Buri Hamza: An Obituary

Honorable Buri Mohamed Hamza, a Somali parliamentarian and junior minister, was killed in the recent hotel bombing in Mogadishu by Al-Shabaab ten days ago.

Buri, who hailed from the coastal town of Baraawe, was an intellectual, a political activist, and an avowed environmentalist. He always saw politics as a way of serving his people.

I was 18 when I first met Buri in Cairo, Egypt. He was then a graduate student on break from Tunisia with full scholarship from the Arab League. What amazed me was his great mental capacity, razor-sharp humor, and fervent passion for politics. He and his colleague, Yusuf, a northerner, were fun to be with. Yusuf especially had a knack for constantly joking about the cultural clashes between southerners and northerners. It was interesting that Buri, who was studying science—probably Chemistry—had such penchant for politics.

Buri left his adopted country—Canada—during the first Somali Transitional Government as a major advisor for then Prime Minister Ali Khalif Galeyr. As a protégé of the premier, he became exposed to the day-to-day political intrigue of running the first Somali transitional government after the collapse of Siad Barre’s regime in 1991. It was dysfunctional and rife with constant jostling for power and backstabbing between President Abdiqassim Salad and PM Galeyr until it finally led to a tangible constrain between the two officials. Galeyr was dismissed and Buri returned to Toronto.

He became bored with the mundane life in Canada and found himself in Mogadishu. He became a parliamentarian and successfully held ministerial positions in the Foreign Ministry, Environment, and the Office of the Prime Minister.

Buri is best remembered for being committed to preserving the environment. He wrote extensively about the danger of foreign countries dumping chemicals in the country’s shorelines and the baneful effect of cutting trees for charcoal and exporting them. He had officially represented his country important international conferences on the environment.

I last saw Buri in Europe in 2012 in an international conference on Somalia. It was a chance encounter at the cafeteria during lunch. He was accompanied by Ambassador Mohamed Sharif, a veteran diplomat who, like Buri, also hailed from Barawe. Buri was then working as an advisor to Sharif Hassan, then the Speaker of Parliament. Always jovial, enthusiastic, and full of energy, Buri sensed that I was a bit bewildered with his employment with the Speaker, a man full of indiscretions. “Did Buri know that his job came with a collateral damage? Was it a tragic lapse of judgment on Buri’s part? Was the Speaker dragging him to the wrong path,” I wondered. Buri was perfectly aware of my critical position of the Speaker.

Buri, a smirk flickering across his face, asked me if I knew whom he was working for.  

“Oh, yes,” I responded, smiling.

Despite his subtle jab at his boss, Buri was not the one to be dissuaded from his objective of seeing Somalia end transitional governments. Paradoxically, that job, which many of his friends gasp, came into an inauspicious end. A new government was formed in 2012 to end transition, the Speaker lost his job, and Buri retained his parliamentary seat.

Buri cared about his country and its political welfare. One things that stands out about Buri is: He led a life devoid of tribalism. He got along with many people; educated, politicians, activists, and laypersons. May God Bless him.

Grandma: Talk to Me

My almost 90-year-old “Ayeeyo” (Grandma) passed away in the early 1980s.

I last saw her during a visit to Mogadishu from the U.S. while on a break from college. She was then living in Mogadishu with my mother after spending seven decades in Qardho in the northeast region. It was a golden opportunity for me to spend time with her and talk to her as I had never been in that part of the country. Most of my questions were short, brisk, and pointed. After two dozen intermittent questions, she finally implored me to stop “bugging her.” Unfortunately, she was feeble and unable to stand and spent all her time sitting in her room.

I was curious how grandma—who hailed from Las Anod (a province in Sool)—ended up in Qardho and Bossasso. It is where she had married and bore three children.

Ayeeyo had separated from her family when she was 15 during the violent battles between the British colonial forces in the north and Sayyid Mohamed’s Dervish fighters. She got lost after the Dervishes routed civilians in her area, resulting in innocent people being killed, robbed, or uprooted.  It is not clear what had happened to Ayeeyo’s parents and siblings.

