Marriages Gone Awry

During the three decades that I lived in the Somali Diaspora community, I witnessed or heard a number of interesting stories about Somali immigrants getting married, or divorced, for an array of reasons that are not unique in any culture. But two cases intrigued me the most because they offer a rare window into the plight of individuals who have encountered partners with unsuspected dark sides. These two stories highlight family pressures to wed, showmanship and duplicity.
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90 Days of Gloom

Selma and Abdi (not their real names) had known each other as part of the small but vibrant Somali community in a large American city. Abdi had a successful career as an administrator at a major corporation and Selma was a hardworking retail employee.

Selma came from a well-to-do background. Though born in Somalia, she had grown up abroad. Her father’s wealth allowed her to live what was, at best, an aimless existence. He was able to send Selma and her sister to an English-speaking country, but was mostly absent from their lives. Those who knew the family describe the father as a lazy, drunken, philandering wastrel. Selma rarely saw him while growing up. By the time she arrived as an immigrant in the United States, she was in her late twenties. Her family urged her to marry because she was a single woman in an alien country. She associated almost exclusively with other Somalis from her region, though she hung out with what was generally regarded as the wrong crowd. And she made it known that she would not go out with any man who did not meet her geographical criteria. Abdi was indeed from her region, but she expressed little interest in him, telling others that she found him unappealing. Besides, she had heard rumors from the community that he was gay. Abdi had himself heard the rumors about his alleged sexual orientation and categorically denied them. To those who would listen, Abdi offered a vehement rebuttal: “I am heterosexual.”
And then a funny thing happened. Community members woke up one day to find that Selma and Abdi were planning to wed!

Why in the world would these two people decide to get married? Many in the community were aware of Selma’s past indifference, even strong negative views, toward Abdi. Others wondered if there might be a secret pact between the couple. There were clearly pressures on Selma, 35, to marry. Some wondered if Abdi had ulterior motives of his own, such as proving that he was not gay. Yet the community’s doubts were set aside and people came out in droves to participate in the joyous occasion of Selma and Abdi’s wedding.

Three months later, Somali community members received yet another jolting piece of news from the couple. Selma and Abdi had decided to call it quits. The gossip began almost immediately. Speculations were rampant as to the possible reasons for the split. Had the marriage been a sham from day one? What had been the motives for the marriage? Was money exchanged between the two to show the world a union that was an elaborate facade?

After several weeks of silence, Abdi told his friends and relatives that the sudden dissolution of the couple’s marriage had come about because his wife had attempted to stab him with a knife. He also said that he was concerned about her drinking and had been trying to help by getting her into a rehab facility. In essence, Abdi accused his wife of being a recalcitrant alcoholic who had rebuffed his constant pleas to seek professional help.

Initially, Selma’s reaction was more muted. But after some time had passed she decided to tell her own side of the story. Her account was intriguing. She described her husband as a man with a roving eye for men and a short attention span for her. For community members who were already homophobic and, hence, believed that Abdi was gay, her accounting was all they needed for their final verdict. Their reaction was blistering. They accused him of flirting with men and making his wife feel extraneous. By this time, Abdi had succumbed to depression and fled the state.

But some community members could not decide which one to believe. They were both seen as dark and disturbed characters. Some people secretly thanked Selma for having caused Abdi to leave the region. Yet several months after the bitter divorce, Selma relocated to the same city as Abdi, though the couple was never again on speaking terms. Selma got married and was blessed with children. Abdi has been married for the last three years. His current wife had heard all the rumors about his past, but she seems unconcerned about them.
The jury is still out as to what happened between Selma and Abdi.
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30 Days of Deception

At age 29, Anab (not her real name) was a single mother with three beautiful children. She had been married at age 18 to a tall, strong, handsome man 15 years her senior who was visually impaired. As a disabled person, he was unemployed and collecting government benefits. One thing he had, though, was boundless energy as a Casanova. Love-making, it seemed, was the only recreational activity he enjoyed the most. But he had a habit of disappearing every time his wife became pregnant. He would visit his relatives in another state and would often be gone for months. These absences, combined with his penchant for stinginess, bothered Anab and she decided to end the marriage. The couple split after an acrimonious divorce.

Five years later, Anab met a man from another state. The two were introduced to each other by a mutual friend. Yassin (also not his real name) had Prince Charming flamboyancy about him and he pursued Anab with a relentless tenacity. He called her several times a day over a courtship that lasted three months. He told her he was employed, healthy, and in love with her.
He was ready to get married, he said. He talked to her parents and officially asked for her hand.
Anab’s family, which had always badgered her to marry, was relieved.

On the wedding day, Yassin came to Anab’s city, stayed for a few hours, met his new in-laws, and bought tickets to bring his new family with him to his hometown that same evening. It was quite a hectic schedule for Yassin. Anab was puzzled why her new husband would not even stay for the night and rest.

When the family arrived at Yassin’s residence in the East Coast, Anab made the painful discovery that there was no new apartment of her own. Instead, she found herself living in an apartment that belonged to her new mother-in-law. The discoveries just kept coming. He was, for instance, unemployed—and had been for several months. His mother was supporting him. Her husband also was suffering from chronic diabetics and was on medication. Anab felt anguish, frustration and helplessness all rolled into one. She wondered what other lies she had been told by this husband, a man who had given her an almost completely false picture of his life, health and living arrangements. She soon learned that he had previously been married for two years and that his first wife had left him and married another man. Yassin’s lifelong pathology of deceit was emerging.

Perhaps most shocking to Anab was that her marriage was never consummated. In the first week, her husband told her that she must be tired after her cross-country trip. “What a kind and a considerate man,” she thought. But when nothing happened after one week, then two weeks, then three weeks, Anab summoned her husband and asked him if he was okay. “Yes, I am fine,” he answered in a defensive tone. She recommended seeing a doctor. Maybe he had a medical condition that caused impotence. Her husband screamed at her and told her that he was most certainly not sick.

After a month of feeling like a guest in their crowded housing arrangement, Anab decided to return to her old city and asked her husband to follow her. He assured her that he would be joining her soon.

Ten days after returning to her old city, Anab received a letter in the mail from her husband. He had divorced her because she had allegedly accused him of being gay. Anab was adamant that she had done no such thing. This new development left her devastated, an emotional wreck. What had happened? What had she done wrong?

