Somalis..identify crisis, and the glimpse of hope...

            

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