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Somali-origin players Afif and Abdirisaq play pivotal roles in leading Qatar to victory in the AFC Asian Cup.
On Saturday, February 11, 2024, the football world turned its eyes towards a historic clash that would etch the names of Akram Hassan Afif and Yusuf Abdirisaq into the records of the AFC Asian Cup lore.
In a match that was anything but ordinary, Qatar’s national team, buoyed by the exceptional talent of its Somali-origin stars clinched their second successive victory in the tournament by overcoming Jordan with a decisive 3-1 win.
Qatar’s triumph was heralded by the remarkable performances of Akram Afif and Yusuf Abdirisaq, whose origins trace back to Somalia, showcasing the diverse and rich talent pool contributing to Qatar’s footballing success.
Akram Hassan Afif emerged as the tournament’s top scorer, remarkably netting three penalty goals in the final match.
His prowess on the field and his unique celebration, holding up a letter ‘S’ in honor of his Kuwaiti wife watching from the stands, captured the hearts of fans and ignited discussions across social media platforms.
Afif’s journey from the streets of Doha to becoming a footballing icon is a narrative of determination, skill, and the love for the game.
Yusuf Abdirisaq, on the other hand, fortified Qatar’s defense with his agility and keen sense of play.
Born in Hargeisa, Yusuf’s path to footballing stardom is a tale of resilience and adaptation. Representing Qatar on the international stage, Yusuf’s performance in the Asian Cup final was a clear demonstration of his defensive prowess and his significant role in the team’s success.
The match itself was a rollercoaster of emotions as three penalties were awarded, leading Qatar to victory.
Despite the debates, the focus remained on the skillful play and strategic acumen displayed by the Qatari team, particularly its Somali stars.
The Arab media and international press were lavish in their praise for Qatar’s achievement, with special emphasis on Afif’s scoring feat and Abdirisaq’s defensive mastery.
Their stories of personal and professional triumph resonated well beyond the football pitch, inspiring many young athletes around the world.
Off the field, both players have faced their share of challenges and controversies, such as Abdirisaq’s alleged racial abuse incident, which he and the Qatar Football Association strongly refuted.
Akram Afif, the son of a former Somali national team player, has football in his blood. His journey from Qatar’s youth leagues to becoming a key player for Al Sadd, and on loan from Villarreal, is a beacon of hope and inspiration for many aspiring footballers in the Arab world and beyond.
Yusuf Abdirisaq’s story is equally compelling, showcasing the potential for football to change lives and transcend borders. From his early days at Al Sadd SC to his loan at Al-Arabi SC and back, Yusuf’s career trajectory highlights the opportunities and challenges faced by players of diverse backgrounds in the world of professional football.
As Qatar celebrates its second consecutive AFC Asian Cup victory, the contributions of Akram Afif and Yusuf Abdirisaq will be remembered as pivotal to this historic achievement.
Their talent, perseverance, and dedication have not only led their team to glory but have also served as a powerful reminder of the unifying power of sport.
He may be younger than their children but one of Britain’s brainiest children, a Muslim, has been hired by a University to help adults with their sums as reported by Daily Mail .
Yasha Asley, 14, is employed by the University of Leicester – where he is also a degree student – to run tutorials.
He became the youngest ever student at the University and is now the youngest ever employee.
Yasha was interviewed and offered the paid job when he was just 13–years old – beating adult applicants. Admin staff had to apply to Leicester city council for special permission to employ him because he was so young. The weekly tutorials Yasha runs are for adult students who need help and support solving problems following lectures. Proud Yasha said:’I am having the best years of my life. I love going to university and I love my new job helping other students.
No more school uniform for me thank you very much.’
Yasha, who has been dubbed a ‘human calculator’, is now in his final year and plans to start a Phd when he finishes his course.
The child genius attended a state primary school before winning his place to study degree level maths at just 12 years old in 2014.He was the first child in the world to achieve an A grade in maths A Level scoring 100 per cent and 99 per cent in two of the six papers when he was just 8 years old.
He passed more A levels in maths and statistics aged 9 and 10.
