Julian Beever...

Julian Beever's is an English artist famous for his "Pavement art". He has painted on the streets of England, France, Germany, USA, Australia and Belgium, creating a striking illusion of 3-dimensionality when viewed from the right angle. Here are sopme of his paintings - Very creative one must admit!



















by Julian Beever

The Four Wives...

I received this by e-mail and thought I'd share it with you...it is something worth reflecting upon

Once upon a time there was a rich King who had four wives. He loved the 4th wife the most and adorned her with rich robes and treated her to the finest of delicacies. He gave her nothing but the best. He also loved the 3rd wife very much and was always showing her off to neighboring kingdoms. However, he feared that one day she would leave him for another. He also loved his 2nd wife. She was his confidant and was always kind, considerate and patient with him. Whenever the King faced a problem, he could confide in her, and she would help him get through the difficult times. The King's 1st wife was a very loyal partner and had made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and kingdom. However, he did not love the first wife. Although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her !

One day, the King fell ill and he knew his time was short. He thought of his luxurious life and wondered, "I now have four wives with me, but when I die, I'll be all alone." Thus, he asked the 4th wife, "I have loved you the most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No way!", replied the 4th wife, and she walked away without another word. Her answer cut like a sharp knife right into his heart. The sad King then asked the 3rd wife, "I have loved you all my life. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No!", replied the 3rd wife. "Life is too good! When you die, I'm going to remarry!" His heart sank and turned cold. He then asked the 2nd wife, "I have always turned to you for help and you've always been there for me. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?" "I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!", replied the 2nd wife. "At the very most, I can only walk with you to your grave." Her answer struck him like a bolt of lightning, and the King was devastated.

Then a voice called out: "I'll go with you. I'll follow you no matter where you go." The King looked up, and there was his first wife. She was very skinny as she suffered from malnutrition and neglect. Greatly grieved, the King said, "I should have taken much better care of you when I had the chance!"

In truth, we all have the 4 wives in our lives: Our 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it will leave us when we die. Our 3rd wife is our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, it will all go to others. Our 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how much they have been there for us, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave. And our 1st wife is our Soul. Often neglected in pursuit of wealth, power and pleasures of the world. However, our Soul is the only thing that will follow us wherever we go. Cultivate, strengthen and cherish it now, for it is the only part of us that will follow us to the throne of God and continue with us throughout Eternity.

Wa-Salaam!

Quote of the day -

A man may meet a woman and be shocked by her ugliness. Soon if she is unaffected, her expression makes him overlook the fault of her features. He begins to find her charming, it enters his head that she might be loved, and a week later he is living in hope. The following week he has been snubbed into despair, and the week aftwerwards he has gone mad.

STENDHAL, Love, Translated by Suzanne Sale

The flag...

The Flag of a nation that once "was"



Flag in the Hijab! Cool



Somalia Overalls!



Someone should've told this lady that the Flag is not to be draped around her waist!



Simply beautiful...



Traditional Clothes, look quite good with the Flag. Sense the Patriotism there?



Ma dhaxantuu iskaga duwayaa?

Drama at Wembley...

Yesterday, after a long day at Uni, my colleague, Leila, invited me to attend a play by some young Somalis at Wembley. I was informed nothing more than it was “a play by some young Somalis” so I went ahead without expecting anything much, thinking “nothing Somalis do ever fully succeeds”. But this was different. This was intended to raise awareness of the famine and droughts in Somalia and also to act as a Fundraiser! A very noble idea indeed and, one which all Somali Communities must strive to implement.

I arrived a bit late, after being held in traffic for about half and hour. At 6 Pm I entered the foyer, and someone informed me that the play had already started. I quickly rushed, taking my seat next to Leila and watched as the young Somalis staged a play.

The play starts at the Airport, with a young man, Adam, who had lived in the west from about a decade and now wishing to fly out. On the departure gates, he couldn’t find his passport, and at that precise moment a much younger fellow, Axmad, walks from behind the curtain and exchanges a long glance with Adam. At the very same time, a girl wearing all black exits from behind the curtain holding a placard which says “Ten years earlier”. We are now shown, through Axmad, how Adam first got into the country, standing this time at the entry gates while he was being asked for his passport by the Immigration officers.

