Narrator: Hadithi hadithi
Audience: Hadithi njoo
Narrator: Paukwa
Audience: Pakawa
Narrator: Maziwa
Audience: Ya watoto wa nyayo
Narrator: Kiboko
Audience: ya watoto wakorofi
Hapo zamani za kale, paliishi…. no, but I get ahead of myself.
I want to tell you a story of my recent safari to Puntland, Federal Republic of Somalia. And as good stories go, they must have a beginning. What I am not promising you is to be a good story teller, I am a good listener, not talker and definitely not a writer. If it were that it was writing that was standing between me and my killer, they stand a chance of winning, but that’s a story of another day.
The story begins at JKIA (code for Jomo Kenyatta International Airport- I think they should rename it to something friendly like Mak Airport). Where else would it start. It is possible that two cultures can exist side by side without affecting the other. And I think this is true for some of the airlines that fly to Somali because how do you explain paying for two seats, arriving early at the check in counters only to be told, no my friends (in Trevor Noah accent) there is no seat for one of you. And they are not joking. Our story ends here ๐ฆ
Since I am telling you a story about Puntland, you must have already surmised that we traveled without a hitch.
Our layover at Mogadishu was short and uneventful. Those of us who were proceeding to Garowe were checked in to our connecting flight while standing in the hot sun in the air side of the airport. Landing at Garowe is almost a culture shock of sorts. The runway is murram, though the landing is quite smooth. Their passenger terminal, if we can call it that is as good as non existent. The immigration desk, well, the little said about it the better and safer too, because you see, I must return to this beautiful country, maybe even settle.
I want to believe there was a welcoming troupe at the airport assembled just for me. No, they didn’t talk to me. Didn’t even notice me. I think we had traveled with a famous person who was to be received with pomp and flair. When this story is retold, it must be emphasized they were at the airport to meet me.
Garowe is a beautiful town. I think Nairobi could learn a few tips from them. Government offices are conveniently located out of the CBD but walking or taxi distance, well it still a small town, but there is a thought there. It is quiet, peaceful and would do with a breeze especially during the afternoons. But it is also a strange place. Yours truly went to a bank, a bank my people, to get dollars and the lady who I found there looked at me as you would an alien and said something to the effect they don’t trade forex. I am hoping, to her advantage, that she didn’t understand me.
If there is a diabetes capital of the world, it must be Puntland and the greater Somalia. My request for white tea no sugar was always met with very astonished looks. And whenever I was so unlucky to find myself in places where such luxuries were unavailable, they served you sugar that had some tea. The camel meat was however great and the fish at Eyl was delicious. It’s a paradox that they take so little salt believing, I think, that salt is not good. If they could, they would add sugar to the meat.
It is driving through Puntland, in Mudug and Nugaal districts that was the greatest joy. In the open grassland, almost desert like, every tree or shrub that was tall enough stood majestically as if marking and watching over its territory. One felt someone had planted them at those regular intervals to mark their place. They almost demanded your respect. At the same time, it felt like it was a flat earther’s paradise. Everywhere, well, almost everywhere you looked around you was flat. There were a few interruptions though. A small hill here and another there but perhaps the majestic cover of the blue cloudless sky that delineated our existential space.
I talk of driving in Puntland and your imagination drives you, I know, I can see it to think of road, long and winding tarmac. We would have give quite a lot even to have murram road. Our drivers, oh goodness, they were good, drove mostly by instinct. It felt like hunting squirrel and following their trail. That we didn’t get lost severally is still a wonder to me. On one of the days, darkness caught up with us or we caught up with it. One can’t be too sure of these things. And so, just like sea men hoping to see a lighthouse, we- this might just mean me- looked forward to any lights emanating from a small town as a sign that we were not totally lost.
We were in Garacad, a former pirates town or port. Or so our host said. It is a paradox that the people in the town abandoned hotels they suspect were built with proceeds from piracy because that’s haram.
We were in Galcayo where I think we were the only people without guns. Everyone seemed to have one. Maybe that’s how they know how to feel safe. I thought of getting one for myself but didn’t complete the thought. You see I am a pacifist and I don’t hunt. My only motivation to have a gun would be to take a life. I don’t think I am ready for that yet. I would reconsider if I met any one of our thieving political class and their tenderprenuer relathieves. About that, another day.
