Sheikh Shibli and the Somali Bantu: A Racial Controversy

A Somali politician once joked about what he termed Somalis’ penchant for “perpetual controversy.” It is always one letdown after the other, he said. “At this point, there is nothing my people could do that will shock me,” he said, smiling.

Last month, the Somali government caused a political ruckus when it handed over Colonel Abdikarim Muse, a Somali national, to Ethiopia. A government spokesman declared that the surrender was in the interest of fighting terrorism.

This month, Somalia faces a religious controversy, which is raging across the country and on social media. Abdiweli Sh. Ali Emi Yare, a resident of Galkacayo, was accused of possessing a picture of the Prophet of Islam, Mohamed (PBUH). This is a blasphemous act because Islam prohibits the making of an image of the prophet. The allegation is so serious that some clerics have demanded the man to be arrested and killed. Sheikh Bashir Ahmed-Salad Warsame, the head of the Council of Religious Scholars, condemned the man and asked the local authorities in Galkacayo to take action.

The local authorities investigated the man, arrested him, and brought him to court. He categorically denied all the charges against him and was released. In an interview with the BBC Somali Service , the man said he was flummoxed by the allegations. “Who is in his right mind can show an image of the prophet?” he asked incredulously. “I only have a picture of my religious teacher, who happens to be named Mohamed.”

However, the dismissal of the case did not temper the smoldering controversy. Sheikh Shibli, a prominent cleric based in Kenya, suddenly joined the discussion. As usual, he was stern and unbending and lashed out at the man, accusing him of engaging in kufr (disbelief). Shibli asked both the regional state of Galmudug and the federal government to intervene, arrest the man, and kill him, according to the Islamic jurisprudence. “I don’t care if the Somali federal government falls, but this man has to be brought to justice,” Shibli admonished.

Then, Shibli wondered why the man would show an image of the prophet that was one of “an ugly man, a Jareer (Bantu)?” To Shibli, showing an image of the prophet was sacrilegious, but the image of the prophet as a Bantu man was equally repugnant.” The TV interviewer chuckled in approval of Shibli’s statement. 

Members of the Somali Bantu community in Jowhar, in Middle Shebelle, were horrified by Shibli’s remarks. The comments sent a large portion of their members—a marginalized group, who have been historically discriminated against—spinning into nervous fits and hyperbolic rants.  They asked why Shibli would call their people “ugly”. The fact that a prominent cleric like Shibli—who preaches tolerance, fairness, equality, and acceptance—would demean an entire community as unattractive was appalling, they said. “Shibli needs to repent as soon as possible,” said one of them.

Shibli issued a video in which he clarified his earlier statement but gave a lukewarm apology to the Bantu people. “If my remarks offended some people,” he said sheepishly, “then I apologize.” But, he continued to defend his position by offering a plethora of proof in the Islamic literature about the existence of the Jareer (Bantu) as a distinct race with distinct physical features. He said that all black people—including all the Somalis—were Bantu. Shibli was attempting to sidestep the furor he had created, which was not about the existence of Bantu as a racial group, but about him calling them ugly.

Sheikh Abdulkadir Kishki, a cleric based in Canada and a longtime nemesis of Shibli, jumped on the opportunity to attack him. Kishki apologized to the Somali Bantu community for what he called “Shibli’s ignorance, racist, and un-Islamic behavior.” It is shameful, he said, that a renowned religious scholar like Shibli, who knows better, would blatantly engage into racial baiting.

Race and racism have been a social issue in Somalia as long as the Somali Bantu have been a part of the Somalia society. The Bantu originally hailed from Tanzania, Malawi, and Mozambique and were brought into Somalia as slaves and plantation workers. They mostly reside between the two rivers of Somalia. The United Nations and some countries, including the United States, have recognized the Bantu refugees who fled Somalia as a protected group. Many have been resettled  in America.  