Several weeks after the divorce, Yassin moved to Europe. He was tired of hearing talk about his short and failed marriage. He has been living in Europe for the last several years. For Anab, the experience was emotionally draining. At 35, she is not married but is hopeful that one day she will be. “My first marriage represented an extreme of abundance,” she told this writer. “And my second marriage was, oddly, an extreme of scarcity.”

Indeed, the second time around the man of her dreams had become a nightmare. The first three months of their courtship, Yassin was hot. Then their relationship became yet another cautionary tale.

Fathia Absie"s Broken Dreams: A Film Review

Writer/Producer/Director: Fathia Absie
Director of Photography: Tariq Tarey
Editor: Sharmarke Hassan
Total Running Time: 140 minutes
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In 2008 and 2009, about 20 Somali youth began disappearing from the state of Minnesota. Burhan Hassan, 17, was the youngest and, perhaps, a bright young man, who had dreams of attending Harvard.

It was a typical day for Burhan Hassan. He woke up early in the morning, ate breakfast, and left for school. After several hours, he called his mother, Zainab Bihi, and told her a friend would pick him up from school.

It was the last time that Burhan’s mother ever saw him again. After a period of tumult and anxiety, she found out that her son, who was a toddler when the family left Somalia in early 1990s, was now back in their native country fighting alongside Al-Shabab militants.

Thus is the way “Broken Dreams”, a documentary about the exodus of Somali youth for jihad, gets underway.

To the parents of these youth, it was a painful and tortuous period that saw many sleepless nights, a great deal of introspection, and a collective outcry against what they regarded as the ‘recruitment and the misleading of their sons’ by adults who were hiding behind religious masks. To the Somali community in Minnesota and elsewhere around the country, the case brought unwanted attention to them from the U.S government. Following the disappearances, the FBI launched the largest US counterterrorism investigation since the 9-11 tragedy. Ralph S. Boelter, then the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Minneapolis office, which also was leading the investigation, told The New York Times (7/11/09), “This case is unlike anything we have encountered.” FBI Director Robert Mueller stated, after one of the Minnesota youths committed a suicide bombing in northern Somalia, that the young man “was radicalized in his hometown in Minnesota.” In January 2009, the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security issued a bulletin warning that Al-Shabab militants were planning to carry out an attack in America. The warning turned out to be false but fear of Al-Shabab attack was real.

In 2006, after 16 years of warlordism and banditry in southern Somalia, the Union of Islamic Courts came to power in Mogadishu. For six months, the Somali capital saw a precipitous decline of banditry and chaos. But the Islamic group was a collage of groups, some moderate and others much more extreme, as in the case of Al-Shabab. Ethiopia, with the help of the United States, invaded Somalia to crush the nascent Islamic group. It was during this time when former American president George W. Bush saw the world in the prism of terrorism. The Chairman of the Islamic Courts Union was none other than Sheikh Sharif Ahmed, now Somalia’s president. Sheikh Sharif called for jihad against the Ethiopian invaders, which caused him to flee –at least temporarily- Mogadishu. Many Somalis, from various backgrounds, were incensed with the foreign occupation of Somalia. Some young men in Minnesota apparently heard the call to jihad emanating from southern Somalia and went there to fight against the Ethiopians and their Somali allies. There was one problem; Al-Shabab, which was the only effective group fighting the Ethiopians, was on the State Department’s list of terrorist organizations. It is illegal in the USA to train, fight, and provide material support to a terrorist organization.

What happened to these youth? How did they end up in Somalia? Did someone recruit them to become jihadists? Did the youth recruit each other? How did the Somali community react to the disappearance of these youth?

These are the questions that Fathia Absie’s documentary explores.

Fathia Absie is well-known to many Somalis as a journalist and a writer. She once worked as a reporter for Voice of America’s (VOA) Somali Service. Fathia, to the surprise of many, also dabbles in poetry. She is, in her own words, “a complete romantic”. In one of her articles, Ms. Absie pronounced that “love is peace and prosperity. It’s why we need so much of it”. It is interesting to note here that Fathia once told a reporter for the Star Tribune (2/7/11) that she had ambitions to make a movie about Somali poet Elmi Boodheri who supposedly died of love. It is with this passion and intensity that Fathia tackles the case of the missing youth. She has interviewed scores of community activists, imams, youth, parents of the missing youth, FBI officials, and intellectuals. She has left no stone unturned.

The case of the missing youth was not an easy one to address because the law enforcement investigations created a deadly climate of fear. The FBI agents, while doing their job of protecting the USA from danger, were breathing heavily down the people’s necks. Somali youth were harassed at the campuses of the University of Minnesota, at their jobs, at the airport, and at immigration interviews. Some were threatened with deportations if they did not cooperate, while others were promised Green Cards if they cooperated. The imam of Abubakar as-Siddiq Mosque in Minneapolis and four of his colleagues were put on “No Fly” list. By the conclusion of the investigation, the United States had indicted 14 people for the case of the missing youth. Ironically, the second largest terrorism in the history of America also produced a stream of unwanted reports that had no value whatsoever to intelligence. As one Somali community activist in Minnesota told this writer, ‘Damn the three- letter people [a Somali euphemism of the FBI]. Now they know who is cheating on his wife, who is the polygamist cleric, who is the elderly lady who sends money to her grandchildren in Ceelasha Biyaha [a suburb of Mogadishu] and who is the ‘nice and friendly community leader whose career has been blighted by alcohol abuse”. Perhaps, it was good that the authorities discovered that the Somali community was not, after all, a den of terrorists. But the experience of going through such a vast investigation, as the film points out, and being under the microscope was nothing to be trifled with. There were two hearings about the case in the U.S Senate and House of Representatives respectively.

