SOMALI BRITISH: Refugee to Referee to MBE: England Football’s Jawahir Roble plays by her own rules

As a child, she took part in the game she loves against a backdrop of civil war. Now, Britain’s first black female Muslim referee fights for the rights of others as a role model for inclusivity.

A cold, cloudy Sunday morning in West London and 22 grown men are on a football pitch playing in one of the capital’s minor leagues. The standard is not particularly good but nonetheless there is something remarkable about the fixture.

As the tackles fly in, a 1.6-metre-tall figure wearing match officials’ kit and a headscarf brandishes a yellow rectangular piece of plastic.

“My philosophy is that everyone deserves a chance,” Jawahir Roble, Britain’s first black female Muslim referee, tells The National. “But if they keep repeating fouls, I book them.

“I like to control the game first and then I’ll use my cards. The game is not about me. It’s about them having fun and making good memories.”

The contest finishes with a 3-1 home win but, for Roble, 29, the more important result is not the score at the final whistle — it’s that the players amble over to shake her hand and say thank you. Confirmation, she says, of a job well done.

Her extraordinary achievements have been recognised with an MBE in King Charles IIIs first New Year Honours List for services to the Football Association and volunteering work with the education and social inclusion charity Football Beyond Borders.

It is a feat perhaps rivalled only by the journey that has brought her to within tantalising distance of collecting the silver medal at a forthcoming investiture at Buckingham Palace.

Musing on how far she has come, Roble herself once said: “Who would ever think a black, Somali-born immigrant girl with eight siblings could ref a men’s game in England with a hijab on?”

Jawahir Jewels (JJ), as she is commonly known because of the Arabic meaning of her first name, was born in Mogadishu, where she could often be found barefoot in a four-a-side competition with her siblings, kicking scrunched up cloth wrapped in sticky tape around the courtyard of the family home.

Her parents, Mahdi, a grocer, and Safya, sometimes watched the rough and tumble from the sidelines with Jamila, the baby too small to take part, until the moments when the country’s civil war came perilously close. Then, play was suspended as everyone scarpered inside to relative safety.

“You did have to be careful,” Roble recalls. “You could hear gunfire, people screaming sometimes, loud bangs and explosions. I was scared. There were lots of kidnappings and crazy stories.

“But, as a child, it was also very carefree and fun and happy. We still had to get our school and mosque work done. We got told off so many times. But we learnt the system — do our chores and then we could go outside. We had to earn the right to play football.”

After Friday prayer, they would rendezvous with friends to play on a larger patch of muddy ground outside the house, or on the beach at Xeebta Liido by the Somali Sea a half-hour drive away.

The walls of the bedroom shared with her two younger sisters, Amina and Fatima, featured images of David Beckham and, intriguingly given Roble’s future career path, the controversial Italian defender Marco Materazzi, whose aggressive style amassed an inordinate number of bookings.

“With the obsession I have with football, you would think that someone encouraged me or a teacher influenced me. But, no, I just fell in love with it out of nowhere. At heart, I am a complete tomboy.”

As tensions heightened and the war escalated in the early 2000s, the siblings’ outside excursions were curtailed and Mahdi, who had applied for British visas and bought suitcases, put in motion a hitherto secret escape plan.

Ten-year-old JJ, forced to swelter in a coat in anticipation of the colder weather ahead, was taken in a packed eight-seater van to the airport for the 6,400km flight to London.

“We got told: ‘We have to move out.’ No time to tell anyone or sell the shop,” Roble says. “Dad gave it to a relative to look after.

“I remember thinking to myself, ‘We’re not coming back here for a long, long time’.”

Landing at Heathrow nine hours later was a shock. “Oh, my goodness, the place seemed massive. So many different people. Like there’s white people, there’s Chinese people. I’m only used to seeing black people. One of my siblings reached out to touch someone’s bright blonde hair.

“I thought: ‘Wow, this is the real world.’”

First stop was Sudbury in north-west London for a few weeks with a relative, then a temporary hotel stay in Kilburn before they were allocated a council house in the shadow of the largest football stadium in the UK.

“Can you imagine?” she asks with an infectious laugh. “Wembley! We could see the stadium — the home of football — from our house. Just amazing. Something I’ll never forget.”

Roble had thought that only players or special fans were allowed into the hallowed grounds but she has since been twice: on a Chalk Hill Primary School trip (“I couldn’t imagine someone like me could go … It was surreal); and last summer when England’s Lionesses beat Germany 2-1 in the European Championships final (“That was incredible”).

In their new garden, the serious rivalry resumed, one team captained by the oldest Roble sister, the other by the oldest brother, and a lemon or potato for a football.

But, after much pleading, her parents soon handed over £3 ($3.69) for a coveted purchase that enabled JJ, who at that time spoke no English, to overcome the language barrier and fit in more quickly at school.

“Because the kid that has the ball gets the friends,” she explains, smiling. “The first words I learnt I think were, ‘pass, pass’ and ‘shoot!’”

The restrictive uniform of long black skirt, white shirt, school shoes and hijab did little to stop Roble from playing every spare minute, skipping breakfast and lunch to take to the field before lessons, in break times and after the final bell.

“Sometimes kids at primary school teased me. Teachers asked how I could play dressed like that. I was like, ‘This is it, this is what Muslim people wear. You have to be covered up.’

“My religion was not an issue. As long as you’re just a nice person, they would accept you in the group. Being a Muslim is about being a good person, being modest and doing what makes you happy.”

When a supportive PE teacher spotted how well Roble was performing in sports, the first seeds of discord were sowed with her parents who expressed a strong preference for their children to excel instead at maths and English.

“My dad actually sat me down and said: ‘You came all the way from Somalia, all the way from the war just so you can play football? We want you to make use of this country’s opportunities. At least learn to be something that can help other people, like a doctor.’”

But, in Roble’s characteristically headstrong way, fulfilling her father’s ambitions was never a realistic outcome.

At 14, she thought the moment she had dreamt of had arrived. Players from Queens Park Rangers’ women’s team visited the secondary school for a coaching session and to seek out talent for the club’s academy.

Roble put in the work, showing off her pace and left-footed skills in the attacking and defensive duties of a centre midfielder.

“I was one of four or five girls who got a letter inviting me to trial. I was so excited. I’m on the bus and I’m reading this letter over and over again. All that letter needed was a parent’s name and a signature.”

When she arrived home, however, her mother tore up the invitation in an act that even now, 15 years later, causes Roble pain to recount.

Heart-broken at her life’s ambition being thwarted, the resigned teenager eventually left school early to begin a design technology course at college.

