This, above, is the Somali hut being constructed - and as I mentioned before, you’d notice that it is only women who build the huts. The men usually gather the wood from the Galool, Gob, Dhumay trees etc, and then the women get to work. The above hut being constructed is called Saddex-dhigood, meaning it is made out of three arched Gob branches as you can see above. This is the smallest hut constructed and the largest is made out of seven. The most common huts though are made out of either three or four Dhigood (arched branches).

Though not of the same hut, this is how the inside of some huts looks like. In this picture, the thin branches that run somewhat perpendicular to the three Dhigo, along the entire hut, are called lool. These lool form a spread above the Dhigo so that the woven mats can be fastened onto the hut.

And this is how the mats are then fastened to the hut. What you see in the picture on the left is called Udub-Dhexaad - the middle, or sometimes on either sides of the hut, wood made usually out of Dayyib tree that fortifies the hut and keeps it erect.

And this is how the inside looks like when it is finally built, with a small branch for hanging clothes as an extra (left).

Now that the hut is almost complete with all the pillars of wood erected and the hut standing firmly, the only thing left to do is fasten the skilfully woven mats onto the pillars wood. The mats are made from something called Caw (above left) and have to be made by hand. First the Caw is gathered from the woodland after days of scouting, then after getting rid of the impurities, it is assembled as above and the interlacing or plaiting of the Caw begins (above right). This process of interlacing the Caw is called Falag and is usually done over drinks when women gather for conversations late in the afternoon.

After interlacing the Caw, a single long sheet of Caw is made. This sheet is called Gadaan (above left). The name is derived from the meaning of the word Gadaan which means “round” - and because the Caw, after each plait, is rounded up as in the above picture, it is given such a name. Hundreds of single plaits of Caw are then interwoven to form a large mat called Dermo (Plural - Dermooyin). The picture on the right shows the Dermooyin on top of the hut.

And here is the final result… As for the time it takes - well I passed by the hut being built (top) on my way to a place called Ceelbuh. By the time I came back, about and hour and a half later, the hut was completed! In whatever way it is made, the intricacy and magnificence of the Somali Aqal is a testament to the ingenuity and handicraft of the Somali nomads, or Somali women I should say. The huts are made entirely by young girls and their mothers and the involvement of a man is very little, limited to just collecting the wood needed for the construction. For their mats, the Somali women still weave brilliant artefacts dating back to the early times of nomadic life. The learning process of making Aqal Soomaali (Somali hut) is passed down from generation to generation, from mother to daughter and sleeping inside one of these huts is a truly wonderful experience. Kudos to the female Somali nomads!

I woke up from my sisters hut. Beside me, stacked in some corner or hanging from the boughs were Sati, Sallad, Bocor, Hadhuub, dhiil, etc. – the very finest of a Somali nomad’s handmade utensils (I will explain these in another post hopefully in detail). Being my first time sleeping on a mat on rock solid earth, after so many years, together with my peculiar habit of sleeping on one side, I woke up with that morning with sore shoulders and a bruised ribcage.
It was a bright day, with a clear blue sky above. Not a single cloud hovered in the sky. The villagers of Habarshiro had already woken up and were by now at the wells, watering huge numbers of animals. My mother sat outside the hut – ardaaga, a partly enclosed area at the entrance of the hut plastered with tiny pebbles and covered (usually) with a mat – and made breakfast. That day it was Ruub – special thick round bread baked under burning ashes served with Sixin. After gobbling down the food quickly I made my way to the berked, for I have been informed that my younger sister, Zainab, would be arriving to see me today. I watered the animals from the Berked, all the time expecting the figure of my sister to emerge from behind the small hill that surrounds the village. After about an hour, she finally emerged, exhausted but with a radiant smile and with her seven-month old baby on her back! I couldn’t believe it – she had walked from a distance of four hours to come and see me and there were no words, however lofty, to repay that kind of love…

