Little Mother

Habaryar*,
Nuura couldn't come in person. She told me to come here to the station in her place. She told me: "Go bring her this packet. The girl is going to London, and she might happen to see my daughter." So I am here to deliver this package to you, because Nuura heard that her daughter has given birth to a baby girl and she wants to send a present to her little grandchild. When you arrive in London, go to your cousin's and tell her that her mother sent her this. Nuura couldn't come today because she twisted her ankle while she was cleaning the stairs and now she cannot even walk. See what life has in store for you?
Go to your cousin's and tell her that her mother sends her blessing. You young women are all very modern nowadays but your mother's blessing still is your most sacred possession. That's the way we were raised: for us, when our children are grown up, our obligations to them are over. You'll see that this packet doesn't contain much, but that's because money is tight for Nuura, she has to save. You know, when you earn to little, in order to save, you have to go hungry. So tell your cousin not to take it badly if the present seems small, because times have changed and we are not what we used to be.

Habaryar,
You know, when we were young we lived differently. We would save a little and then buy gold filigree earrings even if we didn't have a comfortable mattress to sleep on. And if someone came from Italy or the United States we would ask them to bring us a leather bag or a walkman. That way, we disguised our poverty well. Then we would go out all dressed up and we would hide and amulet, a knotted xirsi, under our clothes to avoid attracting the evil eye of the envious.
Now times have changed, but in those days, ...... oh how we would take advantage of men. We would get the poorest of them to invite us to a restauranti, and we would order chicken cacciatore, but as soon as someone came along with more money we would say: buy me a new garbasar shawl, take me here, I like that perfume there. But it was all just for fun.

Habaryar,
Listen to this story:
One day one of these suitors comes along. There he is, leaning up against the door, his legs in full view with his white socks peeking out from under his pants. And do you know what he had slipped into his socks? Two ballpoint pens: one blue and one red. he starts walking towards us SLAP SLAP SLAP. Nuura looks at me and whispers in my ear: "Wow! This one is an intellectual!"
SLAP SLAP SLAP he stands like this, his right hand resting on the shelf, his legs crossed and he says:
"Where shall we go today?" and Nuura whispers in my ear:
"Watch out, this one has nothing; we won't even be able to get a chicken out of him!"
So I'm the one who has to answer the penniless intellectual:
"No, my friend, I can't go out, my mother is coming back from the farmascio and if she doesn't find me home she goes crazy and gets mad. Stay here a bit and drink some tea with us!"
This is what used to happen, but we were only joking around. Things were different then.
Ah, my dear little niece, everyone courted us and we had to take good care of ourselves to look our best. At nigth we'd put olio olivo in our hair. We rub everything all over ourselves when the men aren't there so that when they see you and you go out with them you shine all over. But here women are completely different. European women, it seems to me, have no idea. Look, they talk about cleanliness, but here a woman goes into the bathroom, she pees, she cleans her thing with a sheet of paper, and then she washes her hands with kitchen soap. How can you talk to me about cleanliness if you cleaned your thing with a sheet of paper? You must take care of yourself to be able to shine.

Habaryar,
You can't remember what Nuura looked like as a young woman because you were a child. She was tall and so light skinned that she shone like that lamp up there. The two of us slept in the same room. And we would take advantage of men (but only certain men). When you are in love you stop playing certain games.
And there was a reer Xamar for whom she would lower her rope and climb out of the window at night. That was love. And this reer Xamar lived behind a little window up there in an apartment building, my dear, you cannot imagine how the reer Xamar lived in Mogadishu. They were worse off than we were. He was poor. That's what they mean in Italian when they say: "two hearts in a hut."
What, you don't remember? The reer Xamar lived downtown. We, too, were born on Via Roma in Mogadishu. Now, they have told me that on Via Roma there are squirrels and hyenas! Before, there were shoe stores and above all there were music stores. You'd say: give me Maikol Jakson and, hey presto, they would record Maikol in five minutes. They had a cassette copier, that's what they had. Unbelievable!
You'll see, inside the package there is a cassette tape. It was easier for Nuura to record her voice than to write. There, on that tape, Nuura tells her daughter everything she wants to tell her.

