-To buy/develop and then rent properties in Mombasa/Nairobi, and retire to my (future) peaceful shack somewhere in Stone Town, Zanzibar.

^You don't understand. Its all about the pilgrimate involved. The air-miles, the daanto and the dhunkasho in Africa. Its the mind-set. Its the controllable mind .

Waa duni - Sayidka

^Dhaybar, eh? Eesh calaa boodhar . Lol. Waagii baby-yada la cusbayn jirey dad dhashey ayaa SOL ku jira. Can you believe it?

One phrase I use to hear often when growing up was 'Awoowgaa iyo sinjigaaba la cadaabye' geela geela gandiga qaba doc uga duw . Those harsh geeljire phrases are still stuck in my mind, if they mean anything.

Dictionary excerpts: Dead, adj.: Terminally inconvenienced. Death, n. : To stop sinning suddenly. Funeral, n. A pageant whereby we attest our respect for the dead by enriching the undertaker, and strengthen our grief by an expenditure that deepens our groans and doubles our tears. Ambrose Bierce Immortality: a toy which people cry for, and on their knees apply for, dispute, contend and lie for, and if allowed would be right proud eternally to die for. Ambrose Bierce Life: 1) a sexually transmitted disease with 100% fatality rate. 2) For Christians: a test before they are allowed to proceed to hell - for Buddhists and Hindus: the time between deaths. 3) Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. John Lennon 4) Anything that dies when you stomp on it. Dave Barry 5) The confusing period between the confusion of birth and the confusion of death. Rudyh 6) A spiritual pickle preserving the body from decay. Ambrose Bierce 7) Nothing but a competition to be the criminal rather than the victim. Bertrand Russell Youth: the best time to be rich, and the best time to be poor. Euripides I don't mind dying... as long as I don't have to be there when it happens. Woody Allen Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome. Issac Asimov A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams. John Barrymore Ageing isn't that bad if you consider the alternatives. Maurice Chevalier The average man does not know what to do with his life, yet wants another one which will last forever. Anatole France Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment. Dag Hammerskjold You know you're old when the candles cost more than the cake. Bob Hope Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive. Elbert Hubbard Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough. Groucho Marx source

^^Lool. Yeah, I know. Waanba aqiinay islaanta deriskiina ahayd. Wey yara buurnayd, casayd, gaabnayd, maarriina ahayd, soo maha? Alley lehe waa iyada qofta .

^^Lol. Not all of us. Its directed particularly at you .

^^Lool. Shuush shib dheh .... they are going to think were are ancients .

Baashiyoow, since you are already involved in it you are more privy to that sector. But Kenya's business opportunity is forever changing - the reason why I said medicine ku deysey waxa weeye, while we're inquiring about this line of business, it was becoming apparent that many others were going to follow suit. The funny thing is every day more and more chemists are poping out- its becoming the family must have business. It is truly astonishing, to say the least. The housing sector in Nairobi property ladder is also suffering from same copycat acts. Going around some empty lands to scouts for plots, it was amazing to witness the sort of land buying Somalis in Diaspora are undertaking. The speed of purchase is too risky to guarantee sustained property value. Overheating, thats what I would say. Soon you might be looking at something similar to London's net-cafe-revolution in the late 90s, which involved Somalis opening so many net cafe's next to each other so as to drive price and each other to the ground. The real value of the land and the inflated prices do not match!

^^Lool. Actually I think the guy was a member of that group, hence Guul-eed as his name. The Buyaka thing was so those days - remember Shaba Ranks? I think it was his. Those days of Chaka Demus $ Pliars? Iyo 'Tease me, tease me baby, till I lose control!' Allah maxaan heesahaas ku jaazeeynay ... Markaan ilkaha sare lahaa .

My man ThePoint send me the cash and I will hook you up . Seriously though, Africa and East Africa in particular is teaming with profitable ventures that are hard to resist. I know two areas that are so profitable you wouldn't believe me: Drug industry (medicine) and sugar imports from Brazil. Medicine wey ku deysey, Baashi. I've been to chemists and talk to old friends who own them. They say bank on medical equipments shipped under charity status. That's where the big buck is in lately. As for sugar; it never loses market.