By noon, after we had lunch, I was sitting amidst several of my relatives when we were informed that a she-camel belonging to my father had gone missing a few days ago. The news came as a bolt from the blue to all the people, for their love for camels is without comparison. Generally, for the nomads, the lost camel is far dearer to them than all the present ones combined, so they would do everything at their disposal to search for it, often hunting it for days in the wilderness without returning home. Soon my brother, Mohamed, an expert camel herder, was sent with information of its last known location to follow it and bring back any news or sightings - a confirmation whether it was worth the pursuit or if it has been disposed of by the ever present predator, the hyena. They wanted a confirmation and as the old proverb goes “hubsiimo hal baa la siistaa” (precision/certainty is worth a she-camel). The rest of the day passed without much vibrancy

The next morning my brother came early into the village with some news. Traditionally, when someone brings news to the nomads they welcome the bearer of the news in hope that he brings glad tidings. They say;

Warran oo lagugu ma warramo,
wiilkaaga mooyee walaalkaa ku ma dhaxlo,
la waari maayee waayo joog,
wax xun iyo cadaab la’ow

Bring news, but may your news not be brought
May your son inherit you and your brother not
Life won’t be long but may you live long
May you be free from all that is evil and hell

And he did bring some news. “There have been several sightings of a she-camel,” he said, “but its whereabouts were still unidentified. I have seen some tracks and followed them. There appeared to be a hyena chasing the camel, but just past Manshax the tracks disappeared.” The news was even worse than they had expected. The involvement of the hyena had raised their worst fears. Immediately an expedition was organised. The car that brought me to Habarshiro was still with me and so was the driver. It was then decided that we must take the car and look for the she-camel. We set off early, two of my brothers, my cousin and I, following tracks and trails of animals. Stopping at several huts yielded no valuable information. We finally met a young shephard in the vast Sool plateau and that’s when we were informed by the nomad that a ‘lone she-camel’ had been spotted earlier somewhere to our East. A sigh of relief came upon the faces of my brothers and cousin.

A Nomad with his flock of sheep and goats

We followed the direction of our informant nomad and headed east. The car drove slowly across plain fields and desiccated terrain, stopping from time to time and my brothers getting out to inspect and sift through the hundreds of footprints on the soil. Analysing the trails very precisely, they’d decide upon the time they were left and in which manner, as in if the camel was running or walking, and then they would decide upon the direction the tracks were leading to, thereby estimating a specific location that it would have reached.

A camel herder with his camels

The nomads are expert trackers and their knowledge of their land is unrivalled. Using trees as landmarks and indicators of their location, the nomads know exactly how long it would take a camel, or a person for that matter, to travel from one place to another, and using this knowledge we headed for the probable route of the she-camel and the estimated destination. After about 2 hours, and regular intervals to inspect more tracks that would confirm our quest, we finally managed to find the she-camel, among other camels. She wasn’t in a bad state, except for her rear which was bitten by a hyena. This explained the running tracks that Mohamed saw on the first day of his inspection of the surrounding areas - the trails of the camel being chased. And what a relief it was. Such a relief that the camels were immediately milked and we were served with fresh camel milk with Ruub.

Milking a camel (haaneed)

As the days progressed, I learnt more about the customs of the Nomadic tribes and soon started to admire them. Though living in the throes of water shortages and meagre resources (this is during the dry seasons or Jiilaal. When it rains and water is in abundance, the nomads live a luxuriant life for they don’t have to take the animals to far away watering places and traditional songs and folk dances are performed regularly in the open. There is always plenty of meat and milk to be consumed and it becomes a merry time for weddings, so young men go scouting for their brides in these dances), the nomads are perhaps the one group of people who have understood life’s fundamental lesson of simplicity. They care neither for the trials the barren land may unfold tomorrow, nor do they weigh themselves down with the burdens of yesterday. They live for today, with as little of life’s encumbrances as possible. In their secluded world, detached from all worldly lures, the present is all that matters - the past has no relevance and the future no certainty. Enjoying whatever the earth yields, they live a frugal lifestyle without extravagance. They wake up the morning, each person going about his assigned job. No worries or stress, for as long as they have their camels, life is jolly good (except for the dry seasons when they struggle hard to find grazing grounds and water for their livestock).