The entire play was far too long to be mentioned here but it follows Axmad throughout his ten years stay in the United Kingdom and covers all aspects the youth culture in the west. It covers issues such as drugs, the generation gap and relationship between the young and the elder folks, gang related issues and influence of the bad guys over the newly arrived one, ending up in jail, getting out, education and achievements, etc. and ends at where it started – the airport as Adam is seen holding his luggage as he exits. It was quite a wonderful play.

After a short break, a girl I know of called Leila and a girl acting as Adam’s aunt in the drama, sang Mariah Carey’s “Hero”. Very beautiful! I was rather amazed by the talent these girls had.

Then there was the Clown Dance performed by some teenagers no more than 16 or 17. They danced, without missing a beat – popping and breaking every inch of their bodies simultaneously and in perfect harmony with the thudding of the rhythmic urban sounds. Very impressive I thought, as they exited the podium waving their green-gloved hands.

After that there was an interval and I decided it was time for me to grab a tender chicken breast from the Chicken shop along the same road. But to my dismay, the gates were locked refusing entry to the herds gathered outside also banning anyone from leaving the hall. This, I thought, was rather unnecessary confinement, but that thought evaporated from my mind soon as I realised the behaviour and tendency of Somalis to sneak in and out while their look-a-like gains entry claiming he just gone out for a minute! The organizers of this even must have thought about all this.

I went back and took my seat, after refreshments, and the show resumed. Now a young guy named Axmad took to the stage and sang a song that shook the crowd – “Guur aan rabaaye, Gaabsi kaama doonee”- A classic Niiko song, but the only thing missing was the dancers, which on inquiry I found out that the organizers had rejected that idea already. After a few more performances from other young singers, a dance competition was staged between two groups of dancers dressed in black. I personally favoured the group that “Leila” was in. Don’t be fooled by this girl – she is multi-talented! I watched as both the teams, spiralled, rotated, twisted and turned with great interest. But that pleasure had ended abruptly as a fight broke out on the upper floor, close to where I was sitting. From that moment, pandemonium reigned in the halls and fists were flying.

Before that exchange blows had started, I, for once admired the stillness and tranquillity of the Somalis attending the show and thought that this would set the standards for Somali parties, concerts, wedding and gathering “IF” it ended without a fight. And that quite seemed so, until the last minute, leaving me to resort to the known fact – We are violent people by nature. It is an inherent thing, violence that is!

Overall, the intention of the event to raise funds was wonderful and well done to the organisers.

Regarding English...

English is a beautiful language indeed. But some people have degraded it so here I'm compiling a list of words and phrases that should be banished from the English Language for Mis-Use, Over-Use and General Uselessness...

I was actually listening to Anna Raeburn on LBC 97.3 when she was talking about the same thing. i wanted to make a post about it long time ago but i forgot it, so Anna reminded me of it in a way!

1 - Don't worry, everything's gonna be alright - Why do people patronise others with such a statement? A close friend or a relative dies and thats how they pay their condolences! No everything is NOT gonna be alright, i just lost my Aunt! it's better to be silent in such circumstances!

2 - Ah! Nice - Nice, This word ha no value attached to it. It has been stripped of any special meaning it once possessed. When you ask someone 'how was your day?' and they reply "Yeah, it was nice!" In fact it wasn't anything near nice. Or 'That girl is nice' No she isn't anything like it - It’s just said as an automatic response and has no any sentiment attached to it.

3 - Please, Bear with me - You call up some business and after going through the whole burden of the automatic answering machines and pressing of so many a buttons, someone finally picks up the phone and you have a "human contact". You inquire about something and they reply "I will just check it up, please bear with me Sir" and they play you a dreary tune to keep you waiting. I mean, what burden has it got on them when they say bear with me. I've been bearing with you for over 15 bloody minutes and now you want me to bear more and with You!

4 - You Know - Why do people use this term loosely? Someone is explaining something to you - something you've never heard of and they say “…then you get this around here, to get rid of this stuff you know, then...and it’s done” No I don’t know. If I knew would I be asking you?

5 - Innit - generally used among the younger folks as a short for 'aint it". It really is annoying specially when used with a strong cockney accent. "It's o'aight Bruv, innit"

...I'll add some more as i think of them.

Don't Waste Food...

I had this sent to me in an e-mail! If a picture speaks a thousand words, then what do these pictures say!