While there, she took the level one and two coaching badges with Middlesex Football Association before a referee shortage led to her being asked to step in at the last minute, with no experience, to take charge of an under-sevens girls’ match.

“The parents were very nice to me and the girls said how nice it was to have a female referee. So, from that, I continued volunteering as a referee for a whole year at junior level.”

That prompted the FA to fund her formal referee training. “I said to myself: ‘I have to continue, get braver, do different leagues, different age groups.’ Next thing you know I’m doing men’s and women’s. It happened so fast. Within four years, I was doing adult games.”

After joining the women’s pathway, Roble advanced to National League Level 3 and is now determined to progress to the Women’s Championship and Super League, and who knows where after that?

Along the way, she has garnered a clutch of accolades, including the FA Respect Match Official Award 2017 and being named on the BBC’s 100 Women 2019, as well as that MBE on the same honours list as the England head coach Sarina Wiegman, captain Leah Williamson, and players Lucy Bronze, Beth Mead and Ellen White.

When she’s not teaching at a special needs school in London, Roble dedicates herself to promoting inclusivity, defying stereotypes, demolishing barriers and clearing a path for future generations.

There are, she says, no limits to what can be achieved: “Only I can stop myself, and I’m not going to do that.”

Fitness is a priority, and she has also spent countless hours watching YouTube clips of professional referees such as the former Premier League’s Mark Clattenburg to study their positioning during play and how they control the game.

Further inspiration came last November when an all-female on-field refereeing team led by Stephanie Frappart took charge of a men’s World Cup game for the first time in the match between Germany and Costa Rica.

Even her parents are coming around to their daughter’s deep involvement with football, though Roble sounds as though she is meeting them halfway.

“I understand now that they wanted the best for me and to make sure I was protected and safe. They told me, ‘We don’t want any hatred towards you.’ I’ve told them it’s not like that.

“At the end of the day, I’m spreading positivity. I’m sharing my sports journey with young girls, you know, who like me are interested in football. Maybe if they hear my story, they can use it to inspire them and have a shortcut instead of what I did.”

What she did, ultimately, was find the courage to tackle the norms within the Somali community and succeed on her own terms.

“My faith encourages sports, my faith encourages a healthy lifestyle,” Roble says. “I feel like [the issue] was more to do with cultural concerns. Because our culture says girls should be at home, not getting involved in men’s sports. Girls should be shy, keep on the low, low. I’m sorry but that’s not me.

“I have challenged it. Now, in my Somali community, most of them are: ‘Oh, wow, you’re doing a great job.’ And I’m like, ‘So who was the problem? Do you have anything to say now?’”

It is the same toughness displayed when Roble encounters disbelieving looks from players and coaching staff as she walks to her happy place on the pitch or a decision is criticised.

As with all referees, she has received verbal abuse but says it’s nothing she can’t deal with. Despite her diminutive size, Roble’s big personality, confidence and forthright retorts make for a commanding presence — and there is always the “power” of the red and yellow cards in her pocket.

Her story might have had moments of isolation, sometimes in the family setting and at least initially in an unfamiliar country as a refugee, but she seems undaunted by the “loneliness” of the referee presiding over two teams.

“I have accepted that,” Roble says of the latter. “Once I get on the pitch, I feel like everyone is my team. I feel totally free, like nothing else matters. There is no stress, nothing.

“I wanted to be a footballer so, in a way, I am kind of living that dream. It is where I belong.”

source/content: thenationalnews.com/mena/arab-showcase (headline edited)

__________

When she’s not teaching at a special needs school in London, Jawahir Roble is dedicated to defying stereotypes, demolishing barriers and clearing a path for future generations. Photo: Shutterstock

______________________

BRITISH / SOMALIA

SOMALI-AMERICAN Women Score Wins in US Midterm Elections

At least eight Somali American women won races in Tuesday’s U.S. midterm elections, results show.

Ilhan Omar, the most prominent Somali American politician, held on to her U.S. House of Representatives seat in Minnesota’s 5th Congressional District. This will be the third term for Omar, who was first elected in 2018.

In Minnesota state races, Zaynab Mohamed was elected to the Senate, becoming the first woman of Somali descent elected to the chamber, according to MPR News. Meanwhile, Hodan Hassan defended her seat in the state House of Representatives.

Other Somali American women running for offices in Minnesota were victorious, including Fathia Feerayarre, who won a seat on the Minneapolis Public Schools board.

In neighboring North Dakota, Hamida Dakane also made history, becoming the first woman of Somali descent elected to the state House. Born in northeastern Kenya’s Somali region, Dakane, who won Fargo’s District 10, came to the U.S. in 2011.

In Maine, Deqa Dhalac, who made history last year as the first Somali American mayor for a U.S. city, South Portland, has now been elected to the state House after handily defeating Republican opponent Michael Dougherty. Mana Abdi, who was running unopposed for a seat representing Lewiston, Maine, joins her in the House.

In Ohio, Munira Abdullahi and Ismail Mohamed, a man, won seats in the state House. Minnesota and Ohio have among the largest Somali American populations in the U.S.

Speaking to her supporters Tuesday night, Omar highlighted the significance of victories achieved by Somali American women.

“There was a time when we believed that women with a hijab could not get elected,” she said. “Tonight, Minnesota is electing three new women who are wearing hijab. That shows if you trust in yourself, if your people trust you, stand with you, everything is possible.”

Mohamed, one of the hijab-wearing Minnesota winners, expressed hope that more Somali Americans will run for office.

“I’m very happy with this victory tonight, thank God,” she told VOA Somali. “This is a victory for me, for my family and for the Somali people. God willing, a lot of men and women will follow me and will come through.”

Shukri Olow, who lost a state House seat outside Seattle, Washington, told VOA Somali that she was inspired to run by the women before her, including Omar, Hassan and Dhalac.

In an interview with VOA Somali, Dhalac confirmed that when she visited Washington in 2018, Olow asked her questions about running for office.

“She said she wanted to run for the open seats in her area or seats that will be open in the future in Washington state,” Dhalac recounted. “I encouraged her to do it. Many women say we will do this, we will do this tomorrow, we will do this next year. I said to her, if you want to compete, just do it.”

The success of Somali American female candidates in the U.S. eclipses that of female aspirants for elected office in Somalia.

Female politicians in Somalia are so disenfranchised that in 2016, Somalia’s federal and regional leaders had to start allocating a specific quota of seats in parliament. But women still were never given the opportunity to get the 30% quota promised.

