Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Final farewell

     Before I begin, I'd like to tell my readers that written expressions of my journey on my blog are a therapeutic experience for me. That being said, bear with me as I deliver my final farewell.
     After two months of traveling back and forth between Djibouti and Ethiopia, my fruitless search for a meaningful experience ended after one phone call. My Mom called and said I needed to come back immediately. A few days later, I was on a bus from Ethiopia to Djibouti.
     A truly memorable experience, to say the least, my cousin Mimi and I were forced to pee in a ditch, in the broad daylight, at a pit stop after one of the tires of the bus popped. We also ate oily tea (don't ask) with deserts while sitting on a rock for breakfast. Two days after arriving in Djibouti, I was on a plane from Djibouti to Ottawa. Although my trip came to an abrupt end, due to these unforeseen circumstances, I'd like to share the lessons I've learned in Africa - life lessons that I hope to bring back with me to Canada and hopefully guide my future.
     One of the first eye-opening experiences was when I saw the airplane right outside of the Hargeisa International Airport; the airplane responsible for the deaths of innocent civilians of Hargeisa due to the tyrannical regime of former President Siad Barre. Looking at the plane, my brain was filled with questions: how could a  President order a plane to kill his own people, who share a common nationality, culture, religion and history?  A few months later, I learned of two pilots that refused to bomb Hargeisa and flew to another country for refuge instead, thus representing the true essence of nationalism. And unity.
     Second, I learned the true definition of sacrifice. During my time in Africa, I witnessed the sacrifices men, women and children make for their families, including girls that are forced to drop out of school to take care of their younger siblings and young boys that must work washing cars or collecting bus fare on public.
     Third, I learned to be truly grateful for the education I was fortunate enough to acquire in Canada. In Baligubadle, while interviewing illiterate young females my age, subject to circumsion as young girls and married off to older men in their mid-teens, I had a stunning revelation: This could have been me. As a result of this truly memorable experience, I became even more determined to follow through with my goal of building an all-girls school in the remote villages in my country.
     In the late 1980's, my birth year and the year hundreds of thousands of Somali refugees, our country was changed forever. The fortunate few that were able to leave fled the country, in search of a better life for their children, while making the difficult decision to leave loved ones behind in turmoil. Decades after this immense sacrifice, a selfless act we must not take for granted, I'd like to remind my generation of our responsibility.
     A half year later, I will never forget what I've seen, learned and experienced in Africa. In fact, it would be fraudulent for me to continue my life in Canada as though my life perspective has not been permanently altered.
     A question I often get asked is; would you recommend your trip to other young graduates? Would you do it all over? The answer is yes. I encourage every young Somali diaspora to visit and help their people in the Motherland, regardless of their whether it is Somalia, Somaliland, Djibouti, Kenya or Ethiopia. Regardless of their gender, their tribe, etc. We all have a duty; to the youth our age that have seen nothing but war; can only fantsize abot a secure life with all of the opportunities we possess. It's been over two decades. Now is the time.
     It's not a coincidence there's a famine during the month of Ramadan. Use this time wisely to think of those back home; the people who do not count down the hours until Iftar; the Mothers who bury their children on the journey from war-torn southern cities in Somalia to refugee camps along the border. We have a duty to the living; a duty to deceased; a duty to the young boys and girls; a duty to the mothers, fathers and children.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Dire Dawa, Ethiopia: Part 3 of 3

I spent my 22nd birthday in Dire Dawa, my first birthday in Africa. My cousin's wife, Hanan, threw me a surprise party at home (actually, my cousin spilled the beans and I acted surprised).   


My delicious birthday cake!

On my last day, my niece, nephews and I went out for ice cream at a local cafe. My 8-year-old nephew, Ibrahim, proved to be a terrific translator (he speaks the local language and was able to order deserts).









Construction workers using handmade stairs.  

On our way downtown, Awaleh and I saw this horse parked right infront of our door. I climbed in and took a few photos before its owner caught us in the act.


Before leaving Dire Dawa, my cousins had to purchase tons of kilos of khat to bring back to our relatives in Djibouti. Here's Lapin (a family friend) picking out the precious plant. 

What isn't captured in the photo: while Lapin was negotiating with the woman selling the khat, there was a huge crowd of people begging us for money. Lapin blamed this scene on the fact that the locals were able to instantly detect we were outsiders, most likely because Lapin was unable to speak the local language (but still wanted to avoid getting ripped off) and I was taking photos with a camera laughing.

This is one of the women that eventually approached us.

Lapin paid this young man to wrap the khat in grass.

The young man securing the khat with rope.


On the road back to Djibouti.















Monkeys! Fun fact: in Hargeisa, Djibouti and Dire Dawa, the children make an acitivty out of chasing monkeys, including throwing rocks and other items, out of neighborhoods.