When I asked my grandmother if she had tried to return to her birthplace and looked for the family, she curtly responded, “No,” and then deftly changed the topic. She mentioned the names of her brothers whom she had not seen since that fateful incident. I know in wars families get separated, but I had a sense that she was never reunited with her family. Carefully, I broached the subject of her relationship with her family before the separation. Was she forced into a marriage? Did she have any conflict with them? Were there other mitigating factors in play that can shed some light on her flight? What kind of work did she do? How was life then for a single working mother in the northeast in the 1920s and 1930s? What was it like living during the time of Sayyid Mohamed’s independence war against the British? I also wanted to know more about my mom, her childhood and teen years, and about my aunt, Hadiyo, and my uncle, Abdi Gurey. Most of the time, I got a withering stare from grandma. She was selective in the questions she answered. One thing was clear: My grandma’s marriage to my grandpa was her first marriage, a possibility she may not have been forced into marriage.

After speaking with grandma, my regret was that I did not have an opportunity to meet her earlier in her life when she was a bit younger and healthier. I was curious of her life from childhood until her retirement. Grandma was a woman of ceaseless energy, a hard worker who had engaged in small business of buying and selling food and clothes. She maintained a steely calm, spoke in a soft, rather delicate voice, and rarely ventured an opinion of her. She had both grace and beauty and everything about her seemed impressive.

My mother, unfortunately, was more reticent talking about her childhood than my grandmother. It was simply something people then needed not to talk about. Interestingly, their silence did not indicate any disturbing secrets buried in their past. Simply, to them, there were more important things in life other than talking about mundane issues such as childhood.

For young Somalis, it is an important lesson for you to engage with your parents and grandparents. Talk to them and ask them about their lives. They might surprise you on how much interesting their early lives had been. It is also a way of connecting generations. I have been talking to an elderly Somali woman, 79, who has seven children, 42 grandchildren, and nine great grandchildren. “None of my grandchildren call me to chat with me,” she lamented. Born in Hargeisa, this woman has seen a lot; from the time of the British in the north, the pursuit of independence, the civilian government in the 1960s, Siad Barre’s coup, the Somali-Ethiopian war in 1977, the killings and upheaval in the north, the collapse of the Barre regime, the civil war, life in Kenya as a refugee, and finally settling in California. I have found her stories intriguing and captivating. Unfortunately, many of her relatives, especially the young ones, are unlikely to hear these fascinating narratives.  

An Interview with MP Mariam Arif Ghassim

Background: Mariam Arif Ghassim is the Chair of the Constitutional Oversight and Review Committee in the Federal Parliament of Somalia. An attorney by training, she spent close to two decades in Mogadishu after the collapse of Siad Barre’s regime. She has a keen eye for all things “Mogadishu”: from the daily life and struggles of Mogadishu to the thorny to the intricate details of the constitution and the political landscape. She weighs her words carefully, but is not afraid to express her views even if they are not popular. In this conversation, MP Ghassim answers some of the political questions gripping the country.

1.      What is the status of the constitutional review? Any progresses and challenges?

§  We are almost done. The constitutional review process is at its end. The working team is composed of two sister constitutional committees which have different mandates although toward the same result. We are the Constitutional Oversight and Review Committee of the Federal Parliament and this body consists of ten legislative members. The Independent Commission for Review and Implementation of the Constitution is composed of five respected intellectuals. We have already completed the review of ten chapters of the constitution and the remaining five chapters will be finalized within the next month before the constitutional conference of Garowe. We are not replacing old chapters with new ones, but offering different options so that the national leaders, the legislators, and the people of Somalia have the chance to choose the best alternatives for Somalia’s future.

