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Our house it has a crowd Our house, in the middle of our street “Our House” by Madness. In late 1960s and early 1970, my family shared a living space with a collage of characters that would make any psychologist have a field day. We lived in a big brick house that had several large rooms, a large space for cooking and one bathroom which was shared by all the housemates. My mother, my sister, and I shared a room. The area the house was located at El Gab neighborhood was generally inhabited by working class people but our house was big enough to accommodate middle class characters and high school students. Farah ‘Ileey’ (Farah the one-eyed), a shrewd Marehan elderly businessman, owned the house but he was mostly an absentee landlord. My mother ran the show by collecting rent and maintaining order in the house. After several years of running the affairs of the house, some naysayers started telling the landlord that my mother was acting like the owner of his property. My mother, whose leadership skills enabled the place to function properly, was asked to move out of the house. Being a vigorous fighter, my mother refused to budge. After a few months of tug of war, the landlord talked to some Darod elders in order to intervene, and finally we moved out. However, two years later, the landlord came to my mother regretting about his decision. Apparently, the property had fallen into disrepute.
A young Reer Hamar artist occupied one of the rooms and he talked to no one when he was around, but he was gone most of the time. I remember his room not being neat but, on the walls of his room, he had fascinating paintings by different Somali artists. I was more impressed with the paintings by his colleagues than his. Also, he had a habit of drinking and alcohol consumption is something frowned upon by Somali people.
Anbara was new to city life and, of course, was missing her family back in Ethiopia. It appeared that Salad’s father, a diminutive thin man, was condoning the beatings because he defended his son vigorously against accusations of wife-beating. The only thing, as a child, I could do for Anbara in 1973 was teaching her literacy and basic arithmetic. Later, she moved to Madina District in Mogadishu and became rich. Many years later, I was told that Anbara sneaked back to Ethiopia and was involved in a bizarre espionage case on behalf of the Somali government. What was more bizarre than the alleged espionage was when Anbara sought and met my sister in early 1980s after the latter returned to Mogadishu from abroad. Anbara, to the amazement of my sister, invited her to a session of Kat. My sister who has no ‘Balwad’ (vice) was flabbergasted and came close to bolting from her own house and running for cover. Several young students from the Northeastern part of Somalia occupied one of the rooms. Most were distant relatives of my mother, but one of them was my cousin; Omar Abdullahi Haji Osman (Omar Saddiq). These young students were mostly attending high school in Mogadishu and were all supported by their parents back in Qardho and Bossasso. My mother acted as a surrogate parent for these youngsters and some of these students excelled in school and were given scholarships to study in Western Europe and, later, to the Soviet Union. A young handsome army officer named Tahlil, his mother, and his sister occupied two of the rooms. This was a ‘Hawadle’ family. At the time, army officers and doctors were the two highest respected professionals in Somalia. This army officer was charismatic and a sociable person. His mother was the old school and was protective of him, especially against Darod girls.
