Not so many people, including me until recently, know about the
Assames of Chinese origin’s tragedy. The results of their tribulations and the
psychological trauma it had on them for generations to follow and its very
similarity to the psychological distress that followed Somali people everywhere
after the bloody civil war before decades ago.
During the British colonization in India, the British discovered tea plants in the
Singpho kingdom area and established tea gardens in different parts of Assam.
This task required a huge and experienced workforce, which was not available in
Assam.
So the British brought in Chinese laborers from
the neighboring China who’s known for their hard work and
commitment to work, they brought in tea makers, and made them work in the tea
plantations. This started in 1838, life was hard for the Chinese laborious but
they learned how to survive, how to adjust, because they had no other option,
they start intermingling with the local Indians and marrying their women, they
built families and a life and moved on.
After decades, Assames from Chinese origin melted in the
assame community, they forgot their Chinese original language, and settled down
in Assam, soon more voluntary migrations of Chinese followed into the new life
their brothers have established in Assam.
But after the 1962 India-china war broke, things escalated
between the two countries and it was bad for Assames of Chinese origin, they
were suspected upon and fingers were pointed at their direction as
traitors with bad intentions, even when they have been living in Assam for long
generations, even when there Chinese features diffused and became Indian, even
when their Chinese original language became a forgotten tale, they were still
suspected upon, they were still questioned, and treated as if they were
foreigners of different origin, foreigners of different political motives and
interest, foreigners with no loyalty or patriotism and possibly commit
the act of treason by spying on their families and their loved ones in a
society they have been building and persevering for generations.
What happened next made the Chinese society living in
Assam to come face-to-face with a serious of unfortunate tribulations that divided them; their
own people discarded them only because they were of a Chinese origin.
The Indian troops deported them back to china, the authorities arrested those they
thought and believed to be Chinese. In that process, families were separated;
hard-earned property was seized as enemy property and later auctioned. Husbands
were separated from wives; children were separated from parents, and so on.
So, how is this story related to us, Somalis, to our history?
After the Somali civil war in 1991 and the removal of Siad
Barre regime, our country had fall into a deep bloodshed of total chaos, from a
cliff of strong unity into a swamp of division, hatred and never ending
bitterness, that is hard to rebound from , the brother killed his
brother, the neighbor killed his friend, relatives were divided, women were
raped, men were slaughtered and there was no shame, no shame whatsoever
to kill someone you never had a quarrel or feud with before over just their
last names!! Over their tribe..their qabil.
At this time Somali people who survived flee the country to
neighboring countries, or to other cities they deemed safe or predominant by
their Qabil, cohabitation wasn’t an option anymore.
Africa’s, once, strongest country become a wracked piece of
state that attracted neighboring and foreign countries to fulfill their agendas
and their interests , because once a country collapses and its citizen’s turn
against each other, that’s when they give permission to the stranger to come in
and mingle at their home.
It’s hard to listen to the stories of QAXII, when relatives
and old Somali Habryaroos narrate it to you, it’s hard not to feel the heart
break over and over again whenever those stories come up (which is quite a LOT
in my experience at least) you feel heartbroken though you never witnessed the
GLORIOUS Somalia they witnessed, though you didn’t get to see an intact
Somalia, you still feel the pain of division, because you know division is
never good.
It’s hard to see Somalis displaced everywhere in the world,
you wouldn’t be surprised to hear that there are Somalis living in Haiti,
because it became our everyday stories and jokes. Travelling, moving, and never
settling down become a notion of a whole nation, a familiar thing to every
Somali family encounters.
But what makes us similar to the Assame’s Chinese is the
fact that we were uprooted too from our country by horrendous circumstances we
didn’t create or have a hand on it, we were kicked out of our country, forced
to adapt to new cultures, new societies, new countries and most importantly,
new identities.
And just like them, Somalis after the civil suffered from so
many psychological traumas and distress, because displacement is never easy,
resettlement comes often with human rights challenges, economic hardship and so
on.
However, the most obvious similar factor is the eternal
identity crisis that both nations suffer from as a direct result of the
resettlement, the confusion that followed the younger generations because of
the integration to the new society.
So, Do we really suffer from identity crisis? And what is
identity crisis to begin with?
Identify crisis is a psychological term which is typically
defined as a period of uncertainty and confusion in which a person’s sense of
identity becomes insecure, typically, due to a change in their expected aims or
role in society.
The lucky ones who reached and lived in the first world are
moving back to Arab countries to protect their children (in some cases of
dhaqan celis Somalia), the hopeful ones are awaiting for UN lines in Garissa,
Turkey, Indonesia, Ethiopia, (Syria before) or some relatives to sponsor them
to the first world, the desperate ones who live in Somalia, except for few, are
thinking of the best way to escape.
So we become the never settling nation, we become the
homeless nation; we become the amateur nation of self-reliance and survivors
who chase a dream of an identity.
But what is the result from this state of confusion..?
