Saturday, May 23, 2015

يا سحابةً سوداء معصرة حلّت على موطني
حالكة مظلمة كالليل المغشي بلا نُجمِ
يا سحابةً عرجاء جثت كجبلٍ على
صدر سماء بلدي بلا تزحزُحِ
يا من منعتِ ضوء الشمس وشعاعهِ
عن شعبٍ مكلومٍ بأسرهِ
كُفّي الضيم والحيف وانزعي
عنكِ غلاف النحسِ والنكدِ
فالسحابات نذيرُ مطرٍ و خيرٍ
لا نذير شؤم و لؤمِ
انقشعي...انقشعي وتباسطي في سماء اللهِ
ودعي الودق كالنهرِ يجري
تعبنا..تعبنا وتهالك شعبنا الكليل عنكِ يجري
يجري راكضاً في أصقاع الأرض يسري
لاهثا وراء سراب شٌعاع في الأفق مُخفي
فاذا هم يتيهون في الأرض كأمة بلا أرضٍ ولا أملِ
يموتون في الصحاري والبحار بلا دفنٍ ولا مأتمِ
انقشعي..انقشعي وتباسطي ودعِ الودقَ يجري
أمطري سلاماً ومحبة واسقِ الظمآن اسقي
ودعي عنك البرقَ والرعدَ ولُمّي من حولك لُمّي
لُمي شعبا تناثر وضاعت هويته فتمدد الأقاصي
تعبنا..تعبنا وحان وقت الراحة فلندعِ الأضغان تُوّلي وتختفي
آآآآه...آآآآه آآآآآآآآهٍ.. كم انتظرنا الودق لتتجلى مشيئةُ الرّبِّ
رب السموات والعلا انت حسبُنا والمُعتمَدِ
يا رب اقشع الغمام والظلمات عنا اننا نترضع لك وندعي
يا رب قل لها كن فتكن فيُغرِّد حمام السلام من حولنا ويغني
يا رب آآآآآمييين

Friday, May 22, 2015

Found my self again

Go away
 Slay other's dreams, and drink from their dismay 
No, not today, 
I won’t be thinking of you like yesterday
When searching for a reason, was my only path and way 

Searching wistfully for a reason and a pray
No, I won’t be sorrowed or sullen that you went away
I won’t be pained or hurt, not anymore, anyway
I won’t be haunted by memories, 

thoughts, 
and
 a hope of us,

 someday...
I won’t blame myself and taunt it again and again
Today,
 I am a new me, I am a changed girl in so many ways
I am starting to see the lights at the end of my tunnel; and am happy to say
I don’t care about a “happily ever after” ending or a delusional closure for me to keep sane
I am content, 
blissful with myself and hopeful not wary, anymore, in dismay
And yes, I found my reason I found myself again.
Nevertheless, I hope you do the same one day 


