Mogadishu Memoir Part II: A Unique Woman

Do you know the cliché that ‘single mothers are both fathers and mothers to their children’? Well, my mother would have scoffed that statement as an oxymoron gone awry. To her, and without any embellishments; single mothers are women doing their thankless jobs in the absence of fathers who have abdicated their responsibilities.

My mother, Dahabo Yusuf Muse, was born in Qardho to a Majerteen father (Osman Mohamoud) and a Dhulbahante mother (Nur Ahmed). In early 1950s, she met a teacher (Reer Baraawe) in Bossasso and married him. The couple moved to Afgoi where the husband was transferred. Although my mother was blessed with four children from that marriage, three of her offspring died in childhood. My sister, five years my senior, survived. Mother got divorced and met my father and married him. That marriage was short-lived too. My mother divorced my father and moved to Mogadishu after my birth.

My mother was tall, dark, and imposing. She rarely smiled, and her poker face was her signature trademark. It was difficult to know if she was pleased with you or angry with you. Neighbors and friends called her “Dahabo Dheer” (Dahabo, the tall). My mother had a hot temper. She was quick to criticize and slow to commend. She rarely showed any emotions. I have never heard my mother saying to my sister and to me that she loved us. But that did not mean that she was not a loving mother. Indeed, she was but she just did not show any physical or oral display of emotions. In spite of her serious projections, my mother was sometimes goofy. On rare occasions, she would run in our house, when we were alone, raise her dress to her knees, and do strange acrobatic moves. Most of the time though she kept quiet and minded her own business.

Even though mother was a single parent, she did not live off on her relatives’ goodwill. She worked hard to support her two children. The two absent fathers in this case, unfortunately, were nowhere to be seen, let alone provide assistance. There were no government programs to assist the needy and the indigent. Immediately after our move to Mogadishu in 1960, my mother earned money by cooking meals for her brother and his bachelor friends. Then, she started making incenses (uunsi) and started importing perfumes and colognes from Aden; at the time a bustling British colonial post. Her incenses were in demand because she was a perfectionist who had such prodigious capacity for detailed work. You could see that she took pride in her work. The first ten years of my life, my mother, my sister, and I shared a room. Afterwards, we got our own little house that my mother rented. Given our humble living condition, I never felt, as a child, financially deprived. My mother always gave me money when I needed. If my mother did not want to do something, she never hesitated to let you know. For instance, she cooked breakfast and lunch for our family. When I told her that some families had also dinner as part of their daily meal intake, my mother looked at me as though I had offended her, and then quietly informed me that she was not into cooking a third meal every day. It was not a financial decision but rather a personal choice.

My mother was a clean person who always smelled nice. Her female friends teasingly named her “Dahabo Foon” because she smelled great. She had nice jewelry collection, and I used to tease her to sell them off because she was single.

My mother was illiterate until 1972. She was, though, a strong advocate for good education. Early on, she placed my sister and me into Qur’an school before we even started elementary school. My sister and I were placed in a Dugsi/Ardo (Quran School) that was a bit far from our home. A tall, big, single elderly woman named Maryam owned that school. The choice of this school was not coincidental. Teacher Maryam and my mother belonged to the same Majertein sub-clan (Osman Mahmoud). Moreover, teacher Maryam was the sister of Somalia’s president at the time, Dr. Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke. Teacher Maryam was the only woman who operated her own Dugsi as all other Qur’an schools at that time were owned and managed by men. She had memorized the Quran and opened the school. Later, she would build a big mosque next to the school, but we are getting ahead of ourselves. I will address my years in that school later.

My mother placed my sister and me in a private English school run by a man named NUR (Abgaal) who had a laundry business in our neighborhood. Teacher Nur was smart and self-made man. I hated his school though because it was very competitive and not age-appropriate. For instance, my sister and I were in the same level even though she was older than me. Moreover, there were fewer students, and Teacher Nur did not hesitate to hit us with a stick if we missed our assignments. My mother was paying a fortune to send my sister and me to that school. These early and odious English tutoring classes proved to be so beneficial that, later in my schooling, I always excelled in language courses. They gave me a strong foundation not only to do well in English, but also the motivation and the discipline to acquire Arabic. Now, this was an indication of my mother, the illiterate, being ahead of her time. Other than my smattering knowledge of English and Arabic, my sister today speaks English, Arabic, and French fluently. Moreover, she will neither go hungry nor get lost in Italy because she has a working knowledge of Italian.

In 1972 when Somali language was finally written, I taught my mother how to read, write, and basic math. She was always grateful to me for teaching her literacy, and I was eternally grateful to her, among other things, for giving me the opportunity of attending private schools.