2.      As a country, are we better off today than we were four years ago?

§  In 2012, Somalia was just recovering from a devastating war. Signs of destruction and chaos were evident in every place, especially in Mogadishu, the capital.  People were exhausted, scared and extremely traumatized.  The 2012 election happened miraculously and without any major incidents. Nobody believed that everything would work so perfectly, thanks first to Allah and next to President Sharif Sheikh Ahmed and Prime Minister Abdiweli Gass’ leadership.  Naturally, the country is now more organized than before with functioning regional states. The general environment is more peaceful and better than four years ago.  This year, the election of the MPs will not be concentrated in Mogadishu. A good part of the electoral process load will be moved to the regional states of Somalia.

3.      How do you foresee the political climate this coming summer?

§  I think the political climate will definitely be more difficult, but certainly more democratic. In the past, the parliamentary member was selected by one, or at best, two traditional elders.  This summer, the elders will only have the power to endorse the name of the elected legislator. Fifty electors from every sub-clan are expected to vote for their preferred candidate and choose the best; instead of the old system of the iron grip and dominance of a limited number of clan leaders.

4.      What has the parliament accomplished so far and has it failed?

§  The parliament of Somalia accomplished a lot during the current mandate.  First of all, after almost twenty five years of lack of documentation and record keeping, an institutional memory with organized parliamentary records have been implemented thanks to Chairman Mohamed Sheikh Osman Jawaari. We passed more than thirty laws and international agreements. We finalized the constitutional review process. We conceded confidence vote to three governments.  We solved the political impasse between two prime ministers and the president.  The most important achievement of the current parliament is the fact we kept the three main institutions of the state together honorably.  The last and most significant task of the current parliament is to legalize the agreed upon election formula which, of course, contradicts with Article 64 of the Transitional Constitution of Somalia.

5.      As a parliamentarian leader, are you optimistic about the future or cautious?

§   I am, by nature, optimistic. The worst part of Somali history is at its end. Enough is enough and a quarter of a century is a long time.  We need to unite all our forces and intellect toward a better Somalia. A president or a prime minister is unable to change the country alone. Let us all work to create a better national state, regional state, region, district and village for the benefit of our people.  I am sure that united, we can change Somalia and divided, we will gradually lose our identity as well as our country.

6.      Some legislators have lost their lives in the hands of Al-Shabaab. How safe is Mogadishu in general and for parliamentarians in particular?

§  Yes, it was sad that we lost a good number of valuable and esteemed colleagues, may Allah shower on them his mercy. We all mourned for their premature loss and no member of the parliament feels safe enough to enjoy life. Al Shabaab is one of the civil war phenomena, but after all, they are also our children. They are the typical children of war who were misled and confused by the adult behavior of violence and hostility. Time will help them heal from the deep scars of war. Many of them faced scary, unbearable childhood experiences. The war trauma negatively changed their natural childhood innocence and good behavior. At the political level, it is important to understand their deepest emotions as well as their internal plea for help in an environment of indifference and insensitivity. A special program, at the federal level, should be organized in order to save the minors and teenage groups.

7.      How has the role of the international community evolved in the last few years?

§  I was in Somalia for more than two thirds of the last twenty five years of anarchy and stateless. My impression is that the international community has not had a positive common agenda about the Somalia crisis. They are mostly in disagreement about how to behave and solve Somalia’s endless political and economic problems. It seems to me that instead of helping Somalia, they are individually protecting their conflicting interests and national agendas, not by bringing the Somali people together, but by dividing them further.  Despite its continuous economic assistance, the international community is rather searching the solution of Somalia’s problem—not from inside but instead—outside the country. 

(This interview was conducted for Wardheernews on May 7, 2016).

Relationships in Flux (Part 6): Somali Stories

This is the last part of a series of true stories of Somalis living in the U.S. and their relationships. The series is part of the author’s forthcoming book, “Courtship and Marriage: The Somali Experience in America.” I have interviewed three dozen people, whose names and locations have been changed for privacy reasons. I will let each tell his or her own story.

Honey: I am done

My dear husband,

Our eight-year marriage has been what Somalis call, “macaan iyo qaraar” (sweet and sour). We have had love, memorable friendship and companionship. We joked a lot, teased each other, and participated in fun gatherings with relatives. Our love for each other was mostly on display for many to see.  

