It has been raining again. I have been indoors, meditating on the shortcomings of life. I wish there were more kindly persons in the world. Our competitive life develops selfishness and unkindness. I am determined to do something about it. I cannot hope to convert many persons. To convert one person, I shall do well. I will begin with the person I know best – myself. When it rains and one is much indoors one is likely to meditate on the shortcomings of life. Let me think – how shall I make myself kind, gentle considerate? I do believe it has stopped raining. I can go out now. I’ll go and shoot on the archery range. I’ll not bother to reform myself today. Perhaps tomorrow – if it is raining, and I must stay indoors, and meditate on the shortcomings of life. Max Ehrmann, Reforming Oneself
It will never cease to surprise me how all of his six poems resonate with me.
I’ve written New Year resolutions every year since I can remember. Do you know what’s the only year I didn’t write any? 2020. Do you know how it went? Magnificently. Did I write New Years resolutions this year? Yes – but only one: to welcome every day with an open mind and be ready to grasp every single chance I get to improve myself and my life. I hope I can come back to this post next year and think: indeed, the best plans are the ones left in the hands of the Best of Planners. P.S. My 2021 started in Borame, Somaliland, surrounded by the most beautiful landscape I have seen in a long time. I think reading “Where the Crawdads sing” before returning to the motherland was the best thing I ever did – it’s like I involuntarily prepped my mind to be in tune with the land and nature. Epic.
1. Get a SIM card. In Xamar everyone uses a mobile-based service called EVC Plus for all transactions – currency is in american dollars. People don’t really use physical money that much and I haven’t seen the somali shilling anywhere but in the suuq. Even there they prefer if you pay in dollars and EVC Plus is the preferred way. A somali number is needed to use this service, and SIM cards can be bough in ****. Get someone to activate it for you or follow this easy guide by Hormuud, the main telecommunication service provider. Main steps in the activation process are: activate the number, top up the minutes and data separately, setup your EVC Plus and a pass code, transfer some balance to your EVC Plus to have money for your transactions.
2. Get to know your transportation options. If you don’t have a private car, you’ll need to get familiar right away with how to call a Bajaaj (or Tuk-tuk/Piaggio) or a taxi. Currently in Xamar there is this Uber-like company called Rikaab – previously known as Dhaweeye. It has both an app and a number you can dial to request someone to come and pick you up at a specific point. Make sure to ask where they are coming from and how long it will take so you don’t wait for ages. Choose some well known points for the pick-up and drop-off – that way it’s easier for the driver to find you and take you to your destination. Rikaab fares are slightly more expensive than the bajaaj but it’s also safer – mainly because it’s an actual car and you can track with the app/number who is driving you. Another option that I tried during my last visit – but I’m not trying it again – is the Caasi, a small van with four rows of seats that can get pretty cramped. I personally think this is the least comfortable and safe option out of the three. I’ve seen a few motorbikes around the city too – only driven by men though, so I didn’t pay much attention to it. Also, imagine riding a motorbike in the bumpy and jam filled roads of Muqdisho? Definitely not my idea of fun.
3. Learn your numbers. There are some codes used to send money through EVC Plus – you will need to have them figured out if you want to get a bajaaj or a Rikab to move around the city. Keep in mind that when people say their number, they often skip the first two digits (61) as it’s obvious for them – so don’t forget to start with that. The formula is essentially: *712*61XXXXXXX*amount#. A 20/30 min bajaaj ride is usually around 1 dollar – but from what I understood so far, it actually depends on the distance, not the time.
4. If you are a woman, you don’t strictly have to wear a jilbaab. You can wear a normal dress and scarf. A jilbaab is not necessary and a lot of young women don’t wear one. On the other hand, a lot of them also do – and I opt for wearing one too most of the time, mainly because it makes it easier to blend in. The dress+scarf combo attracts a bit more attention, but no one will say anything so if you don’t care feel free to skip the jilbaab. Idem with make-up – no one really cares and women have all sorts of things on their face.