Eating Ruub with fresh camel milk - the man is holding a Gaawe or Hadhuub-gaal

Now after my return to London, I have become slightly disenchanted with all the superfluous material pleasures and their impermanent value. Life in Miyi has left upon me an indelible impression and my wish is to return there as soon as chance permits me. I now have a clearer insight into the nomadic lifestyle with all its perils and pleasures. I do not think I could live it through though (settling down there I mean), but try I will one day!

The Somali Nomadic lifestyle is what defines the Somali culture. It is from these dry plateaus, valleys and watering holes from which all Somali traditions spring, forming the bedrock of the Somali society and a rich cultural heritage handed down to generations of camel herders and pastoralists. The traditional dances and weddings in Miyi forms the basis of almost all Somali poetry and music. To understand the meaning and origins of Somali poetry, music and literature, one must be fairly informed about the pastoral lifestyle, for without that one looses majority of the meanings, metaphors, allusions and insinuations imbedded within them.

The camel, as I have mentioned in an earlier post as well, is the centre of hundreds of poems from the earliest poets to the ones of today. Here is a poem that summarizes the life of the she-camel in 5 lines, from birth to maturity (I’ve added the ages the poet talks about for your convenience) ;

gugey dhalatay geed lagu xiryoo xariga loo gaabi
guga xigana gaaleemadiyo* dhogorta qaar goyso (2 jir)
guga xigana uur-giringirey* geela ku hor meedho (Qaalin yar, 3 jir)
guga xigana awar garabsatoo gooja* la hudeecdo (hal, 4 jir)
guga xigana good* nirig dhashay gaawe* laga buuxi (5 jir)

The year she was born, she is tied to a tree and the noose loosened
The year after that, she peels off part of her fur (aged 2)
The year after that, with a round belly, she parades in front of the camels (aged 3)
The year after that, she mates, becomes pregnant and dawdles (aged 4)
The year after that, good has given birth and a gaawe is filled (aged 5)

*Gaaleemada = the first fur the she-camel develops at a young age. this coat of fur stripped when the camel reaches about two years of age.
*uur-giringirey = by this time the calf develops a slightly big belly. She is neither suckling nor is she mature enough yet.
*Goojo = when the she-camel is pregnant the first sing is that as soon as someone approaches it, or a he-camel approaches it for mating, it spreads its hind legs and urinates. This is called Goojo and the camel-herder estimates a time when it would give birth.
*good = the she-camel is now called Good. As soon as she gives birth she is given a name, but before giving birth she is called “daughter of such and such” or “ina hebla”.
*Gaawe = Hadhuub gaal used for milking camels.

In another poem, Cumar Australia composed a brilliant poem about camels.

Ragga laxaha sii dhawrayow dhaqasho waa geele
Dhibaatiyo adoo gaajo qaba dhaxanta jiilaalka
Dhoor* caano laga soo lisoo yara dhanaanaaday

O’ you men who tend to sheep, rearing is camels
when adversity and hunger finds you in the winds of Jiilaal
The milk obtained from Dhoor with its sharp taste

Nin dhadhamiyey wuu garanayaa dhul ay qaboojaane
Goortaad dhantaa baa jidhkaba dhididku qooyaaye
Ragga laxaha sii dhawrayoow dhaqasho waa geele

A man who tasted them knows where they cool down
as soon as you drink it, does sweat drench the body
O’ you men who tend to sheep, rearing is camels

Waxa dhaba habeenkaa ninkii dhama galxoodkeeda*
Dhallaanimo qodxihii kugu mudnaa kaaga soo dhaca e
Ragga laxaha sii dhawrayoow dhaqasho waa geele.

