A country In A Coma, With A Bully Vice-President

In the Morning when I wake up with a broken heart, and low spirit desperate for help. Trying to stand up with my tiny feeble legs. Dragging my feet like a lame deer. My knees and elbows are aching due to Arthritis. So that I could barely pick up my feet when walking. The icy tingling in my fingers and toes are very irritating.

Finally pushing hard myself towards my cracking mirror which is as old as my wisdom tooth. Where I could see my aging face folded with wrinkles and deep scars. A V – Shaped bald surrounded by African stiff hair standing like nails. A bushy grey beard, and moustache that is unfamiliar to a comb for months. Depressed eyes located in deep sockets encircled by dark skin layers which is a sign of stress and depression. Two spongy, and smashed cheeks decorated with stained, and worn out teeth that can’t chew more than corn – flakes.

A harsh voice passing through my dry, and dusty lips. Coughing and sneezing at intervals. Starring back at my deep sunk wooden – bed that is covered with a dirty bed – sheet, and a ragged blanket full of dust. Glancing at my smoky roof that is dripping drops of dirty, rain water. Above that, I noticed that I am dropping things like keys, and coins. Pens flew from my fingers due to Parkinson’s disease. Plus the growing and uncontrollable anger, and frustration as a result of the political hiccups of the contradicting, dim views of Mr.Silanyo, and his rotten regime. An adulterate man that mixes milk with water. Sometimes I almost to faint for hearing too much, disturbing voices, whenever Mr.Silanyo opens his mouth, or shakes a leg. Due to many late nights of sleeping; I am now paying that heavy price of poor health, and degrading low spirit. Hence I give up my life expectation, dream, and motivation. Then by coincidence, my eleven years old son, Ismail, comes running around. Looking at me with very sympathetic and questionable eyes asking, “ daddy why are you morally down, and sitting idle with a gloomy face? “ I hesitated answering him with murmuring words of discontent. Then he hugged me and said, “ daddy don’t leave me alone in this wild World that steals the gold teeth from the dead body.” His impressive, touching remarks boosted my dead spirit, and I reshuffled my old cards. Driving again my several times wrecked ship. Both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the horizon. Cursing my first day I hit my head on the earth planet. As there is no light at the end of the tunnel. That is the preface of my personal thrilling story; and now I have to break the ice of the political hiccups of Mr.Silanyo who is just the only cleanest dirty shirt around. Dictating our destiny with his dirty hands that are smeared with a cold blood. Dear Somalilander, yesterday was a painful memory, today is dark, and there is no a promising tomorrow. That is why I am in confident, unreliable, and doubtful about the political upheaval of my big brothers, like Ali Waran Adde, and our own Geele Haad Qoye, the police commander of Somaliland. Shooting our kids; the cavities of our hearts like hunting deer on the daylight. That is why I don’t know who is me yet; and I have to discover myself again. A hole needs filling in my wisdom tooth. As time is a file that wears and makes no noise. Hope ties us to the future, as memory ties us to the past. Mr.Silanyo, your dark past is playing tricks on your mind. That is why our ears are full of wax; and every word from your mouth is tickling our throat. Because your tools are working in other people’s garden. Dear reader, he that teaches patience, never knew the pain. Alas! Mr.Silanyo has forgotten that yesterday he was one of us. We are as old as we feel, and as young as we look. Mr.Silanyo, if your head has many faces. Your brain acts as if your ideas are going down a constricted pipe – line, going through a dark tunnel. Turn your face towards the sun, so the people can see your true colors. Never try to give us the fat with the lean. It won’t work with us. Because by now; every one of us knows where his shoes pinches. Lecture is the art of transferring information from the notes of the lecturer to the notes of the students, without passing through the minds of either. A rebellion to a freedom fighter, is disobedience to God. Whom the God would destroy; they hate the noble men, and they love the snooty. Mr. Silanyo, if you do what you should not; you must hear what you would not. Actions, words, and looks are the steps from the Alphabet in which you spell the character of a person. Mr.Silanyo, it is better to limp on the right road, than to speed up on