In my first year in elementary school, my mother was shocked by my odd behavior of tearing my lessons from my notebook and then discarding the pages. When she inquired why I was doing that, I told her “Well, these pages were already used and I need a clean notebook”. She always narrated this humorous story to juxtapose my sister’s serious studying habits. My laissez faire approach to studying during my first grade did not bode well with my mother. But in 1980, when I decided to come to the USA, some members of my family were adamantly opposed to my pursuit of higher education at that juncture of my life because they wanted me to stay in Egypt and not quit my job with the Somali Airlines. My mother gave me $1600 that she had at the time and encouraged me to seek education in America. It was a sage decision that I never regretted.

As a child, I would go with my mother to the market. I was fascinated with the respect she commanded, on one hand, and her pugnacious habit of picking fights with strangers, on the other hand. At the market, my mother used to get the best cut of meat from butchers. Her poker face gave her an aura of respectability. She was serious and, unlike other women, never joked with the butchers. But sometimes she would argue with cab drivers or storeowners for reasons that seemed trivial to me at the time. Because prices were never set in the country, and aware of her female status, my mother did not give an inch in bargaining. I hated such outings because of my aversion to confrontations and discord.

Once, I saw my mother in a wrestling match with a woman younger than her in Isku-Raran neighborhood sometime in mid sixties. Both fell on the floor. It was an ugly sight to be witnessed by a child. Fortunately, no one was hurt. The cause of the fight was innocuous; my mother turned on the radio in a day where a house a block away had ‘tacsi’ (funeral). My sister instigated the whole thing when she told my mother that the woman in question made disparaging remarks about my mother’s uncouth and blasphemous behavior. My mother loved listening to Radio Mogadishu so much that no one could have come between her and the radio. In addition, she was in the confines of her room when she felt badmouthed. In Somalia in 1960s, the radio was broadcasted for only a few hours a day and was the only source of news and information in a country which had no television and no mass circulating papers. To her detractors, the incident showed my mother as a woman with deeply entrenched stubbornness. To her admirers, it was plainly Dahabo Dheer being herself.

As a child, I would engage in occasional fights with other children. When one boy taunted me one day of being “ugly”, I felt hurt and upset. My mother told me, “Don’t listen to him. Thank Allah that you have your senses. You can hear, talk, and walk soundly:” These statements, somehow, gave me a great deal of comfort and assurance.

My mother married several times and none of her marriages lasted long. Her strong personality, a no-nonsense approach to life, and her fierce independence were characters abominable to insecure men. Being a single mother gave my mother some sort of edginess and a cynical attitude to men. It was apparent that romance was not her forte. I remember her brother, and my beloved uncle Abdirahman Yusuf Muse ‘Abdi Gurey’, telling me, “Hassan, your mom is not lucky with men”. This apt characterization was, indeed, a true illustration of my mother’s odd relationship with the opposite sex. Men, generally and unfortunately, prefer women who are pliable, dependant, and less demanding. My mother’s top priority was raising her children and making sure that they got the best education available to them. She was an imperfect woman who was dealing with an imperfect world with grace and dignity. May Allah have mercy on her?

Mogadishu Memoir: Close, Yet Far Away

“Go, greet your father,” my mother commanded me.

I was either six or seven years old when I first saw my father. My parents had an altercation three months before I was born and they had decided, according to local tradition, to terminate their marriage after my birth. My mother, my five year old sister from a previous marriage, and I moved to Mogadishu, the capital of Somalia, 16 miles south of Afgoi, my birthplace. Afgoi, a small farming town with beautiful scenery and the weekend getaway of Mogadishu’s affluent and middle class when the country was relatively peaceful was also where my father’s family and his Geledi clan lived. My mother, on the other hand, hailed from Qardho in the Northeast region, hundred miles away and today’s bastion of piracy.

My father was a medium built, light-skinned man in his forties, with bushy eye brows. He had a light coat and trouser that matched, and on his head, he was wearing a traditional kaffiyeh. His voice was husky, and he spoke with authority which evoked fear and respect. Initially, I was afraid of him. He unleashed a torrent of questions about my school and I answered them politely and in short sentences while maintaining a distance from him. He sat on a traditional chair called ‘Ganbar’ and started speaking to my mother as though he was a regular member of our household. He spoke loudly and laughed outrageously.

My mother made sweet tea for my father. He seemed a good conversationalist, but perhaps as not a good listener because at times it appeared as though he was engaged in a monologue with himself. In the midst of the conversation, my father gave me five shillings; an equivalent of one U.S dollar. I was excited that I had paper money, and I left immediately to go to a neighborhood store to buy cold soda and candy.

My father was still talking and laughing when I came back to the house. I kept watching him closely as I studied his every move. I kept wondering if he had come to visit me or consume large quantities of tea. Once in a while, he would ask me a question, but most of his conversation was geared toward my mother. He was as loquacious as my mother was reticent.

