Market for Goats, Camels, & Sheep

Camels cost $1000 US. The green ink used to identify the buyer after a sale.

This is a baloon the camel exposes in certain circumstances. However, when the camel is slaughtered, this baloon is no where to be found. After some research, I found out this baloon is the soft palate, also exposed when the male camel desires a female camel.

           

Jirdeh Hotel. Cost: $15/day.

 This is the National Stadium of Hargeisa, primarily used for soccer games.

This is my Mother's childhood home, built in 1961. It now belongs to the eldest son in my Mother's family, as it is Somali custom for homes to be passed down from one generation to the next.

 A truck transporting flour

 Driving in my Uncle's pickup, an officer jumped on the car, along with several teenaged boys after completing the school day.

Boys walking home from school

"When Minds Unite They Can Move Mountains. Somaliland Needs Deeds, Not Words"

First few days

Hargeisa International Airport!

 First meal: decorated rice and fried fish with vegetables

 Sometimes owners put bras on their goats to prevent their babies from drinking the milk of their mothers

Goat with henna used for identification purposes

 The largest university in Hargeisa

 Bambi?

Outdoor restaurant with private tents

The view outside our hotel room window. One day, while lying down in bed, a male cat peed through the window. After I told the hotel clerk on my way out the next day, he told me it happens on a fairly regular basis.



Journey to Hargeisa

     The flight to Hargeisa was terrible.
     Leaving Dubai, all of our suitcases were over the weight limit, the woman at the counter for Dallah Airlines questioned me at length about my one-way ticket, we barely made the flight on time, and I lost my favorite gold bracelet amidst all of the chaos. Thankfully, after a short four hour flight to Djibouti, we finally made it to the Motherland.
     Before descending off the plane, I received my first Islamic 'lecture' from an elderly Somali man dressed in a macawiis (traditional Somali clothing for men). Speaking over my shoulder, he lectured me about the necessity for Muslim women to cover up (in my defense, I was wearing a long African dress and a shawl covering my head) and to be fearful of my destiny in the afterlife. Trying my best to be respectful, I nodded my head in agreement and proceeded the long walk from the airplane to the airport in unbearably hot weather. Once in the Djibouti airport, we were told to hurry onto the plane going to Hargeisa as the President of Djibouti, Ismaïl Omar Guelleh, was landing his plane soon.
     There were no seat numbers provided on the boarding ticket for this plane. Somehow, everyone managed to find a seat wherever they could quickly. Upon landing in Hargeisa in less than half an hour, the chaos of what appears to be custom for Somali people continued. There was a single counter to accomodate all passengers, in which money is exchanged into the local currency (Somaliland shillings), fees are paid ($20 US) and VISA papers are issued. Feeling ill, I stood outside of the angry mob and glanced around the airport from a window. One individual stood out among the crowd: a white man in a safari outfit, the only passenger waiting patiently in line. Immediately, I imagined all of the thoughts that must be going through his mind.
     My Mom waves me over from the other end of security, having somehow made it through in one piece. Security consisted of a metal detector and a single individual asking for a quick glance through my purse. My Abti (maternal Uncle) came to pick us up at the airport with an entourage of eager men packing all of our luggage onto a trolley. After walking for what seemed like an eternity to the car, I complained about the distance of the car from the airport. My Mom reminded me of the deadly bombs released from planes that took off from the Hargeisa International Airport in the late 1980's (1988-1989). These planes were responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of Somaliland residents. In fact, one of these planes was shot down by Somaliland residents, a statue built to commemorate the momentous event. Perhaps for fear of, or in memory of this deadly historical calamity, Hargeisa locals have become accustomed to parking far away from the airport. This is the moment I first realized the impact of history on the day-to-day lives of Hargeisa residents.
     And so it begins. A mix of excitement, sadness, confusion, intrigue, isolation, anxiety, and naivete. The Motherland.

Final days in Dubai

Breakfast: beans with pita bread and tea

Gold City marketplace at night

The journey of exports from Dubai to Ottawa starts here:

Fears

     It's probably normal to have some apprehension about this trip. The most common concerns from the Somali diaspora, after being informed of my trip, are usually medically related. Did you get all of your shots? Do you know where to purchase bottled water?
     Although this consideration for my well-being is comforting, none of these issues come to mind when thinking about this trip. My biggest fears are more emotional, intimate and personal.
     The most significant source of angst is the possibility that, after travelling to this foreign land, my overwhelming sense of guilt will not be relieved through my humanitarian ambitions. Instead, it is more likely that this personal burdern, despite my charitable efforts, will be further exasperated after witnessing the daily struggle of a nation seemingly ignored by the international community.

     In Arabic, my name means hope.  I'm going to try to hold onto hope, both for myself as well as for my people.