Getting Somalia Wrong

I just came across this book review by Magnus Taylor about BBC journalist Mary Harper's new book, Getting Somalia Wrong. This is definitely a book worth reading. 


"Harper's book has grown out of 20 years working on and in the country, and functions not as a conventional history of Somalia, but rather as a discussion of several key themes central to its present state. Pleasantly surprising was the thread of black humour that runs throughout, created by the description of several historical events that exemplify an admirable, and slightly crazed, Somali independence of spirit.

First is the story of the 'Mad Mullah' - warrior poet Seyyid Mohamed Abdulle Hassan - who fought the British to a standstill in the early 20th century and described himself as 'a stubborn he-camel' from whom the British would get 'war and nothing else.' When his troops killed a British commander sent to pursue him, he penned 'a brutal celebratory poem' detailing how his dead body would be 'left to the carrion eaters.'

In a neat historical parallel, eighty years later, warlord General Mohamed Farah Aideed had a $20,000 bounty placed on his head by Admiral Jonathan Howe - commander of the US 'humanitarian' mission Restore Hope. Aideed responded by promising to pay $20,000 to anyone who brought him the actual head of Admiral Howe. Whilst such violent reactions might seem anathema to us, they underscore a fundamental self-confidence that Harper clearly respects. Long-time scholar of Somalia, Ioan Lewis, puts it another way - Somalis have 'an open contempt for other people.'

What Harper is trying to do is to resurrect a basic level of respect in discussions about Somalia. From its portrayal as a lawless place, riven with fundamentalist Islam, and latterly suffering the effects of a terrible famine, she argues that these aren't the only things that happen in the country. Her real interest, I think, was in profiling modern-day Somalia where 'more than two decades of conflict and crisis have forced Somalis to invent alternative political and economic systems.' These innovations in the economy, the livestock trade, money transfers and telecommunications reveal something that will be new to many readers - successful Somalis making money. She also clearly admires the political developments in Somaliland - the northern territory that seceded from the Somalia after the collapse of the country's central government in 1991. Still unrecognised by the international community, Somaliland has slowly developed its own hybrid democratic system with some traditional structures still in place, and is generally peaceful and heading in the right direction.


In conversation Harper refers to Somalia as being "like a complex mathematical equation" - the moving parts being the country's bewildering clan system, and although some Somalis reportedly deny its modern-day importance, Harper "would take any Somali on who said the clan system was not relevant." Whilst clans were suppressed under Siad Barre's pseudo-socialist regime, and their resurgence in the 1990s is sometimes seen as the cause of the civil war, they remain the shifting bedrock upon which Somali society is built. I ask what she thinks defeat of the Islamist group Al-Shabaab would do for the country. The answer is perhaps surprising - far from ending the violence, Harper predicts that Somalia might, at least initially, take a step backwards, as the more ingrained divisions would resurface and regional clan-based groups take up arms again against each other. Whilst she deals harshly with the violent and reactionary Islam of Al-Shabaab, she states that their presence has softened the influence of the clan in Somalia. Whilst this has been achieved "largely through fear," she also argues that there might be some things to learn from this about the way Somali society works."


See full review here: http://allafrica.com/stories/201201301453.html

Racism and the inferiority complex

I hate racism against any and all people. But the one type of racism that is most disturbing is when a population is racist towards their own, and elevate another. I saw this most clearly in Kenya than any other African country I've visited.

This past weekend I was denied entry into a hotel in Malindi, Kenya because I'm black. This has never happened to me before so I was caught off guard, and actually began making excuses for why the hotel guard was turning us back. I thought it must be because the hotel was full and he just didn't want to explain in detail his reason. My Kenyan friend, however, was fuming, and said if we were white he would never turn us back. She insisted that the guard let us in. The guard finally agrees to call his manager and ask for permission to let us in. While on the phone, he leaned down to get a good look at who was in the car as he spoke with his boss. He then said into the cell phone "No sir, they are all blacks in the car." I was shocked and dumbfounded. Never had I been so blatantly discriminated against in my life, and of all places, in Africa by Africans!