My father loved women so much that he fathered close to 28 children from several wives, but I was the only child that my father had with my mother. My parent’s marriage came to an end when my father married a third younger wife while my mother, the second in hierarchy, was pregnant with me. My mother, who was seething with jealousy, flew into a paroxysm of rage one day, kicked him out of the house, as she demanded for a divorce. When elders tried to mediate the couple, my mother confounded all their attempts for reconciliation.

But this day, my parents were having fun, talking as though there was no rancor or bitterness. I was the one who was, oddly, left out of the picture.

After that first encounter, my father would pop in our house to visit me at least once every five or six years. He was still living 16 miles away but he was spending a great deal of time in Mogadishu working, and visiting two of my sisters and his grandchildren who lived few blocks from my house.

My mother rarely talked about my father. She never complained about the fact that he did not pay child support. But when I promised to do something and failed to deliver, my mother would scold me of being like my father. She used the Somali term “booto” which roughly means blather to illustrate my genetic inclination for vacuous talk.

I think I met my father not more than four or five times. I pretended that I did not care about him, and acted as though he did not exist. From time to time, I met my brothers and sisters while walking in the streets of Mogadishu. There were never planned visits from my father’s side of the family.

Then in 1978, at age 18, I left Somalia for Egypt. One and half years later, I came to the United States to attend university.

It was some time in 1981, when my mother sent me a letter informing me the death of my father which happened two months earlier.

All of sudden, my father became, to me, a different person. He was no longer the man who had abandoned me and rarely visited me. He was not the man who never set foot in my school or took me to soccer games. I started giving him all kinds of excuses. How did he manage to feed 28 children with a meager income? I was only one mouth he did not have to worry about. I was living with my mother, a single hard working woman in a paternalistic society, and I had a large contingency of relatives, from her side of the family, who were always kind to me.

I kept vacillating between two thoughts; my feelings of disappointment that I was deprived from paternal care and love on one hand, and on the other hand my understanding that my father was, financially, in dire strait and could not have supported me. Was his dereliction of paternal duties the result of his other obligation to feed a battalion?

Perhaps, as a child, it would have meant a lot to me if he had visited me regularly, talked to me more, played with me, or took me for an outing in those rare visits.

Last fall, my mother passed away. My 25-year old son, who lives in Switzerland, called me and told me that he loved me and that he could not have asked for a better father. Immediately, I started thinking about my own father. Maybe he was all along with me, in the back of my mind, inadvertently helping me to become a better father. Perhaps, I was trying so hard not to deprive my four children- now adults- of having an engaging and loving father. It seemed that the best lesson my father ever taught me was how not to be a father.

Now, I miss him even more.

Somalia's Haiti Problem: Where Is the Love?

I am a bit overwhelmed by the massive outpouring of aid that Haiti is getting now. I understand that the Island country was struck by a national disaster in which thousands of people perished and a lot of people got hurt. Haiti is poor, black, and has a long history of dysfunctional governments.
But as a Somali, I have to confess that I am perplexed. Why do some countries get so much love and others are deliberately ignored. I was even incensed when I saw a man, in one of the websites, asking about the distance between Haiti and Somalia, and whether there were pirates close to the waters of Haiti that could impede the flow of aid there. Now, that is too much!

Somalia is a bigger country and has so many issues and problems that the world ought to tackle. But I see the West turning its eye away from Somalia. I see our rich Muslim brethren of the Gulf States being sick and tired of our country. I see some of the Saudi scholars busy with issuing Fatwas or edicts excommunicating Somali pirates from Islam. Once upon time, Somalia was a proud and respected country. Now, we have become a laughing stock. A politician in Ivory Coast warns his countrymen of the danger of being in political quandary. ‘Do we want to become another Somalia’ he warns. No, of course. When a group of Somali taxi drivers in San Diego have recently protested against unfair labor practices, one of the owners was quoted suggesting that the cabbies go back to their country and become pirates.

I know why Somalia does not get much love from the world. It is beyond the trivial excuses of the country being black and Muslim. I think the world is suffering from the ‘Somali fatigue’.

First, Bush Senior sent troops to Somalia under operation “Restore Hope”. Somali warlords, like Aideed Senior, were not concerned about the thousands of people dying from hunger. They were interested in power and looting. It was Keith Richburg, a Washington Post reporter, who observed the cruel and evil nature of such warlords like Aideed. Richburg said in his book, Out of America: A Black man Confronts Africa (1997), that the first time he met Aideed he thought the Warlord was crazy. But, “When I saw him a second time in Bardhere, [Aideed was]holed up in a compound sitting on cushions and twirling his walking stick, with piping-hot food laid out on a long table while a few yards away people were dropping dead of starvation. That second time I thought he was not only crazy, but evil.” The rest was history. Aideed’s thugs and ordinary Somali masses taught the American Rangers a few lessons of savagery when the dead American soldiers were stomped on, beaten, and dragged in the streets of Mogadishu. To add insult to injury, Somalia will always be remembered and associated with the Hollywood movie Black Hawk Down! Our bellicose tendencies were magnified.

