Hiiraan Online

by Kowthar A. Yabarow
Friday, June 6, 2014

I hesitantly put my hand up, almost ashamed of the fact that I came from a war-torn country. I was in the 8th grade, and being outspoken wasn’t exactly my greatest attribute. I also was the only Somali-American in the class, and that didn’t help put me at ease either. "I am, I'm from Somalia," I half stuttered. To alter the common misconception in the class, I quickly added, “You know, Somalia used to be a tourist attraction, it wasn’t always like it is today." I expected my teacher would follow his question with some grim statistics. I was trying to sound proud, but even that felt hard.

  Outside of school, I also had so-called “friends” who made me feel uncomfortable with the problems my country faces today. They would laugh about how Somalia appeared in pictures to be just “grass and dust.” I would pull my phone out of my backpack and Google for images of Somalia in '80s before the troubles. “See, it was beautiful," I’d tell them hopefully. “It was,” they’d answer and walk away. I cherished the past and our country’s beauty then, not trusting in its ability to recover from its present problems.

Being born and raised outside of Somalia gives individuals like me a different cultural experience, one that can be both lost and found in the stories of our elders, their  voices so vibrant with memories that it seems we shared those moments together. Briefcases packed with albums and loosely kept photos with creased edges. If our parents had known one day their children would know their homeland only through such pictures, they would have kept them in better condition.

Photography is only one way of telling a story. My way is writing. But it boggles my mind to imagine all the children in Somalia who have never had the chance to express themselves through any art form. Creativity is stimulated by experiences, and based on their experiences could you imagine their thoughts? There are new Martin Luther Kings, Barack Obamas and Maya Angelou’s, among them, surely. There are activists and artists. If given the voice they need, they could start a revolution. But their minds are captives; they're trapped in a mental jail, their thoughts are unable to flow because they are clouded with the worries about tomorrow. They are still dreaming of realities, the reality that one day this will all soon be over.

Often we have to end something, in order to begin somewhere. I must admit, being Somali has made me realize that we are some of the strongest human beings, Strong emotionally, physically and spiritually. We are also proud, and sometimes pride can be our downfall. If we have to begin somewhere, it’s with this: we have to end this characteristic of excessive pride regarding the wrong things. In the Holy Qur’an, surah 49, verse 13, Allah says, “O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise [each other]).

It’s not the best sign when I overhear Somali kids my age making “tribes” a topic of conversation; when they’re more focused on where I come from as opposed to what I stand for. I don’t feel comfortable when I walk into a Somali home and the second question after “how are you?” is “where exactly do you come from?” Although pride is among the prime reasons why peace has been elusive in our country, being proud of the right things could easily be the first step toward a new and better Somalia.

I may not have had the chance to grow up in my home country, or to taste those sweet bananas, and witness the white sand. But I’ve been in other countries that I’ve gotten the chance to call home. This home has helped me flourish. I have transitioned. I am not that girl in the 8th grade anymore. I am nineteen. I am a sophomore in college and being outspoken now happens to be my greatest attribute. The next time I am asked about my country, I will sit in that classroom and I will raise my hand up high, I will adamantly tell my professor that I am proud to come from that war-torn country. I will make the point that my country is indeed one that has seen failure, but is now on the brink of success. I will tell my colleagues and those “so-called friends” that the country that they claim to be merely “grass and dust” will blossom with roads, homes, hospitals and schools. I will finally stop focusing on the beauty of our country’s past and trust in its ability to even surpass its previous state of prosperity.

Until then, this road to the future will begin by setting aside the tribes, the weapons, and the hatred, in hopes of one day sitting on the porches of our homes in Somalia, telling our children stories of the dreams God helped us build into a reality for them, and having them say “Soomaaliya Wey Noolatey!” (Somalia is Alive Again).