Shibli was addressing a religious issue regarding the image of the prophet, but he inadvertently created another controversy. His failure to apologize to the Somali Bantu and own his faux pas added more fuel to the fire. The episode highlights how racism in Somalia is still a social problem that needs to be addressed and openly discussed. It is a stark acknowledgment that even religious scholars are not immune to racial charges.

Political Storm Rages Over Somali Colonel's Extradition to Ethiopia

On August 23, 2017, the security forces of Galmudug, a regional state in Somalia, arrested a man in his 60s who seemed suspicious. Fearing he was an al-Shabaab fighter, regional security agents interrogated him. It turned out he was Colonel Abdikarim Muse, a prominent figure in the Ogaden National Liberation Front (ONLF)—a group seeking independence for the Somali-inhabited region of Ethiopia—and he was visiting a sick relative. A few days later, Colonel Muse was flown to Mogadishu, where he had lived since 2014, but this time he was in handcuffs. On August 28, he was whisked out of Somalia and formally handed over to Ethiopia. The news of his arrest and extradition to Ethiopia created a political firestorm in Somalia and the diaspora. Protests poured in regarding the Somali government’s action, and demonstrations broke out in certain parts of the country. Moreover, the news went viral on social media.

What went wrong?

The nascent, seven months old Somali government under Mohamed Farmajo found itself in a political quagmire that exposed serious fissures in government circles, as well as poor crisis management, a dichotomy between Farmajo’s populism and political realities, and the emergence of a detached president retreating from crucial decision making.

Competing interests

The head of the Somali Intelligence Agency (NISA), Abdullahi Sanbalooshe, emerged as the central figure in handing over the ONLF official. His agents took over Muse’s case after the colonel was brought to Mogadishu. Later, at a press conference, Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre was asked about Muse’s delivery to Addis Ababa. The head of NISA interjected and said the matter was so “sensitive” it would only be addressed in due time. The premier was visibly annoyed by the interruption, but he chose not to say anything about the matter. It would take two weeks before the government issued a statement about the case.

The security services in the country are still run by officials appointed by the administration of former President Hassan Mohamoud, who was later defeated by the current president. The current director of NISA, a former protégé of President Mohamoud, was also the Minister of Security for the previous administration. The security services have a long and close relationship with Ethiopia and some Western countries. In fact, several Somali security branches have been trained and funded by countries such as the United States, the United Arab Emirates, and Qatar. Occasionally, some of these branches have fought against each other in the streets of Mogadishu.

Poor crisis management

The Somali government gave conflicting accounts of Muse’s extradition to Ethiopia. At first, some officials leaked suggestions that Colonel Muse had willingly agreed to be taken to Ethiopia because he had negotiated with Addis Ababa, and the Somali government had merely facilitated his transfer. A representative of the ONLF denied this suggestion and accused President Farmajo and PM Kheyre of complicity in handing over a Somali man to Ethiopia. Then, Ethiopia’s Information Minister declared that the Somali government had handed Muse over to Addis Ababa because he belonged to what he termed a terrorist group. The Somali government neither confirmed nor denied this allegation. Later on September 6, the Somali Council of Ministers had a meeting in which Muse’s case was retroactively discussed after he was already in the hands of Ethiopia. Only one minister—fittingly, the Minister of Human Affairs—opposed the transfer of Muse to Addis Ababa whereas two other ministers (interior and transportation) abstained. Later, the Council held a press conference and acknowledged Muse’s transfer to Ethiopia as “a legal step taken to remove a security threat,” according to the Information Minister. Then came a bombshell: the minister accused Colonel Muse of having a close relationship with al-Shabaab. To bolster the government’s case, the minister said both Addis Ababa and Mogadishu signed an agreement in 2015 in which the ONLF and al-Shabaab were designated as terrorist entities. It was the first time in Somali history a Somali government official had called the ONLF a terrorist group.