The result is Identity confusion to the new Somali
generation....to me ...to you..And him , to the Somali person from moqdishu, to
Hergisa, to Galkacyo, to Toronto, to Minnesota, to Garissa..to Istanbul...we
are all in it. (mostly)
Those of us who settled in the first world, still can’t
blend in; while it’s quite understandable why the first generation of
Somali immigrants couldn’t , well; partially because of their strong sense of
identity and culture, it’s hard to say the same about the young generation who
were born or raised their.
Their sense of belonging is wrecked, they suffer from
identity crisis, because their torn between the two countries, the one that
they were born and lived in alienates them or consider them “the others” in
best case scenario, because of the deeply entrenched racism that these western
countries suffer from and due to the latest political propaganda that isolates
Muslims generally. But more importantly, they don’t fully feel belonging to
their distant country Somalia) that brought them shame and bad image, a country
their not fully acquainted with its culture and norms (they still wonder why
Somalis need to eat Bariis and Bastoo every other day).
So the result is simple, identity crisis, and constant
self-questioning, where do I really belong in this planet, because you can
never fully say with conviction and full mouth that you are Canadian, American
or Italian, and the reason is simple, we are Somalis, we are born with so much
pride to glue ourselves into a nation that see’s us as a bunch of terrorists,
pirates and in the best case scenario as an immigrants of color.
Identity crisis isn’t limited to Somalis who live in western
countries, it expands to those who are living home, inside Somalia, who mostly
aren’t satisfied with their standard of living or daily life situations,
who mostly complain about every aspect of life in Somalia (and can we
even blame them for that, those who mostly daydream about immigrating or suffer
from Buufis as Somalians call it, those who would risk their lives and do
anything just to live a day in western countries and see the paradise everyone
talks about.
Those are Somalis, they know the dhaqaan , the history, some
of them witnessed our golden days, but yet they wish to become American,
European, they don’t want to be JUST Somalis, because Somaliness isn’t enough
for them or to us, so they seek for a better identity.
The same applies to the ones who are waiting on the gates of
refugees with no identity in Garissa, Turkey, Indonesia, and Ethiopia, the ones
waiting on the doors of hope of having a respectable identify one day, a
respectable one that they can be proud of. An identity worth years of waiting
for and sometimes a life time!
Did Somaliness become this cheap, an identity to run
from??... An identity to disgrace?
I won’t analyze the reason why we reached this stage,
because what happened has happened, bitterness and staying in the past won’t
help us but forgiveness and reconciliation will.
But it all needs an active decision.
It wasn’t any different for me, my whole life; I have been
suffering from identity crisis. I was born in Canada, raised in Syria and lived
in Malaysia and the Philippines. As a child who was raised in an Arab country I
felt I belonged there, because we had the same religion, I formed all my
memories and friends in there, but then people will constantly remind us that I
am different, that I am black, so it hurt, it hurt so much that I didn’t have
much connection to Somalia, that when I googled about my country of
origin, all I saw was news about war, killings and bombs, simply
destruction!....It hurt that I felt distant and estranged to my Hoyoo country,
and at the same time , I didn’t belong anywhere esle, even the country I had
its documents!
My life turning point happened last year July 16, when I
first landed in Egaal airport in Hergisa city. The moment I stepped out of the
plane into the floor of the airport, I felt a wave of ..of...it’s hard to name
that feeling, because it was unfamiliar, it was beautiful and surreal , it was
a feeling now I learned and recognize....it’s called feeling Home after decades
of eeriness. It was Somalia where I belong and will ever belong. An identity I
will never trade again.
So, I understand if you’re still suffering from identity
crisis, I understand if you’re not there yet, I understand if you want to
explore your luck around the globe, I understand if you feel like living
in Haiti, or mombasa, if you sometimes feel ashamed of Somalia’s name, it’s
okay if you have inferiority complex, that is a natural consequence of our
prolonged abrupt situation.
Now, it’s okay if you’re not satisfied with who you
are...it’s all alright, it’s not our fault, we didn’t create this situation for
ourselves though we were born into it, and we have to deal with all the
consequences in a micro personal level!.
This is a journey we are all going through, or will embark
in sooner or later, is something we all Somalis have in common, a shared ground
of confusion and un-settlement.
But, on the bright side, I want you to know that unlike the
Assame’s of Chinese origin who were uprooted from their land, who don’t have a
choice of returning back, we have a country we belong to, we have a country
that’s waiting for us to return and will cradle us with all the love in the
world.
And unlike them, we , Somalis, proved to be a resilient
nation , a nation that despite all the hardship we went through, we still peak
into the future with eyes full of hope and optimism.
We have a country, which we will learn to appreciate and
love only after we have been stung with the fire of eeriness, only after we
know that no country will fully accept us as we are, except for our Somalia.
And it all boiled down to that realization, to that deep
conclusion you finally realize, be it an active decision or not.
Now, I know where home is, I know where belong ....I hope
you learn it too.
A Somali sister
