Dedicated to my sister, Hamda Nasiya, and the other sisters who are fighting for justice, enlightenment, and development one girl at a time. They are the inspirations under our noses we keep missing.
History is interesting until you have to take a test or, worse, until you have to face the daunting job of weaving jumbled incidents into a coherent story. While I am blessed not to experience the first, I am not equally immune to face the latter – especially, when that story is the journeys of my alma mater, my sister, and myself.
A decade A decade ago, I reached a milestone – completed Bachelor of Business Administration. In the same month, my alma mater, Amoud University, reached one more important than mine – granting bachelor degrees for the first time in the history of post-conflict Somaliland. The second cohort, which I was a member of, completed all exams but waited until April next year for graduation ceremony. Fortunately, that is still an understatement – it was the first time after the fall of the Democratic Republic of Somalia that an institution within the old borders of the republic granted a degree after the ouster of the dictatorship. Unlike Amoud or I, my sister’s, Hamda Nasiya as we call her at home, milestones require a closer examination as they are not readily visible. They are in the subtleties – the kind of subtleties that are mentioned as “by the way, we did not recognize how important it was then but…” Her milestones are like a dark night that swallows the dramas of the day and the secrets of the night into its shroud of silence; or like the stillness of the ocean whose belly is the theatre of unparalleled acrobatics.
While reflecting on the past decade after Amoud, I could not help without looking both at the institution that shaped my thinking and my sister who watched me transforming. Hamda is now in the same school I was, albeit pursuing medicine as her focus of scholarship. I cannot claim that I understand the turbulent tides she has to navigate through. However, I can share with her my experience as a food for thought in the hope she makes mistakes more intelligent than mine. Nevertheless, she is at crossroads. As she says her byes to the jolly days of adolescence, if ever she knew any, and welcomes the gruelling days of early adulthood, she will have to choose between being indifferent to an opportunity not many of her age and gender receive or seizing it by the horns.
Amoud University has changed since then too, but not the kind of change that shows the wrinkles of age. The recent establishment of graduate school in the university was both a bold step and a stretch of resources. Besides, Amoud promoted many of its graduates to high-ranking posts, which is a pro-active way of managing succession while it is undeniably risky. It is home to a huge student population, now hovering around four thousand. The number of faculties grew from meagre two to around a dozen. Amoud is in crossroads too – the years of experimenting the possibility of establishing and running the day-to-day operations of a university are gone. We, both as alumni and the wider society, expect more. Amoud faces the challenge of living up to higher expectation to produce results, performance, and quality or taking the mediocre way of importing and retailing scientific and theoretical information.
Since my last exam at Amoud, I have worked with many different organizations in different capacities – each poking my interest and intellect in different directions while at the same time sharpening my focus in ways I did not imagine. I took trodden and less trodden tracks – many times ending up in dead-ends, others in somewhere. Eight years in leadership and management capacities taught me the messy practicality of real life contrasted with the crafty leadership theories on the neat papers. As an instructor, I learned to redefine my role in a way broader than my contractual obligations to meet its spirit which encompasses to prompt, entertain and challenge the intellectual curiosity of my students. As a father, I learned how a whole world shines under the smily face of your toddler and immediately collapses with a shrill cry of pain. Nothing touches like the faith of a spouse, the soothing touch of Mother, and the hearing little words of wisdom from Father. But, I am in a crossroads too – to pursue a life of career or a life of legacy. The former is about what I do and what I earn from what I do; the latter is about how I want to spend my life. The former is about chipping away my life in slots of hours, each getting priced at different rates depending on what I do and the market while the latter is concerned about a wholesale evaluation of life.
First things first, how did we all happen to be in these junctures that seem to be linked in surreal ways?
The Birth of University
Amoud started with little fanfare. A group of visionaries, who understood the dire consequences of not acting at that particular moment, came together to think the impossible. The institution they gave birth to was more than a a school of tertiary learning – it was to become a beacon of light and hope, hence the slogan, “Bringing hope to tomorrow’s generation.”
At the time, it seemed quite ironic that the institution who tasked itself to deliver hope was hopelessly poor of material wealth. As if that was not enough, they had to collect donations from both Somalis and non-Somalis, locally and internationally. It was under such circumstances that Amoud and its leadership were, at least locally, the butt of jokes and mockery.
