The bond we forged

I was looking for a few papers for my mother the other day that required me to go digging into the family archive. As I sifted through boxes I came across memories of bygone days. Memories of moments treasured forever in my heart.

When I was young I used to hear the adage that girls marry men like their fathers. I used to want to marry a man like my father. A gentle man who encouraged me and nurtured me. A man who taught me to stand for what I believe in no matter what. A man who sat me on his lap each afternoon to work on crosswords puzzles, who on a trip together struggled with a comb and hair band to make me look decent (which I didn't) and one who always stood up for me.

There are many things I regret in my life. My decision to isolate myself from my father might be a costly one that I will probably regret for a long time coming. Somethings once said cannot be taken back and somethings once done can never be undone. We live with these decisions and their consequences day in and day out but one thing is for sure, no one can love me like my father and no one can ever take his place in my heart. I hope, inshallah, to one day find a way to bridge the rift that has opened up between us and till then I find comfort in this song.

Your Joy by Chrisette Michele

Walked down the sidewalk
Starin' at your feet
Wishin' my steps were longer
So by your sides I could keep

Hold your hand much bigger
Never wanted mine to grow
So I could always feel perfect
Inside your palms just so

No one loves me just like you do
No one knows me just like you do
No one can compare
To the way my eyes fit in yours

You'll always be my father
And I'll always be your joy

Laid me on your belly
Nights when mama wasn't home
Lightning had made me shiver
And you never let me feel alone

I tried to match your breathing
Beating my little heart against yours
Perfect were the nights, we were sleepin'
I never wanna end what we are

'Cause no one loves me just like you do
And no one knows me just like you do
No one can compare
To the way my eyes fit in yours

You'll always be my father
And I'll always be your joy

One day he'll come on bended knee
And ask my love away from thee
And when I give my love to him
He'll always have a place within

One day he'll come on bended knee
And ask my love away from thee
And when I give my love to him
He'll always have a place within

No one loves me just like you do
No one knows me just like you do
No one can compare
To the way my eyes fit in yours

You'll always be my father
And I'll always be your joy

O, I miss you

Dear O,

Tomorrow is the day my mother gave birth to you 29 years ago. I wonder how you are? If you are well? If you are happy? As I write this post I cry because I think of how lonely it is not to have a family around you. It has been three years since I saw you and two years since I spoke to you. I know that you are estranged from the family but I can't deny the ache I feel everytime I think of you and what has become of you. Will you ever forgive us? us you? I love you no matter what and I am not sure you believe that but you must, since you call me whenever you need me. Its the times in between that I worry about you the most, for I have no inkling of where you lay your head. I pray that you are happy in your life. I pray that you find peace in life. I pray that you forgive your parents for their decisions and forgive me for keeping away from you. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday in my own way. I wanted to tell you I miss you, a lot. May God smile graciously on you today and all days. Be safe my brother for my life wouldn't be the same if you weren't alive and for that I dedicate this to you on your birthday. I love you. Always.

Your sister forever,

L

Thought of the day

I saw this and thought to myself how times have changed. I miss the days when my mom asked me where I came from when I strolled in, not that I came home at odd hours, its just that I had a guilty look. I remember once during winter, I walked in with chapped lips that I had been licking all day and my mom thought I had been snogging some poor fella. I had to give her a good 15 mins explaination as to why my lips looked red and irritated.

Now that I have proved myself to be a miskiin she doesn't check up on me as she used to. At times she even gives me a wide berth making me feel guilty when I arrive home anytime after midnight. Cherish those moments gals (I can't believe I am saying that) for when your momma stops asking you where you have been it means its time for you to get hitched to a band-wagon.

The End is near.

I am somehow here writing about the end of Ramadhan. Most of you will agree with me that it has flown by unnoticed. I noticed. This is the first Ramadhan that I have been tired and worn out. At times, even sujuuding during Taraweh seemed to frighten my knees. I am not sure if its age making its claim on my body or my body screaming that it needs nourishment. Alaayeta3al, its almost done right? Nope.

Last week as I looked at my calender, I started getting my ducks in a row. Eid was near and I had to get certain things done. Shopping was at the top of the list. Don't you hate shopping in crowds? I do, I detest it with a passion. This year I was going to do things differently. I took my sisters shopping 1 & 1/2 weeks before Eid. Just in time to get the new shipment of skirts and easy pickings. Each of them has three outfits and an abaya for prayers. Magda, the Egyptian abaya lady, knows me from my abayas. I don't get my abayas from her. Since going to Egypt I bought a ton of them plus I have a source who sends them to me once in a while. This year, she asked if I had my abaya ready and I said no.

She smiled and went on to talk with my sisters regarding who fasted the most. My youngest sibling won that contest and got a huge hug from Magda. I knew she was helping me in putting positive reinforcements that fasting is a wonderful thing to do as muslims, and I loved Magda for that. I looked left and right at the abayas and I knew at the mosque every somali would be donning one. I choose a couple for my siblings and talked some more about Egypt with Magda. She wanted the number of the English speaking taxi driver who drove me around while I was in Egypt (did I ever tell you guys that story?)

I promised to text her the number and went home laden with shopping bags. That night I got a call from my mother. She had somehow gotten from Somalia to the Middle East. Knowing my obsession with abayas, she asked me if I wanted some. I yelled with glee and the volume increased when she told me she had already sent them ahead. I thought, Alhadullilah one thing less to worry about.

