By Hassan M. Abukar
This article is the fifth in a 10-part series of true stories of Somali women and men and their blunt assessments of their relationships. The first six parts deal with Somali marriages in America and the last four with issues of courtship. The names and locations of the individuals have been changed to ensure their privacy.
Where is my Dough?
My wife is secretive and, hence, does not share anything with me. She is involved—depending on what region you hail from—in what is called, “ayuuto” or “shalongo” or “hagbad” (an informal money pool in which a small number of participants put in the same amount of money every month and, by turn, one individual takes all the proceeds every month). My wife used to put in $500 every month from “her own money,” as she said, and, once a year, she collected about $6,000. She never shared that money with me nor did she contribute financially to our household expenses. I paid all the household bills.
I found out about my wife’s involvement with the money pool activity through her best friend’s husband. Apparently, it had been going on for three years without my knowledge. I confronted her and she did not even deny it. “Certainly, it is my money,” was her assured response. “I thought it was our money,” I said. I was flabbergasted. My wife had access to all my bank accounts. In fact, we had joint accounts. A marriage is a team and it should be based on honesty and trust.
After that discovery, I set up a new account on my own and asked my employer to deposit into it. I also began giving a set amount of money to my wife every month for food and other miscellaneous expenses. The housing, utility, cable, and telephone expenses were paid directly through my new account.
My wife became angry. She accused me of “controlling” her financially. “It is all about power and control,” she said.
Sometime later, I heard my wife was no longer a member of the money pool. Apparently, she used to siphon $500 every month from our household expenses, but I am not sure. When it comes to money management, we no longer trust each other. As sad as that sounds, we are still married and care about each other, but in reality, we are having a tough time forging a new bond of trust. My wife has been talking a lot lately about getting a part-time job. I would bet my bottom dollar that I will never see a penny of that money. But, it is okay. I also have earnings by doing consulting work.
Do you know any good investment agents?
You, Imbecile
Before our marriage, my wife Duniyo would teasingly and laughingly tell me, “Shut up, idiot.” At the time, I took no offense and considered it part of the banter of a close relationship. After we married, however, I observed disturbing behavior that suddenly appeared in her communication. She would call my stepchildren, ages 11 and 13, names such as “doqon” (idiot), “saqajaan” (jerk), and — even the English phrase —“mother…….” I was appalled and told my wife that such name-calling was tantamount to child abuse. She dismissed my concerns out of hand and portrayed me as being overly dramatic. You do not understand, she would say, “I am very close to my children.” Then, she reminded me that our Somali parents had done the same when we were children and occasionally called us “dabbaal” (stupid) to motivate us. Not my parents. They were strict but respectful, demanding but loving, and always kind and caring.
My wife was respectful of me at the beginning of our marriage. However, after eight months, she began to show her true colors. First, she told me, “War naga aamus, doqonyahow” (Keep quiet, you idiot). I was flummoxed. “Please, do not insult me,” I protested. “Oh, you are sensitive, aren’t you?” she retorted.
I thought my marriage to Duniyo will be an upgrade of my first. My first marriage was unstable, contentious, and a source of constant pain. I did not want to have another relationship that was similar in any way. Unfortunately, my current marriage is now showing the same permutations as my first. My wife simply became verbally abusive over time. She initiates our arguments and then ends them with very hurtful words. Worst of all, she is not one to apologize.
I have concluded that my relationship with my wife is a mere replay of each of our prior marriages. We both still have unresolved issues that mar this relationship. I am a very sensitive man, that is true, but I do not deserve to be verbally abused, especially in front of the children.
