^^^Fahiye, you have a valid point there. It is the dream that makes many graduates always remain 'expectant'.
-- [this postings are not edited and errors might be found. Forgive me if you spot any errors please.]
The next morning, Liban jumped off the bed energetically, filled with a great deal of optimism and urgent crave for an update about the political condition of his home-city, Mogadishu. It couldn’t have been a happier morning for him, with fine weather go with it. Never in his life, has he been so impatient to dash out of the house and head for the local Somali restaurant which is the meeting point for exchanges of news about Somali politics. Similarly impatient and hasty, was Nurraddin who couldn’t wait to get to the mosque where his friends regularly meet to discuss both religious and political matters. The glow on both Liban and Nurraddin’s faces, albeit their different political affiliations, was identically symbolic of the renewed hopefulness produced by the UIC’s victory.
After a short walk from his house, Liban entered the restaurant, which was as usual, resounding with raised debating and passionate voices. Somali restaurants have been for many decades the battleground for heated debates, scandalous debacles fuelled by distasteful clannishness and, in some rare cases, very informed and enlightened discussions held the handful decent individuals that had the misfortune of being Somali. Often, each restaurant is owned by one particular clan and its members congregate in it for multiple demonic reasons. Somali restaurants are unfailingly decorated and furnished by characters of hideous attributes, whose only inheritance from all the goodness of humanness is deep-seated sickness of the heart pleasured only by the murder and the rapine of the innocents of a rival clan. In colloquial terms, the restaurants are referred to as: ‘Dhoqon-ma-maaye’ (or the gatherer of fools). The characters in these restaurants are more likely to worship tribal Warlords more than God; or strongly beckon to the calls to the clannish wars than the calls of prayers and Muslimness. But, Liban as the loner he is, has never unfamiliar with the nature of these shady characters. As soon as he enters further into the restaurants, he spots a group of men angrily yelling at each other. He pulled a chair and sat near them; eager to hear out what their arguing about. However, after few minutes of listening, Liban found it impossible not to join the animated debate. Unexpectedly, he interrupted them and loudly yelled ‘come on people, I am telling this: anyone who finds a reason to argue against or oppose the blessed change the UIC ushered in, has thrown his lot with the devilish Warlords. The same evil Warlords who have had their breakfasts, lunch and supers feeding on the dead carcass of innocent men, women and children they’ve been systemically been massacring in the last chaotic seventeen years!’ He then stood up and pushed back his chair forcefully with an air of righteousness.
Almost within the second, two furious middle-aged men got up from their chairs, screaming all kinds of insults at Liban direction. And in a matter of seconds, every man in the restaurant was standing, some angered by the words Liban uttered; others were in full agreement with him. One of the two middle-aged men, boiling over with resentment, proceeded forth towards where Liban stood and launched punch at him narrowly missing Liban. Liban, in turn acting in reflex jumped forward and manages to head-butt the man attacking him. In the confusion of the situation, a white-bearded elderly man appeared from nowhere to position himself between Liban and the man. The atmosphere in the restaurant becomes intense, seeming as if a brawl will break out between those were angered by Liban and those sympathizing him. All the men arranged themselves into the groups. However, yelling authoritatively was the elderly man in an attempt to defuse the tense situation, ordering Liban and his sympathizers to leave the restaurant at once. Just as Liban and his supporters stepped outside, the waiter ran across the restaurant’s floor and blocks the door, demanding his bills to be paid. Liban reached into his pockets and asked ‘how much?’ ’15 pounds and 70 pence for all of you’ the waiter replies. Liban gave him 20 pounds note, telling the waiter to keep the change. As they exited the restaurant, the man Liban has head-butted shouted a threat, saying ‘You will see and all these people would be my witnesses that you should pay dearly for assaulting me. You wait and see!’ Liban laughed off the man’s threat responding ‘if you are holding the sky with pillars, let it go. Then we’ll see if I am crashed under it!’ He then walked off while thanking and bidding his sympathizers goodbye.
-
At the same time is walking away, Nurraddin, is entering the gates of the mosque, but two steps into it, he hears a loud calling out his name. He turns back to look who it is and spots on his friends running from far, who seemed to be repeating ‘they finally did it, they finally did it, they finally did it!’ When the friend reached Nurraddin, he happily stretched his arms and embraced Nurraddin. ‘Yes they finally did it, my dear brother!’ yelled back Nurraddin quickly pulling the friend into the mosque’s compound, from where more friends poured outside to celebrate with Nurraddin. After the jubilation ended, all of them went into the mosque and sat forming in a circle. The oldest among the men, before anyone else uttered a word, drew his hands together, his palms facing up and started to pray. For ten minutes, he continued to pray, begging God to make the UIC’s victory endure forever. He begged God to protect those in Somalia from the scandalous so-called ‘war-on-terror’ Western states have subjected to fellow Muslims in Iraq and Afghanistan. To his heartfelt prayer, the rest of the circle responded with ‘Amiin’ in a chorus until the prayer ended.
