the amount of self-hatered is flabbergasting to me.
By Prof. Mohamud Togane (togane@progression.net)
Every time I type the word Hawiye, my computer talks back to me, telling me:
"I have never heard of such an animal.
What the hell is Hawiye?
Is that flesh, fish or fowl?
Sir, you must be confused; you must mean Hawaii!!!"
I would laugh and say to myself:
You are right; I wish I have never heard of Hawiye Naa-red either! All in all, I would rather be in Hawaii than with the Hawiye in their Hawiyeland where the Hawiye had shot dead my brother, Abdirahman Siad Togane; where again the Hawiye shot up my other brother Hassan Siad Togane twice riddling up his body with 18 bullet holes, leaving him for dead; where again the Hawiye almost shot me dead four time in 1992 in my futile effort at attempting to make peace between our Hawiye fool called Ali Mahdi who turned Somalia into a nuclear garbage dump and our bald bedlamite Hawiye Gar-diid-Illah-diid Ai-diid aptly dubbed General Wow by Somali wags.
That is why I had decided to vacation in Hawaii rather than with my own Hawiye in Hawiyeland;
that is why I had decided to spend the whole month of February on the island of Oahu in Hawaii
lolling on the beach and soaking up the sun until I became
as black as my grandfather
whose nickname was Dhuhulow:
as black as charcoal or coal black!
I am glad I had gone to Hawaii in search of fun under the sun and swim in the sea;
I am glad I had gone in a mad dash just to get away from cold clannish Canada,
Kipling’s “our Lady of the Snows” during the whole month of February,
the month of choice for suicides in Canada:
I testify that them cold dark winter February blues and blahs can get you down in the dumps
unless you have the faith and the courage of Albert Camus who bore witness thus:
“In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer”
to combat any bleak black despair in my lonesome bitter exile from my kingdom by the sea.
So I am glad I got away from everything cold and clannish and Canadian and cantankerous
for the whole month of suicide February!
So imaging the irony of a Somali
from the smiling blue skies of sunny Somalia
and a former Sheikh of the Indian Ocean
flying for 13 hours
from Montreal to Waikiki Honolulu
in search of the sun and the sound of the soothing surf of the Pacific!
Notice that I had written a Somali and not a Hawiye
because now not even a Hawiye is safe today in Mogadishu
where I was born and into which the Hawiye had now turned into a hell called ironically
"Hawiyah: [Arabic: the Abyss. The seventh division of Hell set aside for hypocrites: Hawiye and otherwise. According to The Glorious Koran (Sura 15: 40), Hell “hath seven gates; unto every gate a distinct company of them shall be assigned.” See under Hell in See Rev. E. Cobham Brewer. A Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. London: Cassell and Company, Ltd; no date of publication given.”]
Now wonder now our President Ina Yay and our Prime Minister Ina Ghedi
are skittish about setting foot in hellish Hawiyah Mogadishu.
Who can blame them?
Who wants to go willingly to a hell called Hawiyah?
That is why I decided to vacation in Hawaii
where every morning I would breakfast on guava juice and papaya without being harassed by my own fellow Hawiye
who are holding right now all of us Somalis as hostages in the hell called Hawiyah Mogadishu.
My Darod kith and kin go and vacation in their Darodland
where everything is dandy and honky-dory;
my Iidoar bosom buddies likewise go and vacation and chew jaat in peace
on that famous street called f-king Street in Hargayssa
where they feel fine and as content as a cow chewing its cud;
but to be a Hawiye nigger like me is to be like Hamlet without the fancy poesy;
but to be a Hawiye nigger like me is to be a nowhere nigger;
but to be a Hawiye nigger like me is to be a nobody with nowhere to go
where I can be somebody
like the Issaq in their Hargayssa or
like the Darod Majerten in their Bossasso, the Boston of East Africa ;
but to be a hopeless hapless Hutu Hawiye nigger like me is to be never at peace;
but to be a Hottentot Hawiye a nigger like me today is to be Kipling’s
“lesser breed without the law,… half child, half devil.”.