This picture won Pulitzer Prize but raised many Moral questions, as to why Kevin Carter waited for the vulture to spread its wings in order to get perfect shot, instead of helping the child. After he waited for some time and the vulture didn't spread its wings, he just took this shot.



bread crumbs - we just sweep them along with our feet!




A malnutrished child.





Subxanallah! How can someone be that heartless!

My First Pics...

The Millenium Dome



Canary Wharf.


On my way to work - towards Canary Wharf!

New Blog...

This is My New Blog

Hopefully this one here will be my ground to exercise my photography! will upload some very soon!

Scent From Above…

It had just started rained. The floor, already damp and wet, reflected the nimbus clouds looming on the horizon as we sought protection from the rain under a bus stop shelter. Several people crowded the bus shelter, leaving inadequate room for any more. The clock had just struck twenty minutes past the hour of five, and by this time many workers were leaving their monotonous work places and heading for their home.

Rarely do the buses take this long to come, what has happened today? These damn buses! I was thinking to myself when a strong sensational scent, swimming with the wind currents, raided my nostrils. My mind, which was once indolent of its surroundings after a dreary day at work, was now immediately invigorated, awaken by the pleasant smell of the intruding forces; my muscles which were fatigued by the strenuous work, have now revived from spasm; my feet became more lively, my eyes more vigilant. A familiar current of electricity ran through my veins; there’s something about that scent that makes it seem a lot familiar. Where have I encountered it before? My mind started wandering as the familiar scent grew stronger and stronger, hysterically titillating the tips of my nostrils, passing the scent from one nostril and now to the other in a playful manner. My eyes frantically searched for the direction this piquant yet delightful aroma was coming from; searching to and fro, hither and thither, unconscious neither of the eccentric behaviour I am displaying inadvertently nor of the weird looks I’m receiving from the perplexed onlookers.

Why am I soaking wet? My subconscious mind subtly asks, as the conscious mind is reluctantly yet effectively overpowered by invincible and transparent invaders, not even aware that I am now standing in open air – dripping wet as the rain pours down on me. The conscious mind, drifted away by the registration of a sudden gush of cold into the system, was now once again repossessed as a gentle breeze wafted the familiar scent down the bridges and alleys then into the open air. My nostrils were now accosted by the familiar scent, excitedly caressing them. But this time coming from an Easterly direction, the scent was a lot concentrated and intense. Voluntarily, my nostrils followed the direction the scent seemed to permeate from, was it cologne? No – it was something a lot stronger; it was something unfathomable, something overpowering – it’s sweet smell, rarity and supreme qualities quite akin to the Frankincense I used gather back home. I walked over to the second shelter, still intrigued by the scent like a dog sniffing out a trail. Buses came and went, people boarded and dismounted, even the shelters which were once jam-packed are now vacant.

Minutes just rolled by, yet that scent seemed to hypnotize me, enthralling me in a way too wonderful for words, in a way no other scent has. I inhaled and exhaled, making sure my lungs are filled with the fragrant smell. Subconsciously I wondered what time it was and where I ought to be, but that feeling was trivialized when the conscious mind was subdued by the intruding scent and, out the corner of my eye, I spot a young woman walking down the road. Her manoeuvres were of regal grace; she ambled gracefully, carrying along with her the scent that seemed to send my mind packing. She didn’t seem to notice that it was even raining; in fact she wasn’t bothered by it for she didn’t have any jacket either! The closer she got, the more her scent dismantled my senses. She walked round oblivious of anyone or anything that moves and contentedly sat at the corner of the long red seat at the bus shelter; now she started fiddling about with her hair, removing the protruding strands of hair from her damp forehead. Was anyone else not aware of this? Am I the only one stirred by this angel? Have I lost my judgement? I was lost in contemplation, unaware of the old lady behind me repeating “Are you alright sir?” when she didn’t get response a couple of time she decided to talk louder “Sir, Are you alright there?” which immediately commanded my attention. I look around; a huge throng had gathered behind me as I stood there facing the shelter’s large plastic shield, standing on the large red seat. What was I actually doing and how did I end up here?