Unfortunately, we have also had our moments of sadness and discord. We fought many times constantly, even in front of the children. We slept in separate rooms, and intentionally undermined each other. At times, we ignored each other through emails, phone calls, and text messages. Out of arrogance — and perhaps stupidity, too — we failed to seek counseling because you viewed it as a futile exercise.  Recently, we reached a point at which we stopped spending time together. You spend more time with your friends at Starbucks wasting time on political chatter. Oddly, it has been a long time since we went out for coffee or dinner together. When I ask you to come with me, your usual response is, “No, I do not want to go, but bring me some food.”   

The crux of this letter is that I am leaving you effective immediately. I have had enough of you and your antics and I believe you feel the same. Simply put, I do not want to spend the rest of my life in a relationship where I have to constantly beg for love, attention, and friendship. I do not even consider you as my best friend anymore. I want a husband who is willing to work with me to improve our relationship and make it stronger and better. I want someone who is not opposed to seeking professional help when there is a need, and who is committed to making his spouse a top priority. I want a man who is motivated (alas, you don’t even have a job) and takes care of his weight, health, and well-being. I expect from him what he expects from me: Being a loving, engaging, supportive, and loyal spouse. In essence, marriage should be a two-way street. Frankly, I am not going to miss your “low energy”, lack of family involvement, and your tendency to always act as the wronged one. You expect me to respect you when you do not even respect yourself. Look at yourself: you’ve become “wax ma tare” (a loser). Act like a man and be a provider. The government is supporting your family!

I have realized, after much deliberation that you and I are not a match for each other. In fact, I have married a man in turmoil, who has abdicated his family responsibilities and constantly talks about becoming a politician in Mogadishu. I have become a mother and a father for our children. Please go to Somalia and build your political career there while I raise our children here. In other words, you’re no use to us. Let us gracefully go our separate ways. I am sure I do not want to see you again. As Taylor Swift once sang, “We are never, ever, ever, ever getting back together.” I would rather be single than sorrowful.

(Reprinted with permission from Sahan Journal, 02-14-2016).

Al-Shabaab in 2016: Continuity and Change

Last year was another bloody year in Somalia, during which Al-Shabaab increased the number of attacks it had launched in the country over the previous three years. The range and scale of these attacks and killings, particularly in Mogadishu, were astounding. They included bombings in the presidential palace and office (Villa Somalia), major hotels, obscure restaurants, military bases, forces of the African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM), its garrisons and convoys, UN convoys and staff,  government buildings, journalists, foreign diplomats, members of the parliament, and dozens of towns and villages. In one attack on AMISOM, Al-Shabaab fighters killed 70 Burundian soldiers.

A War of words

The annals of the group’s violent campaign was best described by the Minister of Information, Mohamed Abdi Hayir, who said Al-Shabaab’s attacks were being launched “about once a month.” To counter Al-Shabaab’s terror campaign, Somali government officials have waged a propaganda war against the organization, which has raised eyebrows. The head of the National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA), Abdirahman M. Tuuryare, ordered the media not to call the radical group by its name “Al-Shabaab” (which means “youth” in Arabic) but instead to call the group “UGUS”, a Somali acronym for “the group that massacres the Somali people”. The head of the security agency explained that the new government name will demonize the militant group by calling it what it is: a bunch of murderers. Ironically, Al-Shabaab responded by changing the name attributed to the government to “the group that subjects the Somali people to humiliation”. Another government strategy, since March 2015, has been to refer to Al-Shabaab as an “Al-Qaeda/ISIL” outfit, even though the Somali group is not affiliated with ISIL. In December 2015, the security chief admitted for the first time that Al-Shabaab has not been responsible for most of the political assassinations in Mogadishu, even though the militant group proudly takes credit for these acts.

