Abdirahman Jama Barre: An Obituary

Abdirahman Jama Barre, former Somali minister of foreign affairs, died on Tuesday in San Diego, California. He was 83 years old.

Abdirahman was born in Luuq in 1934 and came to Mogadishu as a child under the care of his older brother, Mohamed Siad Barre, who was working as a police officer. Abdirahman fondly recalled his early days in the capital.

On one occasion, he came home to request money to buy a snack, and his brother gave him a half-shillings. It was good money for a child growing of the 1940s, but to Abdirahman, the money was a symbol of the love and care his brother had for him as an orphan. Abdirahman saw Siad Barre not only as his brother, but also as a father figure and mentor. This enduring relationship would last six decades.

Abdirahman received his early education during the Colonial period. Later, he became a teacher and taught in places like Buur Hakaba in the Bay region during the 1950s. In 1960, he was one of the first employees ever hired by Somalia’s then-nascent Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

He won a scholarship to Italy, where he studied political economy. In light of the scarcity of university graduates in Somalia in the early 1960s, Abdirahman became an administrator in the foreign ministry after his return from Italy. In 1969, Abdirahman’s brother, Siad, staged a military coup and became the supreme leader of the country.

The turning point for Abdirahman was on July 27, 1977, when his brother named him Foreign Minister. It was an appointment that raised eyebrows among critics of the regime. Some saw the assignment as a classic example of nepotism. Abdirahman, however, believed he had paid his dues, given his undisputed seniority in that ministry. His first challenge arose from the fact that he had replaced Omar Arte Ghalib, an articulate, charismatic, and multilingual politician. Abdirahman had big shoes to fill. What he lacked in charisma, however, he made up for with his work ethic and sheer determination.

He was known for his relentless, singular focus. Abdirahman was the ultimate bureaucrat in a job that required exceptional strides in public relations. President Siad rarely traveled abroad and instead delegated to Abdirahman the responsibility of representing the country at the international conferences.   

Abdirahman was the longest-serving Somali foreign minister (10 years). In 1987, he became a finance minister and deputy prime minister. After the civil war began in 1991, he briefly became involved in politics again. He and his family came to the United States in 1993 and settled in the outskirts of San Diego. In his spare time, he started writing his political memoir, which was never completed. When I asked him why he had stopped writing the book, Abdirahman offered a mischievous grin. “My own people [clan] will not be happy with its publication,” he said. He was frank in his political views to the point of bluntness, and even criticized the way Somalia was run in the 1980s.

When President Siad Barre had a car accident in 1986, which compromised his abilities and vitality, a power struggle ensued. On the one hand, Siad Barre’s powerful wife, Khadija Moalim, became a power broker and waged a campaign to groom her oldest son, Maslah, as heir apparent. There was a second faction that portrayed itself as the “constitutionalists,” led by Ahmed Suleiman Dafle, who was the president’s son-in-law and a high-ranking official. This group called for the vice president, Mohamed Ali Samatar, to replace Siad in the case of his death or incapacitation. A third faction included Abdirahman and his friend General Adan Gabiyow, a former defense minister.

The power struggle was so intense that the president—or someone representing him— orchestrated Abdirahman’s demotion as a cabinet minister. It was, perhaps, the lowest point in the brotherly relationship. However, it was short duration, and the two were able to mend their fractured relationship. Many years later, Abdirahman lamented the missed opportunity in that juncture of the country’s history. He thought that a peaceful transfer of power would have prevented the civil war that occurred four years later and lasted 20 years.

In 2004, Abdirahman briefly came out of retirement and ran against Colonel Abdullahi Yusuf for the presidency. He lost and immediately returned to San Diego.

Abdirahman had three distinct qualities for which he was widely known by his friends and associates.

Firstly, he was a devout father who doted on his children. The once globetrotting diplomat became a suburban father in San Diego. He embraced his new role with verve, regularly taking his children to school, games, and practices, and attending parent teacher conferences.

Secondly, Abdirahman was a good conversationalist who regaled people with exotic stories about encounters with famous world leaders, including meeting six American presidents, from Kennedy to George H. W. Bush. He met nearly all African and Arab leaders and even developed personal relationships with some, such as the current emir of Kuwait, who was once a foreign minister of his country. Abdirahman also loved telling stories about Sayyid Mohamed Abdillahi Hassan, the father of Somali nationalism. Abdirahman was also known for his wry sense of humor. He had a habit of giving nicknames to people, especially the parents of his children’s schoolmates.

Finally, Abdirahman was an ardent nationalist and a believer of Somali unity. For fifty years, he constantly warned others about the grand designs that neighboring countries—especially Ethiopia—had for Somalia. Today, both Ethiopia and Kenya have troops inside Somalia.

Abdirahman will best be remembered for his dedication to his children, his strong commitment to protecting the sovereignty of Somalia, and his story-telling abilities. In addition to his wife, Lul Mohamed Nur, he is survived by 17 children and countless grandchildren. His marriage to his first wife, Zahra Hussein, and the mother of his eight children, ended in divorce. May God bless his soul and reward him bountifully.

Mama Malyun Names and Shames

The arrival of social media in conservative Somalia has prompted the rise of smart, educated, activists who have become champions for the voiceless. However, the medium has also led to the emergence of a different class of people: extremists of all classes—religious fanatics and clannish hatemongers, misfits, charlatans, and sociopaths. Not a week goes by without someone going viral. The recent sensation is Malyun Ali Feer, who refers to herself simply as M. M. S (Mama Malyun Suuban). She pronounces her nickname like a rapper promoting her album and then adds, “BAM!”

The phenomenon of Mama Malyun on social media is unique and interesting. She is articulate, funny, mentally agile, and outspoken. She is pretty, gregarious, and radiant. That is not only my opinion—it’s hers, too. She looks good on screen, is in good shape, and does not shy away rubbing a cream on her face and hands as she tapes her videos.  In fact, she has a side business selling that very brand of cream, and she uses her videos to promote it.