The government’s position on Colonel Muse drew howls of outrage among some legislators and civil society leaders. First, the two former Somali government officials who signed the reported agreements with Ethiopia denied that the documents they had signed mentioned the ONLF. In an interview with the VOA Somali Service, former Security Minister Abdikarim Hussein Guled and Mahad Salad, a former State Minister for the Office of the Presidency, said the agreements they had signed respectively, were between Ethiopia and a Somali regional state (Galmudug). “The agreement cannot be used as a justification for handing over Muse over to Ethiopia,” said Guled, “because it had nothing to do with the ONLF or the exchange of criminals or prisoners.” Furthermore, these agreements were never ratified by the Somali parliament.

Limitations of Farmajo’s nationalist platform

President Farmajo was elected on a nationalist platform and defeated an incumbent who was heavily favored by Ethiopia. It became apparent that Farmajo’s strength was also his major weakness. His call for the sovereignty of Somalia and unity among Somalis became mere rhetoric as he did what he once accused of his predecessor of doing: kowtowing to neighboring countries such as Ethiopia. Farmajo may have opted to stay neutral in the Gulf crisis between Saudi Arabia and Qatar, but Ethiopia is a different beast. Calls for his resignation grew louder, as he was perceived as a leader who had the gall to send a Somali citizen to Ethiopia. The Somali provisional constitution prohibits handing over any Somali to a foreign country. Moreover, Colonel Muse was a military officer in the Somali national army and even fought against Ethiopia during the 1977-1978 Somali-Ethiopian War. Colonel Muse had also lived in Mogadishu for the past three years and belonged to a liberation movement that has been dormant for many years. Only Ethiopia regards the group as terrorists; in other words, critics of the Somali government questioned the validity of the argument that ONLF posed a security threat to either Somalia or Ethiopia. The group has never been accused of bombings in Somalia, and the last bombing by the group in Ethiopia was on November 28, 2006. In 2009, the group claimed to have captured seven towns, but the Ethiopian government spokesman denied this and called the group’s claim “simply the desperate act of a dying force.”

A detached president

President Farmajo has yet to address the Muse incident. There are conflicting reports that his prime minister and the head of the intelligence service misinformed him, or that he was totally in the dark over the negotiations. Others say that the president delegates too much responsibility to others, and thus, was not party to the decision concerning Muse. Critics say Farmajo lives a cloistered existence in Villa Somalia, the seat of government. The prime minister and the head of intelligence took the lead in managing the affairs. Since the political storm started brewing, Farmajo has simply vanished from the public scene, except for a brief appearance at Lido Beach, Mogadishu, where he played soccer with some youngsters and drank tea with them. He spoke to the youth about other issues and deliberately evaded any discussion of Muse. Although it is difficult to gauge the extent of opposition to Farmajo’s handling of the incident, there have also been scattered voices that have defended him and applauded him for handing Muse over to Ethiopia. These supporters have equated any criticism of Farmajo to what they derisively call “Qaran-dumis” (Nation-Destroying). However, some members of parliament have vowed to hold hearings about the matter.

What is next?

Contrary to what the Somali Information Minister said, al-Shabaab has denied having any relationship with Colonel Muse. An Ethiopian official has praised the head of the Somali National Intelligence Agency for handing Muse over to Addis Ababa, but refrained from doing the same for President Farmajo and PM Kheyre. The government’s strategy of keeping silent for two weeks after the incident and then later denouncing Muse as a terrorist did not go well with the public, and dented Farmajo’s reputation as a nationalist. There have been calls for the president to come clean regarding the matter, and to admit that egregious mistakes were made. Others have called for PM Kheyre and the head of the intelligence services to be fired. It is not clear what Farmajo will do, but members of the Somali parliament have vowed to investigate the matter further, which makes it seem as if the incident will continue to spiral out of control. Farmajo may survive this storm as president, but his administration is incrementally losing the public’s vote of confidence. Either way, a political scandal may loom larger than expected.

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.