I spent nearly 15 minutes trying to gather my wits, trying to think why I have lost my judgement. What was it that commandeered my consciousness? Have I lost my sanity? No I haven’t – I was merely hallucinating. It was but a figment of my imagination - my mind’s eye having been enticed by a distinctive scent that knotted my consciousness in a complex network of fanciful images and, of course, the rather attractive young woman that smiled beguilingly at me. Finally with a shake of the head I laughed at myself, the onlookers started laughing too unable to believe the events that have were just unfolding right in front of their eyes. The rain had now stopped, and all thoughts seemed to have evaporated into thin air as I boarded the bus an hour and nine minutes after I initially came to the bus shelter – it was now twenty nine minutes past the hour of six. What a consuming element the scent is – you have to keep all your wits about you!

The Month of Romance…

Soomaalidu waxay ku maahmaahdaa, Haddaad tagto meel laga il laayahay, ishaa layska ridaa and the equivalent translation of this proverb would the equally similar English proverb When in Rome, Do as the Romans Do –that’s precisely the philosophy many Somalis are adopting while they are adapting to changes in culture and environment.

Somalis are people of very unique a nature. Very Distinct people indeed. We somehow find it very easy to assimilate into any culture that we come across – we are easily absorbed by their customs - be they good or bad. Case in point, Valentine's Day!

Valentine’s Day doesn’t have any special meaning for me, neither celebrated it nor do I intend to, but was brought to my attention by a female friend of mine, Farxiya (Pseudonym), who was asking me for gift ideas, after becoming tired of the regular perfumes and cards I guess! I was taken aback by her audacity. If I had asked her what Valentine’s Day was, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell.

Despite the murky history of the origin of Valentine’s Day, yet it is celebrated by millions, if not billions of people across the globe. What surprises me the most though, is the celebrations held across the Muslim lands, Specially UAE and its neighbouring countries. Has anyone seen the amount of red roses and gift packs that fill up the entire shopping malls?

We Can be as Offensive as You

News story of the day:

An Iranian Newspaper has launched a competition to find the best cartoon about the Holocaust in retaliation for the publication of caricatures of Prophet Muhammad.

The iranian daily Hamshahri said its contest was designed to test the boundaries of Free Speech - the reason many European Newspapers have given for publishing the cartoons of the prophet. Each of the 12 winners will have their cartoons published and receive two Gold coins (worth about £80 each) as a prize.

The move was denounced by the conference o f European Rabbis. Joseph Sitruk, the Chief Rabbi of France, said:

The Iranian regime has plummeted to new depths if it regards the death of 6million Jews as a matter for humour

Source: Metro



Now its fully understood that Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right, but its only fair to ask, do they then regard the caricatures of the holy Prophet as a matter of humour?


In other News:

Thousands of copies of a student newspaper had to be recalled after it reprinted one of the caricatures of the Holy Prophet. The editor of Gair Rhydd - which means Free Word in Welsh - was suspended from the Students' Union at cardiff University and three other student Journalists are being investigated. All copies of the newspaper were withdrwan from distribution points.

Hanti Waxaad Ku Leedahay Dhulkaaga Hooyo!

But where do i belong?
Where do I call home?

Where can I walk with pride?
With my head really up high
With no guards by my either side
Rest under a tree and look to the sky

Where can I live permanently?
Where can I leave a mark?
Without having to transfer frequently
And comfortably inhabit and work

Where can I sleep soundly in my hut?
Knowing that am safe and secure
Without having to be vigilant and alert
And awake with my heart guiltless and pure

Where can I watch my kids grow?
Watch 'em as they play on the streets
Without fear of attack and brawl
And congregate loved ones for perfect feats

Where can I cruise around freely?
Without being asked my tribe
And intentionally robbed greedily
Or imprisoned and enslaved for bribe

Where can I live individually?
Without having to carry a gun
Live the rest of my life peacefully
And ultimately quieten down and have fun

Where do i belong?
My homestead, my kingdome?
Where I craved for so long
Where I must really call home
Where?

Controversial Cartoons

Police keep watch as thousands of Bangladeshi Muslims take to the streets in Dhaka.



Palestinians show their anger at the cartoons by walking over a Danish flag in front of a mosque.



A Jordanian Muslim holds up the Koran in the capital Amman.



Palestinian protesters burn a French flag during a demonstration.



Pakistanis burn Danish, Norwegian and French flags during a rally in Lahore.



Muslims in Indonesia tear up the Danish flag.



Supporters of Pakistan's Islamic alliance Mutahidda Majlis-e-Amal chant slogans during a rally in Karachi.

Source

No One Cares...