For Somali men who constantly approach her, she has a penchant for blocking them from her Facebook and deriding them for being nuisance. “Waryaa (hey, you), you are not my type,” she bellows. She does not conceal her age. ‘I am 52, single, and not interested in a relationship,” she said.  She explains she has had enough relationships to last a lifetime. Mama Malyun knows what kind of man she wants. “I will test him,” she says, “and ask him about his credit score, honesty, hygiene, health, education, and whether or not he is clannish.” If you have a bankruptcy on your record, that is a major red flag to her and you need not to apply.

Mama Malyun’s videos are full of humor, sarcasm, songs, and a bit of self-promotion. She does little to hide her disdain of men who are irresponsible deadbeats. She advises women to exit humdrum marriages. Her first video, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7b_lPnSlBM) which put her on the map, drew howls of outrage because she said she had been married 13 times. “No, wait a minute,” she suddenly paused as though her memory was failing. ”It is actually 15 husbands. I forgot two guys.” Then, she turned to the camera and scolded her audience to learn math.

Now, how many men or women would go publicly and declare the dozens of spouses that they had in their lifetime? Not many, I suppose. Mama Malyun has no qualms about marrying many men. Apparently, she does not crumble at night in self-pity and despair. She talks openly about her marriages and admits she had a dizzying ride of ups and downs. Some of her marriages started with a sizzle and ended with a fizzle. She gushes about the ones who were good to her, while chronicling those who owe her dowry money, and the ones who took her money and vanished. Some ex-husbands, of course, left traces in her heart—not all her husbands were bad.

What is unique about Mama Malyun is that she has listed the clans of the men she married. The majority of them are her clan, Darod, and 10 are Majertein, her sub-clan. The other two were Hawiye and Isaaq respectively. She jokes that her marriage to the Hawiye (Murursade) guy means that she is the sister-in-law of Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre, and she laments that she had not married a Marehan, the president’s clan. The Isaaq man is the father of her son and she proudly announces that she is, in essence, a Somalilander. There goes the 4.5 clan power structure in Somalia! Her ex-husbands only cover three of the five clan groupings. Missing, of course, are the Digil/Mirifle and Beesha Shanaad. It is their misfortune that they did not make it on the vaunted list. Or perhaps, they dodged a bullet. Who knows how Mama Malyun would have castigated them?

Mama Malyun did something that gave many Somali men a bit of whiplash: She named several ex-husbands, and posted their pictures, mentioned their clans, places of employment, and residences. One is a famous former reporter of the Voice of America (VOA). These men had allegedly crossed her and she is adamant to expose them. To her admirers, she is a ruthless, single-minded, woman who is exposing injustice and abuse. To her critics, she is a tornado wreaking havoc. “I don’t care what people say,” Mama Malyun quips.

Mama Malyun’s constant message is to expose bad husbands. In her recent videos, she has adopted a campaign of a gender equality.  On her Facebook page, she says she is an advocate for Somali families and the rights of women and children. Her message is clear: Men have to stop marrying women and then leaving them for no reason. “Any man who divorces a woman,” she declares, “is nothing but the butt of a burned cigarette.” She is troubled by the large number of single mothers in the diaspora. “Where are their men?” she roars. Women need help in raising their children, she says, because they can’t do it by themselves. She is quick to note that she is a single mom, her daughter is a single mom, and her late mother was a single mom. “That’s wrong,” she explains.

Women have to speak up even if Somali men abhor it, she pleads. She wants women to stop hiding men’s egregious abandonment, neglect, and abuse. Communication is the key to a successful relationship, she preaches. She wants women to ask themselves if the men in their lives are smart or liars, or are they good providers or deadbeats? The ones who are awful, she reiterates, must be exposed.

 

When Sheikh Mohamoud Shibli, a leading cleric based in Kenya, advised men to engage in polygamy and not to heed the pleas of women who oppose the practice, Mama Malyun was so piqued she nearly exploded in fury. Shibli had the audacity to advise men to hide the passwords of their cellphones and computers from women. “That is wrong,” Mama Malyun said. Then, she dissolved into tears and made the necessary parameters of the spousal relationship clear: Love, care, fairness, and gentleness, are paramount.

 

Although Mama Malyun talks about the clans of the men she married, she is quick to denounce clannism. She urges her listeners to expunge tribalism from their hearts and lives. She claims she is the perfect example as she had married many men from three different clans when most women only marry within their own clan.

In a nutshell, Mama Malyun is a compelling personality who wants to be heard loud and clear. Her message is a blend of feminism—broadly conceived—and an indictment of men who fail women. She wants to exercise her free speech, educate women, and advocate on their behalf. Her reception on social media has been mixed: There was an explosion of joy on one side and recrimination on the other. In other words, many have rallied around her, while others have vilified her. However, she will not be dissuaded. The more women speak up, says Mama Malyun, the better it is for them and their children. Then, in an Obama-like exuberance, she chants, “Yes, we can.” BAM!

Somali Clerics Face Off

From time to time, Somali clerics engage in a vitriolic war of words against each other. They denounce one another and even engage in Takfir (excommunication) from the realm of Islam. Recently, a vicious war of words has reached its apex and led a regional government to intervene. The state of Puntland has forcefully denounced and banned one Islamic group while ignoring another with the same ideology in its midst. However, we will come to that point shortly.

A Takfiri group emerges into the limelight

It all started on April 2, 2017, when a group of Islamists known as “Al-Saadicuun Bil-Xaq,” (Proclaimers of Truth) announced its presence in Mogadishu. Osman Abdulle Roble, the group leader, said that after 40 years of studying the situation of Somalia, the group decided to come out openly and call its people to the “correct religion of God.”  He explained that Somalis must return to their religion as they have deviated from the right path by living under a government that does not apply Islamic rule. In essence, both the government—with its provisional constitution, parliament, and judiciary—and the citizens are in ‘jaahiliyaah” (a state of disbelief). During his announcement, Roble was accompanied by a dozen of his colleagues, who were all gray-haired professionals wearing suits. They included doctors, business people, college instructors, and engineers. Roble emphasized that the group members were nonviolent and that jihad was not their immediate goal; at least at this juncture of their mission. “Only when there is an Islamic state,” he declared, “will jihad be possible.”

