15. Addio ai monti/Farewell to the mountains

«Addio, monti sorgenti dall’acque, ed elevati al cielo; cime inuguali, note a chi è cresciuto tra voi, e impresse nella sua mente, non meno che lo sia l’aspetto de’ suoi più familiari; torrenti, de’ quali distingue lo scroscio, come il suono delle voci domestiche; ville sparse e biancheggianti sul pendìo, come branchi di pecore pascenti; addio! Quanto è tristo il passo di chi, cresciuto tra voi, se ne allontana! Alla fantasia di quello stesso che se ne parte volontariamente, tratto dalla speranza di fare altrove fortuna, si disabbelliscono, in quel momento, i sogni della ricchezza; egli si maraviglia d’essersi potuto risolvere, e tornerebbe allora indietro, se non pensasse che, un giorno, tornerà dovizioso. Quanto più si avanza nel piano, il suo occhio si ritira, disgustato e stanco, da quell’ampiezza uniforme; l’aria gli par gravosa e morta; s’inoltra mesto e disattento nelle città tumultuose; le case aggiunte a case, le strade che sboccano nelle strade, pare che gli levino il respiro; e davanti agli edifizi ammirati dallo straniero, pensa, con desiderio inquieto, al campicello del suo paese, alla casuccia a cui ha già messo gli occhi addosso, da gran tempo, e che comprerà, tornando ricco a’ suoi monti.Ma chi non aveva mai spinto al di là di quelli neppure un desiderio fuggitivo, chi aveva composti in essi tutti i disegni dell’avvenire, e n’è sbalzato lontano, da una forza perversa! Chi, staccato a un tempo dalle più care abitudini, e disturbato nelle più care speranze, lascia que’ monti, per avviarsi in traccia di sconosciuti che non ha mai desiderato di conoscere, e non può con l’immaginazione arrivare a un momento stabilito per il ritorno! Addio, casa natìa, dove, sedendo, con un pensiero occulto, s’imparò a distinguere dal rumore de’ passi comuni il rumore d’un passo aspettato con un misterioso timore. Addio, casa ancora straniera, casa sogguardata tante volte alla sfuggita, passando, e non senza rossore; nella quale la mente si figurava un soggiorno tranquillo e perpetuo di sposa. Addio, chiesa, dove l’animo tornò tante volte sereno, cantando le lodi del Signore; dov’era promesso, preparato un rito; dove il sospiro segreto del cuore doveva essere solennemente benedetto, e l’amore venir comandato, e chiamarsi santo; addio! Chi dava a voi tanta giocondità è per tutto; e non turba mai la gioia de’ suoi figli, se non per prepararne loro una più certa e più grande.»

Alessandro Manzoni, I Promessi Sposi

I leave Muqdisho with the sense of having found a home – not a home to retire to, but one to live in and witness the growth of. I leave while I am still immensely craving for it – but I know that I might regret not leaving while I can, since the political unrest in the city is increasingly tangible.
May Allah protect this land and its people.
Aamiin.

8. five problematic facts spotted in Muqdisho

1. Being slim isn’t considered beautiful in Muqdisho. If western beauty standards dictate that slim is beautiful, in Muqdisho a woman is considered beautiful if she’s curvy, light-skinned and with chubby cheeks. It’s common knowledge that many somali women use lightening products on their skin to achieve this beauty standard, but what I didn’t know is that the use of cortisone based drugs that cause weight gain is also just as common. In addition to this, somalis are also unnecessarily vocal about their preferences!
One day I was waiting for my cousin in front of Beerta Nabadda and I was leaning on a short and chunky post on the roadside. I was just distractedly looking at the cars and bajaajs passing by when a guy sticked out his head and stared at me inappropriately in a very insistent way. I gave him my best death stare, so he grinned and shouted from the moving vehicle: “There is nothing to look at on you! You’re awfully thin, go eat some food – the thing you’re sitting on has more meat than you!”.
I’m not gonna lie, in somali it sounded so funny that my first reaction was laughing at the absurdity of the insult. Let me write it in somali too for those of you who can read it: “War wax lagaa firsado ma lahan! Caato aa bis la tahayee, bax raashiin soo cun – dhagaxaa ku fadhidid aa kaa cayilanee”.

2. The average mattresses that you find in the market are hard as rock. People believe that sleeping on a hard surface is good for the back/posture but I find it unbearable – it’s just like sleeping on the floor! You have no idea how long I’ve been searching for a soft mattress with no luck. It’s already hard to find soft ones for single beds, but finding one for a queen size bed is nearly imposible.

3. Certain places add to the menu things they don’t even know. In Borama, at the Rays hotel’s restaurant, I ordered the soup of the day because I had a cold and I wanted to have something warm and filling. They served me chopped boiled vegetables, to be specific cabbage, potatoes and zucchini – no broth, no salt, let alone a soup. Funnily, one of my dad’s friends really loved it and ordered the same – the “soup of the day”.

4. A LOT of women use whitening creams. I mentioned it briefly above but this needs its own paragraph. I always thought that you could easily spot if someone has been using whitenening creams – you know, that by looking at one’s hands or feet, patches of hyperpigmentation would betray the original skin colour. However I realised that’s not really the case: lightened skin looks so natural all over – so homogenous. A girl I know uses these creams and I would’ve never noticed if she hadn’t mentioned it one day, when I came back super tanned from swimming in Liido. She was so appalled by how dark I had become and kept offering me to accompany me to the shops to buy a whitenening cream. I declined nicely by saying I have a skin condition, but then I started paying attention and noticed that some days her skin becomes darker and some other days it becomes incredibly light (I suspect that’s when she applies the cream). On those days, she covers her face entirely with a veil to protect it from the sun.
It’s a sad practice, but there is something oddly fascinating in the lengths people can go just for the sake of being conventionally beautiful. It requires some real dedication, althogh clearly misplaced.

5. Titles matter, sometimes more than facts. People call each other with such exagerated respect, using titles that are often abundant or completely undeserved. I have seen this more frequently between men – haji, sheikh, mudane, doctor, engineer, agaasime – but there are also the very few female versions too, like Haajiyo and Dottoressa. I can’t really pinpoint what makes this so odd – if it’s the way they use these titles, the unnecessary deference that accompanies them or the simple fact that they betray a much greater issue which is how only those who DO hold a title can roam freely in the city. Titles mean power in Xamar, and being called with a title (whether it’s deserved or not) is a form of compliment. And I guess they mean well when they call me Engineer because – and here is the fun fact – no one actually knows what Architecture is!

5. Muqdisho – 5 basic things to know

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.

4. Muqdisho – the arrival

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.

3. Muqdisho – preparations

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.