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Tillamook

Illusions birthed by a conspiracy...a tale

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A senile old man can be seen prowling the streets of a quiet London neighborhood. He appears inebriated and is walking as if he's about to take flight any minute now, and when it seems that he’s going to capsize he briefly adjusts his balance by readjusting his position. The inebriated dolt repeats this process every other minute as he dodders aimlessly down the street. On his head he’s wearing a tightly wrapped keffiyeh with the colors of the somaliland flag imprinted on it. He's holding a black walking stick in front of him and he has khat leaves stuffed in the pockets of his tattered striped slacks. It is obvious this pitiful sight hasn't bathed in days or brushed his green teeth in weeks. He smells like road kill and he looks even worse.

 

The senile old man can vaguely be heard mumbling to himself. “The pirates are after me, they’re after me, the defeated lot are after me,” His voice shudders with fear and shifts from coherent to barely distinctive at random intervals. “They’re coming to get us. They will never stop I tell you! They want to dismantle somaliland.” The senile old man stops, looks around nervously and checks his surroundings as though watching if he's been followed before continuing to mumble unintelligibly. “No, no, no. Never! They will never get us. My excellent pedigree won’t allow it. We shall sacrifice our lives for somaliland”

 

The disgusting stink of bakhti overwhelms the summer air as the senile old man prowls about the pavement. He contorts his nose and crinkles his face in a horrid wince as a gust of wind blows his own repulsive stench back into his nostrils. He’s full of crap and he knows it. The senile old man thinks back to all the somaliaonline forum wars he'd engaged with the defeated lot and says to himself ‘Never show any signs of weakness, never surrender,’ the filth-soaked cretin reminds himself sarcastically.

 

The senile old man smiles a grotesque smile while attempting to recollect all his past glories on his favorite internet gallery. He remembered a post about a caravan started by someone called a ‘Xiin Faniin’. He vaguely remembered sparring daily with a guy referred to as Abtigiis & Tolka. He also remembered participating in long jousts with random defeated lot minions on the forum where he bored them to death with his long mind-numbing posts for weeks on end without showering or getting any sleep. He recalled feeling like the walls were closing in on him once when he had an exchange with a fella called General Duke, which for the first time in his life had caused him to pack his stuff and leave the internet cafe and go out for a walk. Where is that General Duke anyway, he hasn't posted for ages? The senile old man silently wonders as he scratches his bald head under the Keffiyeh.

 

“IF HE EVER GETS BACK ON SOL...” he says out loud to no-one in particular.

 

The senile old man turns around and walks in the opposite direction intending to go home but he doesn’t recognize where he is.

 

“What the hell!? Acuudu bilaah? Why am I in Soho? I don’t bloody live here!” he exclaims.

 

He starts walking haphazardly in every direction trying to figure out where his home is and how he got there. He’s looking and feeling very bewildered, even more-so than previously, but before he can figure out that he's rightly in Soho and that his home is, in fact, located in Soho and just a few blocks away, the senile old man loses his bearings again, pirouettes and trips over an uneven spot in the sidewalk. His decrepit body spasms and he falls flat on face smashing his already crooked nose into the pavement. A loud yelp can be heard as he drops noisily onto the ground. The pitiful old man uses his wrinkled hands to wipe away the gruesome mixture of drool, snot and blood dripping from his mouth and nose before standing up again.

 

A group of Somali men approach from the opposite direction. A young man holding hands with a beautiful looking Somali lady, their grips making them appear like an inseparable couple, a GQ looking gentleman with heavily conditioned hair wearing a pair of white-washed Levi jeans and a FC Bayern Munich football jersey, and another completely casual-looking guy speaking Somali to his friends who seem completely engrossed in the story he is narrating to them.

 

As they approach towards him, the senile old man becomes incredibly hyperactive and his voice goes shrill. He believes that he knows them all. He’s waving his hands back and forth and tries to shoo them away. His cries become louder as his nervous shrieks transform into belicose shouts directed towards the pedestrians.

 

“No. NO. NO!!!” The frail old man shouts with all of his might. “I told you defeated lot to stay away from me,” he backs away nervously, the pitch in his voice increasing as his anger grows. “I didn’t do anything to you! I never meant anything bad by my posts. Honest. So you won’t get rid of me that easily!” The crazy old man glares at the passerby's and they can see that his marqaan debilitated eyes are bloodshot from too many hours of chewing khat. “somaliland's independence is non-nogotiable! NEVER! And I won’t give you an excuse to make us look bad in the eyes of the international community. Viva somaliland!”

