By Abdirashid M. Qalinle
My friend Dan Johnson quit his job making Corona ads at an agency in Midtown Manhattan this June to travel to Ethiopia for a month. (Your narrator was supposed to be meeting him there until NY landlord discovered subletter and emergency ensued.)
One month turned into two after Dan (sort of) missed his flight, roaming from obscure, non-tourist site to the next, learning Amharic, chewing khat, befriending children, philosophers, a construction worker who writes daily radio commentaries on napkins, a young lady in Harar and a tailor named Commando Ibrahim Mohammed.
Here’s a blog post he wrote inbetween feeding hyenas.
Currently still in Harar (actually, now Dire Dawa but at the time of writing was in the former). Want some more detailed info instead of just “I’m having a great time” ?… ishee (Amharic for ‘OK’)…
Harar is an ancient walled city with the type of narrow cobbled streets you’d imagine for a north african or arabic city. I’ve been staying mainly at a hotel just outside the walls whose nickname is Hyena Hotel, for the 10-20 hyenas that prowl around. My first day arriving, having come by an all-night minibus from Addis with my canadian friend Eric (the dude i traveled with for a few days at the beginning of my trip). We arrived in Harar early morning (after the craziest night travel experience ever- flipped vans and busses littering the 300km road, and some crazy dude in the van muttering about ‘shiftas” the whole time [bandits known to have been a problem along this route in the past] not really ) Having survived the transit, we arrive at 5am in the pouring rain, knocking on the gate of the hotel with the response that no rooms are available. We walk over to look at the football pitch below, 15 hyenas lurking about, looking like some sort of bad CGI mutant zombie dogs. Not the most reassuring first experience for a new city, but actually quite appropriate for this extremely unique place. On a normal night it’s not out of the ordinary to pass within 10 feet of a hyena on the road… here the hyenas are quite tame and there’s even a section of the city where the Hyena Man feeds them meat and for 5 bucks you can pay to feed a hyena from the end of a stick, the other side of which you can put in your mouth. I haven’t met the Hyena man but i did meet his son and he seemed sane enough… harar is definitely a village with more than its share of idiots…
I’ve become a quite a prisoner of people’s hospitality of late- the majority of my time in ethiopia previously has been mainly spent with men, either my age or older. Here in Harar, however, I’ve been mainly hanging out with women- the crew, an extended family of sorts, consisting of two unmarried matriarchs and a mixture of friends, daughters, aunts, neices, cousins and whatnot. Their hospitality is something my friend Eric and i have termed “aggressive relaxation” - sit, eat, don’t move, here take this pillow.. There’s also this kind of jealous hospitality wherein some of the women are in competion for me to eat lunch at their house… crazy.
If my previous time in Ethiopia has been relaxing, i’m not sure what my time in Harar could be termed… little bits of exploring the city in the morning, whole afternoons spent lounging on pillows, chewing chat (a mildly stimulating plant that most people in the eastern horn of Africa chew. i’ll write more about it later) drinking tea and ungodly amounts of coffee for the traditional 3 cup coffee ceremony, and smoking a water pipe (shisha). The sharing and time spent together is really a wonderful thing. And because it’s summer many people don’t have work or school so it’s just more and more hanging out….
Ok gotta jet…
This is exactly what it’s like to try and accomplish something in Kenya! Sort of like a Buddhist excercise in patience. And if Kenyan patience is any indication, it works. New Yorkers should all be sent to Kenya when they get out of control with their expectations for efficiency. Or just any time.
By Will Deed, a blogger working with wildlife rangers on new media in Kenya’s Masai Mara —
Hello, how are you? Could you tell me where I need to go to pick up this parcel?
Third floor.
Hello, could you tell me where I need to go to pick up this parcel?
You need to go down to the first floor.
Hello, could you tell me where I need to go to pick up this parcel?
Second floor.
Hello, does this lift go to the second floor?
There isn’t a second floor, you need to go to the third floor mezzanine.
Hello, is this where I can pick up this parcel?
No, you need to see that man over there.
Hello, do you have this parcel here?
