Watering Gardens With Human Blood

Dude, how you doing ? I have no choice, I have to say that I am Ok. Why should I complain. Because nobody is willing to listen to my deep – sigh, and heaved agony. We, Somalilanders are being taught the Schooling of life in the classrooms of Mr.Silanyo, in the hard way, to learn by stick. Watering gardens with human blood, and showering flowers with bloody, twisted tears, deep, deep from our devastated hearts. And yet sarcastically expecting us to smile from ear to ear. Because the greedy never know when they have enough. Dear reader, far away in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty. Believe in them, and try to follow where they may lead me to. Mr. Silanyo, for every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to embrace it. To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream about it. Not only plan, but also believe it. I like to be like an Artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Because imagination, is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited, where as imagination embraces the entire World. Stimulating progress and giving birth to evolution. People can be divided in to three groups. First group are those selfish politicians like the infidel Suleiman, tend to make rules for others, and exceptions for themselves. But due to my mental – block, I have forgotten the other two. Last month, the Chairman of the Traditional Elders has been sniffed at his wrong arithmetic calculations. Because he believes that in wine there is wisdom, in Beer there is freedom, in tribalism, there is an spirit of nationalism, and in water there is bacteria. Dear reader, those who are satisfied with their full stomach, are unfamiliar to those with the empty, hungry stomach. Shall I open my eyes and shoot randomly. Or I close my eyes, put my head in the sand like the giraffe, and walk blind folded. Prepare my toolbox for a suicidal mission of illegal immigration in between the devil and the dead sea, as a consequence of surrender, and defeat. While my spoiled peer group in the House of the Traditional Elders are sucking milk through their thumb; while we are lacking drops of drinking water for our dry lips and tongues. Neither option suits my choice and freedom. Writing only makes me breathe more easily, lowers my heart – beat rate, and makes me feel more in control of my self – conscious. Because, when I write , so much of my inner life – feelings vapors on my evaporating dish; makes them less solid, and less scary. Writing about my fears, expressing my feelings, and drawing my moody pictures; punctures and collapse my reactions. When I express myself in blue dots of lines, I got relaxed and more comfortable. I feel more comfortable in shouting rather than to shoot randomly and resemble those Evil – Empire in Mogadishu. It is a good antidote of medicine to counteract that poisonous, and deadly stress, and chest – pain, related to the political hiccups of Mr.Silanyo and his Split – Lip Government. Writing is regarded as a reliable and relievable window for survival against my stress and depression. writing and quoting my diaries in a hardcover notebook, are my soul – enriching habits. Keeps my top secrets in sealed Caves that are covered with doodles of flowers and stars. Write poetry, or song lyrics and record your heart’s wishes for the future. It is saying openly what you think; and no one can bothers , and tells you that you are wrong. Your diary is a safe haven for your personal history. You need three things to be done. What is going in your mind? How do you react towards the puzzle? And how do you test the ingenuity? Expressive writers could turn painful memories into meaningful stories that contain insights, and good lessons of life experiences. All of these may lower your stress and deep agony. Besides that, it will provide you with an increased ability to pay back attentive remarks and reliable references. It gives you a boosted, immune system and overall feelings of good health and Stress free environment. But how could you convince that; when your Agony Aunt and Chief Editor of your Agony – column is a monarch flycatcher, like the Infidel Suleiman, who is born and bred in a monarch Sovereign that doubts much all truths of religion and does not believe in fatalism. Mr. Suleiman, we know that Article Eighty Three is your Bible. When a poor man like me encounters with the same situation. You turn to be one in either way. Either a stone – hearted , shilly, shally person who doubts much all truths of nature. Or a walking – bomb with diminished responsibility due to clinical depression and brain damage, caused by abuse of alcohol and drugs. Because when I die, I want my diary to tell the true story of my life to my grandchildren; from the cradle to the grave. I want to keep a good record of what is going in my head. It helps me to sort out my thoughts. Sometimes when I talk, words comes out all jumbled and in disorder. A diary is safe place to vent your memories in a World that has no heart. It is more than just dumping your feelings on a piece of paper. We must narrate and relay the ordeal of this wild Regime of Mr. Silanyo, to our deceased Heroes and our future grandchildren. The ordeal of this wild regime that waters their gardens with human blood, and showers their flowers with beads of bloody, twisted tears, deep, deep from our hearts. At the same time, sarcastically, expecting me to smile, from ear to ear. Because, according to their perception, logic is a systematic method of coming to the wrong conclusion with confidence. That is why there is always a crack in the Life – Path of Somaliland. Resulting a broken heart and shattered dreams of the poor masses. Simply because, our DJ Mr. Silanyo, always playing all the wrong tones and notes rightfully. The first day I arrived to my home in Hargeisa, I saw my eleven years son, Ismail, wearing a white T- Shirt engraved with the below mentioned quotation. ( everythinng around me revolves ) I couldn’t figure out the meaning behind it. Igot the right answer by coincidence on 8th June instant. When I visited Moalin Dauid elementary school in Hargeisa. Where some students were having their yearly exam. The Minister of Education Mr. Farah Elmi Geedoole, and Mr.Ismail Ali Farah ( Dhubato )were touring there for inspection. To make sure that everything is in good shape. But to my great disappointment and embarrassment, there was a flock of Police men stationed there. When I asked some of the by – passers, why the police men stationed here at the school ? They told me that the police is here, to look after the safety and security of both, the teachers, and the students. Because none of them is risk free. Here I got the answer of the quotation that was written on my son’s T – Shirt. ( Everything revolves around me ). Mr.Silanyo, a lie is like a bombshell. The further you throw it, the bigger it devastates. I guess no one ever said that life is a fair and a justifiable platform. Manslaughter is a verdict but not the one that I believe in; because I am a Moslem, born again Christian. Blatant disdain for Human – Rights is a heated debate. Sponsored pilot project for the draught – ravaged areas is on it’s way. Organizing a Table – Dance party for all beauty queens of Somaliland. To bare it all, in a bid to make the sky rain honey and milk. These beauty queens will carry out a naked – rain – dance – parade in the streets of all the towns of Somaliland, as a good gesture to convince the Americans and European blood donors in Somaliland that we are more liberal and more lenient to Islamic rules. Followed by a rally of gays and lesbians to prove our comply with the white man’s demands and restrictions. That is a rallying – cry for democracy and Human- Rights Act. While our Moslem Suni – clergy men with the exception of view numbers, are addicted to polygamy, busy in the selection of new brides and counting money. Only incriminating and bad mouthing the Shia clergy men who are in constant war with Christian Crusaders, led by Mr. Obama. My Suni Clergy men in Hargeisa, your Fatwa contradicts with what you do practically. That is why I love and admire to be a Suni Moslem that have a lust for women and money. I apologise If I hurt your feeling unintentionally. Mr. Suleiman, tell me how old I am. Because I know that you know everything. Dear reader, honest to God, I never noticed before, a day that Somaliland is more vulnerable than it is right now. You have to expect the unexpected, any day, any time. If you want the truth, ask a child.

Yusef Deyr,

Freelance Writer, Hargeisa