ISIRKA

How far would you travel for love: Diaspora tales of homecoming and heartbreak

“I’ve traveled a lot and I’ve found my body making more sense elsewhere” – warsan shire. 

It took me traveling across the seven seas and multiple continents to finally make it to Mama Africa. In ’91, as the Somali state collapsed, I was crawling around when my grandpa came to us in the states. One of the only pictures we have to remember this time is of my smiling young mama holding me, my dad cheesing and grandpa, standing in front of our old house.  Awoowo had a stern face, and like much of the older generation he didn’t believe in smiling in pictures. Yet he would often laugh at me as I ran away from what was meant to be a gift for me – a life-sized teddy bear, three times my size. 

As the harrowing situation in Somalia gained international attention, he eventually moved to Canada where it would be easier for him to live. I got my first passport, before I could talk, to visit him. He always had a pack of old men that he would chill with that grew into our family fold over the years. Our family grew even larger when the youngest of his children were granted asylum to Canada in 1998.  I still remember like it was yesterday them singing “So dhawoow- waan ku suugayney” to my dad- as we were all meeting each other for the first time. And so we spent all of our vacations going back and forth to Canada to see them. We became such apart of that neighborhood, that even if a year had passed, people would ask where we had been cuz they thought we really lived there. We’d go to dugsi classes in Adeero’s basement even if we were there for two weeks, and then run out and play with our classmates.  Over the years, more family members came to the country, and with every new visitor we’d have to put the use all the Somali words we knew and inevitably increase our vocabulary and cultural knowledge as a default. They really loved quizzing us on everything and we both found each other very weird. We were tooooo American to them and the fact that they didn’t speak English didn’t make them desirable to us. But they were the most difficult to family members to relate to. The other relatives in Europe also thought we were too American but we had more of a middle ground and WERE NOT QUIZZED! So if we didn’t go to Canada, we lucked out and went to visit family in Europe and I had the best summer times in Italy!! 

In my late teens, I went back to Italy to eat some pasta and catch up on the gelato I hadn’t been able to taste since 2001. There, I met awoowo’s youngest sister, Nura. She would spend a couple months of the year in this small Italian town that my cousins had spent their whole lives in, and the other couple of months of the year in the miyi. We were roommates while I was there and she appreciated someone who would speak back to her in Somali. She constantly scolded me against laughing (which I did anytime her and my Italian cousin would interact) and she would in turn curse me by praising my pops saying “aabaha la janaaye”.  That trip I also went to the burial site of their other sister, Leyla who had raised a majority of her nieces and nephews in Mogadishu. My aunt stared at me the whole time as we ate pizza in Florence commenting how much I resembled her late mother. I didn’t remember her much, but everything I’ve heard about her is so interesting, I can’t imagine the life she lived. A woman who grew up in the miyi and made it in the big city with an Italian spouse and all. That year I also met their youngest brother in London; he had a jovial spirit and humor the others didn’t inherit. So all in all, we were pretty well adjusted in the diaspora, it offered us all some security and for the elders, adequate medical care. So we never were missing much as a family by not going to Somalia. Those that were back home, we (re: my family) were relatively connected to thanks to social media and whatsapp, etc. But the most special elder of all, my mama’s mama was there and although I heard stories, I had yet to experience the legend in the flesh for myself. Most of my mom’s siblings were there as well, so I was looking forward to meeting my mother’s side of the family. 

I was so excited to go to AFRICA for the first time but my detour in Europe ended up being a lot longer than I expected. This was the first time I had travelled internationally for a long time and I ended up traveling throughout Europe- going from Barcelona to Copenhagen. I took every mode of transportation to get around during this time and came to Hargeisa ready to continue this adventure. And while I was ready for an adventure, I had no idea the extent of what was going to come. 

When I first met my family members in Hargeisa they came in two waves. My mom’s sister and nieces came the first day and I only knew one aunt’s name and it wasn’t the one standing in front of me. Oh, shit maybe she wasn’t the one I should’ve given the bag of clothes to. Like I always do, I tried to act like I was in the know and asked about my uncles whose names I knew. There was a lot more of them that I never knew about and I wondered if I had not come here would I even know about them. The next day my dad’s siblings came with their kids and they all filled up the living room staring at me, sizing me up to see who I was. I stared back at them, smiling when I couldn’t use words and they were astounded at the little Somali I knew. I smiled politely till they left and sat confused for a little while. Had I done the wrong thing by coming here?

When I finally went to meet my grandma, I traveled all the way across town with another uncle who talked too fast and was always making promises he couldn’t keep. He made up for his lack of follow through with a jovial spirit and actually smiled a lot. We first went to see a couple older family members- one who couldn’t walk, another couldn’t see but still told me about the days she remembered my dad crawling around. Now, while my dad looked youthful he was OLD, so god knows how old she was. I hugged a bunch of other people- two of Awoowe’s brothers had died but I met one’s first wife and his second wife. Like true egalitarian Somalis, they lived in the same compound. Then after we had done the courtesy tour we finally went to Ayeeyo! It was a hot day, while the city slept between duhr and asr, I made moves against my better judgment. We walked across the dusty streets, and within 3 seconds, my feet were camouflaged with the ground. So much for my pedicure! The road was littered with people and dilapidated shacks, and GOATS but at least there were shops and life! The area I was staying at was soo quiet and everyone was dispersed. We took a right at the Dahabshiil sign (I will never forget this) and walked up the rockiest hill till we finally stopped at the second block. My uncle, in true Somali male fashion made a big show of announcing his presence and my meek auntie laughed and greeted him. I looked back at him as if to say, is this where we are going? He responded by forging ahead after she had opened the gate and went into the first room. Now, the rocks I will never adjust to- but I have to say sitting there you can see the best view of the city. My grandma has a hoarse cackle as she laughs and talks, and she called out to me in her very dramatic way to ensure she had command of the room.   She was sitting on the floor, so I bent down to hug her and squeezed her tightly. She kept talking and praying over me during our embrace and didn’t let me leave her side for the next ten minutes. Hooyo never shared much about her life but I would ask ayeeyo all about her life and some days she’d tell me funny stories, other days she couldn’t remember all her kids. I asked her about her mama, who I was named after and she lit up with so much joy, it over took her body and she’d rock slightly as she spoke. And while she might forget my siblings’ names too – she gave us all our own names. She named me ISIR (roots). 

I first published this in 2019 and figured it was a good way to start the re-launch of ISIRKA.