I said we didn’t get lost. I lied it. We did, it was only once and it was for the best I think. Maybe I am even glad we did get lost. We had driven almost the whole day. We were to go to Tawfiq a district that from all I gathered, is working on breaking off from Puntland and they said it wasn’t quite safe. We joked about it. We said maybe Al Shabaab lived there. But it was all jokes, you see and that is why I am happy we didn’t go. But that is where happiness ended or maybe it didn’t.
It has been raining in Puntland last several weeks or months, I can’t tell. And so with the nature of the roads, one is bound once in a while to find themselves in the thick of it. It happened to us too. It was under a quiet, dark, moonlight sky that our lead vehicle got stuck in mud. It was also ten pm. It was a silent night. I am not sure it was holy. But here we were, enveloped in darkness in the middle of nowhere. We tried to get the car unstuck for a while and when it continued to sink in the soft ground, that project was abandoned. We were going to sleep in the middle of nowhere. We were 8 of us. We had 2 cars. To say we didn’t sleep peacefully would be an understatement. Some slept outside the cars and some slept in the cars but we all slept. And when we woke up, all of us seemed to have been well rested. It was better than some of the places we had slept in.
And finally we went to Eyl, a paradise in the midst of ruins, two beautiful villages tucked in between mountain ranges or should I call them hills and valleys. I missed my bicycle. I would have loved to cycle in Eyl. The roads meander and turn sharply. The slopes stand there daring you to go to them.
Our politicians in Nairobi are a ridiculous lot. Most times when they head to the toilet, the path must be cleared of mortals and VVIP toilet installed somewhere. I think they shit gold. The president for Puntland state was meeting some dignitaries, I suppose, at the restaurant hotel where we stayed and between us and him was a short hedge. For all intents and purposes, we were oblivious to his presence. I want such a life as a public representative.
When one has lived in Nairobi following the juala ban, one becomes almost nostalgic at the site of juala everywhere and the convenience it brings. And for a long moment as I packed my small baggage I thought about carrying juala if only to piss off the migration officials in Nairobi. Maybe next time I will act on it. Our lives have been ruined without juala.
They said to understand the value of a minute talk to an athlete. What they didn’t say is to lose any attachment to time and live every moment as it comes, visit Somalia, a land where time stops.
In Kenya we really were totally colonized. Each of us, and yours truly, for shame, compete in how well we can speak in English. Mara grammar mara lexicon mara punctuation. One comes to Somalia and they are proudly Somali. Either learn Somali or talk to the birds. I want to believe the Somalis have been unfairly treated among us but they should be an inspiration to us. That while we acknowledge the brutal years of the colonizer, we can maintain our languages and what remains of our cultures. Whoever wants to do business with us should learn our vernacular or ship out.
In all, it was an interesting trip. I decided that you will read this and look at the photos and match up the stories.
See you when I am back in Nairobi or at any rate, I could be back already.
This is a marvelous write up! Seems like you’ve been having a very detailed, very scenic, & interesting trip…..certainly some memorable experiences.
However, all that sugar & sweetening, made my false teeth ache.
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I was trying to be the eye of my readers.
The sugar was too much
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Yeah, I’m not into the sweets.
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The imaginative detail is wonderful! I see you take in your surroundings with a romanticistโs eye! ๐
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There was not much to do than enjoy the vistas that presented themselves and I felt they provided good material for a yarn if well considered
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And you say you’re not a writer or storyteller! Utter balderdash, sir. For one thing you write from your heart and mind, and we always hear your voice. For another you take us right to the spot:
“I want to believe there was a welcoming troupe at the airport assembled just for me. No, they didnโt talk to me. Didnโt even notice me. I think we had traveled with a famous person who was to be received with pomp and flair. When this story is retold, it must be emphasized they were at the airport to meet me.”
“And finally we went to Eyl, a paradise in the midst of ruins, two beautiful villages tucked in between mountain ranges or should I call them hills and valleys. I missed my bicycle. I would have loved to cycle in Eyl. The roads meander and turn sharply. The slopes stand there daring you to go to them.”
And: “Our drivers, oh goodness, they were good, drove mostly by instinct. It felt like hunting squirrel and following their trail. That we didnโt get lost severally is still a wonder to me. On one of the days, darkness caught up with us or we caught up with it. One canโt be too sure of these things. And so, just like sea men hoping to see a lighthouse, we- this might just mean me- looked forward to any lights emanating from a small town as a sign that we were not totally lost.”
Enthralling post, Mak. You have such an eye for detail. Your point about subjugation by the English language is a very good one. It is to my shame that I would not be able to read you if you wrote in KiSwahili or Dholuo.
