Nephtys hadii qalbi saafi ah oo kaliya uun lahayo kawaran!Ma laha agtaada lama soo marayo????

A criminally exaggerated account of a mediocre singer! Faysal is known for "Ha igabin", "Lacageey", "Wali waa caruurooo" songs. I would have to say his vocie is not so great (very thick for a singer), and While it is good to be unique, there is certainly nothing so-inspiring in his! That some are having to ask for who he is, is not by happenstance. It is testimony to his under-achievemnet. The writers of the story should have saved energy and spent such a talent on worthy stars like the Immortal Mohamed Moge Liban. Surely, the best somali singer ever.

AW NUUR JAAMAC’S PAIR OF SHOES His grin broadened. In the drowsiness of the noon, Aw Nuur Jaamac’s heart pounded in thrill as the messenger handed him the gift. From the checkered lines of the sole of the shoes, he saw the ups and downs of his long life. And his son came to mind. The tall, Ahmed-Saafi. He was so tender and sweet in his childhood. ‘Aabo, milk.’ He would say. And the father never disappointed. Thanks to Gabbad- his lone she-camel. ‘I wouldn’t have exchanged Gabbad for ten others’, Aw Nuur once told Qabille, his cousin. ‘So much milk.’ Looking again at the bottom of the shoe, the tartan-like patterns interwoven as a tassel, like a broken mirror of memory, flashed back the scene he still dreads. He saw the flocks of crows circling the sky in the horizon. And imagined the red in the talons of those cruel birds as it sailed over his flesh. His camel. They had just eaten the last pieces of meat off the bones of Gabbad. And Aw Nuur fainted. Twenty years ago. Gabbad succumbed to that ghastly jilaal. So inconsiderate! The jilaal or the she-camel? He was not sure, which one is to blame. ‘May Allah bless him with plenty of boys and milk! He made me happy. Gone are the days when I have to pick prickles out of my toes,’ Aw Nuur couldn’t thank enough. The pair of shoes his son sent from ‘outside’ was the first of its kind for his feet. For the village, as well. He wore, in his entire life, a pair of sandals locally made from cattle hide; simple soled with supporting straps at the back end. He is, nowadays, the only wearer of the shoe with the distinctive footprints in the whole village. Sensing envy in the eyes of the village elders, something jingled in his mind. Before Ahmed-saafi ‘finished the twelve rooms’- as Aw Nuur sold one sheep after another to keep him in school; what were they saying? Was it not ‘the dung beetle’ that they used to call him? He wanted to scream loud like the ant that bemoaned with glee the cricket’s indiscretion in the La fontaine tale of the French. When the fearful autumn set in (and the hedonistic cricket found itself without food and home), the ant asked, ‘what have you been doing in the summer?’ The cricket replied ‘I was singing’. The ant, then, said ‘you have sung the summer away? Well, go and dance now! Dance!’ and left it in the cold, without lending it what it sought. Aw Nuur almost heard his scream: ‘what were you doing, villagers?’ insulting me? Cry now! Cry!’ He knows he bequeathed the good art of valour and prudence to his son. Prudence that made the young boy relentlessly pursue education, in the face of enormous difficulties. Yet, he would be selfish to attribute all to himself. Ahmed-saafi was also made by the iron fist of his mother- the late Cibaado. But, it didn’t take him more than two weeks to realize that the shoes were proving to be more of a curse than a blessing. His life and privacy was messed up. ‘Aw Nuur, you were with Cali-dhuux last night. I saw your footprints next to his house.’ ‘Why didn’t you come in? For the ducco. We know you went back from the door. Anyway, we sent some meat and rice to your wife’. The talk of villagers who spotted his footprints here and there was getting to his nerves. His wife, Dahabo, rebuked him for not coming direct from the mosque to his home. She told him that the ‘marks’ of his shoes are everywhere that some impish neighbors started to tease her. ‘Is the old man a policeman in a nights shift? He treks around too much.’ It was getting nasty. The shoes must disappear. Disappear totally. He threw them into a not-so-far swamp. It was the rainy month of the year. He could hear the crocking of the frogs in the mud that evening. What were they so happy about? The new company -his shoes? Or was it that routine delight rain brings to this land. If only the frogs knew how fleeting it is! And after all, who cares about it anymore? Not Aw Nuur. He lost the reason to wait for the gritty dusts that swirl from the distance heralding the arrival of new life- the rain; when Gabbad perished. The next absurd Monday, a young girl who went down to the river to wash clothes found it. She gave it back to his wife. Aw Nuur came out of the house five minutes later, half-awake. ‘Thank you, young lady. It is good of you’. On any other day, he would have taught ‘this girl is the perfect match for my son. She wears all the emblems of the good breeding of olden days.’ Aw Nuur was not happy, though. That is why after three days, he threw it on the grass and soil roof of one of the mud houses in the village. The same afternoon, the twin brothers -Ilmo Dhegacadde- were playing with a ball made of old socks. One of them hit the ball high and it went to the top of the house nearby. The boys knew they couldn’t climb up the roof. So, they waited until their friends arrive. The friends arrived and quickly threw down the ball to the ground. One of them gasped, ‘Haaah! Aw Nuur’s shoes!’ ‘Adeero, we got your shoes. Bless us.’ They said cheerfully. ‘I bless you’ Aw Nuur felt despair inside. ‘Why can’t I lose this damn shoes’. Only last night, in his dream, he was murdered. His killer lurked on a corner of one of the narrow alleys Aw Nuur used for the first time. He was coming back from the house of his friend who was sick. At the funeral -in the absurdity of death in dreams- he could hear what the grave-diggers were saying. ‘The killer confessed that he knew the whereabouts of Aw Nuur by following his footsteps from the village market.’ Sacaba-weyne said. He also understood that apart from Xaashi, No one vowed to avenge his death. So much for tolnimo. ‘It is good to know who is a friend and who isn’t’, he said in the morning, ‘in your dreams’. He also refused to tell the dream to anybody. ‘Bad dreams are not talked about’ he knows. ,,,,the final part coming shortly.