Then I remembered about Zakatul Fitr. I had to pay it this year and I didn't know if I had to do it for my siblings too since I was the taking care of them now. As I was mulling this over, one of my siblings came in to talk to me (this sibling we lovingly call sheikha). I told her what I was worried about and she waved it off telling me that my dad had taken care of it. Huh? I remembered that my dad had called at the beginning of Ramadhan to let me know that he was going for Umrah. Apparently at the time he told my sister he had paid for all our Zakat including my mom. Yeah, another one bites the dust!

I took my days off from work and I will be family hopping, giving hugs to extended families, giving money to lil kids and kicking back this Eid. I am excited that I probably pulled off the least nerve racking Eid ever. Alls left to do is make deserts for the house and coordinate prayer transportation.

Eid Mubarak to everyone. Spend time with your family and kiss/hug them to bits.Finally, I hope you all gathered your blessing of Ramadhan and continue in the spirit.

Shady Business Practices

I have a bug in my bonnet the last couple days and its over shady business practices. I decided I was going to write about my experience with this business as a warning for those who live in the Midwest area. It is a Somali owned travel agency. It is located in downtown Minneapolis around 9th street. My first brush with them was through a cousin of mine. We were catching up about life and I asked him when his wife was coming back to the US. At once he got angry and started about a travel agent he used to get his wife a round trip ticket from US to Kenya and back. On the day of her return flight, she was informed at the airport that there was no booking for her ticket. She had three days to get back before school opens for her children and her vacation time ran out. It was summer and most of the flights were booked solid. My poor cousin was livid to hear that the travel agency had taken payment from him but had not bothered to pay for the return portion of the ticket. Apparently they put a hold on a ticket and print out the itinerary for you. This hold is valid for a couple days I think and you leave thinking that you have everything sorted out. They don't make the payment in time and the ticket gets dropped and they have to scramble to find you another ticket. I sympathized with him because he spent his nights online looking for a return ticket for his wife.


Winter came and I had completely forgotten about my cousin and the travel agency. I got the opportunity to fly to visit my great grandma and grandma. I was so excited. My friend in North Carolina recommended his brother in Rochester. He was doing me a favor and hooking me up with what he thought would be a pleasant experience. I am all for putting money back in our community and making it flourish. I rarely eat at other places other than Arabic/Indian/Somali/Mexican, but I digress. Long story short I got shuffled from Rochester to Al-Amin travel in Minneapolis. I was on my wits end by that time because I had been given an itinerary four diff times. The trip was to be paid for by mom's business. At first they said fine and came by and took a photocopy of the card plus the ID of the business manager. Two days later they call me and say that Northwest don't take third party credit cards for passengers. What? Thats unlikely because I have bought tickets for people before and I never had a problem. So I called Northwest and they confirmed that if they didn't take third party credit cards they would have a hard time with parents shuffling the kids back for Christmas breaks and stuff. I called them back and told them what Northwest said, there was a mumble and then the stubborn somaliness reared its head. Before I lost my temper, I just asked him how much the ticket went up since this whole thing started. From $1600 to $2100. I bit back a curse that was fighting its way up my throat. I told him I would be by to pick up my tickets and would bring cash. Nearly in tears due to frustrations, I called my cousin and while he calmed me down he listened to me. He asked me the agency's name and I told him. I laughed! "Didn't I tell you my experience and here you are doing the same thing." I was confused at first then I remembered his problem last summer. I could have hit my head on the steering wheel. There was nothing to do now, because there ere less weeks left in my vacation and my grand-ma was waiting. I got the cash and went to the agency. Hands akimbo, I asked him to verify every flight of mine right then and there. For the international flight I got paper tickets for departure but not arrival. He explained that on my flight back Kenya Airway will provide the return tickets. I gave him my "I don't take BS and if you screw me over, you wish you had died" look. Leaning over the table and place my fingers on them, I told him I didn't want to have problems on my way back otherwise they will have more than they have bargained for. He got up and went to get me the tickets only to come back to say the printer is broken and can I come back later to pick them up. Do I look like I don't have anything better to do? Can you drop them off at my moms? Sure. I had barely taken two steps outside when my cell rang and my mom was pissed cause I used this travel agency when I could have used hers. I told her I didn't have any control they shuffled me from Rochester to here. She said she ran into the owner and he told her about me and my flight times.

Fast forward now. My brother in law is in the same predicament. I really could care less but its my sister who is suffering. He is supposed to be back from Somalia yesterday but they screwed up his tickets. I called the agency to ask them if there was something they could do. The guy was rude to me purporting that he couldn't divulge any passenger information to me. I wasn't asking for his stupid information. You have him on leash and you seem to be playing games. You are upsetting my sister and in turn in upsets me. If she calls you is there any way you can help her? The same stupid answer. He knew who I was. He knew who I was calling about. Something sparked in my memory. I remembered how my mom found out I was using his travel agency. "You didn't seem to be so concerned about that when you told my mom about my flights last winter.How come the double standard?" He kept silent then told me if I have a problem to call my brother in law. By that time I was seeing red. My sister keeps asking me everyday if there is something I can do. That in it of itself is another drama but all experiences with this agency seem to reinforce the idea that some people are not there to provide a service for their community but rather are there to take advantage of them. I asked around and there are many bad things said about their business practices yet I have never seen a review against them. They have the perfect location to look decent and legit but there is no doubt in my mind that this is a shady operation at best. I am sure if Northwest knew they said that about their business they would have something to say about that. Don't let this happen to you. I have decided when it comes to traveling I am sticking to my online sources.

