Dreams of a Son

As a child born in times of instability in Somalia, I have glimpses of opportunity, in these circumstances I see a visage of ruins: neighbors in utter despair, human jealously mired in dreams of opportunity. It is these dreams that I share, dreams of a nation in turmoil where we stood a part, distant from who we were. In the slums we were one of the same and in poverty we were one. Faces and images that haunt me to this day of a nation divided, desolate, and barren left for destruction. These are our stories, stories of myopic hopes centered on an idea that we must sacrifice to enjoy life. But I didn’t believe in this creed that delimited us, I looked forward to the springs of our nature. I was no ordinary child, I am a child of refuge. I grew up in ghetto’s and worn tenements that were a sight to me. I recall friends that defied ordinary as we danced to the ringing of bullets and chaos. It is with this spirit that we kinetically reminded those around us to live life despite moments. Moments that often etch into memories, as children we parleyed in the visages of war along the muddy streets. It was these moments that we immersed ourselves in an environment that we beautified. Saged with wisdom we were on celestial lines. We matured to learn pain through the lens of our parents as we committed to change the outcomes of those around us . From the Algiers to the sands of Mogadishu my friendships have been on a continuum of refuge. Before the civil war my mother operated a shop on 30th street and on her breaks it was the pen and book she scolded us on so that customers came back just in recognition of her parenting. In the Madrasa it was mom that put the teacher in his place, that outlined a way in a masculine society. Modest beginnings defined our rise so that my father worked overseas for Shell and uncles toiled with grandad passing away at a very young age. These were the men I looked up to, tested with pain and hardship they resolved to look forward. They built way through an education, going as far as to become judge’s of our supreme courts and ambassadors of our country. The gushing seas of Mogadishu emanated fragrance in the horn of Africa in a people known for frankincense, a people of punt where soulful poets sang of the nature of our bonds. About long lasting stories of age and love. Stories ridden with victory as colonial powers encroached. We bonded through the waves in a frequency channeling so as to create ties and marry along clan lines. Stories of a goat herder in a family of lineage to kingdoms in the land of punt. In a home along the Ogaden my father journeyed to the city far from the livestock he grew accustomed to. Camels were like gold as my grandad had inherited my dad would have but he left it all in search of opportunity in a story filled with hope and dreams. It is the dreams I carry that have provided insight to my people in the melting pot that is America.No one person could describe the onslaught that came about in Mogadishu as a result of the uprising. Discontented and increasingly dissatisfied the parties heir to the conflict were resistant of late. There was a political gaming going on where the Ethiopians were arming resisting elements in Somalia. Barre, our president, was also arming resistance groups in Ethiopia. Tensions were very high as Barre lost all of his friends. Resistance came from all directions. The most prominent figure in the resistance was Aidiid. He made decisions that eroded our nation so much so that our flag was in distress with a mass in refuge and a few moving around the city just enough to escape the fire zones. A dark history overshadows the events that it begs inquiry and reconciliation. The events that took place in Somalia did not have a narrative of a mass crazed and enticed with fear. In this sense the parties to the conflict made what can only be described as a direct assault on inhabitants that were neither insurgents nor foes.In the span of days we were attacked as if planned by our neighbors. The seconds ticked as dad was held at gun point and prompted to identify himself. In the bedroom we huddled underneath our bed with clasped ears. There was a relative on the scene, a man of wisdom that pleaded for my father’s life only to risk his own. My father’s life was spared. Immediately we departed on a bus to safety in Kismayo.The seafaring men and women of Kismayo networked to create business in a country with the longest coast line in Africa. We marveled at the makeshift boats so that soon in ingenuity we were audacious as we set out to build a boat carefully gathering foam and plastics. The challenge was to make it to port something exceedingly impossible with my half talents in swimming but we could build way. In a week we had a prototype that we equipped with all the necessities of fishing . We ventured all the way to port as captains and crew. These were the moments of adventure that solidified my experience. In the mornings I would go to Madrassa and in the evenings I watched the men build ships that all too often sank. At night I watched the colorful bullets in the sky. Soon we were on a ship across the Indian to Nairobi. For a time in a mishap the captain lost way as the ship was stuck far from course but we pulled out.There was a familiar view of war as one crossed to camp. One where men with machine guns policed a vulnerable people in refuge. Every Thursday they rationed us in lines. There were mosques at every corner with the adan(call to prayer) in synchrony. Unlike shanty towns the huts were placed proportionally with different sections named alphabeticaly. We went back to nature so that everything was simple. In the mornings I went to Madrassa and in the evenings English class. The kids were at war with locals with slings shots. Every week we had a spectacle that was the English conversation. The larger community came out as I carefully outlined my script of sonnets and cliches. In the next few months we completed the process of coming to America. In our day of goodbyes I was dressed for success gleeful and jittery of the adventure to come. I imagined Hollywood and equitable lands of opportunity. There is an opportune awakening for the immigrant one of limitless possibilities. In continuity we shape the pulse that is America so that the greater American connects whether fleeing persecution of one Christian king or a potato famine.In high school Chris was a heroic figure that had the purpose of the quality teacher that defies odds. She was there to direct us towards fruition in all respects. Chris had the best students that tacitly shined on state exams while doing a poor job. I was more of the former than the latter so that I was oblivious to hood life. It was the kinetics of my youth that assured those around me that this life could be lived.In my part time I worked at Vox Newspaper, a place of unique professionalism led by a UGA alumni on Youth Development as tool for change. As staff I got to interview moving people in society and academicians. This opened my eyes to possibilities for this nation, a breeding ground for my ideas. As an Emory alumni I recall looking at the Atlas convinced that international studies offered solutions for the world that I remembered contrasted with the world I wanted. So I focused on development, human development, constitutional engineering, regime structures, and populous engagement. I developed a science out of my readings as I devoured Gourevitch on weekends. I studied Science as a premed because medicine was vital to me for humanism purposes but I spent time though not ingrained in political science thinking quickly grasping the orientation it bought and the necessary information. You see information was vital to me about everything, I researched once every vital tool around me in order to figure out its fundamental elements such as electricity, television, phone, cable, etc. they always led on a path of seeming obscurity only to find out that scientific advancement was not complete and that these were scattered findings. I even analyzed our ancestors and found out that their world has a far more chance of advancing than us. I called civilization self domestication after studying Egyptian bondage and slavery. You see our ancestors had unique organization, they were humanists tied in a fabric that was ever holy, it was a human fabric that was ingrained in them. But somehow civilization brought so much evil that the gnat was more visible than the serpent. This serpent defied god enslaved man created opportunity crafted government and caused distinction among loving peoples. I am here to correct this fundimentally using not only love but the intelligence of our ancestors. This is the only foundation for advancing society. I bring you the Celestial movement.

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