained) only promises. Apparently, Somali leaders forgot about their well-known proverb: “Miro gunti ku jira, kuwa geed saaran looma daadsho” (The fruits in your possession should never be discarded for fruits on the tree). Somali officials were so entranced by the more than $3 billion they eagerly expected to receive for development and security that they lost track of restraint and realistic planning.is not common for a private company to build, train, and manage a fleet of a coast guard. Generally, these tasks are done by friendly countries with proven records. AMO has no record of ever building a coast guard fleet for any country.

Second, AMO officials were befuddled by the Somali officials who were either inept or clueless. Some might have been greedy and opportunistic, or, the government was simply glutted with mediocrities. Furthermore, the Dutch company stumbled on a rare opportunity to take advantage of a failed state, which was promised a vast amount of money by Western countries. One former senior Somali government official knowledgeable about the contract, who chooses to remain anonymous, characterized AMO officials as “bankrupt,” “con artists,” and “gold-diggers” bent on hoodwinking a poor country. “AMO officials may have paid kickbacks or engaged in other illegal business practices, which in itself is ground for nullifying the contract,” he added. The incompetence of the Somali officials was obvious in the lack of communication between the Defense Ministry and Finance Ministry to the extent that even a copy of the contract was not shared. How did this bureaucratic bungling happen? Why were the officials at the Defense Ministry not transparent? What were they hiding? Why did it take several years for the contract to be deemed “non-existent” or “defunct?” It is not clear why in 2016 Ambassador Ali Said Fiqi participated in a made-for-TV appearance in the Netherlands, where he was shown vessels under construction that the AMO was allegedly building for Somalia. In an interview with the Somali National TV Channel, Fiqi gave laudatory statements about the good prospects of the contract and how the vessels would benefit Somalia. Wasn’t the good ambassador fully aware of his government’s failure to honor the contract? Why did AMO officials allow such a spectacle to take place, when they knew that the contract was headed for disaster, and hence had no path forward?

Third, all indications seem to suggest that AMO will win the arbitration in Rotterdam, Netherlands, and that Somalia will have no recourse but to abide by the legally binding decision. Sources have told me that the Dutch government has been pressuring the Somali government to accommodate AMO and pay millions of dollars in a settlement. Indeed, Somalia signed a legal document and unilaterally failed to uphold it. However, a comprehensive investigation of what led to the signing of the contract and whether illicit monies were exchanged should be conducted. This public inquiry will force Somali officials to answer for their egregious conduct, and to serve as a valuable lesson for current and future government leaders not to enter into contracts that will incur an undue financial burden on taxpayers. 

Somalia is a poor country that cannot afford to use  its meager resources to pay millions of dollars on legal cases that could have been avoided by wise planning, meticulous background research and assessment, a wide-ranging consultation, public debates, and transparency. Perhaps, the elimination of official corruption becomes paramount more than ever.

Somalia's New Star Attraction: Clerical Hype for the Masses

In August 2019, a plane landed at Mogadishu Airport as TV cameras focused on who would be the mysterious official to step from the aircraft. Then, a tall, young, and handsome man dressed in an Arab Thawb (garment) emerged and walked down the steps accompanied by his equally good-looking and a youthful brother. Abubakar Mohamed, a popular Somali social media cleric, and his brother Omar Mohamed were greeted on the tarmac by another boyish-looking Somali official, Abdinur M. Ahmed, Director of Communications -- Office of the President. Abdinur, as he is popularly known, greeted and hugged Abubakar and his brother, and then the trio walked to the airport’s VIP waiting room. This unique airport reception for a visiting cleric was an example of a clear government policy to latch into popular religious celebrities, co-opt them, and use them to serve like Roman Praetorian guards who would vigilantly defend the government.

In the past few months alone, the Ministry of Religion and the Ministry of Sports and Youth have sponsored and supported public lectures by Abubakar and Sheikh Kenyawi, both from the diaspora, at Mogadishu’s Konis (now renamed Engineer Yariisow) Stadium. Sheikh Kenyawi spoke about the theme of forgiveness and Abubakar delivered a speech about the role of youth in society. The hype of these lectures was just a crude form of Mogadishu performance art.

And then, there was the April 2019 conference in Mogadishu for Somali clerics sponsored by the Ministry of Religion.