the wrong road. A poet can survive everything, but misprint. It is a breach against the Human Rights Act to impose your ill views on unwilling listeners. Mr.Silanyo, your illegal clandestine marriage with the Evil Empire of Mogadishu will break into pieces, soon or later. When you hear us singing. It is not a sign of satisfaction. But music is a poor man’s spasm, used as an Anti – Pain. Mr.Silanyo, tribalism, nepotism, and ignorance to our demands is a missionary tradition into the fabric of your veins, and a stream in your blood. But we are fully alert, and you can’t sell our cause to any Co – Operation that has no ethics, or faith with God. That is a feeling of shame in size as well as in quality. Because a man is not poor if at all he can smile. Even though we are a hog – tied nation by the Mother – In – Law from hell ( Tribalism ) which we already prepared it’s coffin, but always survives all flood and fire. By now, we are ready to adopt the philosophy of the German Uprising founded by Rosa Luxemburg in 1916. Acting as the ancient Spartans of Greece and the Spartacist of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl in 1817 – 1919. To prove our unbinding will – power, rigorous discipline, courage, endurance, and stern frugality. As Greatness comes with the recognition that your potential is limited, only by how you choose your destiny, how you use your freedom, and how persistent, and resolute you are. In short, it is your attitude. Mr.Silanyo is nominating a young, and green boy who born and bred in Kununtu – waarey, as the chief architecture of our destiny and fate. Steering the wheel of our previously dismantled, and malfunctioned boat. How on earth! we can believe that a young green man who has no a clue of our past and present; is capable of defending and selling our cause to the International Community. Mr. Silanyo, It is not the pace of life that concerns us; it is the sudden stop at the end. What used to be merely an itch; is now an allergy. There is a thin line between love and hate. Malice drinks it’s own poison, and a man is of a little use when his wife is a widow. The simplest toy which even the youngest child can operate, is called a grandma. Our own John Kerry, Mr. Mohamed Bihi, a fool wanders but a wise man travels. Enjoy your shopping trips. Since all the newspapers and the media are short staffed nowadays. Because all the chief editors either in good mood, or merely got scared. But remember, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Every fool like me can see the mask on your face. This week there is no any crisis. Because your schedule is already full. Always a mission of one man, and a judgment of one mind. A messenger from some where, to some where else. Young graduate from Harvard university, thank you for your endeavours and hard trials. Already Mr.Silanyo has told us that you can make the trees pregnant. Mr.Silanyo, tell your boggy dead project to the camel – drivers. More disgustingly, the black sheep of Somaliland who has the bad reputation, as the chief architecture of the civil – war in Somaliland, and a staunch federalist, Mr.Jama Abdillahi Galib is a frequent visitor of our own oval – office of Mr.Silanyo monthly, if not nightly. Travelling frequently from hargeisa to Mogadishu, and to Nairobi on a daily bases. Mr.Silanyo, turn your face towards the sun shine, so the people can see your true colors. Human blood is always red, but yours has many colors. Mr.Silanyo, every failure teaches a man something if he is willing to learn. Your tools are working in other people’s garden. That is why Mr.Shariff will get the golden spoon, and Mr.Silanyo will receive a dish of dessert. Dear reader, today the political climate of Somaliland is so toxic, as our Government is the enemy of it’s own self. Creating friction among family and friends, dismantling, and disintegrating all Government institutions, and putting a gag in the mouths of the opposition parties. Silencing the media and the press by intimidation, and imprisonment through marshal courts. Each Faction, clan, or community is fighting for it’s own ethnic, tribal rights; due to the lack of trust among the masses, and their political leaders. As the Government of Somaliland is creating an atmosphere of confusion and misunderstanding among the tribes and the neighbouring communities. The hammer of tribalism is hitting even the door of our universities where we were expecting to be the platform of liberation, and the Arena to free the youth, and our future generation from the shackles of tribalism, and nepotism. Turned in to a Stage – Show, where to manifest the muscles of