Herse – Gaab Burps In Public
Being a father of eight kids with unshaved heads and a wife with a ringing tongue, plus the political hiccups of Mr.Silanyo and his henchmen. Sleeping is very hard to persuade, and the night is so long that it never finds the day. In the morning, when I wake up with a broken heart and shaking legs, desperate for help. Trying to stand up with my tiny feeble legs. Dragging my feet like a lame deer.
My knees and elbows are aching due to Arthritis. So that I could barely pick up my feet when walking. The icy tingling in my fingers and toes are very irritating. Finally pushing hard myself towards my cracking mirror which is as old as my wisdom tooth. Where I could see my aging face folded with wrinkles and deep scars. A V – Shaped bald surrounded by African stiff hair, standing like nails. A bushy grey beard and moustache that is unfamiliar to a comb for months. Depressed eyes located in deep sockets encircled by layers of dark skin which is a sign of stress and depression.
Two spongy smashed cheeks decorated with stained teeth that can’t chew more than corn – flakes. A harsh voice passing through my dry dusty lips. Coughing and sneezing, at intervals inside my impoverished, destitute shack, called home. Starring back at my deep sunk, antique wooden – bed that is covered with a dirty bed – sheet and a ragged blanket full of dust. A false teeth denture in a cup of water placed at the corner of my collapsing bed. Glancing at my smoky roof dripping drops of dirty rain water. Above that, recently I noticed that I am dropping things like keys and coins. Pens flew from my fingers due to parkinson’s disease. Plus the growing anger and frustration, as a result of the political hiccups of the contradicting dim views of Mr.Silanyo and his henchmen. Rehearsing that young calf called Herse – Gab, as our crown – prince and our president for the near future. Distributing the prescription to the public little by little at intervals, so that our blood circulation adapts the dosage, and our brain accustoms and accepts the nomination; and his political manoeuvre involuntarily.
That immature ignorant Herse Gab dictating our destiny in his dirty hands, and shamelessly burping and belching back, his disgusting speeches in front of our parliament. That is an insult and degrading to our parliament which is regarded as the cream of the whole nation. Who the hell is he, this alien Herse – Gab who is inflicted to Somaliland from the sky? Owing to despair and loss of hope; our future generation and graduates from universities are preparing themselves for an illegal immigration in between the devil and the dead – sea, and diminishing. Above that, always hearing too much disturbing voices that tickles our throat; whenever Mr.Silanyo opens his mouth, or shakes a leg. Due to these infectious political culture, and discouraging attitude; every Somalilander gives up his life dream, inspiration, motivation, aspiration, and had surrendered himself to despair and loss of hope. Late nights of sleeping due to those heavy gravity of worries and sorrow; I am now paying that heavy price of poor health and degrading low spirit. After realizing that there is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Then by coincidence, my nine years old son, Ismail, comes running around. Looking at me with very sympathetic eyes, marked with a question mark. Asking, “ daddy why are you morally down and sitting idle in a gloomy face? “ I hesitated answering him with murmuring words of discontent. Then he hugged me and said, “ daddy don’t leave me alone in this wild World that steals the gold teeth from the dead body.” His impressive touching remarks revived my dead spirit and boosted my low morale. Then, I reshuffled my old cards again, driving again my several times wrecked ship. Both hands on the wheel, and my eyes on the horizon. Assembling and mobilizing again my out of date old tools, acting as a whistle – blower. Cursing my first day I hit my head on the earth planet. Because there is no light at the end of the tunnell. That is the preface of my personal thrilling story; and now, I have to break the ice of the political hiccups of Mr.Silanyo, who is just the only cleanest dirty shirt around. Dictating our destiny with his dirty hands that are smeathered with a cold blood.
Dear reader, I don’t know who is me yet, I have to discover myself again. A hole needs filling in my wisdom tooth. Yesterday was a painful memory, today is dark, and there is no a promising tomorrow.
The whole Nation is sitting hands in chin, not believing to what is fated to them as a result of electing an Octogenerian old man who is in the Second Childhood.
All, young and old people are experiencing a future shock. Because there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Dear reader, time is a file that wears and makes no noise. Hope ties us to the future as memory ties us to the past. Mr.Silanyo, your dark past is playing tricks on your mind. That is why our ears are full of wax; and every word from Herse – Gab’s mouth is tickling our throat. Because your tools are working in other people’s garden. He that teaches patience, never knew the pain. Alas! Mr.Silanyo has forgotten that yesterday he was one of us. Using Mujahid Xamarji and other SNM veterans as a human shield against the cross fire of president Riyalle. We are as old as we feel, and as young as we look. Mr.Silanyo, if your head has many faces. Your brain acts as if your ideas are going down a constricted pipe – line, going through a dark tunnel.
Turn your face towards the sun, so the people can see your true colors. Never try to give us the fat with the lean. It won’t work with us. Because every one of us knows where his shoes pinches. Lecture is the art of transferring information from the notes of the lecturer to the notes of the students, without passing through the minds of either. A rebellion to a freedom fighter, is disobedience to God. Whom the God would destroy; they hate the noble men and they love the snooty. If you do what you should not; you must hear what you would not. Actions, words, and looks are the steps from the Alphabet in which you spell the character of a person. Mr.Silanyo, it is better to limp on the right road, than to speed up on the wrong road. A poet can survive everything, but misprint. It is a breach against the Human Rights Act to impose your ill views on unwilling listeners. Mr.Silanyo, you can hoard and collect from the public treasury, as much as you can carry towards your trip to the grave – yard.