A year ago, my wife was so enraged with me that she called me a “naag” (woman). In front of our children, she told me that I should start wearing female attire. She had asked me to do something for her and I told her I wasn’t going to do it. Her insult was stinging. I was angry and the children were outraged. This time, my wife, for the first time, apologized for calling me a woman. I have nothing against women—please, do not misunderstand me—but a wife should never call her husband a woman. Perhaps the reason my wife apologized was that the children were disturbed by her unjustified verbal attack on me. At any rate, terrible damage was done. I now ask myself how long I can endure this abusive behavior. I have already contacted Child Protective Services to report my wife’s treatment of our children. Unfortunately, the social worker assigned to investigate the case closed the file because the children were afraid and non-cooperative.
My father has asked me to stay in the relationship, but I can’t. On the one hand, I want to be like the pious man in ancient times who was married to a difficult woman, but very tolerant of her outbursts. When people asked him why he did not divorce her, this man answered: “I am afraid if I divorce her she would end up marrying another man who will not be patient with her and may harm her.” On the other hand, I do not want to suffer anymore.
The Would-be President
Politics and Somali men mix all the time.
As a rule, Somali men are obsessed with politics and political chatter in particular. My husband Omar is no exception but he has taken this endemic obsession to a higher level. He wants to be the next president of Somalia. There is a tiny problem with that: He has no extensive education, no government experience, and no history of stable employment. Needless to say, he is only 28 and, per the provisional constitution of Somalia, he has to wait more than a decade before he can qualify for such a coveted position. Omar is the first to arrive at political events and the last to leave. He likes to be acknowledged in these gatherings and thanked for doing this thing or that thing. Unfortunately, he is too inexperienced, too shallow, and too clannish to become a leader of an entire nation. That is not only my opinion but surprisingly his, too. He is perfectly aware of his own limitations but, alas, the man has boundless ambition. Ambition does not require any reasoning. I have pleaded with him to give priority to his family. Unfortunately, he never listens to me and, at times, accuses me of being jealous of him. Jealous of what, I wonder. My husband needs clinical help because he has this exaggerated view of his own importance.
My husband does not know the name of the school our children attend, their doctor’s name, or what each child likes. He has not taken the children for an outing for a long time (five months to be exact), nor has he asked me to join him for an outing for coffee or dinner. However, I can tell you all the little things about his uneventful life: The last political event he attended, the names of the guest speakers, and even where my husband was seated. I can also tell you what his latest posts are on Facebook and Instagram, and his last tweets. Sometimes, I ask myself if this narcissist married me to be his trophy wife; the kind of woman who will appear next to her politician husband smiling and clapping.
My husband is married to his political ambition. I am saddened that my children will one day find out their father — the “would-be president” — was nothing but a bust.
Cloud Nine
My husband wants a new drug.
Prescription medication, that is.
Actually, my once-model husband has turned into a druggie. After many years of what seemed to be a stable family life, my husband developed a habit, a bad habit. He became addicted to prescription medication. He would take an amalgam of this kind of medication and get high.
The problem started when his cousin came from Europe to live with us. The two started experimenting with different types of drugs. My husband first graduated to hard liquor and then finally drugs. All these problems unfolded while he stayed home.
It was painful to watch the man I loved descend into such a deep abyss. He became a totally different person, growing physically and verbally abusive. Then, he ruined my almost perfect credit rating because he stole cash from me for drugs and used my credit cards illegally. I became like the Somali woman who lamented about her former husband: “He stole my heart and my money.”
Finally, I kicked him out and got a divorce.
He turned the children against me. I was portrayed by his family as the ungrateful woman who kicked her husband out of his home. Even my own parents cut their ties with me for a while because of him.
To make a long story short, my ex-husband returned to Somalia. He does not get access there to the types of drugs he used in the United States. However, he has become addicted to khat, a mild stimulant plant.
Do you want to know something odd?
I am currently supporting him. Yes, I send him money regularly.
Why?
I do it because he is the father of my children, and the rate of unemployment in Somalia is very high.
Do you want to know something even weirder?
All of our children are now adults.
Okay, in truth, his presence in Somalia is better for the children and me. No more headaches!
Hassan M. Abukar is a freelance writer and political analyst and can be reached at [email protected] .
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