Monday, May 18, 2015

I am a hard core Somali no matter what!
I see labeling as an invisible weapon with a massive destructive quality that could destroy not only individuals but nations as well, I believe labeling is a form of abuse and harm whether done intentionally or unintentionally and here is my experience with it…
When I first arrived at Hergisa airport, I thought “finally am in a land where everyone is Somali, where no one perceives me as a foreigner, or consider me different based on my religion, I thought here I can wear my “hijab” head cover freely with no staring eyes wondering what the hell am I wearing, here I will feel united with everyone else and share a collective identity which is being a Somali. I kept on taking pictures the whole 24 hours road trip on our way to Galkacyo my hometown. And since then I have experienced many new things about being a Somali.
Well for those who don’t know me, I am a hard core Somali who loves the blue flag with the white star in the middle to death, i am a hard core Somali who still sees that blue flag as a symbol of glory, I am a hard core Somali though I don’t memorize the full version of “soomaaliyeeytoosootoosooiskutiirsadayee" our beautiful national anthem, I am a hard core Somali though am a Canadian by citizenship, I am a hard core Somali despite the fact that I have been incredibly lucky to have lived in different countries ever since I was born, I am a hard core Somali and I can feel the Somali blue blood rushing through my veins pumping a pure Somali fresh blood into my heart and filling me with patriotic love fueled with altruism I have for my beloved country, I am a hard core Somali in spite of all the misconceptions the world has formed about my hallowed country, I am a hard core Somali even if my first time to step a foot in a Somali territory was just before six months, and dammit I am a hard core Somali even if I don’t enjoy the palatable taste of “canoogeel”milk camel.
Recently, I come to discover that we “me and my sisters” were being name called behind our backs, names like “the cadaan” white trash, “daqancelis” kids who are relearning the culture and “qurbojoogto” diaspora people. It saddens me so much because I now feel am still perceived as DIFFERENT in my own country ,where I was wishing for a collective identity, it saddens me because everything am doing is being judged under the label of “qurbojoogto”, it saddens me because now all my behaviors are being perceived as different and deviant because I wasn’t raised here in Somalia, they will even excuse my short comings because of that same reason and treat me as a child when I am already working in local University! And it saddens me the most when the labeling come from your so called friends and relatives. By that labeling they are unconsciously distancing me from the very hard core Somali I believe exist inside me, they are making me feel UNSOMALI “if there is a such word”!.
Somalis are big fans of labeling, they will always find you a common denominator with someone else or some other groups of people in order to label you and tag you all together, whether that labeling is based on something obvious like gender and occasionally being called ”naag” which means a woman and undermining your abilities or something which they come to accustomed and cultured with because of the very nature of their traditions and being labeled by your “qabil” tribe and being expected to fit in the persona of their collective character as a tribe.
When the labeling is merely based on your obvious features that’s called  “judging a book by its cover”, which we were taught to avoid by our parents. But wait I was a diaspora Somali kid who grew up in a different culture different environment, Somali kids who grew up in Somalia, sadly, were taught to label the book by its cover.
What is so wrong about this kind of mentality or tradition “if i may call it that based on my mere observationis that individuality is being undermined and over looked at, the uniqueness of human soul and how could they differ based on their own subjective experience, based on their own special ways of thinking, their different back grounds of education and the sum up of their individual choices, these are important factors that shape our personality they very person who we are. These important factors are being dismissed in this kind of labeling when judging a person is merely based on the obvious common denominator he/she share with their fellow Somalis.
I see labeling practice as the main factor why Somalis are divided into tribes, clans and into different states, I see labeling as a factor for bullying and undermining people’s individuality, I think labeling causes unpleasant feelings of unbelonginess, i see labeling the reason why Somalia had declined from one of the strongest entities in Africa into a paralyzed dependent country which depends on the helps of UN, I see labeling as an outdated practice that separate us Somalis from each other. Don’t you see with me that this practice is outdated and destructive to the Somali nation?
Despite all the labeling of “qurbojoogto” that I am, I would say that living and being raised abroad have made me that hard core Somali I am today, I fell in love with my own country though I was distant and far away, though I used to see negative news about it on the TV everyday so how far could they push me away from my own blue flag?! I say you can’t and I am still a hard core Somali to the tiniest bone in my body. I am a hard core Somali no matter what!
I still hope that good change will knock our door soon one day and we will all open up for it and welcome it warm hearty. Ghandi once said “be the change you want to see in the world” so let’s start with ourselves. I am against labeling and I will not practice it nor tolerate it.