After finishing year 6 at primary he went straight to University. Of his achievements, Yasha said:’I love maths because it is an exact science. It is the only science where you can prove what you say is correct. It is so easy and an enjoyable subject to study.’
Proud father Moussa Asley, 53, who raised him single-handedly at their home in Leicester, said his son had been made welcome by staff and students alike.
Mr Asley, who drives his son to lectures every day, said:
‘I am just so proud watching him flourish and grow doing something he loves.
He is so good at understanding problems and explaining them in a clear way he is perfect for the job.’
Ahmed Hussen came to Canada from Somalia as a refugee. Now he’s the new minister of immigration.
Along with thousands of compatriots, Ahmed Hussen fled war-ravaged Somalia for a better life in Canada.
Hussen’s journey took him from Mogadishu to Toronto and then on to Ottawa’s Parliament Hill, where the former Somali refugee was named this week as the country’s newest minister of immigration in a reshuffle of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Cabinet.
It was a fast political rise for the rookie politician, and will put Hussen, who arrived in Canada in 1993 as a 16-year-old, in charge of the complex portfolio that oversees who is welcomed into the country.
Friends say the lawyer and social activist will be able to draw from personal experience in his new role.
Mahamad Accord, who has known Hussen for years through his work with the Canadian Somali Congress, says his friend has not forgotten his modest roots despite walking Canada’s corridors of power.
“He didn’t change,” he says. “The people around him changed.”
Accord recalls Hussen offering him help a few years back. The Somali community in the provinces of Ontario and Alberta were struggling to tackle the deaths of dozens of young Somali men due to drug and gun violence.
He says Hussen did not shy away from speaking openly about the problems plaguing the Somali community in Canada, from high rates of poverty and unemployment to gang involvement.
But Hussen was also aware of how the community could be stigmatised, and was always careful in how he spoke and presented himself. Accord says his friend would tell him “we need to change people’s perception of us”.
“He expects high standards,” he says.
Accord admits he was sometimes jealous of the lawyer and social activist’s ability to get across a difficult message diplomatically.
It was that ability that struck former Ontario politician George Smitherman when he first met Hussen in 1999. Hussen was then fighting for the interest of Regent Park, a multi-ethnic neighbourhood in downtown Toronto where he had settled with one of his brothers upon his arrival in Canada.
In 2015, he told the Toronto Star that a backlog in refugee applications for permanent residency at the time meant he could not qualify for a student loan. Living in the public housing allowed him to save enough to go to university.
Hussen lobbied to help secure funds to revitalise the crime-ridden housing project, co-founding the Regent Park Community Council.
Some long-time residents had to move out of their homes during the redevelopment and were fearful they would not be able to return; Hussen worked to ensure their interests were protected.
“There was an extraordinary tension because there was distrust and concerns among tenants,” recalls Smitherman. “Ahmed had to very carefully but forcefully represent their interests.”
Smitherman, who calls the 40-year-old Mr Hussen an “old soul”, later helped him land a job working with former Ontario premier Dalton McGuinty.
“He was someone who spoke with a calmness and an informed knowledge and a maturity that defied his circumstances, both as someone who was young and someone who had taken this awesomely courageous step of leaving Africa for Canada.”
Mr Hussen swept his Toronto riding in November 2015, though he drew criticism for not living in the disadvantaged riding he was elected to represent.
Speaking last April in the House of Commons, he raised concerns about the recent drowning death of hundreds of migrants from Somalia and the Horn of Africa, saying: “Asylum seekers are not criminals. They are human beings in need of protection and assistance and deserving of our respect”.
Smitherman sees Hussen’s background as both an asset and a possible disadvantage in the challenging portfolio.
“It sets up for tensions also as expectations are increased,” he says.
Following his swearing-in, Mr Hussen, the father of three boys, told media he was “extremely proud of our country’s history as a place of asylum, a place that opens its doors and hearts to new immigrants and refugees”.
Hussen has always referred to himself as a Canadian first and Somali second, says Accord. In 2015 Mr Hussen told the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation that he does not want to be labelled a “Somali MP”.
“I’m a Canadian. Somali is my heritage and I’m proud of my heritage but I have a lot to contribute to Canada. And I’m a mainstream guy. I’m not limited by my community,” he said.