In 2016, Somali women occupied 24% of the 329 seats in the two houses of parliament. In 2022, female candidates secured only 20%, well short of the 30% quota.

Fawzia Yusuf Haji Adam, the only female presidential candidate in the May 15 presidential election, got just a single vote — her own.

“I did not get the support I’m sure [Somali American women] are getting when they stand [for office], because here the culture and other factors are causing a lack of encouragement [for women],” she said.

Adam welcomed the success of Somali American women.

“This is a victory for Somali women in the diaspora,” she said. “I congratulate them, I encourage them, and we are proud of them.”

She said women in the diaspora, including those in the United States, Europe, and Canada, have opportunities that women in Somalia do not have.

“What made it possible is, first, the places they live in, where men and women are viewed equally, where they get encouragement from the schools, from the university, and from the parents, and they can see achievements by other women,” she said.

“Over there, the neighborhood they live in is going to elect them when they see the person is trustworthy, honest, working and clean. White and Black would vote for that.”

Harun Maruf contributed reporting from Washington.

source/content: voanews.com (headline edited)

___________

Democratic Congresswoman Ilhan Omar speaks to supporters at an election night party after winning reelection early Wednesday morning, Nov. 9, 2022, in St. Paul, Minnesota.

________________________

AMERICAN / SOMALI

SWEDISH-SOMALIAN: Dr. Sada Mire, a Somali Archaeologist Is Championing Heritage in the Horn of Africa

An interview with Sada Mire dives into the difficulties and rewards of preserving history and letting local perspectives guide heritage management in Somalia and Somaliland.

SOMALIA AND SOMALILAND are home to a rich heritage of archaeological treasures. But until recently, there was only one active, formally trained Somali archaeologist working in the region: Sada Mire.

In 1991, Mire was forced to flee Somalia with her family as a teenager after her father was killed by a genocidal government. She gained asylum in Sweden and eventually earned her Ph.D. in archaeology from University College London. During her studies, she learned that some of the significant stone tools that shaped scientists’ views of evolution came from Somaliland but were taken to Europe during the colonial era.

Inspired, Mire returned to her homeland determined to retell the history of the Horn of Africa and preserve its heritage—despite the difficulty of working in a region where religious sects jealously control narratives around Somali history and identity, and political conflict is causing humanitarian crises.

Somaliland is not officially a nation-state. It’s a self-declared country that is considered part of Somalia. A British protectorate since the 1880s, Somaliland became an independent country recognized by the United Nations on June 26, 1960. Less than a week later, it merged with the newly independent country Somalia. Early political tensions worsened in 1969 when Gen. Mohamed Siad Barre staged a coup and installed himself as president, imposing ethnic nationalist policies that favored one of the main Somali clans over the rest.

In the 1980s, civil war broke out between Barre’s dictatorship and the Somali National Movement, primarily composed of the Isaaq clan, the largest in northwest Somalia, including what is today Somaliland. The Barre government committed acts of genocide against the Isaaq clan, reportedly killing 200,000 Isaaq people between 1987 and 1989. Millions fled during the conflict, including Mire and her family, who belong to the Isaaq clan.

In 1991, with Barre ousted, Somaliland reasserted itself by declaring unilateral independence, this time without international recognition. But Mire always refers to Somalia and Somaliland as separate nations because, she says, “as an anthropologist, I call people what they say they are, and I respect that’s the decision of the country and its people.”

Mire has worked tirelessly to create change that fosters heritage preservation in a region with scant infrastructure to support archaeological work. She established the Department of Tourism and Archaeology in Somaliland and is creating a digital museum that features Somali objects and materials. Mire is deliberate about teaching archaeological skills to local people so they may carry out their own work at the community and institutional levels. All these are steps toward sharing the rich legacy of African peoples with African communities and the rest of the world.

Wenner-Gren Foundation project director and anthropologist Eshe Lewis interviewed Mire via Zoom in May. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

EL: 

Can you talk about your background and how you came to be an archaeologist working in Somalia and Somaliland?

SM: 

It’s incredible that I am here now, that I have a university degree, that I even went to high school. My father and mother were educated. My brother now teaches in a university in Somaliland. My twin sister is a gynecological oncologist. In my family, it was understood that you got an education or you did what you could to educate yourself. My twin sister and I were very studious.

But because of the political situation in Somalia at the time, our clan became a target. At the age of 12, I lost all my rights to have an education. We were expelled from school, and we never thought we would be able to go back. From then on, I was self-taught. I read books and learned languages at home. The habit of learning and teaching myself has never left me.

EL: 

Why is it important to conduct archaeological research in Somaliland and Somalia? And what are the most fulfilling aspects of the work you’re doing?

SM: 

Right from the start, it was all about why we have so little representation of African history and African people, who have existed for over 200,000 years on the African continent. We have contributed so much to culture, science, technology, governance, philosophy, and literature, and there is nothing about it in the history books. In 2022, you have people who have no idea about what Africa has done. So, that is the number one reason I do what I do.

Also, I feel I can make the world a better place. I know that sounds like such a cliché, but I really think that if history books are revised, people will understand what others are worth, and they will appreciate their trajectory. Removing African history and experiences and holistic images from books creates a situation where people know nothing about, and hence fear, African people. And the few that live up to the negative stereotypes become the rule for them.

If your classmate doesn’t know your history, they don’t know you. They cannot. I believe that by understanding a nation’s past, a people’s past, a person’s past, we can appreciate them. We may not like what they do, but we understand them. I feel that there is so much work to be done to shed light on the history of Black people, Africans, and people of color.

EL: 

What research and heritage protection work do you do in the region?

SM: 

One of the longest research projects I’ve been doing is on medicinal and sacred plants through medical anthropology. I’m also a zooarchaeologist and a bone specialist. So, some of what we are preserving is that kind of archaeological material, including massacre sites from the recent genocide. I’m working on another project about astronomy. We found one of the earliest calendars—a whole ancient rock art site with the calendars painted. We are working with local researchers who study folklore and have created the first traditional Somali calendar.

In Somali nomadic culture, we have our own way of preserving heritage and an understanding of heritage that really clashed with [Western] best practices and this notion of monuments and artifacts—the more dogmatic UNESCO formula. UNESCO now covers intangible heritage, but often when Westerners do archaeology in the Horn of Africa—and especially in the Somali region—it’s really extractive. It comes from a tradition of going somewhere with the agenda of getting data out and filling a gap. That scientific and/or, often, Eurocentric gap is not the gap of the people.

