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Since its inception five years ago, for the first time, I took part of Somali Week Festival in London, the only annual Somali literary inclined gathering of its kind, where books with their writers, poetry where their poets, musicians with their music and comedy with their comedians have become a custom. In whisper–for we were trying not to disturb the gentle giants—I was informed that the theme chosen this year for it was Translation.
In all, the people presented were cadre of talents who demonstrated the power and beauty bestowed on this fortunate, yet unfortunate language of ours (Somali). Fortunate because, unlike its people, Somali language refuses to loose its prowess, potency and beauty; unfortunate because its people have hardly been making use of the fortune that their language possesses. In eight nights this year however, both the attendees and participant were treated to a royal taste of their language’s entertainment, illumination and articulation values. Mouth agape, every minute that one took the podium, you would have thought she/he said it all. The delivery, the tempo and topics were all aligned with the theme, translation. Most important of all, each person augmented or rather complemented the one who had preceded him/her. Each person heard speaking arrested all attention and held it there until the next arrived. For example, there was Rashiid Shiikh Cabdillahi (Gadhweyne) who in some of Hadraawi’s poems has been either the base or the pillar for points of reference as well the curator of the poet’s bulk of work. In his own right, Rashiid is a reservoir of solid Somali literature. Rashid would stand up intermittingly, where he, with that so-ever gently demeanor of his, would authenticate a phrase or legend attached to a particularly told story. Furthermore, he so-ever briefly, yet so-ever insightfully, spoke about translation and its invaluable assets. There was my beloved city of Ceerigaabo fellow, the brother of the best Math teacher I have ever had, Maxamed Shiikh Dalmar, Maxamuud Shiikh Dalmar. Coming of age in Ceerigaabo I had the luxury of imitating Maxamuud’s omnipresent, legendary radio Mogadishu voice, aspiring to be like him. Maxamuud Shiikh Dalmar said few words about translation, via the religion—that of which I would have stolen them all had he not been present.
There was Saciid Jaamac Huseen of whom you would have sworn he was not there until you hear him telling a tale about writing, writers and translation. He touched upon the art of quality of writing great prose, with melodically distilled Somali (Soomaali maxaa ah). He also introduced the first ever translated short stories of Anton Chekhov from Russian to Somali by himself as well as the first ever published short stories in Somali in a book of his: Shufbeel. The great Saciid Saalax Axmed, poet, playwright, producer and on and on just sneaked into the front stage, for he was stolen for a night from a Finland group who had invited him. Said Salah stirred the audience in to frenzy as he let loose his story telling, natural talent (if he stayed on stage a bit longer than allotted meager minutes, many London dwellers would have relocated to Minneapolis, following him). Georgi Kapchits released his legion of Soomaali Xigmad and as usual, let Somalis know about the treasure trough in their own language. Thanks you Georgi. There was a new (to me) genre called comedy that is not the same we have been accustomed to on Somali stage: that of Jaamal Cali Huseen. This comedy was clearly unadulterated fun. It was pure, refined and crafted. However, I thought Galkacayo jokes could have been curtailed a bit, or else, other cities could have accompanied it and be picked on. In other words Gaalkacyo keli kuma aha badownimada. Cabdi Haybe Laanbad, what can I say, was a class by himself. He was sagaciously funny and savvy that has been seen seldom. One of the heartwarming moments that brought about pulsating palpations was when I heard one of Raage Ugaas’ poems translated from Somali language to Italian, and read aloud. I was hypnotized by the susurrating croon, though I did not understand a word that was said! The female Somalis poetry, read my Sahra Macquire translated from Somali to English for the first time was magnificent. It has shown the vitality that Somalis males have been denying and depriving it!
Hurre Walanwal treated us to his legendary, conversational like crossfire poems with Cambaro, which as usual was captivating. The only fact of irony that did not escape me nevertheless, was that the salvo he had been able to discharge on that stage (gola ka fuul) then, he was reading it today from a paper or I should I say was prompting his memory from a page? Jaamac Kadiye was a thunder. He was in what Somali language says mahiigan ka roob oo onkodey. With his thunderous rhapsody, he flung the gate of poetry opened, employing luuq as a lute for the delivery. He was magical in terms of message, art and aim. Just marvelously magical! Here, however, the only distaste for me was a few words of old age racism towards African brothers dying on behalf of Somalis in Mogadishu. They don’t deserve our tongue lashing. And it is about time we Somalis stop thinking that we are a chosen creature, thus superior to the rest Africans! Shame on us! Amiin Caamir (though I was not there his night) was pearl to pair with. Amiin Caamir, the man of whom I believe is not only the one of the finest cartoonists globally but a genius and at that even a politician, a man of whom I have always wanted to say a few deserving words but never sit down to do so, regardless of whether I would have been able to do justice to his stature, brought home the prize (his art), I was told. To see him there itself was delightful! Axmed Shiikh Jaamac, under his crowned humility, shared his shrewdly composed first class poetry. The king of Somali lute, Xudeydi teased us with his tantalizingly tear-your-heart with a tune that only he, and he alone is capable. He made us feel that the instrument was speaking to us, or for us. How lovely it is to hear two or more notes of his! Cabdinasir Macallin—who Xuddeydi himself on stage said “waa kuu hibeeyey,” meaning I am blessing you with the lute‘s kingship title—made us know why. He served to us to that serenity of soft touch that a great musician makes you feel and feast on it.
Jaamac Muuse Jaamac’s audiobook, of which we listened a bit, was/is ground breaking endeavor. And I think this is going to be the best way to introduce books to our oral society. The young woman who is reading it into the audio is masterful. What puzzled me a bit however, was the city called Hargeysa, which I and many others from Ceerigaabo gossiped about its not so keen maagalo joog, presented trio of talent (Maxamed Baashe Haaji Xasan, Cabdi Haybe Laanbat and Jaamal Cali Huseen who happened to be classmates in early 80th, I was told. We (meaning reer Ceeriagaabo again) could have matched them but were blindsided! Today though, just today, I should lick my wounds and admit that a three talented classmates of that caliber on the same stage, was undeniably admirable. That glass should be proud! Finally, it was so gratifying that Muuse Xaaji Ismaaciil Galaal was given his due respect. His story was told by people who knew him best, attesting to his monumental contribution to Somalis language and Somali culture. I hope others who deserved to be acknowledged as well will follow. This wouldn’t have been possible without the sweat, talent and dedication of two people: Ayaan Maxamuud Cashuur and Jaamaca Muuse Jaamac who with their two respective organizations: Kayd.org and Redsea-online Cultural Foundation were the brain behind it all. Thanks to the tireless volunteers, too. Ahmed Ismail Yusuf Related TopicFestifaalka Toddobaadka Soomaalida 2011 ____________________________________ We welcome the submission of all articles for possible publication on WardheerNews.com |
