His Somali peers always tell him “waad raaxeyste” when he tells them of the travels he makes. Of course, somalis love travelling; it is part of our being; the idea of dressing for the occasion of flying is embedded in our souls; this could be deduced to the mere fact that most of us never got the chance; it was only the haves that were privileged who flew. The have-nots’ best bet to fly was through the occasional visa arrangements through relatives, using false documents etc. As a matter of fact, many Somali movies/plays glorify the art of flying. You may remember for instance, Xasan Geni’s great song “dhoof Caashaq” sung by Xasan Aden Samatar.
Your correspondent- though becoming frequent flyer during the past decade or so was not privileged as a kid. His family never owned a car although their societal statues could be said to be relatively middle/upper class. The first time your correspondent used a car was when he was about 6 years old. Sitting on his mother’s lap the smell of the diesel from the engine and what appeared to be trees moving and the subsequent vomiting is a memory that will not go away.
In recent decades although the memory of that first car ride is still heady your correspondent has trotted the globe. Frequent trips to Africa, Latin America and Asia has become part and parcel of his monthly routine. As a bachelor and being a Somali at heart, it seems that my employer knows I will undertake even perilous journeys. A typical journey starts by the boss ordering at a short notice; Lamagoodle, you should take the earliest flight possible to Accra, Dushanbe, Tashkent, Santiago and instructions will follow. Your correspondent then calls the ticketing office to book a plane ticket and a hotel. In most cases there is a limousine waiting at the port of arrival. During the earlier years of his career, your correspondent was flattered when he sat in the corporate lounges and particularly when he sees his name at the arrival’s hall. This poor refugee a few years ago is met by well dressed ladies and a driver with a heart!
Normally at the hotel your correspondent visits the bar, the restaurant area and engages in conversations with Xalimos of all kinds. Unfortunately, except for Nairobi, no Somali sisters. But, as they say the sea is full of fish. Note that your correspondent is not promiscuous. In other words he does not put his Kal in every Mooye or his Wedaan in every Ceel. He is what you may call old school shaxaari; meeting ladies, having fun and passing the boring day. When there is a risk of scoring hole in one your correspondent is reminded by his good upbringing and his intellectuality of the danger beckoning ahead. But he is an admirer of fun for free. It is great for the psyche when your correspondent is compared to Denzil Washington, Tiger Woods (indho-yars think every black person comes from America) and to be thought of sexy by African sisters !
During this last visit your correspondent was booked into a hotel that was smoking free. What a horrible experience! Marlboro and hotel adventures go hand in hand. It is your correspondent’s company. Anyhow, your correspondent was awake at 3,30 am local time because it took awhile to adopt to the time zone. Very earlier in the morning (at 5 am) your correspondent opens the outward door on the 8th floor; smokers zone and there is a swimming pool. In the swimming pool was this fine mature woman and as soon as she saw me she left the pool and joined me for a joint (Marlboro). As indicated earlier your correspondence is not promiscuous, specially with naagaha aan istinjoonin.
This is where your correspondent made a serious mistake; he was unlike Twist not born on the shores of the Indian ocean, nor the shores of the three main rivers; Dawa, shabelle and Jubba rivers and did not therefore master the art of swimming. He was brought up into believing that water was as sacred as a mosque. Scarcity in semi-arid Somali territories meant that spilling water was a crime. The first car ride mentioned above and the sacred nature of water has stuck in his membrane. Water was for live; using it for enjoyment was a crime! But, just in case there is a need, your correspondent always carries a bathing suit and other tools needed in case of emergency. This particular morning, the woman at the swimming pool suggested that a dip in the pool might counter the effect of jetlagness. By now around the pool were 5 people (4 women and a guy). Your correspondent went to his room, put on the swimsuit and made a dash for the pool. It must be mentioned that with his chicken breast and spagethi legs your correspondents’ was a matter of attraction amongst the ladies. To the indho-yars your correspondent was tall; to the European an exotic body.
Yaanan hadalka idinku badinine by now, there were three people in the pool itself. Your correspondent jumped into it and pretended to be a seasoned swimmer until he reached the middle of the pool. He did not notice the sign which said the depth of this particular pool is 2 meters. You correspondent went down; started swallowing water for nearly two minutes. The co-swimmers realized something was wrong and rushed to his aid. Outside the pool, your correspondent started vomiting!
Even the female name "Osob" is outdated.