To Join or not to join ISIL

The tantalizing speculations that Al-Shabaab was considered leaving Al-Qaeda to join ISIL have proved to be exaggerated. Recently, though, a group numbering three to four dozen Al-Shabaab fighters declared their allegiance to ISIL. Al-Shabaab’s reaction was swift and brutal. It fought the group, imprisoned some, and ran them out of the south. The splinter group has settled in the Galgala Mountains in Puntland, several hundred miles away from Mogadishu. The new group is led by Abdulkhadir Mumin, a cleric and former resident of the United Kingdom, best known in Al-Shabaab for his fiery speeches. The group lacks strong leadership, as no heavyweight Al-Shabaab leader has joined it, and the group has yet to attract Al-Shabaab’s foreign fighters. It is not clear if this split in Al-Shabaab—though marginal now—might evolve into a clan warfare because Mumin and his supporters are members of the Darod clan. He is more likely to appeal to his tribesmen in Puntland, and hence the prospect of his recruitment of fighters in the south is very dim.

Inroads in Kenya

Al-Shabaab has clearly shown it has the ability to operate in parts of Kenya at whim. The fact that the majority of Al-Shabaab’s foreign fighters hail from Kenya has given the radical group significant opportunities to kill, maim, and kidnap civilians and police officers. The group’s periodical bombings, while lethal, are overshadowed by another fact: Al-Shabaab’s rapid growth in Kenya’s northeast region is adding muster to the general mayhem it is causing through its campaign of bombings and assassinations. A significant number of fighters are holed up in the dense and scarcely populated Boni Forest bordering Somalia next to the Indian Ocean. Furthermore, Al-Shabaab is heavily recruiting youths in the northeast, manning roadblocks in certain areas and collecting taxes. Isiolo county governor Godana Doyo lamented last April that more than 10 roadblocks manned by foreign armed men were encountered by travelers on the road linking Isiolo and Wajir. Motorists were being charged Sh3, 000 (an equivalent of $29 USD) per car per trip. One county official said that the individuals who had erected the roadblocks were not bandits. “We fear that the money they take is going to fund terrorism,” he added. Apparently, Al-Shabaab has obtained fertile ground in the northeast, a region inhabited mostly by ethnic Somalis, who have been marginalized and neglected by the Kenyan Government in is economic development programs.

The carnage continues

The year 2016 is unlikely to bring change in the nature of Al-Shabaab activities. The periodic and deadly bombings will continue, but they might experience a spike this summer when the process of selecting the country’s national leaders will be finalized in August. There might be some respite after the election, but the attacks will likely resume when the next government is installed in the fall. Al-Shabaab’s possible affiliation to ISIL is unlikely to happen. Reasons for this could be the bloody way in which the pro-ISIL group has been handled, ISIL’s diminishing appeal among Somali jihadists, the African outfit’s opposition to ISIL’s monopoly of an Islamic “caliphate”, and the group’s open recruitment, in contrast to Al-Shabaab’s secretive and plodding process of recruiting fighters. Al-Shabaab knows its standing in global jihad has waned. The group’s loss of territory, its bloody leadership squabble in June 2013, in which two of its founders were killed, the marginalization of foreign fighters and the killings of some of them, such as the American-born Omar Hammami, and the rise of ISIL as a major jihadi phenomenon that has eclipsed Al-Qaeda central have damaged Al-Shabaab’s appeal among global jihadists.  

One possible change is the consolidation of power by Ahmed Diriye “Abu Ubaidah”, the emir, who was widely believed to have been a transitional figure. He is benefiting from the growing number of Al-Shabaab leaders who have been killed by American drones or are surrendering to the Somali Government. The late charismatic emir of the group, Ahmed Godane, endorsed Abu Ubaidah as his successor, clearly a huge advantage for Abu Ubaidah.

This year, it is likely Al-Shabaab will continue to pursue the splinter group and attempt to liquidate its members, as it did to Godane’s rivals two years ago.   The number of Al-Shabaab ranks inside the country will incrementally decrease, but not to the point of crippling the radical group. But more Kenyans are likely to join the movement, which will translate into more Al-Shabaab activities in that country.