There was also the room of a deranged teacher in his forties who rarely socialized with other housemates. One day, this teacher tried to rape a young and beautiful Habar Gidir woman who worked for the Northeasterners as a cook, but she screamed and he let her go. Afterwards, there was a hush-hush talk about the incident that a young boy like me was not privy to its unsavory details. With the pure curiosity of a child, I started digging for information until I find about the attempted rape. Apparently, the maid did not want to press charges against the teacher, and the whole matter regretfully was buried under the rug. There were two young Darod men and their younger sister attending high school and occupying one of the rooms. The girl was an average-looking and a bit arrogant, but she became the center of attention in the house and, for me, a source of problem. The girl was mostly interested in the army officer and would try to flirt with him. The young people in the house were not happy with the fact that the army officer was overshadowing them. The girl did whatever she could to get the officer’s attention but the romance was one-way because the officer did not reciprocate the feeling, not to mention his family was displeased with the girl’s bold overtures. But, interestingly, I became infatuated with this girl. I was only eight or nine years old at the time and she was at least seventeen. I started daydreaming about this girl and was consumed by her thoughts. One day, I went to a classmate of mine named Isgow Abdullahi (Shiikhaal Jazira)) who was good in Arabic and I asked him to draft a love letter for me so I could give it to the girl. He dutifully agreed and gave me a short letter saying, in essence, that I loved the girl. I wrapped the note and gave it to the older brother of the girl who in turn gave it to his sister without looking the note. Immediately, I disappeared because I was too embarrassed to stick around and face the music. I started avoiding the girl for at least two days. On the other hand, the girl was appalled and she squarely put the blame on the Northeastern housemates. She accused them of orchestrating the whole matter because they were presumably jealous of her flirtation with the army officer. The Northeastern youngsters vehemently denied that they had anything to do with the love letter. The girl’s older brother singled out my cousin, Omar Siddiq, for allegedly writing the letter. Curiously, I was never asked what my role was in the whole affair. Why bother! I was only an innocent child! The clamor and the hubbub about the letter put an end to my brief and infantile infatuation. It was only many years later did I confess to my cousin that I was the perpetrator of that nefarious and bold deed.
Uncle `Abdi Gurey'Though not a resident of our house, my beloved uncle Abdirahman Yusuf Musse ‘Abdi Gurey’ was a regular visitor and there were times that he came for lunch every day. He was handsome soft-spoken man with Indian features. When my uncle went to Saudi Arabia in mid 1970s for work, he told me that he was always mistaken as an Indian from Punjab. My uncle was a civil servant in early 1960s until Prime Minister Abdirizak Haji Hussein laid off many government employees for either efficiency reasons or for political expediency. The layoff was a blessing for my uncle because he opened his own company and named it “Auto Noleggio Wajer” (Wajer Car Rental). He became semi-rich and led an upper-middle class life style. In 1969, he even ran for an office and came close to being elected to the country’s parliament. My uncle led a bachelor life but in 1970 he married a tall half-Arab and half Majertein beauty named Layla Yaslam. I still remember the wedding night and seeing my uncle and Layla coming to the house holding hands. I was very close to my uncle and he used to call me “Hassan Sharaf” because he said that I was always a clean child. The next day after the wedding, I went to my uncle’s house in Hodan (Dabka) district while he was still in honeymoon. We played chess or ‘dubnad’, ate pastries, and listened Sudanese music. Layla bore him a son, Yusuf, but he died in infancy. It was very unfortunate that my uncle’s marriage to Layla abruptly came to an end. My uncle, within a year, married a Majertein woman from Garowe (Issa Mahamoud) who bore him several children. He died in mid 1980s, not broke but naturally without the wealth that he had amassed in 1960s and early 1970s. Before his death, he became embroiled with Somali politics and got arrested numerous times for suspicion of backing the Somali Salvation Democratic Front (SSDF), an opposition group based in Ethiopia. My uncle was the most generous person that I have ever met. As a child, he was always there for me when I needed money. Many Northeasterners in Mogadishu used his postal box, 702, for getting their mail and he was well liked by his people. We used to go to places, on some Fridays, like Jowhar, Bal’ad, and Afgoi for day trips filled with fun and food. I remember sitting in the shaded acacia trees and eating delicious meals like rice and lamb meat. Somehow, those sumptuous meals were always well cooked and tasted deliciously.
Hassan Abukar Correction: In Part IV, I wrote that Garweyne’s wife, Axado, the aunt who was murdered and Mohamed Geedi (Zahra Garweyne’s husband) were all Abgaal. In fact, they were Habar Gidir (Saleebaan). I also wrote that Hajiyo Bullo (the mother of Abdalla Mohamed Fadil) was Majertein of Ali Jibraa’iil sub-clan. Her sub-clan was Nuuh Jibraa’iil. I thank Asha ‘Boolo’ of Minnesota, and Hashim Garweyne of Ohio for these corrections. __________________________________________________________________________ We welcome the submission of all articles for possible publication on WardheerNews.com
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