Second, Somalia is a security threat to such powerful nations like the United States whereas Haiti is not. Last week, President Obama wrote an article in Newsweek, “Why Haiti Matters”, highlighting the humanitarian aspect of the Haitian tragedy and the moral obligation to extend a helping hand. “We are mobilizing every element of our national capacity: the resources of development agencies, the strength of our armed forces, and most important, the compassion of the American people,” Obama declared. Americans, of course, are also concerned about the flood of Haitian refugees into Miami. But that is an immigration problem. Somalia, meanwhile, is another matter. Yemen and Somalia are candidates for an American military intervention. There is the threat of Al-Qaeda taking roots in Somalia. Al-Shabaab terrorists are making a good case for such intervention. Their leader has declared allegiance to Usama Bin laden (UBL). Bin Laden, who has always claimed that al-Qaeda fighters were behind the shooting of American helicopters in Somalia in early 1990s, must be pleased with al-Shabaab’s new vote of confidence in him. Of course, many Somalis not only see Bin Laden’s claim to be preposterous but they also see it as an exercise of self-aggrandizement. The last thing Somalis need is UBL meddling in our already-messy affairs. I know many Somalis would scream, “What does Usama want from us; he already has Pakistan” in paraphrasing the Black Comedian, Chris Rock, who raised similar question about Michael Jackson. Rock said, “What do whites want from us; we have already given them Michael Jackson”. As long as Al-Shabaab terrorists are controlling large swath of Somali South, the country will be viewed as a major security threat. The fact that Al-Shabaab terrorists have been actively recruiting Somali youth in the West will further alienate Somalis. The Americans won’t land in the presidential palace in Mogadishu, like they did in Haiti, but they would be sending drones to eliminate terrorists.

Third, pirates are soiling our reputation in the world. I believe the problem of piracy in Puntland (Do you know any pirates in Kismayo or Zeila?) is complex and multidimensional. The problem is bigger than a bunch of lanky, gun-toting, mal-nutritioned men roaming in the waters of Indian Ocean or the Red Sea. The assertion that the Puntland administration is too feeble to address the piracy problem needs to be re-examined. Perhaps, many sectors in Puntland have higher stake in making sure that this piracy issue remains unsolved. The pirates, themselves, have become brazen in their criminal activity after that infamous incident with the American ship in early 2009. The so-called president of Puntland, Mr. Farole, has been busy muzzling journalists and handing some Ogadenis, suspected of being members of the separatist organization ONLF (Ogaden National Liberation Front), to Addis Ababa.

Fourth, the Haitian Diaspora in America is vibrant and active. There are more than 200,000 Haitian immigrants in New York alone. The Somali Diaspora is small, new, fragmented and voiceless. Somalis do not have celebrities like Jean Wycliffe to advocate for them. We do not have sympathetic artists, filmmakers, politicians, and human rights activists that can raise their voices on behalf of Somalia. No George Clooney, no Bono, and definitely no Angelina Jolie. By the time former Supermodel Iman became interested in Somalia, her career was in a declivitous state. Projects like Save Africa by prominent artists were always geared to special countries like Ethiopia and, nowadays, Darfur. Obviously, if Ethiopia had gone what Somalia has been through for the last two decades, there would have been a world outcry. There is something about Somalia that turns the world away from it!

Then, finally, there is the issue of relief agencies. Al-Shabaab terrorists have kicked out relief agencies from the areas they control accusing aid workers of being spies. Last week, the terrorists robbed the offices of a relief agency in Beledweyne taking laptops and other valuables. The world responded to the Haitian tragedy with unmitigated attention and rescue. Even the Israelis, mind you, established a hospital in Haiti traveling 1700 miles to that Caribbean country while at the same time neglecting their hungry and economically -isolated Gazans next door. One voice was the exception. According to Foxsports.com, former NBA player Paul Shirley, mocked the Haitians. “Dear Haitians,” he wrote, “First of all, kudos on developing the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. Your commitment to human rights, infrastructure, and birth control should be applauded”. He further asked, “ …Could you not resort to the creation of flimsy-shanty-and shack towns? And could some of you maybe use a condom once in a while.” ESPN dropped Shirley as its freelance writer because of his outrageous comments about Haiti.
The world needs Somalia as much as Somalia needs the world. If Somalis can’t help themselves, as it is manifested today, then perhaps we need the world to come and rescue us.

Somalia's High Road To Self-Destruction

It was sometime in 1988, somewhere in Southern California, when I met a young undergraduate student from the Middle East. At the time, I was a graduate Teaching Assistant. The student told me he was an Iranian Jew and that his family had fled Iran for fear of persecution. “Have you seen the movie Rambo II?” he asked me. I told him that I didn’t. “Well, John J. Rambo, played by Sylvester Stallone, is quoted saying in the movie, ‘what you call hell, I call home’ “the student said, with a chuckle.