Asia abbas

Sunday, May 10, 2015

انا لا احتفل بعيد الام ولا اعترف بذلك اليوم لكن كتابه معظم من في قائمتي عن امهاتهم وإسهابهم في الحديث عن مزايهم أشعرني بالغيره ..أريد ان يعرف العالم عن والدتي الحبيبه..عن امرأة عصامية احمد كل يوم الخالق لأنه جعلها لي أما واشكرها كل يوم لأنني بسببها "بعد الله "انا على ما عليه اليوم                                                           
ولأن العربية عشقك الابدي يا امي وتسألينني دوما ان اكتب بها ..فهذا لك يا أما                                               .
أمي يا ملاكي وحبي السرمدي الباقي الى الأبد يا من ترقد الجنة تحت أقدامها الطاهرة كيف لي يوما ان أوفيك حقك وجميلك ..كيف لي يوما ان اسعدك و امسح كل الألم الذي عانيته من اجلنا نحن اطفالك الثمانيه!                                 
عشت كل حياتك تحاولين توفير كل شيء لنا.                                                                                              
وحين قررتي انتي ووالدي العزيز "أدام الله في عمره" بان ترحل العائله من كندا الى سوريا لخوفكم على اخلاقنا      وديننا قررتي يومها ان تكوني اماً و اباً لخمس اولاد "أنذاك"..ان تتحملي كل مسؤليتنا علا عاتقك لان بابا كان مجبرا على البقاء هناك للعمل ليعيل أسرتنا.يومها تركتي وراءك حياة الرغد والرفاهيه الى حياة الوحده والتعب والمسؤوليه
يبدو لي كل شئ الآن كحلم عشته ..اتذكر بعض التفاصيل البسيطه عن يوم وصولنا الى الأراضي السوريه ..كنت اكبر الاولاد الخمسه في ربيع السابعه ..رحلنا الى بلد لا أهل ولا معارف عنا فيه..رحلنا الى بلد لا نجيد لغته والكل يحدق فينا لأننا مختلفون.. نختلف كثيرا عنهم ببشرتنا.. بلغتنا .. رغم اننا كما يقال عرب مثلهم                                      
تمسكنا بقوة اكثر بحجاب امنا الطويل خائفين من كل شيء ..                                                                          
فجأة علا في الجو صوت شجي اراح نفوسنا ..ما هذا؟ سألنا بكل براءه وكان أول مرة نسمع فيه الأذان                            ..
في سوريا انجبتي ثلاث اولاد لوحدك..تعبت رجلاك وانت تركضين من مكان الى مكان..مره الى المدرسه الى السوق   الي مكتب لفيزا الى مكتب العقارات الى المستشفى لم يكن لنا اهل هناك ولا أقارب فكنت كل شئ.                                                                                                                    
كنت جباره صابره بحق ولم ارك يوما تتهاوننين او تتذمرين فبوركت                                                                      .
بينما كان غيرك من النسوة يسرفن المال بلا حساب ويذهبن الى الاعراس والحفلات ويرجعن في وقت متأخر ويثرثرن على الهاتف لساعات طوال كنت منشغله بتربية ولد وبنات رأيتي فيهن ما لم يره الكثيرون..حرمتي عن نفسكِ الكثير لتعطينا المستقبل ..ولم أرك يوما تتهاونين أو تتذمرين                                                                                    .
كنتي معلمتنا ومدرستنا فختمنا القرآن في وقت مبكر ودرستينا تاريخنا الاسلامي المشرف فكنا دوما نعرف اشياء لا يعرفها من هم في اعمارناعن الانبياء و الصحابة والخلفاء والتابعين رضي الله عنهم وارضاهم                                       .
وقبل النوم كل ليله كنتي تحكي لنا قصص القرآن فنغفو جمعيا جنبك والابتسامه في وجوههنا                                      .
ربيتنا على قيمة العلم وبأنه سلاح يجب التسلح به وخاصه للبنات..وان لا نتزوج حتى نتخرج                                       
ربيتنا على عادات وطننا الذي لم نره بأعيننا وجعلتنا نتكلم الصوماليه في البيت وكنت ترددين الأمثله والماه ماه فكان بيتنا وطنا لنا                                                                                                                                    
واليوم بعد ان تخرجنا و يكاد االبعض الاخر ان يتخرج انتي مديره فندق وطالبه ..بدأتي بتحقيق حلمكي بان تكملي      الجامعه وتتخصصي في الدراسات الاسلاميه..وبعدها ان تكتبي كتابا.. كم انا ف                                                      
انتي امرأة استثنائيه..انتي امرأة صلبه وقويه..وقريبا جدا سأريحك من كل شيء ان شالله                                           ...
قال رسول الله صلی الله علیه وسلم(إدا مات إبن آدم إنقطع عمله إلا من ثلاثة....ومنها ولد صالح یدعو له)                    
لا ولن أوفكي حقك من الشكر حتا ولو رددتها الى اخر رمق في حياتي.لذا سأكون ولدا صالحا ان شاء الله                         .
ولكن الآن كل الذي اقدر عليه هو ان أقول احبكي بكل جواريحي كل عام وانتي بخير يا ماما يا ست الحبايب                        
اسية عباس 3>