5. Dry skin will get drier. Although the weather itself isn’t dry per se, there is a lot of dust and sand in the city so if you have a problem with dry skin make sure to keep some lotion and lip balm. I didn’t have a lip balm so I went to a supermarket (this a story for another post) and realised they actually have everything here so no need to pack your whole house when coming to Muqdisho. Chances are you’ll find everything you need just fine.
These are some points that I fully remembered after one day in Muqdisho, and I felt so dumb because, except for the taxi, it’s all stuff that I had learnt during my first visit. But my poor memory betrays me every time, so I decided to take a note of everything – for myself and everyone else who might need these basic info during their next visit.
We arrive at Aden Adde International Airport at 9am, perfectly on time. I follow the passenger to the passport control area and distractedly join a queue. Only half-way through it, I realise one queue is for somali citizens (Muwaddin) and the other for foreigners, and I’m obviously on the wrong one. I exit the queue to joing the one for those who hold a foreign passport, but a policeman stops me: “Where are you going?” “I think I’m in the wrong queue, I’m don’t have a somali passport”, I ezplain. He waves his hand to dismiss the issue. “Iska joog meeshaada, stay where you are. You’re somali, aren’t you?” I nod, and he goes: “Then you can stay, it’s fine.” But I’m not convinced. I check the other side, where the visa counter is. “But there is no visa counter here. Won’t they just send me to the other queue to get one anyway?” “Waxaas ma jiro, there’s no such thing.” he says. He tells me his name and, pointing towards a corner in the hall where other policemen are sitting, he adds: “I’m there. If anyone says anything to you, call me.” So I stay, forgetting his name almost immediately – but not his face. I briefly wonder if he’s bending the rules for me because I’m the only woman in the queue. Then I wonder if he knows how welcomed it made me feel with his rethoric question: “Soomali ma tihidoo? Aren’t you somali?”. Silly, right? Such a small thing can make you feel like you belong. Shortly after, a woman with a child joins the queue. Then an elderly woman. The elderly woman asks me if she can skip the queue because she can’t keep standing. I let her pass, and so do the men in front of me. Then they notice the mother and her child, and they let them go first too. Then they look at me, the only woman left in the queue, and tell me to go ahead as well. I refuse cordially but they adamantly insist, then I insist more but they keep insisting. I know I shouldn’t accept (I’m not old, nor with children – why would a perfectly healthy person jump the queue?) but the sudden attention embarasses me and so I follow the ladies towards the counter. A man at the front of the queue sees me and says: “I understand the elderly woman and the mother, but what about tan, this one?”. Before I can answer, another man says: “C’mon, what are you complaining for? Let the women go first, man!”. I feel even guiltier, but then the angry guy adds: “I understand one, but three?! This isn’t Europe, there is no such thing as ladies first here”. I hold back a chuckle. Who will tell this man that no one lets women jump the queue in Europe? I ask him if he’d like me to return to the end of the queue – but that seems to irk him even more. He tells me to stay where I am, as if to say that the damage is done. Suit yourself then, I think. I hear him grumbling to his friend with a lower voice but soon after the drama is cut short when it’s my turn. After passing the passport check, I find myself in the baggage hall, which apparently is also the entrance to the Arrival area of the airport. Those waiting for people and those waiting for their bags are all packed in the dimly lit space – four walls and a high ceiling filled with the background buzz of voices laughing and shouting orders. I’m about to ask my father how they ensure that the baggages don’t get stolen, but I soon find out at the entrance: to leave with a baggage you need to show its tag. Where is my tag? Moments of panic follow, then I find it. Once outside the airport, the light is so bright I have to squint my eyes. On our way to where I’m lodging, it feels strangely surreal that my flight has already ended – it felt strangely short.
As we drive, it’s 9:40am and all around us the city is buzzing with energy – a chaotic mix of people, cars, bajajs, cattle, donkeys and waste… A lot of waste. Something has to be done about all this waste and dust/sand, I think, then I realise it’s a deja-vu. I had this his exact same thought three years ago. Fast forward to 2020 – it doesn’t seem like much has changed in that sense, does it? I guess I’ll find out soon enough. We drive a few more minutes before reaching our destination – but the journey has just begun.
