to lose yourself to Somalia.

Its not a secret that the reality of living and working in Somalia is a harsh one. Yet for some unexplainable reason, many people are drawn to the country. More specifically, many people in my life are drawn to the country, not excluding myself.

I like to believe its because we're all a bit broken. You see, the thing about Somalia is that it makes you forget about your own wounds and demands you to focus on hers. It's one of the few places on earth where you cant afford to have a first world pity party, simply because your own problems are tuned out by the environment surrounding you. Soon enough, you find yourself getting used to this new found sense of comfort that could previously only be achieved through means no longer seemed fit in your new home. You adapt and you find your place amongst your people. You find a place in Somalia and Somalia finds a place in you.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing when you think about it. But you're forgetting the fact that you've chosen to stay in a country that exudes pain and anger in her every move. A country that has a history of hurting those that love her the most. A country that has rejected more people than can be counted. As much as she seems exciting and mysterious now, truth is that Somalia does not know how to safeguard her loved ones. She might lure you in with her exhilarating waves and deep character but she will hurt you. You see, you forgot to factor in the reality of Somalia. How, like yourself, she's been hurt and is unable to cope with the aftermath. The only difference is that you choose to cope by fleeing from your issues, the only way you know how to. And Somalia? She copes by doing what has been done to her for decades; killing those that love her the most.

Refugee.

Ref-u-gee.

The word alone demands a certain type of pronunciation. 

You cant be lazy when uttering it because it wont come out right. 

The same way that you also cant rush through the word because the syllables demand respect.

Ref-u-gee.

why al shabaab is not a guardian of my national identity.

A couple of days ago, I came across an opinion piece posted on Al Jazeera English titled 'Al-Shabab: Guardians of Somali identity?'. I read the piece hoping that its writer, Abdullahi Boru Halakhe, who is a Horn of Africa security analyst, would elaborate on the claim in the title and present a well rounded argument as to why or why not al shabaab are the guardians of my national identity. He did not. What he presented instead is something that can only be described as a misguided love letter to the terrorist organization. He praises them for things they don't deserve praise for and confuses Somalinimo (Somaliness) with the fear that comes with living under their rule.

What angered me the most about the whole article was this excerpt:

'They are unrepentant nationalists, and in the absence of a state, rhetorically and sometimes symbolically, al-Shabab acts as the vanguard and the only reliable guardian of Somali nationalism and identity.'

To claim that al shabaab are unrepentant nationalists is irresponsible reporting. Firstly, al shabaab wasn't an organization that was born on Somali soil and to claim that its members are nationalist when all their tactics and implementation are adopted from their older brothers in Pakistan is ridiculous. Secondly, an unrepentant nationalist would never use fear and assault on his own people under any circumstances. All that al shabaab is good for is instilling horror into people and stripping Somalia off of everything that the Somali identity is compromised of. Thirdly, a nationalist would want to see his country prosper and all that al shabaab does is get in the way this.

The second part of the statement is more mind boggling. Halakhe claims that they act as the '..vanguard and the only reliable guardian of Somali nationalism and identity'. al shabaab wouldn't know what the Somali identity is even if it was slapped in the face with it because the Somali identity is something al shabaab has been working hard to eradicate. To say that al shabaab is the only reliable guardian of my identity is migraine inducing. As a Somali, I identify myself with my rich culture. The culture that is compromised of peace, beautiful poetry and music, the importance of Somalinimo and the sexiest guntiino's in Eastern Africa. Do those things sound like aspects of Somalia al shabaab is guarding for us?

Its clear that this writer was ill-advised and probably swayed by a powerful actor to write this piece posted on Al Jazeera English' website. It is hard to believe that a Horn of Africa specialist would be so unknowledgeable on a topic so important. In the future, I would advise Halakhe and all other 'analysts' or 'journalists' who will attempt to write about Somalia to check their facts multiple times. In the long run, as a professional working in East Africa, your loyalty should lie in the good of a nation, not the people who strive to ruin it.

guest post: Pull my hair.

The following piece was submitted as a guest contribution to this blog.

Pull my hair,
'let go!!' my mama screams.
The battle between my mother and
your filthy servants trying to protect her from protecting me...
Trying to force her to watch you take my innocence away.

A victim of tribal war, a country with people 
that once looked alike,
sound alike and even pray alike...
A country where all men pass to be your father and all boys respect you like a sister.
But no, the same country made my tears flow from my eyes
and blood flow from my vagina...

I couldn't look up at him to face the demon who I once thought was my neigbour
who lived across our house with the warmest smile.
The sweat from his forehead a sign of achievement as it drips on the floor.
His victory will be shared by the men holding my mother to the ground 
as she watched this man pounding inside me while grabbing my hair 
and forcing me to keep my eyes open so that he could feed off my pain.

Tribal war, he spits on my face after he's done
looking down on me like I deserve nothing.
I deserve nothing not because I am my fathers daughter but because I am born my tribe.

bad photography makes for sweet melancholy.

99 days of writers block.

maybe its the pressures of real life.
maybe its laziness.
maybe its the refusal to process my train of thought.
maybe its underestimated how hard it really is.
maybe i dont really want to.
maybe i really have to.
maybe im not as good at this as i like to think.
maybe im fucking brilliant.

'No enemies to call my own
No porch light on to pull me home
And where I was is beautiful
Because I was free.'