4th July

So 4th of July was preplanned for me. I had errands to run in the morning and in the evening I was going to take the kids to Valleyfair. Its sort of a ritual for me because I get to spend some time with them without getting a sore voice. Last year I forewent the ritual because a week later I was taking them to Six Flags. Anywho, the gang and I pack lunch and drinks for the trip. I took my camera cause my cuzs from Sweden were visiting and I wanted to chronicle their time in the US. Since its been a couple years, I didn't have a clear picture of what I would see, but nothing could prepare me for that day. From the ticket booth to inside the park I saw a bunch of loitering somalis. Young boys who did nothing but stare at people entering. They even tried to hustle me by offering me a discount for a bit of money. Next was the amount of young girls walking around in skimpy outfits with guys hanging on their arms. A decade ago when I moved to MN, I went to valleyfair annually. The atmosphere was different then. You saw proper young ladies with their family dressed decently. Now, instead of family it was boyfriends. As I was standing in line with my siblings, I looked across the queue and noticed a group of rowdy somali guys and girls. Next to us were two African American women. They looked at the group then looked at us, then back at the loud talking group. One of them started a sentence, "I thought they were supposed to be dressed **mumble mumble**." She had noticed me looking at her. She smiled at me and turned towards her friend. I could feel my face getting red but I wasn't entirely sure if I was mad at the group of somalis or at the expectation to be the same.

I normally don't care what other do or wear but lately I get irritated at the direction our youth seems to be taking. I have to check my sister's attire as they step out the door. No jeans , no revealing, plunging neckline and no tight clothing. Is decency a lost art or am I old fashioned? Whatever the case, I have gotten into the habit of keeping my siblings away from the "dhocil" generation and I would rather they stay home and keep each other company!

Cooks and Kids

For shame. I haven't bothered with this corner of my world for while. I needed to come back and spruce things up a bit. Clean out the cobwebs, dust the shelves and whats more be inviting. I have become a full fledged momma now. I have embraced the fact my children will be my siblings and their kids. I have also embraced the fact that I might not ever get to bear my own children. Pessimistic as it may sound, its what proves to be my cross to bear. I was talking to my cousin brother the other day; see he feels he needs to talk to me to reassure himself that I am within my full mental faculties. He asked me how my children were, and I politely told him to piss off, my children haven't been born. Then we talked some more, in which time he spoke of how I do what most women and half the men can't do. As a final note he told me that the probability of a man to actually take me as a wife and therefore sign his life to bear my burdens would be slim. Por que? you may ask. Simply put my cuz told me I have too much baggage for a man to want to be with me. The nerve! I chided him that perhaps men weren't made as they used to be anymore. Touche!


Anyway, back to my spring cleaning. My mom is somewhere in Somalia at the moment. I fret over her. I am not sure how she is some days. My friends and family call to tell me news from Somalia everyday. Their concern for my mother and her well being is touching but at times I just wish they would keep their news to themselves. I also worry about my nephews living there. I plead with my mom when she calls to find them and return them back to the US but she adamantly refuses, citing that its unsafe for her to go to the enemies camp. With these thoughts in my head I had some extra time on Wednesday afternoon between work and school. All this energy and nowhere to channel them. I tried reading but no go, so I did the next best thing. I walked into the kitchen. I haven't cooked for weeks due to my schedule. I looked in the refrigerator and found some tilapia, coconut milk, tamarind and vegetables. I usually don't have a specific meal planned out, I go with my instincts. I boiled some water & dumped fettuccine in there. I chopped some tomatoes, marinated the tilapia in a sweet/spicy concoction I make and soaked my tamarind. Slowly my meal took shape. I ended up making fettuccine pasta, honey glazed tilapia, grilled potatoes with green/red peppers and raisins, mchuzi wa samaki wa kupaka and coleslaw salad with my own dressing. I spent an hour and half in the kitchen and when I was done I felt accomplished. My children were about to come home from school. I had just enough time to clean the kitchen and lay the table. Then my phone rung, It was one of my kids wanting a ride. I was back to the chaos that is my life and my couple hours as an accomplished chef was a dissipating dream quickly fading.

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The Female abuser

Last night as I got home from work, I sat on my bed contemplating my horrible day. My head was pulsating with an urgency, signaling the ever present headache. I reach out to grab my bottle of water and a couple tablets of my topamax. I knew it was no use because the migraine was going to be full fledged within an hour, but that didn't deter me from being optimistic. My head had barely touched the pillow when I heard raised voices from the living room. Not wanting to get up from sheer lack of energy, I listened to canopy ensuing between my younger brother and my younger sister. I told myself that they were old enough to resolve their differences without me getting involved each time. "Leylaaaaaaaaaa! Leeeeeeyla!" screamed my older sister as the tumbling of bodies echoed throughout the hallway. Pissed and irritated I get my butt out of bed to play the mediator. This was not a good day for me and I was stupid enough to believe I would find peace in this house. I walk into the living room to find my younger sister lying on the floor ,my older sister's body shielding her from the blows my brother was throwing. I almost burst out laughing but realize the seriousness of the situation and take action instead. I quickly maneuver my body in between my brother and my sisters. Planting my weight against the sofa I pushed him off them and turned my steely eyes to him. "What in the Hell do you think you are doing?" I yell. My older sister helps the younger one up and they all start speaking at the same time. I turn to the younger girl and tell her to shut up because her voice grates against my nerves. Facing the 5 ft 9 " teenager who seems to be ready to pounce on me, I ask my question again this time counting off my exasperation at this show of idiocracy.