Somalis challenged me right from the start when I said, “You don’t protect archaeological sites. The museums are being looted. You don’t care about your heritage!” They said, “No, that’s not our heritage.” I was confused, as a Western-educated student, that we did not care about these objects. I asked, “What is your heritage if you don’t care about this?” And they said, “Ah! Now we’ll tell you.”

EL: 

How did you respond?

SM: 

I developed something I called the Knowledge-Centered Approach based on what I learned about heritage from them, and this is what guides me. It’s the preservation of knowledge and skill rather than objects and artifacts. Heritage is performance that takes place on different mediums. You know, if you are in a scene, there is a sofa, maybe a chair, the way you are dressed, how you look, speak, and act. That is our heritage! That shows us as living, thinking human beings with logic.

I developed a framework to study this. It is called the ritual set, and I outlined it in my book Divine Fertility. Understanding African peoples’ logic links us with our past. In my own work it’s about an ideology of a sacred kinship and sustainability. This is the whole idea behind my book.

I explore Somalis’ questions about their identity. Who were we? Where do we come from? Why have we been told we are Arabs when we are Africans? Clearly, we are Black, and we are in Africa.

I also have personal questions about my heritage. Somalis are Muslims, but did we ever have any other ideology? Were we at some point something else? Why do we only know Islam?

Why do we think our ancestors were all from Arab countries, when in fact we are genetically the same as the Oromo, who are our neighbors? We have 50 percent lexical similarity. They look like me, I look like them, we practice the same traditional rituals. They may be Christian, and we may be Muslim, but we share Indigenous culture. Those questions have really not been answered by archaeologists or historians working in the Horn of Africa, local or foreign. There is a huge scientific gap, and for that public, I fill that gap.

EL: 

Has there been any backlash to your work?

SM: 

In 2009, my Ph.D. dissertation was put under restricted access because I was threatened by extremists. As soon as my book was published in 2020, I faced fresh threats from ideologues who are not interested in scientific research or common sense.

EL:

What is the source of this reaction?

SM: 

This is misogyny. These are people who hate women and who use anything they can to stop them. They also fear intellectual women—and are afraid that there’s somebody researching and finding diversity in our past. However, this is not only restricted to my region; extremists of all religions have always dogmatically advanced a certain purity and homogeneity. Look at what is happening in India. I wrote my first ever academic article on the Ayodhya conflict in India, and I was prepared when I entered the Horn that I would have to deal with dogmatic views on our past.

There is a plurality of practices, identities, landscape hues, and traditions that link us to our African heritage. And it’s not a bad place to be from if you really open your mind and understand the heritage of this place, the history of food production, the linguistic plurality of Ethiopia, the Nile civilizations of Meroe, Aksum, Nubia, all the way to Upper and Lower Egypt. You have Rwanda and Uganda, with [one of] the earliest iron productions anywhere in the world, an independent invention! The history and heritage are incredible!

EL:

What are some of the challenges you face when doing heritage preservation in a conflict zone?

SM: 

Everything I do in this region is soaked in challenges.

This is a post-conflict situation where the country is not officially recognized, where there are no legal instruments and no notion of heritage. My paper in 2007 was the first study of heritage in Somaliland. The heritage work I’ve been doing the past 15 years has involved establishing a law for heritage protection and physically protecting sites through measures like fencing and hiring guardians and custodians, but also preservation so that we have digital documentation and heritage research.

But the lack of understanding of heritage creates more challenges. People see Westerners who have worked there, and without exception, none of them has worked on heritage. Everything has been “go and dig.” This has also led to conflict within the people I train. They say, “Sada, you never do excavations. You’re the odd one because you’re not digging.” And I say, “How can we excavate when we don’t have laws or a single museum?” We dig a grave, and then what? What is protecting that grave? What are the legal instruments that oblige anybody to protect it or to hold others accountable?

The people who are coming here to dig have laws and museums in their countries. The contracts are signed with their laws, even though it’s our country. There’s a knowledge and awareness gap with the locals who don’t understand the way they are being exploited. There’s a sense of archaeology as a White man’s sport, as fun and extractive and magical—all these words that mystify it for local people. If someone comes along and says, “Let’s dig up what’s in there,” it appeals to our human curiosity.

That was the archaeological stance 400 years ago. But in Africa, [some people think] it’s OK for it to be at that level today.

There are so many Africans who are interested in this field, have awareness, and want to change things.

EL: 

Can you talk about your efforts to encourage more Africans to get involved in heritage preservation and to collaborate across countries?

SM: 

When I was at Leiden University, I created the online course Heritage Under Threat because I knew a lot of people didn’t have the opportunity to come to a place like Leiden to study a world-class course. Over 7,000 people have taken part. This was around 2015, when not many Black people were professors of archaeology and teaching online courses. So, for students it was a free, advanced course taught by a Black woman with a lot of African material that everybody could take part in. From that experience, I realized there are so many Africans who are interested in this field, who have awareness, and who want to change things.

When I created the Horn Heritage Foundation, the idea was to work in Ethiopia, Kenya, Somalia, Somaliland, Eritrea, and to have a regional exchange. And that’s what we’re doing—coordinating on a regional level so we are not isolated in our thinking. This has been one of the colonial goals within Africa: to isolate people from each other so they don’t value each other or each other’s experiences and contributions—to keep them unaware.

Academic divide and rule continues through gatekeeping. For example, funding is allocated through Western institutions by Western, and often White, male panels. Often, those coming to Africa with the funding prefer to work with people who will go along with whatever they are doing. There’s a lot of that going on, unfortunately.That is exactly what I was hinting at in my piece in The Guardian —that African heritage is still very much neglected, and the whole system is rather self-serving. It does not help that in various parts of Africa there are conflicts that limit how much can be done on the ground. So people, including foreign teams, tend to not leave the beaten track—not just physically but also conceptually. This impacts African heritage and its future.

What archaeology analyzes are things we have shed over the generations that come from our bodies, our movement, our intellectual process. When that continuity is denied, we are alienated from our history and then reintroduced to it by someone coming from hundreds of miles away. In this way, archaeological tools have been used to aid the colonial process.

EL: 

What can be done to change this, to create a path toward a different future?

SM: 

I am one of the few African archaeologists who have worked in several African countries. We need greater interaction and collaboration between African archaeologists in the continent. Africans need to have access to tools so they can do the work themselves. Online courses and free or accessible outlets help to do that.

When we were doing the digital heritage project documenting rock art, we were interested in training people using what they have. You have an iPhone? You can do a lot with an iPhone. You can edit and be the author and present [at a conference]. You can advocate. As Africans, we should have our own organic questions about our own identity and culture, and have the opportunity to explore them.