Like an X-ray, Broken Dreams exposes the Somali community to the core; stripped and not beautified. It shows how the civil war still defines the community; a conflict that is far from the streets of Minnesota and Seattle yet so close to the hearts of people that it shapes their daily life. It is the irony of shifting allegiances and moral confusion. What is wrong today is right tomorrow, and vice-versa. It tells of a community that produces children in rapid succession but lacks the time to educate, nurture and talk with them. It explores the habit of settling scores due to clannish differences to the extent that true issues are muddled or diluted. The case in point is the one mentioned above of Somalia’s president, the former jihadist. In 2009, Sheikh Sharif came to Minnesota, this time though he was, like Zeus in Greek mythology, sitting on the top of Mount Olympus. He encouraged Somali parents to keep an eye on their children lest they be recruited by sinister forces lurking in the shadows of mosques. “If you take them [children] to the mosque, and you wanted good things for them, that is a good idea,” he admonished. “But the [recruiters] have infiltrated the mosques, too. We must be aware when our kids go to mosques, what they do there, and how they think.” The Al-Shabab group has been waging war against the very government that Sheikh Sharif heads. This shift, in the Somali context, is more than political expediency. It is how religion is used, or rather misused, to justify any given position. What the president’s audience, and those who were clapping for him, forgot was that this was the same man who was openly recruiting the young men to join the jihad two years earlier but now was killing them in the name of the ‘war on terror’. This reminds me an incident a young Jordanian engineer told me about many years ago when, as a teen trying to get a driver license in his native country, he bribed a police officer to get the document. One day, the young man was driving in the streets of Amman when he committed an egregious traffic violation. He was stopped by an officer who screamed at him and asked the teen, “who is the idiot and the dog who gave you the license?” The young man did not flinch and told the officer, “Sir, it was you”. It was the same officer who had secured the license for him. The Somali president is like that traffic officer who had forgotten his misconduct. The president has yet to apologize for his indirect role in the missing youth and yet he again was the very one who made incendiary jihadist remarks.

While I thought the film was twice as long as it is needed to be, the documentary raises essential questions that are captivating and engrossing. I also would have preferred to see more of the youth speak in the film than the community activists and imams who, at times, are redundant. Unfortunately, seven of the youth speak a mere total of 12 minutes whereas the so-called community activists pontificate about topics that do not add to the topic in hand. The documentary is interesting when parents of the missing youth speak and not when the community activists huff and puff. For instance, Burhan Hassan’s mother gives a powerful and moving portrayal of her son; something Burhan’s two uncles, Osman Ahmed and Abdirizak Bihi (both of whom testified at the Senate and the House of Representatives respectively) unfortunately failed to do. Both uncles engage in vitriol attack against the people of Abubakar as-Siddiq Mosque for allegedly recruiting their nephew. Osman Ahmed, in a sworn testimony before the Congress, even went a step further when he accused that mosque’s leadership for recruiting Burhan, collecting money for al-Shabab militants, and sending the proceedings to Somalia. There is only one problem with these accusations. While mosque leaders were evidently guilty of ineptness in crisis management as well as poor public relations, they were never indicted in the case of the missing youth. In fact, all of the five clerics of the mosque, who were at one time put on the notorious ‘No Fly’ list, were subsequently removed. Perhaps, Osman Ahmed has some vital information about terrorist plots at the Abubakar as-Siddiq mosque that the FBI is not privy to.

Broken Dreams is a documentary that should be in every Somali household in the Diaspora, in every mosque, community center, and the very schools Somali children attend. It is a film that parents should watch with their children and discuss. It is a film that the Somalis should share with their friends and neighbors (I mean the original DVD when it becomes available and not pirated versions). It is high time that Somalis in the Diaspora talk about the social issues that are affecting the youth and not engage in double-talk.

Fathia Absie gives the Somali community a second chance. The community, as a whole, has bungled the first time with the tepid way it responded to the issue. It was a colossal failure from the top (i.e. Somali president changing colors and one time being a jihadist and the other time waging war against terror, and the American government supporting the invasion of Somalia by Ethiopia that caused massive death and destruction) to the bottom (i.e. parents’ dereliction of their duties in keeping an eye on their children or engaging with them). What are amazing in the case of missing youth are absentee fathers. In other words, most of the youth came from homes where the fathers were nonfactors. In essence, Fathia is giving the Somalis in the Diaspora an opportunity to reexamine themselves and the events that led to the vanishing youth. What did go wrong? Why did we react the way we did? Are we blaming our youth instead of listening to them? Fathia aptly put it when she once said in an interview, “…at the end of the day, the film is not about the boys but it’s about the entire community and what they went through”. As Somalis, given our internecine conflicts, we are not yet at the stage of “can’t we all just get along” but are rather in the early stages of “Can we talk”. Broken Dreams wants us to talk first. It gives us, as what the legendary filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock once intimated, a jolt. “I am,” he said, “to provide the public with beneficial shock”.

Welcome To Shelbyville: A Documentary Review

“Illegal aliens have always been a problem in the United States. Ask any Indian.” Robert Orben
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As a university freshman in Ohio many years ago, I took an introductory class about the American Government. The class was taught by a middle-aged professor named Alexander Prisley. Dr. Prisley was liberal, energetic, and inspiring instructor. He presented the American government as an epitome of success by emphasizing what is generally called “American exceptionalism”. The term denotes the uniqueness of the United States as a country based on liberty, equality, and democratic ideals. The birth of the United States with its revolution, Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the extraordinary power structure of the country were topics that Dr. Prisley relished on with an unbridled passion and vigor. Then, in my junior year, I audited that same course with one of my favorite professors; Dr. Ron Hunt, who still teaches political theory and thought. He presented a portrait of America in which democracy was for only for a few, and where inequality, disfranchisement, and denial of basic rights were once common-and still occurring. It was a rude awakening, a realization that American exceptionalism was, in essence, what Howard Zinn, a leading political scientist/historian and the author of the seminal work, A People’s History of the United States, described it as myth and rather an “ exercise of self-congratulation; we are the best, the strongest, the freest, the most democratic country” in the world. Former American president, George W. Bush, had exemplified that notion when he said, “We are the beacon of liberty and democracy in the world”. Zinn was critical of how America dealt with its Native Americans, blacks, and the “hysterical reaction” that the country responded toward Muslims after the 9-11 tragedy.

In reality, the United States is a country replete with contradictions, and that the two portraits by these professors might, oddly, represent what this country was, or perhaps, still is. Benjamin Franklin, a founding father of America, once opposed German immigration to the US because the Germans, he stated, would be unable to assimilate. But these inherent contradictions of the United States are what define it. The country has the capacity to nurture its strengths and deal with its flaws openly without resorting to violence.

After all, the United States has the largest population of immigrants in the world. According to NationMaster.com, a website that collects government statistics; about 38.5 million immigrants live in the USA; with an estimated 898, 000 becoming naturalized each year. Since 1995, America has admitted over one million immigrants per year.

And it is this America, a tapestry of colors and cultures, that filmmaker Kim Snyder tries to capture in her documentary, Welcome to Shelbyville. It airs on PBS channel across the United States on May 24th, 2011 at 10: OO PM.
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Welcome To Shelbyville
Director/Producer/Writer: Kim A. Snyder
Executive Producer: Ellen Scneider
Cinematographer: Greg Poschman
Editor: Jeremiah Zagler
Total Running Time: 70 minutes.

