Somalia

Lots of the work that Somali men do involve herding sheep and goats and milking them. These animals are very important to the people of Somalia. These Somali women are all wearing their traditional style of clothes, the Subeeciyad, which is a long cloth draped over the shoulders and around the waist. The Somali women spend time weaving baskets and creating art when they aren't doing their chores and housework.

This is an example of a hut that the people of Somalia typically live in. They are made of many different materials and aren't very sturdy or sustainable. They are usually randomly placed throughout the open landscape in which the Somali people live on at the time.

This is a photo of the capital of Somalia, Mogadishu. It is the largest city in Somalia and also a major port to this country.

Lots of Somalia is composed of large, dry deserts, like the one shown in this photo. Many people in Somalia are indigenous, and make huts in different parts of the desert to live for a while, before traveling on to new land somewhere else in the desert.

This is a photo of the north-eastern coast of Somalia.

These trees that are found in the desert of Somalia are very significant to the people who live there. These trees have many uses to the people who live in the desert (they create shade, can be used to make many different kinds of supplies that are needed, etc.).

This is a map of Somalia, which is located in Eastern Africa, borders the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean, and is east of Ethiopia. It is also bordered by Djibouti and Kenya.

media type="file" key="My Song 11.m4a" My eyes cracked open at the prick of some hay into my underside. Sun shone through the hay/animal skin/rug walls. When I pushed the door out to get my morning water, my good friend Dharbaaxo greeted me there; “Subax Wanaagsan!,” Which means, “good morning” in Somali. I greeted him and then went on. To the right I saw a group of women smiling and giggling at me but they immediately shushed and put back to making their crafts by a big man. When I came to the well there were two children with AK-47s. They let me have water because I give their village food to eat everyday. Some times, I can’t drink their water because its too dirty and I try to tell them about it but they wont listen and say its, “fine.” Only about one speaks English and he does not do it well, they are all sunni muslim, and women are seen usually making pots or basketry. I sat down with the men of the village to have breakfest, when they all said, “Ha kuu macaanaato.” That means “Bon appétit” in Somali language. Then they all started debating about what they were going to do today and when the Pirates would arrive. The pirates are groups of outlaws that rob boats and ships. For this village about 25% of the men and boys participated. Next I went in the fields to help the women to plant the seeds of important foods for the next harvest season. It hasn’t rained for months straight, so when the plants need to be watered I have to use my personal supply of water, which gets replenished every month by a chopper for the use of just Food. The women never talk to me, they are not even allowed to, but they do smile and giggle every time they see me. They listen and understand well my crappy Somali. My eyes usually grew sad when I heard of a spouse beating or rape; there are no laws about not doing that. Even if there were Somalia has no real government to enforce it. I heard gunshots. Everyone dropped what they were doing to hide and get into cover. I ran to get and save a girl that was crouching in the middle of the violence covering her ears and crying. I sprinted through the noise and took her over my shoulders. She kicked and punched at me until she realized I was saving her. We followed some people into a house that had good structure. We all sat down and all waited until they were gone. I asked about who the attackers were. One woman said that they were pirates from another village that ran out of food. I agreeded. When I came out the sun was so bright it blinded me. I went into my hut and it was ransacked. I started to rebuild the village when the woman that I saved’s father thanked me and said,” waad ku mahadsan tahay wada shaqeeyntaada.” I guess, if people really knew how miserable life was here they would try to help this poor, war torn, famine country. If I was a average person and I heard about this, I would have without a doubt donated, but that’s not the point. The people still need to do something about their bad habits that I see every day.

__ Trying New Things media type="file" key="abbies voice.m4a" width="216" height="18" __

I woke up in my small hut, the roof made of metal and the walls closely surrounding me. The morning was already hot and the land dry as I stepped outside to greet the new day. All around me I saw a vast landscape of dust and dirt; small huts similar to mine scattered throughout the area. As I walked down the road towards the main village, I saw Somali children running around, playing with //Garaangar//; toys which they had made by hand. They were laughing and having so much fun, that I was tempted to run beside them and join in their games. I smiled as they waved to me, recognizing me as their American friend.

