First 'Interview'

     Growing up in Ottawa, I wasn't completely aware of the significance of tribal identity for the Somali culture. In fact, I've often refused to answer when people inquired about my tribe, information I deemed to be irrelevant and often misconstrued as it may be subsequently used as a basis for discrimination. In Hargeisa, this principle has completely ceased to exist as an individual's tribal identity is a fact known by the entire city, for better or worst.      
     After a few days of exploring the city and visiting family members, my Mother called her cousin, Nuh, a former educator at Maalim Dawud Primary School. Located a short distance from my Mother's childhood home, General Daoud is a public institution that teaches grades one through eight to both boys and girls. The morning of my interview, I naively believed everything was planned in advance. Instead, on our way to the school, Nuh called the Malmaluud (Principal) of the school and said he will be dropping by with a prospective teacher. I sat in the backseat of the car in disbelief, while my Mother plainly said this is how it works in Hargeisa. No appointments. No heads up. Even a phone call a few minutes in advance is considered considerate. Once at the primary school, I was immediately surprised by the well-maintained structure of the building. There are colorful walls, paintings, and a playground in the middle of the U-shaped school.
     Nuh and I walk into the Malmaluud's office. No secretary. No knocking. We pull out patio chairs and sit infront of the Malmaluud; a young, cleanly-shaven, dark-skinned man, working diligently on what appears to be a school calendar. Nuh immediately begins the introduction. This is (insert tribe here), she is our people and she wishes to teach here. Her grandfather (may he rest in peace) is Jamaac. Apparently satisfied, the Malmaluud asks which topics I would like to teach and when I could start. We agree to meet at 7 am the next morning. And that was it. No request for a copy of my diploma or questions regarding my teaching experience, if any.
     Walking back from the office, through the playground, I questioned if this would be the right fit for me. I felt as though I didn't receive this wonderful opportunity due to my dedication, goals and ambitions, but rather due to a good family name and tribal identity beyond my control. A group of young girls stood outside their classroom.
"Beautiful girl!" one girl, in a heavy accent, exclaimed in my direction.
"What's your name?" another girl asks.
     After a short conversation in Somali, I reevaluated my initial disappointment.These girls and the children at General Daoud were the true reason I traveled here: to contribute to the future of my people, regardless of tribal differences, to the best of my abilities.