Hussen replaces John McCallum, a veteran politician who is going to become Canada’s envoy to China after managing Trudeau government efforts to bring in over 39,000 Syrian refugees in the last 13 months.
“The real message of the new appointment is that the government wishes to profile refuges as a more salient part of our immigration program,’ says Jeffrey Reitz, a University of Toronto sociology professor.
“But it does raise the question of the mainstream immigration programme,” he says.
The rookie minister will face challenges in the key, and rarely uncontroversial, portfolio.
McCallum recently introduced contentious changes to Canada’s popular family reunification programme, replacing a first-come, first-serve process with a lottery system to randomly choose 10,000 people who filled out initial applications to express interest. Critics say that reuniting families should not depend on luck of the draw.
Another recent decision to scrap a rule limiting how long foreign workers can stay in Canada is being targeted by the opposition as potentially harmful to the country’s work force in the long run. Immigrant rights groups have been critical of the programme, arguing the workers under the program are vulnerable to abuse by employers.
He will also have to defend a recent Liberal decision to significantly reduce the number of private sponsorship applications for Syrian and Iraqi refugees because of a current backlog.
Canada plans to bring in 300,000 immigrants in 2017, the majority of them economic immigrants.
source/content: bbc.com (headline edited)
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Ahmed Hussen is Canada’s new minister of immigration in Justin Trudeau’s government / pix: AP
The dream of becoming a journalist began for Kiin Hasan Fakat when she was just 10 years old. Her family had joined legions of Somalis displaced by war and hunger and since 2007 had been living across the border in northern Kenya, in one of the largest refugee camps in the world.
Each day, Ms. Fakat listened to her uncle’s small radio, which was powered by AA-sized batteries, and tuned to the Voice of America Somali service.
And each day, she became more aware of – and inspired by – the reporting of Asha Ibrahim Aden, a veteran correspondent who spoke with authority and confidence, and whose example showed Ms. Fakat what a Somali newswoman could achieve.
“I used to say, ‘Maybe I can be like this female journalist. I like her reports,’” recalls Ms. Fakat, who was raised in Kenya’s Dadaab Camp but was originally from the southern Somali town of Buale.
Today it is Ms. Fakat who has herself become a role model for Somalia’s aspiring female journalists, as part of the reporting team of the country’s first all-women news outlet, called Bilan, which means “bright and clear” in the Somali language.
With the aim of reporting powerful human stories often overlooked by Somalia’s male-dominated media – from the personal impact of chronic drought and the local ravages of climate change, to living with HIV and issues of addiction and gender-based violence – the six women of Bilan are expanding the practice of journalism in Somalia like never before.
High among their pioneering achievements in a staunchly patriarchal society: Serving as examples of professional excellence to other Somali women.
“A lot of Somali girls who are journalists contact us to join us, and we support them. Everything we write, they say, ‘You did a great job,’” says Ms. Fakat, clad in typical Somali dress, with head-covering and a long shawl.
“We are encouraging our sisters,” says Fathi Mohamed Ahmed, the chief editor of Bilan, interviewed in Mogadishu. “They call us and say, ‘Fathi, can you help me? I want to join Bilan; I want to do this story, how can you help me?’”
Part of their mission is to “bring taboo subjects into the open,” notes Ms. Ahmed’s Bilan biography. “Our sisters, mothers, and grandmothers will talk to us about issues they never dare speak about with men.”
“A game changer”
Launched last April and supported by the United Nations Development Program (UNDP), Bilan has brought together a half-dozen highly qualified female Somali journalists, each with years of experience writing news or broadcasting on radio stations or local TV.
Jocelyn Mason, the UNDP resident representative in Mogadishu, described the ambitious aims of Bilan at its creation.
“We hope this will be a game changer for the Somali media scene, opening up new opportunities for women journalists and shining a light on new subjects that have been ignored, particularly those that are important for women,” Mr. Mason said at the time.
In interviews conducted in the six months prior to launching Bilan, the UNDP found that Somali women journalists “reported being harassed not just on the streets but even in their own offices.”