Guaranteed it is that a man who drinks its (camels) Galax*
In childhood the thorns that pricked you would be discharged
O’ you men who tend to sheep, rearing is camels

*Galxood = comes from the word Galax. When a camel is milked, the fresh milk is initially hot and forms a lot of froth on the surface. The milk is left to settle down and the froth disappears. Once it disappears, very cold, pure milk is what remains. This is called Galax.
*Dhoor - Mane. Also known as Baar. A camel with a mane has not been used for carrying water or disassembled huts. Dhoor is also sometimes used as a name for a she-camel.

Cumar Australia also goes on to say that;

Inkastood adduun badan dhaqdo dheemman iyo daaro
Inkastood dhar wada suufa iyo dhag iyo laas qaaddo
Dhaxal male nin Soomaaliyoon dhaqannin koorreey*

despite you having a world of diamond and dwellings
despite you having luxuriant clothes of cotton
Inheritence he has not, a Somali who doesn’t rear a camel

*koorreey = comes from the word Koor which means a wooden bell - the one tied around the camel’s neck. Here Koorey refers to camels.

For centuries the Somali Nomadic lifestyle had existed; people have endured the worst of droughts and famine and were content with their herd of camels, and though that lifestyle is now somewhat sluggishly diminishing, pastoralists will continue to exist despite the growing number of villages and urbanisation of Miyi (Nomadic dwellnigs).

My trip to Somalia last summer has been quite an eye-opener. I have learnt so many things about the culture, the people and the land of Somalia. Below is the first leg of my journey towards Miyi (where the Nomadic settlers live)

We left Bosaaso just before twilight set upon us. Accompanied by my brothers, we left my hotel at Al-Rowda, passed by Bosaaso Hospital, a thousand and one restaurants at the edge of the main road, countless hawkers, cars, lorries heading out and entering the city, people, goats, sheep, soldiers, more hotels, carts and finally silence. Except for our short stay at Xalwo Kismaayo whilst we bought some sweets and mineral water, there was no commotion-filled, busy and eventful streets to be heard, no clamour of voices, no obnoxious Qat sellers, no loud conductors pulling you into their buses, just the noise of rubber eating away the tarmac. Arid, dry land occupied either sides of the road as far as the eyes caught. Further ahead, great mountains towered above the levelled ground. The enormity of such mountains loomed over the vast barren earth and formed a somewhat pleasing sight. By then I was all expectations. Every minute that passed brought me closer to an emotional reunion with a family I’ve left a long time ago and filled my heart with anticipation. I was starting to feel the goosebumps appearing.

The long stretch of road led us past the city control limits where the cars are checked for weapons, then past the villages of Laag, Karin, Kalabaydh, and several other tiny ones along the roadside and then just after we passed the dangerously serpentine road of Alxamdullilah, the driver came off the asphalted road and took a narrow rough path, through the arid land formed by the tyre tracks of cars and constant usage . The rough road rapidly rolled in front of us and the car bounced up and down at great speeds. We followed that route through an immense dark terrain, through Ballibusle, through Laag Xaariseed and after a gruelling five-hour journey set foot in the wilderness of Sanaag at 2 AM. A small hut erected in the middle of no where greeted us and adjacent to it, two thick fences made from the thorny branches of Galool trees formed two large rings. Inside the rings, called Ood, animal dung had plastered the earth, covering the thin layer of soil. This is where the sheep and goats along with their lambs and kids come to rest after a day of traversing the plains of Sanaag.

From the hut exited my young brothers and sisters and my step mother and from there started the emotional reunion. It was an occasion worthy of a celebration and fresh meat was immediately served. We stayed that night or whatever was left of it and slept in the open, watching the millions of glittery stars that decorated the sky and danced around the vivid moon to form an enchanting display. What a pleasant night that was!

Waking up early that morning, I observed my surroundings. I noticed with enthusiasm the extent to which my vision was restricted to - as far as my eyes could see. With trees such as Qudhac, Meygaag, Galool, Damal, Bilcil and Higlo along with some Dhirindhir (i will post pictures of these trees later on) spread sporadically along a vast flat land, the wilderness was as open as the sea and stretched out for perhaps hundreds of kilometres. Such a vast area of land is called Sool (not to be confused with the region of Sool). Sool means an area that comprises of mainly the trees I mentioned above covering acres of land. It was the Xagaa season and the land, being slightly sterile was rainless and dry. Small bushes, usually a few centimetres off the earth, known as Dureemo and others slightly bigger, known as Duur, covered the earth. Duur is used extensively for building huts and enclosures for animals. All this I observed whilst on my way to where my mother lived - a small village called Habarshiro, right in the heart of Sanaag.