The reaction to the Takfiri group was swift and strong. Several prominent clerics castigated it for being a narrow minded and radical group. In a two-part lecture series, Sheikh Mohamed Umal, a leading Salafi cleric, dissected the belief, history, and practices of the group and concluded that its members were misguided fanatics who do not believe Somalis to be Muslims. Moreover, he explained that its adherents shun praying in mosques.  In his zeal to lash out at the group, Umal made a historical error when he said that the group appeared in Somalia in 1978 after some Somali students returned from studying in Egypt. In fact, the Takfiri idea came from a small number of Somali students who were studying at Ummul Qura University in Mecca, Saudi Arabia. However, the Somali group is a branch of a wider movement by the same name (Proclaimers of Truth) based in Egypt that is headed by an Egyptian named Mustafa Kamil. Kamil was a college instructor at Mecca for more than 20 years.

Among those who criticized the group was the infamous militant cleric, Hassan Dahir Aweys, who was, until his arrest in 2013, part of Al-Shabaab. Aweys has been under house arrest for the last few years, but he did not appear to have his social media activities constrained. In a video, he explained that the Takfiri group was not a new phenomenon. “They were silent for forty years,” he boasted, “because we kept them silent through debate and by shedding light on their true nature.” He added, “We had debated with them in the late 1970s and subsequently marginalized them.” In a rare appeal to the public, however, Aweys implored Somalis not to use violence against the group or to fire them from their jobs. Incidentally, the Jazeerah University in Mogadishu had terminated the employment of three of its college instructors after they had declared their allegiance to the group.

Left unsaid in Aweys’ video was the fact that his younger brother, Abdiraman, is a prominent member of the Takfiri group and one of the three professors who had lost their jobs. Another member of the group is Abdullahi Ahmed Nur, a younger brother of Mogadishu’s former mayor, Mohamoud A. Nur also known as “Tarzan.”

Omar Abdullahi Mohamed, the governor of Nugaal region in Puntland, denounced the new group, stating, “We declare war against this new group, we call upon the security agencies to annihilate the group and its secret cells.” The governor failed to acknowledge the presence of another larger Takfiri group in Qardho, Puntland, led by Mohamoud Nur Kenadid. The latter group does not believe in secrecy and has openly operated in Puntland. The governor’s binary view was palpable: Puntland militants are OK but not those from Mogadishu.

Another war of words among clerics involves Sheikh Mohamoud Shibli, a leading Somali Salafi cleric based in Nairobi, and a group of writers and activists whom he has deemed as transgressors.

Shibli v. Jibreel

Abdirahman Jibreel is a Somali cleric who wrote a book titled, Islamic Extremism: The Untold Story. When the book was published in 2015, no one noticed it. However, a few months ago, the book and its author went viral on social media.

Jibreel addressed three main issues in his book: What is extremism? Where did it come from? And what is the solution?

To Jibreel, an extremist is anyone who wants to apply Islam literally. According to Jibreel, the extremist is a puritan who believes he or she is following and fulfilling what is written in the Quran, and anyone who differs with them is misguided. Jibreel sees the Quran and Hadith (Prophetic Tradition) as the source of extremism. In fact, he writes that the Quran “remains the single most important source of extremism or radicalization among the youth.”

If you are wondering why Muslim youth join these extremist groups, Jibreel has a simple answer. He says, the role of Islam and its belief system are the core of the problem. Jibreel writes plainly and bluntly that “Islamic teachings are the main source of terrorism.”  Jibreel’s solution is for Muslims to deal with extremism honestly and truthfully. He proposes that some of the Islamic teachings in the Quran and Hadith must be discarded, some changed, and others modified. Modern Muslims, Jibreel concludes, must not implement the meaning of the Quranic texts literally.

Mohamud Shibli heard about Jibreel and got a copy of his book. Shibli has a penchant for viciously attacking people who he believes have deviated from Islam, often with savage efficiency. A few months ago, he was a guest speaker at an Islamic conference in Kampala, Uganda, when he gave a speech titled, “The Five Soldiers of Iblis (Satan).” The maligned five are as follows: Abdirahman Jibreel (writer), Ali Raage, Abdisaid Abdi Ismail (writer), Abdulkadir Kishki, and a Somali website named Maandoon.com.  By singling them out the five as soldiers of Satan, Shibli declared them as individuals—or entities—that have committed kufr (disbelief).  He warned the public of associating with these heretics.

In several videos, Jibreel responded to Shibli rather tepidly. Instead of defending what he wrote in his book, he talked about his good character, his strong faith in Islam, and then highlighted the extremist views of Shibli and his Salafi colleagues. To some observers, Jibreel’s reaction reflected a staggering naiveté. Then, there was an issue of Jibreel’s command of English. His pronunciation raised a red flag as his book was written in beautiful English. Moreover, there was no indication in the book’s preface that it was translated from another language. Rumors arose as to whether Jibreel himself was the actual author of the book as he lacked grasp of the issues at hand, not to mention his poor mastery of English. Then, the surprise came when Jibreel issued a video apologizing for writing his book and asking for forgiveness. In a bizarre announcement, he recanted what was written in his book, but came short of withdrawing it from circulation.

Shibli vs. Kishki

If Shibli went after Jibreel vigorously as though he had smelled blood, his lashing out on Abdulkadir Kishki, a Canada-based Somali cleric, was equally relentless and ruthless. Kishki was one of the “soldiers of Satan” that Shibli had denounced. In what Shibli called “Kufriyaat Kishki” (Kishki’s disbeliefs), the Somali-Canadian cleric was accused of criticizing the companions of Prophet Mohamed, denying the capital punishments of “ar-Rajm” (Stoning) and ar-Riddah (Apostacy), hobnobbing with Shiites, and permitting Muslims to celebrate non-Muslim holidays. Shibli’s narrative was all but set in stone: Kishki is an ignorant man who uses cut-and-paste research. Finally, to add insult to injury, Shibli posted an image of Kishki attending a religious event with known Shiites in Canada.