That’s what I mean when I say “cultural heritage is a basic human need.” It’s not something we should get from somewhere else; it’s already here. We are experienced. We are living that reality. It’s ours.

source/content: sapiens.org

____________

pix: sadamire.com

_______________________

SWEDEN / SOMALIA

SOMALI-ITALIAN: Architect Omar Degan ‘Architecture as Culture: Designing for Community in Mogadishu’

Architect Omar Degan reflects on the experience of designing a restaurant that celebrates local identity and cultural tradition in the Somali capital.

Think back to your childhood. Even if the memories are blurred, many of the flavours and aromas remain. The time we spent with parents and grandparents is often remembered in scents and spices — returning us to those moments, even after many years. Passed down through the generations, dishes and cuisines are vessels of culture and tradition and embodiments of the world’s diversity. Think of a plate of tagliatelle in Bologna, a freshly baked naan in New Delhi, the sweet taste of a chai bought in the streets of Mogadishu, or a mate tea savoured in Buenos Aires. Each is a powerful reflection of its place and people. 

I think about architecture in the same way. Just as culture and tradition is conveyed through gastronomy, the built environment can be a physical representation of local knowledge, passed down through the generations. Like food, buildings can convey ways of knowing, rooted in working with local materials and resources, and adapting to climate and culture. In this way, architecture should celebrate and enhance the places it transforms. It’s a paradigm few would disagree with — yet one that’s rarely reflected in how we build.

A neo-colonial conception of modernity still shapes buildings around the world. It’s a flat, globalized approach in which a tower in Toronto is similar to one in Shanghai, and in which the glass used for a New York skyscraper can be nearly indistinguishable from the cladding of a residential building in Mombasa. This is an architecture that does not earnestly strive to understand places, people and traditions, but seeks to pursue a vision of universal modernity which finds its expression in a detachment from local knowledge.

So how can architecture celebrate cultural diversity? As a Somali practitioner — and principal of Mogadishu-based DO Architecture Group — my answer is always rooted in the local community. And appropriately enough, it’s reflected in a recent project that brought together food and architecture: In 2019, I designed a restaurant called Salsabiil in the outskirts of Mogadishu.

From outside, Salsabiil’s façade appears modest and simple — almost private and introverted. But like an old book cover with layers of dust on its surface, a surprise awaits inside. Crisp white walls, ceilings and floors greet visitors as they enter, with the room framed by plantings that hint at the once-abundant local greenery that’s been lost through decades of deforestation.

Mogadishu was once known as “The White Pearl of the Indian Ocean” for its white buildings, beautiful palm trees and stunning blue coastal waters. As a reminder of the city before the civil war, the restaurant interior is pure and clean, white and simple. Decorating this crisp white canvas, traditional Somali fabrics adorn the pillows and upholstery, including the textiles traditionally used for women’s dresses (a fabric called Halindi) and men’s macawiis sarongs.

The motif also extends to the ground floor restrooms, where fabric patterns traditionally associated with men’s and women’s clothing are used as door coverings. In lieu of formal signage — and the western gender binary that it reflects — the restrooms are rooted in the culture and tradition of Somalia. Regardless of age or social background, the designs are a signifier that every local person knows.

Throughout the restaurant, photos portraying scenes of daily life in pre-war Mogadishu guiding visitors through a visual journey of stories and nostalgia. Designing Salsabiil was also a personal journey through my own culture and identity. I explored and studied things that I’d never had the possibility to experience — from discussing old ways of building furniture with community elders to finding the appropriate pictures to frame, the creation of this space was an adventure.

As a resident of Mogadishu, my hope is that Salsabiil continues to serve as a local landmark and a meeting place for the community — and as a representation of the cultural identity of Somalia. As an architect, I hope it offers a modest case study of integrating architecture and culture, demonstrating the power of weaving cultural identity and social fabric into the built environment. I didn’t want to impose a design vision on the community; I wanted the community’s culture to become the main protagonist of the space. It’s a contemporary environment, but one strongly rooted in tradition.

Salsabiil’s case is not unique in the world. It doesn’t matter if you are in Somalia, New York City or the mountains of Peru. If we understand the knowledge embedded in culture, community and history, then we also understand how to make a humble but substantial architecture — an architecture that embraces its environment. On a global level, it translates to an embrace of the world’s cultural diversity. Like local cuisines, local designs are something to celebrate.

On Twitter, I’ve documented the tremendous variety of African architecture, chronicling how vernacular building styles offer a culturally rich and climate-sensitive response to local conditions. From humble residential interiors to major cultural landmarks, traditional structures across the continent present diverse alternatives to the ubiquitous — and carbon-intensive — concrete, glass and steel design introduced in the colonial period. And today, globally renowned African practitioners like Diébédo Francis Keré and Mariam Kamara are introducing traditional methods into contemporary practice, nourishing richer and more culturally responsive new architectural traditions.

My own practice follows the same principles. To me, designing for a better future means embracing locality and diversity. In this way, I hope the design process itself can — directly or indirectly — become a means to fight climate change, racism, inequality, poverty and much more. Of course, these are large and intractable problems, and their solutions lie far beyond the drafting table alone. But I know this much for a start: The architecture of the future is not made of glass and steel, but of community, culture and diversity.

Omar Degan is a Somali Architect, Principal and founder of DO Architecture Group, an office specialized in post-conflict reconstruction and cultural diversity. Born in 1990, Omar has dedicated his career in the study of emergency contexts and developing countries, focusing on the interactions between culture and architecture. In 2021, he was selected as one of the African Leaders by the Obama Foundation, recognizing his work in the post-conflict reconstruction of Somalia.

source/content: azuremagazine.com (headline edited)

__________

________________________

ITALIAN / SOMALIAN

SOMALI-AMERICAN: Dega Nalayeh is one of Bank of America’s Top Advisors to the Ultra-Wealthy. She just Clocked $6.4 billion in Client Assets and is now Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.

Featuring Dega Nalayeh, a managing director and private-client advisor at Bank of America’s private bank.

Dega Nalayeh told Insider that she’s currently climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. She’s doing it to honor her sister, Somali-Canadian journalist Hodan Nalayeh, who was killed during a terrorist attack at a hotel in Somalia in July 2019.

Dega Nalayeh and 14 other climbers have so far raised more than $ 230,000 for the nonprofit Give to Learn to Grow Foundation. Proceeds help underserved communities in Somaliland.

Today — when not climbing mountains — she is (figuratively) moving them for the ultra wealthy. Nalayeh is a managing director and advisor at Bank of America’s private bank, where she manages $6.4 billion in client assets.