After losing big cities, Al-Shabaab’s coffers are dwindling because not much revenue is being generated from its control of the provinces. Furthermore, the general population is getting tired of the brand name of “Al-Shabaab”. That notwithstanding, Al-Shabaab will continue to be a force inside Somalia. One reason is the weak Somali Federal Government, which is unable to control most of the country. Another reason is the presence of foreign troops in the country, some of whom benefit from the existence of the radical group, which justifies their presence in Somalia for either securing funding from the UN or preventing the emergence of a strong Somali Government (which is a threat to its neighbors). Other factors aiding Al-Shabaab’s continuing presence are the marginalization and alienation of youth, and the prevalence of corruption. As Al-Shabaab confronts the New Year, it is highly likely its strategy of employing hit and run, blocking access to certain government-controlled areas, and harassing AMISOM forces will continue unabated.

Trouble on the Homefront (Part 1): Somali Stories

This is part 1 of a five-part series about Somali families in the diaspora. While many Somali men are consumed with endless political chatter, their homes are wracked by dysfunction and neglect. The names and locations of these individuals have been changed for privacy reasons.  

***

A Serial Deserter

It started with a simple phone call in the wee hours of the morning.

“Your daughter is in the hospital, Liban,” said the caller.

My ex-wife was calling to inform me that our daughter, 22, had had a nervous breakdown. Shocked and dazed, I immediately bought a ticket to Atlanta. My daughter was an “A” student: diligent, studious, and self-sufficient. She had a job, an apartment, and a car. Apparently, she has stopped taking her medication. She also stopped eating, showering, attending classes and visiting family members.

I visited her in the hospital, and she barely recognized me because she was so heavily medicated. Several days later, she felt better and was finally released to her mom’s care.

In this difficult time, I stayed in my ex’s house, which she shared with her mother and a son from a previous marriage. Suddenly, I became a caring father to a daughter I had abandoned when she was barely nine years old. Sadly, many men have a tendency to discard their children once they are divorced. 

As weeks passed, I realized my stay with my ex was a colossal mistake. We grew closer. She was attractive, fun, exuberant, and enthused. She also seemed happy to see me, even though I was married with children in Michigan. In a short time, we managed to put our acrimonious divorce on the back burner. My former mother-in-law was elated that we all were on good terms. Of course, no mother wants her daughter to remain single. I found myself slowly but surely being drawn toward my ex and conveniently became oblivious to what led to our divorce in the first place: Lack of trust, possessiveness, and constant fights.

 

I do not know what made our interaction this time more amicable and harmonious. Perhaps, we were too young, at age 23, when we married in a refugee camp in Kenya. Our union had been rocky, stressful, and lasted a decade. She had three miscarriages, which weighed on her emotionally. Our relationship did not withstand the test of time and we divorced immediately after we arrived in America.  Subsequently, I met another woman and married. That marriage, in its eighth year, had been going well until that fateful phone call. 

Fast forward: I am now in Atlanta with my ex, a move that turned heads. Frankly, it was a devastating decision to my wife back in Michigan and to our four children. None of them expected such a rapid and earth-shaking development. My seven-year-old son dropped a stinking rebuke about me. “Dad, how can you say you love us when you just left us?” he lamented. His mother sank into a state of despondency. She cursed and scowled at me and understandably filed for divorce on the grounds of abandonment. For me, I have not felt such happiness and contentment in my life. I was itching for change and wanted to get out of the doldrums of Michigan. However, leaving my family was not in the playbook. Now, I am a pariah even among my relatives. I have been called “selfish” and “irresponsible.” You can’t please all the people.

Emotionally and financially fleeced

At age 25, I met a Somali refugee in Kenya whom I thought would be my soulmate. He was 27, a solidly-built man, gregarious, and dashingly handsome. He seemed to radiate calm. He mesmerized me and I felt it was love at first sight. We started meeting in public places and after a few months decided to get married. Unfortunately, neither of us had his or her place. I was getting ready to emigrate to the U.S. and my goal was to sponsor him later to come to the U.S.