Habarshiro

Habarshiro, a tiny village lying at the foot of a small hill has Ceelbuuh as its nearest neighbour. Here, the vast land was, for the most part, unoccupied except for a few houses that conspicuously took up their rightful places in the middle of no-where. Barren and dry as it was, there were hardly any trees either, apart from the few dry trunks that stood like solitary soldiers assigned to keep watch and guard the village. Several wells surrounds the city known as Berkedo (sing. Berked). These serve as watering grounds for more than two thousand heads of camels, sheep and goats almost every day.

Berked (right)

As the car closed the distance between me and Habarshiro, my heart hammered heavily in her chest, threatening to crack my ribcage open. I even thought I heard its pulsating beats. A reservoir of tears gathered at the brim of my eyes, ready to gush out at the very mention of the word “hooyo” – mother! The car had not even come fully to a halt when I pushed the door open, jumped out, flung my arms around my mother and silently sobbed tears (though strongly repressed ) of delight, relief and excitement. A graceful woman with finely tuned features she was, though baked by the sun into a dark chocolaty complexion, and must have been without comparison in beauty in her glory days.

Gradually my heart came to rest and the thudding was replaced by a wave of comfort. The warmth of my mother’s embrace disposed of the inner restlessness, evaporating all concerns and worries into thin air and putting my troubled heart to rest. Everything else seemed insignificant then, my mind was for the first time completely free of thought! This was where I wanted to be and this was how I wanted to feel. At that very instant my life had changed and without regard for what perils and tribulations lay ahead, I’ve decided that this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my stay – under the shelter of my mother’s hut. The rest of my siblings were away, dispersed into the immense terrain, so whilst my father and relatives sat under the shade of the Higlo tree, I grabbed my younger sisters and mother and went inside the hut.



Left: A Somali Hut, Right: resting under a Higlo tree

After a few days stay in Habarshiro, it was time to discover the customs of the nomadic tribes. I set out early in the morning towards the Berked to water and load the camels my brother had brought from his hut in Manshax - three hour’s journey away from the village. Every two to three days he makes the same journey and loading his camels with water, returns to his house. This is called Dhaan. So that particular morning, with a strong desire to walk the plains of Sool and discover the land by foot, I volunteered to accompany my sister Seytun who was to take the dhaan back to my brother’s house. Being the first time I have seen her in her 20 years of living, I wanted to be very much with her all the time. Little did I know what lay ahead and how much trekking I would have to do.

Dhaan (right)

We set out with five camels loaded with water for two families. As soon as we disappeared from the sight of Habarshiro, I stopped and looked around. Not another single soul in sight, except for me and my sister and not another living thing except for our five camels. The immensity of the terrain simply astonished me; you could be walking for miles and not come in contact with a human being. We strolled along at leisurely pace, talking passionately about our lives through all the years of separation. An expert trekker, having traversed the entire terrain in every direction perhaps a thousand time, she knows the location of almost every tree in the area.

We were walking for only about an hour and I could feel that my body was spewing out sweat in excessive amounts and my feet begged for some rest. That I gladly welcomed and sought the shelter of a Higlo tree at which point my sister teased me for being unhealthy. That is how I completed my journey - walking for about an hour in the open and then finding some shelter under a tree. We finally reached our destination by noon - two small huts, intricate in their design, in the middle of a vast open space - and unloaded the water. There I sat, fatigued and panting for breath, and accepted a fresh cup of camel milk from my sister-in-law. I dreaded the journey back to the village and wished for once that I hadn’t been so impulsive. A three hour journey awaited me and I had to make it before darkness envelops the land, for then hyenas own the night.