Unlike Jibreel, Kishki was not a pushover. He fought back vigorously and called Shibli many names: From “Leonardo da Shibli” (as of Leonardo da Vinci), “Dajaal” (antichrist), sadist, and someone suffering from Alzheimer’s. Kishki denied the accusation that he was a Shia. And regarding that photo Shibli had posted of him with Shiites, he was merely attending an interfaith dialogue in Canada. Kishki called for an open debate with Shibli—a request that has gone unanswered. In a series of videos, Kishki portrayed Shibli as a Salafi extremist with tenuous relations with the truth, who excommunicates innocent people from the realm of Islam.

Shibli has authored several books in Arabic and is a frequent guest in Somali TV channels and lecture circuits. His lectures are popular and his demeanor is relaxed and easygoing. At times, his speeches can lull you to sleep. He has a reputation for unhinged hyperbole. Several years ago, he said in a lecture that he had seen 700 young Somali girls, ages 14 and 19, sequestered in a medical facility in London and suffering from AIDS. That shocking revelation landed like a bomb among Somalis in the diaspora, especially those living in Britain. Fortunately, a capable Somali journalist named Abdulhafid Mohamoud with Universal TV in London did a superb investigation on the matter. He contacted the British health ministry officials, who called Shibli’s assertion “baseless.” There were only four known Somali patients suffering from AIDS in London at the time and none was hospitalized. It remains a mystery as to why Shibli would peddle such outrageous fake news.

The war of words among Somali clerics is not yet finished. So far, Shibli has given four out of six lectures on social media denouncing the “soldiers of Satan.” Kishki, on his part, has responded to Shibli several times. There is no prospect of this war ending soon as each camp sees itself as self-righteous. Dr. Khadar Jama, a wise cleric in Southern California, has lamented on Facebook about the escalation of excommunication charges among clerics. He said, “There are some clerics who have placed Isbaarooyin (checkpoints) in front of paradise.” That metaphor reminds me of Somalia’s vicious civil war when checkpoints ruled the day.

Abdirizak H. Hussein: A Reflection

Three years have gone by since the passing of Abdirizak Haji Hussein, the former prime minister of Somalia. Since then, two books have been written about him: Abdi I. Samatar’s Africa’s First Democrats: Somalia’s Aden A. Osman and Abdirazak H. Hussein, and Abdirizak Haji Hussein: My Role in the Foundation of the Somali Nation-State, a Political Memoir, edited by Abdisalam Issa-Salwe. Both books are important additions to Somali studies because they cover Abdirizak’s early life and his tenure as premier.

Abdirizak, a major historical figure in Somalia, has always generated unusual interest among Somalis. On the one hand, he was an incorruptible politician and a reformist, embodying two traits that have scarcely been found in Somali politics for a long time. Yet, a few still see him as a product of his time, the 1960s, an era during which when clan politics were the norm. My reflection on Abdirizak was partly shaped by my childhood memories, family ties, and a meeting with him at a Somali conference in Europe several years ago.

I grew up in a household in which Abdirizak was neither lionized nor reviled. My mother, a northeasterner, sympathized with former premier and president, Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke, who belonged to her sub-clan. Her lukewarm attitude toward Abdirizak was not accidental. In fact, it was more personal than political. Abdirizak had fired her brother, my beloved uncle Abdi Gurey, when he became prime minister. Abdirizak, the ever-conscious leader of Karti iyo Hufnaan (efficiency and integrity), instituted a mass firing when he took office. Many civil servants, who owed their positions to patronage, lost their jobs. Many were collecting salaries without reporting to work, while others were simply inept. Abdirizak did the taxpayers a favor by eliminating these loafers from the government’s payroll. My uncle, not a man known for his good work ethic, eventually benefited from his firing when he started a new business in rental cars. However, my mother and my uncle never forgot his unfortunate job termination.

In the 1970s, Abdirahman Jama Barre became the foreign minister of Somalia. (Full Disclosure: Abdirahman and I are related through marriage). Abdirizak was at the time serving as Somalia’s Ambassador to the United Nations. Without going into much detail about the relationship between Abdirahman and Abdirizak, it can be said that the two had a deep and visceral loathing for each other; interestingly enough, their feelings dated back to the 1960s. At that time, Abdirizak was premier and Abdirahman a junior bureaucrat in the foreign ministry. They had crossed paths on numerous occasions, and their encounters were formal but mistrustful.  Paradoxically, Siad Barre, Abdirahman’s brother, and at the time head of the armed forces, had an amicable relationship with Abdirizak.

In a reversal of fortune, Siad Barre seized power in 1969 and arrested many politicians including Abdirizak. After three years, Abdirizak was released from prison and retired to his farm in Janale, 95 kilometers (59 miles) south of Mogadishu. Barre, whose secret service operatives were keeping Abdirizak under surveillance, became insecure and wondered what Abdirizak, the man who had refused to endorse his military takeover, was up to in his retirement. Barre decided to name Abdirizak as ambassador to the United Nations; by doing this he could send a potential rival all the way to New York.

Regarding Abdirahman and Abdirizak’s relationship, there were two anecdotes about the genesis of their inimical relationship that are cited by supporters of each man.

Say What?

Members of Abdirahman’s camp tell me about an incident in the mid-1960s when the two men had a minor tiff. Abdirahman, then a junior bureaucrat, had been summoned to Abdirizak’s office and was reprimanded for an administrative mishap. Abdirahman, in a moment of inexplicable anger, gazed at Abdirizak with scorn and said, “War wax yahow,” (you, an inanimate object) and then walked out without uttering another word. Abdirizak, stony-faced, looked at Abdirahman in bewilderment and then went back to his paperwork. Abdirahman was not punished following the incident. This raises some disturbing questions. Was this a case of insubordination on the part of Abdirahman, or was it a manifestation of political realism on the part of Abdirizak?

Normally, Abdirahman’s action would have been classified as an act of insubordination or, at a minimum, ill-mannered behavior. First, one does not talk back to one’s superior. Second, one does not call him “an object.” It is well known that Abdirizak was widely feared in government circles because he was, as author Ismail “Geeldoon” Ali Ismail aptly wrote in his book, Governance, a reformer but nonetheless “a strong leader with a streak of authoritarianism.” Perhaps this incident was one of those moments when Abdirahman was presented as a fearless bureaucrat who did not cower or bow to anyone.