When I arrived at America, I embarked on securing a full-time job so I could help my husband and pave the way for our eventual reunion. I was fortunate I spoke English fluently and had a college degree. In several months, I had a well-paying job and started sending $500 every month to my husband. Like many Somali refugees in Nairobi, he was living in a hotel and was financially dependent on me.

My husband and I called each other constantly to strengthen our bond. He seemed someone who truly missed me, always peppering his conversations with romantic banter. At times, it looked surreal like a Bollywood movie. Two years later, I went back to Kenya to visit him for a month.

I saved $7,000 in a short period and sent it to my uncle in Portland, Maine, an employee of a money wire company. I lived and worked in a small town in Kansas which lacked Somali stores and wiring services. I specifically told my uncle to send the money to my husband in three installments because he was completing his immigration screening process to join me. At any rate, my husband received the $7,000 in full and obviously was shocked. I immediately called him not to use the money except $2,000 because I had to buy furniture for our apartment. He promised to wire back the remaining $5,000 within a week.

One week passed, then two and three without getting the money. I called my husband repeatedly but he was not answering. Then, his line was disconnected. Numerous calls to mutual friends and relatives brought no satisfying answer. It was clear my husband was disengaging from me. My main concern was his welfare. Was he OK? Was he arrested by Kenyan police? My mind was racing with scary thoughts. Frankly, little did I care about the missing funds?

I was planning to take time off and go to Kenya when I got the bad news: My husband is married with four children. How did that happen? I wondered. “This is preposterous,” I told my cousin who told me the news.

I double-checked the story and was able to verify it. I was devastated and became under extreme emotional duress. The time off I had requested from my employer came in handy as I was unable to focus. I became like zombie; the living dead. I contacted the American immigration agency and reported the egregious fraud on my husband’s part, canceled the application, and voided our marriage.

Now, a year has passed and I am barely recovering from this tragedy. The traumatic experience brought me lasting bitterness and regret. Needless to say—as unfair as I may sound—I became distrustful of Somali men. My former husband belonged to a distinct criminal class: Somali Men in East Africa who prey on women in the diaspora.

Relationships in Flux (Part 5): Somali Stories

This is part 5 of a series about true stories of Somalis living in the U.S. and their relationships. The series is part of “Courtship and Marriage: The Somali Experience in America,” a book currently being written. The author has interviewed three dozen people whose names and locations have been changed for privacy reasons. I will let each tell his or her own story.

***

Milestone

After my college graduation, I found myself married. Fortunately, my wife and I had professional jobs, but the biggest challenge we faced was maintaining our marriage. We constantly argued. Our mutual love was still strong, but getting along under one roof was very challenging. No one had prepared us for the notion that love alone is not sufficient for maintaining a happy marriage. The adage, “You do not know someone until you live with him/her,” proved correct. I was angry, frustrated, and fearful of what the future held for our nascent union. We created controversy out of thin air. Most of our conflicts centered on household chores and money management. I read many books, women’s magazines, and even talked to older friends about how to fix our marriage. I couldn’t consult with my parents because they were never enthusiastic of my “hasty decision” to marry. However, life always has twists and turns.

When I became a naturalized American citizen, I decided to do something for my adopted country—a civic act. I volunteered to be an election worker on Election Day. It was a long day that started at 6 in the morning and lasted until the polls closed at 8 PM. I served as an assistant to an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann. They were in their early seventies, amiable, funny, encouraging, generous, and very helpful. What struck me the most was their interaction, which was based on love, kindness, caring, and respect. They listened to each other attentively with minimum interruption. 

During a break, I asked Mr. Hoffmann on what made their 50 -year marriage endure. He took me aside and made an audacious claim: “There is nothing special about our marriage.”  He continued, “I am no marriage guru and I only know what I do as a husband: Engage in gentle communication.”

“Communication is the key. You have to talk to your wife calmly and gently and never accuse her of anything,” he said. “Always use ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ when discussing contentious matters. In other words, do not be accusatory.”