Its become clear that in this beautifully diverse continent, some populations have yet to shake-off the colonial mindset that elevates whites above all others, and as a result, they treat whites or other foreigners with far more respect than their own fellow Africans. Many, but certainly not all, Kenyans suffer from this inferiority complex, and its tragic to see in the 21st century.

a model: barefoot college

Click this link to see a great TED video about Bunker Roy, an Indian who started an extraordinary school that "teaches rural women and men — many of them illiterate — to become solar engineers, artisans, dentists and doctors in their own villages."

I think this model could be replicated in rural areas of Somalia.

http://blog.ted.com/2011/10/17/learning-from-a-barefoot-movement-bunker-roy-on-ted-com/

Consciousness necessary for change

One of my favorite authors, Leo Tolstoy, once wrote the following in his diary:

"I was cleaning a room and, meandering about, approached the divan and couldn't remember whether or not I had dusted it. Since these movements are habitual and unconscious, I could not remember and felt that it was impossible to remember - so that if I had dusted it and forgot - that is, had acted unconsciously, then it was the same as if I had not. If some conscisoul person had been watching, then the fact could be established. If, however, no one was looking, or looking on unconsciously, if the whole complex lives of many people go on unconsciously, then such lives are as if they had never been."

On a personal level, these words can have a profound impact on an individual, forcing one to assess whether they act consciously in their lives, because, as can be gleaned from this quotation, to live unconsciously is to not live at all. As dramatic as that sounds, I tend to agree with the statement because to live unconsciously is to live without intention, and I believe intention is essential to making ones actions (and life) have any meaning at all.

I may be distorting Tolstoy's original message, but I think this lesson can be extrapolated to a national level, and that entire populations can live unconsciously. This could result from a culture that does not value change for the better, perhaps because they do not believe change is possible. Or a population that does not recognize all that is happening around them, the beautiful and the ugly, because they are so caught up in the routines of life.

In countries like Somalia, after years of instability - a government full of corrupt politicians, a stagnant economy with few jobs available, and frequent military clashes between dozens of different factions - it is no surprise that the population has developed a culture of pessimism and largely do not believe in positive change. This condition has left many Somalis in a basic routine, largely comprised of a focus on survival, the need to  find subsistence for family, and the effort to gain refuge in another country, preferably somewhere in the West. I'm no phsychologist, but based on what i've seen and read, and people i've met, I believe this condition is pervasive in Somalia, and has led to the living of unconscious lives.

Once the population lives more consciously, and takes every bomb blast as an abomination - not a common occurrence - and every act of corruption by politicians as inexcusable - not business as usual - then only then will they have the will to change their condition, and to truly live with consciousness and intention. This consciousness must first manifest on a personal level before it can translate into national progress.

Somalia the Playground

I'm not a fan of conspiracy theories. They tend to explain major events with simplistic and cynical reasoning, and I tend to have more belief in the basic good nature of human beings to believe in the vastness of most conspiracy theories.


But then last week Kenya invaded Somalia. This must be the biggest political/military blunder since the Ethiopian military invaded the country in 2006. Somalis, especially those who have a tendency towards conspiracy, are shouting off the rooftops. A pattern has developed, they claim. Every time Somalia shows a hint of stability, some neighbor invades the country, putting the peace process and development efforts back to square one.


Ethiopia invaded Somalia in 2006 with the expressed purpose of fighting "terrorists." The invasion successfully pushed out of power the Union of Islamic Courts, the first governance system to bring stability, rule of law, and safety to the population in over a decade. Business was booming, the diaspora was returning to the country to rebuild homes and the sense of hope was never so high. But with the swift movement of the Ethiopian military, the UIC disintegrated and all that remained was a militia that branded itself al-Shabaab. Ethiopia's invasion helped to create al-Shabaab, and after two years of devastating conflict, Ethiopian troops pulled out of Somalia, leaving the country largely in al-Shabaab's control.