Nights i lay crumbled in my bed
Trembling with dejection and fear
Sheets covered wholly by the tears i shed
Haunted by the ache and angst like a nightmare

Frowning with an unendurable agony
I pass the crowd with great stealth
Dragging my feet with melancholy
Would this rather jeopardize my health?

Tormented by my dire and distressing predicament
Faintly i contemplate as my enitre body deteriorates
Even though i show no signs of peculiar abasement
Reluctantly i succumb to an overdose of barbiturates

Imperceptibly and solitary i frequently whimper
And with my so-called friends i often clown
Hitherto all my social activities my state did hinder
But owing to my pride, i never let them see me frown

Frowning is a sign of weakness and despair
Coz i do see light at the end of the tunnel
A distant beam of luminosity, sunlight's glare
An intense glow flowing through the aired panel

My life is filled with misery and woe
Yet at it with amazement i stare and stare
Sometimes i can't endure it anymore
But who seems to care?

Knock, Knock? WHo's There? - DEATH!

A convoy of cars slowly strolls down the A12, leading to the A406, on its way to the Islamic Cemetery in Chingford. My friend, Nur, is to be buried today. How slowly and stealthily death stole on him. Yesterday here he was, lively and full of fun and laughter – playing football with us every Sunday evening, Today here is – me digging his grave! On the long stretch of road, my head is preoccupied not with the Funeral procession but with death itself. Never has the reality of death hit me so hard – yet seemingly so close. It made me contemplate my navel – how we are somewhat deluded and take things for granted. Have I fulfilled Allah's covenant or have I neglected it? Have I, as Allah desired, lived my life accordingly or have I strayed? I started question myself. We go out shopping at, we drive down to rejuvenate and relax at the beach or to a holiday resort somewhere in Cyprus – all this we do quite confident that we would return to where we set out from, to our original destination - never really thinking of anything negative. How thoughtless and imprudent! It often does not even occur to mind that we would die and will be held accountable. We live as though death is something uncertain, as though we would die when we have passed a certain age and the realities and anxieties of old age seize you, that’s until – like a lightening striking close by – it strikes the person near you. This then leaves you a memory that lingers in the memory of every sane a person that he would be ending up just as!

I thought endlessly and reflected upon this throughout the journey to the graveyard. On reaching the graveyard, the dismal faces of the surrounding friends and family members further nurtured an entirely melancholy atmosphere. As he’s laid into the grave, I say my final prayers for him and I, asking Allah for forgiveness and everyone proceeds to collect their spades to bury the deceased! May Allah forgive him and make him the one of the inhabitants of His Eternal Paradise.

Amazing how death is just around the corner, watching your every move, surreptitiously taking every step that you take and finally when your card is called snatches the living soul out of you. Death knows no age!


Verily, Every Soul shall Taste death!

Yob Culture...

After an exceedingly strenuous day at work, the only thing you expect is a hassle-free journey to your dwelling. One minute you’re lost in contemplation; your supper, a warm bath to unwind in and relieve those fatigued muscles and your quilt might seem the only things discernible to you; the next minute you are bracing yourself for the most unpleasant and hostile environment you’ve ever encountered. I even bought a newspaper, but the right to enjoy my hard copy has been snatched away from me the minute I boarded the 207 from Ealing.

Just as I boarded the bus and took out my paper to glance over the headlines of today, a mob of more than 20 youth packed the bus. They passed by me with stern lineaments, roaming to and fro the isle of the upper deck of the bus, displaying a deplorable disregard for civility and orderly behaviour – shouting, calling one another those disparaging words often used to downgrade the black people, loudly chanting obscene songs of gangster rappers, screaming words thick with vulgarity whilst frantically smashing the bus’s windows.

With their hoods fully covering their faces, pants falling unsightly to their knees, disrespectfully smoking unpleasant ‘something’ on a bus jam-packed with women, children and elderly alike, they looked menacing and behaved just like a bunch of savage hounds eagerly waiting to pounce on and devour their unsuspecting prey.

My God, though I – unable to decide whether to stay on the upper deck or cowardly alight and wait in the cold for the next bus to arrive 15 minutes later – have they taken leave of their senses? And why are all the passengers rather apathetic to all this? I braved the way with my first choice – to sit tight.