Looool@waaan barooranaa,,,

Originally posted by Kool_Kat: Finally, had full five minutes (minuse a minute here and there where I had to take calls) QUOTE] To take calls ku teeno, mid baan cay ukala tirinayay bal may tiraahdo! Anyway, thanks, ama hadaad dooni no thanks.

Thanks sis for the kind words. Please forgive Haybe; for sometimes, we are all blinded by our desires! kuwa Jaasjuusinta ah ee meesha jooga se dabada u qabo! Haka hadhin.

Hadii 3000 words la akhriyo, yaa dadka ukala tirin!! mashquul. JB unbaan is idhi macnee!Good to know Silaanyo is alive, yacni Sheekh area.

PART FOUR(FINAL) ‘You see what we were telling you! Now, it is not you who is in charge. It is us. You have shamed us enough. We have become the objects of ridicule for everybody. Listen now.’ We all said one after another. And then issued commands to him. You will not to talk to her again, you will not pass by the route she passes, you will not utter her name, and most of all you will not talk to any of her women friends. And a lot more of don’t do’s. I remember his request. ‘I fully agree’, he said, ‘but allow me to see her one more time just to take my anger off my chest. I will tell her that she is not what I thought she is, that if she thinks I am not enough for her, she has made a big mistake and that she will end up in the hand of one of these losers.’ Permission not granted. Then he begged, ‘what about if I call her and say she should never come around me, please let me say that to her’. Again, a resounding no, was the consensus from us. After a silence of maybe half-an-hour, Haybe made another request, this time more cogently. ‘Hey, friends, is it not weird that I just stop a relationship and the other player doesn’t know about it? No, no, I think I must let her know that it is over’. Xashi’s patience waned. ‘You man. You look you are not yet over it. Why do you insist on seeing her again? It is over. Over. We said so, and don’t expect us to acquiesce to the whims of an infatuated man.’ Haybe looked at me with beseeching eyes. ‘Why don’t you say something, Caabi?’ his voice stuttered like a radio with a dead battery. Like the proverbial Hyena that run to the side of whoever showed mercy, among the hunting men; he likes to slope towards me when he is in an unpleasant condition. But he must have known, of all days today, I wasn’t going to come to his rescue. I was up to my neck in distaste for the young lady. I told him to listen to his friends and heed their advice. It was clear he was making a valiant effort to contain his disappointment with our intrusion. Gradually, Haybe walked out of the room with melancholy. We later learned he actually confronted her with the allegations, but thankfully, Hibo assured him that it was all an ugly fib. Truth be told, the first acquaintance of a celestial visitor would have been Hibo, in that town. Was it Percy Sledge, who said Loving eyes can never see? Right, he was. After a week, we were invited to their wedding rite. She insisted Axmaaro friends of her, must sing for the occasion. And the unambiguous wedding melody (of the Axmaaro) flowed, to the disapproval of many of us, who saw it as uncalled for and iconoclastic. O! (You) Bride, O! (You) groom To you comes, our heartily wishes For accomplishing the destiny May your matrimony bloom Like that of Abraham and Sara Like Methuselah, May it live For a long time, for eternity’ Three months later, it was time for divorce. Disregarding the blessings, they obviously lampooned Abraham and Sara. ‘What happened?’ We asked, recalling that in those early days of nuptial festivities, we were small with shame, and Haybe made sure we feel the pain of our crimes (by playing different songs that hailed the inevitability of the triumph of love over jealously and pernicious gossips) whenever we paid the newly-wed family an obligatory visit. ‘War bad baan galay’, he said, holding his head.’ I now know I wasn’t living in this town. ‘Rag aana magaaladda waligay ku arag baanu isbaranay’ these days. The bottom-line is my house became ‘Acapulco bay’ where the obscure love and lust chase of a Mexican series is played out. Sometimes, I think I am a receptionist in a massage parlour. ‘Where is Hibo?’ is the most spoken word of peoeple looking for her, like clients who wouldn't be served by elseone! To my surprise, when visitors come, and when I face her with who they are, it is always ‘either her ina-abti or waa caadi’. ‘Kaalay, is the United Nations your reer-abti? I asked her once.’ He asked us, not soliciting any particular answer,’ how can folks of all nations and races surround my house and she tells me they are her ina-abti?’ He made us laugh when he defined ‘caadi’, not as a word, but as anything from ‘a bearded-stranger at your doorsteps asking for your wife, to a young lady who knocks at your door after midnight and whispers things in your wife’s ears’. Her version was different. ‘Wuu bacoobay, oo buufis buu qaaday’, she said. ‘I don’t know why he is behaving so strangely? Before we married, he never protested against ‘people I socialize with’. He knows I am an avid lover of social discourse and interactions’. As my patience paid off and I finally walked into the smelly toilet, it passed my mind, whether Haybe will think of us, with hindsight, as an insufferable hordes, or genuine friends with a legitimate cause for concern (who were on a scared mission of saving him a damned life)’. Considering that we disapproved of his second marriage as well, which since then proved a success; it isn’t so clear, I thought. Is it? And then Haybe’s words the last time I saw him, three years ago, reverberated in my mind. ‘Chaste as your friendship was, it was rude and abysmal, as well’ he said. ‘The hurt, nonetheless, was adequately expiated by ever the healer - time’. But, what intrigued me most was the pace of human mind, which in the span of seconds re-winded enormous recollections that had nothing to do with the purpose of my travel that day (I was going to Mecca for the Hajj). And, of all places, why would a toilet evoke memories that are held like dear treasures in my heart? It made no sense. I asked myself, was the man right? “Are our women learning the wrong way?” I know I have some lingering misgivings about some ‘scholar’ women, but can I be so conclusive? I don’t know. Then, I heard the sound, ‘Passengers, passengers, you are reminded to please get ready to board’ and I hurried out of the toilet.