My flight for Muqdisho leaves tomorrow afternoon. At last! I have been once in August 2017 and I’ve been planning to return ever since – but something always prevented me from doing so. This time too, family, friend and neighbours all told to postpone again because of the political instability due to the upcoming elections. I understand their concerns – they are very tangible considering there have been two terrorist attacks in the past month, but why pretend I can hold off death just by staying? As if I have any sort of control or ability to postpone the day I’ll day. I might even die in my sleep tonight for all I know. I might as well just go and enjoy all I can – and khairun jamilun, as someone I know often says to conclude her most reckless sentences. To be completely honest, I’m half-bluffing – I’m not entirely unfazed. Today in particular, the anticipation is making me slightly sick but I’m keeping busy with the preparations so there’s no time to worry. I still have to pack and take care of stuff for my brother’s graduation in the morning, not to mention I’m going to be taking the train to Malpensa for the first time and who knows how that will go, with my luggage and all. Book a little adventure before the real one, Sumaia, why not? Anyway I look forward to the moment I’ll arrive in the motherland and all perception of danger will vanish, like last time. It has that effect on you, Muqdisho – makes you feel as if the danger is elsewhere and the risk is worth it. I’ll write again when I’m in Muqdisho. In the meantime, I will leave you with this song that comes to my mind whenever I use the word motherland.
Is there anything more exciting for a blogger than starting a new blog?
I can confidently say that it’s in the top three of most exciting moments for a blogger, probably only second to getting a comment/like/share from someone highly admired – or getting famous, gasp! My absolute favourite part? Writing this – the first post. The introduction. The declaration of intent. Oh, call it whatever you like, it’s never quite consistent with what comes after anyway. Do I sound too used to this? Well, it’s hardly my first rodeo and, frankly, it’s just part of the regular maintenance that occurs overy 4/5 years of my life, after I realise there is no need to subject my readers to my old, embarassing posts. So new blog, new content, new thoughts – and when to best start if not at the end of a majorly cathartic year such as 2020? The world has been through a lot and I’m sure that even those who haven’t experienced hardships directly probably have felt how fragile their happiness and wellbeing are. The possibility of abruptly loosing the things in life that we take for granted is humbling, isn’t it? Doesn’t it put all in perspective and “makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of?”?
Since Covid-19 was unequivocably a strong reminder that tomorrow is not guaranteed – this year I really did my best to make the most of today – and I learned two valuable lessons in the process. First, to never hold back from asking just for fear of rejection. Is there anything more cowardly, childish and self-sabotaging than this? Being a daughter, an employee, a citizen -overall a human being with limited independence and a growing list of people I need to consult before making a decision- I think I had a tendency to filter my requests for fear of voicing them and having them rejected. At one point at the beginning of this year I somehow spontaneously overcame this when I realised that, surprisingly, when I ask for something more often than not the answer is yes. Needless to say this was a truly mindblowing notion for this 27 year old who thought she had everything figured out! I still get a bit anxious before asking but now I kind of just push past it and accept the outcome. Which leads to the second lesson learnt in 2020: to stop overplanning and let destiny take its course.This year, the things I did not plan had a much better result than those I planned, and I think the unexpected good in the bad made me even more appreciative of what I had. This reminds me of the quranic verse that says “[…] But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not” {2:216}. In theory I always said I put my trust in Allah, but only this year I truly felt like I wasn’t in control of my life – and I was happy with that.
“S,” you’ll say, “What’s with all this optimisim now? It’s 2020!” My dear readers, old and new, it’s because it’s 2020! Because of how hyperaware I’ve become of exactly how bad this year could’ve turned for me, because I know I’m no different than everyone else who had to endure the loss of a loved one, a hard-earned job, a long-planned journey, wedding, purchase of a house – because for destiny, luck or pure coincidence I have been spared all this… Well, everything that goes well in my life feels like a miracle that could’ve easily not occured. And even though December is the month in which historically I have started the most inconsistent things of my life – well, so what? This year might be the exception that defies the rule. This is what I want to do today, and there is no guarantee it will be consistent but I will give myself a chance at this exciting habit of blogging again. And you? That thing you’re not doing for fear? Stop hesitating – it’s all in your hands!
abba mutinta. 