No wonder the Somali Hawiye poet, Sa-eed Gacamey, lamented:
Gabay waan ka haroo laabtu wey i hinganeysaaye
I have given up poesy because my heart aches
Hawo waan ka haray hirarna wey iga hor muuqdaane-e
I have given up ambitious efforts even though waves are about to overwhelm me
Hanti waan ka haray xoolahaan heysan jirey waaye
I have given up seeking wealth since I had lost all that I had once possessed
Hooy waan ka haray waxaan hurdaa meel habaas badane
I have given up home and hearth and sleep now in the very devil’s dust
Halgan waan ka haroo Hawiyaan hilib la sheegtaaye
I have given up being a contender for anything since I am a Hutu Hawiye
Hawl waan ka haray oo ma jiro ruux u heelani
I have given up the struggle since it is so pointless
Hiddo waan ka haroo ma jiro geed la hariyaaye
I have given up courting wisdom since wisdom has
no Hawiye tree under which to shelter
Hadaf waan ka haray sharafna waa laysku heystaaye
I have given up giving a damn since I am of the Hawiye
Who are now as contemptible as the horrible Hutu
Hunguri waan ka haroo meel xun buu kugu hagaayaaye
I have given up ambition & fame
That last infirmity of noble mind
lest they lead me to Evil
Hoggaan waan ka haray sida shacbiga loo hantuuliyaye
I have giving up on our leadership on account of the muzzled masses
Horseed waan ka haray been haddii heello loo tumaye
I have given up on our leadership since Fear & Smear are the order of the day.
Sa-eed Gacamey is not alone in his lamentation; not long ago, on this very website
I too sang plangently:
As we sail through
our Somali Seas of Sordidness
our Somali Slough of Despond
with battalions of sorrow
with our wounded Somali Spirit
sagging
with many a sigh
with no relief in sight
we can’t help but encounter
this pretty kettle of Somali fish
we can’t help but encounter
countless kinds of
comical
clannish
foolish fish
that make us guffaw with laughter
to keep us from weeping all the time
like fish out of water.
One of the funniest and most clannish fishes we encounter is
The Barracuda fish
The barracuda fish are the most selfish fish
for they
always knock you upside the head
always knock you out of the way
always get in your way
always never go away
always are in your face
the Hutu Hawiye
are balayo barracuda baraculo fanculo fish
for Allah created the Hutu Hawiye
the maddest of all mankind
(O Hottentot Hutu Hawiye
whenever I hear our nasty name
I share in its shame).
It is not only Sa-eed Gacamey or truculent Togane or Ina Yay or Ina Ghedi
who now despises the lawless Hutu Hawiye and their mean and murderous city of Mogadishu
Into which they have turned now into a hell aptly named Hawiyah,
Sa-yid Muhammad Abdalla Hassan, had such a city like Hoag Hoggish Hawiyah Mogadishu in mind
when he in his cantata litany of the cursed and the contemptible cantillated:
A liar I despise
A miser I despise
And a greedy gut who gobbles up what is not halal I despise
A tobacco-chewer I despise
A compulsive coward I despise
And a flabby fat fool I despise
A gûn goon I despise
A fool tool that isn’t tame I despise
A white man’s minion I despise
A honky’s houseboy I despise
An unjust king I despise
A flag without an army I despise
And above all
A city without the rule of law I do most definitely despise.
[transcreated by Togane with an assist from Sa-eed Samatar]
Far from the maddening crowd of Mogadishu,
far from my Hawiyah clan,
swimming and snorkeling and basking
on the alien American Kailu and Hanauma Bay and Sunset and Turtle Bay Hilton beaches
of the Oahu Island in Hawaii,
as I feel and enjoy the rays of the bright sun
searing and sizzling my ebon skin,
I could not help but think of the beaches of Mogadishu
like the Lido, like the Secondo Lido, like Maanyo Xaar, like Moal Xaneed,
like Ghayl-Qaad, like Jaziira
where I, as a gamin, had almost drowned in my determined effort
to make myself into a worthy son of Neptune;
where I would dive deep
hidden
from Dafle’s camel boys from Las Anod
where I would dive deep
hidden
from the sun
and in the cool depths of the Indian Ocean
startle the flying eagle spotted stingrays;
That is when I broke into a solo singing to the Somali sun and to the soothing surf:
When the rolling surf
And the rising moon
And the swaying palms
And the high white bird
And the lazy fish
All speak of love
I cry in the night:
Somalia my second mother
Where are you, love?