Somehow, that quote stuck in my mind. I never thought that one day my own country, Somalia, will degenerate into chaos and become the playground for international terrorists.

The year 2009 was a tragic one for many Somalis because the country went through a hellish period. There was a change of government, piracy piqued, thousands of people were killed or left the country for failed states like Yemen. Thousands of people were also displaced. Moreover, there is an ongoing Talibanization of the country in the hands of al-Shabaab terrorists.
The Transitional Federal Government (TFG) has changed its leadership. Sheikh Sharif Sheikh Ahmed was elected by a gerrymandered parliament assembled in Djibouti. The former Geography teacher and Shari’ah court cleric was the last person who expected that, one day, he would be crowned the president of Somalia. He was content in issuing edicts until the Union of Islamic Courts propelled him into the forefront of the country’s political landscape. That is when his scheming and double-talk became in play. He was a colleague of Hassan Dahir Aweys, a radical who never minces words. Sheikh Sharif had no trouble cavorting with Aweys and Ayro (the founder of al-Shabaab) when it suited him. He even fled, with some wanted militants, according to Jon Lee Anderson of the New Yorker (December 14, 2009) when Ethiopia invaded Somalia. But the powers that be had another plan for this pedantic and unassuming cleric. He was installed as the president of the TFG. Abdullahi Yusuf, his predecessor, became expendable. Sheikh Sharif, meanwhile, has been trying to defeat al-Shabaab terrorists, on one hand, while at the same time trying to lure his one-time compatriot Aweys from the militants on the other. Aweys, interestingly, is vying for Sharif’s own seat, and would not accept anything else. He is having difficulty accepting the idea that Sharif can be the president of Somalia and not him. Sharif could have been a ‘wanted terrorist’, like Aweys, if he had not, according to the New Yorker article, accepted to cooperate with the powers that be. He was threatened; Cooperate or go to Guantanamo. He instead chose the latter. Now, the former Chairman of the Union of Islamic Courts is castigating his former colleagues as ‘terrorists’ and ‘foreign-inspired’. His handshake with Secretary of State Hillary Clinton sealed the deal, literally and figuratively. Many of his former allies were dismayed that the president not only deviated from the ‘right path’ but had also aligned himself with infidels.

The enemies of Sheikh Sharif, notably al-Shabaab, have proven their commitment and dedication to imposing radical, misguided, and draconian religious rule in the vast areas they control. Like the Taliban of Afghanistan, al-Shabaab banned movies, music, television, pictures, videos, etc. There was even the story of the Koran competition organized by al-Shabaab (Foxnews.com, 10/19/2009) in which the winner was awarded, “an AK-47, two hand grenades, and anti-tank mine, and a computer.” Oddly, I was surprised that the Shabaab terrorists, unlike their brethren in Afghanistan, did not ban lobsters and crab. Afghanistan, a land-locked country, apparently puts no premium on sea food. But al-Shabaab controls Marka, a coastal city 90 kilometers south of Mogadishu. It is Marka where newly-arriving Jihadists are received and, perhaps, trained. Moreover, all men are expected to grow beard. Have you ever heard of the Prophet-Peace be Upon Him- going around Mecca and Medina, with a sword, ordering men not to trim their beards or else. These al-Shabaab terrorists must know something about Islam that no one else does.

Then, there are the pirates who have been, unfortunately, lionized by even some intellectuals as modern-day Robin Hoods. I have heard many smart commentators defending the pirates as the shield against illegal fishing and dumping of chemical waste in the shores of Somalia. There were two periods in our most recent and shameful history when the country became awash with hundred-dollar bills. First, it was when the CIA funded Somali warlords and gangsters, under the umbrella of what was comically dubbed as ‘The Alliance for Restoration of Peace and Counter-Terrorism’. Second, it was when pirates started getting paid handsomely by insurance companies and timid states for their criminal enterprise. Do you think a Qaat-chewing, gun-wielding pirate, somewhere in Puntland, cares about the protection and the welfare of Somalia’s national resources? It is very unfortunate that some Somali youngsters in the West have fallen into the trap of justifying the illegal and heinous acts of pirates. There are no doubts that some countries have exploited Somalia’s resources due to the lack of a strong and viable government in Mogadishu. But there are of course other strategically important considerations when countries like Iran place their naval ships in the Red Sea ‘to fight pirates’. The Iranians are also probably there to counter the new Saudi naval presence in the Red Sea.