Luckily I did manage, greatly exerting myself, to return to Habarshiro as soon as the rays of the sun plummeted down the horizon. After a few days rest and the pain in my feet subsided, I was ready for another ‘excursion’ - another painful excursion... The difference between life here and my life back in London was simply astonishing.

to be continued...

There has been a Somali presence in the UK since the nineteenth century at a time when most of the Black Africans living in England were either servants or slaves. Sailors from British Somaliland first settled in port cities of London, Bristol, Liverpool and Cardiff. However, the majority of Somalis now residing in the UK arrived post 1988 when the escalation in civil conflict provoked a mass exodus from the country. Most Somali refugees eventually settled in former colonising countries like Britain, where subsequent migration occurred periodically from the late 1980’s to the present depending on the political situation in Somalia.

Although accurate statistics are hard to come by, Somalis represent one of the largest refugee communities in the UK, between 1985 and the end of 2006, Home Office figures showed that Somalia consistently remained in the top ten asylum applicant producing countries in the UK. Moreover, the 2001 census figure for Somali-born London inhabitants are less than half the figure estimated in two recent studies. In recent years the number of Somalis in the UK has been increased subsequently by an unknown number of Somali refugees who have migrated to the UK as secondary migrants from other European countries, most notably Holland, Germany and Sweden, settling in cities with an already established Somali population.

The Somali community has found it very difficult to integrate or to participate into UK civil society, the transition from a semi-nomadic and pastoral society to the post-industrial society in the UK has made the transition very problematical for Somali migrants. Recent migrants have encountered hostility and racism towards their cultural identity, practices and affiliations. As one of the most segregated ethnic communities in the UK, Somalis have become attracted to congregating in a particular spatial territory to facilitate intra-community interactions. However, the consequence of this voluntary segregation has seen limited integration into the wider community and has in the process created barriers that have limited the opportunity to interact, cutting Somalis off economically, politically and from mainstream values.

The voluntary isolation has contributed to the character of the community, with its strong sense of family and common Muslim identity. It would, however be wrong to make sweeping generalisation that Somalis are all segregated, since Somalis with different immigration status have different relationships to state benefits and employment. Asylum seekers awaiting the outcome of appeals or those who are unsure about their limited leave to remain live in greater insecurity and are therefore more segregated than those confirmed as refugees, let alone those who are second or third generation.

It is also crucial to recognise that even within their community, Somalis are high segregated, often having the strongest bond with clan allegiance as opposed to the Somali national identity. The Somali community is tribally segregated across London and consequently Somalis in different parts of London constitute different clans. For instance Somalis in Tower Hamlets are predominately from Somaliland, the former British protectorate and are composed of Issaq, while Somalis in Islington are mostly Darood population, from South Somalia, the former Italian colony. But it seems as though times are changing, as younger generations, both those escaping violence at home and those born here are renegotiating their Somali identity and their relationship to the UK in a new context.

Despite this, the high rate of unemployment, combined with limited integration has indeed precluded a route into wider society. The existence of the large number of Somali community groups has not ensured that Somalis are represented at either on the local or national level. It has been suggested that clan division, as previously mentioned has led to ‘clan particularism’ which has precluded efforts to develop a politically unified voice indicative of an inclusive Somali national identity.

I have included a video I created, which talks about some of the problems currently facing the Somali Community in the UK.

Throughout Somalia, poetry has always served as a means of communication and empowerment. The ability to compose beautiful verses entwined with wisdom, humour and several allusions was a seen as a rare commodity, only attainable by the very best. A man adroit in playing with alliterating words to convey his message was and is always held in high veneration. Richard Burton, the British Explorer dubbed Somalia "A Nation of Bards" and wrote in his book, First Footsteps in East Africa;

“The country teems with ‘poets, poetasters, poetitoes, poetaccios’: every man has his recognized position in literature as accurately defined as though he had been reviewed in a century of magazines - the fine ear of this people causing them to take the greatest pleasure in harmonious sounds and poetical expressions, whereas a false quantity or a prosaic phrase excite their violent indignation.”