tribalism. So that the teachers must be escorted by the police for their safety, and security. I am not a fair jury to incriminate any particular group; but all I can tell you is that, the fish starts to stink from the head. We are hitting the age of breaking down, and disperse. Mr.Silanyo has made every effort to the expansion of his horrific atrocities, and nepotism . Incriminating and imprisoning innocent civilians to consolidate his tribally motivated policy. Jailing all who disagree with his lizard brain and phony dim views. giving us the dosage and prescription for the reunion, gradually. Applying that old policy of Henery Kissinger for the middle east policy, that is called step by step. Having the intention to let the public feel despair, and lost of hope. That is why the Head – chief of Sad – Yonis community Mr.Mohamoud Nuh Mohamed is suspended at the Police – Station Of Ceel Af – Weeyn on 22 August Instant. After he rejected the annexation of the pasture grazing Land of Dogoble Area, which the present Regime recently has discovered that it is an oil – Basin. Saying No, loudly to the nepotism, and abuse of power of this unsustainable policy of No – Where. Hyper – critical of small faults while ignoring some major crimes committed by his Shintos, close friends, like the former KGB Agent Mr. Ali Waran Cadde who is openly demonstrating the flag of Reunion in his office. Cracking openly our ossified State. Alas! the oasis of peace and stability crumbling under the weight of it’s decay – leaders. A decayed – leadership that cracks and separates apart it’s own people, instead of gluing them together. Dividing them into segments, clans, tribes and division – groups, chaired by ignorant chiefs and sultans. Who are neither a bridge nor a gully to our cause. In Silanyo era, a son became a parent to his dad. Mr.Silanyo, you can build the most beautiful engine in the World, but if there is no fuel, it can’t run. If you let the tank run dry. Mr. Silanyo, your dead Russian projects will not sustain life more than the spring flowers. The hungry masses are exclaiming; ” the bread before the bridge”. Mr. Silanyo puts the cart before the horse. The whole country is overshadowed by a political division that will be the down fall of what we cherished as an all inclusive democratic state. Without some effort to compromise for the good will of all citizens; there is no way for our democracy to survive. What a confusing legacy life can play! Amazing indeed how money and power corrupts and blinds people. Mr. Silanyo, please take a deep breath of oxygen to refresh your mind; and memorize your circumstances on the days of President Riyalle. where you used Mujahid Ahmed Haji Abdillahi ( Xamarje ) as a human shield against the cross – fire of president Riyalle. And now you have discredited him for a missing bag of wheat. Mr. Silanyo, the Government must look at all tribes with the same lens. Giving more attention to the peaceful out cry of the Shia in the East and the Wahaabist in the West, who want their piece of the big pie. The out – cry of the Shia in the East and the Wahabist in the West; demanding for a fair, and a just power – sharing, and equity – job, can’t be silenced with bullets in their mouths, and subordination. We all want in life to feel validated just for being ourselves. Accept no one’s definition of our life, we must define our self. A few underground mafia group is running the country in an executive – order, which is unconstitutional in our system of governing. Dear reader, there is an Arab sayings that it’s paraphrase and rewording is :- If you live long time; you will encounter many peculiar unjustifiable, and weird incidents. Sometime in 1982 the deaceased Haji Mohamoud Wais Ali one of the elders of Borama( neck named Haji Dhag jar ) bought a farm – Land from another deceased man called Haji Noor at the presence of sheikh Abdillahi Sheikh Ali Johar, ( the mayor, and the Sheikh Al – Balad of Borama at that time, as well as Ibrahim Haji Daher who was one of the elders of the Samaroon Tribe. Plus some other elders from the town. Paying the Tax and the yearly fee of the Farm-Landfrom 1982 up to now. Then in 2012 after the death of Haji Noor, ( The seller of the farm ) , his children claimed portion of the Land that they had sold to Haji Mohamoud Wais Ali. By bringing a fake, fabricated brand new document. The police commander at that time Mr. Ahmed Ilka- Ase, send the forgery document to Hargeis CID. A jury of Bahabar Abdall, and Bahabar Eli had been nominated by the two clan. Hence for an obscure reason, the Vice – President Mr. Abdirahman Zaily cancelled the meeting and the jury. At the same time transferred the police commander, Ahmed Ilka – Ase from Borama to Some where else, and requested from the CID in Hargeisa to drop that case, and cancel it. Appointed a new police commander called Abdi Khayre, neck named Araweelo, who is a cousin of the Vice – President and from Bahabar Eli clan. Again sometime in 2013 there was a jury of the main three head branches of the Sama roon tribe. 