Somalia, Sept. 27, 2011

We arrived in Mogadishu, Somalia, around 8:30 a.m. local time, and started to work immediately—knowing that our time here is limited, we wanted to make every minute as efficient as possible.

Just as immediately, we felt the difference of Somalia from Kenya. Ridwan finally got the front seat after I, the sole lady in this Islamic Relief USA convoy, had been forced to take the front seat every time in Kenya—now, 

I was relegated (and gladly so) to the back, where there were tinted windows that would help shade me from the strong Somali sun and from those outside.

That simple difference complemented the sentiment Ridwan was about to say, as he squinted out the car’s window, “This is a very different situation.” I concurred.

It was different than anything he or I had seen before—different from Kenya, and certainly different from the Egypt and Palestine trip we had taken earlier this summer. Buildings were laden with bullet holes; youths were nonchalantly carrying rifles in the streets; dry desperation filled the air with dust—and while they didn’t have much else, pedestrians and passersby had many smiles to give each other and even us.

We finally arrived to the Islamic Relief Somalia office, and were given a debriefing of the current situation and a first-hand account of the programs Islamic Relief USA has helped support in Somalia so far. Jama Hanshi, with Islamic Relief Somalia, told us that more than four million people across Somalia had been affected by the drought, and the largest concentrations of these were in southern Somalia: in the Mudug, Galgadad, Hiran, Bakol, Bay, Gedo, middle Shabelle, lower Shabelle, Banadir, middle Jubba and lower Jubba regions. Jama added, “3.7 million people are in need of food aid, and 2.2 million of these individuals are in the south.” He even said that cereal production in southern Somalia had now reached its lowest levels in 17 years.

So what is Islamic Relief—the only humanitarian group to currently have a fully-functioning office and staff in Somalia—doing about it? Jama explained that Islamic Relief’s initial target is to provide assistance to 50,000 households in the region; that’s roughly 300,000 people.  So far, Islamic Relief has implemented sanitation services; has distributed food packs; has identified and rehabilitated nonfunctional boreholes—and the plans for this coming month include providing support to families willing to relocate; conducting wider feeding programs; servicing more people across other regions; and training locals to be “wash” communities—essentially, helping them learn best practices for water and sanitation  so that they can prevent the spread of disease that may become especially rampant if rains come in the next months.

AbdelAziz Hussein emphasized that as well. He served as guide and translator during our time at an internally displaced persons (IDP) camp in Siliga. In its former life, this IDP camp was the site of the U.S. Embassy; now, the remnant rubble of those buildings is the only identifier that they ever existed. More than 20,000 IDP “households” made Siliga a place of refuge for thousands of Somalis seeking salvation from the drought.  

Sa’adiya, a gentle lady, manages the camp, which is best-known for its medical services: a three-member health teams provide vital medical services to IDPs at a health clinic—and when a refugee can’t make it to the health center for help, a minibus system takes the medical team to him or her. During Ramadan, Sa’adiya helped manage a Ramadan feeding center that provided for at least 1,500 beneficiaries.

“The people in the camp are mostly affected by the drought. Water is the core issue here,” AbdelAziz tells us.

He is the wash coordinator, and had just completed a robust assessment report on the conditions in the camp, which resulted in the implementation of additional programs: “Insha’Allah we’ll be implementing a water trucking system here by next week. We’ve already started it at another camp, and it has been quite successful.”

AbdelAziz’s statement took me back to one I had heard the day before at the Humanitarian Forum in Nairobi: “Everything is water—if we can manage this, we can solve the drought and we can help civil society. Water is life in Somalia, and it is peace as well.”

After water, sanitation is the next priority and challenge, according to AbdelAziz: “I included in my report the need for basic hygiene packets and water solutions. The people here are in too close contact—if one gets sick with measles, others will catch it. The people need to be educated so they can know how to take care of themselves and stop the spread of disease.” And as we’ve heard at the week’s earlier conferences; during Jama’s presentation, when he shared that about 80% of diseases can be prevented by proper wash techniques, and now, from AbdelAziz, education on sanitation will be vital to helping prevent mass disease-spread when (or if) the rains return in October.