Overall, the year 2009 was a sad year for some Somali youth who were recruited to leave America and Canada and wage violent jihad in Somalia. Al-Shabaab might have liquidated some of these youngsters when they attempted to return to North America. It is a vicious world! Although the number of Somali jihadists from the USA is dismal, al-Shabaab has used the recruitment of these young militants as a resume-enhancement. The mantra of al-Shabaab being, “we are an international group that we even have jihadists from the USA and Canada”. Finally, there is a glimmer of hope. A Somali man claiming to be 112 years old wed a 17-year old girl in Guriceel, a small town in Galguduud region. Ahmed Mohamed Dhore, the groom, though elderly, does not appear like an octogenarian. The good news is that he is already the father of 114 children and grandchildren. The bad news is that he is not likely to withstand the physical rigors and demands of marriage. This will be the first time, since the beginning of Somalia’s bloody civil war, a Somali man might be accused of possessing a DEAD weapon!

Security Lapses in Washington and Mogadishu: A Tale of Two Capitals

Charles Dickens, the author of the literary classic, A Tale of two Cities, based his historical novel in both Paris -facing the turmoil and upheavals of the French revolution- and in the serene and tranquil London. Dickens begun his novel with this intriguing and capturing paragraph; “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”

In our modest case here, we have the tale of two capitals. One –Washington D.C- represents the most powerful nation in the world, and the other –Mogadishu, Somalia- perhaps the most failed state in the planet.

I will not indulge in comparing these two cities in a rather comprehensive manner because that will be an exercise of futility. I am only interested in one aspect that caught my attention. In a span of ten days, these two odd capitals had one thing in common; each experienced an egregious security breach. One security breach created a buzz and a great deal of mockery whereas the other resulted in bloody carnage.

A couple named Tareq and Michaele Salahi crashed President Obama’s first State Dinner honoring the visiting Prime Minister of India. This married couple had no invitation to attend the dinner in the White House; ostensibly the most secure residence in the world. They were properly introduced, shook hands with both Obama and his honorable guest, hugged and took pictures with Vice president Joe Biden, White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel and other dignitaries.

Fortunately, to the relief of the U.S Secret Service, no one got hurt. No shoes were thrown. The dinner guests, about 300, had a sumptuous meal and afterwards returned safely back to their homes. The White House Social Office and the Secret Service were obviously embarrassed but, alas, no one has lost his/her job because of this glaring security breach. Then again, no one was ever fired due to the debacle that led to the 9/11 tragedy! There will be, of course, official reviews and Congressional investigations. Some Republican and Democratic elected officials were boisterous and demanded for answers.

How could a security breach like this happen in the country that had experienced the 9/11 tragedy?

Representative Peter King, the ranking Republican on the Homeland Security Committee, was appalled. According to the New York Times, he lashed at the United States Secret Service after its spokesman claimed that Obama was never in danger. “The fact that they [the Salahis] went through the magnometer is incidental. They could have had anthrax on them. They could have grabbed a knife from the dining room table,” King scoffed.

But the Salahis were less sinister. Michaele Salahi was hoping to land a part in an upcoming reality show called “The Real Housewives of Washington, D.C”. They were interested in making news to promote their profiles and brag about their bold and daring adventure. They were there to show off, kiss and tell. Now that they are likely to face indictments, the world will see how charming they are in court.

Then, there is the case of the security breach in Mogadishu on December 3rd, when a deranged al-Shabaab suicide bomber from Denmark, dressed in a woman’s attire, killed himself and 26 other people. Most of the people who died were medical student graduates, but there were also three government ministers (and later another) who also perished.

The concept of suicide bombing is something alien to Somalia. Somalis have a long history of internecine feuds among themselves, but this phenomenon of suicide killing has brought a new dimension to the current conflict. The terrorist bomber had no regard to the lives of the young graduates who had shown perseverance and determination in attending college in one of the most dangerous cities in the world. These graduates were in school long before Sheikh Sharif and his TFG ministers were installed. They were hoping that their education would be the key to a better future. They were neither politicians nor soldiers, and yet they paid with their lives. The terrorist, an abject coward so cavalier about human life, was a paragon of a dysfunctional personality who left a path of destruction.

Meanwhile, al-Shabaab terrorists have shown the world what have been their hallmark; shallowness, cruelty, and utter disregard of the welfare and well-being of Somali youngsters. These thugs and Khmer Rouge look-alikes want to destroy and not build Somalia. Radicalism and militancy in the name of religion has never succeeded in Somalia and, inevitably, al-Shabaab will be doomed.

The TFG has also shown its own inadequacy. The suicide bombing at Hotel Shaamow was an example of the state of affairs in Somalia where violence seems as natural as gravity. The government failed to protect its own four ministers who, in all fairness, were capable individuals. I was never confident that the TFG, pockmarked with a long list of failures and limited control of Mogadishu, will be in a position to protect Mogadishu residents, in general, and the young graduates, in particular.

The White House fiasco was perhaps an incident that provided comic relief because the security breach there showed limitations in the concept of ‘absolute security’. It was tantalizingly surreal because ineptness does not discriminate based on sex, color, religion, or national origin.