If this incident happened as it was told to me, there are three possible reasons why Abdirizak did not take corrective action against the junior bureaucrat.

First, Abdirizak became prime minister only four years after the country gained its independence. Abdirahman was either the second or third civil servant hired by the new foreign ministry in 1960. He had recently completed university training in political economy in Italy. At the time, Somalia did not have a pool of university graduates and most of the country’s leaders, including Abdirizak, had neither higher education nor extensive experience in administration. Abdirahman was young and fresh out of college. His job in the foreign ministry was the beginning of many years he would spend toiling in the administrative aspect of diplomacy. Being one of a handful of university graduates apparently put him in a unique position to help the nascent country. Abdirizak was a realist, and he did not want to lose an educated civil servant.

Second, it may also have been for purely political and clannish reasons that Abdirizak did not act against Abdirahman. The latter was no ordinary young bureaucrat; he was the brother of the commander of the armed forces, Siad Barre. One might argue that Abdirizak did not want to alienate Siad Barre, a prominent Darod figure and a political ally. When General Daud Abdulle Hirsi, the previous commander of the armed forces, died in 1965, some powerful politicians tried to ensure that his position did not go to his deputy, Siad Barre. “Abdirizak may have lobbied for Mohamed Siyaad Barre’s promotion,” wrote Hussein Bulhan, author of Politics of Cain: One Hundred Years of Crises in Somali Politics and Society (2008) and a diehard seccessionist, “in order to forestall another Hawiye to replace Daarood.” In other words, “Despite Abdirizak’s reputation for promoting people based on merit, he may have chosen in this case to affirm loyalty to another Daarood.” Bulhan could be wrong; Abdirizak could also have wanted to preserve seniority in the armed forces.

Incidentally, Abdirizak was also involved in an eternal power struggle with his rival and fellow Majerteen, Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke, and therefore needed the support of General Siad Barre. It is a known fact that Abdirizak, prime minister at the time, put Sharmarke under twenty-four surveillance, and Sharmarke was not even in the government.  Sharmarke was constantly followed by secret service agents, and his daily activities were reported to Abdirizak. This Nixonian aspect of Abdirizak’s rule is something his fervent supporters would rather not talk about. In his book, The Cost of Dictatorship: The Somali Experience (1993), Jama Mohamd Ghalib, also known as Jama Yare, wrote about Abdirizak’s actions. Jama Yare was then the head of the Special Branch of the Somali police and he said he ended the illegal surveillance.

A third possible explanation for Abdirizak’s lack of response to Abdirahman was an attempt by the prime minister to stay above the fray. He simply might have chosen to take the high road and let the matter slide. Perhaps Abdirizak saw the entire incident as too trivial to merit a response. If he’d wanted to, he could have pulverized Abdirahman, but instead he refused to assign any importance to the matter. This attitude was similar to that of a beleaguered American general who once said, “As a professional soldier, I had been shot at so many times that one more shot from an amateur would not hurt me.”

An incident at Croce Del Sud

Supporters of Abdirizak told me about an incident between Abdirahman and Abdirizak that happened in the 1960s. Siad Barre, then the head of the armed forces, met Abdirizak at the Croce the Del Sud restaurant in Mogadishu in order to ask the premier, as a favor, to give his younger brother, Abdirahman, a plum job. While the two men were drinking coffee, Abdirahman, wearing his signature bow tie, arrived and joined them. Abdirahman was known for brash talk and a tendency to rub people the wrong way, and during the conversation, he said something that miffed the prime minister. Siad Barre was visibly shaken. After Abdirahman had left, he said jokingly, and in an attempt to console the premier, “Cabdirisaaq, haddii uu jiro caqli iib ah, midkan baan u gadi lahaa.” (Abdirizak, if there was a brain for sale, I would have bought it for this [one]).  Abdirizak brushed off the faux pas, or so it seemed.

When in the late 1970s Abdirizak resigned from his diplomatic post in New York, he received a call from Hussein “Koofi Cadde” Mohamoud Mohamed (former head of Somali Airlines and ambassador to Djibouti). Koofi Cadde (a Marehan) reprimanded his old friend Abdirizak for failing to contact President Siad Barre, who at the time was on an official visit to Washington. Koofi Cadde said, “You and the president were long-time friends. Why didn’t you at least call him directly and explain to him about your troubles in the foreign ministry?” Abdirizak told Koofi Cadde that he had suffered enough embarrassment and humiliation working under Abdirahman, the foreign minister, who was “someone whom Siad Barre himself had once implied had no brains.” 

When I met Abdirizak in Europe, he was engaging and forceful in advancing nationalistic sentiments. He gave a powerful speech to Somali politicians, traditional elders, and intellectuals in which he called for transparency, clean governance, and commitment to do what is best for the country. On the side, I asked him about a few issues, including his relationship with Abdirahman. Though critical of Abdirahman’s heavy-handedness and unprofessional conduct in the foreign ministry, Abdirizak was adamant that he had resigned from his post due to serious disagreements with President Siad Barre and the wrong direction the country was headed. Interestingly, Abdirizak had no recollection of the incident between him and Abdirahman when the latter had allegedly offended him in his office. Abdirizak was more interested in talking about the future of Somalia than an obscure moment of bureaucratic bungling that had happened in the 1960s.

In summary, Abdirizak Haji Hussein was a statesman for many with convergent and divergent political views. There are those who fawningly lionize him and want to own his legacy to further their personal careers. There are others who see him as a national hero, but also as a man of obvious flaws in a country that was dominated by clan politics. In a way, he was hamstrung by a system that undermined his true potential. Moreover, he served as premier for only three years. In my humble opinion, however, he will always remain a unique leader whose equal has yet to be found in Somalia. Abdirizak had a rare combination of reform-mindedness, unbridled integrity, and burning nationalism.