One moment please. Here is your parcel.
Thank you.
Excuse-me, you haven’t finished yet.
Oh.
You need to open the parcel first.
Oh, okay.
What’s inside?
Some sweets and four torches.
Value?
It says on the slip $50.
You need to go to see the lady to get this stamped.
Okay.
Hello, how are you?
I am well. Here, now you need to go back to the gentleman.
Here, I have it stamped.
Okay, now you need to get it stamped again.
Hello, he says I need to get it stamped it again.
Here.
Hello, I have it stamped.
Now you must pay 1,800 shillings.
That’s a bit much.
Talk to the lady.
Hello, the gentleman says I must pay 1,800 shillings but I think that’s quite a lot.
Yes, that’s right. 36% customs and 15% VAT.
But that’s 51% of the original value.
You need to complain to the president, not me.
Oh, okay. How do I pay?
You need to get a slip and then pay at the bank. But you can’t at the moment because the system is down.
I think I may have to leave the parcel here then.
Well you must go and tell the gentleman.
Hello, I think I’m going to have to leave the parcel here.
You must go and tell the lady.
I did tell her but she told me I must tell you.
Well now you must tell her.
He says I must tell you.
That’s correct, have a good day.
I found it amazing when I discovered that Somalis in their 20s and 30s are in the habit of writing open emails about political issues they are frustrated with to the person responsible with a CC list of every single other Somali person with email in the world. If the initial email doesn’t reach the intended scope any receivers will hasten to make progress with the goal by forwarding it. How democratic!
This is a letter that was sent in May to Jendayi Frazer and Conde Rice by a journalist in Somalia. It starts with: “First, my condolences that you share a room with the most evil man in the world.”
I invite anyone to send me a translation.
FROM SOMALIA TO MSS LAURA BUSH.
To Mss Laura Bush.
Og Gondalaysa Rais
Og Jandai Faraser
Aad ayaad u mahadsan tahay gabadha ay warqadani ku socotaay waxaan kaa rajaynayaa in aad aqrin doonto qoraalkaan islamarkaasna wax ka qaban doonto maadaama cid kale wax ka qaban waysey .
Waxaan ahay nin Somali ah joogana Somalia gaar ahaan bartaha Somalia, waxaan ka soo barakacay magaalada Muqdisho oo aan kala soo qaxay qowskayga laakiin aan uga soo tagay shaqadaydii oo halkaas ku joogsatay ka dib markaan arkay sida wax u socdaan, shaqaydu waxay ahyd howl suxufi (Journalist) gaar ahaan waxaan ka mid ahaa dadka wax ku qora warbaahinta la daabaco markaas hala yaabin in aan warqad kuu soo diro baahi ayaa keentaye
Marka hore waxaan kaaga tacsiyadaynayaa dhibka ku haysta kaas oo ah in aad guri kula nooshahay midd ka mid ah dadka aduunyada ugu sharta badnaa ee caalamkan soo mara marka xiga waxaan kuu sawirayaa xaalada dhibka badan ee uu ninkaagu masuulka ka yahay ee ay ku nool yihiin haweenka Somalia iyo caruurtoodu.
Halkan iskuul lagama aado, halkan malahan Isbital, halkan malahan biya nadiifa halkan malahan meel loo dacwo tago halkan cuntadu way yartahay waxaa dhamaan maqan adeegyadii guud.dadkana aad ayaa loo dilaa
Meesha sidaan ah ninkaaga iyo dadka ay ka midka yihiin labada gabdhood ee ay warqadnai CCda u tahay waxay ka wadaan howl aad u qalafsan oo nolosha dadka baabinaysa gaar ahaan waxay ku garaacaan gantaalo waxay ku argagixiaan dayuurado aad u waaweyn, waxay ku taageeraan dad dhiigyacabyo ah waxay ka sheegaan been aan raad lahayn oo dunida lagu marin habaabinayo,waxay ka soo hor jeedaan dadkani in ay ka fakaraan danahooda waxayna waxaan oo dhan qiil uga dhigaan waxa loogu yeero la dagaalanka argagixisada arintaan waxay boqol laabtay colaada u dhaxaysa dadka caalamka ku nool iyo dadka Soomaaliyeed.
