Harsh Reality

I arrived in my parents’ hometown of Jigjiga on Saturday. It’s located
in the autonomous Somali region of eastern Ethiopia and the vast
majority of people here are Somali. My grandma left the states for
Jigjiga nearly two years ago to help my uncle with his two toddlers.
I’ve missed her something crazy since she has been gone and seeing her
again made me feel like I was kid again. I ran toward her crying and
just hugged her for a long time. She is thinner and looks much
older than she did when she left. I think a life of running after two
toddlers and living here is hard on an 80-year-old woman who has
already raised many children and grandchildren.

Their rented home doesn’t have running water and there is a cement
outhouse used for showering and the bathroom. Staying there for
a day helped me realize all the privileges I’ve always taken for
granted --- running water, reliable electricity, bathrooms. They’re
moving into a new American-style home this month with all the necessary
modern amenities. Thankfully she has a live-in housekeeper to help her
with the things she needs. Though it was hard to see my grandma not
living to the standard of our life back in the States I’m grateful for
the opportunity to be with her again and have the chance to visit my
homeland.

I’ve always imagined “back home” being lush, green and clean. The
people would have nice little houses, it would be quiet and there
would be brick streets you follow to visit family. The air would be fresh
and people would keep their animals in pens by their homes. The
reality here is much different. It’s dusty, arid and barely has any
vegetation. The roads are crowded with people, small taxis called
bajajs and speeding trucks. The only paved street is the main road
that runs straight through town. The rest of the streets are dusty,
rocky and difficult to walk on and plastic bags strewn
all over are a sign of the environmental degradation occurring here.

Contradictions rule this land. There are large gated homes next to
small shacks perfectly illustrating the mind-boggling wealth gap. Cows
stop traffic when they cross the street and goats pass internet cafes.
It is normal for me to drive by a camel herder leading his animals past
a 5-star hotel, small metal shacks serving as corner stores with
Coca-Cola advertisements on the side and a teenager walking over rocks
on an unpaved road while talking on his cell phone. Houses without proper bathrooms
have satellite dishes streaming 200+ international television
channels. There are hundreds of small open taxis called bajajs that
whiz by horse-drawn buggies. It’s the 2010 version of what happens
when a rural African town meets globalization.

The market is bustling. It is usually filled with women selling
vegetables, rice and wheat to support their families. Mostly Somali
men own the small convenience stores and restaurants but many also
waste their days chewing khat --- a plant that provides a mild,
relaxing stimulant that has ravaged the Somali community. Some men do
nothing more than sit and chew all day neglecting their families and
responsibilities. It’s an addiction that has worsened poverty and
other problems within the Somali community.

My people are proud people. Many have survived lives living off
unforgiving land and many others have lost everything they ever owned
due to war, floods and droughts. They’ve traveled to far-away lands
with nothing but the clothes on their backs, their children in their
arms and hope for the chance at a better life in their hearts. In
Somali culture family is immensely important and extended kinship
provides a safety net during hard times.

So when I came across a grandma sitting on the side of the road with
an overpowering sense of hopelessness surrounding her I was both
shocked and heartbroken. Out of respect for elders you address them as
grandma and grandpa in Somali or in this case ayeeyo. This ayeeyo told
me she was destitute with no family and needed help. She sits outside
all day in hopes that she can beg for enough money to pay for eye
surgery so she can see again. She reminded me so much of my own
grandma and I couldn’t fathom my ayeeyo begging on the street. I
helped her as much as I could and told her I would pray for her. I
choked up as she started kissing and thanking me in sincere gratitude.
Saddest part of it all was how surprised she was of my help. I was
raised to see the humanity of everyone and to view Somalis as family.
I still don’t know how people could pass by an ayeeyo and not help. I
hope one day we can all see each other’s humanity.


~~~~~ * I’ve been told my blog has been forwarded to family and
friends. I’m glad y’all have taken the time to join me on my journey.
I wanted to give a special shout out to Rachel Bowers’ grandfather who
reads my blog. Hi grandpa! Please let me know who is here by leaving
comments. They help keep the home sickness at bay and make my day.*
~~~~~

Heaven and Hell

If you have money, Adis is amazing. My cousin booked us rooms in a
nice hotel. We have a driver who takes us everywhere. There are
doormen, maids, receptionists and waiters who take care of everything
for us. If you are poor, Adis is not so amazing. The hardest part is
not being able to give money to the people --- it is important to
remember they are people --- who come up asking for help. I gave one
American dollar to a guy who was walking with his hand and scooting
his body across the unpaved, rocky road due to some muscle deformity.
Turns out $1 is 17 birr. In other words, it’s lots of money to have
given him when he might get .25 birr from people if he is lucky. My
cousin told me since I am Somali they would harass other Somalis
thinking they would could the same treatment. I thought I was treating
him like a human being who needed help.