The argument begun with my sister donning a pair of jeans and my brother, "the wadaad", ordering her not to step out the house with the jeans on. I smile as I listen to how passionately he positions his argument. Meanwhile, the chickenhead is slowly seeing that she will come out on the rosy side of things and start clucking her head off. I let her blow off stem for a while and pretty soon a shouting match ensues between her and her assailant. She turns on her heels and grabs the phone threatening to dial 911. He beats his chest and states he is not scared of 911 because his religion assures him he is right. My older sister looks to me for intervention and I can't be bothered to mother these two adolescents. I claim my phone back from the chickenhead and tell her to sit down and let me deal with this. She doesn't pay me any attention and keeps grating on my nerves with her shrill voice. **Slap**, I let my palm make my point, she instantly shuts up and sits down.

I turn my attention back to the so called "man" of the house. I lay down reasons why he can't raise a hand to her. She has parents who are living and breathing, she is not your wife nor your daughter, she is her own person and the most you can do is advice her on her course of action. "You and your western values, who do you think you are?" he throws it back in my face. I calmly look him in the eye and smirk, "I am the one who pays for your roof and your food." He opens his mouth to retort something but instead chooses to go to the bathroom to take a shower. I breath deeply as I try to fight the urge to punch the stupid out of him. I face my younger sister, by now she has a golf sized bulge on her head. I grab an ice pack from the freezer and slap it in her hand, after which I go off on her. I tell her how dumb she is that she can talk back to people but can't defend herself against a beating. She is asinine because this is the second time I bailed her out of an ass-whuping, courtesy of my brothers, due to her afka dheer. The last time she ended up with a grapefruit sized knob on her head. I shake my head at her and tell her to lie down. I grab my phone and proceed to let their mother know what happened and let her deal with the punishment.

The rest of the night went by relatively quiet. I sat up in my bed trying to nurse my migraine when my other sister came in from her night classes. I share with her the events of the night and we share a good laugh over how childish the squabble was, but we both understand there is a deeper issue we need to address; our brother's aggression against women. He seems angry at the world and more at women than anything. I can't seem to find an inlet in his psyche that I can penetrate and explore why he feels the way he does. My sister and I talk about the numerous ass whupping I used to deliver to my older brother everytime he felt an urge to exercise control. I used to be a tom-boy in my hey days and didn't take crap from anyone especially a man. If he could swing from the branches, so could I. If he could dive from the highest diving board, so could I. If he scored so many goals in soccer, I would work to score twice as much as he did. I was competitive and brazen. My best friends were male and I formulated my male ego, but I digress. My uncle had christened me Tyson. I had the knack of showing my frustration by punching something or somebody, but if I recall right he called me Tyson because one time my brother and I had a fight and my brother tried to defend himself by tangling my body with his and scratching my arms and face to stop the flurry of fists. I ended up doing more damage than he did, plus he left evidence of his attack while mine melted into his skin tone. The next day, my dad watched me out of the corner of his eyes noticing the scratch marks. That evening as my brother walked in from masjid, my dad lay in wait for him with a TV-VCR wire. I felt sorry for my brother at that time, but I remember thinking that he was learning a critical lesson and that was never to lay a hand on a woman. I can't help but make a comparison. I wish my younger brother could learn his lesson now otherwise I fear he will carry this mentality with him throughtout his life. The mentality that he is the man and therefore all should do as he wants. That he free to punish whenever & whoever he feels like. I am now scared of leaving the younger ones in his care due to his aggression.

Dire needs within my sphere.

I need a holiday. I am overworked and miserable. I have never hated going to work but after this week I am beginning to despise the darn place. Everytime I walk in the place is a mess and I have to clean it up. The person in charge always find managerial things to do instead of working. She is new to our team and I am personally beginning to despise her. I have never seen my boss so wound up, never seen Joe grumbling or cussing under his breath. Something has to give. There is no system in place. The workflow is hectic and personally I feel drained by the time I leave the pharmacy. I feel like I was mining instead of filling drugs. Ughhhhhh......I am in desparate need for a holiday. I am thinking of going to Egypt and spending the five weeks from school learning arabic and maybe doing some sightseeing. Moonlight boat trip on the nile, camel ride to the pyramids, ancient & vibrant culture, islamic enviroment, beautiful abayas, all this and getting away from my life propels me to ask for the weeks off from work. Normally, I would feel guilty for leaving my poor boss with a handful of competent staff but seriously he dug himself into this hole, he can get himself out of it by firing Ms Alabama. She just is not working out and is going to drive me bananas if I see any more 30+ Rx's sitting and waiting to be filled when I walk in!