Abubakar: A Millennial Preacher

Abubakar Mohamed, a Somali resident of the Netherlands, emerged on social media several years ago. He has no religious training, nor does he serve as an imam of a mosque. His topics are mostly spiritual and relate to self-help. The range of his religious lessons is at best limited and at times redundant. Mostly, he gives short talks on social media and has a tendency to appear occasionally with other clerics, depending on where he is visiting. He travels a lot and claims that he is running three separate businesses. He has written a self-published book in Somali, Ku Raaxeeyso Noloshaada (Enjoy Your Life) and was a guest at the Mogadishu Book Fair (MBF). The book, as its title indicates, is specifically geared to a wider audience and explains that one can solve problems—any problem—if certain steps of self-improvement are taken. Abubakar has a laid-back and encouraging personality. His approach of preaching, in short, can be summarized as, “Don’t worry, be happy.”

Abubakar talks a lot about love. While traveling, he preaches about the importance of love in one’s life and the joy of the beautiful faces of people he meets. “I swear by God, I love you,” he says. The audience, who are mostly impressionable youth, applaud and cheer. In Mogadishu Stadium, he told his audience they were “the most beautiful people in the world and not even in China and America can people like you be found.” However, Abubakar’s emphasis on love has raised eyebrows among some people because of his marital status. He is single.

While visiting Britain, an interviewer asked Abubakar why a handsome, healthy, and religious  young man like him is still single. Abubakar giggled nervously and then fumbled for words. “You know, I am asked this question four or five times a day,” he responded. It was obvious he did not want to answer the question and he spent a minute or two beating around the bush. “I am having difficulty making a choice among many women,” he mumbled, smiling. Then the interviewer came to his rescue and asked if wanted to marry a pretty woman or a religious one. “A religious one,” Abubakar said bashfully.

Abubakar elaborated on the type of woman he would marry: “Someone who is kind, pretty, and makes me smile when I see her from two kilometers away.  A woman whom we can understand each other.” Subsequently, what followed was an alarming statement which had a whiff of narcissism to it, or perhaps it was youthful hubris. “I want someone who likes what I like, hates what I hate, and who will take care of me,” he said.

While in Mogadishu, Abubakar and his brother met senior government officials, including Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre. They also visited schools, the Grand Mosque of Is-Bahaysiga, and Lido Beach. Their presence in the capital was a publicity stunt for the government because the duo are popular with the youth—inside and outside the country—and they are preachers known for talking about safe topics. Abubakar and Sheikh Kenyawi will not talk about hard-hitting subjects such as corruption, security lapses in Mogadishu, the thousands of Somali youth who have left the country, risking their lives in search of a better life in Europe, and the ever-growing disparity between the privileged few and the masses.

Like any social media phenomenon, Abubakar’s rise might be ephemeral and, hence, the star that burns so brightly could get extinguished quickly.

    

A Conference for Clerics

On April 21, 2019, the Somali federal government sponsored a conference for a limited number of Somali clerics. President Mohamed Farmajo opened the gathering and Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre closed it three days later. It was an environment suffused with self-congratulation.

Somalia, like any Muslim country, has a coterie of clerics close to the government. These clerics provide legitimacy to the regime, especially when the main, virulent opposition group in the country is Al-Shabaab, an organization with radical religious ideology. The terror group contends that the federal government is un-Islamic and, hence, must be violently removed.

Participants in the Mogadishu conference were mostly clerics based inside the country, although two clerics from Minnesota (Hassan Jaamici and Abdirahman Sheikh Omar) were also invited. The goal of the conference was to show the public that the religious scholars are in congruence with the government in a) the war against Al-Shabaab, b) the dispute between the federal government and regional states, and c) the political stalemate between the government and opposition groups. Figures like Sheikh Bashir Ahmed-Salad Warsame, Sheikh Nur Barud Gurxan, Sheikh Ali Wajiz and Sheikh Somo were in the forefront. These clerics have historically supported the government, regardless of who has been the head of state. As a result, Al-Shabaab targets these clerics  and, hence, the government houses, feeds, and protects them.

Last year, one of these clerics, Ali Wajiz, was giving a Friday sermon at the mosque in Villa Somalia when the sermon suddenly degenerated into a shouting match. An opposition lawmaker had interrupted Wajiz for spewing venom against government critics. Wajiz went on a tear and asked the lawmaker to shut up. Then, the cleric accused the lawmaker of “taking bribes from the United Arab Emirates.”

The clerics at the April conference vowed to resist Al-Shabaab and called the group heretical. Sheikh Abdirahman Sheikh Omar from Minnesota warned the terror group that he and the other clerics would wage an all-out war against them “if the terrorists do not repent and lay down arms.”

Sheikh Hassan Jaamici, also from Minnesota, declared that he and other clerics were willing to go to Al-Shabaab and negotiate with them. If not, “I am willing to put on a military fatigue and fight them,” he added. His willingness to fight the group astounded Abdirahman Baadiyow, an advisor of the prime minister, who exclaimed: “Are you serious?” Jaamici answered, “Yes, I am serious.”