Habaryar,
Do you know that you have a reer Xamar ancestor? Your great grandfather, Osman Yasin, born in the city of Obbia. He went to Mogadishu and he met a reer Xamar girl. He fell madly in love with her and he married her. She gave him nine daughters. He was lucky and after several years he was a wealthy man. He met with the hostility of the girl's family, they tried everything to have him sent back to his city of origin with the connivance of the Italians. His own family didn't look favorably upon the girl. Reer Xamar girls are not as courageous as bush women and this one only gave birth to daughters. "Silly woman, you with the frivolous ideas, there are no verses to insult you, there are no verses to honor ou - Dayusey, madax dandaaley, haddii lagu caayo, cay baa wax kuu ahayn, haddii lagu faansho, faan baa wax kuu ahayn." This is what they used to sing to her.

Habaryar,
I know that children need raising, but have you forgotten that we are gypsies? It's not because Nuura loves her daughter less than a normal mother. Tell your cousin this. The same thing happened to me. You bring children into this world and then Allah will provide for them, as they say. It is a sign of arrogance to think you have complete control over your children. We have no say in the events that take hold of our lives.
Let me tell you my story. My brother was in Ethiopia and was fighting against the regime. This was over twenty years ago. There was a ten day truce so I went back to Somalia to see my daughter. Then I ended up in jail for eight months, in the security jail. I never got involved in politics, but my brother did. When I managed to escape I arrived in Cairo. At that time documents were not needed to enter Egypt. Then I came to Italy and here you had to have documents, I told you we were gypsies, I arrived and I was Tanzanian. This happened when I wanted to go to see my eldest daughter. Then, when my youngest son was born, I remember it well. He was born in Rome on November 5th. At that time they were showing Kunta Kinte on TV and when the doctor saw that I needed a c-section, he said that we'd do it right away so Kunta Kinte would be born in time to watch the next episode. I got very mad.
My son went back to Somalia when he was eight months old, now he is 25 and he wants to come and visit me. I had them send the necessary official papers but they refused him because he is in Zimbabwe and he has a Somali passport even if he was born her. I haven't seen my son in twelve years and that isn't right.

Habaryar,
I love my children, but in this country my children won't take care of me in my old age. There was a time when I thought like you, I thought love is not dignified at a certain age, but now I think no, certain things do not change, not even in old age. Love always makes you feel like a young girl.
Nuura does heavy work, she cleans stairs every day. And she does this job to have her reer Xamar join her, who's back there, stuck in a refugee camp. Nuura has two big marks on her arm, two black signs that she had done when we were young girls. And those are the initials of her beloved. Nuura would lower the rope and you wouldn't see her till dawn.
One night I was almost asleep when our aunt arrived.
"Where's Nuura, where is Nuura? You must tell me!"
"No aunt, I don't know!"
"You do know!" and I shib.
I wouldn't speak. You see, one night Nuura had said to me:
"Sister, you know I love you, but I love this man in a different way."
That's why I was there and I didn't speak, I kept silent and instead of answering, shib. Not a word. That's the way it went.
But you know that for people who own nothing a young and beautiful woman is a barter good that cannot be given up. So they gave Nuura to the old man without an eye. He wasn't old, but he seemed old to us because we were still very young. The guersce had a lot of things to offer, much better than chicken cacciatore. And she bore the guersce that one and only daughter to whom now you must bring this packet.

Habaryar,
For a woman, the love she feels for a child is separate from the love of the seed that generated it. Your child is your flesh, flesh raised with your milk, torn from your blood. Nuura has always loved her daughter. And you know she is the only on she had the privilege to give birth to. Because right after her, her womb became barren for lack of love and refused to nourish other embryos. Many years went by before the guersce repudiated her. He wanted to take care of his woman, that precious merchandise for which he had shelled out shillings in cash. And only at the very end, when old age and the war came, did he desert her, freeing her to desire her reer Xamar.

Habaryar,
Look at this photo. It's a painting by a Somali woman painter, her name is Zeinab Abdulqaadir. She now lives in Germany. Do you see these shapes? They are suffering people, the war, grief. She went crazy, poor woman. She is now in a psychiatric hospital.
Speak to your cousin and remember to tell her that her mother loves her. You two should not resent her love for a reer Xamar. Children grow up and in turn have other children. Her daughter will find consolation for her mother's absence in her own children. Nuura can't do anything now, she has stopped eating so her reer Xamar can come.

NOTES
*In this story there are some Somali words like habaryar and reer Xamar; and some Somali versions of Italian words: "restauranti," "farmascio" (farmacy), "olio olivo," "guersco" (blind in one eye). Habaryar means maternal aunt; the literal translation is "little mother." In Somali it is customary to address nephews and nieces as uncles/aunts or children as mom/dad. The reer Xamar are the inhabitants of Mogadishu of Arab origin. Literally it means inhabitants of Xamar, that is, Mogadishu.