It was 1991 in Kismanyo, Somalia.  The city was packed with the first wave of Somali’s that became displaced by the civil war. Milgo and her 7 children were among the thousands of IDP’s there. It has been months since she heard the whereabouts of her husband Abdullahi, who was among the many men that stayed behind to fight in the civil war. There was not enough food or adequate shelter for all the people there, but at least they had few months of peace in the city. However, there was always the word that today might be the last day for that fragile peace and that the war was never too far away.

That day, came the worse day of Milgo’s life when her 6 month old son Samatar fell ill and her 2 year old son Ali had broken his hip. Her oldest child Sulekha was only 12 years old and the only help Milgo had along with 6 children. Milgo had no idea the whereabouts of her own siblings and relatives, it was the survival of the fittest and it had become obvious that it was time to leave Kismanyo. She decided to join the hundreds if not the thousands of people who were fleeing the city and headed towards the Somali, Kenyan border. The treacherous journey would be on foot and the distance she would bravely take with seven children including the infant and the two year old with a broken hip would be long.

Milgo and her 7 children left Kismanyo among thousands of other Somalis.  After weeks on foot, they were able to make it to Habaarwalid which is known for its man hunter and killer lion’s.  On her back, Milgo was carrying her 2 year old son Ali with the broken hip; she was also carrying the 6 month old who was a very sick child, while holding the hands of her son’s Abdiwahid and Jamaal. Sulekha was carrying her 3 and half year old sister Maymun while holding her brother Saciid’s hand.  They were nearly starving and dehydrated and could no longer move after days of nothing to eat or drink.

They could hear the reverberation of the killer lion and other deadly animals from the distance. They felt as though it was only a matter of time when it reached them. But they were too numb to feel any emotions of what it would feel like to be eaten alive. That alone had become a luxury that was long gone for them. However, they were still alive and had to keep going until they could no longer move.

There were a few teenage boys that accompanied other families and were now helping single mothers like Milgo and many others with water and sometimes hunting for them. But Habaarwalid was no man’s land and it made the horrific journey unbearable. Everyone had to fend for themselves.  Milgo could no longer carry one child on her back while the infant who was by now very ill strapped to her chest.  The infant Samater was getting worse and it looked as if he was slowly dying at this point. They only sign of life were his pulse.  People started telling Milgo to give up on him since it was only a matter of time before he dies. She was encouraged to discard him to save the other children that may have a chance of survival.  But Milgo didn’t want to hear it. Tears she thought dried long time ago started rolling on her cheeks soaking her shiid diric. How could she comprehend leaving her youngest son alive by sacrificing for the others whom may have a chance of survival? What kind of a human being is capable of doing something like that, let alone a mother? It was the most difficult choice a mother could ever envision.

The nights kept rolling on as the day kept getting shorter. The roar of the king of the jungle was getting closer and closer. Finally, Milgo had foreseen the unthinkable; she mastered the strength to make the impossible choice. She had to leave her almost dead son Samater behind.  She tells the children to sit under a tree and wait for her there. She walks away from them and eases the baby from the very close embrace, an embrace only a mother and child can share, and then she holds his lifeless body close to her and smells him as if she can take his scent with her forever. She kisses him all over and she finally warps him in the piece of cloth she was carrying him in. She puts him down under a tree and covers him with shrub so that animals wouldn’t see him and eat him.  She walks away and replaces his spot with another child who could no longer move on his own.
  
After walking a few kilometers, she felt her breast mysteriously getting heavy as if they were filled with milk. Her breast milk which had dried months before due to the starvation had suddenly gotten heavy. This was the most unusual feeling, she knew something was happening and so she put the child she was carrying down and began squeezing her breasts to check if they were filled with milk.  Suddenly her breasts began shooting up breast milk. Milgo understood the sign all too well. She started sobbing as she ran back to fetch her baby.

She told Sulekha to stay with the children while she headed back to the spot where she left her baby boy. People thought she was going crazy and told her not to go back because the animals had by now gotten to the baby. They said not to leave her other children alone that she was making a big mistake. But she didn’t listen. She kept on going as if she was empowered and energies by Allah, the Almighty.

She fell several times running back to get him, but she kept going. For a minute she couldn’t tell which tree she left him under. But she finally found the tree. When she got closer, she started walking slowly towards the baby to prepare herself just in case he was eaten by a lion. Everything looked the same; she lifted the scrubs of bushes away and saw him still wrapped around the cloth. She grabbed his tiny body and lifted the sheets away and he miracoulsly opened his lifeless eyes which she has not seen opened for days. She started crying and kissing him screaming, you’re alive, he is alive. She breast fed him and he latched onto her. Milgo kept on rocking him in her lab while she repeated the words, forgive me my son.

Today Samater is a six foot hundred seventy pound 20 year old. He lives in the United States of America and he is currently attending college in the Midwest. He and his family are some of the lucky ones that survived the civil war and lived to tell about it. They are lucky to be able to migrate to the greatest nation in the world, the United States of America where even the sky is no limit to anyone who dares to dream the impossible and wants to fly. However, what’s disheartening is that after twenty long years Somali mothers and sisters are still forced to make these painful, horrifying journeys and are made to decide these no choice of choices. 

This poem entitled (TIRED) is dedicated to all the Somali children that have been suffering the unthinkable misery that life doesn’t have to offer for 20 years now. Their leaders have failed them time and time again but Allah has not forsaken them.

Tired

The Blues never sleeps where I live, I am Somali you see.
It’s exhausting to sing this lonely blues noon and night.
I am tired of looking these sadden clouds day in and day out.
I am tired of watching innocent lives washed away to the heartless river.
I am tired of seeing my elders dropping like a sprayed fly.
I am tired of walking by the dusty bones that belong to my childhood friends.
I am tired of this sorrow that clings in my heart and have no mercy on me.
I am tired of my broken heart that waits in vain.
I am tired of wishing the luxury of tears that don’t know me anymore.
I am tired of the sunshine passing me by, and never looking my way.
 And I am tired of pleading; please don’t leave me in the dark again.

Fathia Absie
Email: Farhiaa1@gmail.com

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