^No miracles there. The occupants seem more sad than I. My prob...no sun lately- my planned 2nd escape to the real world is taking abit more time, and with that tis all blues. PS; How are you? Missing the marfishka?

^^A couple of times? Under some terrible blues sxb. Hoping the name changes would brighten things up .

This kow laba kow laba, why does it somehow remind me of Guul band? In the late 90s?

www.lulu.com

Adeer, raad iyo dumarba dib looma eego. Ka dhaqaaji baan ku iri, waxba haysu dulleyn naage.

hmm.

^ Sorry Lois. Diiriye's tale is getting a little monotonous and thus you see the introduction. Yup, it is cruel. What can we do?

Sushi-Islam, eh? Welcome to commodification culture and things that will come in bottles.

Romance? Romance is the fringes of emotional battle-ground my dear. Give in one inch and you'll find yourself (pre)occupied for the rest of your life. Romance, eh? Thanks, but no thanks.

Northerner, here's to you sxb. Hope you enjoy reading what follows . Khadija arrived home late after a night spent on socializing with some close friends, and the night’s commute has exhausted her like never before. Naturally, she was an energetic young lady in her mid-twenties, who is used to traveling on the tube for hours on end without tiring. But that night, she was surprised that a single train’s journey has taken its toll on her. She felt extremely tired. Usually when she is that tired, sleeping becomes a problem and unwind herself, should had the habit of stretching herself out on the couch while she watches the news on the television. As soon as she made herself comfortable on the couch, she reached for the remote control and switch on the television. In the first few minutes, there was nothing that caught her attention. Then, at the bottom of the television set, the marquee began to roll with a line that says: ‘Somalia’s UIC have gained more territory in and around Mogadishu.’ Hmm! She thought, ‘the UIC are surely moving with rapidity it seems.’ The more she watched the news, the more her thoughts about the UIC deepened. As she lay there on the couch, she began to drift along a path of mental journey, imagining a future dependent on the UIC. Forming in her mind, were questions such as: what would Somalia ruled by the UIC be like? What would the future be like? She was certain that the UIC would be better the Warlords but she wasn’t sure how different they would be from the Taliban of Afghanistan. She spent most of the night being beguiled by questions and anticipations. The following Monday morning, last night’s thoughts about UIC were no longer in her mind. She went about her usual preparation for work and arrived at work fifteen minutes early. Three of her female colleagues waited in a queue for the clocking machine, chattering about office gossip. Although she always prefers to ignore them, that morning she greeted them as she joined the queue behind them. They all turned around with a sudden astonishment taking over their faces. ‘Hey Dija’ said one of her colleagues, ‘what is that on your head?’ pointing her Khadija’s covered head. ‘Oh, it’s just a scarf’ Khadija replied politely. ‘I am having a bad hair day’. ‘Are you sure it’s just a bad hair day?’ questioned another of her colleagues. ‘Oh yeah’ answered Khadija, ‘you know how it is?’ ‘Yeah right, a bad hair day’ was the comment that followed. The expressions on the faces of her colleagues gave Khadija the impression that was not being believed. She was somewhat puzzled. What is wrong with them? Although she was truthful, she could not understand why her colleagues looked up at her disbelievingly. It was true that they never saw her wearing a headscarf before today. The long hours she spent in bed thinking about the UIC have drained the energy out of her. So she could not be bothered to do her hair in the morning. I am wearing a headscarf, so what? Why are they giving me such dirty looks? She asked herself as she started doing her work. She tried to forget all about it but she only grew more curious. While buying some snacks from the canteen during the lunch hour, she saw one of the girls sitting alone in a table. She decided to join her and ask what the morning’s dirty looks were all about. As she settled into one of the chairs, she asked: ‘Hey Amy, is everything OK?’ ‘Yeah, everything’s cool. Why ask?’ ‘No reason, I was just wondering what those looks were all about this morning?’ ‘What look…oh those looks?’ ‘Yeah right those looks’. ‘Because you are wearing the stuff Islamist women wear’ replied Amy bluntly. ‘Oh is that right?’ ‘Oh yeah, for all I know you may have become an overnight recruit!’ The blunt words shocked and shook Khadija. ‘A recruit, what the hell is that supposed to mean?’ she exclaimed. Amy didn’t bother to reply. She turned her attention to the half-eaten sandwich on her plate. Amy’s behaviour left Khadija dismayed and when the dismay worn off, Khadija clumsily grabbled with her food and quickly left the table. In a matter of few heart beats, she has already staggered to another nearby table where no one sat. She might have come to the canteen to eat but her food remained on the table untouched. Later that day when jumped on the bus, on her way back home, she thought she sensed a few white pensioners were starring at her suspiciously. Somehow, she was no longer that surprised but she was becoming sensitized to wearing the scarf, and how it seemed to have negatively changed her image in others’ eyes. She wondered how she would fare if she were to decide on wearing the scarf permanently for a religious purpose. How have sisters who wear the scarf daily, coped with all these demeaning stares, she asked herself. She very much wanted to know the answer to her question, and wanting to know as quickly as possible, she made the decision to call Jamila, her friend, who has been wearing it for a very long time. ‘Hey girl, you finally called me, what’s up?’ said Jamila. ‘I am so sorry for not calling sis, forgive me?’ ‘Oh that is alright babes, so what’s up?’ ‘Nothing, just wondering if we can meet up?’ asked Dija. ‘Yeah sure, sure we can. Tell me when and where’. ‘How about around 6 p.m. on Saturday at the star-bucks near my house?’ ‘Yeah, alright I’ll be there babes’ agreed Jamila, ‘although we could….’ ‘Although we could what…? Khadija asked. ‘We could meet on Friday afternoon. If you could come, there is this fund-raiser event taking place in the local mosque. Could you come?’ ‘Yeah sure, I am free on Friday afternoon and I have nothing useful to do anyway.’ ‘Alright then Dija, I’ll e-mail you the address of the place soon as.’ ‘Thanks dear, see you there.’ ---- 11 Two weeks passed after Dahir and his friends met in Edgware Road, and no word has come out from any of them. In those two weeks, Dahir constantly log into his e-mail but no message was received from Carsten or any of his friends. ‘What is wrong with these guys?’ he muttered to himself, ‘most of all, why has Carsten not fulfilled his promise to initiate a new campaign?’ One thought led to another and before long, he was almost convinced that his friends did not feel as strongly about Somalia’s plight as him. ‘Why would they feel obliged about the plight of Somalia anyway? It is not their country after all but mine’, was his whispered conclusion He started entertaining the possibility of forgetting about them, and seeking fellow Somalis who feel the same way he feels about his country. ‘Right, let us Google for like-minded Somalis’ he suggested to himself, and typed some keywords into the search engine. Within a heart-beat, varying search results appeared on his computer screen. Many of the results were general comments about Somalia’s political situation. One of them, however, announced a fundraising event to be held in Southall, West London. The announcement invited all those sympathetic to the UIC’s cause to be present in Southall community hall. Also present in the event was going to be religious and traditional who would give motivational speeches, which Dahir felt the need to hear. Looking for the contact details of the event, he saw at the bottom of the announcement: for more information please call Nurraddin on this telephone number . And without hesitation, he dialed the number, which was answered swiftly by Nurraddin. After a short conversation pertaining to directions to the event venue, Nurraddin ended the call with ‘when you arrive at the venue, please be kind enough to introduce yourself to me’. Dahir promised to do so. Attending the fund-raising event, which Nurraddin has helped organize, were not only were not only Dahir, Liban, Mo, Khadija and Jamila, but also a cadre of other UIC recruits and well-wishers who could be seen everywhere in the even hall. On all the recruits’ faces an exuberance and passion was displayed. They stood at the hall’s entrance distributing leaflets and drinks to everyone coming in or out. It seemed as although they believed their assorted tasks were the most important jobs they ever held. Although they shared a common view on the UIC, it seemed at last that all those attending the event - previously unknown to each other – were to be bound together like a thread, by their spirit of Somaliness.