I guess the guy was grateful and told others because this small kid
came to me. My heart broke just looking at him. His shoes were more
gaping holes than plastic, his clothes were dusty and ripped and I
didn’t see any parents around. I was told to not give him money
because he won’t go to school if he knows he can make money begging.
If they had looked away I would have slipped him something. A couple
of dollars is nothing to me but something to that kid. The money in my
pocket felt heavy. I never got a chance to help him out. I really
don’t care if other Somalis are uncomfortable because I gave money to
people who need it. I rather he eat and I sleep well at night.

Adis is like a kid going through puberty. It’s developing quickly in
some places of the city and in other parts it’s still very young.
There is construction everywhere. I think there is a thin layer of
dust in my lungs right now. There are shacks next to huge gated
mansions. The drivers here drive like New Yorkers x 10 and there are
no street lights to manage traffic. Plus, there are jay walkers who are
crazy enough to run in front of speeding cars. Not surprisingly, I
kept my seat belt on the whole time. Most people speak some English and
everything has an English translation. The biggest culture shock,
other than the lack of good infrastructure, is the lack of white
people after living in Georgia my whole life. I can count on my hand
how many I have seen. They stand out. Ironically, my experience of
being “normal” for the first time in my life halfway across the world
has given me perspective in my experiences back in the States. Smiling
and saying hello to people in the streets is apparently a Southern
trait. People just look at me like I’m a crazy woman. Again, just like
New Yorkers. But there is beautiful black people everywhere and
amazing weather so I am not complaining.

I met Somalia's Deputy Prime Minister today. I told him Somalia will
never gain peace or prosperity if it doesn't allow Somali women to
fully engage in government leadership and I would call him when I
graduate from law school in a few years. He laughed, made a joke about
how as a pretty girl it wouldn't be hard for me to find a husband and
asked if I really expected to be a leader in Somalia wearing a hijab.
I set him straight nicely. My parents said not to criticize the
Ethiopian government. They never said anything about Somalia.

What is it about old guys in power trying to crack jokes, making comments about my hijab and talking
about how pretty I am when I question their leadership? It’s not a
successful tactic in avoiding your leadership failures being
questioned.

I’m flying to Dire Dawa (north of Adis) Wednesday afternoon to visit
my cousin’s family. I’m looking forward to meeting his kids but I
really can’t wait until Saturday when I get to finally see my grandma.
Until next time, Love and peace y’all!

The Homeland

Day 1: After nearly twenty years of wondering when I would get back to the homeland I'm here! It took two flights, three continents and nearly twenty hours to get to Adis Abeba, Ethiopia. My cousin who works for Mercy Corps, the non-profit organization I will be an intern at for the next two months, picked me up at the airport along with his friend who is a member of Ethiopia's congress. The roads were bumpy as they were full of potholes so people drive all over the road with no regard to which side they should be legally driving on. Shacks are down the street from western-style gated homes. Thankfully, almost all the signs have the English translations printed below the Amharic. We went to a nice restaurant to eat dinner. The first thing I noticed was a white, European man talking on the phone. Even though I had been in Ethiopia for less than an hour seeing a non-black person made me turn back to look again. Only 24 hours ago I was the one who looked different in America and prompted heads to turn. It will take a while to get used to it.

The dinner was great especially compared to German airplane food. I thought it would be fitting for my first meal in Ethiopia to be tibs (suqaar or beef stew), injera and Fanta. It's the meal I always eat in east African restaurants in the States but now I'm eating east African food in east Africa. It's kind of mind boggling.

I haven't been back to the Continent since I was two-years-old when my family left Somalia. Ethiopia officially has 83 different ethnic groups within its borders, Somalis being mostly in the north eastern part of the country (Jigjiga). It's a weird experience to know my grandparents' grandparents' grandparents lived in this region of the world and here I am as the long lost daughter back to learn her roots.

I want to see my grandma who I haven't seen since she left Atlanta two years ago. I want to meet my other grandma, my uncles and aunts and hundreds of cousins and second-cousins. I feel like I'm related to half of Jigjiga (where my family lives). I am Somali so it may not be much of an exaggeration. I also want to become more comfortable speaking Somali. I want to experience my culture authentically, not the Somali-American version I practice. I want to see the conditions I want to change first-hand.

In America, I am the Somali who isn't American enough. Here, I am the American who isn't Somali enough. It's an awkward position for many Americans of immigrant heritage. I'm going to embrace it because I'm lucky to have two homelands and two people. It opens your eyes to the humanity we all have in common. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I can't wait to take advantage of it.

I am using the hotel's computer right now. Eight hours ahead of Atlanta, it is almost 2 a.m. here though my body is telling me it is only 6 p.m. Either way, I am exhausted and ready to sleep. Until next time, peace and love.

Yasmin
Tuesday 12/13/10