A Challenging Transition in Somalia: A Book Review

Book: A Challenging Transition in Somalia
Author: Abdiweli Mohamed Ali
Length: 180 pages
Publisher: The Red Sea Press, Inc. (February 20, 2017)

***

Abdiweli Mohamed Ali “Gaas” was Somalia’s prime minister for 14 months, from June 2011 to October 2012, and is now the head of Puntland regional government. His new book is a memoir of his childhood, his early and later schooling, as well as his tenure as premier. Oddly, the book does not include his years as President of Puntland.

Born in the early 1960s to a nomadic family in the rural area of Galkacayo, Abdiweli grew up in central Somalia and later moved to Dhusamareeb, where he spent his formative years. As a teen, he dabbled in Marxism and “was on the edge of becoming an atheist.” After graduating high school, he attended Mogadishu’s National University, where he majored in economics. After graduation, he worked briefly for the ministry of finance and then won a rare scholarship to attend Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee. He returned to Somalia after finishing his Master’s degree but came back to the United States shortly afterwards to pursue a doctorate. He settled in the Washington D.C. area where he struggled to juggle school, work, and supporting his budding family. He worked as a security guard, a cab driver, and did whatever he could to help his family. Finally, he completed his doctorate at George Mason University and subsequently found a teaching job at Niagara University in Buffalo.

While in Buffalo, he met Mohamed Abdullahi “Farmajo,” Somalia’s current president. In 2010, Farmajo was appointed as prime minister and asked Abdiweli to join his cabinet. Abdiweli was initially reluctant and asked for two days to consult with his wife. Farmajo called him again the next day, but this time he was prepared with a new enticement and a better offer. He asked Abdiweli to serve as his deputy and minister of planning and international cooperation. Abdiweli immediately accepted the position. After seven months, fate again favored Abdiweli when Farmajo was forced out of office. Farmajo then asked Abdiweli to replace him as premier. The once provincial kid from central Somalia, who had never dreamed of becoming prime minister, suddenly rose swiftly to unexpected heights.

This book is well written, thanks to people like Professor Lidwien Kaptejins, who helped the author. It is the story of a young man who excelled in school, received a rare scholarship in America and obtained a Ph.D. in economics. It is a personal story of survival, hard work, ambition, discipline, and being in the right place at the right time.

However, aside from the personal success story, the book lacks insight and forthrightness. Moreover, it is stingy with details. It does not tell us much about Abdiweli’s contributions as a minister of planning and international cooperation (devoting only one and half pages to the topic) and his tenure as prime minister. When he became a minister of planning, he found a computer in his new office, which did not contain a single government file. He said he appointed a capable director general, re-organized the bureaucracy, instituted a system of division of labor, and made sure employees were paid regularly. By the time he left the ministry after seven months, there were “computers, printers, and internet.” That is all Abdiweli said about his experience as a minister of planning and international cooperation. The former college professor found himself preoccupied by the prosaic day-to-day concerns of bureaucracy. In his book, nothing is said about public policy development, socioeconomic planning, statistics management, implementation monitoring, or evaluation.

Abdiweli’s tenure as prime minister was buffeted by an endless power struggle between President Sheikh Sharif and Speaker Sharif Hassan. He was caught between these two powerful figures who made sure he consulted with them in the affairs of his government. The two succeeded in blocking Abdiweli’s first proposed cabinet. After some wrangling, a compromise was reached in which a new cabinet that precluded ministers who had served under Farmajo and Omar Abdirashid was to be appointed. What did Abdiweli do next? His managerial gaffe was so blatant he asked the departing ministers to pick their own replacements. He told them, “Since you are not returning to the cabinet, please give me your recommendations for the right person to replace you.” The department ministers showed their true colors and selected representatives of their own clan.

Conveniently, one glaring cabinet selection by Abdiweli is not mentioned in his book: The man who became his deputy and minister of defense, Hussein Arab Isse. Abdiweli appointed Isse, a man with no known education and no government experience who—until his appointment—had been in the transportation sector in Sacramento, California. Many years later, Isse spoke about that fateful day when he was asked to become a cabinet member. He told an audience in Minneapolis that Abdiweli had called him and asked him to be defense minister. “I was utterly shocked by [Abdiweli’s] offer,” said Isse in a deadpan voice.  

Abdiweli writes extensively about his pioneering work in laying the foundation for the “Roadmap,” which he said was initiated by him and other stakeholders. “The Roadmap was a detailed list of dozens of tasks designed to steer Somalia out of the transition period and toward more permanent political institutions and greater national security and stability.” There were four key areas of the Roadmap (security, political outreach and reconciliation, and good governance and institution, as well as drafting the constitution for adoption by a National Constituent Assembly). By all measures, the implementation of the Roadmap remains incomplete. Security has been a big problem in the country even though Al-Shabaab withdrew from major cities such as Mogadishu, Baidoa, and Kismayo and some smaller towns. However, the militant group still controls a swath of the country. The provisional constitution was adopted and approved by a National Constituent Assembly, but has yet to be approved in a referendum. No genuine reconciliation has taken place in Somalia and the country has consistently been identified among the world’s most corrupted nations in the world.

Abdiweli’s book is full of boasting and bluster. It is littered with pictures of the former prime minister meeting with world and local leaders and there is not a single photo of him with ordinary Somalis. There is insight into Abdiweli’s contentious and debilitating relationship with then-President Sheikh Sharif, Speaker Sharif Hassan, and Abdirahman Farole of Puntland. Farole has been a stubborn problem for Abdiweli and the two have been involved in numerous tiffs. There is no love lost between them.

In 2012, Abdiweli ran for the presidency, but failed miserably. A newcomer, Hassan Sheikh Mohamoud, outwitted him and asked Abdiweli to endorse him in return for keeping his job. When Abdiweli hemmed and hawed, Mohamoud told him bluntly, “Abdiweli, this is Mogadishu, the Hawiye stronghold. All I want is to protect you from the problems of the Hawiye.” Abdiweli ended up backing Mohamoud instead of his boss, President Sheikh Sharif. To his dismay, when Mohamoud became president, he lost his job. Paradoxically, Abdiweli is restrained in talking about his secret agreement with Mohamoud.