Introducing Artan & Natalya Artan and Natalya Desires of the soul when repressed Give the anger in us its only chance To set aflame our eyes and tongues To scotch the hearts with evil wrath Natalya dashed out of the seminar room and into the corridor, shortly followed by Artan. As soon as he was out into the corridor, he caught up with her leaning her head against a wall. He quickened his steps towards her, but the moment she noticed him coming, she turned to confront him, remaining silent momentarily. ‘Are you happy now?’ she screamed, ‘have your lies satisfied your ego, huh?’ He took a look at her highly irritated face with great concern, but all he could manage to do was an out-of-place smile. He was surprised to hear Natalya’s talk of ego. ‘My ego? What are you talking about?’ he stammered. ‘I am talking about your ego that offends me most.’ ‘My ego, you say?’ shouted Artan. ‘Yes, your damn big primitive intellectual ego.’ ‘What?’ Artan exclaimed, ‘be civilized now.’ ‘Oh, and you think you’re the civilized one, you barbaric?’ ‘Yes, I’m civilized and the class agrees with me.’ ‘The class, you say? Well, they’re as barbaric, too!’ ‘Whatever you say,’ Artan replied, angrily walking off. Although he wanted to console her when she dashed out of the seminar room, still deep in his heart, he knew whatever he could have done would not have helped change her mood. After all, he reasoned, I happen to be the only one in a class over hundred and fifty students, who all he does is to reduce her to tears. Why has this become the case? he wondered Mostly, whenever she was debating with other politics students, Natalya is transformed into a veracious and formidable opponent, who hardly fails to win the debate. The reputation she has gained was such that the university’s student union has even begged her; to represent them in some of their crucial meetings with the university’s governors. On her part, she knew of her verbal prowess, and this knowledge always made her sure footed. She was confident that her powerful arguments could win her any debate. She was aware of this gift even before she joined London Guildhall University to pursue a degree in political science. In the two years she studied in Guildhall, her confidence grew even more, as to give others the impression that she was an arrogant young lady. Behind her back, some of her fellow students have called her the ‘arrogant Jewish girl’, but she never liked to concern herself with such petty comments. But the only thing that concerned her, and the same time alarmed, was how her heart seemed to swell up with anger whenever she was in the presence of Artan. His presence was not only concerning and alarming, but most of all, infuriating. ‘Why does he always have to be such an annoying bas!rd?’ she has asked herself on many occasions. She could never understand what it was that made him come up with the most annoying arguments, especially against her. Only if she could figure out what it is that he had against her, she thought, she would once and for all, put Artan in his proper place. That, however, had to wait for two more days until the on-coming Friday, when they’ll both attend another controversial seminar session on the politics of Middle East. A seminar session that she was sure would almost guarantee his unfailing attendance. THE CLASH OF EGOS The following Friday, as a seminar group of fifteen students seated itself, Natalya worked her way through the group, to grab the chair opposing the one Artan usually sits on. Although she knew she was sitting on another student’s chair, she was too determined not to give it up what come may. When she was comfortably settled in the chair, she peeked across straight at the seat Artan was meant to sit on. But he wasn’t there, and hasn’t even attended the one hour lecture that preceded this seminar. His absence did not worry her thought, because she knew very well that Artan rarely attended lectures, and often arrived late for the seminars. He has such a laidback attitude about him, which has strangely never affected his impressive academic performance. Fifteen minutes into the seminar debate, Artan walked in nonchalantly, and as usual, armed with an apology for the tutor about his lateness. There was a new excuse every day. ‘You lying *******’ whispered Natalya, hoping that he would hear it. He didn’t. He simply went straight to his seat, and from where when he looked straight at hi opposite direction, he couldn’t help but notice Natalya’s eyes fixed on him. He winked at her. Natalya did not any. She had no reason to. The tutor proposed the topic to be discussed for session, which was going to be about the Palestinian Intifada and its wider effects on regional and global affairs. This was a topic Artan feels strongly about, or rather, the legitimacy of the Intifada as a struggle against Israel’s occupation of Palestinian lands. When the tutor inquired who would start off the debate, Artan’s hand was up in the air. ‘Yes, Artan’ nodded the tutor, asking ‘what is your take on the Intifada? Do you use the use of suicide bombing is/or can be considered terrorism or struggle for liberation?’ Artan begun, ‘I think the Intifada is rightly the desperate act of a people whose cause many in the world sympathize with…’ ‘I beg to differ…’ interjected Natalya, ‘I strongly believe that not many in the world sympathize with what is clearly a terror campaign against civilians, marketed as a struggle for liberation…’ Artan cut her off in the middle. ‘First, let me finish what I was saying, will you?’ ‘But you are talking nonsense, and your comment is misleading!’ she forcefully insisted. ‘Look, you can say what you want but let me finish. It’s my turn for heaven’s sake!’ shouted Artan repeatedly. But Natalya could not be stopped and continued to yell back at him with her points of argument. Artan could not allow her to continue as believed that since he believed it was his turn to speak and it was rude of her to interrupt. He just wanted her to stop, but when he realized she was never going to stop her interrupting, he turned to the tutor with a plea. ‘Sir, please can we have some order restored? You asked me to share my take on things but even that I can’t do!’ The tutor, who was also as equally confused as the rest of the students, by Natalya and Artan’s loud tit-for-tats, finally regained his focus. He shouted some authoritative orders at Natalya and Artan’s directions, immediately achieving a complete silence, and went on to say: ‘This is my class students and I am the only one in charge of it. No one speaks or sneezes unless I have him/her the permission to do so. Is that clear?’ the tutor stated. All the students nodded their agreement and none of them uttered a single word. ‘Very well then, class. Wait for your turns and no more interruptions. If you have something to say, say your hand’ he reminded the seminar group, followed a moment of pause. ‘Now’ the tutor talked again, ‘I am giving this chance to Artan to finish his comment’ and marked his permission with a pointed finger at Artan. ‘As I was saying before, Sir, the brutality meted out against the helpless Palestinians by Israel’s insensitive occupation, has been the sole trigger of inception of the Intifada. Thus, a state of helplessness has made the Palestinians, and some of their sympathizers, to resort to suicide bombings out of sheer desperation’ said Artan ending with ‘I strongly hold the belief that such acts do not constitute terrorism as such!’ Natalya was already fuming, and seconds after Artan's comment to an end, a strongly worded rebuttal was already on the air and on its way to him. She could not even be bothered to raise her hand or ask for the tutor’s permission. The rest of group somehow knew that she had a score to settle with Artan, and for that reason, none of them raised a hand to contest her for time. Natalya continued with her rebuke for ten consecutive minutes, and Artan on his part, like the rest of the group, simply kept silent with the occasional head shaking of sheer amazement. Moments after she finished her directed intense comment, silence lingered on in the room. No one could utter a word after her, and the silence was only broken by the tutor announcement that the session was at an end. Artan pulled a surprised look at Natalya, as he prepared to leave the room. Her face was stone cold. She had too much anger in her, which made her a highly determined young lady. She looked directly at him, without breaking eye contact until he blinked and turned away. Even then, she could not stop starring at him. If she could, she would have torn him to bits only with her fierce eyes. ‘See you on Wednesday…’ he said while going past her. ‘Yeah, sure, looking forward to it already’ she said sarcastically, feeling triumphant deep down. To be continued, Insha-Allah...

Waa qoraaga 'Somali-English' dictionary. Inuu nool yahay inyo in kale. Haduu nool yahay, If any of you folks heard or know him and how one can contact him please let me know. Thanks in advance.

The Forbidden Journey.... from Zaylac to Harar - retracing Burton's journey by Hamish Wilson. If you wanted to see how Harar looks like, here's your chance. http://www.somalism.com/videos/forbidden-journey.html