My sisters are going to send me to my grave faster than death. One of the tween aged girls decides that whenever I am home I should be in the kitchen slaving for them. Excuse me but i finally got a day off from school, I got laundry piling up and sleep to catch up on. I felt guilty waking up at 10 am but to my amazement she turns to me, in her bed mind you, grumbling when I open the windows at 11am. Then, she proceeds to watch TV instead of cleaning the house. Finally, I just tell her politely that I will throw the big a$$ TV out the patio if she doesn't clean the house. I had a couple errands to do, so I left the house and when i come back she was right where I left her. Holy guacomole, do you isbeak ingris nayaa? I was fuming but I had other things to deal with, so I did my laundry and got ready for work. Work suxed. I came home and cleaned up my room and put away my clothes when the younger ones (8 and 10 yrs) decide to help me. Everything was going ok till one of them couldn't figure out how to plug in my charger (cell) and powered off my power supply. My laptop went dead and it won't turn back on. I called the company and they think my motherboard is fried! I was cussing like a drunk sailor. All my assignments were on my laptop, my articles, my lifeee..............I could have cried. Needless to say my little sister ran to her bed and promptly feel asleep. Now I am without a laptop (not really i can use the desktop and my sister's laptop but its not the same) till Tuesday when someone will come to replace my motherboard.

To calm down, I call my friend Tricia. She is asleep but she listens to me vent then she does some of her own venting. Someone finished off her last peanut butter and she was broke. Let me put this in context for all y'all going HUH? This girl is a strict vegetarian. She doesn't eat nor touch anything with meat in it and to compound things she is broke. She has been basically living off PnJ sandwiches (PeanutButter and Jelly). For two days she has been sleeping hungry. I could have wringed her neck. She talked to me the day before and it would only take me a minute to wire her some cash to tide her over till she starts her job next week. We talked a while about things with me pressing her for bank info but she declined saying I did enough. She cited how for the whole of last semester in uni I basically paid for her grocery since she didn't have a job. Why do people get so proud when it comes to help? Seriously, if you are dying of hunger tell someone. There is no need to punish your body because of your pride.

In the midst of all this, my brother in law goes sexist on me. He asks me why I am watching ESPN all the time. Well, lemme see could it be because I love sports? Then we started discussing the NBA season starting next week. Here is the deal. I love my pistons, they my boys and all but for real the Eastern conference this year is going to be HEATED (no pun intended). Straight up, no joke, we talking caveliers with Lebron James , Bulls with the oh so sweet crew of Kirk, Gordon, Nocioni, Deng and BEN WALLACE, The Pistons and the Miami Heat. Anyways B in law picks his team but he is picking for trivial reason not understanding the beauty and art of the game, making me wish I was a dude man so I could tell him to man up ;)

I am a scatter brain. On thursday my prof hands me a personal invite to this dinner the school is hosting for some press dude or other. It was during my midterms so I didn't have time to read it but out of the whole class there were only two other people who were handed the invitation. I lost my invitation. I had it with me in my car but between my car and getting ready for work I lost it. Now I have to write to my prof and let her know I need another invite so that I can get into the dinner hall. I am absolutely enjoying her class. She is a hoot. I did a career test a few years back that said my personality matched that of a reporter/journalist then a doctor then a pharmacist then nurse. Anyway, I am thinking more and more about taking this course as a second major. I just don't know if I would contribute to the solution or compound the problem that assails the media these days. I just believe there are an elite few who control what we hear and see. There is no across the board discussion nor are there any grassroots movement. Plus I just want a reason to be traveling around the world.

Thanks for bearing through my dire needs monologue. Stay tuned for my politicking monologue in light of the coming elections on Nov 7.

Whats your beef?

I listen to this talk show every morning on my commute to work. The theme on Wednesdays is always whats your beef?. People basically call in and vent. Now I got to admit that some things that people vent about are absurd but some of things are justified. This evening I got into it with someone and it made me want to call into the show and tell them what my beef was but you know what? I remembered my blog is my platform, my stage, my journal, my sounding board. So ladies and gents, here is my beef.


As a child and as a grown up, there are moments in a parent-child relationship that are strained. Moments like these are tense and usually made worse by emotional outburst that hurt both parties. Confined in the family, I usually think its healthy, but sometimes it gets overwhelming and these situations tend to nip at your heels at your school/work/friend/love etc.So what to do? You talk to your confidante,your compadre,your amiga/amigo. You cry, you vent, you curse, you yell, you promise never to cry again then you cry some more, you wish you had diff parents (at times) etc. I think y'all understand exactly where I'm headed. What does the other party listening to you do? Do they listen and nod in agreement? Do they shake their head and tut tut about your display? Or Worse join you in cursing and yelling?


Now thats my beef!!! I don't care who you are or what you are. My family are mine alone to bash. I have earned the right to bitch and moan about them in every which way I please because they are la familia,comprende? I don't appreciate it when a person, I'm in a close relationship with, does the bashing with me. HELLO! who are you to be talking about my momma like that? my papi like that? my frere like that? I am very,very,very,very,very,very,very,very.............(have I stressed that enough?) protective about my family. When everyone else is gone there are the ones who will be there no matter what. Remember the saying friends are forever but family is for life or something similar. Anyway I just think that is a line friends and anyone else in my life shouldn't cross. You should declare from now henceforth Thou shall not family bash with me.

Ayeyo Hawo

Have you ever met a woman you knew was a gem from get go? I have. My great aunt Hawo. I call her Ayeyo Hawo though because she was that stalwart lady in my life. I met her when Somalia went into civil war. Diminutive in status, she used to sit in the "baraza" and watch the melee of people coming in and out of the house. My sister used to call them refugees. I thought they were fascinating people. They spoke dialects of Somali I had never heard and fought constantly for the phone. Ayeyo Hawo used to let me comb her hair. Her hair was thinning but it held me spellbound. She had Hindi hair and it was just the right length for me to practice my hair braiding skills.