It is quite clear, from the facial expressions of majority of the commuters that they were, to a certain extent, oppressed by the vitiated environment. They were grimacing with revulsion and a severe sense of anxiety filled the upper deck. The yobs’ evident unfriendliness even to themselves and their insufferable behaviour made every person feel somewhat uncomfortable. Some descended to the lower deck of the bus to avoid getting either robbed, abused or both, and some passengers dismounted the bus extremely displeased as their pouts revealed.

The only cloud on the horizon that seemed to be looming nearer and nearer was the threat of these hoodlums. With such deplorable behaviour and outrageous levels of aggression towards each other combined with their wreckage and unusual idiocy, their moment of strike was now a question “when” instead of “if”.

Now I can hear them speaking in an incoherent and a rather distorted vernacular. One youth, as if the howls of laughter and shrieks of terror at the back were not enough to ruin the day for every peace-loving passenger, decided to complicate matters further. That dreaded moment stole on us – unawares. Abruptly he got to his feet and headed towards a young man sitting two rows in front of me. Another youth, tried to stop him, but to no avail. He took hold of the man by the collar of his shirt and pushed him against the window coercively. The poor man was stricken speechless with terror. “Your phone!” shouted a lanky youth of swarthy a complexion as he sprang upon him, causing passengers to turn around. A violent altercation ensued, incredible as it was wicked. The people on the bus remained agape and motionless at the depravity of these persons. What a Palaver! More passengers started dismounting from the upper deck feeling that their safety had been breached.

At this heightened point of disturbingly hostile state of affairs, their confederate – a rather corpulent chap, hurriedly jumped in, trying to subdue his friends. After much persuasion, he succeeded in dragging them away. They all retreated, huddling at the back bench. They had that phlegmatic approach which was quite difficult to fathom, while the rest of the crew sat impassively watching all this, as if a man bent on crime would have any sense of sentiment or remorse. What makes one so inconsiderate and callous, I wondered?

A moment of silence! The shouts and taunts became attenuated by the sirens of the police. The driver of bus, having become aware of the shouts and disturbance on the upper deck called the police. This was trepidation of disturbance on their part, whereas a sign of relief on ours – like a very pleasant melody it played on our ears.

“Oh Sh*t, The Po-Po’s” yelled one and they were all up and descending down the stairs in the twinkling of an eye, stumbling on one another in a lily-livered attempt to get off the bus.

What a respite from hostility! Breathing now felt a tad easier, I thought to myself, as I heaved a much-needed sigh of relief.

“You shouldn’t ‘ave none o’ that mate” Blustered a feeble old man sitting right at the front, after the unruly youths got off.

“These feckin' Niggers need tae gang back tae whaur they cam frae” (these Fucking Niggers need to go back to where they came from) shouted another man in his strong Scottish accent. I am afraid I can somehow see where he’s coming from and on what his frustrations are based.

Fortunately, the police have succeeded in arresting most of the members of the group as soon as they tried to dismount the bus, but some fled away. What an ignominious end!

The truth in fact is I am ashamed to say, that these loutish, loud-mouthed and uncouth yobs were all Somalis. I, for once would have liked to remind them to keep a civil tongue in their heads, but the inevitable corollary of that, somewhat oblique statement would be violence – and that, certainly, would not have been to my advantage as I am out-numbered.

This raises the question – is this intense violence a result of that lamentable and brutal war or are we inherently stubborn? What make our youth behave in such shameful ways?

The Future is Bright!...

Academics have finally done something worthwhile, by taking their skills back to where it's mostly needed. The future, now seems brighter than ever, with thousands of students enrolling each year for courses ranging from Islamic Jurisprudence to Accounting and Management to Computer Science. Below are some pictures taken from their respective University websites and other sources!



Students Learning Sharica at East Africa University - Bosaaso



Students taking an Exam at East Africa University - Bosaaso



Students at Amoud University, Awdal



Students at Mogadishu university



Nursing students at Mogadishu University

Xudeydi - The King of Oud

The Master Intrumentalist in action - Axmad Ismaciil Xudeydi

Some of you might remember one his most notable lyrics of all time. The song uur-hooyahayow sang by Axmad Mooge has been the theme of almost every letter that was sent back home from the Western Countries. The lyrics went something like this:

Laba aabe wada dhalay
iyo ubad walaala
arinkii yimaadaba
isla kaashanayoo
isa siiye gacantee

Indhahaygu nuurkey
ku il doogsadeenoo
adna haysku key ladine
uur hooyahayow

Waayaha adduunkaa
ina kala fogeeyee
ana kali ahaantey
u adkeysan maayee
umal baan la tiicaayoo
isma dhaano madigee

