Try Again

     Before leaving Hargeisa, I'd like to reflect back on my time spent in the city. My experiences in the Motherland thus far have consisted of both successes and failures. For fear of romanticizing my trip to the diaspora community, I'd like to enlighten readers with experiences or endeavours that have not worked out for me.
     During my first month, I was overly critical of the lack of playgrounds and extracurricular activities for girls until I found out about SOCSA: Somaliland Culture and Sports Association. This organization, situated in the Togdheer region of Hargeisa, consists of a basketball court and a basketball coach exclusively available to girls, as well as computers, classes and training workshops for young girls and boys. After speaking with the Director, I created an English conversation group, an idea I got from conversation groups at the Resource Centre I worked at during my studies at the University of Ottawa. On Thursday and Friday mornings, the girls and I would meet up and work on pronunciation, vocabulary, etc. I proposed we each come up with a topic for the day, and after my lame attempt to start things off with a funny childhood story, I was immediately reminded that these girls and I, although we look the same, speak the same language, and share the same history, come from two completely different cultures. Instead, they proposed we talk about the conflict between Somalia and Somaliland, issues relating to skin whitning creams, etc. After a few weekends, the conversation group fizzled, mostly due to a lack of commitment from both myself as well as my students. However, for the diaspora community interested in teaching and coaching sports for young females, please check out http://www.socsa.blogspot.com/ for more information.
     In addition to this disappointment, I also felt the need to experience teaching at the secondary school level, so, after leaving Maalim Dawud, I started teaching voluntarily at a local high school; Dayib Gurey Secondary School. To historical fanatics, the name Dayib Gurey made ring a bell. Gurey was a highly esteemed Somaliland freedom fighter, who has a whole area as well as a school named after him. However, most of the students at the school do not live up to his vision. After hearing plenty of horror stories from relatives that attend high school, including stories of teachers getting beat up after school, I chose this particular school due to the number of my relatives that I attend the school. Despite this security blanket, I didn't enjoy teaching at the school due to the obvious lack of motivation (the students didn't bring notebooks or other supplies to class) as well as their complete disregard for the school rules.
     In sum, the purpose of this post is not to discourage the Somali diaspora from volunteering in Hargeisa, but rather to encourage young Somalis to dedicate time and effort to find an organization that is personally interesting and fulfilling. Otherwise, your experience will be less than satisfactory, a lesson I learned the hard way. Best of luck!

Road Trip: Wachele, Ethiopia

     After three long months of staying in Hargeisa, I finally had the opportunity to leave the city. My Dad's eldest brother, Ibrahim, lives in Dira Dawa, Ethiopia. As I've never met any of my Dad's brothers, I was extremely excited to take a road trip and meet my Uncle and his son, Mohamud, half way at the Ethiopian-Somaliland border. My cousin and I left early in the morning, picked up snacks at the gas station, and began the 300 km journey from Hargeisa to Wachele.

     One of the biggest surprises during this trip were the impromptu pit stops every few hundred kilometres. At the first pit stop, a young officer asked my cousin if we could drive a young woman and her newborn baby to a nearby city. At another pit stop, a 'cop' asked for my license. After telling him I didn't have one (I never bothered to apply for a Somaliland Driver's permit), we had to pay a $5 US fine in order to pass through. At another pit stop, a young man, who claimed to be a police officer, shouted through the driver's window that the young lady (referring to me) come out of the car. I entered a small, dark tent and another cop asked to see my camera. I handed it over, clearly aware that the officer had no idea how to use the device. He asked me a few questions, handed over the camera, and said I could leave.

     A short while later, we finally arrived in Wachele. While waiting for my Uncle to arrive, we walked around the outside shops and prayed in a mosque.

These workers search for mines, planted during civil the war, in rural areas of Somaliland.

Local schools in the small city of Araabsiyo, Somaliland.

Vendors sell their goods, including fresh fruits, at pit stops.They come right up to the car windows and hold their merchandise through the windows, shouting prices.

Last Day at Maalim Dawud

     At last, my time at Maalim Dawud has come to an end. Initially, my intention was to teach for a month and then move on to another school, however my attachment to the students made that transition very difficult. Two months later and with my time in Hargeisa limited, I've transferred to a local high school in an attempt to experience all facets of the education system in Hargeisa.