As of 3 am this morning, I lost my Ayeyo Hawo. She has suffered on earth. She had kidney problems and wouldn't accept a kidney from any of her kids for years. A couple years ago, her son, threatened that he will take out his kidney. Ayeyo Hawo had a choice, to take it or it goes to some other person on the transplant list. Ayeyo acquiesced. She got better. For the first time in a while she ate heartily and often and we were only to happy to feed her. Her voice gained some power and her eyes sparkled a bit. A mirage for us perhaps, but it made us hopeful. She has seen her children give birth. She has seen her children's children give birth. What I will miss the most about her is the talks we had. She was the first person I had met who never made fun of my attempts at speaking Somali. She listened and asked for clarification whenever she couldn't understand what I said. My aunts and uncles used to laugh and ask her how she understands my garam garam Somali. Know what my Ayeyo did? She admonished them. She told them she understood me perfectly.

I am glad your suffering on earth is over Ayeyo. What awaits you in heaven only Allah knows but I am assured by your actions on earth. The kindness, the mercy, the intellect and most important the faith you had. You prayed your five daily prayers even when you were ill. Confined to your bed you asked for water and a pan to take ablution. Your dialysis didn't stop you from exercising your faith. You will forever be my inspiration and for that I thank you. I pray that Allah forgives you of your transgression and grants you Jannatul Firdows.

Our Lord! Make them enter the Garden of Eden which You have promised to them, and to the righteous from among their fathers, their wives and their offspring, for verily You are alone the Almighty and the truly Wise. (40:8)

Our Lord! You embrace all things within Your Grace and Knowledge, forgive those who repent and follow Your path, and ward off from them the punishment of Hell. (40:7)

Our Lord! And grant us that which you have promised to us by Your messengers and save us from shame on the Day of Judgement. Verily You never fail to fulfill Your promise. (3:194)

Our Lord! Grant us good in this world and good in the life to come and keep us safe from the torment of the Fire (2:201)

Mashallah she touched many people. I was amazed by the number of cars at the funeral procession and more amazed by the people who turned up for her remembrance. All the dua that was said today, may Allah grant them. Amin.

O' Allah keep them safe

I never thought the war would hit so close to home. It was always distant relatives or acquitances, never my immediate family. For the past week I have being an avid listener to BBC kiswahili. Each morning after salatul fajr I click on the link and listen intently for news from Somalia. Why? Because my nephews live there. The one pictured on the right is Mohamed. He was barely two when he was sent to Mogadishu. His brother, Abdallah, had a year and a half leg up on him. I took this picture on his second birthday.

I know that I should be worrying about all children who are suffering at the moment but I can't. I worry about him and Abdallah. I never agreed with my sister's decision to ship them to her in-laws but I held my tongue. They were not my kids. At times I nursed the notion of reporting the kids missing at the US consulate but I didn't. My mom called me tonite to ask me about moving from campus and she brought up the subject. She wasn't pleased with my sister especially after confronting her about safety issues. I held my tongue as my mom awaited my usual "I will talk to her." I couldn't say it. I guess my mom understood my silence because she dropped the subject. I pray they are fine and I pray I have the courage to talk my sister into bringing them back home, where they will be safe. I pray that a bomb or missile or bullet won't come anywhere near their vicinity because dear God they are innocent. Keep them safe. Keep them under your ever watchful eye and bring them back home. Amin.

The hand that rocked the cradle

During the week I was home for spring break I spent a lot of time hanging out with my niece/nephew and younger siblings. I sat through the Disney "High School Musical" among other things and rewatched Harry Potter with them. One night as I sat on the couch with my little nephew on my lap laughing with his toothless mouth, I had an idea. Instead of watching TV (not that I was enjoying this) I was going to tell the younger ones a story. The more I thought about it the more I became certain that it would be more engaging than the Suite Life of Zack and Cody. I switched off the TV to the chagrin of the children and dimmed the lights in the living and dining room. I asked them to sit around me as I settled on the floor with the couch as my back support. I waited as the bodies shifted into positions and grumblings at this change of normalcy, finally quiet settled over us like a blanket, warm and enveloping.


There was once a wealthy man who had a big house and a big family to boot. He lived in the outskirts of town and was highly respected by his peers. The man's name was Hassan Burkenge. He was as tall as a telephone pole and as timid as a mouse. Most of the time people had to lean in close to listen to what he was saying. Hassan's wife was called Hawo. She was complete opposite of her husband. She was a proud Somali woman who used every opportunity to flaunt her wealth and her prestige. One day when Hawo was walking through the town center she came across the mayor's wife. This woman was in no means any more beautiful than she nor was she any more intelligent but yet she got more attention than Hawo wherever she went. Hawo was disturbed by this and went home in deep thought. As she walked by the fields her husband owned she mused that what was lacking was power and power she would get. Walking with more resolve she tracked her husband movements the whole day measuring him up for the position she intended him to occupy in the heirachy of power. She knew he would have to get a stronger voice, stand up straighter and most of all be ruthless. The task that lay ahead of her was astronomical but she knew she would rise to the challenge.


A week passed as our Hawo plotted and planned and finally she was ready to set her plan into action. That morning as she set breakfast infront of her husband she slipped something in his tea. She watched with eagle eyes as he gulped it down per usual. He was slow to get up but when he did she could have sworn he stood taller than before. His beady eyes shifted back and forth as if unsure of where he was. Hawo could have jumped with glee when he turned to her and in a harsh voice instructed her on what he wanted for lunch. Smiling to herself instead Hawo demurred and nodded her head in acknowledgement. She bowed her head lower as she came closer to her husband and in a whisper told him that his opulence was wasted in the fields and that he needed to step up to do what he was born to do;rule. Hassan listened to his wife and as his wife explained how they would go about it he smiled a devilish smile.