She built that book from scratch, relying on tried-and-tested word-0f-mouth strategies. Her savvy networking capabilities have also come in handy, particularly when she met a professional basketball player with the Atlanta Hawks, whose identity she could not disclose.

Climbing the highest mountain in Africa sounds easy when considering the adversity Nalayeh has faced. She moved to Canada from Somalia at just 11 years of age. While her father worked as a parking attendant, she ran a newspaper route as a teenager.

Later, she moved from Georgia to California for her husband. But when Nalayeh joined BofA’s private bank in 2006, she was divorced with a two-year-old son.

Nalayeh, who is 49, told Insider that she doubted her ability to be a rainmaker for the bank at a time when she was dealing with a divorce and a toddler. But in six months, she landed a high-net-worth client.

The banker leads a team of 13 alongside Avi Cohen, a fellow MD and private client advisor who was once her rival within the bank.

Most of their clients come from the entertainment and media industries, as well as tech, real estate, and healthcare.

Nalayeh is also focused on finding more women clients, including those who are overwhelmed by responsibilities found both at home and in the workplace.

source/content: businessinsider.in (headline edited)

_____________

Dega Nalayeh / Courtesy of Bank of America

_________________________

AMERICAN / SOMALIA

Amran Farah is likely the First Somali American to make Partner at a high-power Minnesota Law Firm. Now she’s helping to pick the next U.S. Attorney.

Co-founder of the Somali American Bar Association. President of the Minnesota Association of Black Lawyers. Amran has used her professional success to create opportunities for other Somali attorneys—and the people they serve.

Amran Farah has had a busy past year. 

A few weeks after achieving that professional success, she accepted an invitation to help select the next U.S. Attorney and U.S. Marshal in Minnesota, The U.S. Attorney represents the United States in federal criminal cases. The U.S. Marshal serves as the enforcement arm of the courts and is involved in most law enforcement initiatives. Both posts typically turn over when a new president takes office, and together they exert great influence over what types of law enforcement take priority in Minnesota.

The second week of February, U.S. Senators Amy Klobuchar and Tina Smith announced the members they invited to join the Federal Law Enforcement Selection Committee. Chaired by Ramsey County Attorney John Choi, the seven-member committee reviews applications and recommends candidates to the senators. Klobuchar and Smith will then bring those selections to President Joe Biden for consideration and approval.

Smith praised the selection committee that includes Amran: “These Minnesota community leaders will help run an inclusive and fair selection process to name top federal law enforcement candidates in Minnesota,” Smith said in a statement.

Amran said she hopes to ensure the selection of candidates who will serve all Minnesotans, especially those who come from the same communities as Amran. This new connection to the workings of government marks another step in Amran’s rapid rise in the legal profession. Throughout her still-young career, Amran has used her personal success to create opportunities for other Somali attorneys—and the people they serve. 

‘I come to this work differently’

Amran was born in Somalia and arrived in the United States as a child. She said she has always held a strong presence in her community since she comes from a large family. Amran has 10 siblings and 34 nieces and nephews. Add that crew to her network of in-laws, Amran joked, and the whole family could make up a voting bloc.

That connection to extended family—and community—also inspired Amran’s commitment to create opportunity for immigrants and people of color.

Amran began to take an active role in the Somali community while studying at what is now called the Mitchell Hamline School of Law. There, she helped create the Somali American Bar Association, an organization for Somali American law students and attorneys. She graduated law school in 2013. Amran next served as the president of the Minnesota Association of Black Lawyers. Through this role, Amran got involved in helping protesters over the summer. 

“If I felt like the reason the senators were inviting me is so they can just check off the boxes—oh, we have a Black person, we have a Muslim person, we have a Somali person, we have a woman—if I really truly felt that, then I would not be part of it.”

Making law partner in three years

A large part of Amran’s public standing comes from her rapid professional rise. In 2018, Amran started work at Greene Espel, a boutique firm that represents prominent local companies like 3M, Ecolab, and the Minnesota Vikings. This winter, she became a partner—after just three years at Greene Espel. 

According to Guled Ibrahim, the current president of the Somali American Bar Association, Amran is the first Somali attorney in the state to become a partner at a major law firm.

“The culmination of Amran’s achievements is her recent achievement of becoming partner,” Guled said. “She’s a trailblazer. And now we have an image of what it means to be a partner at a top law firm.”

A legal connector for George Floyd protestors

In April, Amran had a baby boy—during a pandemic. It’s been difficult not spending time with her large family and having to maintain social distancing. Her siblings hadn’t seen Amran’s son until he was about 6 months old. Some of her nieces and nephews didn’t believe her son was real, Amran joked.

Amran’s day starts at about 8:30 when her son wakes up. She begins working and takes breaks for the baby throughout the day. She wraps her work up by 6 p.m. and spends time with her husband and her son. Then, when her son falls asleep in the evening, Amran logs back on for the night. 

Then-Officer Derek Chauvin killed George Floyd in May. During the uprising that followed, protesters on the ground struggled to get legal representation after being arrested. Because she was the president of the Minnesota Association of Black Lawyers, she started receiving texts and emails calling for her help. Amran doesn’t practice criminal law, but she helped arrange legal help to protesters by acting as a liaison between her own organization and other local legal rights groups.

Getting everyone into the room

Amran hasn’t just assumed the responsibilities of leadership roles; she’s helped create them.

She served as the president and co-founded the Somali American Bar Association which, at first, brought together Somali law students, attorneys, professors, and judges throughout North America. Eventually, the organization shifted its focus solely to Somali American members: Today, the group includes about 20 attorneys from Minnesota and a growing number of law students.

Guled joined Amran and other law students in creating the organization to unite Somali people in the field, but also to serve as a resource for their own community. From the beginning, Guled said he’s seen the ways Amran uplifts people.

“On the committee, my role is going to be to make sure that the senators and the candidates know that this is an act of service for all Minnesotans,” Amran said. “That includes, Black Minnesotans, Muslim Minnesotans, Somali Minnesotans.”

source/content: sahanjournal.com (edited)

____________

Recently appointed partner at Greene Espel, Amran Farah will help select the next U.S. Attorney and U.S. Marshal in Minnesota. Credit: Greene Espel

_________________________

AMERICAN / SOMALIA

Somali American Running Star Abdi Bile is a World-Champion Mentor.

The friendship between a former Olympian and the college kid he took under his wing shows the power of mentoring — to make both individuals’ lives all the richer.

This story comes to you from the Star Tribune, a partner with Sahan Journal. We will be sharing stories between Sahan Journal and Star Tribune.