Down the road, I spotted a group of men herding sheep and goats down the dusty dirt paths on the border of the village. Today was the day that I would learn the work of the fields, and I was nervous. Before my work day began, I entered the village to have my morning cup of milk tea with Nadifa, my new- found friend in the village who had made me feel at home from the moment that I arrived. When I spotted her, she was among a group of women, all wearing //Subeeciyad//, which is a single long cloth draped around the waist and over the shoulders. This was the traditional style of dress from Somali women, and Nadifa has generously offered to make me one to wear. Every day, after her chores and housework are finished, we sit together and talk while she weaves the colorful fabric into a beautiful garment as the sun slowly sets and the beat of the batar drum is heard in the distance.

Nadifa greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and offered me a cup of milk tea, which I gratefully accepted as we sat down together. She asked me how I was doing, and I responded with my answer in her language, trying to perfect my pronunciation. During the time that I have been here, she has been teaching me commonly used phrases in her Somali village and I have taught her some basic English, so we can better communicate with each other. We spoke a bit about Ramadan, an upcoming holiday that the people in this village celebrate as they practice their religion of Sunni Muslim. During Ramadan, they pray and fast during every day of an entire month. I was eager to learn more about the religious and cultural traditions of the Somali people, and Nadifa was a very good teacher. I looked forward to spending time talking with her every day.

When we finished our morning chat, I bid Nadifa goodbye and headed down past the village to where the men were standing with their herds of goats and sheep. They told me that I would be milking the animals with a small group of women in an open hut nearby. I began to steer the creatures in the direction of the hut, and was doing fine, until one particularly sly goat trotted off towards the village. I called out for it to stop, but of course, it didn’t listen. I tried to hold down the rest of the squirmy animals to prevent them from following the goat, while the women in the hut looked at me with distaste. I quickly herded the animals into the hut, and then took off down the road to retrieve the mischievous little goat. I found it sticking its head into a bag of hay on the side of a hut, chomping away contently. It looked up and saw me, and took off down the path when I tried to grab it. I sprinted after it, feeling my face turn red from embarrassment as the women and children working in the village stopped to watch the debacle. I'm sure they were thinking "look at that crazy American" as I made such a wild scene. The longer I chased after the goat, the quicker I realized that this animal was fast, and it showed no signs of slowing down. I stopped to catch my breath, panting, when some children came over to me. They motioned with their hands that they were going to help me. They abandoned their chores and housework and flew after the goat in their bare feet, laughing and calling out to one another. This chase had turned into a fun game for them. I smiled as I watched the quick little children catch up with the goat, and wrestle it to the ground. I found a piece of rope nearby and ran over to loosely tie it around the squirming goats neck. Once I had the rope securely attached to the goat and it had calmed down, I gratefully thanked the children and then led the animal back through the village, while some people still stared at me, and into the hut where the women were already busily milking the other goats. They looked up when they saw me arrive, and I was sure that I could detect a hint of a smile on a few of their lips. I apologized for disrupting the work in the village, and then sat down next to one of the women, who smiled at me and showed me how to properly milk the animals.

After a few hours, my work was finished and I had become a pro at goat milking, with a hefty bucket of creamy white milk to show for it. I lugged the buckets into the village with the other women, and then sat down to rest on the ground in a patch of shade. I spotted Nadifa near a small hut, hanging fabric on a clothes line. I jogged over to help her, and told her about my accomplishments. She smiled and laughed, saying that she had seen my frantic goat chase through the village. Once I got over my embarrassment, I found a way to laugh about it and knew it would be a good story to tell my family and friends when I returned to the States.

