In spite of being torn apart by a ravaging
civil war, Somalia has not often made headlines in the previous
decades. Sub-Saharan Africa tends to have news-value only when Western
interests are implicated .
It is only recently, then, that the Horn
shaped nation with its endless Indian Ocean littoral has been at the
center of media attention again, as Islamist militias took over
Mogadishu — bringing it under the control of a single faction for
the first time since 1991 — and the world looked on in utter
surprise.
As images of disorderly militias of bearded
men in Arab attire dominate televised broadcasts, most Somalis in
Mogadishu and the diasporas across the world look on with tentative
hope and continue their daily struggle for survival. An important part
of that struggle is articulated and passed on through the Somalis'
most cherished and refined vehicle for cultural communication: poetry.
As poetry has always been central to Somali
social and political life, it is not surprising that it has now become
an essential conduit for commentary on the traumatic experiences of
war and exile.
With an exploration of the ways in which
traditional cultural forms are adapted to new situations, this article
seeks to pass beyond the headlines to emphasize how Somalis, like man
throughout the ages, create beauty out of their suffering.
This
hauntingly beautiful valedictory poem, which the Somali
poet, Sufi Sheikh, and anti-colonial warrior Sayyid
Mahammed `Abdille Has-san composed for a departing
friend in the late 19th century, possesses an uncanny
premonitory quality in the light of the troubled modern
history of the rugged land it describes.
Could
the elevated spiritual state of the man who was to
become the hallowed symbol of Somali pride and
national-ism have permitted him to foresee the
malediction that would befall his people in the century
to come? Could he have known that the tribulations of
the lonely traveler he so eloquently evoked would soon
be the reality of his entire nation, as the perpetual
violence of the late 20th century swept hundreds of
thousands of men, women and children onto the perilous
road into exile?
Whatever
the scope of the Sayyid's insights, his words must
certainly have acquired a new sense of urgency for the
Somali refugees who have sought peace and protection
across the globe in the wake of 29 years of civil war.
And just like their ancestors, whose poetic heritage
constitutes the foundation of Somali collective memory
and identity, Somali communities in exile continue to
record their experiences in verse.
Although
Somalis are now possibly the largest African Diaspora in
the West, their culture and history are very little
known to their hosts, whose awareness of Somalia rarely
goes beyond war and famine.
Somalia, the wedge-shaped nation in the
Horn of Africa with its endless coastline, parched wastelands, and
winding rivers has been home to the nomadic Somali and their
illustrious camel herds as long as human memory stretches back. Known
to early travelers as a proud and articulate people, the Somali are
famed for their relative cultural and linguistic homogeneity on a
continent where there are few borders that do not cut across several
ethnic and language barriers.
Today, around 60% of all Somalis are
nomadic camel herders. The remainder are farmers and city dwellers.
Sunni Muslims make up 99% of Somalis and almost all of them speak the
Somali language or a similar dialect. And for all those who master the
language, poetry is the primary mode of cultural expression.
Somalia has been in a perpetual state of
civil war since 1977 and without an effective government since the
ousting of the military dictator Mohammed Syad Barre in 1991. The
self-declared state of Somaliland (formerly British Somaliland) is
politically stable but has not been internationally recognized.
Somalia's troubles are generally considered
the unfortunate outcome of the combined factors of opportunist
colonial politics, clan rivalry, unequal division of natural resources
and detrimental interference by foreign nations. But despite the
intense trauma they have suffered over the past decades, most Somalis
unabatedly persist in their daily struggle to build up a peaceful
existence — wherever it is that fate has landed them. As shall
become clear, poetry is central to this process.
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Audio tapes have become the primary
means through which popular poetry is disseminated.
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When the famous 19th century British
adventurer Richard Burton traveled through Somalia, the remarkable
status of the poet among the nomadic people he encountered was not
lost on him. He wrote in his travel journal: "The country teems
with poets… Every man has his recognized position in literature as
defined as though he had been reviewed in a century of magazines —
the fine ear of this people causing the greatest pleasure in
harmonious sounds and poetic expressions."
Many of those who followed in the Brit's
footsteps showed equal astonishment at the all-pervasive influence of
the verbal arts in Somali society. The Somali poet's work, unlike that
of his Western counterpart, is not confined to theatres and the
drawing rooms of the elite, nor is it mere entertainment appreciated
for its aesthetic value but with little bearing on the actual
day-to-day workings of society.