Mss Loora waxaa geeriyoodey dhamaan axdiyadii la galay ee caalmku ku xisaabtamayey waxaan shaqaynayn haykalkii iyo howshii Q Midoobay si kastoo loo mudaharaaday waxba tari waysey, xoriyatu qowl way u dhamaatay dadka dunida ku nooli cabsi ayey dareemayaa waxaan oo dhan waxay ka dhasheen waalida Maraykanka iyo bahalnimada ninkaaga markaas waxaan warqadaan furan kuugu soo qoray in aad nagala hadasho saygaaga marhadii la waayey xeer iyo qaynuun is hortaaga.
Sharaf ayey kuu tahay in ninkaaga aad xiliga jiifka kala hadasho in uu dadka ka daayo dhibaatada oo dadka loo daayo rabitaankooda
Ogow LAURA waxaad haysataa fursad qaali oo aad dadban wax ugu qaban karto maadaama ninkaagu Markanka madax ka yahay aysana jirin cid hoy kaleh dadka dunida,markaas waxaad ninkaaga ku dhahdaa ka qalee Caruurta iyo hooyooyinka caalmka gaar ahaan Somalia, waxaan kaloo kugula talinayaa la tasho gabadha kaa fiican ee Hilrey Cilinton oo horey ninkeeda ka talo siin jirtay siyaasada Caalamka
Mss Laura waxaad waydiisaa Jandaya faraser Somaliayada 2009 loo diyaarinayo doorashooyinka ma midda ku taal Geeska Afrikaa misse waa mid kale tan hayadey kugu tiraah waxaan kaa codsanayaa in aad ku tiraah beenley, tan doorasho iyo nidaam way ka dheeryihiin rajada nonlosha ayaa dhamaad ku dhow.
Lora waxaad raadisaa waxa ay qabteen kooxdii xiriirka Somalia kadibna ii soo sheeg hadaad hesho wax ay qabteen waxaadna iigu soo dhex qarisaa fariinta oo qoraal ah kiishka Masagada ah ee ay ku qorontahay USAID oo ay soo qaadi doonto Hay’ada Care International aniga ayaa ka heli doonee.
Dad ayaa laga yaabaa in ay ku qoslaan fariintaydaan waxaan idin leeyahay sida aad ugu qoslaysaan ayaan ugu qosaynaa aniga iyo Lora Bush
Ok jawaab wacan
Cilmi Nuurre
Gagudud Somalia
By Abdirashid M. Qalinle
Muhumed Abdi Elmi, age 50
I met Muhumed Abdi Elmi in the desert of Somaliland while reporting this story for NPR, which just aired. I am convinced that nomads are the world’s biggest badasses.
They spend half the year walking with their animals to find water. They used to spend the whole year doing that but, like most of us, they have gotten lazy through the ages. Where they walk in Somalia is an absolutely inhospitable place where only turtles seem to thrive. Nomads — be them women, men or children — have much work to do herding their animals. Wake up really early, for one. At the end of the day, hack off a bunch of really prickly branches and build a corral for the animals so they can’t escape and so a lion can’t eat them. Tie together the corral with reeds or string. Dig holes for each branch in hard desert earth. Then make a fire, eat something or maybe not, and go to sleep on the ground on top of a reed mat.
Nomads have historically been warriors, though they’ve toned it down in this age. They do carry spears just in case another nomad is like, “Dude, you are taking my water/branch, I found this first, I am going to kill you!” or in case a lion attacks them or a hyena attacks their child.
Muhumed, the man in the photograph, was yelling at us as we first took a picture of his approaching camel herd. We were at a well. “WHY ARE YOU PHOTOGRAPHING ME? I AM SUFFERING! YOU ARE EXPLOITING MY SUFFERING!” he yelled in Somali at my guide Mohamed Amin. Then he told Mohamed that he had been circling the well all day looking for someone to give him the $1 it cost to rent a trough for watering his camels. No one wanted to give him the money or share the well for that matter. I gave him the money. He is traveling with a cousin or something, and actually lives normally in Ethiopia, like many Somali nomads.