The Mogadishu incident, meanwhile, was the essence of tragedy. It was an apocalypse now. It was the tragedy of the loss of young people who were destined to be the future leaders of their country. It was the tragedy of a government that could not even protect the less-than one hundred people who were sequestered in a small section of a hotel to attend the graduation. It was the tragedy of a disturbed, cold-blooded loser who was given the platform to wreck havoc.

One security breach can be mocked while the other brings a mood of sadness. In retrospect, I hope this suicide bombing will unite many Somalis in opposition to these two-legged beasts called al-Shabaab.

Final Thoughts On the Case of Missing Youth

Ladies and Gentleman, the insanely elongated investigation of the case of missing Somali youth has almost come to an end.

The indictments are in; a total of 14. Some of the indicted are believed to be dead while at least two not-so-young fellows managed to slip out of America.

No need to worry about these fugitives because, like Bin Laden, the Feds will hunt them down.
The question that stumps the enquiring mind is; how did these fugitives manage to vanish under the watchful eyes of the ‘vigilant’ American law enforcement agents?

Perhaps, I am geographically-challenged. I thought Tora Bora was located in Afghanistan and not between San Ysidro (California) and Tijuana (Mexico).

Unfortunately, both the FBI and the U.S Border Patrol agencies are not talking.

“No Comment, please”.

But the investigation rattled some nerves and has exposed the government and the Somali community, as like an x-ray; not beautified but stripped down to the core.

All Terror Is Local

Contrary to the wide belief, the case of missing youth was distinctly Minnesotan. To be more specific, it was mainly limited to the Twin Cities.

The Feds and the Congress initially made us believe that Somali pockets in Minneapolis, Columbus, San Diego, Seattle, Portland (Maine) and Atlanta were incubators of terrorism. Somalis, it was hinted, are fanatic Muslims that pose a clear and present danger to the national security of the United States.

Well, the threat is still there but the main problem, so far, is Minneapolis.

Seattle had a case or two of the missing youth, but even that originated, sorry folks, from Minneapolis.

Leadership Crisis

Will the real Somali leaders in the Twin Cities stand up?

No, no, not you self-appointed microphone-huggers! You have a near-clinical need to be around microphones. I bet you never met a microphone you did not like, and when you are behind one, you are an impulsive loudmouth, a certified mediocre, fuzzy on the facts, and, above-all, you spew venom. You are long on complaints but short on prescriptions. I see you more as meddlesome rather than helpful. Sadly to say, you are unaware of the contempt and derision you provoke in others.

Sit down.

I am looking for true leaders.

Sadly, if there is Somali leadership in Twin Cities, it remained resolutely silent during the course of the investigation.

Minneapolis may have the largest Somali population in America, but one may confidently say it also has a lethargic leadership.

Demonizing the Wrong People

Some of the relatives of missing youth rightfully raised their voices and brought attention to the tragedy. We know that no one can efface the pain and the anguish these parents went through.

But the parents, in the heat of the moment, wrongfully accused the people of Abubakar as-Sadiiq mosque in Minneapolis for recruiting, funding, and sending the youth to Somalia.

Imam Abdirahman Sheikh Omar became a piñata for some of the aggrieved relatives and was portrayed as being the quintessence of evil.

He was yelled at, shoved, and gouged.

Yes, I know he was not physically attacked. Maybe I am slightly exaggerating.

But, seriously, Imam Abdirahman was barked at and even threatened. He was accused of leading the youth astray (Somalis aptly call this ‘duufsasho’) and turning them into cold-blooded jihadists bent on killing and maiming innocent Somalis.

Sheikh Abdirahman must have a very amiable personality and a magnificence of spirit. To the surprise of no one, he never lost aplomb in the midst of the tumult.

The Imam was being buffeted on all sides.

The Feds were sharpening their swords to put him away.

Any ‘Black Sites’ left in Romania or Poland?

This poor man was even taken off from a flight, for security reasons, at the height of the investigation.

Sorry Imam, you can drive, within the confines of the U.S, but you can’t fly!

The Sheikh must have asked himself; “You mean, I can drive through Minnesota’s strong and sturdy bridges but I do not even have the privilege of flying and landing in the waters of New York’s Hudson River?”

I love this country!

Fortunately, I am told, the Sheikh’s name has been removed from the “No Fly” list.

So does this mean he had nothing to do with the missing youth?

Well, no one from Masjid Abubakar as-Sadiiq mosque has been indicted.

Do I hear murmurs and titters?

I think an apology is in order.

Now, what?

Ladies and Gentleman, the further investigation of Somali immigrants will, of course, continue, and the missing youth, if they ever return to the States, will be prosecuted.

Hopefully, they will come to their senses and extricate themselves from Al-Shabaab terrorists.

I do not expect President Obama to issue a pardon to the missing youth.

Wouldn’t that be a gesture of good will?

He has already pardoned “Courage” the day before Thanksgiving.

‘Courage’ who?

Oh, it is a turkey whose life has been spared.