Within two days the weapons were ready. The machetes sharpened, the gun powder ready and the guns oiled down. Hawo stood back and admired her work. She knew soon she will be feared by all not to mention the power to make or break a person. Hassan lead his army to wage war against the town and took it over after two days of a siege. He was a ruthless ruler and he wasn't satisfied with only that town. Soon with his wife's prodding he slowly annexed the neighboring villages and towns. If the village or town opposed him vehemently he massacred them leaving the poor village bathed with blood and sorrow. Hawo enjoyed this man that she had molded into a great warlord. She enjoyed the fear she saw in the eyes of her peers when she walked past them. She reveled in this new life that she forgot what she had to do to get it.

A debt must be collected and when the time came the Devil was knocking on the door to collect. Hawo drunk with power ignored him telling him that there was no way she was going to give her youngest child to him. The devil warned her that she would have to face consequences to her breaking the deal but she laughed in his face. The next day when she awoke she found all of her children dead. She was distraught and yelled and stomped her feet. She cried and berated her misfortune but the Devil didn't show up. At the end Hawo went crazy as she had recollections of the masses that she had a hand in killing, the mothers who cursed her as they watched their men and children die and finally the villages she had delighted in razing to the ground. One night she awoke to her husband watching her. He asked her what drove her mad. Hawo cried while she relayed how she had entered a contract with the devil to make her husband the warlord he was. Her husband got up and came close to her, she clutched him closer to her and was shocked as she felt a knife piercing her back. She watched as the world dimmed out and the last thing she saw was the man she had molded;a cold hearted killer.

A Milestone

As of this moment I am a year older. I don't feel any different than I felt yesterday except more resolute to make sense out of life. I worked a nine hour shift at work and as I walked out the door my phone rung. It was my sister.

"Where are you?" she queried.
"Just getting out the door"
"You think you can make it to the theatre in half an hour?" she continued
"I am tired plus I need to go work out."
"Come on mayn, its your birthday and you worked all day. Skip the workout and come to the movie, I already got you a ticket."
"Aight I be der in a 10 mins with my flipping uniform"
"Salaams"

I turned on the car and waited for it to warm up. It was a dreary day perfect for my mood. It had snowed as I drove into the parking lot this morning which meant it was going to be a long day at the pharmacy. I had an awful night of weird dreams that consisted of a collage of men I held dear to my heart. I had tossed and turned, sweated and shivered as finally my alarm gave me reprieve sometime around 7 am. I was in no means in the mood to deal with guests who needed to be mothered. Grabbing a starbucks I begun my day quietly.

Backing out of the parking spot I turned the car West towards the Regal 20 theatre. I felt empty for some reason even though I had my health and my family by me. I turned my brain off as my exit came up. Calling my sister I let her know I was close by and she should avail herself by the doors. As I walked in my cuz popped out of the corner and gave me a hug and a kiss wishing me a happy birthday. She steered me away from my sister and asked me what I wanted to snack on while I watched the movie. I was on a diet and couldn't eat any carbs but I ordered nachos with cheese and jalapenos. Sitting back in my seat I took off my jacket and dipped my hand in the jalapenos. Knowing instinctively the bitter/spicy taste that they would elicit from me, my mouth watered. The movie I was being subjected to was Madea family reunion. I had watched the play and was interested to see what twist Tyler Perry in the movie.

The movie was funny as hell and had me slapping my thighs and clapping. At times I got emotional as the characters fell in love and revealed secrets close to their hearts. Pretty soon it was time to go. As I slipped my jacket on I flipped my phone open. There was a text message waiting for me. It read:

I breath alone, Allah willed me to.
My heart beats, Allah willed me to.
I thank Allah for I love you.
Lets marry and thank Allah for He is the most merciful and gracious.

My heart stilled. There was a whirlpool in my body and someone had turned on the switch. I walked quickly to the car wanting to outrun my life but I didn't succeed. It was stuck to me. As I watch the raindrops fall my fingers dialed the numbers that were burned into my heart, mind and soul. A groggy voice answered,"Hello?". My voice abandoned me. Why did I call? I tried with effort to say something back.. .............................. .... Hello, hi or something. Instead my body was racked with sobs. Tears welled up in my eyes as I fought for control. Why did you love me? Why do I love you so much yet can't make a simple decision like marrying you? Why am I a coward? Why can't you leave and find someone who deserves you? "Baby please wipe your tears I can't do them for you but you know if I was there I would kiss them away." You make everything right and I come and destroy it. What are you doing around such a destructive force? "Baby please I am begging you...........Where are you? Talk to me. Stop crying honey."I have to go, Xafsa is walking back to the car. "Baby talk to me. Are you ok? Where are you? Let me talk to Xafsa". I am fine I am sorry I woke you up I will talk to you tomorrow. "Ok I will call you in the morning please keep your phone close by otherwise you know I will hound you at home/Work/sister's/friend's". I will, I promise. "Salaams I love you". I don't. "I know you do". How do you know? "Cause I live in your heart. Drive safely back home." Ok.Salaams.

