By Ali H. Abdulla

I would like to recall an incident that happened to me when I was a kid attending Sheikh intermediate school in Northern Somalia. It was in the early 1970s during the early years of the military coup that ousted the elected civilian government and plunged the country into dictatorship that eventually led to the country’s current failed state status.

The incident took place at Bihin, a small town along the way from Berbera to Sheik. Bihin was a picturesque town endowed with date palms and other fruit trees. There was a dam which provided a water reservoir for the town to irrigate their crops. The town was a also a resting area for trucks transporting livestock from Burao, a vibrant market for trading sheep, camels and cattle, for export to Saudi Arabia through the port of Berbera. It was dotted with small coffee shops that served tea and Somali traditional food such as Biryani-like dishes.

On my way to school in Sheikh, I hitched a ride with one of the trucks returning from Berbera to Burao after dumping its load of goats and sheep at the port. When we reached Bihin, the driver decided to profit from the opportunity of transporting thousands of sheep and goats that were stranded at Bihin and waiting to be transported to Berbera. Many traders used to drive their livestock from Burao to Berbera by foot during the Haj season when demand for Somali livestock peaked. It seems that the traders were anxious to reach Berbera with their goods before an anchored ship there left for Saudi Arabia.

You can imagine my dilemma of getting stuck penniless in Bihin for several days while the truck I hitched a ride with dumped me in the middle of no-where. I do not know how I tolerated the hunger but my young body seemed to cope fine, and I did not have the courage or audacity to beg for food from the owner of the coffee shop where I spent those sleepless nights.

Eventually, a nomadic gentleman entered the coffee shop and sat at a table not far from where I sat. He ordered tea and, while sipping it, he kept glancing at me from time to time as if wondering what a young boy like me was doing in such a place at .such an odd hour of the night.

The man suddenly greeted me politely and started to talk to me in a fatherly manner. He eventually managed to coax me into revealing my predicament. To my surprise, he promptly asked the owner of the coffee shop to satiate my hunger and quench my thirst. After I finished eating, he asked me to accompany him to the main road where he paid for my fare on a truck bound to Burao. All the trucks passing through the area before the man came to my rescue refused to give me a free ride.

I was touched by the generosity of the man and to this day I long to meet him again to thank him. I left Somalia a few years later to escape from scientific socialism and Russian-dominated education, and that was the last time I saw my savior. He may have been killed in the civil war or he may have died of natural causes, but I do hope that he is still well and alive so that I can thank him again for his kindness and quick wit. The current separatist leaders in that part of the country will make it difficult for me to search for him.

I would like to reiterate that this incident is not unique in the Somali culture, particularly among Somalis with a nomadic background who are not corrupted by city life. Before the civil war and the disintegration of the country into clan enclaves, Somalis loved each other regardless of clan and helped each other.

The famous Somali saying, “Waan ku garab taaganahay” epitomizes the sense of obligation Somalis had of helping fellow countrymen and friends in need. The phrase means “We support you” and it refers to an incident in Berbera when a Volga driven by a Russian man broke and several Somalis gathered around him. They kept saying to the Russian “We support you” without doing anything. When the man asked about their strange behavior, they responded that they wanted to remind Russians about the futility of empty words of support for the Arabs in their conflict with Israel, the Arabs being friends of Russia at the time.

What prompted me to write this article is the dilemma facing seven Somalis who spent years in squalor and inhuman conditions in Swaziland. After tolerating years of abuse in a refugee camp, they have finally decided to leave Swaziland and trek 3,862 kilometers to their native country, Somalia. My situation was different since I was stranded among my own people who may have drifted apart but are sure to find each other again. The seven Somalis are stranded in the midst of strangers who lack the most basic human feelings. The Somalis will suffer from further abuse in every African country they pass through on their way home. Imagine eating leaves and grass to survive.

Since the Somali government lacks the capacity to help these Somalis, it is incumbent upon the Somali Diaspora to come to their rescue so that they can come back home in one piece without suffering from further abuse. Those of us who have access to the UN agencies responsible for refugee matters, and those of us who can organize a campaign to help them should step forward and spearhead such a campaign.

Let us relive some of the Somali spirit that we have lost during years of conflict and civil strife. Professor Samatar in a recent interview called it rekindling our Somaali Caashaq”, to be in love with being a Somali.

Ali H Abdulla
Email:aliegeh@gmail.com