Kim A. Snyder is an American filmmaker, a master story-teller, and co-founder of BeCause Foundation, which produces “socially-conscious documentaries”. If there is a common thread to her work it is this: empathy. “I have always been driven to tell stories that hit the emotional core of a given human-experience,” she once said. She openly admits that she uses her documentaries as a way to motivate people to get involved. “Not because they [people] have to, but because the emotional experience of the story compels them to.”

Welcome to Shelbyville is no exception. She immerses herself into this small town in Tennessee, where three-quarters of the population is white and where segregation was once part of life. But Shelbyville is changing. The film is set on the eve of the 2008 election, as immigrants settle into this town just north of the Alabama border, and a nation gets ready to elect a black president with a funny last name and a
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In the beginning, Shelbyville, Tennessee, was a white as cotton.

Then the African-Americans came as slaves.

Some folks in Shelbyville were not happy with the arrival of people who did not look like them. Some grumbled about the fear that the blacks would tinker with the White Community’s chemistry, whereas others discriminated against blacks and disenfranchised them. Shelbyville, after all, is only a day’s drive from the birthplace of the Ku Klux Klan, which promoted white supremacy and opposed immigration.

After many decades, residents of Shelbyville accepted and got used to the small number of African-Americans. They even elected a Black mayor.

Then the Mexicans came.

Whites and blacks were uneasy about the Latinos. There were feelings of bemusement, discomfort, irritation, even hate. Some residents of Shelbyville described the newcomers as dirty and called them aliens. Bigots, indeed, can be stupefyingly simplistic.
But after a while, Shelbyville got used to the Mexicans.

Then the Somalis slipped into town.

Interestingly, it took two years and a series of stories in the local newspaper, for the Somalis to be noticed. The new refugees had serious barriers such as lack of English proficiency, educational background and familiarity with life in the US. They were mostly working at Tyson Foods chicken plant, and were not interacting, with the town’s residents. But when they did get noticed, all hell broke out. Somalis weren’t only black. They also were Muslims and many of the women dressed differently, covering their heads in scarves and their bodies in long flowing dresses.

Accusations started being hurled against the Somalis. Questions were raised about their true intent, their loyalty to the United States, and even their hygiene. Then, there was the fear of Muslims, who since 2001, have been regarded with truculent suspicions. Are Somalis going to blow up Shelbyville? Wasn’t it Somalis who dragged the body of a U.S soldier through the streets of Mogadishu after an ill-fated attack in 1993?

Ed Gray, Selbyville’s black mayor, echoed how Shelbyville residents perceived the Mexicans and the Somalis. “The Mexicans,” he said, “were nice when they came to town but that the Somalis were not nice”.

In the midst of this quandary, a group of people, some white but mostly Mexicans took upon themselves to welcome the Somalis. The Latinos were once in the same position as the Somalis were. They encouraged Somalis to study English, organize themselves, speak up, and open up to the wider community. There were also some African-American women who stood by the Somalis as they negotiated their way in life in America’s South.

Some members of a Baptist Church saw the Somalis differently. Members of this church saw an opportunity to convert the Somalis to Christianity.

Kim Snyder’s film is an attempt to capture the Somali arrival into an American community in the South that has traditionally been White and conservative. She succeeds in rendering the complexities of this encounter between the town’s people and its new refugee group with clarity and vigor. The film is an attempt to recognize the vicissitudes affecting the evolution of American society. It is also a tableau of the life of a group of Americans reacting, debating, and engaging with an immigrant population that is attempting to make its own niche in the land. Snyder allows all the parties to this contentious issue to speak up and tell their own concerns, fear, and vision of Shelbyville.

The famous Irish writer/poet, James Joyce, once said that all novelists have one story and would keep telling that story over and over in different forms. Welcome to Shelbyville is the American story; the story of an Immigrant group settling in the USA, and the reaction their presence creates among American nationals. It is the story of immigrants working hard to achieve American dream while at the same time rejecting attempts to be shoehorned into simple and unchanging category. It is the story of America redefining itself and reinventing.

Today, the latest newcomers in Shelbyville are the Burmese refugees. So now the Somalis, who are struggling to become part of their community, are facing yet another challenge. Will they welcome the newcomers?

Bringing Home the Somali Groom

It was sometime in the 1970s when a Somali man settled in England. This hard-working man weathered the challenges of adjusting to life in a new home. He studied and worked hard. One day, he met a young White lady, and he found himself falling in love with her. The young woman felt the same. But there was a problem: Her family was adamantly opposed to the couple getting married. The couple went ahead and got married any way. Then the couple was blessed with a daughter and a son. After the birth of their children, the woman’s family softened their stand and accepted the couple’s union.

The Somali man was very close to his children, and would advise his daughter that, when she became an adult, she should marry a Somali man. “The Somali people are great,” he would tell her. The girl listened to her father, and it was cemented in her head that Somali men were, perhaps, unique and would make good husbands.

The girl blossomed into a beautiful young woman and started attending a university. She came to know many students from diverse backgrounds. Then, one day, she met a young, lithe, and handsome Somali man who hailed from Jlib, Somalia. The man, she thought, combined a brilliant mind, disarming modesty, and a buoyant spirit. There was an incredible chemistry between the two and they became attracted to one another. The young lady was so excited that she invited her Somali friend home for dinner. She had already told her parents about the young man, and related the fact that she wanted to marry him. Her father was especially pleased that his daughter was, finally, heeding to his persistent advice that she marry a Somali man.

The young woman and her family were excited about the meeting until the young man showed up. The father was speechless when he saw the man who had been courting his daughter. His wife, however, was jovial and courteous. The father took his daughter aside and asked, in a voice thick with sarcasm, “What the hell are you doing to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is this the guy that you told me about?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Girl, don’t you know that this young man is Bantu?”

“Bantu?”

“Yes”.

“But he is Somali, Dad. Remember, you always told me to marry a Somali man”

“You don’t understand my daughter. This is not the kind of Somali I was telling you about”.

“What is the problem?”

“I know I did tell you to marry Somali, but…”

“But what! Besides, he is Muslim too”.

The father saw the proposed marriage as being apocalyptically bad. He had a certain ‘image’ to maintain in the Somali community, where gossip could easily incubate and flourish. He was perplexed as to how the Bantu man buffaloed his way into his household. His wife, though, offered a ringing endorsement of the marriage. She was fully aware of the kind of experience she had undergone when she married outside of her race. She questioned why her husband went into a panic mode like someone experiencing cardiac arrest. It was obvious that her husband took umbrage with the fact that the young man was not from the “right clan”. Why, she wondered, was her husband oblivious to his own past?