Somali poetry is in fact highly utilitarian
and Somali poets, whose language had no official script until 1972,
are keenly aware of the social and political efficacy of speech in a
primarily oral society. With their oratory they navigate the roles of
superstar and diplomat, medium and messenger, warmonger and
arbitrator. But more importantly, in a country where attachment to
place is as ephemeral as the camel's footprints, the poetry is history
and collective memory its archive.
"This Poem Is A Gun"
Somali oratory can be divided into many
genres, most of which incorporate poetry. The most common distinction
is that between maanso (classical poetry dealing with serious issues),
and hees (lighter poetry that is usually sung and ac-companied by
instruments). Each genre has its own performance context, tune, and
metrical pattern.
Maanso is "classical poetry" and
is generally held in higher esteem than the hees. It conforms to
strict stylistic and metrical conventions and deals with serious
topics such as clan and national politics, religion and, today, the
civil war. It has no musical accompaniment and is commonly recited
during clan gatherings, at political rallies, in coffee houses, during
khat chewing sessions, at weddings and at other cultural events.
Maanso poetry invariably has an argument to
advance and when used to insult or criticize, which is common, always
requires redress — preferably in the form of a poem that out-does
the original in deftness and argumentation. This poetic code of ethics
has sparked endless poetry "chains" in which different
participants contest each other verbally. Some of these
"chains" are widely known such as the poetic
"attacks" of Mahammed Abdille Hassan and the responses of
his opponents from the Qadiriyya Sufi brotherhood and rival clans
allied to the British colonizers. Equally famous are the poetic gripes
of the opponents and supporters of former Somali dictator Mohammed
Barre. Many of these poetic "chains" can now be found on
Somali Internet websites.
In more recent times traditional gender
roles, tribalism, female circumcision, and especially the civil war
have been the subject of fiery poetic disputes. In poetry the use of
violent diatribe is entirely acceptable and poetic license provides
the socially marginal with a powerful tool to reclaim their honor and
challenge existing power structures.
It is not surprising then that Somalis
often describe their verse in rather explosive terms. Mahammed Abdile
Hassan likened his poetry to "the blinding flash of a
thunderbolt" and the "darkness of gale winds". In a
gabay (the most esteemed "male" maanso genre) one of the
most respected contemporary Somali poets, Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac
"Gaarriye", who now resides in London, describes his art as
follows:
This poem is a gun
This poem's an assassin
Images mob my mind …
This pen’s a spear, a knife
A branding-iron, an arrow
Tipped with righteous anger
It writes with blood and bile
Somali women have their own classical
poetic genre called buraambur and, although its memorization and
transmission has traditionally been restricted by social convention,
it is no less socially and politically engaged than the men's genres.
Shifting social norms as a result of war
and exile have now permitted many Somali women to play increasingly
active public roles, including the public recitation of their poetry
at political and cultural events.
At the largest Somali peace initiative yet,
the Carta Peace Conference in Djibouti in 2000, women took center
stage with the performance of peace-promoting poetry and song.
In many Diasporic communities, women are
spearheading the revival of the Somali cultural heritage and actively
participate in debates surrounding the war and their status as
refugees. The following buraambur composed by Hawa Jibril in Toronto
is an example:
Indeed Canadians welcome refugees
And do not let them starve
Yet one is always unsatisfied and broke
For the little we get
Hardly suffices our food and shelter.
They are strange people coming from everywhere
Never notice you or even greet you
Each one keeps to himself
Always hastily locking his door.
I feel isolated and sick with loneliness
Deprived from my beautiful Africa
And the land of my inspirations and songs.
I must be contended with the fate
That my God has reserved for me.
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The collective
experience of war and exile figures
prominently in the new wave of Somali
verbal expression. |
The great significance of maanso poetry is
evident in the imperative of verbatim memorization. Although a
classical poem sometimes consists of a few hundred lines and is hardly
ever written down, many Somali elders have memorized a striking
number, word-for-word.
One day, while doing an interview with an
old Somali lady in London for my MA thesis on Somali women's poetry, I
was completely dumbfounded when, after reciting an endless number of
her family's poems to me from memory, she said that she had heard most
of them only once.
The modern hees is much more elaborate in
both its performance than maanso and is especially popular among the
youth. It is sung, usually accompanied by a band or orchestra, and can
be considered the Somali equivalent of the Western pop-song.