I left the polling place that night excited about my civic experience, but a bit skeptical of Hoffmann’s marital advice. My marriage continued to be tense and contentious. However, one night I decided to give Hoffmann’s idea a chance. I stopped arguing with my wife and, being the ever inveterate complainer, I tempered my tone and became more positive and supportive. My wife was perplexed. “I am an intuitive: I know something is up,” she said.  She suspected I had given up on the marriage and was doing something nefarious. Initially, it was tough for me to maintain the new positive, kinder, and gentler approach to our union, and occasionally I would lapse into my old habit of nitpicking.

Through trial and error, however, my wife and I improved our marriage. I listen to her and rarely argue with her. We solve our problems in a way that is based on respect and understanding. We have agreed not to employ the “silent treatment” in resolving conflicts. Yes, we can be angry with each other, but we have vowed to keep our lines of communication open. “Marriage,” as Hoffmann used to say, “involves hard work and constant maintenance.”

***

When the past is still present

Getting out of my first marriage was a daunting task. Indeed, it was a vexatious period; an agonizing eight years. The union was punctuated by a rare blend of contradictions: Indifference vs. occasional tenderness; high tension vs. periods of calmness; exciting travels vs. self-imposed home stays; and intense romantic moments vs. times of indifference and loathing.  

The marriage produced two children. In reality, the children were our marital glue.

Even though we were separated so many times I lost count, it was always a fluid separation marked by frequent visits from my ex, weekend stay overs, and occasionally attending social functions, such as weddings, as a couple. We gave “separation” a bad name.  My ex and I depended on each other exclusively and completely, even when we were separated. Vulnerable people usually return to their comfort zone. It was a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship.   

My ex was my first big heart-throb. After we divorced, he married a woman 12 years his junior. Perhaps I have difficulty accepting my former husband being with another woman.

Okay then, why am I talking about my ex?

Unfortunately, it is because he is still part of my life.

Four years after my divorce, I met a man who was the opposite of my ex, a kinder, caring man. After several months of courtship, we married. Then we had a major problem: He decided to relocate the family to Minnesota, and I utterly opposed it. If I had moved from the state of Washington, where I reside, my boys would have been exclusively raised by my ex because he had — and still have— partial custody of them. My ex was a lousy husband—selfish, volatile, temperamental, and emotionally unavailable—but, in fairness, he has always been a good father. The boys, 13 and 15, love him. My new husband wanted to move us out of the state because he had a job offer from Minnesota. He already had a professional job in Seattle but had an ulterior motive: He couldn’t stand my ex, a prominent member of our community. We all attended the same mosque, shopped at the same mall, and frequently ran into each other at local parks and restaurants. Most of all, my ex would come to our house every Friday evening, pick up the boys, and then drop them off on Sunday.

What is wrong with our Somali men that they do not take us women seriously? For instance, I had told my husband during our courtship about the vexing issue of the boys’ custody and the fact that I was not allowed, by an order of court, to remove them from Washington. At the time, he seemed understanding and agreeable. Perhaps it was not an issue for him then because he was pursuing me intensely. A year after we married, he started talking about moving to Minnesota. My parents encouraged me to go with him. “The boys will be fine with their father,” my mother would say. “You need to look after yourself.” I couldn’t do it because the children needed their mother as much as they needed their father. My ex had even threatened to take me to Family Court if I moved.

Initially, I was confused and didn’t know what to do. However, after much deliberation, I decided to stay in Seattle.  I couldn’t see myself abandoning the boys for a man, any man. They meant the world to me. In a nutshell, I chose my children over love.

My husband moved to Minnesota afterwards, angry and bitter because I had “disobeyed” him. “Follow your husband,” a local imam had admonished me. “You owe it to him.” Of course, we divorced.

Now, after two years, I have curiously asked myself where my former husband is and what he has been doing. Most of all, was he able to leave the past behind without allowing it to define or shackle him in his current life?

The past still haunts me. I am still in Seattle; single yes, but not dead. I may be hopelessly romantic, but I am lucky I still have two beautiful men in my life, my sons. Being single though is hard, but raising boys in America is even harder. Love, after all, can wait.

(Reprinted with permission from Sahan Journal, December 12, 2015).