In a nutshell, Abdiweli’s book is a good read, but it lacks an honest assessment of his tenure as prime minister. It is unfortunate that a highly educated man with a purview in economics has failed to articulate a clear vision of development under his tenure and, instead, has been busy collecting every trapping of material wealth. Abdiweli’s short tenure as premier represents at best an affirmation, rather than a repudiation, of the status quo.  

Guests of Abdi Iley

Mohamed Ali, better known as Khalif Cadaawe, is angry. He believes he has been a victim of false imprisonment in the Somali region of Ethiopia.

Born and raised in Ethiopia, Cadaawe has been in the U.S. since the mid-1990s. He is a naturalized American citizen and a respected community elder among his Gurre (Dir) clan in the U.S.  A 5’8” man in his early 70s, he speaks softly but authoritatively. Wearing a baseball cap, he sat with me in a café in a major city on the West Coast while visiting his son and grandchildren. He is angry and disappointed with Abdi M. Omar, “Abdi Iley,” the president of the Somali region. In fact, Cadaawe has a painful story to tell.

Cadaawe and five of his colleagues from the Gurre clan were arrested last year in Ethiopia. They were handcuffed, chained like animals, and kept in detention for more than two weeks after they entered Ethiopia through Kenya. 

“I never expected something like that to happen to me,” said Cadaawe. “My right leg still pains me.”

Cadaawe was the victim of political circumstances that left him in bewilderment. He never expected he would be the subject of an international incident for the U.S. State Department, the Ethiopian federal government, and the regional administration of the Somali region. In hindsight, Cadaawe would never have left America to visit his native country had he known what awaited him. “Not at my age,” he said and chuckled, “Are you serious?”

His travails started in the spring of last year when some of the Gurre elders, intellectuals, women, and youth activists met in Minneapolis to discuss what seemed to be a simple grievance on behalf of their people in Ethiopia. They called out the “lack of progress” in the heavily populated Gurre districts in Ethiopia such as Goro-Baqaqsa, Gurre Dhaamole, and, to a lesser extent, Qarsa duula. “We are Ethiopians,” many of them emphasized, and not opposed to the Ethiopian federal government or the administration of the Somali region. The attendees lamented the lack of development in their region—no roads, not enough schools and ambulances, and no palpable economic progress. 

One elderly woman focused on what she called “the allocated budget” for the Gurre districts, which is mismanaged and unfairly distributed. Khalif Adaawe, one of the main speakers of the forum, and other participants highlighted the disenfranchisement of the Gurre as a community and their need for equal rights and free access to federal government resources. “We do not want civil war,” one of the speakers declared, but “are only interested in a peaceful way of addressing our legitimate grievances.”

Members of the Gurre community selected Cadaawe to represent them and he traveled to Kenya first to mobilize the Gurre community on his way to Ethiopia. In Nairobi, he met with members of the Gurre clan and raised money for the Grand Renaissance Dam being built in Ethiopia. On April 15, 2016, the community met with the Ethiopian Ambassador and other officials from the Ethiopian federal government. Speeches were delivered in support of the Ethiopian government, and the Gurre leaders requested that their demands for better services in the Somali region and access to power be honored. Then, Cadaawe presented a check in the sum of $20,000 from his community to the ambassador. Cadaawe told the Ethiopian officials that a delegation consisting of six members, including him, was planning to visit Ethiopia to meet with the Gurre. According to Cadaawe, the ambassador wrote a glowing recommendation letter for them, addressed to Ethiopia’s interior minister, urging the government to facilitate the needs of the delegation.

Abdi Iley was not pleased with Cadaawe and his friends met Embassy officials and complained about him. He considered their meeting with the federal figures to be an affront to his administration. 

Cadaawe and his colleagues planned to cross into Ethiopia through Kenya at the border town of Moyale. A rental bus was waiting for them to take them to Addis Ababa and then to the Gurre territory. However, something else—perhaps even tragedy—awaited them in Moyale.

Immediately after Cadaawe and his group crossed into the Ethiopian side of Moyale, they were met by armed agents of the Liyu police from the Somali region and arrested, handcuffed, and put in chains from their waist to their legs.

Cadaawe and his friends were driven through the vast territory of the Somali region unaware of the reason for their detention. “I was blanketed by shock and horror,” he said. In his mind, questions abounded: “What happened?” “What did he do?” “Was it a case of mistaken identity?” “Was he betrayed by his own people?”

For 24 hours, the detainees and their captors traveled on a long, treacherous, and unpaved road until they finally reached Goday. They were taken out of the police vehicle and he discovered—to his horror—that they were all in chains. “I was paralyzed with a gripping fear,” he said, “I thought we will be shot.” Instead, the detainees were lined up for the mass media to be shown and presented as terrorists and members of Al-Shabaab. 

“Al-Shabaab terrorists!” exclaimed Cadaawe, a hint of amusement in his voice.

As the rumor mill swirled about Cadaawe’s detention among the Gurre, his family in the U.S. became concerned. News about his incarceration finally reached the federal government in Addis Ababa and frantic calls ensued asking Abdi Iley to release the delegation. At first, an official of the Somali region denied the existence of such figures in their custody. Then Cadaawe and his colleagues were secretly whisked away from Goday (and the federal government’s reach) and transferred to a small village in a remote area.

“For all practical purposes, we were kidnapped and spent 17 grueling days in detention,” said Cadaawe. They were given meager food and kept in chains. What bothered him the most was the lack of formal charges being presented against the group and the absence of due process. He said it was more like the law of the jungle.

Relatives of Cadaawe in the U.S. were not to be cowed. They immediately contacted Congressman Keith Ellison of Minnesota and sought his assistance. It was then that the American Embassy in Addis Ababa intervened on behalf of Cadaawe. Two consular officers finally came and visited him after he was transferred to Jigjiga. Additional pressure came from the Ethiopian federal government for Abdi Iley demanding the release of the Gurre delegation. However, Abdi Iley did not look like a leader perturbed and he flew to Australia for an official visit.