Hero Q&A
Translated by Mohamed Amin Jibril
AH: Tell me about yourself.
Muhumed: I am a pastoralist and I take care of camels and sheep. We want water. We are on the well but we have no access to it because we can’t pay the rent. I have children but because of this terrible drought, I decided not to send my children to take care of the camels. Because I think I am more capable of handling this task. I have more experience than my children, I know where to find water and grass. That’s why I left my children.
Before we were in Ethiopia, where there was not enough water. It was a bad drought. We sleep wearing our shoes and clothes. We couldn’t even find enough water to bathe. Day and night, we are sweating, and by now we have dried up completely.
Seven months we don’t see our families. In these seven months we didn’t go back to where we live permanently in Ethiopia. We are now on our way.
We passed here this morning and saw the water but we couldn’t afford to rent a trough. We didn’t know anyone here. Later we doubled back. We wanted water. That’s our main problem.
AH: Has there ever been a drought this bad?
Muhumed: Not since the drought of Daba-Dheer. We were young camel herders. (Geer-Jire is a Somali word that specifically means 20-25 year old herders.) Like the camels, we ate leaves of trees and we were just collecting them. The little camels couldn’t get any milk from their mothers teets, so we had to hit their teets to get the milk to come out.
AH: What’s the problem, I mean, why is there a drought, do you know?
Muhumed: Drought and colonialists have happened to us. We try everything to survive the drought. We go wherever we can to survive and we do whatever we can to survive. We go to anyone we think we can get help from, and the others we just pass.
There’s a certain way to survive on semi-arid land. The environment has different seasons and sometimes organizations come and help the people. They are given wheat, rice, and some other food.
AH: Do you have any ideas for solving the drought?
Muhumed: We are pastoralists, we are just like our animals, what we know best is how to care for our animals, but we don’t know anything else. But we think about how we can deal with this drought, and we submit our ideas to the local government. Their job is to either help people or call for help from someone else. We tell them, ‘It’s your job to fight against the drought.’
But we the pastoralists, we are just scattered throughout the country. We are just struggling to care for our animals. We’re just running after the clouds of rain. We are on our way to where we’re from originally, where we have heard that there is rain.
Who does this remind you of?
Alessandra Argenti isn’t afraid of anything. She’s open to everything. That’s how you live in a movie. This is something I have long wondered how to do.
Movies are full of drama, romance, excitement, and emotional catharsis. Stuff happens in the span of a two-hour movie that wouldn’t fit in most people’s lifetimes. But Alessandra has mastered the art. The 30-year-old documentary filmmaker is my roommate in Nairobi. We live in a big house on a canyon with 14 other people and four dogs, two of them are Alessandra’s. They were strays she rescued before moving from her home of Milan, Italy, and bringing them with her to Africa. One of them is a pitbull named Game. Alessandra and Dan, a Kenyan badass profiled earlier in this blog, have the most adorable baby I have ever met.
I am sure it’s fate that I ended up living with Alessandra. I always wanted to meet and study a true Earth Mother in the 1970’s sense. I also wanted to know what my teenage idols did once they disappeared from my hometown of Menlo Park, California. Now I know.
You know that older girl you noticed when you were a teenager, the one who was beautiful, dressed inventively, hung out with every stripe of person in every age group, laughed generously, participated in underground subculture like raves or punk rock shows, and then one day, just vanished? I have long suspected that those girls (who were already too generous to join the “popular people” despite exceptional credentials) got bored of underground subculture, drugs and punk rock boyfriends, so they moved on to the next level. But what was the next level? I thought maybe it was becoming an Anais Nin type, writing and making art and living in New York or Paris. Sure. But those people aren’t African Heroes. That’s the next level: moving to Africa to hang out and help. Part lifestyle and part humanitarian service, this is not a common achievement. Most expats are regular people who try to inhabit the same parameters abroad as they did in London or Los Angeles. They will never live in a movie, marry an African or become heroes.