Saturday, May 2, 2015

No one,no matter how articulate, could put in words how deep her rage was. It felt like a volcano was building up inside her fragile soul. she could feel every bits of it crushing through her veins than erupting inside her wounded heart boiling her arteries out. it was unbearable. how can a burned artery carry a life?. she wanted to die!.
That afternoon her husband was due to address the stuff of his company on his resignation, after math the horrifying incident, and later on the people of his tribe.
No one denied that Mudane.maxamed dowood was the most approachable politician in their state, whether in the city or his home town village.
It was a time where in the city of “Galkacyo” was smothered with many assassinations of symbolic and actual figures that filled any position. It was like as if progress was a crime, as if the city was denied any step forward towards peace and reconciliation.
You should remain ordinary in this city or worse unknown to be pardoned otherwise you will be another target, a story on people’s tongues for few days. 
Mudane. Maxamed was neither ‘ordinary nor unknown’. On the contrary he was a man of the people 
A man at his fifties. Mildly handsome and relatively tall with a circular hairless face, with a strong physical built; his presence was hardly ignored at any space.
“Mudane; are you ready?.. It’s about time we start” his old assistance Mr. Ibrahim entered the room quickly without knocking.
“No” he said quietly with a blank face
Ibrahim grew grim trying to be normal in this aggravated situation 
“I really don’t know what to say, I know that we’re deeply in a great ordeal here... ”
“ORDEAL?..Really? That’s all you could think of?” Maxamed interrupted furiously nearly shouting “ordeal is when your son is suffering from an early stages of a disease, ordeal is when you’re betrayed by your loving loyal partner, or perhaps when you’re fired from your job”
“But this...” he continued with a lowered tone. “This is indescribable” he became silent for a moment.
“The feeling of a man awaiting an execution is far beyond an ordeal. Perhaps it’s an ordeal for you or my wife, perhaps to my stuff. But an ordeal, Ibrahim,... an ordeal is often temporary” he took a breath “and its likely to resolve or go away. This is permanent for me” his voice broke shaking.
Ibrahim, who had known Mohammed and worked closely with him for over fifteen years, was like a father to him. Burning inside with parenthood empathy and unconditional love he didn’t know what to respond. 
But he tried anyway. He gathered his utmost strength. He got closer to him; sat on his knees in front of him and looked straight at his eyes. They were blank at first sight but as you stare for a bit longer you can spot the reflection of despair. Their eyes met for a moment of honesty they both knew the truth; this was unsolvable. 
“Maxamed, you saying that this situation is indescribable is very lame and false thing to say” he gripped his hands and hold them firmly as if he’s forcing him to listen “maybe it’s not an ordeal for you. But it was a fuckup. that's what it is. your fuckup. Now listen to me son, you’re a great person and so you will remain even if you die. Dying is inevitable, but what matters most is how you lived. your legacy You’re encrypted in this city’s memory, everyone knows you, and your biography will be crafted in gold “
“So what if you fucked it up, so what if you made a mistake and killed that asshole, who, God forgive me, deserved it. Go out there and exit as you entered to this city a hero. Show them what you’re capable of, show no weakness nor fear because great people never display remorse for their action”