Somaliland: The Corridors of Power.

Written by: Yusuf Deyr, Edmonton, Canada 

Hope is like the rain that gently falls upon the fields that lulls my devastated broken heart.  It protects it from solitude, loneliness, and that depression that often chases me.  It patters down so gently a sound that brings the sense of peace and tranquility in to my mind and soul. when it strikes the iron roof on the ceiling of my destitute shack, calling home.  Smoothness. and cheering follows the rain dimple drops that are reflected by the sun light beams, so soft, so still, and so sure.  Hence I can perform my daily five ritual – prayers at ease, and in unruffled serene and tranquility.  As far as peace sustains; love can exist and endure.  Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, but today is the game of the play.  The right rite – passage, and the stage of a person’s advance through life.  But we are driven by force through the gun – point to watch a badly conceived concert that the actor is an aging dying actor, exhausted man that had declared bankruptcy of vision and the gift of the second sight.  who doesn’t believe in the second life after death in heaven.  The country has been hijacked by an interest group hungry for pain and blood.  Mr.Silanyo believes that death is the end of life and he is cynical about the day of judgment. 

Every morning when I wake up and stare at my e-mail Inbox, or look at the Tv.  I see many messages covering sad stories from home.  Where I could read some messages from some of my intimate friends reprimanding me, misjudging, and calling me a scared chicken old man. Regard me as a timid person who got scared  from the corridors of power; after hearing the ill snoring sound, and the boiling tongue of our coach and teacher, Mr.Silanyo.  Others suspect me for being tongue – tied nowadays, due to receiving kick – backs from the money-laundering of Sheikh Samale. These friends acting as the judge and the prosecutor at the same time, without giving me the benefit of the doubt, or the chance to defend myself.  Reading a prophetic remarks that has the seal of death on my innocent face.  It is an absurd and awkwardly enough when the offender and the victim, both blame you for mischief and suspects you in partiality.  Hence, you find yourself in a bay and a difficult situation that you forget to know who you are, and where you belong to.  Even the media and some of the Website owners gets upset and take it personal, if you pinpoint your finger to one of his clan or party, even if that particular person in question, is wrong doing.  The media that are supposed to orientate the political, and psychological attitude, and the perception of the masses to liberate their minds, from the shackles of tribalism and bias to one another. Alas! We are a nation totally blinded by the gold – dust of the Mother – In – Law from hell ( Tribalism ).  Then you find yourself alone, tongue – tied by the Mother – In – Law from Hell ( Tribalism ); in between the devil and the dead – sea.  Strangely enough, both the victim and the offender regard you as their enemy.  As a freelance writer, I believe in what I could see, touch, taste, and smell.  My client is the peasant, and the lay-man on the street. Regardless to his color,  creed or faith.   I am paid and got hired by my Self -consciousness. I am a street fighter on the cutting edge.  I am not going out of my way to break my neck.  I try my best to imitate my deceased Hero, Mr. Gariye the great, not in lyrics, but in writing some articles covering some ideas that are liable to open discussion, and that are of vital importance to our country. I try my best to imitate and act as my deceased Hero and mentor, Gariye, the Great.  The same in tone, tune, and rhythm.  Trying to be the resuscitator of Mr.Gariye to revive and refresh an ailing – society; led by a corrupted Regime which is hungry for pain and blood.  By divine, that is my ultimate logotype. But sometimes I run in frustrating situations, that confuses me and even I forget my name.  Too hard to detect, who is my foe and who is my friend?  Giving a nasty crack of my aging mind, and act as a vulgar, confused old man, almost to act like MP, honourable Ahmed Mohamed Deriye  ( Sugar Daddy Nacnac ).   Hence, I wrap my aging body with my dirty bed sheet, and dusty blanket. Go out of the air, and go back to sleep with depressed, and racked –brain. Believing that sleep may banish my sorrow.  Preferring to be dormant and under hibernation like a frog in a winter season. By diving deeply in to my antique bed, and travelling back over, rewinding old painful memory years.  Giving deaf ears to all those circumstantial evidence surrounding me. Preferring to be dormant and under hibernation like a frog in a winter season. By diving deeply in to my antique bed, and travelling back over, rewinding old painful memory years.  We are always violent and nervous, as our greedy business men like Dahabshill Co-Operation always poison ourselves with expired commodities. All we can buy and eat is expired sugar, white flour, and white salt.  The three deadly whites.  All that sugar makes us violent and always hipper.  Because where people with in hypoglycaemia, low blood sugar, were sometimes diagnosed as manic depressive and psychopathic, because of the sugar blues.  But hope and optimism is the only tools and Life – Support in our Survival – Kit to pursue and sustain life.  But who cares?  These business men are shareholders with the big brother and they are above the law.       