Sheikh Jaamici said he is an avowed supporter of President Farmajo’s government and his party’s slogan, N&N, which stands for “Nabad & Nolol” (Peace and Life). Then the cleric turned to the president, who was in the audience, and told a story about a government critic he had spoken to who was surprised that Jaamici was a supporter of N&N. “Do you know that N&N is in the Quran—specifically in Surat Qureish,” he said. Jaamici added that if Muslims followed the Sharia, they would get peace and life. Suddenly, there was an awkward silence and the statement set off sirens in some heads. Farmajo must have felt embarrassed because the wrench in his eyes was noticeable. No one in his government ever thought of linking the Quran to his party’s slogan of N&N, not in a million years. Unfortunately, the cleric’s dubious assertion, perhaps straining credulity, negates the real conditions of Mogadishu where neither peace nor viable life are far from being attainable. Paradoxically, Jaamici’s statement pointed to a far more insidious problem: the extent some clerics would go to in aligning themselves with the government. In a way, clerical criticism of the government is in short supply these days.

Several years ago and during the presidency of Hassan Sheikh Mohamoud, Sheikh Nur Barod Gurxan stood in a public gathering and lashed out at President Mohamoud for hiring “the worst kind of government officials.” The president, a hard-nosed, thick-skinned politician, smiled and remained unfazed. Mohamoud, with all his failings, was a different president who regularly met with the press, held public gatherings in which he was often taken to the cleaners, and did not eschew meeting with his subjects. These days, Sheikh Gurxan, though still a supporter of the government, dares not criticize the government publicly.

The intersection between politics and religion is not a new phenomenon. What is odd is when political power, as is manifested by the government, becomes beholden to glitzy social media where it is all style and no substance and where the government’s  main function of protecting and serving its people is relegated to the background.

Mogadishu: Maiming, Migration, Mutiny, and Malfeasance

For the last several weeks, Mogadishu has experienced a string of bombings by Al-Shabaab, a mutiny in certain divisions of the Somali National Army (SNA), a brawl in the Federal Parliament, and two diplomatic meltdowns in foreign affairs.

The spike of violence in Mogadishu in March alone was unprecedented, consisting of a barrage of bombings and political assassinations. “The situation in the city has gone from bad to worse,” said a former government official in the Ministry of Security. “People in the capital are very worried, including those in the government.”

The government’s response was akin to imposing a national emergency: it closed roads, undertook security sweeps in some neighborhoods, blamed Al-Shabaab and the opposition groups for fomenting and undertaking a terror campaign, and made a cosmetic leadership changes in the SNA, police, and intelligence services. Some politicians in the city voted with their feet by fleeing in droves to Nairobi for safety. The security situation in Mogadishu, a city of two million residents, was further mitigated by the closing of roads, thereby creating undue hardships on the daily lives of citizens. Likewise, the SNA and police were unable to safeguard the country due to issues of salary payments, desertion, mutiny, and the leadership crisis.

Mutiny in the Army

In March, 2019, Somalia experienced a mutiny by some soldiers in both the Lower Shabelle and Middle Shabelle regions. Some of these forces deserted their military bases because they hadn’t been paid for months and their food rations were cut off. The soldiers’ meagre salary of $100 per month added more anxiety by the delay in their salary payments. To add insult to injury, Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre was incandescent with anger. Kheyre denied the soldiers from getting their salaries and said that those who did not get their salaries are the ones who were not registered. Kheyre’s statement was contradictory because it acknowledged the existence of soldiers who have not yet been registered but were still working.  

Within a week of Kheyre’s  strong denials came another shocker. President Mohamed Farmajo gave a speech  to a group of military officers at the Defense Ministry and admitted in language that was clear, direct, and unequivocal that salaries have not been paid for four months. Instead of taking full responsibility for the government’s failure to pay its soldiers, he fulminated against the armed forces for not keeping their end of their bargain by wiping out Al-Shabaab in two years.

The soldiers’ mutinous acts raised questions about the inability of the federal government to defeat Al-Shabaab, which has been flexing its muscles by capturing more territories and intensifying its violent terror campaign in the capital. The situation was aptly captured by a short skit by Abwaan Dhiirane, a Somali comedian, titled, “A Neglected Soldier Cannot Defend a Nation.”