I looked around the village. I saw women in huts weaving baskets and completing their chores for the day. Children were relieved from their housework and were running around and playing. That night, I joined a gathering around a camp fire where men were beating the batar drums, and people were singing and keeping time with the beat. I inhaled the scent of the earth that permeated the air. I felt so close to this land and these people in that moment, and knew that I had discovered a different world that existed quietly, away from the traffic and noise of the United States. I thought about the reasons why I had come here. I came to believe that it was completely true that these kinds of places were fewer and harder to find in our ever developing world which seems to be spinning faster and faster with each day and each new technology advancement, and as I sat back and let nature surround me, I felt content, and found peace.

media type="file" key="travel STORY.m4a" align="left" width="300" height="50"Ben Weinswig

My trip to Somalia

Last year, during my senior year of high school, my family took in an exchange student from Somalia. His name was Asad, and he was my age. He stayed with us for six months, and I grew very close to him. Asad found many of the American customs odd, but in the end he fit into the culture like a glove. His favorite part of living in America was the women. He mentioned at least once a day that he could not believe how many beautiful women he saw every day. He was never scared to put himself out there and talk to the girls, and they enjoyed his company and found him cute. Asad spoke Somali as his first language, but knew a good amount of English when he first came. By the end of the six months he had become a fluent speaker. I was crushed when it was time for Asad to leave. We had become so close that he was like a brother to me. I was determined to visit him in Somalia someday.

During the summer after Asad left, I received a letter that he would be getting married the next December. He said in the letter that he wanted me to come to the wedding and be one of his “groomsmen” as they call it in Somalia. This was the perfect opportunity for me to visit Africa for the first time, and visit Asad. I decided that I would spend my winter break from college in Somalia and attend Asad’s wedding. I would be able to learn the Somali customs and language, like Asad learned mine, and would stay with his family for two weeks.

December came fast, as I had finished finals and was done with my first semester of college. I packed my bags for summer weather; Asad told me the weather is warm and very comfortable in December. I decided to bring a traditional Somali necklace for Asad’s bride as a gift that I bought on a beach in California sophomore year of high school. For Asad’s gift, I had a brilliant idea. I had bought him airplane tickets for the next summer so he could come visit me again. I knew he would adore this gift, because when he wrote me, he constantly mentioned how he missed the “American ways”.

My flight was 18 hours. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t force myself. I felt like a little boy going to his first professional sporting event, as I could hardly sit still in my seat, so excited to see Asad. I sat next to a very large middle-aged man. He took up two seats and needed to ask for a seatbelt extender. He was out cold from the minute he sat down, only waking up once to go to the bathroom, and wipe the thick drool beginning to crust on his chin. He wasn’t what I would call friendly.

After what felt like days, the plane landed in Somalia. I noticed how comfortable the weather was as I stepped out of the plane, the sun shining through a clear sky. I rushed through the airport only stopping for a quick bathroom break before I grabbed my bags. As I walked down the hallway with my bags I spotted Asad out of the corner of my eye. “ASAD!” I exclaimed loud enough so that people stared at me from a far.

“Griffin,” he responded with a bright smile across his face. “Assalaamu calaykum.” This was a greeting he taught me, meaning welcome in Somali.

It was amazing to see Asad. I had missed him like I would miss a big brother who left home for college. I felt blessed that I would be able to attend his wedding, and one of the biggest days of his life. I was also excited to learn the Somali culture and adapt to living like Asad.

We drove about a half an hour in his beat up and somewhat rusted Toyota to his home, which was located right outside of the country’s capital: Mogadishu. As we drove, I noticed that Toyotas dominated the road. Almost all of the cars I saw were Toyotas. This surprised me because I thought they would drive cars that I wouldn’t have heard of before.