Fast-forward to today: Just as al-Shabaab became weaker than ever, as a consequence of the drought, decreasing finances and overall disillusionment with the organizations authoritarian and draconian rule, Kenya decides to invade. The invasion followed the kidnapping of a French tourist from northeast Kenya's coastal town of Lamu, and the Kenyan government announced that it would not tolerate Somali rebels crossing the border and wreaking havoc in Kenya. But the impact of this invasion will be far-reaching and resounding for  years to come if Kenya does not pull out soon. Already, al-Shabaab is crying out its new rallying cry - to fight the infidel Kenyans that are invading, raping, pillaging and bombing Somali brethren. This was similar to the information campaign launched during Ethiopia's invasion and unfortunately, it will almost certainly resonate with ordinary Somalis who until recently despised al-Shabaab. The insurgent/terrorist group will now be seen as the defenders of the homeland once again.

Bombing

On October 4th, a bomb went off near the Kilometer 4 junction in downtown Mogadishu. The death toll was over 70, and hundreds were wounded - some charred, some in pieces, some still smoldering from the impact. I saw the aftermath on a video that was posted online just a couple of hours after the bomb went off. I regret watching that video and seeing the dead bodies, some clearly young children. This is a rude awakening, reminding us all that while Mogadishu appears to be improving, just below the surface are fundamental problems. Al-Shabaab may have "pulled out" in August but they are far from gone.


The most tragic part of this bombing was the victims: they were mostly young students who were lining up outside the Ministry of Education to receive results from an examination. The Turkish government offered scholarships to Somali students, and these young kids had the smarts and confidence in themselves to try their luck at the chance to study abroad, hoping for a better future. I'm sure their families were tremendously proud of them, but unfortunately this hope and pride was shattered by terrorism.

 Al-Shabaab has become nothing more than a terrorist organization with a bankrupt ideology. With every murder of an innocent individual, more and more Somalis increase their loathing for the organization. Although I may at some time thought al-Shabaab was just a violent political movement, now I believe they are beyond the pale and cannot be dignified with the title of political movement. They are inhuman terrorists. If they cared at all for the Somali people they would not be killing them in such violent ways. The sole purpose of al-Shabaab now appears to be terrorism, and wreaking havoc on Somalia so that no government can establish itself. And it looks like they are succeeding.


This bombing and mass murder of innocent young people will nevertheless backfire on al-Shabaab because terrorism doesn't sit well with Somalis. My hope is that the people are angry enough to mobilize against al-Shabaab following this tragedy, and deal the organization a serious blow.


Somalis have been trapped by fear long enough. At a certain point, fear isn't enough to contain the hope for change.

K'naan NYT article

A beautifully written and powerful article by Somali-Canadian musician K'naan. He clearly still feels nationalism for a land he's long since fled:

ONE has to be careful about stories. Especially true ones. When a story is told the first time, it can find a place in the listener’s heart. If the same story is told over and over, it becomes less like a presence in that chest and more like an X-ray of it.

The beating heart of my story is this: I was born in Mogadishu, Somalia. I had a brief but beautiful childhood filled with poetry from renowned relatives. Then came a bloody end to it, a lesson in life as a Somali: death approaching from the distance, walking into our lives in an experienced stroll.

At 12 years old, I lost three of the boys I grew up with in one burst of machine-gun fire — one pull from the misinformed finger of a boy probably not much older than we were.
But I was also unusually lucky. The bullets hit everyone but me.

Luck follows me through this story; so does my luckless homeland. A few harrowing months later, I found myself on the last commercial flight to leave Somalia before war closed in on the airport. And over the years, fortune turned me into Somalia’s loudest musical voice in the Western Hemisphere.

Meanwhile, my country festered, declining more and more. When I went on a tour of 86 countries last year, I could not perform in the one that mattered most to me. And when my song “Wavin’ Flag” became the theme song for the World Cup that year, the kids back home were not allowed to listen to it on the airwaves. Whatever melodious beauty I found, living in the spotlight, my country produced an opposing harmony in shadows, and the world hardly noticed. But I could still hear it.