All These Military Promotions

Farmajo, critics say, weakened the army by promoting young, uneducated, and inexperienced officers. The president appointed Odowaa Yusuf Raage, a 31-year-old, as a Brigadier-General and army commandant. Raage lacks military officer training and experience. According to Mohamed H. Ingiriis, a doctoral candidate at the University Oxford who has also written academically about the Somali military, and is a fierce critic of Farmajo and his government, “Raage was first trained in Uganda as a VIP bodyguard for the presidential palace during the government of President Sheikh Sharif Ahmed, then be became a Major during the regime of President Hassan Sheikh. President Farmajo made him Lt. Colonel in 2018 and in that same year, he was promoted to Brigadier-General without ever becoming a full colonel.”

Brigadier-General Zakia Hussein Ahmed also serves as the deputy chief of national police. She is a young woman with only four years of experience with the force. According to Ingiriis, “Somalia is basically for mafia networks and their clan or marriage relations.” It is one thing to give leadership to the young but it is crude policy to set the young up for failure when they are thrust into leadership positions that they cannot handle. A current government advisor concurs with Ingiriis on the issue of military promotions.

Dr. Abirahman Baadiyow, an advisor to Prime Minister Kheyre, a former presidential candidate, and a former military officer in the government of Siad Barre, described an incident regarding the scarcity of qualified military officers in the country. Baadiyow once walked into the office of the president, who was flooded with a stack of case folders. “They are all folders of military officers waiting to be approved for promotions,” the president told him.

The government’s policy of promotions is: a) an attempt not to appreciate education and experience in favor of youth and inexperience; b) a gross undermining of military training, education, and hierarchy; and c) valuing loyalty over competency.

Robbing a Runner

Maryan Nuux Muuse, a young Somali runner, participated in a co-ed sports tournament on April 6, 2019. She was leading the race when suddenly she saw two other female runners in a military vehicle. Initially she thought they were injured, but several minutes later, Maryan was in for a big surprise:  she was informed that the two young ladies she saw in the military vehicle were declared the winners of the race. Shocked and dejected by what she saw as a blatant fraudulent act, Maryam went to the media and reported what she had witnessed.

Khadija Mohamed Diriye, Minister of Sports and Youth Affairs, issued a statement and promised an urgent investigation. After a few days, Maryan was officially declared as the winner of the race. She was elated and begrudgingly thanked the government. Maryam’s case seemed at best a minor incident in a city that was gripped by fear of terrorism, but it was  symptomatic of the larger issue: the extent to which the tentacles of corruption have permeated many facets of Mogadishu’s life.

Freelancing in Foreign Policy

Recently, Somalia has made headway in being elected to chair the meetings of the Arab League and the country improved relations with Ethiopia and Eritrea. Mogadishu has deftly handled Kenya’s recent periodic bullying tactics regarding the maritime dispute case between the two countries before the International Court, and surprisingly has shown diplomatic restraint regarding the Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni’s penchant for repeatedly calling Somalia a “failed state.”

However, two diplomatic incidents rocked Somalia when Fadumo Mohamud, the country’s Ambassador to Switzerland, abstained from a United Nations resolution condemning Israel for annexing the Golan Heights in Syria, In response, Abdullahi Dool, then the Director of the Office of the Foreign Minister, tweeted: “I support the diplomatic ties between Israel and Somalia. It is long overdue. Establishing diplomatic relations does not harm anyone but promote peace and cooperation.” Dool was not yet finished. In another tweet, he condemned the “Palestinians” for being “worst enemies” to themselves and said that they should be “condemned each time they attack civilians. It is in our interest to welcome Israel.”

Since the 1960s, Somalia has always condemned Israel for occupying Arab territories; hence, the UN abstention seemed to be an anomaly. Somalia declared that the UN vote was a mistake and recalled Ambassador Mohamud from Geneva and fired Dool.  

Ambassador Mohamud was remorseful for her diplomatic snafu, according to some media reports, and was replaced with Ebyan Ladane Salah, the country’s ambassador to India. Regardless, Dool was defiant and unapologetic. He told The Times of Israel, “I am owed an apology.”

A Brawl in Parliament

Somalia’s federal parliament has lost its relevancy. Last year, President Farmajo orchestrated the removal of speaker Mohamed Jawari and Mohamed Mursal as his replacement. Whereas Jawari was defiant about the government’s attempts to make the legislature kowtow to the executive branch, Mursal is doing the regime’s bidding. Last month, parliament had to recess in one session because many politicians fled to Nairobi and hence there was no quorum. The biggest surprise was the brawl that took place several weeks ago when one legislator called another as “being an Al-Shabaab.” The accuser is a parliamentarian who is also a member of the cabinet. His dual roles are not strange because almost 65 legislators (out of 275) serve in the cabinet. The incident was a testament to the level of acrimony between government supporters in the parliament and opposition groups.