 Dear reader to make you laugh, there is an Arabic saying or proverb which says, ” The more you live longer, the more you hear and see some astonishing and disgusting scenes.  recently in my visit to Hargeisa, on March 6th instant, a hired jerk from Toront, Canada, licensed and hired to kill by MP Mr.Nacnac, addressed me in a threatening intimidating language, marked with words of slurs in a public place.  Declaring, openly that he has come from abroad for the intention of killing me.  Simply because I have insulted his brother MP Nacnac in the past, as he claims. “I peered around dumbstruck and wiped an arm across my sweaty forehead saying.  “ Then If your intention is to kill me, why you address me in a public place?  Why you don’t do it secretly to finish your deadly assignment?  Those who have the intention of killing, they never wash their dirt in public.  Continued saying, Hassan, If I am a sweet cake that can be swallowed easily by some cockroaches like you, I would had been eaten earlier by bigger cockroaches than you.  please stop your empty bluffing and mind your own business “.  I simply ended my argument with him.

 After, I had reported the incident to the Arms of the Law, through a Police Station near Edna Maternity Hospital.  At the same time informed his brother Mr.Ahmed Mohamed Deria.  Owing to that, I believe much that Mr.Nacnac is no more liable to be An MP.  He must be put in the American Terrorist List.  More disgustingly. the president of the Regional court of Maroodi Jeex province Mr.Faysal Abdilahi and the president of the court of Appeal Mr.Abdirashid Mahamoud are always harassed and disturbed by some intruders that are close allies with MR.Silanyo and those who act as the corridors of power.  Those top-Aides of Silanyo like his mouth – Piece Mr.Nacnac,  always put their long nose to the affairs of the Judiciary Department. I am deadly sure that Mr.Silanyo’s reaction will be punishing the two judges, soon or later; instead of the other way round.    

Above that, recently Mr.Silanyo is pushing the panic button of evil in both, in spirit and in flesh.  His vast nasty Empire spinning and threading all arts of mischiefs, corruption,  assassinations, plots, rigging the election, and conspiracy, even to his close allies. Putting a gag in the mouth of the free press, like the Hubal – Newspaper which had spent in his support, beads of sweat in his days of doom and gloom. More disgustingly, his top- aids blackmailing the poor decent girls by alluring them with money for illegal sex.  Rape and robbery is committed on the day light.  The peace and tranquility of the public is shuttered by Hired – Gangs like the brother of Mr.Nacnac, who is neck- named by, Xasan Qoti, and other serial – killers.  Malice and hatred are festering inside, and that is why resentment, and rancour of the masses are smoldering, and almost to brim to the surface.  Prices of local consumption goods are skyrocketing, inflation is at the climax, and unemployment and diseases are at the highest rate.  Our diplomatic relationship with our Ethiopian friends  and Great Britain are in a storm and in a low profile. At the same time, Mr.Silanyo, cupping his hand  to his ear, and trying to cover his mischiefs and failure with his selfish smile. Claiming that he was not the ogre he has painted. Pretending blindly that the country is safe and sound.  Mr.Silanyo, the mischief – maker, that is something you wanted intentionally more than anything else in your life time. People are going to bed hungry, walking in shuffled steps, and looking at each other with jaundiced eyes. According to his perception, confusion, chiase , and loss of law and order is enough justification for your appeal to UNISOM for intervention, to drive us forcibly back to Bermuda Triangle ( Mogadishu ). 

Sir, the only difference between Somaliland and the evil Empire in Mogadishu is that.  Before Silanyo we used to shout at each other instead of shooting each other.  But now since the arrival of Mr.Silanyo’s rule and reign, the Mogadishu scenario of assassination and kidnaping has started which is orchestrated by the Government. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, but today is the game of the play.  As far as peace can sustain; love can exist and endure.  It is an odd and new revelation that important personalities are hunted on a daily bases, without no apparent reasons or explanation.

Before now, a judge from the judiciary Department was shot on the day light, another member of parliament Mr.Mohamed Farah Qabile was shot in a public place, our Mujahideen like Mohamed Kaahin was shot with three bullets in a restaurant.  That is unforeseen ill-omen which can be interpreted that the security and safety of the masses is in jeopardy.  Give me the list, who is next?  The only survival tool – kit we have was hope, and by now even our hope is in a coffin, in a Life – Support.  Nobody can predict how the weather is going to be like tomorrow.  Yesterday was painful memory, today is dark, and there is no a promising tomorrow.  The whole Nation is totally in turmoil and dilemma.