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I concur. I read from start to finish and never skipped a word.
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Tish, you exaggerate. You tell some of the best stories with so little material to work with. Here I had a whole supply of material and this is what I could come up with.
Thanks for the compliments. Means the world to me
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Absolutely not exaggerating. I even printed it out. The point is – what you came up with, was worth coming up with. And anyway, maybe you will write another ‘chapter’. As to my stories, well I’ve been practising for a VERY LONG TIME.
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I am planning on writing about my peeves. I took notes so I am working it on my head to see what I can do with it
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Now you are being a writer, mulling over your material. Keep it sharp is my only advice. You may also think about whether it will be a straightforward account, or whether there is an interesting perspective/a particular angle of view through your mind’s eye window ๐
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Now, this is where I am going to look for you as my teacher.
I am thinking of either to embellish it a bit as Twain would do with his letters or to keep it honest and load it with my biases
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You could try both! Flex your writing muscles in different ways. And then see what you think. But the thing that always makes your writing distinctive is YOUR VOICE and the way speak to us as if you know we are listening ๐
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Also meant to say, you can learn a lot by writing in the style of a master writer, though it probably comes off best as satire, and that might not fit with this particular material? But it is always a good way to start – shall I tell it this way? Or would it better another way? As you know you cannot think and create in a vacuum. Same as designing a building that will function.
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This is all great advice. I will start work on it in the next few days, see what I can do with it.
Like this one I wrote over the time I was there. Sometimes I would take notes as we were driving. Think of phrases, or even sentences that would capture the scene I want to portray
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Can see you’re well on the case, Mak. Brilliant!
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I have often dreamed of going on a safari. Your words were so alive I could feel (and image) much through what you wrote. Thank you.
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Going on a safari is great. And this was an enjoyable one. I am glad you enjoyed the story telling
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Sounds wonderful and you tell it magnificently.
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oh, it was wonderful
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What a fabulous post making pictures in my head as you recount such beautiful detail. Thank you so much. ๐
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thank you
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Cool! And FYI, order fruit juice here and it comes with heaped tablespoons of sugar in it. Don’t ask me why.
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They want to make the juice sweeter, no?
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Apparently. It’s just weird.
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It puts one off things like tea. One almost wants to come with their own cook just to check on the sugar.
To their advantage though is they don’t put so much oil in food
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I drink many types of tea……as is……no sugar, milk, cream, lemon….none of it.
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i use honey in tea when I am not taking it sugarless
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I’m not a honey fan either.
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Outstanding job! Thank you, my Kenyan brother! I must admit that I rather enjoy the thought of having sugar added to my meat! ๐ Naked hugs!
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You will survive well in Somalia. They can add sugar to your meat, if you suggest it.
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Hey, I haven’t even gotten to Kenya yet! Does this mean that you’re deporting me? Naked hugs! ๐
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Not yet. You will not be deported
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Thank you! ๐
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Grand! Sounds like an exciting and invigorating time. Hugs
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Oh yes, I had a swell time
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Not a great writer? The gentlemen doth protest too much, methinks
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Methinks you are wrong, Barry
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No, you are wrong. And before you object, consider this irrefutable fact:
I only follow great writers, or blogs related to autism or migraine. maasaiboys.wordpress.com is not an autism or migraine blog, therefore it must be penned by a great writer. As that writer is you, you must be a great writer. Case proven.
Do you really want to mess with such a logical conclusion?
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I rest the case here.
Thank you Barry.
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Have to say the last few paragraphs sound disturbingly like Rill Amurikkens wondering why them brown Messicans are still speaking Spanglish, Maka.
I know the politics are different, but national pride is not always a good thing?
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National pride is the source of border disputes and little wars.
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Beautiful, beautiful writing, though. Because I love and indulge in the evil white powder (sugar) and am…plump…cannot say the hills call to me right now, though. ๐
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I have reduced sugar in my tea to zero. I still love cakes though. But the Somalis will kill you with their sugar
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One can only hope you are not seriously considering moving there permanently. Somalia is in the top 10 of most dangerous countries in the world, esp. for women. Considering you have 3 daughters + a girlfriend, use your brain.
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Three daughters, Mak? Whoโd a thunk it?? ;).
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And I don’t have the brains to make decisions of where to live! Who would have known all these?
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Is the girlfriend the mother of these 3 daughters?
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