Within that week, another incident raised eyebrows in the legislature. Hussein Arab Isse, a legislator from what is now called Somaliland (a breakaway region), threatened that he and his colleagues from the north would leave parliament if the federal government does not include them in the talks between Hargeisa and Mogadishu. Left unsaid was the fact that Isse and his colleagues from the north cannot set foot in the very region they hail from because of their membership in the federal parliament. Moreover, the federal government has neither a strategy to deal with the secessionist region nor future plans for talks, and it remains  unclear why Isse would bring up the issue of Somaliland in the first place.

The dysfunction of the federal parliament is disheartening, as this body is unlikely to do its job of checks and balances. A government official said that more than 100 legislators receive a monthly stipend from the executive branch, ranging from $2,000 to several thousand—depending on one’s rank or importance. It is unfathomable that the current parliament will be an agent of change in the foreseeable future. Apart from a few opposition voices, it has become an extension of the executive committee.

In a nutshell, the situation in Mogadishu is disquieting. Last year, Farmajo described the opposition leaders as being “angry politicians.” However, now, there are soldiers, police officers, citizenry, Bajaaj operators, members of the international community, and some neighboring countries that are all angry. In short, the current state is an amalgam of security failure, inept leadership, poor planning, and—like a horror film—the worry about what will happen next. The situation in Mogadishu is so dire that the liberal interpretation of “Nabad” (Peace) and “Nolol” (Life) loses meaning.

Abdi Hosh: A Tribute

Abdurahman Hosh Jibril, a lawyer and Somalia’s Minister of Constitutional Affairs, a longtime community activist,  a former member of the Federal Parliament, and a mighty figure in  initiating, writing, and adopting the provincial constitution, passed away in Dubai on March 8, 2019, from kidney ailment. He was 63.

Born in Jowhar, 90 KM north of Mogadishu, in 1956, Hosh had the rare opportunity of attending the American-run school founded and managed by the Mennonite Mission in his hometown. He was an exemplary student, always the first in his class, who flourished as a child in Jowhar, a diverse city on the Shabelle river. Hosh’s parents hailed from Goldogob (Puntland), but, for all practical purposes, he was a child of HirShabeelle, from marrow to the bone. His early exposure to diversity in Jowhar was further enhanced by his early schooling at the American school, which was attended by children of the country’s elite.

In that school, Hosh was exposed to Western liberalism and gleaned elements of socialism. In the 1980s, he went to Canada to pursue higher education, studied sociology at the University of Toronto, and then read law at Osgoode Hall Law School at York University.

As a lawyer in Canada, Hosh helped immigrants, refugees, and the indigent on immigration, labor, insurance matters., and human rights issues. However, in the late 1990s, Hosh’s legal career stalled in Canada and he decided to move to California, where he  settled in San Diego. He would help his community with whatever assistance it needed. At that time, I occasionally met Hosh in Anaheim, a city close to Los Angeles and 70 miles north of San Diego, where the main office of the Immigration and Naturalization Services in Southern California was located.

During that period, many Somalis were coming from all over the world to California to apply for asylum. A group of us, including Hosh, helped these asylum seekers in preparing their statements and interpreting for them. I must admit it is when I first became aware of Hosh, not merely as a lawyer, but as a gifted writer. In the statements he prepared for clients, he wrote beautifully—not the typical bland, dry language lawyers are often known for. I have always believed that Hosh had deprived many Somalis from his mellifluous, poetic style of writing because he rarely penned articles. Even when I disagreed with him in his rarely published political articles, I was awed and captivated by the way he wrote. His command of English was impeccable and his use of sarcasm was hilarious and irresistible. One article he wrote, “The Asmara Project: An Abysmal Failure,” still rings in my mind—it was hilarious and biting.

When I started writing regularly 10 years ago, Hosh was one of my biggest fans. He regularly read my articles and took the time to send me emails with effusive praise.

Hosh was an interesting man with a daunting intellect who disdained mediocrity and possessed a strong commitment to progressive agendas, such as equality, justice, women’s rights, protection of minority groups, and fair representation. He always made sure that women were part of the political process and appointed more women in senior positions in his government ministry.

Hosh read a lot and kept up-to-date of what was going on in the world. His eclectic reading tastes were expansive, from novels to biographies.

Hosh was a social butterfly and always eschewed tribalism. The gaggle of friends he had was mindboggling. He knew who was who in Somalia: intellectuals, politicians, chieftains, artists, youth activists, and members of the civil society.

Last March, an influential member of the federal parliament in Mogadishu, invited me to lunch. He told me that Hosh, once his rival in North America, was his guest in the house we were dining in for several months. I was shocked because the level of acrimony between these two former activists was so intense that I never imagined they could coexist under one roof. I was wrong. The two were more mature and forgiving than their rivalry suggested. An anonymous American comedian once said, “The tyrannosaurus has a six-inch deep skin and no apparent interest in politics. What a waste!” Hosh had thick skin and politics was his vocation, a subject in which we had our major differences.  

