Experiences: The Somalis

I should remember that phone call from Hassan on the 12th better than I do. I don’t know why I don’t. What I do remember very clearly is the sorrow and the fear in his voice.

Hassan is the President of the Somali Community of Ohio, and I do remember him sounding beside himself that day. All he could do was keep saying how horrible it all was and how sorry he was that this should happen. We talked for awhile, but I can’t really remember for how long or what about.

All I remember in any detail is a small part of the closing phase of the conversation: “We’ve closed the offices. Should we keep them closed?” “Are we safe?

” “Keep the women inside. The men are OK.” Amongst the Somali men, Western dress is virtually universal, and given that they are basically indistinguishable from African-Americans.

A very few wore the (a sort of knitted or beaded cap), and even then the was similar enough to the caps worn by some African-Americans that I didn’t feel it was an easy marker of ‘Otherness’. Somali women are another story. In the five years I’ve dealt with them, I’ve only met one Somali woman who dressed in the Western manner.

All other dress in traditional garb, a (a full length dress of brightly colored cloth) and head scarf, both of which are distinctive and very non-Western. They could have been easily identified as Muslims. After our telephone call ended, I had the sense I was going to receive another call very soon.

I had the strong sense I was going to be asked to come to the Association’s office to answer some questions. In the previous eight months I had been questioned, both formally and informally by Hassan and countless other Somalis, on a whole range of topics. For most, they had little meaningful contact with ‘real’ Americans (language being a serious barrier at that time), and when they did it was with people they didn’t know in settings less than conducive to dialogue.

My instincts proved me right, for on the 15th, Hassan called and asked me to come down to the Association’s offices the next morning. I knew I was going to quizzed, because he didn’t ask for anything business-related – payroll checks or whatever – to be brought. When I arrived that morning, there wasn’t a Somali in sight.

At that time, the Association was awash in federal TANF dollars for immigrant services, so on any give day there were hundreds of Somalis either in the offices or milling outside in the parking lot. But not on this day. The front door was unlocked, and I walked in feeling I was in a ghost town; there wasn’t a soul in sight.

The Association’s offices consist of a first floor classroom used for ESL (English as a second language) classes and a second floor suite that includes a waiting/intake area, three small offices, a computer class room and another class room used for ESL classes. When I came through the door and into the second floor offices I had still not seen anyone. But evidently Hassan had heard me.

The door to his office opened and he stepped out into the hallway to greet me. Hassan is a tall man, easily 6’2”, and thin as a rail. On any normal day his handshake would be accompanied by a wide, toothy smile and an easy laugh.

But not that day. That day Hassan was very solemn and very quiet when he took my hand. “I am glad you have come,” he said as he motioned to his office, “There are people here who wish to ask you questions.

” I walked into Hassan’s office to find ten Somali men in the room. Most sat in chairs along the wall or along the back of Hersi’s desk. Two remained standing, their backs against the office wall.

There was a single empty chair in front of Hassan’s desk, which was for me. Other than Hassan, the only two men I recognized were Hersi and Abdi. Both were young (20s), well educated, and fluent in English.

The remaining eight men, none of whom I recognized, were all older (late 50s to late 60s) and obviously Elders. Somali society is organized around the clan and the family. I had read a lot about it, and talked to Hassan about it at length, but I’m not even close to understanding the ins and outs of Somali society.

Whenever I really try to figure it all out, I end up feeling like Jack Nicholson’s Jake Gittes in ; I might get close to understanding the surface of things, but I’ll never come close to getting to what is really going on. What I do understand, though, is that if you want to get Somalis to do something, you need to convince the Elders that it’s a good idea first. Elders are the community’s movers and shakers; they represent their Somalis within the larger Somali community, and act as a conduit of information and opinion.

So it was immediately evident that these eight men would take every word I said and relay it across Central Ohio to every Somali within the community. Not that I was the only source of information for them, mind you, but it still made me uneasy; I’m a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy. Now I was going to have to try and weigh and measure every word I was going to say.

.. Hassan introduced me to each of the eight Elders.

They all shook my hand and nodded, but said nothing. While I sure some of them didn’t understand English, I was also sure at least a few of them did. Nearly all Somali men speak at least two languages and a significant number of them speak either three or four: Somali, usually Arabic, and often either English, Italian and/or another African language.

For whatever reason, a lot of Somali men, especially the older men, prefer to act as though they cannot understand English, even when they can. After I had been seated, a very handsome young man named Hersi began the proceedings by offering a long and sincere expression of sympathy for the death and destruction of September 11. In this it was clear that he was speaking for all in the room, as well as for the Somali community at large.

It was clear that he wanted it understood that the Somali community was as shocked and outraged by the actions of the terrorists. As he spoke, Abdi translated into Somali for the benefit of the Elders. When Hersi stated, emphatically, that the events the events of September 11 were the work of “false Muslims” who “profaned Islam and outraged all Muslims”, the Elders nodded their heads in agreement.

To be honest, I hadn’t really been prepared for Hersi’s disavowal of September 11 in religious terms. I was expecting him to cut to the chase, which was simply, “What is going to happen to us?” While I was trying to figure out what to say, Hersi continued on, and in the process he shocked me.

“You know,” he said, “We have bombs going off in Somalia all the time.” Then he waved his hand in an obvious gesture of distain. “Just little bombs that kill eight or ten people.

” Then he leaned over in his chair and gazed intently at me. “We’ve never suffered anything like what you have..

.” Understand that Somalia has been in a state of anarchy since 1991. During nearly all the years since then Somalia was in the throes of a vicious civil war.

.. a war that cost between 350,000 and 500,000 lives in a country of 8,000,000.

But because Somalis only died eight to ten at a time, their suffering was insignificant to ours. I managed to express my gratitude to them, and to tell them that I did not believe that September 11 was the work of those who believed in the word of God, be they Christian, Jew or Muslim. Once Abdi had translated this, the Elders shook their heads again and looked at me, and then to each other.

There were several small smiles of what I took to be relief. From here, Abdi took over the conversation, saying that the Elders wished to ask me some questions about the government. Abdi was a young Somali refugee I’d known for about five months, and he was a very intense individual.

We’d talked quite a bit over those months about Somalia, America and his refugee experience. At first I had taken him to be negative on America, but over time it started to dawn on me that what Abdi was doing was testing limits with me. He’d say something provocative to see how I’d react.

.. to see what I’d say.

But today was different. He was just as intense as ever, but without his usual self-confidence. He knew I’d tell him what I thought to be the truth, and this one time I sensed the idea of that scared him.

Abdi, who was seated directly in front of me, turned to several of the Elders and said something in Somali. One of the Elders replied at some length. When the Elder had finished, Abdi turned to me.

“Do you think the government will blame the Muslims for what has happened here?” By this I took it he meant Muslims in general, and Somalis in particular, when he said "Muslims". “No, I don’t think the blame will be placed on Muslims.

But understand that many people will be angry that the terrorists were Muslims. They will be angry that there are those who will claim that this has been done in the name of Islam.” Abdi translated my answer.

None of the Elders spoke. None betrayed any emotion. “Do you think it is safe for us to go out?

” Abdi asked. “I have not heard of any attacks on Somalis in Columbus. Have any of your people been attacked?

” I should remember that phone call from Hassan on the 12th better than I do.