 

The pedestrians glance at each other perplexed, wondering what on earth he’s talking about and what this somaliland that he’s referring to got to do with them. They quickly glance around to see if there’s anyone else nearby that this old man could be talking to. When they see that no-one else is around, they laugh out loud.

 

“It’s a conspiracy! You want to tarnish our image!” The senile old man shouts again. “what proof do you pirates have that pedophilia is rampant in Hargaysa?”

 

Awoowe, ma anagaad nala hadlaysaa? Says the kid who was speaking Somali.

 

“Yeah, no kidding Cabdi,” his homeboy adds in support, before blowing a kiss at the sexy Somali girl he’s holding hands with. “Odey maxaa ku daaray, why you so worked up?”

 

The senile old man takes these simple questions as signs of hostility typical in the nature of the defeated lot. His first impulse is to scream for help and run away, but no…he’s in no condition to run at the moment.

 

“You will not besmirch our good name. I know Faroole is out to get me just because I am a staunch defender of Maandeeq!” He sneers at the young men and flashes his green rotting teeth, “somaliland is independent and I don’t care if you laugh at me. I know it’s true because Beesha Caalamka has said Somalia and somaliland should have talks.”

 

The young group looks at each other for a brief second before bursting out laughing in perfect unison.

 

The slender Somali chick who was holding hands with the debonaire looking guy steps forward and wags her index finger defiantly at the crazy old man before speaking. “Awoowe, waad wareersantahay, gurigaagi aan ku geeyo.” She looks at him up and down feeling sorry for him, while holding back another giggle. “Tan labaad, maxaa kaligaa habeen barkii ku socodsiiyey?. Her boyfriend chimes in, "He's just a street drunk looking for some money. Odey, you need to go home and judging by your smell I’m guessing that you need a good bath too.” He turns to his buddies and lowers his voice, “You guys have any loose change to give to this nutcase?

 

The dude wearing the FC Bayern Munich football jersey says,"Saaxiib, even if I had some change I wouldn't give it to that nasty drunk".

 

The young men shake their heads at each other and laugh as they continue walking...

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LOL :D:D:D

 

Ceeb Oodka! Maxaad u caytamaysaa saaxiib? What gives ninyahow? or better yet, as one of the characters in the story had inquired, “Odey maxaa ku daaray, why you so worked up?” :D

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I think Oodka you have me confused for someone else walaal. I am not Ngonge. I happen to be a card carrying member of the defeated lot of SOL. So stop explicitly revealing yourself through such private messages. And also don't take this post too seriously saaxiib. I just penned it for the sake of sh!ts & giggles.

 

P.S

I didn't know you held Ngonge in such high esteem...lol:D

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Oodka, walaale, waan ku la kaftamayey! Naga daa dee. Adigu ma iska caroonaysaa? I thought you had a thicker skin than that.

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So you still believe I am Ngonge. You flatter me walaal, but I am not Ngonge. And not to diss you or anything but your paranoia in here is fast becoming similar to the one experienced by the old fella in the story penned above.

 

Oodka, please take a break from the computer ninyahow!

 

P.S

Naga daa dee isn't a trademark of Ngonge's:D

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NGONGE   

Though it's a nicely written and in some parts funny story, I am really shocked that my guru would think me vulgar enough to banter with anyone by describing them as senile or inebriated!

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Ngonge, if only you knew how wonderful the guru truly thinks you are, you'd blush-- I tell ya!:D

 

As an aside, what boggles the mind is why would he take offense when he was never mentioned in that story, or has inspired fiction become reality on SOL these days.

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Mr Blondy, am still baking more installments for the fadhikudirir Sol Saga, and rest assured you will be pleased once your character gets introduced.

 

God willing, it is my intent to weave many other nomads into that story as well, and even though I hit a wall sometimes with the plots and sub plots, I just gotta keep my imagination on its toes...:D

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Thanks sxb.

 

My main ambition however is to write in af soomaali, and I don't think I know enough to publish anything just yet..

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Somalia;955356 wrote:
Literary disses
:D
Keep them coming indeed!

Hey yo Somalia:

 

Am thinking if weaving this character into the fadhikudirir thread...

 

What say you?:D

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