Hosh was humble and transparent, as well as a  people’s person. When someone on social media once took him to task and accused him of talking about the plight of the poor while collecting a $10,000 monthly salary, he calmly refuted the man’s claim. Then, he mentioned his monthly salary—a figure not even close to $10k—and itemized his expenses. Oddly, it included Hosh paying the salaries of some of his staff from his pocket, as government salaries are notoriously low and at times many months late. At the end, Hosh said that he was actually broke most of the time.

Before his passing, Hosh was in Dubai to attend the wedding of his daughter, Sagal, who was marrying a gentleman from Somaliland. The would-be father of the bride did not have the opportunity to see his daughter wed, but knowing Hosh, he would have boasted about this  young couple from two neighboring but rivalrous regions (Puntland and Somaliland) uniting in matrimony. “My daughter is a unifier,” Hosh would have said, laughing. “I am proud of her.” Unfortunately, the well-planned wedding to have been overseen by Hosh, a proud father, was put on hold because God’s plan often outpaces our own.

Tearful Trio Condemned For Crying Out Loud

Isn’t crying a normal expression of human emotion?

For many Somalis, crying publicly is taboo, and for men, it is especially frowned upon. But recently, three separate incidents in Somalia raised eyebrows and lent credibility to the idea that the rigid knots of this cultural taboo are loosening. A Somali cleric, a female parliamentarian, and a groom at his wedding all cried publicly — and this spontaneous expression of emotion had such a profound effect on those who saw it that it went viral on social media. The tearful trio, each of whom is totally different from the other, and whose motivations for crying are also quite different, generated criticism from Somalis, unearthing the deeply entrenched views many of them hold about the appropriate way people should display emotions. Videos of the trio also led to the exposure of long-held perceptions of femininity and masculinity, and whether emotions should be expressed or suppressed.

Kenyawi’s Crying

The popular Somali-Kenyan cleric, Sheikh Mohamed Ibrahim Kenyawi, recently visited Mogadishu, where he gave a series of sermons calling for forgiveness among Somalis. During his tour, he met Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre. It was an innocuous meeting, although some critics said it was a cleverly planned PR stunt by both men, a suggestion on which the opposition groups capitalized. Kenyawi was portrayed by these critics as a pathetic object of scorn without a smidgen of dignity, hobnobbing with  federal government leaders instead of staying neutral on political matters.

The cleric was blindsided by the virulent criticism and responded by issuing a video on social media in which he emphasized his lack of interest in politics. Then, something strange happened: The cleric broke down and wept. Occasionally, the cleric would cry during sermons, but his public display of emotion on something not spiritual was odd to many. Supporters of the government lauded him for his “courage” and “sincerity,” whereas his critics lampooned him for acting in an unmanly fashion.  

Muna Kay’s Plea

In January 2019, the Somali Federal Parliament voted on a controversial proposed amendment of the constitution to allow a non-Somali to head the Central Bank. That is what the country’s national leaders wanted, and parliament acquiesced. About 157 members voted in favor of the bill and 17, like Muna Khalif “Muna Kay,” opposed it. During voting, an altercation broke out between Muna and MP Luul Abdi Adan. When the two left the chamber, Muna Kay’s sister attacked MP Luul in the parking lot, injuring her face. Muna Kay’s sister was arrested and booked for assault and battery. Muna Kay bailed her sister out of jail, and then the next day the two went to Mogadishu Airport to board a flight to Baidoa in an attempt, according to police, to be smuggled out of Mogadishu. Muna Kay was stopped and released because she has parliamentary immunity, but her sister was arrested and jailed for absconding bail. Muna Kay was furious and taped a video on Snapchat crying and accusing the Somali police and PM Kheyre for keeping her sister in detention.

Muna Kay, a former model, fashion designer, and businesswoman, made history for being the first Somali parliamentarian to air grievances on social media, crying and pleading for her life. “If I die today, you know why,” she said, alluding to a perceived government plot—real or imagined—to silence her and even liquidate her.

Muna Kay, a longtime supporter of President Mohamed Farmajo and his administration, was fearful of her own government. Her tearful plea and language—mostly peppered in American English—alternated between tragic and profound. Her video went viral; some dismissed her concerns; some defended her as bold and courageous; and others simply wanted to burst her bubble—her name, aura, stature, and media savviness. A small number of people called Muna a self-entitled social brat impelled by an oversized ego. There were other critics who viciously attacked Muna Kay for blaming PM Kheyre for her sister’s criminal conduct. What was odd was the sizable number of women who went after Muna for shedding what they termed “crocodile tears.” In other words, she was portrayed as fake. In a way, these critics were saying to Muna Kay, “How dare you come on Snapchat, after aiding and abetting your sister’s attempt to flee justice, and then you cry foul and plead for help?”