Since the 1940s, the introduction of radio
and audio cassettes has contributed incalculably to the popularity and
dissemination of poetry, which until then had traveled solely on the
nomad's tongue.
Today, from Mogadishu to the inner cities
of London and Toronto, Somali shops offer a wide assortment of
cassettes and CDs, adorned with images of the latest stars; from the
female queens of the hees, dressed in the colorful and flowy
traditional diric, to young rappers in baggy trousers and caps whose
Somali rhymes, with some exceptions, have been inspired far more by
the likes of Tupac and Puff Daddy than by anything rooted in
traditional Somali culture.
The modern hees is generally concerned with
romantic love, but, as all Somali poetry, it is also employed as a
tool o f social and political commentary, usually metaphorically
delivered as seemingly innocuous love-lyrics. In modern times the hees
has become an important vehicle of political opposition which has
frequently led to the prosecution of its composers the banning of
their work.
A famed example of the Somali sensitivity
to hidden meanings in poetry and the extent to which it can affect the
course of real events is the case of a hees called Leexo ("light
breeze"), which was played on Somali national radio during the
final stages of the presidential elections of 1967. While it was
broadcast many people suddenly started voting for the opposition
candidate who had until then been lagging behind.
Although the song appears to be no more
than a lover's lament, the DJ was accused of perverting the election
process by publicly in-citing the voters against the ruling party!
While we were yet
together,
Helping one another in every way,
You cast good council away, to the top of a high
tree;
You caused yourself distress,
And slaughtered yourself for your enemy,
Giving your victory to him,
Now you are so weakened
That light breezes bear you up,
And from time to time you grasp at a branch.
For all the pleasures of this earth
One cannot fully enjoy;
Tell me what causes you this distress?
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The poets that gain
the widest renown tend to be those who
seek to build bridges and promote peace. |
In spite of the primacy of the written word
in the Western cities where many Somalis have sought refuge, oral
poetry has lost little of its traditional appeal. Indeed, some have
successfully taken up the pen to write novels and memoirs, most
notably the acclaimed novelist Nurrudin Farah, but oral poetry remains
by far the most popular medium of cultural expression and social
commentary.
In fact, Somali poetry is experiencing
somewhat of a Diasporic revival with multicultural festivals and the
Internet offering new platforms for verbal creativity. And as Somali
poetry has always been primarily a reflection on lived day-to-day
reality, the collective experience of war and exile figures
prominently in the new wave of Somali verbal expression.
The Language of Exile
Hirsi
the oppressed deceived
hobbled from behind
screened off enclosed
perpetually dangling
disowned killed buried
stick thin destitute
slaughtered for those without
compassion
astray saddled for greed empty
of the grace of God
………
i pass you this message
alliterating in "d"
to ring pour forth harmony
forging the path
setting to rights
easing
the poem's affirmation
to spread loyal honesty
I summon you ring it
be it perhaps God willing
a balm accepted
at dawn recite it if
truth only heals
press it into those stubborn ones
that they descend
from mindlessness
When I heard the late Abdulqaadir Haaji
Ali's poem Samadoon ("goodwill") for the first time I felt
battered at the end of it. It was as if the young poet had gathered
the brutality of decades of internecine strife upon his shoulders and
unleashed his unbearable burden all at once into the gabay's furious
gunfire.
The gabay has a noun alliterating in
"d" in every half-line throughout the poem, creating the
impression of an actual barrage of bullets. It takes the form of an
indictment and a warning addressed to the Somali people and delivered
an imaginary emissary, "Hirsi"; a stylistic feature common
to Somali poetry. The images of death and destruction clothed in the
language of the pastoral nomad and the frequent use of the second
person implicate the entire nation in the "descent into
mindlessness" lamented by the poet:
... Dismantling agreements, each aiming their own way for
a very long time
Piercing peeling back then putting in, watering each other's
spite and jealousy
Bringing people to hate, such that fire is not held for another
Making them sleep by the side, of badness unblamed
That they scatter apart you'll say to them, it's not in your
Interest …
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"…are they
still killing still killing popping the
corn, how's the horn, how's the love wave
in the ocean morn, how are the young, do
they still possess the poetry
tongue…" |
To the Western ear the above poem may sound
crudely direct. But for a Somali audience a poem's effectiveness
depends on its manipulation of familiar images rooted in a shared
cultural heritage. While the composition of a poem may vary widely
from one poet to the next and veiled language is common, the content
and the message always appeals to ideas and experiences shared by the
community as a whole. Because the function of Somali poetry is to
create a shared historical awareness and often seeks to persuade the
listener of an argument, there is no room for abstruse language.