    Before leaving, I made sure to say a proper goodbye to the students. After marking their vocabulary quizzes (I asked them to spell words such as relentless and first degree murder), I bought novels for the kids that received a perfect grade. Although they were very expensive, I was determined to purchase these novels as children in Hargeisa don't read books.

     At the risk of going completely off topic, I can't stress this enough. In fact, when the school children used to see me reading novels during recess, they would ask me what it was that I was reading. At first, I misunderstood and told them the name of the book, or the storyline. It was only after the students asked me if I remembered what I remembered the pages I've already read that I realized that the students don't read books, other than their lesson plans.

     In addition to these books, gave out pens, pencils, and pencil sharpeners (the school supplies pictured in an earlier post) to the kids that also received high grades.

The first and only girl in any of my classes to receive a perfect grade! I was so excited I asked her to give me a hug, and because there isn't an exact translation for the word 'hug' in Somali, she just looked at me with a confused face and gave an awkward embrace while the other kids laughed out loud.

 I ordered sambuusas and tea for the teachers to enjoy during our break. Afterwards, apparently thinking have a lot of money, the teachers subsequently made weird requests, including new memory cards and khat. I learned that even when you work for free, nothing is free in Hargeisa.  

 I recruited eight grade students to hand out school supplies to the students that answered questions correctly or won competitions (the videos in the 'Tartan' post).

I also gave the Alifla of the class the stick to maintain order in the classroom. I guess I've made a huge transition, compared to my initial shock and disbelief at this form of discipline.

Schoolgirls

     In my experience at Maalim Dawud, I've noticed several distinct traits of the schoolgirls, especially the ones in the older classes.
     First, I found it surprising how the girls express their individuality through their clothes, even though they wear a uniform. For example, some of the girls loosen their hijabs and wear colorful scarfs underneath with matching jewellery, shoes and a purse.
     Second, when girls get into fights at school, it's as though the whole school shuts down. They scream at the top of their lungs, slam their books, swear at teachers, pull eachother's hijabs off, etc. In these situations, it's difficult to keep students focused on a lesson, something I've learned after I realized how difficult it is to force myself to look away.Beyond my shock at these theatrics, my teenaged cousin who attends a local high school told me that it is not uncommon for girls to bring mini-blades, used to sharpen pencils, to school in preparation for a fight. After hearing these stories, confirmed by other high school students, I've started to notice several young women with clean cuts on their faces, although these observations maybe the result of paranoia. In contrast, when boys get into fights, after they are separated, it only takes a few minutes before they're sitting next to eachother and talking as though nothing happened.     
    Third, there have been several instances of girls fainting in class; an occurence Somalilanders refer to as being 'possessed'. After these girls leave the classroom screaming, they are taken into another room where fellow classmates read Qu'ran outloud. I've become so accustomed to these interruptions that I jokingly ask my class who's going to be the first boy to faint in school.

Migrants in Hargeisa

     In the past month, I've started volunteering with a ASAL (roughly translated as genuine, original), a local organization dedicated to youth, education, and justice, among other things. One of the projects I've been helping with is migrant rights, specifically the living conditions of the Oromo populations in Hargeisa. These populations, consisting of both Somalis and Oromos from Ethiopia, settle in specific neighborhoods in Hargeisa, including the one pictured below.

     Prior to visiting their homes and conducting interviews, an Oromo man consulted with the individuals living in these areas to explain our project and ask for their consent. While interviewing specific individuals, he worked as a translator, translating from Oromo to Somali. In our interviews, we spoke with men who claim they were stoned by Somalis from Hargeisa, a woman whose three sons died in Xamar, the landlord of this community, as well as a woman who claims she was kicked in the stomach by a Somali man when she was nine months pregnant, causing her to lose her unborn child. 

     The following are a few pictures and videos of the project so far.

According to the adults, none of the children living in this area attend school. Instead, they are sent out in the morning by their parents to go downtown and ask for money.

While walking through this neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of bright colored jewellery in a dark home. I walked closer and peeked inside to find this baby home alone. The children standing outside the door

informed me that his mother went to the market. 

 For some unknown reason, I focused on the children's feet and noticed that some of them are missing their toenails, an outcome I presume of their long travels from home to Hargeisa. 

On our way back, a woman stopped us and asked if we would like to meet her disabled children.

A little girl holding a torn notebook.