Mr.M.Kahin, you are not dying today but you already had prepared your coffin the day you had handcuffed your comrade in the war – trench, Mr. Abdirahman Abdulkader Farah.  By now, you are a lonely orphan who will live alone, and will die alone.  You turned to be defenceless since that day you had stabbed at the back, your twin brother in the war-trench.  I have an empty feeling.  Silanyo is not the kind of man you would want to go with him in a war, or have him on your side when you are in a tight bay.  By now, you are a prey to all hostile elements that are acting against you.  Now in your eyes, all male animals is your enemy.  Watch out for the evil – eye.  You are now a walking dead meat.  Mr.Kahin, by now, you are a bird with wet wings. Silanyo’s true friend is his reign and wallet.  He is a heartless robot which has no heart, feeling, or emotions.  It is hard to beat back his old bad habits of a life time.  By now you could see behind the veil of time and unclouded the facts on the ground.  Though the big enigma is still there.  Grapping with the mysteries of life and death.  Mr.Silanyo is discreet in wrong doing, yet  makes clear that he has not the ogre  that he has painted.  Mujahid Kahin, I wish you good luck but your faith is trembling on the balance.  Give me the list, who is next? 

Mr.Musa Bihi, how much positive you feel that Mr.Silanyo will filful the promise of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, to secure his declining rule and reign?  It is the broken pledge that bothers you.  You are aware that the Delete – Key has been made before the presidential bug first bit you.  But it will not hurt the father, like it will hurt the son.  Mr.Musa, do you know what it is like to look in a mirror, and hate what you see? Knowingly it will never be better.  Give me the boy until he is six, and you will know the man.  Now the spell is broken and it is too late to repair.  Mr.Silanyo is an onion, one layer after the other.  He is expert in speaking softly, hiding the rancour behind. 

By now, you are old enough to know that Mr.Silanyo believes that death is the end of life and there is no a second life in heaven.  But we all fade like a leaf, then meet again in the day of judgment. His nib has changed his plans.  But remember the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  If life is watching a Tv, it takes two to Tango.  Stick to your flannels, until they stick to you.  Give me the list, who is next? I wish you good luck Mr.Mujahid. 

Mr.Abdulaziz Samale, go back to your Mosque and count the worrying – beads as before.  You are a passenger in a football team.  There is no room for you in the Oval – Office.  Money – laundering of the nation’s treasury is enough evidence for us to know who you are.  Mixing water with milk is an adulteration and illegal in the Islam-Law.  Serious Somalilanders count you out.  Tell me your friend and I will tell who you are.

Dear Country men, our country is on the edge of a cliff, and we are almost to fall apart.  It is an urgent duty for all of us to salvage the nation.  We must unite our vital force, peasant or prince.  Those masses rallying behind the Xaqsoor And Udhis parties must join and participate in the two official opposition parties.  But before that, there must be a thorough radical change in it’s rules and regulations from the scratch. Because their present status – quo is assumed as two restaurants that belongs to Mr.X and Mr.Y .  We have two dictatorships, one through the parties and the other in the Oval – Office.  The members of the parties must have a say, in the decision making, not simply a rubber stamp for the Chairman of the party.  That is the straw that has broken the camel’s back.

Mr.Silanyo, what is bred in the bone, will come out in the flesh.  A torn flag is an honour to the capital.  A fool over eighty is a fool indeed. The only difference between the Somalilanders and the evil Empire in Mogadishu is that.  We, as Somalilanders, before now we used to shout at each other instead of shooting each other.  You have invited the Satan to dinner. Now, we are excellent matches to Mogadishu.  The ball is on the ground.  Wear your bulletproof vest.  If the cap fits, wear it.  No matter how you change the fashion, a ruffled temper will never be in style. Your disgusting ill snoring is the interpretation of your ill-omen. Serious Somalilanders are all eyes and ears. Mr.Silanyo, What you wear in your heart, shows in your face.  It is your own choice if you are going to Bermuda Triangle. We can read the Logo of your party which is shaking hands with Mogadishu. We have got your message, that your friends can do no wrong, and your rivals can do no right. The cow has forgotten that she was once a calf. There you are, you die alone and blame no one.  Your side of the road is always dusty. 

Mr.Silanyo, thank you for being totally ugly. 

The three piece suit is yours and the shame is ours.

Yusuf Deyr, Edmonton, Canada