This common understanding of the communal
functions of poetry has facilitated the continuation of a shared
poetic discourse across the vast space over which Somalis have fanned
out. The Internet has become another important platform for poetic
debate across space, and there are many websites dedicated to poetry,
most of which have been created in the Diaspora. Poetic duels on these
sites often revolve around the civil war and "chains"
similar to those discussed above are very popular.
As in the past, some poetry is partisan and
supports one or the other clan or warlord, but the poets who gain the
widest renown tend to be those who seek to build bridges and promote
peace. One of those is the poet Hadraawi, arguably the most famous
living Somali poet, who has traveled across Somalia and the Diaspora
to promote peaceful resolutions to Somalia's problems through his
poetry. Many poetry recitals by both men and women are now recorded on
video and popular ones quickly circulate throughout the global
community.
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A Buraambur session at a Somali wedding
in North America.
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On the micro-level, poetry remains a
preferred medium for the communication of sensitive social messages
between individuals. As in the past, poetic license allows people to
address issues that may cause embarrassment when discussed in ordinary
conversation. The severe disruption of traditional family life as a
result of war and exile has created many new social tensions in which
poetry is once again proving to be an effective mediator.
One Somali lady whose poetry I recorded in
London told me about the difficult years she spent alone in Saudi
Arabia, where she worked as a janitor after she had lost her husband
and only son in the civil war. Like many Somali elders, who are often
illiterate, she stayed in touch with relatives abroad by sending them
voice-messages on audio tapes. As she belongs to a lineage of great
poets and is a capable composer herself, her messages often contain
poems.
In one instance she composed a poem for her
brother in Somalia to complain about his sons who did not show
consideration for the difficulties she was facing in Saudi Arabia and
kept asking her to send money. She cunningly pointed out that the
children of her husband by his second wife did support her, even
though they are not socially expected to do so, unlike her nephews who
are blood-relations. As the poem above, she addressed her complaint to
an imaginary friend called Haali:
Oh Haali I clean people's toilets!
The ones who should take care of me are all working
"She doesn't send us any money" they all grumble
May Allah support Ali who didn't do me wrong
I am receiving help from the men born to my co-wife
While my nephews are not doing a thing
After receiving the message, the poet's
brother apologized to her and reproached his sons. Message sent,
message received!
In spite of the continuing popularity of
the classical genres of poetry among first-generation Somali migrants,
there is now a growing group of young Somalis who were brought up in
the Diaspora and feel little connection to the rustic language and
countryside imagery of the gabay and buraanbur, let alone being able
to compose in it. Some of them are now exploring new ways of
creatively expressing their cosmopolitan identity and, perhaps
unsurprisingly, often choose to do so verbally.
Rap, with its roots in social and ethnic
struggle and its strong emphasis on verbal skills, has a natural
appeal for young Somalis in the West, and a plethora of Somali
"MCs" have "stepped up to the mic" since the
mid-90s; some rhyming in Somali and others in English.
The most successful of them is the
Somali-Canadian rapper K'naan. Now in his late twenties, he fled as a
9-year old with his family from Mogadishu in the early 90s and
eventually settled in Toronto, where he developed his brilliant
lyrical talent. Now a regular on MTV, K'naan has stayed true to his
roots. His lyrics are a testimony to the troublesome journey of the
Somali people and an indication that their legendary eloquence will
find new forms for exile and will continue to pay tribute to the place
where it all began:
In a conservative form, I wanna ask you
a few things before I conform, to the popular belief about where I
was born, are they still killing still killing popping the corn,
how's the horn, how's the love wave in the ocean morn, how are the
young, do they still possess the poetry tongue, and do they still
greet sincere like the depth of the lung, how's the nomad, did the
herds graze well this year, from the news to what I know the
growing gab ain't clear, how's the earth, how are the stars under
we conversed, do you still await on change like a new moon's
birth, does it still flood, ancient wisdom parallel with blood, do
you still see, the painted vision only script deep, or did you
fight off the plight of the colonized mind, what of the rainy
season, do the kids still burry seeds and, get taken with
uncertainty like me scared of leaving? How are the poets, the
women and the orphans torn, I miss em all like old opportunities
gone, what of the elders, story tellers and abandoned homes, miss
em all like childhood reminiscefull songs.