Indhahaygu nuurkey
ku il doogsadeenoo
adna haysku key ladine
uur hooyahayow

Naftu waa amaanee
aaskayga geerida
aday guud dhigaayo
iigu gacan dambeeye
dhaxalkayga aadmiga
kii ugu lahaayow

Indhahaygu nuurkey
ku il doogsadeenow
adna haysku key ladine
uur hooyahayow

Dhabarkii adowgeey
kii laga abuurow
naaskii abaydinimo
kii ila wadaagow
sideen kuu ilawaa
ma ahaan karaysee

Indhahaygu nuurkey
ku il doogsadeenow
adna haysku key ladine
uur hooyahayow

Our Elders Have Failed Us!

“We have a powerful potential in our youth, and we must have the courage to change old ideas and practices so that we may direct their power towards good ends.”
Mary McLeod Bethune

When we were young, we were taught to respect our elders. We looked upon them with exalted admiration and appreciation. Whoever they were, wherever they came from or whatever clan they hailed from, we were expected to treat them with utmost respect. We were admonished for calling them by their own name. By Lord; we received rigorous reprimands for not emptying our seats for them when they arrived. We were expected to display a decent decorum at all times.

Could these elders whom we’ve grown to fear and, at the same time, admire so much be the cause of our destruction? one would ask. But these elders, still remarkably agile despite senility and strenuous predicaments, are versed in poetry and recite it with extreme vitality, enriched with cunning dexterity and clever choice of words. But they are scandalmongers; their days spent on frivolous jokes and heated feuds between clans, by the tip of their tongue! With their enticing and scintillating poems, they infest the minds of susceptible and oblivious adolescents. Through this sham poetry and witty repartee, they earn a name only one could yearn; held in high veneration, whilst heaps of praises are hurled their way. There is, however, pathos in their false pretence and sham poetry as they narrate melancholic tales of yesteryear to stir up emotions and provoke the psyche of the unsuspecting folks. What a Travesty! What a travesty!

The rest of the elders, not involved in the political disarray, live beyond care for today. They dread the day that follows, and after years of endurance and fortitude, their dismal faces radiate no more. They lay down in the dumps, desolate, any trace of anticipation they had had evaporated. Days they spend wandering aimlessly with one thing on their mind – Qat – and a bottle of water to quench their thirst. The same routine is exercised cyclically without cessation.

Thanks to the benevolent Somali women. The once social nonentities are now the pride and joy. Their homes, full of waifs and strays, serve as sanctuaries for the poor and dispossessed. Relentlessly they support young and old, rationing the supplies if need be. Thanks to their unremittingly labours, many now survive. From the break of dawn they work diligently supporting entire lineages by the sweat of their brows; selling with much dexterity anything they could find. By night they take a breather, and demurely await their husband’s arrival just to get hauled over the coals for the slightest inaccuracy. Oh! How magnanimous they are to put up with their ne'er-do-well husbands!

It’s quite disheartening how the Qabiil Syndrome has got us by the short and curlies and with majority of the population in Somalia being illiterate, there is little to expect of them. So, we have the Somalis in Diaspora who, regrettably, have no nostalgic sentiments. "Somalia can never be" they proclaim wistfully and leave her to lament her sorry states alone! They expect their seniors back home to amend the state of affairs and resolve their issues. With the waning distance, they lose touch with every intrinsic quality, faith and culture they had while the Nomads in Somalia turn a sympathetic eye towards the ones in Western countries “Qurbaha” and plead for them to save them from the self-destruction. Their youth spent on selfish desires, deludes them from reality and cocoons them from unpleasant imagery. There they dwell despondently with the notion that a better future lies ahead of them. They laze and lounge, graze (Qat) and grouch constantly. Their families lost amidst all this upheaval and perplexity, and then they wonder why even their partners often abscond from them!

What our elders have yet to learn is that wars have no happy endings; always cruel and catastrophic. Whether a winner or a loser, expect no glad tidings, no immortal kisses, no heaps of welcomes await you! Ileen Odayaashu waxaysan garaneyn, Dagaal wiil kuma dhashee, wiil baa ku dhinta!

As for the warlords, despair not, Somaliyeey, despair not! Tyrants and murderers always fall; and so they will!

Wa-Salaam!