The community in Twin Cities needs to have a smart, poignant, and unvarnished look at what has transpired in the case and should engage in a grueling self-examination.

It is mind-boggling.

The very young people who were rescued from Somalia’s tortuous civil war are returning back to that same hell.

No doubt, they may have come to this country as children, but when they embarked on the journey to Somalia, they were adults.

Alas, Shirwa Ahmed, 27, the first ever American suicide bomber, was a man.

But most of the youth were still impressionable.

Those who helped their recruitment and financed their trip must be brought to justice.

The parents and the relatives of the missing youth have the right to ask the U.S Congress to hold a hearing regarding the flight of alleged terror suspects like Mohamud Said Omar (now in custody in the Netherlands), Abdullahi Farah and Abdiweli Isse.

The latter two men are the ones that had crossed the U.S Mexican border.

Where are the microphone-huggers when you need them?

Oops, I forgot that they were banished.

At any rate, it is a wild world.

But then, the sagacious people of Benadir were right; “If you live long enough, you will even see a she-camel give birth.”

Hassan M. Abukar

Somali Youth, Violence, and Misplaced Priorities

Recently, I have been shocked by the increase of violence among Somali youngsters from Toronto to Alberta; Minneapolis to Seattle. Every week, a Somali youngster is found dead due to gang related crimes. These killings have not generated the same outcry, intense scrutiny, and speculation seen in the cases of disappearing Somali youth in Minnesota and now Canada. Among the Somali populace, gang-related killings have become an issue of non importance.

The American government has spent a great deal of resources in investigating the disappearance of Somali youth in major urban areas populated by Somali immigrants. While the authorities have the jurisdiction to investigate those who train, fight, or provide material support to designated terrorist entities, there has been a negative side effect that has been impacting mosques and Islamic centers. There is a prevailing fear among many parents who are hesitant to allow their teenage boys to go to mosques or become active there. Parents are taking the “safe-side” of not letting the youth get involved. Some have naively stashed away their children’s passports hoping these measures will prevent the youngsters from joining subversive groups. Some of the mosques, though under investigation, have been in the forefront for saving many youth from drugs, chemical dependency, and gangs. There are no statistical figures, of course, that show the number of youth saved by religious institutions. But one thing that is glaringly apparent is the number of youth killed in the streets of London, Toronto, Edmonton, Minneapolis, or Seattle due to gang wars is much higher than the number that has joined terrorist organizations like Al-Shabaab. Currently, in many Somali mosques, there are a large number of youth who are committed to studying their religion and not interested in going back to Somalia to fight in an unjust war. I wonder if all the negative campaigning waged against some of these Islamic centers can be partially blamed for the increase of juvenile delinquency. Of course, there are other variables that might explain the rise of Somali youth killings.

No one can expect the Department of Justice or the FBI to help in tackling the Somali youth killings in the streets of America’s finest cities. The American and Canadian governments are interested in ensuring that the youth do not pose a security threat to their respective governments, first, and to Somalia, second. This is an understandable and legitimate national security concern. What is not understandable is what happens when the pursuit of this goal leads to the weakening of the very institutions that are designed to serve the youth and their parents. A climate generating ‘fear of mosques’ and a veritable barrage of calumny directed against some Imams have gained currency in various Somali communities. Unfortunately, these have inadvertently led to some of the youth to eschew, perhaps, in places where they could have gotten guidance and counseling. The Somali mosques have been somewhat successful in communicating with the youth when their parents were unable to do so. Of course, a mosque cannot be a substitute for a caring and engaging parent. But the fact of the matter is, many of the Somali parents are absent, figuratively, and sometimes, literally.

The American federal government, perhaps, can take a ‘Marshall Plan’ type approach in assisting the Somali youth. Agencies like the Health and Human Services, the Labor and Education departments can undertake various projects to assess this phenomenon of gang killings and find viable solutions. Of course, these will likely never happen because, to the American authorities, the Somali youth are only seen through the prism of ‘terrorism’. The Feds will always claim that the killings are local matters. Unfortunately, more killings will happen if Somali youth have no access to all the resources that they need (parents, schools, mosques, community based-organizations, etc). I must add here that there are some elements in some mosques that are, in the simplest terms, “bad news”. I have no qualms whatsoever seeing these dangerous elements rooted out from the Somali communities. Fortunately, these individuals are numbered and insignificant. So far, the federal indictments, in the Somali Youth cases of disappearance, have only produced a few convictions.

It is tragic that the Somali young men are dying violently while so many of the resource are spent on matters that are of no value to the safety, well-being, and future advancement of our children. It is the most opportune time for all Somalis in the West to start speaking against this new phenomenon that is leading to the gradual attrition of our youth. Parents, community organizations, local and federal governments all need to address this important matter before it is too late. Most of all, it is time that we listen to the youth themselves and see them as part of the solution. The process may be daunting but we should remain undaunted until there is a way out of these tragic events.