28/01/2015
Mr.Silanyo, The Clock Is Ticking
In the Morning when I wake up with a broken heart, desperate and helpless. Trying to stand up with my tiny feeble legs. Dragging my tiny 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. My eyes lids drooped, my gaze unfocused, and a frown of confusion creased all my face. 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 – head 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 dark skin layers 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. Starring back at my deep sunk wooden – bed that is covered with a dirty bed – sheet, and a ragged blanket full of dust. Glancing over my smoky roof dripping drops of dirty rain water. Above that. 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 nervous breakdown, as a result of the political hiccups of the contradicting dim views of Mr.Silanyo, and his infectious political culture. Sometimes I almost to faint for hearing too much disturbing voices, whenever Mr.Silanyo, or one of his aides opens his mouth, or shakes a leg. Due to many late nights of sleeping, I am now paying that heavy price of poor health, and degrading low spirit and motivation. The recent fashion Show of shocking Slur – exchange and an imputation of wrongdoing at the National TVS, in between our respected mothers and sisters is the most disgusting new show of shame of Mr.Silanyo Regime. The Tribal muscle manifesto of some ignorant short – sighted chiefs and sultans wearing a uniformed red scarf on their shoulders are a new curse that was inflicted on the public in recent days. Hence I give up my life dream, and future prospects. Then by coincidence, my ten years old son, Ismail, comes running around. Looking at me with very sympathetic eyes asking, “ daddy, why you are morally down and sitting idle with 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 boosted my dead spirit and I reshuffled my old cards again. Driving again my several times wrecked ship. Both hands on the wheel and the eyes on the horizon. Cursing my first day I hit my head on the earth planet. Because there is no light at the end of the tunnel. 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 smeared 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. Time is a file that wears and makes no noise. Hope ties us to the future, as memory ties us to the past. He that teaches patience, never knew the pain. Our tools are working in other people’s garden. Somaliland had two good men, one is dead and the other is not born yet. We are as old as we feel, and as young as we look. We are a helpless nation that is hog – tied by the International Community, and the Mother – In – Law from hell ( Tribalism ). That mother In Law from hell which we already had prepared it’s coffin, but always survives all flood and fire. Mr.Silanyo, if your head has many faces, turn your face to the sun. So the people can see your true colors. We are old enough to discover where every one of us, his shoes pinches. Lecture is the art of transferring information from the note book of the lecturer to the note book of the students; without passing through the minds of either. Action, words, and looks are the steps from the Alphabet in which you can spell the character of a person. Mr.Silanyo, Never try to give us the fat with the lean. It won’t work with us. Don’t adulterate milk with water. Tribalism with nationalism, and sovereignty with federalism. It contradicts each other. Beer with whisky is mighty risky. Many disturbing voices from Mogadishu are echoed to our ears. But we are alert. Please, don’t sign your death contract. If your wall has ears, the masses has eyes. It is better to limp on the right road, rather than to speed up on the wrong road. A poet can survive everything except, misprint. Your clandestine illegal marriage will break in to pieces, soon or later. From now and then, you are preparing a badly conceived bombshell to discourage the true Somalilanders and to convince them that we can’t run our Sovereign – State, and that we have no choice but to surrender to the Vampire – Empire in Mogadishu.
Your recent meeting with the Mafia Empire of Mogadishu in Qadar, exchanging notes of thanks and sharing that mean and blackmailing donation from the Arab World. Proves your underground fishy plot of Federalism Scheme and clandestine marriage with Mogadishu which is hanging on your work – time sheet. Give the fool rope enough, and he will hung himself. Stop your day dream and don’t betray this poor nation that trusted you with their destiny. The flatterers around you are cats that licks before, and scratches you behind. Stick to your flannels , until they stick to you.
Your audience are more smarter than you expect, and you can’t sell their cause to a Bar – Tender like the timid president of Mogadishu. Who is protected from his own people by a foreign troops, and yet claims that Somaliland is under his jurisdiction. What a mere hoax !
Mr. Hassan, the sheriff of a Mogadishu District, instead of repenting your previous mass – graves, genocide, and the massacre of the innocent civilians of Somaliland. You are trying to justify your previous ill deeds. Kindling the old flame and adding insult to the injury. Mr.Hassan,What you wear in your heart, shows in your face. Because what is bred in the bone, will come out in the flesh. Mr.Hassan, the Bar – Tender in Mogadishu, nothing hides a fool like a closed mouth. But you are excusable, because a woman fights with her tongue. Dear Somalilander, the Opera is not finished yet, till one of the two fat ladies sings or weeps. As a rule, the African politician is a fool. When it is hot, he wants it cool; when it cool, he wants it hot. Fools grow without watering, and rush in where angels fear to tread. Every fool knows his mother, but he is the wise man who knows his father. Mr.Hassan, according to your perception; egoism, tribalism, terrorism, blackmailing, unhealthy sex, bad blood, and pornography is the foundation stone of your perception of democracy and morality. This is enough introduction for today’s; for your Film’s Epilogue. Mr.Silanyo, Don’t try to impose your ill views on unwilling listeners. Neither you, nor the International Community can take us back to that void, and busted Union of Great Somalia. That International Community who advocates for the freedom of a sixteen years old girl from the custody of her parents; while ignoring the Self – Determination, and the will and solemn determination of a whole nation.
By now, the International Community must know that we are ready to adopt the philosophy of the German Uprising founded by Rosa Luxemburg in 1916. Acting as the ancient spartans of Greece and the spartacist of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl in 1817 – 1919. To prove our unbinding will – power, rigorous discipline, courage, endurance, and stern frugality.
As greatness comes with the recognition that your potential is limited, only by how you choose your destiny, how you use your freedom, and how resilient, persistent, and how resolute you are. In short, it is your attitude. Remember ! A rebellion to a freedom fighter, is disobedience to God.
Mr.Silanyo, wrap up your baggage and luggage, and give us your back.
The Clock is ticking for your departure!
Good bye with a stinking kiss and a rusted Ring of your ill – fated marriage with Somaliland.
Yusuf Deyer, Edmonton
Canada