Handed down to generations through Xafidayaal (memorizers), poetry in Somalia is a highly cherished national tradition, though this tradition is now somewhat sluggishly diminishing.

Here are a few translated Somali poems for the English speaking admirers of Somali poetry:

1 - This poem below was composed by Sayyid Mahamad A Hassan, arguably the greatest Somali poet that ever lived, for a departing friend;

Now you depart, and though your way may lead
Through airless forests thick with hagar trees,
Places steeped in heat, stifling and dry,
Where breath comes hard, and no fresh breeze can reach—
Yet may God place a shield of coolest air
Between your body and the assailant sun.
And in a random scorching flame of wind
That parches the painful throat, and sears the flesh,
May God, in His compassion, let you find
The great-boughed tree that will protect and shade

2 - This poem below is also by the Sayyid. This poem signifies the essence of Somali pastoral life. A camel, being the most cherished possession, has always been the subject of all forms of literature - poems, songs, proverbs, etc and its importance cannot be fully articulated in any poetry or prose. Thousands of poems have been composed for the beloved camel, but the few lines below very well describe the importance of one and more the value of a She-camel;

Nomads He who has goats has a garment full ofcorn;
A milk cow is a temporary vanity;
A he-camel is the muscle that sustains life;
A she-camel—whoever may have her—is the mother of men.”

3 - A Somali Nomad decided to try farming for a while and compare the merits of farming to his pastoral lifestyle. After a brief period of farming he returns to his wilderness and recites a poem:

Nomad says:

It is said that one cannot pierce the sky to get rain for one’s garden
Nor can one drive the farm, as one drives animals, to the place where the rain is falling.
Worst of all, one cannot abandon one’s farm, even though barren, because all one’s efforts are invested in it.

The farmer replies:

A man with no fixed place in this world cannot claim one in heaven

4 - The imagery in this poem below is astounding; look at how Raage Ugaas compares his state to the things he describes:

Sida koorta Yucub* oo la sudhay korommo buubaal ah
Ama geel ka reeb ah oo nirgaha laga ka xaynaayo
Ama beelo keynaan ah oo kor u hayaamaaya
Ama ceel karkaarrada jebshiyo webi karaar dhaafay
Ama habar kurkii wadnaha lagaga kaw siiyay
Ama kaal danley qaybsatiyo kur iyo dhal yaabis
Shinni kaaluf galay ama siddii koronkorro oomi
xalay kololo’aygii ma ledin, kaammil reeruhuye

Like the ‘yucub’ wood bell tied to gelded camels that are running away,
Or like suckling she-camels being separated from their calve
Or like suckling she-camels being separated from their calves
Or like communities setting off for a desert trek
Or like a well which has broken its sides or a river which has overflowed its banks
Or like an old woman whose only son was killed
Or like the poor, dividing their scraps for their frugal meal
Or like the bee entering their hive, or like food crackling in the fry
Yesterday my lamenting roar drove sleep from all the camps

*Yucub is a tree that grows in the Mudug region of Somalia and has edible fruits. In the poem, the Koor (woodbell) of the camel is made of this tree.
*The gelded camels running away here refers to a young camel being trained (known as buub) in order to tame it.

5 - Again a camel is at the centre of this poem too, reaffirming the importance of one. A Nomad without camels had nothing worth living for, for a camel was life.

Nin geel badan lahaayoo
Guluf kala carraabay
Gallad wixii uu haystiyo
Gadhoodhkii uu dhamaayey
Gego madhan ka joogoo
Dhallaan gaajo haysiyo
Nirgihii ku gooheen
Ganuunsaday sidiisii
Daaa garan waxay gubee
Garwaaqso waad igu geftee

Like a man who once had many camels
But one afternoon they were taken by raiders,
His prosperity, and the sour milk he used to enjoy, all gone,
And who sits in an empty corral, his children hungry
And his camel-calves orphaned—thus am I ill with bitter grief.
You know what seared me—then judge it fairly, for you have wronged me!

More to come soon...