“Don’t you remember how my family initially treated you, ignored you, and discriminated against you,” She asked.

In an ironic twist, the father started accepting the inevitability of his daughter’s marriage to the young man. He did not have the mettle to wage the type of fight that would alienate his daughter forever.

“Now I understand what the late American novelist John Updike was initially facing when one of his daughters married a Ghanaian,” the Father said with chuckles. “Even among blacks, there is some sort of stratum that is unacceptable.” The man realized that he had to conquer his own prejudices. Updike’s memoir, Self-Consciousness, was dedicated to his two half-African grandsons, and, in a letter in the book addressed to them, he assured them that Americans were, after all, a people “with mixed blood”. The novelist’s son also married a Kenyan.

Note: I want to thank my friend, I. Warsame, in Ohio, for sharing this story with me.

Confessions of a Reformed Mooryaan*

“Mankind, even at its most depraved, retains a dogged, enduring nobility.” Leo Tolstoy.
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Guled (not his real name) ** hangs at a Somali restaurant in a major advanced city in the West. He is in his early forties, short and thin. He has a walrus mustache and a clean-cut soft black hair. When he talks to others, his eyes move around as if he is afraid of an ambush. He talks slowly but confidently. At times, his hands flail like a teacher instructing his pupils, but he seems to be polite and courteous. At the restaurant, the customers come and go, and he greets some of them like he is their buddy, and at times, teases some of them for eating ravenously.

“Slow down, uncle, there is no famine here”, Guled jokes.


“I am harboring an awful secret,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can you believe that none of these men know that I was once a hard-core criminal, a Mooryaan”?

“Hey you pass the hot sauce,” he shouts at a man next to his table.

Guled, indeed, had once a life replete with debauchery and decadence.

He was born in the rural areas of Central Somalia in 1970. He was the only child, and was raised by his single mother. His mother, a homemaker, owned a herd of goats.

“I was a herdsman,” says Guled, “and as a child, I had never been to school”.

Guled herded goats from sunrise to sunset; keeping an eye on them and taking them to the well. By the time he came home in the evenings, he was exhausted. His family lived in huts, with no electricity and no running water.

“I miss the simple life I led as a young man,” he laments.

When Guled was 21 years old, his life took a dramatic turn. He became a gunslinger. He said that he was getting tired of the peripatetic life of a herdsman.

“I was looking ways to get out of the provinces,” Guled added, “and venture into Mogadishu”. To him, Mogadishu, the capital of Somalia, was a place full of excitements; cars, tall buildings, good food, wealth, etc.

In the early 1990s, and at the peak of Somalia’s civil war, representatives of Warlord Mohamed Farah Aidid were roving in Central Somalia- near Dhusa Mareb- recruiting young people to join his United Somali Congress (USC) militia. Guled, who had a smattering knowledge of the use of AK-47, was thrilled, and immediately joined the militia. General Aidid was the warlord who became the object of an American hunt during the infamous incident of Black Hawk.

“The movie Black Hawk Down failed to capture how gallantly the Somalis fought, and repelled the American Rangers,” boasts Guled. “I felt proud to be Somali during those historic skirmishes”.

Contrary to popular belief, the Mooryaan do not get salaries from their warlords. They have to fetch for their own food and secure their housing. The gunslingers are, however, expected to avail themselves for battles, or manning the many illegal check points that had proliferated in Mogadishu in the 1990s and early 2000s.

Guled’s typical day, as a bandit, was spending hours chewing Kat, a stimulant drug commonly used in East Africa and Yemen, robbing innocent pedestrians and drivers that came through the various checkpoints he was stationed while in Mogadishu. At times, he joined combat warfare when his group attacked other militia groups to gain territorial edge. In essence, in the streets of Mogadishu, every day was a fight for survival.

Guled said that he had once overheard two Somalis in a restaurant in the West reminiscing about the good old day of Mogadishu. One of the men said that he had missed attending concerts in the Chinese-built Somali National Theatre. “I kept quiet and laughed because I was present when that historic theater was being stripped to the core by Mooryaan while I chewed Kat in one of the corners of the theater,” he said.

Guled’s life in Mogadishu in the 1990s was pregnant with danger. He stated that he was operating in a complicated and callous world. There were at least several times, he claims, that he had come close to losing his life when rival militia groups ambushed his gang.
“If you live by the gun,” Guled says, “you have to be ready to die by the gun.”

One day, something strange happened. Guled, surrounded by a galaxy of bandits, saw a group of Mooryaan trying to rape a Madhiban woman and her young daughter who were trying to cross a check-point. The Madhiban people are a minority clan in Somalia that has been historically discriminated against by other Somalis. The Mooryaan had already robbed the Madhiban family, and on top of that, they wanted to humiliate these poor women by physically assaulting them. Guled recounted, in a painful detail, how he had to intervene, in the nick of time, to save the women by firing shots at the bandits until they dispersed. He rescued the victims, gave them some money, and took them to safety. Guled’s own colleagues hurled curses at him for spoiling the party. Guled, apparently, had committed an egregious act for firing at a bunch of Mooryaan and, hence, endangering the lives of his compatriots, just to save some unrelated women. His Mooryaan companions were flummoxed, and had difficulty understanding Guled’s intrinsic motivation for saving the women. Guled says now that he himself did not know, at the time, what led to his “heroic act” in that memorable day.

In 1996, the murder of General Mohamed Farah Aidid seemed to presage the inevitable demise of Guled’s career as a Mooryaan. Guled admits that Mogadishu became awash with many gunslingers that were competing in a shrinking market. It became like a small pond, he admits, with lots of crocodiles. But his biggest reason of disenchantment with the Mooryaan was when a captain of his gang left one of his wounded colleagues behind. Guled felt powerless and, hence, became bitter. He became convinced that the same fate awaited him if he ever got injured. He never saw his colleague again.

Moreover, Guled’s longtime ambition of being a young man from the provinces determined to make his mark in Mogadishu did not come to fruition. Something started gnawing at him that his life of crime was becoming a dead-end. It was time for him to move on. He said that he was suffering from crisis of confidence, and that he was emotionally and psychologically spent due to the unending battles in the streets of Mogadishu. But he had no serviceable skills that did not entail the commission of crime. Furthermore, he was illiterate. But he became determined to change his life and rehabilitate himself. He left for Ethiopia, a neighboring country, to get away from his wretched environment and the bad company he had kept.