In Mohamed Abdi Mohamed’s childhood, Abdi Bile was like a folk hero.

“My mom told me all these stories,” says Mohamed, 26, who was born in Somalia and grew up in a refugee camp. “She told me there’s a Somali who went to America and basically conquered America.”

Bile was a world champion runner, dominating the 1,500-meter race in the late 1980s. He’s also a national legend and the most decorated athlete in the history of Somalia, where a certain make of pickup truck has been dubbed the “Abdi Bile” for its speed. In 2019, Bile quietly moved from Virginia to Minnesota to coach runners and help develop youth in Minneapolis.

But all Mohamed knew was that there was a hero living in his midst when he worked the phones in Minnesota’s Somali American community to get hold of Bile’s cell number. At the time, he was a junior at Macalester College in St. Paul and at the lowest point of his five years in the United States. Homesickness, grief and plummeting grades were leading him to question if coming here on an academic scholarship was worth it.

On a gamble, Mohamed called Abdi Bile.

Shockingly, Abdi Bile picked up.

Mohamed could hardly spit out the words as he told Bile he had just started running for Macalester’s track team — and — would the coach be interested in meeting him one day?

“If I was lucky, I would get to see him even once,” Mohamed remembers thinking.

The next day, Bile showed up at Mohamed’s doorstep in St. Paul. That encounter started a friendship that the two say will continue for the rest of their lives.

When I sat down with them near the home of the Loppet Foundation, where Bile directs competitive running programs, organizes walks for seniors, and introduces Somali American families to cross-country skiing, the 59-year-old former Olympian assured me that the story I wanted to tell — about the power of mentoring — was not just about him.

“Mohamed’s journey is very interesting, from where he started to where he is today — it’s just incredible,” Bile says. “You just see the resiliency of human beings, the struggles they go through, and how they survive if they don’t give up.”

But Bile’s story is remarkable, too. Once a teen standout soccer player, he decided on a whim to join some nearby runners who were training for the 400-meter. He beat them to the finish line, but felt so woozy afterward that he threw up.

Within a week, however, he learned two things about running: If you were good enough, you could win a scholarship to attend college in the United States — and even advance to this thing called the Olympics. When he quit the soccer team, Bile told his coach: “I’m going to the Olympics. I’m going to get a scholarship. I’m going to America. Goodbye!”

Killer workouts and his initial disdain for running did not deter Bile. “I hated it. But I just saw an opportunity: This is my way out. This is my meal ticket.”

Within just a few years, he cashed in on that ticket. He ran on an athletic scholarship at George Mason University in Virginia and competed in his first Olympics — the 1984 games in Los Angeles.

More than 35 years later, he saw echoes of himself — the dedication, the sense of purpose — when he got that phone call from the kid at Macalester.

Mohamed’s journey

Growing up in the sprawling Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya, Mohamed used to walk 4 kilometers to fetch water for his family. Whenever a blinking red light in the sky soared past, his mom used to point to the airplane and tell her son this would be his ride out of the camp.

And a scholarship was the only way to catch that ride.

With some diligence and luck, Mohamed earned a scholarship through Blue Rose Compass, a nonprofit that affords gifted young refugees a shot at a university education. It was through this gift that he was able to attend an international boarding school in New Mexico and then Macalester.

Unlike Bile, Mohamed never knew of Somalia’s idyllic beaches or peaceful past, a land rich in history and culture. He was a kid born into civil war, only to learn of his homeland’s halcyon days through stories imparted by his mom and dad.

“In their minds exists a grand country,” he says. “And at the center of this country is Coach Abdi Bile.”

“At least I had a country, a stable life,” Bile muses. “This kid just grew up in a refugee camp. What hope do you have in a refugee camp? A refugee camp is a prison. You have to do whatever it takes to get out of those four walls.”

When Mohamed first called Bile, he was on the cusp of giving up and going home. The second eldest of eight kids, he hadn’t seen his family in five years. He was mourning the death of his uncle, who was struck by a stray bullet in Mohamed’s hometown of Kismayo. His grades were slipping, and he was almost put on academic probation.

“I was starting to feel sorry for myself,” Mohamed recalls. “I was questioning the decisions I made. It feels like you’re living in a virtual reality — you have everything you need, but your family is still living in a refugee camp. I was willing to throw everything away.”

With Bile he forged the kind of connection he couldn’t find anywhere else. “What I needed was some tough love,” Mohamed says.

“He needed my help,” Bile says. “Right away, I could relate to what he’s crying for, what his issues and problems are. Sometimes it’s not a lot — sometimes the person just needs someone to talk to.”

The hardest lap

Bile told Mohamed about his first days in the United States as a college student, so poor he couldn’t cobble together the coins to do his laundry. Bile reminded Mohamed of all the people who were in his corner and invited Mohamed to Bile’s training program for elite runners so he could meet other young Somalis working toward big dreams.

“In running, the hardest is the last lap,” Bile tells me, recalling how he almost abandoned the sport because of injuries. After healing his body through yoga and acupuncture, Bile won a world championship in 1987.

“Sometimes people who quit, they don’t know how close they were to the finish line,” the coach adds.

Mohamed listened to his mentor: — Look what you came from. You’re almost there. You’re here, you’re doing it. This is nothing compared to how far you’ve traveled — and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

His internships and work-study jobs helped pave the way for his family to leave the refugee camp and find an apartment in Nairobi. His siblings now are receiving the kind of education he had only dreamed of while in the camp.

And what about the kid who came so close to throwing it all away? Mohamed graduated from Macalester in December. No one in his family could be at the ceremony, but Abdi Bile, the hero of his parents’ stories, showed up to watch Mohamed cross the stage. Bile says he wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

Mohamed is now reverse-mentoring his coach, encouraging Bile to start an Instagram account so he may ignite a spark for other young people. This week, the recent college grad also started a job as a tech analyst for a global consulting firm with offices in Minneapolis.

As the two recap the highs and lows of the past couple of years, Bile dabs his wet eyes with a carefully folded tissue.

“You did it,” he tells Mohamed. “You have a good job. You’re going to take good care of your brothers and sisters.”

The coach says he wants other young people, those who can trace a whiff of opportunity, to learn from this young man — that they should go ahead and be brave with their lives.

“Mohamed’s story is a good story for our kids here,” Bile adds.