And now this terrible year: The worst famine in decades pillages the flesh of the already wounded in Somalia. And the world’s collective humanitarian response has been a defeated shrug. If ever there was a best and worst time to return home, it was now.

So, 20 summers after I left as a child, I found myself on my way back to Somalia with some concerned friends and colleagues. I hoped that my presence would let me shine a light into this darkness. Maybe spare even one life, a life equal to mine, from indifferently wasting away. But I am no statesman, nor a soldier. Just a man made fortunate by the power of the spotlight. And to save someone’s life I am willing to spend some of that capricious currency called celebrity.

We had been told that Mogadishu was still among the most dangerous cities on the planet. So it was quiet on the 15-seat plane from Nairobi. We told nervous jokes at first, then looked to defuse the tension. The one book I had brought was Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast.” I reached a chapter titled “Hunger Was Good Discipline” and stopped. That idea needed some contemplation. The very thing driving so many from their homes in Somalia was drawing me back there. I read on. Hemingway felt that paintings were more beautiful when he was “belly-empty, hollow-hungry.” But he was not speaking of the brutal and criminally organized hunger of East Africa. His hunger was beautiful. It made something of you. The one I was heading into only made ashes of you.

By now, the ride was bumpy. We were flying low, so I could see Baraawe and Merca, beauties of coastal towns that I had always dreamed of visiting. The pilot joked that he would try to fly low enough for my sightseeing, but high enough to avoid the rocket-propelled grenades.

FOR miles along that coast, all you see are paint-like blue water, beautiful sand dunes eroding, and an abandoned effort to cap them with concrete. Everything about Somalia feels like abandonment. The buildings, the peace initiatives, the hopes and dreams of greatness for a nation.

With the ocean to our backs, our wheels touch down in Mogadishu, at the airport I left 20 years before to the surround-sound of heavy artillery pounding the devil’s rhythm. Now there is an eerie calm. We clear immigration, passing citizens with AK-47’s slung over their shoulders.

It’s not a small task to be safe in Mogadishu. So we keep our arrival a secret until after we ride from the airport to the city, a ride on which they say life expectancy is about 17 minutes if you don’t have the kind of security that has been arranged for me.

Over breakfast at a “safe house,” I update my sense of taste with kidney and anjera (a bread), and a perfectly cooled grapefruit drink. Then we journey onto the city streets. It’s the most aesthetically contradictory place on earth — a paradise of paradox. The old Italian and locally inspired architecture is colored by American and Russian artillery paint. Everything stands proudly lopsided.

And then come the makeshift camps set up for the many hungering displaced Somalis. They are the reason I am here. If my voice was an instrument, then I needed it to be an amplifier this time. If my light was true, then I needed it to show its face here, where it counts. Nothing I have ever sung will matter much if I can’t be the mouth of the silenced. But will the world have ears for them, too?

I find the homeless Somalis’ arms open, waiting for the outside world and hoping for a second chance into its fenced heart. I meet a young woman watching over her dying mother, who has been struck by the bullet of famine. The daughter tells me about the journey to Mogadishu — a 200-mile trek across arid, parched land, with adults huddling around children to protect them first. This mother refused to eat her own food in order to feed abandoned children they had picked up along the way. And now she was dying because of that.

The final and most devastating stop for me was Banadir Hospital, where I was born. The doctors are like hostages of hopelessness, surrounded and outnumbered. Mothers hum lullabies holding the skeletal heads of their children. It seems eyes are the only ornament left of their beautiful faces; eyes like lanterns holding out a glimmer of faint hope. Volunteers are doing jobs they aren’t qualified for. The wards are over-crowded, mixing gun wound, malnutrition and cholera patients.

Death is in every corner of this place. It’s lying on the mattresses holding the tiny wrists of half-sleeping children. It’s near the exposed breasts of girls turned mothers too soon. It folds in the cots, all-knowing and silent; its mournful wind swells the black sheets. Here, each life ends sadly, too suddenly and casually to be memorialized.

In this somber and embittered forgotten place, at least they were happy to see I had come.