If you ask 38-year old Fatimah Dahir Yousef, laying on a tattered mat under a tree to get some shelter from the heat, it’s too late for prevention; she needs help now—she is suffering from Chickenpox, and she can’t do much except move her hijab a bit when it gets in her way. 

His wife is too weak to move a covering from her face, so, Hussain Noor Deli, 22, does it for her as he invites myself, Ridwan and AbdelAziz into his tent to take a look: we see Dek Adel Hassan, 16, on her right side, virtually immobile with her eyes swollen: “It’s measles,” AbdelAziz translates, one of the most common and contagious diseases to hit the camp. “They are in such close proximity, and they don’t isolate themselves when they’re sick; measles is so easily treatable and preventable, but the people are not aware of how—and this is why education is so important.” AbdelAziz says.

But, al hamdulilah, there have already been very noticeable improvements:  Aisha Usman Abdi, who manages the camp’s health clinic, tells us that hundreds of people were coming to the medical center every day to receive treatment; the numbers are slowly but surely dwindling as the help the people are getting through the camp and through the support Islamic Relief and other humanitarian groups are providing is helping to strengthen their bodies and their morale. She adds that the fact that the medical center is now fully equipped with the proper medicines, means she no longer has to send people away or ask them to go elsewhere for help.

As I thank Aisha for her time and information, she cups my hands with hers and says, “Waad mahad sanlahin, thank YOU, and assalamu alaikum!” “La shukr a’a il wajib, no thanks necessary for the obligatory!” AbdelAziz had humbly told me that several times during our discussion, and it is a most-appropriate response here.

And, so, I pass the many “thank-yous” and “assalamu alaikums” and the gracious and strong Somali spirit that we experienced during our visit to Siliga to the community of supporters. YOU are helping make positive change, masha’Allah—this was perhaps best exemplified by the loud and beautiful Qur’an recitation we heard as we were exiting the camp; it came from young children attending Islamic school in a tent (shout out to Islamic Relief Austrailia for supplying the Qur’ans for this school).

If the size and the stories of the Siliga IDP camp are any indication, there are miles more to go in ways to help. And, the people of Mogadishu know—and trust—that we are all doing our bests to provide it under the guidance and mercy of Allah (swt).

“Waad mahad sanlahin!” [thank you in Somali]

Dreaming in Nairobi

Dozens of humanitarian aid workers and a single question—before you meet Allah (swt) insha’Allah, what is a dream you want to realize?

Dr. Hany El-Banna, cofounder of Islamic Relief, was sitting on one of the carpets in the Arab-seating styled tent, asked the question and looked right at me, sitting directly to his right on one of the cushions. Although he feigned that he may choose someone else to start, I knew he’d come back to me, and insist that I share first.

And he did…

But what was my dream? Here I was--sitting in Nairobi, Kenya, with an international crowd of people who do their bests to help those in need, and I had to share my dream. Was it fair to even suggest wanting something when in a day or two, I’d be headed to Somalia to report on people who couldn’t even muster the energy for a dream?

But, this was Dr. El-Banna, and I knew there was a greater purpose to this exercise—I also knew he would not let me or anyone else off the hook. So, I shared a dream that was relevant yet general enough so that the others could relate: “I want to live my life in such a way that I make my parents proud and please Allah (swt).”

Dr. El-Banna agreed that it was a commendable dream, and one that many of the others likely shared, but, as he stretched his leg out to a more comfortable sitting position, he noted that he wanted something more specific. So, I added, “I want to be able to live in Palestine as a free and equal citizen.”

Zahra Hassan, from Women of the Horn and Somali Relief and Development Fund, was sitting next to me, and nodded a confirming yes, whispering, “That is what I want too.”

She wanted it for herself in her hometown of Mogadishu, Somalia. She had just returned from a six-day relief trip there, and told me that she hoped to return soon—for good—but to a Somalia that was the place of dreams she had always though it to be:  a place of vivid culture and colors, that had one of the most sophisticated telecommunications systems in Africa and has potential that extends beyond; a place and a people now suffering through the worst drought in 60 years, and the focus of this humanitarian aid gathering.

  

At the 2nd Wider Consultation with Kenyan Muslim Civil Society conference earlier in the day during which Zahra presented information about her recent trip to Somalia, she relayed that the conditions on the ground are beyond imagine-able: "Famine is spreading across Somalia; thousands don't know when they'll get their next meal." She added, "In October or November, if the rain comes, all those people will face another disaster—the spreading of disease." 