“They are often denied training opportunities and promotions, and when a woman does reach a position of authority, she is often ignored while more junior [male] figures get to call the shots,” the UNDP said in a statement. “News coverage reflects this, with a lack of programming on issues that are seen as primarily affecting women, including childcare, domestic abuse, and equal political representation.”
On top of providing stories to local Somali outlets through the broadcast platform of Mogadishu-based Dalson media, Bilan is reaching a global audience by publishing stories in foreign news organizations such as the Guardian and BBC in the United Kingdom and El Pais in Spain.
“Before Bilan, our Somali female journalists were very weak. They were feeling fear for everything, [like] making decisions – they would wait for men, for editors and for the directors,” says Ms. Ahmed.
“But now, after starting this media unit only for female journalists, we have a lot of women who are interested,” she says. Applying for the vacant post of editor were 13 qualified women, which Ms. Ahmed calls an “amazing” number ready to “make decisions in the editor’s room.”
The result is that Bilan stories offer very different fare from what is produced by the country’s other news outlets.
“What is going on in Somali media, they just focus on politics and conflict, nothing else,” says Ms. Ahmed. “But there are so many stories to do on Somali society, especially about Somali people, and what is going on here. We are going to have all those stories.”
Bilan’s journalism sparks action
Bilan reporting has already had an impact. An article last year about the lack of medical facilities for displaced Somalis living in makeshift camps on the outskirts of Mogadishu led to the creation of a small hospital at the site.
One in-depth article in the Guardian last October helped raise an urgent alarm about Somalia’s looming humanitarian crisis and famine. Bilan journalists visiting three different regions of the country warned against repeating the mistakes of 2011, when some 100,000 Somalis died of hunger before there was an official declaration of famine, which ultimately left a total of 260,000 dead.
Finding oft-hidden voices is what Bilan does best. Ms. Fakat says that 80% of her interviews are with women, and Bilan works with civil society activists, especially on issues for women and human rights.
One recent story delved into the challenge faced by HIV-positive Somalis, who are often treated as outcasts, even by their own families. Another television report focused on students at a school with special needs, where the teachers and principal also have special needs, thereby “inspiring the students that they too can have bright, productive futures,” according to Bilan’s description of the report.
Also made for TV, a report showcasing the work and challenges overcome by the only female taxi driver in the northern coastal city of Bosaso.
And Ms. Fakat was in Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt, in November to report from the COP27 climate summit, as part of her ongoing reporting about how climate change is affecting Somalia. On a recent Friday morning, she was on the Lido Beach in Mogadishu, speaking to volunteers who each week collect trash washed up on the popular beach.
“Absolutely, we see some progress,” says Ms. Ahmed, whose ground-breaking example includes continuing to work, even as a mother with two young children. A third child was born in early December, soon after she was promoted to chief editor of Bilan.
“We talk to the people, and this is good for our [work], for our culture,” says Ms. Ahmed. “We talk to the young ladies, we tell them sometimes: ‘Don’t listen [to detractors], go ahead.’”
A grandmother’s approval
But the female journalists of Bilan are not just challenging local newsroom culture rife with harassment and de facto glass ceilings. They sometimes have to convince their own families that they should pursue their dreams to be professional journalists.
With a smile, Ms. Ahmed says she faced resistance from her own grandmother.
“I love journalism, talking to the people, [and] writing something,” she says.
“My grandmother always said, ‘It’s not good for you, stop! Stop, stop, stop! Please don’t do this job,’” she recalls. “I told her, ‘I love this,’ and I hid my work when I started out, for eight months.”
The success so far of Bilan, and Ms. Ahmed’s career, has now changed her grandmother’s mind.
“Now she is OK, she is happy!” she says, beaming. “She is proud of me.”
source/content: csmonitor.com / The Christian Science Monitor / (Scott Petersen) (headline edited)
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Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor
Fathi Mohamed Ahmed, chief editor of Somalia’s first all-women news outlet, Bilan, on a rooftop in Mogadishu, Somalia, Nov. 8, 2022. Her Bilan biography says part of the outlet’s mission is to “bring taboo subjects into the open.”
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.