Cadaawe has become a target of scorn for some leaders of his clan who were allied with Abdi Iley. They see Cadaawe as a trouble maker from America bent on embarrassing Abdi Iley’s administration. Ugaas Mohamed Ugaas Guled, a Gurre chieftain, chastised Cadaawe in the harshest terms: “He is an old man who represents no one but himself,” the chieftain said. “In fact, Cadaawe is a propagandist and a product of fadhi-ku-dirir (political chatter) in the diaspora.”

In Australia, Abdi Iley finally caved in and called for his subordinates in Jigjiga to release “only the American citizen” among the detained group. American diplomats then collected Cadaawe, who was taken to Addis Ababa. “I was in poor health,” he said, and he could not afford either medical treatment or legal counsel. He later traveled to Nairobi where he spent three months recuperating, resting, and ruminating on what had happened to him in the Somali region. “I was bitter and felt utterly humiliated,” he said.

At times, Cadaawe seemed to articulate the story of his ordeal in a confident voice. Other times, he seemed fearful of the long arm of Abdi Iley. He repeated that he was neither a politician nor someone harboring political ambition. He made a distinction between his grievances of the wrong that had been meted out against him by the Liyu police and his unbridled loyalty to the Ethiopian government.

In a move to mollify the political outcry that resulted from Cadaawe’s detention among the Gurre, Abdi Iley has offered—through intermediaries—to meet with Cadaawe and other members of his community in the diaspora. It is not clear if the supposed meeting will take place anytime soon.

Cadaawe says he has no intention of suing Abdi Iley or his administration. “I am an elderly man and I want to spend the rest of my life in peace,” he said. “However, I would love to visit my relatives one day in the Somali region.”  He said he is still afraid that his next visit to the region will have calamitous consequences.

Cadaawe’s story is one of many untold narratives being told about Abdi Iley’s administration, a regime that has been accused of imposing a reign of terror in the Somali region. If the goal of Cadaawe’s incarceration was to send a message to the Gurre community that no dissension will be tolerated in that region, it was heard loud and clear.

New Cabinet, Old Concerns

Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre, in consultation with President Mohamed Farmajo, nominated his bloated cabinet of 62 members this week. In fairness, the cabinet has aspects that are both commendable and promising, but it also raises some old concerns about politics in Somalia.

There are new ministers that hopefully will energize the new government and perhaps bring fresh ideas to the table. The appointment of Abdi Hosh Jibril as constitutional minister is a plus for the new government. It shows that the government is committed to reviewing the provisional constitution, a dormant document since its adoption in 2012. Hosh was the minister of constitutional affairs during its initial debate and approval. His appointment gives hope that the unfinished business of this important document will be completed.

Moreover, as a former legislator from 2012 to 2016, Hosh, along with Abdullahi Godax Barre, played roles in the defeat of former president Hassan S. Mohamoud (HSM) during the recent presidential elections. Hosh was initially an ally of HSM, but he remedied his earlier blemishes by turning against him. His relentless campaign to expose HSM’s corruption in addition to his working behind the scenes with the newly installed parliament not to select the former president were heroic. Farmajo benefitted from Hosh’s tireless work, and he ultimately was selected as president.

The new cabinet has some new, bright faces such as Dr. Fawsia Abikar Nur as health minister. She has a doctorate in public health education from Italy and, from what I have heard about her, is an intelligent woman with great leadership skills. It is ironic that a few male legislators from her clan (Hawiye-Gaal Jecel) have complained to Farmajo and Kheyre for selecting “a woman instead of a man” from their community. Kudos to the prime minster for this bold selection and for defying these male anachronistic chauvinists. Fowsia has a huge task before her as she must tackle the prevalence of unregulated medicine (many expired) in the country and the spread of so-called pharmacies in every neighborhood in Mogadishu. The establishment of a medical board to certify doctors, nurses, hospitals, clinics, and the importation of medicine is a gargantuan job.

 However, Farmajo and Kheyre nominated six female ministers out of 27 (22%); no female state ministers out of 15, and only two women out of 20 deputy ministers (4%). This low representation of women in the cabinet is embarrassing for the new government and demonstrates sheer regression for the progress the country has made over the last few years. In short, it is a black mark for the new government.

The preponderance of legislators in the new cabinet (11 ministers, nine state ministers, and 17 deputy ministers) is a major concern. It erodes the function of parliament to check and balance the executive branch. Perhaps, these newly appointed ministers, in the interest of accountability and the appearance of conflict of interest, should resign from parliament.  

A major concern of the new cabinet is that it reeks from the influence of Sharif Hassan, the controversial leader of the South West (SW) state. The Digil/Mirifle cabinet members in the new cabinet unfortunately have few qualifications as they were essentially chosen by Sharif Hassan and his nephew, Mohamed Mursal. They are all allies of the South West leader and Mursal’s wife, Samro Ibrahim Omar, a new legislator, is now also a deputy minister.

How did Sharif Hassan succeed in having his friends in the cabinet?  He and Speaker Jawari are in collusion in presenting Digil/Mirifle figures to the president and the prime minister. Simply put, Jawari has abdicated his responsibility to challenge Sharif Hassan as the leader of Digil/Mirifle. Jawari has informed some legislators from the SW that he has tried to submit his own list of potential cabinet ministers from the South West but was rejected. Unfortunately, for the last four years, Jawari as the speaker, has failed to hold hearings to question leaders of the executive branch on a multitude of issues such as allegations of graft, holding them accountable for their actions, and completing the work on the provisional constitution. The latest move by Sharif Hassan to outmaneuver the speaker is not a surprise. To his credit, Sharif Hassan has found a new niche for exploiting his influence with President Farmajo and Prime Minister Kheyre: blood ties to the two men as his wife is a Murursade.

Overall, the new cabinet has good and bad components. As an early critic of the president and the prime minister during the height of “Farmajo mania,” I am cautiously optimistic that it will be approved by the parliament despite its serious flaws. There is a growing dissension among certain groups in Mogadishu that have vowed to derail the new cabinet. The country can’t afford another political gridlock at this juncture when there is a lot to be done.