War garhaye, Waylo-lagu xidh miyaad taqaanaa? Waadigii maalinkii i waydiiyayee? mawjadaa dhinac iga saarayd maalinkaas oo qof kalaan ku mooday. Iskuusaaatii Torobo.

Yaa Dhuumanayaa, maaniga? bal wakaase waa cidda afka ila soo gasha! JB Jamal Budul maad taqaanaa? Kii dee!

I am compelled to reassess my intial, and somewhat hasty positive judgement on the smartness of Koora Tuunshe. Clearly, writing eruditely doesn't compensate fully for an apparrent luck of intelligence and sincerity! The book of the Eighth Millenia Epoch says they will all march,grandiloquently profund, like a genuine part of the literati- the fools. But it also says, you can stil see through their facade, the lines of impiety, sin and egotism so clearly etched on their features -the traitors! He has to be either of the two! For whoelse would enjoy the devouring of his nations soul by an old adversery with glee!

EEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! Well, manners was the subject and I see bad manners in different context! How can grown up people talk about such things here! Meesha dad waa weyn baa joogee, hala kala xishoodo! Away kuwii lahaa tii dheereeyd baa dhici tolow?Feedback la ismaba siinayo?

I am also reassessing my premature positive judgement on the seemingly incorrigible Koora! Clearly, writing eruditely doesn't entirely compensate for luck of brain. And the book says, in the eighth epoch, They will all march very profound like a genuine part of the Literati!...The fools! But, you can make out the lines of impiety, sin and egotism so clearly etched on they features., if you are wise! The book guides...

Confermo! I have always prided myself of solving difficult riddles!haye, barasho wacan.

..And Guns kill!

MALIKA ...Or perhaps when one is obssessed with holding onto all the good things he saw in mystic dreams and gets mad!. For it is so near, yet so far! Ya, I think i know people who complained of that. Alxamdu-liaalh I am OK. But Shaydaan can descned on someone unannounced anytime, and no one is to blame!... ANYWAY, I can imagine that fine line you talk of!

Koora Tuunshe's Political views and commentaries remind me of one Abdullah A. Hirad who contributes to Wardheernews. Sometimes, I think the two guys are brothers! Or perhaps the SAME!

Koora Tuunshe's Politicalm views and commentaries remind me of one Abdullah A. Hirad who contributes to Wardheernews. Sometimes, I think the two guys are brothers! Or perhaps the SAME!

Koora Tuunshe Good analyis, but that is as good as it is. It is Wishful thinking, all that you said. If the TFG ever succeeds in asserting its authority, let alone revive nationhood,pick a hair from my tongue!

General Duke; You should have the gut to condemn these Monster's criminal act aganist fellow Somali's who were refugees in their soil. Waad sheegatay labadii, is sheer hypocrasy!

Sudanese Liberation Army (SLA) faction Leader Mini Minaawi Was in the White House. Was it a year or two ago! Holy Sheekh Muxiyaddiin on the speedy horse; Will photos and handshakes with few leaders ever earn this tug the title of a President? What Marshal Petain was for the French, Yey is for Somali's!

I was wondering if you need "internet manners" in lieu of this. Sure, you may still be as horribale as you are here on the table. Just beause you preach doesn't mean you practice. Laftaa soo tuur kuwa yidhaa baad iila egtahay. Ama Dhuuxa suxul ku jabiya!!

yabaal means " hesitation and confusion". not exactly one of them, but something in between! Bad omen is more accurate, i would guess. Now, what is tii dheereed supposed to be? Qaylo?

Originally posted by Malika: [...but there are moments one can claim insanity possessed them..Lol [/QB] Can you elaborate a bit on this one? have no idea what you are talking about. Or perhaps other instances of such case! :confused:

Originally posted by Malika: [...but there are moments one can claim insanity possessed them..Lol [/QB] Can you elaborate a bit on this one? have no idea what you are talking about. Or perhaps other instances of such case!