When Guled arrived in the Somali region of Ethiopia, he had no money and no place to stay. He had no choice but to ask strangers to give him food and shelter. A Somali man in the town of Jigjiga befriended him and, perhaps, gave him a lifetime advice. The man encouraged Guled to go to a literacy school and take every opportunity to get better. He took the advice to the heart and enrolled in an evening adult school in Jigjiga. That was the first time in his life, Guled grins with a smirk on his face, that he had started holding a pen, not a gun, and a book. Guled was excited with the beginning of a new chapter in his life.

After two years in Jigjiga, Guled became acclimated with his new life in Ethiopia. He was getting financial assistance from his relatives in Europe and North America, and was still enrolled in the adult literacy program.

One day in early 2000, while walking in a market in Jigjiga, he heard a muffled sound that was coming from a female walking behind him. Someone was calling his name. He looked behind his back and surprisingly saw the young Madhiban woman whom he had rescued in Mogadishu several years earlier. There was a sense of jubilation, Guled said, as the two greeted each other warmly. “Mariam” (not her real name) was shocked to find Guled in Jigjiga and asked him what he was doing there.

“I am in school”, Guled replied.

“What are you studying?”

Guled says that he felt a tinge of embarrassment, and told Mariam that he was actually studying the Somali language.

Mariam immediately realized that he was studying literacy because the two were already conversing in Somali, their native language, but instead, she offered gushing praise for Guled’s aptitude for learning. She was going back to where she came from in the West three days later and gave him money. The two exchanged contact information and went their separate ways.
Then, the phone calls between Guled and Mariam ensued. It became apparent that the two were gravitating to one another. After a few months, Guled says that the two fell in love.

Although Guled was called many things in his life, “romantic” was not one of them.
“I have never met a human being who is so caring and non-judgmental than Mariam”, Guled said. “She never said a word to me, or to anyone, that I was once a Mooryaan.”

Guled characterizes Mariam as a woman with sunny disposition who has been bent on promoting him, not demoting him.

But the couple’s courtship set a storm of protest from their respective families. Mariam’s family was concerned that their daughter, a naturalized citizen in a Western country, was being used by someone whom they wryly called “a loser” with no good future in sight. Guled was portrayed by Mariam’s family as a sycophant and an opportunist desperate to get out of Africa, by any means necessary, even if it meant latching himself onto a decent, hard-working single woman.

Guled’s family greeted his future plan of marrying a Madhiban woman with skepticism and hostility. He was urged to marry a woman from his own clan. Guled was not in the mood of listening to anybody whom he felt was intent on sabotaging his burgeoning relationship with Mariam.

“It took a lot of discipline to maintain calm,” states Guled.

Mariam, on her side, saw something in Guled that was promising. She believed that he was a changed man who was trying his best to ameliorate his condition. She sponsored him to join her in the West, and the couple got married. Upon arrival in the West, Mariam told Guled that she would work for their family for the first six months while he studied the local language. Guled did not waste time and started attending an adult school several hours a day. Then, he found a job which entailed to providing services to the public.

Guled and Mariam have been married for nine years and have six children.

“I am a blessed man,” beams Guled. “I am no longer clannish or thuggish”.

Guled’s children are still young and are, of course, oblivious to their father’s dangerous past. “Human beings do have capacity for change, if given an opportunity,” opines Guled. “I can’t stand those who give excuses or wallow in past grievances”.

Guled has given his wife credit for playing a crucial role in his dramatic transformation. He recounts a story he had heard about a young man running late for a job interview. On his way, he saw a woman standing in the street, during morning rush hour, and next to her idle car. The young man became ambivalent about proceeding for his job interview or stopping and helping the stranded woman. He did the latter knowing that he would be late for his appointment. The man changed the tire for the woman and she thanked him and left. The young man arrived for his appointment twenty minutes late, and was ushered in an office to see the personnel manager. He was shocked to see the very woman he had just helped ready to interview him. In short, the man got the job because the manager told him that he was a fine young man “who cared”.

“I feel that my wife gave me a second chance because she pumped vitality into my moribund life,” says Guled.” She has taught me humility, pride, and empathy.”

Notes

**Mooryaan is a Somali word which means an outlaw, a bandit in the service of a Somali warlord or for himself. The word can be singular or plural. The Mooryaan commit an assortment of crimes such as murder, rape, assault, burglary, road-blocking, and abusing drugs.

** This is a true story. The identity and the location of the Reformed Mooryaan are kept confidential.

The Children Are Not OK: Tragedy In Kentucky

There has been a recent spike of violence in the Somali Diaspora against Somali women.

On or about October 19, 2010, a Somali man allegedly killed his wife in Norway and then stuffed her body into the trunk of their car. The man proceeded to use the car for his daily errands, including driving their young sons, ages 5 and 4, to school. Four months later, when the car broke down, the Norwegian police discovered the frozen body of his wife.

In 2009, another Somali man, Mustafa Farah, 51, who was living in the United Kingdom, allegedly strangled his young bride, Naima Mohamed Moalim, 31, only three days after she had arrived from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, to join him.

In 2009, In Kansas City, Missouri, Hussein A. Ahmed, 27, was charged with molesting his stepdaughter and then killing his wife, Halimo Ahmed, 49. Mr. Ahmed had married his late brother‘s wife and was raising his nephews and nieces. According to court documents, Ahmed allegedly started molesting his stepdaughter in 2004, when she was 12, and impregnated her by the time she was 14.

Each of these cases will be examined separately in future articles. In this piece, a grim tale of physical and psychological violence in Kentucky will be addressed.
***
It was Friday morning, October 6th, 2006, when Said Biyad, a Somali Bantu immigrant, walked into the Louisville Metro Police headquarters and calmly told homicide detectives, “I just killed my family”.

The family consisted of his estranged wife, Fatuma Amir, 29, and their four children; Sidi, age eight, Fatuma, age seven, Khadija, age four, and Goshany, who was only two years old. The wife survived but the children were found dead, their throats slashed with a hunting knife.

In a taped police interview that would later haunt him, Mr. Biyad, 42, provided a motive for the violence he had inflicted upon his family. He said that his wife had disrespected him. Mr. Biyad would later enter a plea of “not guilty” during his arraignment.