A Groom in Tears

Enough talk about politics. Let’s give another example of someone caught up in the controversial crying game.

A Somali man in Galkacayo did the unthinkable: He cried during his wedding. Once again, the video of his emotional public expression generated a chorus of voices, both critical and laudable. What was a natural emotional expression of joy during a marriage ceremony suddenly became controversial among Somalis.

In the video, you can hear voices of some of the guests in a state of shock. “My God,” one of them said, giggling, “perhaps he is crying out of joy.” Others cheered or jeered. The video shows the young bride comforting her man in a natural expression of care and affection. However, within Somali society, such affection is deemed an act of defiance against Somali cultural norms, which teach young girls early in life never to display their affection in public. The incident of the groom crying was ostensibly the first time in the country a man cried publicly in an expression of joy. At least, I have never heard of a groom in tears at a wedding. I have seen some grooms grumbling about the high cost of their weddings, but crying?

This brings us to the question of why many Somali men refrain from crying in public. Somali boys are taught early in life to act like men and conceal any public display of their emotions, such as crying. When boys show emotions, some parents scold them, “Why do you cry like a woman?” The message is clear: A boy should never appear “weak,” “vulnerable,” or “feminine.”

In popular culture, on rare occasions, you may hear such classic melodies as “Hakaba,” in which a male lover laments the falsity of the notion that a man never cries. Not true, it says, because this lover’s “tears pour so profusely that they mix with running water.” Somali men are no different than other men in the world when it comes to preserving what they may perceive as their masculinity.

For Somali women,  displaying their emotions is a no-no. During the British colonial occupation of Somalia, the famous Canadian author, Margaret Laurence, then a young woman living in the north with her English husband in the 1950s, noticed the stoic nature of Somali women when it came to showing emotions in public. In her memoir, New Wind in a Dry Land: An Account of a Sojourn among the Nomads of Somaliland (1964), Laurence chronicled an absorbing account of Somali nomads fleeing from drought. Among them was a woman who had lost several children due to famine, but she was neither crying nor wailing for her loss. When asked why she appeared stone-faced, exhibiting no emotions, she said it was because God, who had given her the children, had taken them  away.

Abdullahi M. Adan “Cawsey” is a young, perceptive Somali  graduate student studying mental health at the University of Toronto. He has made an interesting observation on social media about the difference between Somalis’ traditional approach to the public expression of emotion in contrast to, for example, the Arab approach, which has no taboos with regard to the expression of emotions such as crying in public.  “When a terrorist bombing strikes,” Cawsey said, “unlike others, Somalis are  never seen crying and wailing.” He added that when a Somali cries, which is rare, it is usually for something that happened in the past. In a way, even the expression of emotion by Somalis might not be linked to their present suffering of pain or stress.

Perhaps, Somalis have a surplus of internalized emotions.

Senator Adlai Stevenson, the former Democratic presidential candidate against Dwight Eisenhower, once recounted an interesting anecdote during his concession speech several decades ago. Stevenson narrated the story of an Illinois farmer who had asked Abraham Lincoln how it felt losing an election. Lincoln is said to have responded, “It felt like a little boy who had stubbed his toe in the dark. That he was too old to cry, but it hurt too much to laugh.”

I guess the social media phenomenon is slowly transforming some aspects of Somali culture, such as the public display of emotions. It is the youth who are more likely to transform the way public expression of emotions is displayed. After all, emotional expression is another form of communication—whether it is joy, anger, stress, or helplessness. Repressed emotions must be released and negative emotions transformed into positive emotions. Otherwise, don’t cry for Somalia.

Sharifa Abukar: An Obituary

Sheryl “Sharifa” Steinberg Abukar, an educator, daughter, sister, an aunt, and mother of four adult children passed away in Dubai on January 28, 2019 from cancer.

Sharifa was born and raised in Detroit, Michigan, to an upper middle-class family. Her father was a sales manager for Canada Dry and her mother was a public school principal.

Sharifa left home to attend Michigan State University in East Lansing, when she was 17.  But after two years, she got homesick and returned to Detroit. She subsequently enrolled at Wayne State University where she earned her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Psychology.