Alesssandra roams our vast garden with her baby, singing in Italian and watering plants. Sometimes her friends from the slums come over. Other documentary filmmakers always stop by, orphans spend the night, and Italian visitors like Andrea, a man we call Jesus for his benevolence and uncanny resemblance to the prophet, sleep on the couch for weeks. They sit and drink tea and talk about poverty and recycling or make hip hop music videos. When one of our dozens of roommates or houseguests behaves inappropriately or with incredible gall, Alessandra cries “Mamma mia!” with a sleepy smile. One frequent visitor eats everything he can see before returning to malnourished poverty in the slums. Last week he ate five pieces of bread covered with peanut butter and an entire pot of risotto within two hours. Mamma mia!
It’s not easy to get in and out of our neighborhood because you need a car. Since Alessandra and Dan share a car, she’s often stuck at home for days. This is something that would annoy most people, because our house is quite isolated. Exiled African rebel commanders, European ambassadors and members of Kenya’s parliament live next door behind walls and gates guarded by German Shepherds. They don’t come over for tea. I find Alessandra on these lonely days cooking a feast in the kitchen of pizza with homemade dough or lasagna with real béchamel, an impossible find in Kenya. She always shares, even with the monosyllabic roommates.
After moving to Kenya two years ago, Alessandra lived in an orphanage in a Nairobi slum for eight months. You can read the story below or listen to her tell it. She is a wonderful storyteller so I highly recommend a listen.
She was invited by the orphanage founder, a hip, generous community activist and politician from Kenya named Mugabe Were. She met Were through a mutual friend because his wife lives in Italy. Were was murdered this winter during Kenya’s post election violence. His orphanage fell to shambles. The Italian charity that had been funding it withdrew their support. The orphans were freaked out. They thought they would have to go back to living in a garbage dump. But Alessandra took control of the situation, and now works for free as the Italian charity’s point person. They resumed their support with a shipping container full of clothes, bicycles and supplies for the orphans. When one of the orphans disappeared from the home last week, Alessandra asked after him. She discovered that George had returned to his poor, burdened grandmother’s house after fighting with another orphan. He feared reprisals. Alessandra made a visit to his grandmother’s house and persuaded George to come back to the orphanage and make peace. “I think I would make a good diplomat,” she said as we left.
Hero Q&A
AH: So from what you told me yesterday you were a [video DJ] in dance clubs and raves in Milan before you came to Kenya. How did you transition to living in Kenya and making videos about underrepresented groups of people?
Alessandra: It’s not a meditated transition, it just happened. I knew that after six years of VJing, starting with illegal raves, and continuing with concerts, theatres and nightclubs, I was getting bored. I was feeling that my mission in life was to work with video, but I didn’t know exactly how. I thought it was VJing and using art, but then I thought that art is nice but it’s not a direct message.
I didn’t even think to live in an orphanage. I left Italy to study the African culture through the tribes, through the elders, studying the dances and interviewing the witch doctors and the people but Mugabe Were [the Kenyan city councilor] come and say:
—“No! Before knowing the tribes of wild Africa, you should come to Nairobi and see what is the modern aspect of Africa. You cannot go and say ‘This is Africa’ you should come and see what people in slums and cities are doing. This also is part of the modern Africa.”
—So I say, “Yes, it’s true.” I went to Dandora where he said:
—“I’m doing a cultural center, come to Dandora.”
—I said “But there was an orphan center, I visited it in 2005 there were like 50 kids.”
—He said, “No I’m moving the kids to my new building,” which I realized later was just in front of the [biggest] dump [in East Africa]. And it was not possible for 50 kids to go there unless you want to kill them in a few years. So the kids never moved from the center, which is Villa Teag, I ended up living with the kids and realized that the cultural center was just in his mind, it was not a real thing. It was just an orphan center! With beds and things for the kids. But I said:
—“I should not give up. If I am in Dandora, I should do something.”