1 ) Habar Arfan, 2 ) Mohamed Ase, and 3) Makahil. Three members of each tribe, and they made a unified done deal that had been accepted by both sides. The buyer, and the seller; as well as all the Samaroon jury, and elders. The agreement was prepared by a notary office in Borama, and a copy was given to the Regional court and to the Police commander of the Region. Our bully Vice President of Somaliland, Mr. Abdirahman Abdillahi Ismail who racketeers and annexes the farms and the Land – property of the poor, helpless citizens. Shamelessly confiscated the Land of the deceased man, Mr. Mohamoud Wais Ali and claimed it as a Somaliland Government property. But the other two farms that are parallel to the farm of Haji Mohamoud Wais Ali are free to go, simply because it belongs to the cousins of the Vice – president. More than that, he had acted as the Mayor of Borama by sending a Caterpillar, and a loader, and had turned part of the farm – Land of Haji Mohamoud Wais Ali ( Haji Dhag Jar ) in to a Cemetery for Bahaber Eli clan, and the other part had been confiscated as a Government property. Mr. Vice President, you are hired and nominated to represent the Awdal people as a whole, and to find out their denied rights as a one entity, and as a one family. Not to plant seeds of hatred, and malice among family and friends. Your Excellency, you are behaving like the cat that delivers six young kittens; who then eats three of the six, and breast feeds the other three. You are expected to be more better than that. You have to think big. Instead of involuntarily holding yourself in captivity in a deserted small room in Borama as a protest, and refuge to your frustration. After you have been revoked and confiscated all of your rights, and duties as the Vice – President of Somaliland. Due to the abuse of power by Herse – Gab with the jack – knife , and our own Queen Victoria. Expressing several times in your press – conference that you have no a clue of how the country is running. Declaring openly that the only assignment that you are supposed to do; is to hold the Scissor for the inauguration of a new Government facility, or to hand certificates, when students graduating from school. Claiming openly that you are a passenger in a football team. Mr.Vice – Preside, you have to find out what binds the Awdal people, not what divides them. After you have got frustrated with the underground traditional leaders, without the moustaches. Headed by our own Queen Victoria, and Herse – Gab with the jack – knife. Don’t be bully to the innocent, helpless citizens, and harass them as a escape – goat to your frustration and stress. Those Queen Victorians Who want to get the western woman rights, and at the same time can’t stand the heat, when they are criticised for their wrongdoing.” Dear reader, I am not a chauvinist that underestimates or degrading our sisters. But I am calculating the practical circumstances on the ground. Our own queen Victoria, you want to be respected as a mother – In – Law, according to the Somali culture; and at the same time mingling your hands with the dirty politics. Then getting upset when the masses pinpoint your deadly mistakes. Dear Queen Victoria, you can’t have it both ways. Politics is a dirty game with a deadly weapon tongue. If you don’t want to be criticised by the public, stay at home and look after the kids. Take it, or leave it. Wakeup madam. Finally as a Somaliland political therapist, I came to the conclusion that most of our men politicians are that much dumb to sell our valid cause to the International Community. While the Tartars from Mogadishu are selling to the International Community, a trash, as a gold. Owing to that, personally I prefer all heads of state and politicians to be all women, rather than men. As a group, men are not as evolved as women. They are less flexible, quicker to react rather than respond. It is sad but true. As a Somalilander, I believe much that all our men politicians get stuck in the same elevator. They couldn’t relay our message and valid cause to the International Community. Mr.Silanyo, what pains us trains us. Thank you for being a head with two faces. But remember, birds are coming home to roost. Yusuf Deyr, Edmonton, Canada