“And so is a world champion helping his people,” Mohamed counters. “How many people can say they have the greatest athlete in the history of their country rooting for them?”

source/content: sahanjournal.com

____________

Mohamed Abdi Mohamed, right, stands for a portrait with his mentor Abdi Bile, the most decorated athlete in Somalia’s history. Bile, who directs a running program through the Loppet Foundation in Minneapolis, is coaching Mohamed not only in running but in life. Credit: Anthony Souffle | Star Tribune

_________________________

AMERICAN / SOMALI AMERICAN / SOMALIA

Somalia Elects Hassan Sheikh Mohamud as New President : May 2022

Hassan Sheikh Mohamud elected president for the second time, defeating incumbent President Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed in a final round.

Somali legislators have elected former leader Hassan Sheikh Mohamud as the country’s next president, following a long-overdue election on Sunday in the troubled Horn of Africa nation.

Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, who served as Somalia’s president between 2012 and 2017, won the contest in the capital, Mogadishu, amid a security lockdown imposed by authorities to prevent deadly rebel attacks.

After a marathon poll, involving 36 candidates, that was broadcast live on state TV, parliamentary officials counted more than 165 votes in favour of Mohamud, more than the number required to defeat incumbent President Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed.

Supporters of Somalia’s new leader defied the curfew to pour onto the streets of Mogadishu, cheering and firing guns as it became clear that Mohamud had won the vote.

Many hope the election will draw a line under a political crisis that has lasted well over a year, after Mohamed’s term ended in February 2021 without an election.

Mohamed, who is also known as Farmaajo, conceded defeat, and Mohamud was immediately sworn in.

The new president struck a conciliatory tone in his acceptance speech from the airport compound in Mogadishu, which was patrolled by African Union (AU) peacekeepers.

“It is indeed commendable that the president is here standing by my side,” Mohamud said, referring to the former leader, who had sat with him as ballots were counted.

“We have to move ahead, we do not need grudges. No avenging,” he said.

War, drought

The 66-year-old Mohamud is the leader of the Union for Peace and Development party, which commands a majority of seats in both legislative chambers.

A member of the Hawiye clan, one of Somalia’s largest, Mohamud is regarded by some as a statesman with a conciliatory approach. He is also well-known for his work as a civic leader and education promoter, including for his role as one of the founders of Mogadishu’s SIMAD University.

source/content: aljazeera.com (edited)

______________

Somalia's newly elected president Hassan Sheikh Mohamud holds hands with incumbent president Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed after winning the elections in Mogadishu,
Somalia’s newly elected President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, right, holds hands with incumbent President Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed, left after winning the elections in Mogadishu, Somalia, May 16, 2022 [Feisal Omar/ Reuters]

____________

SOMALIA

Somali American Fartun Osman Awarded ‘2022 Legacy Award’ by NCAA, USA

Fartun Osman, the CEO and head coach of Girls Rock, an all-girls club founded in 2004 that promotes sport for Somali and Muslim girls, will be honoured by the NCAA with the 2022 Legacy Award for her local activism in the Minneapolis area.

The award ceremony is part of the NCAA Men’s and Women’s Final Four festivities.

Osman is one of eight community leaders in the US to be recognized for her contributions to female athletics. She will be awarded a plaque during the semifinal games at the Women’s Final Four in Minneapolis on April 1.

Born in Somalia, Fartun Osman was a rare female basketball player in her native country. She was always active in sports and said that her first love was soccer but pivoted to basketball because of the lack of opportunities for women in the sport.

Osman traveled to other countries as part of the women’s Somali national basketball team as a teenager.

Following the breakout of the civil war in the early 1990s, Fartun emigrated to the US. She quickly discovered similar barriers to entry for Somali and Muslim girls into sports and made it her mission to make sports more equitable for girls who look like her.

She fought hard for the rights of her all-Muslim girl soccer teams to play with their hijabs, and her Girls Rock initiative has coached and mentored over 1,000 girls.

“The 2022 NCAA Legacy honorees are an impressive slate of community leaders and citizens who, through their daily actions, have shown their care and concern for their neighbors,” said Felicia Martin, NCAA senior vice president of inclusion, education and community engagement. 

source/content: hiiraan.com (edited)

___________

_______________________

AMERICAN / SOMALI

Bashir Abdi: From Somalian Refugee to Belgian Olympic Bronze Medallist

Bashir Abdi’s bronze medal in the marathon at the Olympic Games in Tokyo is a victory that will go down in the history books. He came to Belgium as a refugee from Somalia as a 13-year-old boy. Speaking after taking bronze in Tokyo, Bashir Adil told VRT Sport that “I always wanted to thank my new country by winning a medal”. 

The scenes of Bashir Abdi being encouraged on by his best friend and training buddy, the Dutch athlete Abdi Nageeye, as they both reached the finishing line will be one of the enduring memories of this summer’s Tokyo Olympics. Bashir Abdi’s bronze medal was the first medal for Belgium in the Olympic marathon event since Karel Lismont’s medal 45 years ago. 

A great sporting achievement for a man that is delighted to be able to give something back to a country that he came to as a teenage refugee and that he is proud to call home. “I always want to thank my new country by giving it a medal. At the European Championships I was successful and won silver and now I am on the podium at the Olympic Games. Hopefully more will follow in the future”.

But what about the past? Who is Bashir Abdi and how did he get to where he is? A couple of months ago Bashir Abdi was a guest in our nightly topical discussion programme ‘De Afspraak’. Then he said “I was 13 years old in 2002 when I arrived in Ghent (East Flanders) with my father, sister and brother. People know me from sport, my achievements as a runner, but few people know about my journey from Somalia to Belgium”. In an effort to change this Bashir’s Dutch teacher a book about his life.

“It was all new I didn’t speak the language; it was a completely different culture, and the weather was cold. First, I was in a football club because in Somalia the only sport on TV or in the paper is football. I didn’t even know that other sports existed. Then I come into contact with athletic and that was something that greatly appealed to me. Running on my own and forgetting about everything that I had gone through gave me so much fulfilment. Society has helped me”.

A key figure in Abdi story is his mother “It is thanks to her that I came to Belgium. She has recognition as a political refugee, and she initiated a family reunification procedure. It took years before I was reunited with her”.

Bashir Abdi’s mother died of cancer in 2011. In the interview he told of what her last words to him were “She call us together on the final day of her life and said, ‘this country has meant so much to all of you, be good people’. She was the one that always supported me being an athlete while the rest of the family felt that it was a waste of time”.

When he was asked by our colleague Phara de Aguirre if he would be running for his Mum on 8 August, Bashir Abdi said “Absolutley, I hope that she will be looking down watch my performance from up there”.  

source/content : vrt.be / flandersnews.be

___________

_____________________

BELGIAN / SOMALI