I start to meet a lot of people, youth, this artist group called Ukoo Flani Maumau that are one of the most famous hip hop singers in Kenya. And I start to realize that youth, even if they are living in a poor slum, they are really full of strength and creativity. They proposed me so many documentaries, music videos, so in the eight months I ended up living in the orphan center every day for me was like living in a movie. I was not shooting a movie, I was living in a movie. That’s why I ended up doing several video clips, a documentary called “Trash is Cash” about the dumping site in Dandora, one of the biggest in Africa, and I really produced a lot. I think in those eight months I produced like three years in Italy.
AH: And a video clip, is it a music video?
Alessandra: Yes
AH: With Ukoo Flani Maumau and various musicians from the neighborhood?
Alessandra: Yes but basically with Ukoo Flani. They were the ones who stimulated me more because they do hip hop but it’s conscious hip hop. They don’t want a video with naked women, big cars and money raining. No. I can’t do any hip hop video for showing naked women and so on. So they really stimulated me in their daily life. They are a good example of strength and positivity where even if they wake up, they have one meal a day and they are surviving for less than one dollar a day they create so much every day they are in the studio recording, they are promoting their songs they are around Kenya making concerts for like 200 shillings each like they are paid like $3 each per concert but they really believe in what they are doing. So I found we were really similar, we were both really believing in what we were doing
AH: And the orphan center, what was it like living there? Did you have electricity, did you have your own room, what did you eat?
Alessandra: Eating was a problem I think in the first month I lost like five kilos. Just because I didn’t know where to get food, there are no shops like here – pizza or butcher or drinks – so I had to find out in the shacks which one was selling what. So at the beginning food was a problem but I eat everything so it was not because I didn’t like African food. It’s very good, I never felt sick, I was eating everything from the donuts in the morning to the tea in the evening.
Then electricity was the main problem because working with computer and video editing sometimes I was stuck waiting the next day to edit again, it was like…electricity almost 16 hours on 24.
Water was a problem, no hot water, but you can survive, it’s not cold here. There was water in the morning, but all the mothers and the workers were washing clothes because in Africa you will never find a family with a washing machine. They are used to wash things with hands. SO, in one hour, say at 8 to 9 there was water at 9 it was already finished because every family with five-six kids were washing their clothes. So when I woke up there was already no water. All the day no water because the tank was empty. By evening, the tank was full again. So my best moment was evening when everybody was sleeping, I was getting my water for the day after. And the shower, I learned to do it with the water tank. Cold water, cold shower.
AH: So you just pour the water over your head?
Alessandra: Yes yes yes.
I had my own room that was… a shame. It was a shame when I arrived, I was really mad at [Mugabe] Were because he just put a bed and a sofa, not even a place to put my dresses that stayed in the luggage for almost one month, not even a kitchen where to cook, the walls were dirty and, ahhhh, it was terrible. So the first thing I bought some paint, colored paint, I painted orange, blue and white it was amazing. I start to put my pictures, I bought my furniture I bought my cooker, at the end was small, but a very nice room.
AH: What was it like to live with orphans, all day every day and every night?
Alessandra: At the beginning it was difficult because they wake up at half past four in the morning. They were 60 and in Kenya schools start very early so…[sigh]…every morning I was woke up by those 60 kids. And I was really sleepy and mad at them but then I start to hear and they were just laughing, at half past four in the morning. They were playing with the water, making joke, they were laughing all the time and screaming, like really happy kids. So for me was like, a good morning. After half an hour I used to sleep again until 8. But then, it was really nice for me because they were always happy, they were always friendly to me, they used to know me, know my dogs name, call me imitating how I call my dog, some words in Italian that I used to say even if I’m speaking English. So, they were all my friends. They were like little elves around.
AH: Okay, after the orphan center you decided to stay right? So give us the quick history.
Alessandra: I decide to stay because after Dandora I was happy but broke because nobody was giving me money for my documentaries or music video clips. So I decided if I want to stay in Africa, either I work in an NGO or I work in a TV studio, but I was in the point when I left Italy – to not stay enclosed in a room all the day in front of a computer. So to do what I really wanted to do I was in need to it independently, like freelance.