As I lay my head back I wiped my tears away and plastered a smile on my face. Xafsa clambered into the car and proceeded to talk about the movie. I faked my way through it, quick to point out my favorite scenes. Inside I was screaming for an answer to my problems but I knew no one was listening. No one at all.

Tribute to my father

Abo I have much to say to you. Last time I saw you tears were streaming down that weather-beaten, kind face of yours. You asked for my forgiveness and told me to take care of everyone. I didn't understand why you were leaving me. I didn't understand what I did to make you run. All I knew was that I was alone in this world.

Since then I shut you out of my life. When you made contact I refused to feel again. I fought with the whys and what ifs. I had to be strong when the others were around, but all alone in my bed I cried myself to sleep. I hated you and I never wanted to see you again. I blamed you everytime hooyo screamed at the children and I cussed at the world for being cruel. Why me? Why them? Why her? Why us?

Now I have come to understand that your deeds were for your survival. If you hadn't left I am told that you would have died. I pray that you are well. I pray that you found peace wherever you might be. I also pray that you know deep in your heart that we all still love you. You are our father and our rock. When I fell, you were there to pick me up and send me on my way with whispers of encouragement. You have equipped me well for this life and for that I want to thank you. I want you to know that I will take care of the family as much as I can. I will take your place at the hilt of this ship and steer it to calmer seas. All I want is for time to rewind and for me to take back the hurtful things I said to you. I want time to rewind for me to wipe the tears off your face and send you off with a kiss and a hug. Alas I can't and all I am left with is regrets. Be well my darling father and rest easy for your daughter is right back where she belongs;by your side.

Welcome

Isn't he adorable? That is my new nephew and I am totally taken with him. Everytime my sister has a baby I get this ache in my stomach. I wish they were mine. I am not sure if it happens to every woman but I can't help it and always without fail I ask to adopt my nephews and niece. As clockwork she smiles and tells me to get my own.


I don't think thats fair. I am not the giving birth kind. How would I know you ask? Well because I have a low threshold for pain and I am a creature of comfort. If I couldn't fit in my clothes or tie my shoelaces I would probably tear my hair out. One look at this darling though makes me rethink my stance. I want to have a little one to call my own. One to nuzzle near my nose each time I feel the need to. I so want one .........they should sell them. Anyway I guess I should wait till I get someone to hoodwink me into having a bundle of joy for myself. Till then I will continue to ask my sister for her kids.

I love you my little one and you stole my heart the instance you opened your eyes.

Sitting on the Couch

The spotlight is on the lady with the huge turban on her head. My mom explains that is the new African head-dress. The lady in question is the Assistant Minister of Culture or something or rather of the newly formed government of Somalia. I watch with my mom and my cousin as the ministers and officials get on stage one by one to speak their piece. My heart is silently hoping that this is a turn for the future.

"There he is!" exclaims my mom, "There is abti Abdillahi Yussuf." She is proud as she also points herself out to me. She goes on a tangent as she points out each member of the cabinet and their clan affiliations. She was proving to my cousin that there was representation of most clans in the new government. As I sit on the couch I feel proud of the people on stage. A silent prayer goes to them as they set out to correct the many wrongs we as a people/nation have committed unto ourselves. I am not sure where I lie on this spectrum but I know where my mother lies.

I wasn't brought up in Somalia nor were my parents big on giving me the identity of my "bloodline". When I moved to the West I got bombarded with questions of "Who are you?". My reply turned from saying I was a Somali to Sujui to finally saying curtly "I am human." I went through a change and understanding as to how the system works. Somalis were obsessed with clan lines and migrated with this disease to the west. I found that I didn't want any part in it and I used the line human to draw them into an argument. To make them state their case as to why my identity should affect the conversation at hand.

There are some people that are not sure where this new government is heading but I believe a journey begins with a step and this is a huge step in the direction of the future. The one thing, the only ingredient missing is the youth. "Hooyo, you should get the youth involved, have workshops or something."I said with a smile. She looked at me and nodded. For now I will live vicariously through my mom when it comes to Somali politics.

There was a woman whose child had grown and wanted to make a mark in the world. As he bid his mother goodbye she stated "Son, If you go to **insert a far town** or go to the ends of the earth I am still your mother. No matter where we migrated to our Motherland is still Somalia.

Seasons

My sister's birthday is tomorrow and I haven't yet thought what to get her for a present. Anyways I guess I will figure that out while I am having my car ride back home for the weekend.

I just felt like blogging about something coming next week. Its American Football season. I am so excited, not because of beer and chips, but because this time I might actually be able to catch most of the games since I allowed myself the luxury of having cable @ school. YEAH!!!!

I must admit I never liked football the first time I sat down to watch it. I thought it looked like rugby except these players had padding to protect them. After a while it grew on me because I was constantly surrounded by my uncles and cousins on Sunday evening at grandma's house watching the game. They would cuss when somebody fumbled the ball and scream with glee when a touchdown occurred. Even my aunt was into it and so I started paying attention to the rules of the game. By the end of the season I was comfortable with the American football terminology and I could converse about a game without appearing like a blonde haired girl.

Now I have seasons of weather as well as sports. I watch NBA, NFL and off course my first LOVE I watch English League. This year is the world cup and I would so love to be in Germany to watch it but imagine my disdain that a ticket cost about 1.5 K. For that much I could just comfortably take my long planned euro trip. So I guess I am doomed to watching the World Cup on TV.

Watch this spot for my once in a while predictions.