Dr. El-Banna, who had been in Mogadishu with Zahra and had witnessed first-hand how sincere and dedicated she was to providing relief in Somalia, told the crowd, “This woman did the work of 1,000 men.” Although I had never met her until that moment, I had no doubt that she had. Masha’Allah.

This trip was the first she had been able to make to Somalia in 20 years; soon, she'll be making her second visit in about a month.

And, insha'Allah, Zahra soon be able to realize her ultimate dream. That circle of 20 people or so—from Australia, England, Ireland, Somalia, Kenya, Yemen, Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Pakistan—sitting together in a tent in Nairobi, were all there to work toward that dream for her and for millions of Somalis who shared her vision.

Dr. El-Banna dream-sharing exercise had introduced also helped us all realize that the similarities of our dreams far outweighed the differences: Simply, we all want to please Allah (swt) by acting humanely and by promoting the spirit of humanitarianism in everything we do. We know that dream is also shared by our generous communities of supporters—who donate their prayers, kind words and charitable gifts to help us help others.

At 11 p.m. local time, the circle finally rose to head home and to wish two of our Islamic Relief colleagues from Birmingham, England, a safe trip to Somalia—they were preparing to head there at 5 a.m. the next morning. Our wishes of safe travels to our new friends carried with them the spirit of the humanitarian dreams we had expressed that evening—for several of us, like Dr. El-Banna and Zahra, the salutations also hinted at what they already knew the Birmingham team would soon experience; for others, like me and my Islamic Relief USA colleagues, Ridwan, Waleed, Anwar and Ahmed, this send off helped us emotionally prepare for our trip soon to follow.

The good-byes also served as acknowledgement that, while we will continue to strive toward our dreams, we are not naive about the amount of work it will take to get there: the damage that has been done in Somalia and throughout East Africa is massive, and there is much more likely to occur. Knowing that there are many all over the world who will do what they can to assist when and where it is needed, however, assured us all that together we can make a world of difference.

Hope and Help in Egypt

June: 25-26 (six months after #Jan25)

The anxiety of what a trip to Egypt would be like now--in a post-revolutionary era, at a time where Egyptians of all backgrounds, ages, religions, classes stood together to demand better living conditions--set in when I first realized that I would be traveling to Egypt for work. I had never been to Egypt before and while I have traveled to many parts of the world, I've never traveled internationally on the behalf of an organization. 

Myself and Ridwan have joined several colleagues to see first-hand how our organization's programs continue to help improve the living conditions for Egyptians throughout the country. When we first exited the airport late night June 25, we both took a deep gulp of Egyptian breeze and almost simultaneously said, "This feels like when I go home" (home for me being Palestine and for Ridwan being Syria). Tonight, Umm il Dunya resonated with both of us as just that.

The Egyptian night breeze, the hustle and bustle of honking horns and jay-walking pedestrians--feels so beautifully familiar, yet, also surreal. I told Mohammed, who picked us up from the airport, that I had been glued to a TV-screen for months watching the people in Tahrir Square and "That's the Egyptian Museum!" and "Now, we're driving on the Oct. 6 Bridge!"

I asked Mohammed, who also works with the Egyptian affiliate of our organization, how now is different than then--before the revolution started on Jan. 25. Quite simply, he said, we are now comfortable in mind and we have hope. He assured me that Egyptians are not disillusioned and do not think that everything is fixed and perfect. They know and we know there is much to do--and our organization's programs that we are preparing to see in the following days are evidence of that. But, overall, there is a pure, comfortable hope that progress is being and will soon be made.

Ahmed, an extremely accommodating hotel host, offered a similar note, as he helped us secure our rooms for the night--he said that relief organizations were seemingly strengthening their programs here and visiting more often to help more. He had heard the name of our organization a lot in the past few days, and he was happy to welcome more of its staff.  

Now, settled in for the evening, I look out at the Cairo night at 2:15 am July 26...I see the hilal hanging in the sky and I ask ALLAH (swt) to watch over and protect Ridwan, Mohammed, Ahmed and everyone I interact with during my time here; I ask for the protection of all of the community who supports our programs in Egypt and elsewhere; I pray for the protection of all of the wonderful Egyptians who work in the field with or receive assistance from our organization--I pray and feel the Cairo night pulsing with horns and hope. 