According to Louisville Police, the murders were the results of an argument between Biyad and his wife over the children. Biyad told the police that he had forced his wife to have sex with him, and then he hit her twice with a hammer. When his wife regained consciousness, Biyad approached her with a knife, but she managed to run to one of the bedrooms and lock the door. It was then that Biyad allegedly killed his four children; two were in bed and the other two were in the kitchen. Gail Norris, a deputy coroner with the Jefferson County Medical Examiner’s Office, declared that the Biyad children were stabbed to death and that the older ones showed defensive wounds on their hands and arms.

In broken English, Biyad told the police, “I cried and wash my hands in the kitchen. I said, ‘What am I doing?’ Where am I supposed to go? I don’t know.” He pleaded to the police, “please arrest me…It is not right, I did bad things. It’s not right.”

Louisville detectives initially thought that Biyad was crazy because of his calm admission of a graphic and grisly crime. At times, his account was incoherent due to a language barrier. A detective called dispatch and asked that a police unit go out and check the well-being of Biyad’s family and added “I am here with a guy….He is claiming that he killed his wife and kids, but it might, I think, it’s gonna be a CIT situation”. CIT refers to the police department’s crisis intervention unit which deals with the mentally ill. But when the patrol unit went to Fatuma Amir’s apartment, they found a blood path.

This case has been going on for more than four years. There have been numerous pretrial, competency, and status hearings, and one motion hearing. The trial has been continued numerous times. The latest delay came on January 27, when the trial was pushed back once again—from February 8 to April 18. The reason: Mr. Biyad’s “medical condition”.

Mental Competency

One of the main contentious issues of the Biyad case is his mental competency. Was Said Biyad insane when he allegedly committed such heinous crimes? Is he mentally fit to stand trial?
Biyad’s attorney has attempted to use the insanity defense but the prosecutors have argued otherwise.

So far, there are two conflicting assessments of Mr. Biyad’s mental competency. According to psychologist Greg Perri, Biyad, once a patient at Kentucky Correctional Psychiatric Center, had shown signs of irrationality and delusion but he later improved. There was a time, according to Dr. Perri, when Biyad refused to cooperate with the staff unless certain visitors, including his wife, were allowed to visit him. There were other times that Biyad said little or kept talking incessantly about issues that were not pertinent to the topic at hand. But as time went by, according to Dr. Perri, Biyad’s symptoms of delusion and irrationality began to fade away. Dr. Perri concluded that Biyad was mentally fit.

But Dr. Wayne Herner, a psychologist with the Kentucky Department of Corrections, had a

different assessment of Biyad. He saw signs of schizophrenia in Biyad. Dr. Herner argued that Biyad was delusional and barely scored above what is generally considered to be mentally disabled on a competency test. “He is a very disturbed individual,” said Dr. Herner. “I didn’t see any evidence that would lead me to believe he can make rational decisions.”

Among Biyad’s delusions are his belief that he is a multimillionaire and a man “with celebrity status” who is being chased by four men who want to kill him. Biyad also claimed, according to Dr. Herner’s court testimony, that his own attorney was a policeman who wanted to trick him. Another time, Biyad claimed that Arabs were trying to track him and kill him.

Judge James Shake has been assigned to hear his case and will issue a verdict. The Judge has already ruled twice that the defendant was competent to stand trial. That means Biyad knows the nature and object of the court proceedings and the potential penalties he faces if found guilty. Biyad has opted for a bench trial, which means Judge Shake will serve as both judge and jury.

Videotaped Statements

Another pertinent issue about the Biyad case is his initial interview with the police which was taped and presented to the court as evidence. Biyad’s lawyer filed a motion to suppress his client’s recorded confessions, and brought up the issue of the defendant’s limited knowledge of English, but to no avail.

To the government, Biyad‘s crime is an open and shut case; the defendant murdered his own children, raped his wife, and then assaulted her with a blunt object. Moreover, Biyad himself admitted the crime. While the government plans to present other evidence, Biyad’s own statements, which are damning and incriminating, will play a crucial role in his fate.

Death Penalty
The prosecutors of the Biyad case are asking for the death penalty if the defendant is found guilty. The charges against Biyad are murder, attempted murder, rape and assault. Not every murder case in Kentucky is eligible for the death penalty. It is only murders with aggravating circumstances that the death penalty is applied. In Biyad’s case, there are potentially two aggravating circumstances: the use of a weapon that could be hazardous to more than one person and the intentional murder of more than one person.

The United States is only one of several developed countries that have capital punishment (Japan, Singapore, Taiwan, and South Korea being the others). The American public has constantly supported capital punishment. In a poll by Gallop conducted in October 2009, 65 percent of Americans supported the death penalty for individuals convicted of murder, while 31 percent were against it, and 5 percent did not have an opinion.
In the State of Kentucky, there are already 39 inmates on the death row. About 30 of them are
Whites, 8 are Black, and 1 is Hispanic.

For Biyad’s case, the issue of death penalty and his mental competency, once again, will surface, if he is found guilty. Prosecutors offered Biyad a plea; plead guilty to murder and serve life without the possibility of parole. But Biyad rejected the offer.

Politics

To what extent does politics play in the Biyad case?

Judge Shake is an elected and experienced judicial officer. He was, until a year ago, the Chief Circuit Court of Jefferson County. He is very popular among Louisville lawyers who practice in the Jefferson County Courts. In a poll done by the Louisville Bar Association in May 2009, Judge Shake received the highest approval rating from lawyers—97 percent. It was, however, two points lower than the ranking he got in 2006. “I don’t know of an elected official who wouldn’t be thrilled with that kind of approval rating,” he told the Louisville Courier_Journal.

The role politics plays in judicial trials is often difficult to gauge. Judges like Shake, however, hold elected office. Two years ago, Shake narrowly lost a bid to become Justice of the Kentucky Supreme Court. His current position is up for re-election in 2014.

Remembering the Kids

The Somalis in Louisville and residents of that city were appalled by the killings of the Biyad children. Fatuma Amir, their mother, according to a community member and a friend of her family, was inconsolable.

Fatuma and her children had been living in Louisville since 2005 after she apparently left her husband under cloudy circumstances. She and Biyad came to the United States as refugees in 2004 and were settled in Portland, Oregon.

Said Biyad and his wife had a volatile relationship, and there is a case in Oregon of domestic violence referral. One day, according to public records, the couple had a verbal argument and the police were eventually called in and Fatuma was taken to the emergency room for drinking Bleach. It is not clear whether Said Biyad forced his wife to drink Bleach or what the circumstance was that led to her consumption of the chemical. Fatuma Amir decided to leave Oregon, along with her children, and settled in Louisville. Biyad stayed behind in Portland.