So I met this other Italian guy from [Naples] named Vincenzo Cavallo and we decided to open our own NGO that is called Cultural Video Foundation. And we deal with multimedia as an instrument to develop, inform and educate people among the slums and the rural areas of Kenya. So this is our passion and our mission. Because in our society information is a power. So we want to use it in the right way, not just to enrich ourselves, or to make publicity for somebody else.
AH: Having lived with you for four months I think you’ve adapted very well to Kenya. You have your dogs now from Italy, you have a baby, you live with your fiancé, and you have a household. So, you know, expat life always seems to be a temporary thing where you live there for maybe one year or two and then you go back to your country. But, you seem to be in a different situation where you might stay here for a long time.
Alessandra: Yes yes. I don’t see much future in Italy. I miss my friends a lot but I don’t see a big future for me in what I want to do, unless I change ideas and I decide to become a video editor full time and stay in the studio eight hours a day. I’m too wild. So I think in Africa I’m realized. I’m happy I have a good family so, I think for now I want to stay here.
There must be some fallout from Africa’s low professional training requirements for jobs from journalist to president. I suppose Idi Amin would be a good example of someone who mucked up his job of leading Uganda due partly to his underqualification. But so far in my travels I have seen more evidence that the lack of technocracy on this continent is a good thing. In fact, this entire blog highlights the triumphs of people who learned how to do their jobs under obligation from real life, dynamic circumstances rather than static classroom simulations. Certainly most of them would have rather gone to an American university to learn their trades, it just wasn’t possible. Not to mention the fact that American universities don’t actually teach any trades, unlike Africa’s pragmatic two-year colleges.
Mariam Mohamud Barre is a young Somali journalist I met the other day at a press conference. She’s the Somali language service reporter for Voice of America, a radio network paid for by the U.S. government that had the original charter of delivering patriotic news to members of the U.S. armed services stationed abroad. Now it’s radio for anyone living abroad and broadcasts in an astounding amount of countries and languages.
The other reporters I was with treated Miriam like a veteran correspondent. She told me she had covered the 2002-2004 Somali government reconciliation conference here in Kenya and I assumed she was about 27 or 30-years-old. She has some serious poise. So I asked her how old she is. She’s 21.
“Wait. You’re 21? So that means you were…15 when you covered the reconciliation conference here in Kenya?!”
“I interviewed warlords!” she chirped with laughter.
“The journalists in Somalia are very young,” said another young Somali reporter. “You will find many who are 21. It is the young person’s profession.”
Miriam started her career by writing articles for a Somali news gossip Web site for a province of the country, the equivalent of a Web site about Orange County, California, or Buffalo, N.Y. Then she and her family had to flee to Kenya because of ongoing war in Somalia. When Miriam mentions this her eyes cloud over and she chokes up. They settled in Kenya and Miriam was hired by one of the main Somali radio stations to cover the reconciliation conference as a correspondent.
I thought with wonder about this for quite a while. It makes sense. Young people are more prone to gossip and often better at it than adults. They are less afraid of authority, especially in Somalia, where teenage attitudes very much resemble those of gum chewing, cigarette-smoking daredevils in American public high schools. And what is reporting anyway? Delivering news to the people. African news is not fraught with the kind of rarified snobbery that our media is afflicted with. It’s practical. And it’s much more popular than news in America.
Everyone in Kenya watches the news at 9pm. Bars hush as people gather round the TV. In Somaliland during the BBC afternoon newscast work halts for 30 minutes. Of course, the incentive to get the news is bigger for most Africans than it is for Americans. Hearing the news in Somalia, for example, can mean the difference between knowing that 14,000 Ethiopian troops have entered your province and are headed for your town or being caught in your underwear by a team of assassins.
Getting back to Miriam, she moved on from Kenya correspondent to become Somalia’s parliament correspondent, living in a dangerous zone constantly under siege from Islamist and opposition fighters. Then she was hired by Voice of America in Nairobi. At 21 she is the Somali equivalent of Anne Garrels.
So really, how much of our lives do we waste in the U.S. kissing people’s asses and attending graduate schools?