Soon enough, we had entered a small village. Families lived in huts that they built themselves from resources they found. The huts were about the size of my living room. At first sight, I couldn’t imagine calling this my home. We were quickly greeted by Asad’s family after we parked. His mother, father and baby brother all came out to meet me. His mother wore a tattered robe with many bright colors that looked like she made herself. They spoke little English, but were very friendly. Asad had taught them to say things like “It’s nice to meet you,” and “we’ve heard so much about you,” and they did a pretty good job with the words. After the introductions we entered into the hut. There was a small kitchen area, and a few back rooms I assumed were for sleeping. They showed me to my room which was only big enough to fit a small mattress and a suitcase. I didn’t mind this though; all I cared about was being with Asad.

That night for dinner, we all gathered at a folding table Asad’s father had set up in the middle of the hut. We said some traditional Arabic prayers that I didn’t understand, but I enthusiastically played along. It was nice to feel a part of their traditions. Next Asad’s mother brought out the dinner. The dish she had made was called Cambuulo. She said it was a common dinner dish in Somalia made with well-cooked azuki beans mixed with butter and sugar. It was one of the most delicious things I had ever eaten. I was grateful to be with Asad and his family, who were glad to take care of me and take me into their home.

For the next week I lived a new life. I ate interesting and new Somali foods made by Asad’s mother, and I loved each and every one of them. I practiced the Arabic religion and learned many traditions that I enjoyed. I also picked up on the Arabic language a little bit, learning simple words and phrases. Asad also taught me to write a few letters. During the day we went to the market, the beach and to different cities, like Hargeisa, and Beledweyne. All of these things were new and different for me, but I enjoyed every second of the the experience. I would never have thought of eating the type of cuisine like Asad’s mother made, or conversing with foreign people in a new language. I also thought I wouldn’t be able to survive living in a hut, but it was a no-brainer. I even enjoyed living this way at times. I appreciated everything that was given to me, and felt generally like a better person.

Soon enough, the wedding day had arrived. A traditional Somali wedding has many differences from an American wedding. The festivities last for three nights, consisting of singing, dancing, and lots of celebrating. Asad explained to me that on the first night it is customary for the men and women to celebrate separately, and at different places. That night, I met several of Asad’s close friends. They were all very friendly and seemed excited to meet me. They all were interested in hearing about the “American way”.

On the second night, there was a festivity called the Gaaf. We gathered with a smaller group of men and women and recited poems, riddles and songs together. It was a great experience, and I felt connected to all of the people there. I could feel the love being shared between us all, and it was almost magical.

The third night was the reception. All of the guests gathered at the church for the wedding. The attire was much like at American weddings; the men wearing suits, and the women wearing dresses. When it was time, Asad’s groomsmen and I walked him down the isle to meet his bride. She looked beautiful, wearing a long white dress with a crown around her head. The ceremony was inspiring. The guests were kept involved the whole time, and although I couldn’t understand most of what was said, I enjoyed the experience tremendously. Experiencing a wedding tradition that was far different from what I was used to was life changing.

After the ceremony we had a grand feast. There were plates and plates of traditional Somali foods, some that I had seen Asad’s mother cook, and others that were new to me. Everything was absolutely delicious, and after eating I had never felt so bloated in my life.

Soon after, gifts were exchanged, and I couldn’t wait to give Asad his gift. I made my way over to his new wife, Aliya. She seemed appreciative of my gift to her, and told me she had heard so many great things about me. Next I found Asad. I closely watched him tear the wrapping paper off of the box I handed him, excited to see his reaction. When he saw the tickets he beamed with happiness, and embraced me in a brotherly hug. “You couldn’t have given me a better gift,” Asad told me gratefully. “Thank you so much.” I felt great about my gift, and couldn’t wait for Asad to come visit me again.

When the two weeks ended, I was devastated. I wasn’t ready to return home yet and truly wanted to keep learning and experiencing Asad’s traditions and ways of life. I hugged Asad’s mother and father goodbye as I watched tears run down his mother’s cheeks. It was an emotional day for everyone, not wanting to part ways with each other. As I hugged Asad, joy came across my body, remembering that soon enough we would be reunited. “It has been amazing Asad,” I said to him truthfully. “Thank you for everything, and I will see you soon. Waan ku tabayaa .”