But your illegal clandestine marriage will crumple and break into pieces, soon or later. When you hear us singing. It is not a sign of satisfaction. But music is a poor man’s spasm, used as an Anti – Pain. Tribalism, arrogance, and ignorance to our demands is a missionary tradition into the fabric of your veins and a stream in your blood stream. But we are fully alert, and you can’t sell our cause to any Co – Operation, like the greedy Dahabshiil that takes more and gives less to this country. That is a feeling of shame in size as well as in quality. Because a man is not poor if at all he can smile. Even though we are a hog – tied nation by the Mother – In – Law from hell ( Tribalism ) which we already prepared it’s coffin, but always survives all flood and fire. Yet, the majority of the Somalilanders are politically healthy, and they are old enough to dismantle your undermine insidious means, and your unhealthy snoring during your day time snooze.
Today the political climate of Somaliland is so toxic, as our Government is the enemy of it’s own self. Creating friction among family and friends, dismantling and disintegrating all Government institutions, and opposition parties. Each Faction fighting for their ethnic tribal rights. As the Government of Somaliland is creating an atmosphere of confusion and misunderstanding among the tribes. Mr.Silanyo has made every effort to the expansion of his horrific atrocities. Incriminating and imprisoning innocent civilians to consolidate his tribally motivated policy. Jailing all who disagree with his lizard brain and phony dim views. Unsustainable policy of No – Where. Hyper critical of small faults while ignoring some major crimes committed by his Shintos, close friends. Cracking open our ossified State. The oasis of peace and stability crumbling under the weight of it’s own decay – leaders. A decay – leadership that separates, and cracks apart their people instead of gluing them together. Dividing them into segments, clans, tribes and division – groups chaired by ignorant chiefs and sultans. Who are neither a bridge nor a gully to our cause. In Silanyo era, a son became a parent to his dad. Mr.Silanyo, you can build the most beautiful engine in the World, but if there is no fuel, it can not run. If you let the tank run dry. A political division that will be the down fall of what we cherished as an all inclusive democratic state.
Without some effort to compromise for the good of all citizens; there is no way for our democracy to survive. The Government must look at all tribes with the same lens. Mr.Silanyo puts the cart before the horse. A few underground mafia is running the country in an exuctive order which is unconstitutional in our system of governing. You can read from the face and tone of the Vice President of Somaliland that he has no a clue of who is running the country. The only assignment he is supposed to do, is to hold the Scissor for the inauguration of a new Government facility, or to hand certificates, when students graduating from schools. He said openly that he is a passenger in a football team. Mr.Vice – president, thank you for telling us the truth. All the Government Institutions are stagnant, malfunctioning and in a complete coma.
Before September 11, I used to be a strong believer on the false slogans of the Western Countries. Assuming that they are the cradle of peace and democracy, and an advocate of the Human Rights Act. But since September 11, the War – Cry slogans proved to me that the Western World were acting a falsely orchestrated Opera and a typical crocodile – tears Show. Anybody who is in doubt about my statement, have to make a quick look at some clips of facts and figures illustrated in the Documentary Films in the Google.Search. For Example: 1 ) Top Documentary Films. 2) New World Order. 3) The Conspiracy. 4 ) The Tears of Gaza. These figures and facts were prepared by some American healthy Christians; not by some hostile group to the American people. After you watch these documentary Films. I am deadly sure that you will come to the conclusion that the white man is an evil. That is why we see nowadays that the European Civilization and Culture is now in decline. The Eastern Civilization are making a come back. The United States will follow Europe’s down hill. That is why at the present time, the famous butterfly to the rain forest produces a storm in the Oval – Office of Mr.Silanyo. That is why the Tartars from Mogadishu are waiting the miracle stick from the Western Countries to solve the Somali crisis. The golden spoon for Mr.Shariff and the dessert dish for Mr.Silanyo. Pushing us as Somalilanders to get united with sea – pirates that represent nobody, but their wallet and stomach.
Here is a poem written by An African child that was nominated for the best poem of 2005.
When I born, I black; when I grew up I black; when I go in sun I black; when I scared, I black; when I sick, I black; And when I die, I still black; And you white fellows; when you born, you pink; when you grow up, you white; when you go in sun, you red; when you cold, you blue; when you scared, you yellow; when you sick, you green; when you die, you grey; and yet you call me a coloured man.
Finally, as a Somaliland political therapist and a whistle blower, I came to the conclusion that most of our men politicians are that much dumb to sell our cause to the International Community. While the Tartars from Mogadishu are selling to the International Community, a trash, as a gold. While we have no a market for our liable and true cause which is made of pure gold. Personally I prefer all heads of state and politicians to be all women, rather than men. As a group, men are not as evolved as women. They are less flexible, quicker to react rather than respond. It is sad but true. We, as Somalilanders, all our men politicians get stuck in the same elevator.
Mr.Silanyo, what pains us trains us. Your bullets and prison will unite the masses, not scarring them. You are cute when you are angry. The three piece suit is yours and the shame is ours.
Thank you for being a head with two faces.
But remember, Somalilanders are birds that have no respect for boundaries.
Yusu Deyr, Canada