It started as a usual qaraabo qansax phone call. The kind of call when someone claiming to be related to you calls you and spends all his/her air time on “ waa kumaa`” “ yaa ila hadlaayo?”. The kind of phone call that the diaspora dreads because it always contains the words “ waan dhibaateeysanahay” “wax ii soo dir” etc.
The world has changed. A lot in so few decades. For the somali, it is the dawn of a new time, a new culture, new ways to interact.
In the pre-war days, when our nation and folks were feared in the whole of Africa, when our identify was the envy of many, the worst phone call you could get was from a geeljire uncle who came to a major town in Somalia to sell his camels and finds the time to call you; he will probably take a few minutes of the call time by repeatedly asking you “Car I garro?”.
This uncle will never ask you to send him money. Begging was viewed as an ignominy. He will enquire about your marital status, whether the rains have come in your part of the world or when you will come and visit him.
This is the age of globalisation. The era of buufis. The era of moral decay where our folks have embarked on a train to Dante’s inferno. The era of superficiality where you are pious one hour and the next hour you are satan; the era of waan daadshe when everyone is an expert on everything. The era of wadaads with laba aayadood. The era of Xaflad or to borrow from Sangub’s play “waa maadeeys soomaaliddu dadnimo ayaa matalaan”.
The era of beesha, dawlad goboleed (yes, it is a race to the bottom; we turn inhabitable places into gardens), the era of ilaaheey baa gaalada noogu soo qaaday.
Based on experience, you have decided never to pick the phone when the caller ID shows that it is from Africa (except from relatives whose numbers you have mastered) following the revelation that people are given call credits to call you.
You look at the call ID and it is Somalia. After a few second of hesitation, you pick it because it is Ramadaan time and you are in the mood for some ajar to erase your accumulated dembi.
Oh, what the hell? You say to yourself. I will send the caller a few hundred dollars after all the yields from your investments have been above expectation.
You hear a female voice at the other end “Hello. Waa kumaa?”
“Yaad rabtay?”
“Ii dhiib Lamagoodle”
“waa asaga”
“Lamagoodlow, eedo macaan, waa Caasho Cuud, ee waxaan ku soo wacay inuu wiilkeeyga Mubaarak uu berito imaaneeyo wadanka aad joogtid”
This was out of the ordinary.
“Haye”
“eedo, waxaan soo siyey telefoonkaaga, waxaa la yiri wadanka aad joogtid ayaa sharci laga bixiyaa”
You are about to ask, so .. and then..? when you realise that she still speaking;
“ Beri tareenka ka imaaneeyo Milano ayuu saaran yahay. Wuxuu soo degayaa 9ka subaxnimo”.
“Eedo ii soo dhoweey wiilka. Dhaxanta yaay iga dilin”
She hangs up.
You go on memory lane, there is no eedo Caasho. You’d have remembered her because of the nickname Cuud. But nada.
You are probably taken for a ride.
During the good old days, in geeljire country, it took days of discussions to decide to migrate. Generally, migrating started with Sahan (survey/ expedition/ scouting ). The best lads in the village ( after afar faataxo and todoba marro) are sent a mission. They will survey if there is pasture, if there are predators and the neighbouring settlements. They will report to the elders.
Their findings will be discussed and a final decision is taken after afar faataxo.
Even during the “Janaale” era when Somalis flocked to the Gulf countries and the subsequent “booyaso” migration to Italy, only the mentally sane were given blessings to travel. The duca always ended with “nin diintiisa, dalkiisa wax u qabto Allah ha kaa dhigo”.
Nowadays, it seems that every fool can travel. There is no solid sahan; no duca.
“Well, no problem”. You say to yourself. He can live with you in your two-bedroom upscale flat. You will take him to Naag ka roon / sabool koriye (restaurant), buy his some clothes, give him some pocket money and take him to the Einwanderungsbehörde and in due time, your life will be back to normal.
You take the local bus to the Banhof and come in time for the arrival of the Milano train. You look for a somali face on the platform and suddenly, you find three people approaching you.
Assalamu calaykum. Waa Mubaarka. Ma Lamagoodlaa?
Haa.
„This is Ayaan and this is Nasro. We travelled together from Somalia, through the desert and on the boat to Lampadusa“ says Mubaraak almost with a sigh of pride.
„Welcome“.
Ayaan, ( little bit chunky woman) in her late 20s takes her Mobile phone from her expensive bag and shouts „let u stake a picture! . We must update our facebooks“. A selfie and a photo of the three of them (you are suddenly turned into a photographer).
What the hell is wrong with this people? You ask yourself.
The plans you have been making to accommodate Mubaarak becomes sac bacaad lagu lisay. You have a two bedroom flat and even though the saying goes “gacal isma cariiriyo” you know that you cannot share your bedroom with a stranger.
Nasra and Ayaan are not your kind- . Laba qaawan isma qaado as they say.
Plan B; take them home. Dine them. Let them relax and in the afternoon take them to the nearest migration office. Problem solved.
You arrive home. Give them something to drink.
Aboowe, Internet ma leedahay? Asks Nasro.
War baladaan maxay ahayd? Haa. Wifi ayaan leeyahay. You reply.
Just like kids handed candy, the three of them, almost in a synchronised move, take their phones out of their pockets and bags.
You give them the Wifi password and before you know it, they are talking on their phones. Apparently, they have Wazupp and other apps.
“Waa nabad imaaneey.” “waa nala qaabiley” they shout.
Hadda ayaan feesbuuga soo gelinayaa sawirada. Meeshu waa meel fiican. Imaaw!
You find yourself mentally exhausted. You have not interacted with this number of somalis for many years. You have met somalis who come for treatment (actually therapy). The doctors have realised that psychology is the key. They prescribe painkillers and before you know every patient is claiming that he/she has been cured. But not this number of somalis. Not in your home.
Na keena aan meesha laiska dhiibo idin geeye, you shout.
On the way to the local migrations office, you learn that these people know more about this country than yourself. You hear them talk about how to apply for asylum, how much allowance they will be given etc.
…..