Insha'Allah, I'll keep you posted on more news from Egypt in coming days. May ALLAH (swt) accept your good deeds always, and may all of Egypt's warm, welcoming and good people sleep a sound and hope-filled night.  

Tisba7o 3ala khair.

حر أنا

I haven't written in a while ....

SEMI-SCRATCH THAT

I've written A LOT in this while ...

but I haven't written ME.

I've been neglecting myself.

And, so, I'm giving myself this space to ramble.

حر أنا

Yet, I find myself wordless ...

and brain tried (and tired).

I'm worn in a variety of ways ....

And inspired in so many others ...

I love my new tri-ring ...

And the potential that encircles it.

حر أنا

But I sometimes wish that I didn't have hopes ...

... or believe in fate or people.

I can't say that I've been disappointed ...

... for I never fully allowed myself to trust and rely on anyone

And I learned early on that any disappointment I felt would be my own to own.

I do not force or blame others.

حر أنا

Because if I was idiotic enough to think someone else would do something well ...

... well

then, I was the idiot and had only myself to be disappointed with.

He sure is a disappointment.

But only because I allowed him to be ...

... because I made a jester into a king when he was only ever meant to be the former.

حر أنا

It was my choice.

It is my choice.

And despite my hesitations and reservations ...

... and the pensive twisting of my tri-ring 

... I'm going to allow the king who is making himself a jester just to entertain me

in

حر أنا

Because, regardless of my self-inflicted disappointments ...

 ... and my wishes for the otherwise

... I do believe in fate and people.

Because, regardless of the forced indifference ...

.... and my wishes for the truth of it ...

I'm not indifferent.

حر أنا

I am who I am ...

...and he is who he is ...

... and we'll see where fate and belief take us.

حر احنا

TEDx Ramallah

They are scared of us because we are not scared of them; they oppress us because they know our potential--for we achieve despite their chains; we lead despite their denials ||| WE ARE FALASTEEN & WE ROCK! #TEDxRamallah

I drove in Palestine

I hate not having my car: it's my car, and I want to drive it--not another's, not my father's.

But sometimes I must, and yesterday was one of those times--it was also the first day of my new era.

Yesterday was the first of a series of days, of weeks, of months, and perhaps, of years, that may not include my regular Palestine summer vacation.

That's a thought I can hardly bare to think, but I think of it often...

...and I thought about it as I sat in my father's driver's seat, put on my seatbelt, and looked for a CD to replace the missing iPhone connection that remained in my car which remained at the shop.

I opted against Om Kalthoum and the 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?" soundtrack, and slid a copied CD into its slot.

"Allaaaaaaaaaaaahu Akbar. Allaah aaaaaah ahhhhuuuuu Akbar!" 

But this was not a Qur'anic recitation.

This was, he was Saba7 Fakhri,

and he is one of my father's favorites.

And his is one of the CDs I always listen to when driving the silver Highlander.

Saba7 stirred up a whirlwind of Arabesque, confined within four doors, windows, an exposed sunroof, and a redheaded driver--especially within the driver; within me.

I felt Palestine, for Palestine is how Arabesque and Arab-ness feels to me. 

I felt Palestine as it was when Saba7 was a Syrian voice blistering a Beitilu radio's speakers with its pitch and reverberation, and my dad was a tike confined to fields, olive trees, naivety, and occupation.

I saw Palestine as my periphery caught quick glimpses of Hatim's paperwork and his comb and his cologne. The Japanese car, made in America, was very much my dad's, and my dad is very much Palestine for me. 

I am very much my dad's.

I drove, watching the road, but seeing the streets that wind from the coast to the city, through a piece of earth that is holy and haunted; a place that hurts and heals me.

Hearing Saba7 hurt me yesterday, and made me tear, as I'm tearing now. Saba7 is an era that I can never know. He was alive when Palestine still was.

Palestine still is...

