This one smells awful and has a big behind

A horde of men, wearing all kind of shades of jackets, jackets with tired linings, scruffy shoes and flailing hands, trudging like an army marching to a war they have already lost. Chaps with leathery faces dented by poverty. Marching to a tiny restaurant. I was part of this crowd, a crowd from a Friday khutbah in an Eastleigh mosque
We were all kind of men and women. Hawkers who relinquished their energy to the shouting they endured since morning, trying to endeavor a living. Men who woke up from last night’s hangover of shisha and khat. Brokers selling dreams and whirlpools of ideas, touts constantly checking the clock for their next trip to town. Men who spent their day chasing a dream, a dream that has never been fulfilled. I was part of the latter.
I was greeted by the smell of sweat as I went down the entrance. I placed my order on my way to wash my hands. If you have ever been to an Eastleigh restaurant, you probably know what I am talking about. In here we have no menus. We freestyle. We know the waiters on a first name basis.
Next to me is a Somali man in his 70’s. The sound of his munching is driving me mad. Then comes by a lady wiping the table. He says with a crocked smile “tan ur badhana oo hadana gadaal uweynaa’ translated for ‘this one smells awful and has a big behind’ I shudder in amazement. ‘Kadaaf aaba’ I advise. He laughs hysterically. ‘Qariseetha hee candatheetha’ it was the least I expected from an old man draped in Khamis with a brown beard. I felt numb. Somali men his age often see women as symbol of sex, coupled with their tradition they have grabbed xishood by a fistful of hair and dragged it to the river and then drowned it.
An array of questions conveyed through me, what if she understood kisomali? Could he have talked like that? Could he even have said this to a Somali girl? Does he understand what made her take up this job? Is he even human? Even though she couldn’t understand the language, I could sense she pretty much had a clue of what the man was saying. Women are blessed with intuition and the blessings of God have no boundaries. All aboard. Waiters included. I could see her walk away in shame, crumping like an inflated balloon left untied. Promiscuous men are in every society I consoled myself. He belongs to a group of men who have forgotten who they truly are and have been programmed to see women as sex symbols and nothing more. They have become sex addicts. They have lived all their lives marrying women and divorcing them like goats.
Then I said to myself religion might be the problem. Maybe and maybe if she had covered herself well this would not have happened.
I see women looking scared and distraught that men look at them like a tool for pleasure. It’s horrible. I do this too but only because it’s within my subconscious. So I have taken responsibility today and write and post by honoring each woman I see. I am taking responsibility to see the sacredness and divinity within women. To see the Goddess (keep your opinion on goddess to yourself), the Queen. It has to change now. How we view and engage with one another.
Obviously this doesn’t apply to every woman but it seems obvious to me that women and men have been programmed heavily and this is reflected in how we think, speak and act. Tell yourself, your uncle, your brother, and your male friends that men and women are the same. We are all innocent souls trapped in bodies we never had the chance to choose from. We are victims of fate. Let us treat women with dignity.