According to court documents, Biyad told the Louisville police that his wife had invited him several weeks before the murders to come to Kentucky so they could reconcile. Fatuma Amir was living in Iroquois Homes, a dangerous public housing project, in which many crimes take place. Iroquois Homes was once featured in the popular crime show, “The First 48 Hours”. The reconciliation apparently did not work as Biyad complained that he was treated with disrespect by his wife. There were instances where he was forced to sleep away from the apartment. The cause of the murders precipitated a deluge of rumors and gossip in the Somali community. The tricky thing about the couple’s union is parsing facts from fiction. According to court transcripts, the couple had disagreements about their children. Moreover, Biyad told the police that his wife had threatened to lock him up.

Goshany was a toddler and stayed home, and Khadija attended a preschool program at Dawson Orman Educational Center. Sidi and Fatuma were students at Stonestreet Elementary School. According to the school principal, Carol Bartlett, Sidi and Fatuma were “sweet, loving, precious children” and that they would be missed. When asked about the children’s academic performance, the principal said, “I could not have gone to another country and done as well as they did”.

Christopher 2X (that is his real name) is a well-known community activist in Louisville and is the Founder of FIGHT CRIME AGAINST CHILDREN Partnership. He has been concerned about the loss of the Biyad children and the lack of remorse on the part of Biyad. To Christopher, Biyad had confessed the crime to the police but now he is singing a different tune. Christopher 2X pointed out a statement made by Biyad in court denying the killings. Biyad, in that hearing, was flanked by two court interpreters, but he spoke in plain English and stated that he did not kill his children and that someone else committed the crime. “I loved my children,” Biyad added.

There was once an American Social Worker in California with long and varied experience in working with different refugee communities. She had travelled extensively in the world and found the Somalis to be highly unique. “What amazes me about Somalis,” she once told this writer, “is how every time I meet them, the first question they ask me is ‘how are the children’”. Unfortunately, for the Biyad family, the children are anything but all right.

TFG Leaders Abroad: Who Is Watching the House?

“What is the difference between a vulture and a TFG President?
A TFG President gets Frequent-Flier Mileage”. An Old ‘Amended’ Lawyer Joke
***
In the late 1970s, I was an independent student in Cairo preparing for the General Certificate Examination (GCE). I had a great deal of discretionary time and was fortunate enough to have landed a job with the Somali Airlines office in Egypt. One day, the prominent Somali radio broadcaster Yassin Haji Ismail, came to our office along with another man. I asked Mr. Ismail where he was headed. He told me that he and his colleague were the nucleus of a Somali delegation going to Belgrade, Yugoslavia, to attend a conference. I curiously asked him when such a gathering was supposed to commence. “Actually, the conference ended yesterday but we are going there any way,” replied Mr. Ismail. I was baffled by his nonchalant answer but kept quiet because, by this time, I had a fair idea what these government delegations were all about. I saw many government ministers going through Cairo at the time and doing anything but diligently representing their country. I knew of some ministers who were especially fond of belly dancers as well as Cairo’s burgeoning night life.

It was already embarrassing that Somalia had missed that Yugoslav conference but at least Mr. Ismail’s delegation was small and much less cumbersome.

In the span of one week in January 2011, the TFG President, Sheikh Sharif, Prime Minister Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed “Farmajo”, Speaker of the House Sharif Hassan Sheikh Aden, and several other ministers were out of Somalia at the same time. I kept wondering what was left of what was only last week characterized by the UN Special Envoy to Somalia, Ambassador Mahiga, as a “lean” and “technocratic” cabinet. These leaders’ trips covered at least four of the five continents. All these leaders, obviously, would justify their official visits, but I wonder who was actually watching the house during their absence.

President Sheikh Sharif, the Interior Minister, the Minister of State for Foreign Affairs, and a number of parliamentarians arrived in Djibouti on January 16th. The presidential visit was described as a series of consultations with leaders of the host country as well as participating in the launching of police training for 500 Somali recruits that is currently being offered by AMISOM. Then on January 18th, Sheikh Sharif and his entourage left for Egypt to attend an Arab League conference that was supposed to discuss, among other things, the recent upheavals in Tunisia.

That same week, the Speaker of the parliament also attended a conference in the UAE for Muslim parliamentarians.

Perhaps, the most embarrassing conference was the one that took place in Oslo, Norway. Three separate Somali delegations went to that country to participate in a conference that was supposed to tackle Somalia’s security and humanitarian issues. First, the Somali Ambassador to EU and Italy, Nur Adde, and Mogadishu Mayor, Mohamoud Ahmed Nur “Tarzan”, came together; Then the TFG Foreign Minister, Mohamed Abdullahi Omaar, came with his delegation, and finally Deputy Minister in the TFG Prime Minister’s Office, Sahro Mohamed Ali Samatar, came with her own delegation. The conference was organized by the Nordic Union of Somali Peace and Development organizations. All the guests were speaking on behalf of the TFG but each delegation was surprised to see the other. The Norwegian government officials must have been confused by the presence of these Somali officials in their midst.

Can anyone blame the TFG leaders for escaping the claustrophobic environment of Villa Somalia?

At least one TFG Minister, Dr. Abdinur Mohamed, was in Pakistan meeting with Somali students. The Education minister is an old buddy of mine and we both graduated from the same university in Ohio. Although I haven’t seen or talked to Dr. Abdinur since 1986, I wasn’t surprised that his mission to Pakistan seemed productive. Abdinur is a hardworking man with exceptional leadership qualities.

Prime Minister Farmajo went to the U.N, gave a speech there, had a break to visit his family in Buffalo, NY, and then left for Italy to attend a conference there.

Are all of these conferences important enough for such high-ranking Somali officials to attend?
For instance, the Arab League conference in Egypt was attended by a handful of head of states. Many countries were represented by foreign ministers.

I guess there are more questions than answers regarding this phenomenon of frequent-flier mileages.

Sheikh Sharif has more frequent-flier mileage in his two-year tenure as TFG President than Siad Barre had in 21 years of ruling Somalia. But then, Barre did not have to worry about a radical group gunning for him every time he left Villa Somalia. Barre rarely attended UN sessions, OAU gatherings, or Arab League conferences during his tenure.

I hope the TFG leaders will stay in Villa Somalia for the remaining seven months of their term and start working on some of the pressing issues that need to be tackled before launching another flurry of air travel; prompting screams of what Italians would say, “Chi sta badando la casa?” (Who is making sure that the house [is being watched]?).