In Detroit, home to the largest Arab population in the U.S., Sharifa developed an interest in the Arabic language and a fascination for Muslim culture. The passion would lead her to embrace and convert to Islam, a decision that ruffled feathers within her devout Protestant family. It was a period of shock, confusion, distrust, and alienation, but her family ties and the loving bond they shared overcame their differences. Indeed, family was a guiding force for Sharifa, as she was close to  her parents and siblings. Her mother passed away in 1998.

Sharifa’s dream was to master Arabic and to live in the Middle East. She finally realized her dream came to fruition three years ago when she was offered a job as principal of the Next Generation School in Dubai. Excited about the opportunity, Sharifa worked diligently to ensure her students flourished academically and culturally. But then her illness struck.

For the last 18 months of her life, Sharifa waged a courageous battle against cancer. While undergoing treatment, she still kept up her full-time duties as principal. Her staff wasn’t even aware of her illness because she did not want to disrupt the school’s work and office morale. Initially, her cancer responded to treatment, but recently, her illness relapsed and took its toll on her.

I met Sharifa during a conference in Michigan in 1981. At the time, she was living in West Lafayette, Indiana, where Purdue University is located. She was modest but confident, brilliant but not conceited, intellectually curious and never afraid to ask questions. In a few months, we were married.

We were in our twenties and she was already writing her master’s thesis. She was a patient and thoughtful young woman adjusting to a young man from Somalia.

I was 21 when we got married, and the following year, aged at 22, I became a father. Sharifa was the rock and backbone of our nascent family, then living in Ohio. I focused on my university studies and on financially supporting the family, while she opted to stay home to take care of our first newborn daughter, and eventually, three more children. Educating our children and providing them a safe and healthy environment became her mission.

After several years as a homemaker, Sharifa went back to graduate school. She had a passion for Linguistics, particularly for the field of language acquisition. She obtained a certificate in ESL (English as a Second Language) and briefly enrolled in the doctoral program in Linguistics at the University of California, San Diego (UCSD). For a while, we were parallel graduate students at UCSD; one in Linguistics and the other in Political Science. It was during that period when I became enamored with the subject of language acquisition. I would read some of the textbooks Sharifa used and engage with her about the latest research in the field.

During her studies, however, Sharifa became restless; she gravitated more to empirical analysis than to theory, her department’s focus. Consequently, she switched to education. First, she obtained a teaching certificate, then became a full time teacher with the San Diego Unified School District. Afterwards, Sharifa became a principal at the Islamic School of San Diego (ISSD), a job that would lead her back to school, this time earning a  Ph.D. in Educational Leadership at the University of San Diego. 

Aside from her educational and professional accomplishments, Sharifa will best be remembered as a smart, caring, loving woman with boundless energy and a commitment to excel in all her endeavors. She never tried to be anything but herself. She was pious without being dogmatic, quiet yet outspoken. In her spare time, she volunteered to participate in community activities such as lecturing in schools and universities, and at public gatherings. She was instrumental in helping the establishment of Iftin School, the first Somali charter school in San Diego.

Once, a few days before our wedding, she invited me and a mutual friend, an Iraqi graduate student majoring in Nutrition at Purdue University, to dinner. The meal was okay: the chicken was tasty, but the rice was burned. My friend whispered to me jokingly, “Man, you are in for a big surprise.” We complimented Sharifa for a delicious meal and kept mum about the rice. But that dinner turned out to be the impetus for Sharifa to perfect her culinary skills. As the years went by, she became an excellent cook, her specialty being  American, Middle Eastern, and Somali dishes. I have had many authentic meals with my friends from Jordan, Palestine, and Syria in my time, but I have never had better maqluuba, a popular dish in that region, than the one Sharifa used to make. That didn’t surprise me: Sharifa was always striving to perfect her talents and abilities.  

During the first year of our marriage, I said to her that Somalis were unique. When she asked why, I replied jokingly, “Because they are the best people.” My youthful hubris didn’t escape her. A decade later in the early 1990s, as thousands of Somali refugees poured into San Diego fleeing the civil war, she took a light-hearted jab at me:  “So, how come the best people in the world manage to be so self-destructive?” I had no answer.

In 2003, after 22 years of marriage, our union ended. For a while, she was the caretaker of our two youngest sons, 13 and 11. Then, she kindly allowed me to care for the boys until they became adults. Sharifa was a good mother whose first thought was always the well-being of our children.

Sharifa will be missed dearly by all whose lives she touched. Her patience and perseverance in the face of adversity, her unbridled optimism, cheerful outlook and empathy, and unwavering faith in God have been remarkable. May God have mercy on her and guide us in appreciating how she enriched our lives with her shining example.

Sharifa is survived by her father, four children, three siblings, a niece and three nephews.