Palestine is Mohammed Yousef Darwish El-Khatib and Fatima Yousef Darwish El-Khatib Il Shamali, and as they are now hugged in earth, they are Palestine too. [Allah yir7amkom]

Palestine is Majdulena at Dar il Tifl before Miral ever was.

Palestine is Hatim listening to the radio...

...and Hatim and Majdulena and Fatima and Mohammed are me.

And, when I drive Hatim's car, I drive in a memory that was set for me before I ever set foot on earth, or on pedal.

And I feel Palestine wrap the warmth and strength of Saba7's voice around me to tell me, "Allah ma3ik. Drive forth. You will always find me here...

...in Hatim's car and in your heart."

Revolutionary kitsch

Leila Khaled has become a t-shirt. 

But she is not a t-shirt, she is a person with a story much more colorful than the greens and whites and hues and shadows used in the depiction of her on the cotton canvas. 

Leila Khaled is a revolutionary, made of blood, sweat, and tears, but not thread.

Revolutionary Me is a design company that silk-screened Leila's face on a t-shirt.

When asked who Leila Khaled was, Revolutionary Me said, "I don't know, but I designed it."

I celebrate revolutionaries, and work to share and spread their stories. I would be the first one to don a t-shirt with Leila's image on it so that I would get asked, and then would answer. 


But THAT is the responsibility that should be borne by the designer and the wearer--know who you are "designing" and wearing.


Kitschy consumer mass produced imagery turned artistic under the guise of Andy Warhol. And, at least for some of us, because of him, Campbell's soup cans are not just containers for drinkable food, and tin is not just material that is melded into that container. And, at least for some of us, because of Warhol, Marilyn Monroe is not Norma Jeane Mortenson--she is a series of pouty lips, blonde waves, and a mole, commercialized and reproduced in your choice of colors. Yet, because Andy pointed out what Marilyn's celebrity stole from Norma Jeane, we were exposed to poor Norma Jeane's vulnerability, and how she shriveled and died under the spotlight--the same spotlight that ultimately murdered Marilyn. Andy's was a commentary on this very commoditization, whether via soup can or celebrity.


Che Guevara did not hold soup or sing breathy renditions of "Happy Birthday Mr. President," but his beret and brown/black waves are just as popular and reproduced as Marilyn's. Actually, his portrait has been deemed "the most famous photograph in the world." So, maybe his image is even more kitsch.


But is HE? 


Is a revolutionary, like Leila or Che, created for public consumption, like a soup can or a celebrity? Well, in many capacities, I guess she and he and they are. After all, if a revolutionary is not popular and followed, the revolution he or she is advocating won't gain much traction. So, a t-shirt, promoting a revolutionary's position would serve to increase the following (posthumously in Che's case).


If we were to flip this, perhaps we could also argue that wearing a shirt with Marilyn on it requires just as much responsibility as one with Che would require. Wearing that shirt makes you Marilyn's promoter. You promote her "normal" life turned scandalous turned deadly and all that her decades held.


But Norma Jean designed herself into Marilyn Monroe into a commodity intentionally and for financial profit. Leila and Che did not. 


Leila and Che did not "design" their commodification--they stood for something on the solid ground of it being what they believed in--period. They did not manufacture t-shirts to sell their revolutions--that was done sans their permission.


And, here we are, back to the original point of this post: know what or who you are promoting when you wear someone's face on your chest. And demand that fools who claim they've "designed" or "created" a revolutionary take their ignorant blinders off. 


"Revolutionary Me" has proven itself to be kitsch sans the art of revolution. It's proven itself NOT to be the educational and fashionable and change-driving organization that it claims to be--that it could've been. 


"Revolutionary Me" is a wasted opportunity that Andy would've shunned as unartistic and unfortunate and kinda kitsch-less--for it makes no comment on culture or society because it does not have the wit or smarts or the genuine sexiness to do so. "Revolutionary Me" has bastardized revolution and revolutionaries into a for-profit enterprise--something Leila and Che would revolt against.


"Revolutionary Me" is neither rebellious nor with cause. 


And I hope its threads unravel and its colors bleed away, before the "designer" sees a photograph of Mohamed Bouazizi, and exploits him and the revolutions he sparked, claiming to have "designed" them too. 


I hope "Revolutionary Me" is exposed it for what it is--a poser that hopes to be fashionable but is instead devoid of it.