Nurraddin, unable to resist from breaking the spell of contemplative silence, which the circle has fallen into, impatiently turns to Mohamud sitting to his right and asked him: ‘brother, have you, in your entire life, ever lived days in history as joyous and as promising as these?’ To which Mohamud jubilantly replied ‘oh my dear Muslim brother, never has there been days in the history of my life as victorious as these blessed days!’ followed by a cheerful laughter from the rest of the circle. Although this group of friends form a very close-nit circle, faithful, sincere and hides no secrets from each other, in his heart, guilt and a sense of betrayal took hold of Nurraddin. Hiding the contents of last night’s phone from Somalia, he felt, will make him dishonest and break the golden code of openness a great friendship requires. While the rest of the circle were engaged in a lively and animated discussion, Nurraddin was silently occupied with the dilemma of what he should do. After a while of Nurraddin’s silence, the rest of the circle’s discussions suddenly paused, turning their attention to Nurraddin’s noticeable silence not known to his talkative and sociable character.
‘Nurraddin’ called the oldest man in the circle, humorously inquiring ‘my esteemed brother, has the news of Muslim victory been so unimaginable to you that you are now reduced to speechlessness?’ Smiling and feeling slightly embarrassed, Nurraddin scratched head and jokingly replied: ‘no, my respected brother, it is not so much of speechlessness but the thought of righteous opportunities which such a victory creates for us Muslims, has that unique effect of leaving even the most eloquent of men speechless!’ On this, the circle greeted Nurraddin’s clever words with a cheer of ‘Allahu Akbar’ (God is great!). After that, Nurraddin apologetically requested the circle to excuse him for he has an urgent family matter to attend to, and, thus left the circle. As he moved away, the eldest man of the circle reminded him that some members have suggested a fund-raising event to be held in order to send some funds to the victors in Somalia. Nurraddin signaled his approval of the event with a thumps-up.
The urgent matter that had made him leave the circle was certainly not a family matter; it was standing order given to him in last night’s call to expect a call at a given time in his home, to be made by a member of the UIC. Already anxious about the secrecy surrounding the information relayed to him, and was slightly starting to worry about the pressure this would put on his family life and his membership in the circle. As he walked home, a lot of thoughts played up in his mind. Dreadfully, he thought, since he can not share any information with anyone, and could not even seek the advice of his elderly mentor, what would be the prospect of getting involved and getting associated with Islamist politics, which he knew is closely observed by the hawkish proponents of ‘war-on-terror’? How would that affect mine and my family’s life? He kept asking himself. The more he thought about it, the more greatly disturbed his conscience became. Hitherto, he has managed to stay clear of such things as Islamist politics, but this time, the support given by the majority of Somalis in of all Somalis to the advances of the UIC, so symbolically positive, had given him a reason that he is making the right choice. The wide-spread support for the UIC commands made him believe that nothing could go wrong. The majority of Somalis could not support a cause destined for failure, he assured himself. He reached home while still entertaining these thoughts.
In another part of the city, Liban, was re-entering the house in which he lived, when one of his house-mates coincidently swung the door open, and nearly colliding with him. ‘Whoa!’ shouted his house-mate; but Liban didn’t make any sound, and seemed somewhat absent-minded. Without responding or even halting, he brushed his way through the door and headed for the kitchen to switch on the tea kettle. His house-mate, astonished by Liban’s usual behavior, followed him with ‘hey Liban, what is the matter with you man? Talk to me man, you are not yourself today, what happened to you?’ Liban, resting his back the kitchen sink silently stared back. After a period of persistent inquiries, he faintly replied ‘nothing man, nothing is wrong with me. I am just exhausted, that is all. Now please leave me in peace, will you?’ ‘Alright then, I will leave you in peace but you sure are acting strange!’ commented his house-mate as he headed for the front door.
In reality, Liban was far from being alright nor was he at all exhausted. He was heartbreakingly saddened to have met earlier, an opposition to the UIC in the restaurant. What made him even sadder was the fact that supposedly sane Somalis, would in their right mind, unashamedly be supportive of the very brutal Warlords that have for seventeen chaotic years, massacred thousands of innocent Somalis. The words he exchanged with the men in the restaurant still ringing in his ears only enflamed his heart, giving way to the realization that not every Somali is in support of the UIC. Although he completely supports the UIC’s cause, realizing that there could be such an opposition drove him to feel slightly pessimistic about the future.