That did not, however, prevent Amoud from taking babysteps. Sheekh Cali Jawhar High School, which become a regular feature for a while, hosted pre-university classes for the first batch, less than hundred students.
On the fundraising front, the campaign heated up. Not did the leadership approach only diaspora and international donors for contribution, but also pastoralists and local business community. They spared no one from the call to donate in cash and/or in kind. Dollar notes trickled in; some livestock flocked in; some free services poured in. Service providers at Amoud paid their donations in their unique way. It was quite common that Amoud professionals, academics and administrative staff were not sometimes paid for a whole quarter because the university did not collect enough revenue, in the form of tuition fees and donations. You cannot reflect on this simple fact without realizing the sacrifices these men and women made to make sure that the flame of hope burns brighter even if that means less bread for their families.
When I joined Amoud in 1999, it already made a lot of progress. Unfortunately, it was still a long way from from its stated vision. It is worth mentioning here that people were starting to take it seriously.
I was one of those who did not take it seriously until in my second semester of freshman (Click for details). At a crossroad of my life, I chose Amoud and tethered my destiny to the fate of a university that had a lot of commonality with me than a traditional university. I was looking for hope more than information, beauty more than precision, confidence more than culture.
While Amoud might not be the best brick-and-mortar university, yet it provides an unparalleled opportunity to gain local knowledge. Its existence is the embodiment of truism of hope which a seeker will never miss. In search of that hope, Amoud produced the beauty in the people by challenging them to sacrifice, to compromise and forge a way ahead. It is not hindered by the lack of precise steps in achieving goals or lack of precise measurements. Hope and beauty instil confidence that lets you to question rather than blindly follow culture – thus being both the product and the producer of culture based on traditions of Islam and Somali peppered with a pinch of Amoudism.
While in Amoud, I came across a lot of theories in the classrooms, which later helped me organize my thoughts. More importantly, to witness the growth of the institution under my bare eyes was a priceless lesson. There is something about the rough times and terrains that makes you miss as they pass. In those days, not only were we students who had to act like every student in the world would, but we were also pro-active academicians who could influence the institution to act in certain ways – from proposing courses to organizing landscaping campaigns to returning lost/stolen books to the library (each would make a story of its own).
Truth be told: it is very unsettling that you do not know how things are going to be the next year or even the next semester. Questions linger on to your mind and prompt you to pursue a complicated line of philosophies: why is it difficult to just set a fixed plan? Is it something that is related to the nature of our people? Do we have to raise up to the moment every time? Is it because management does not want us to have a whip, a set of standards against which we can assess their effectiveness? Is it a simple absence of passion, determinism and focus in organizing such a complex institution? Frankly, I thought there were a lot wrong with us, as a nation, that does not sit well with ideas of development. That left me with nothing other than to pray that Amoud will not collapse under the full weight of our hopes and aspirations.
Only recently did I realize that I implied unfair judgement as these universities I was comparing them against was way older than her. Look: Cambridge is almost 800 years older; Harvard is around 400 years older; even the late coming Open University of UK, unconventional at inception, is almost 40 years older than Amoud. Everything else equal, age alone shows us that Amoud is like to these institutions as an infant is to mature or old person. Yet again, this should not be used as a lame excuse to shy away from responsibility of delivering world class education. If age is the sole factor to determine the scholarship ability, these big names would be eclipsed by the University of Al-Qarriwiyin of Marroco and Al-Azhar of Egypt.
Comparing your school to the other institutions in the world was a never-ending job, and a source of regular confusion and despair. The photos of ivy buildings, manicured lawns, and well-equipped labs, not to mention English, would disarray whatever little self-confidence we have built. Yes, English was also a source of great pain. Not being a native speaker (and apparently there is no linguistic similarities with Somali either), we had to view learning English as both a mark of distinction and the pain we have tolerated. When I tell native speakers where I learned such English, they find hard to believe. I know my forbearance. However disorienting it is, they have to believe it. On the other hand, when I sneak few English words here and there to my conversation with non-English-speaking Somalis, some of them feel intimidated. I know my distinction. However humiliating it may seem, they have to appreciate that as a fact of life after you put a young boy through 17 years of schooling in which the majority of the years English was the medium of instruction and/or a subject matter (did I mention the last decade and my lingua franca at the workplace?). I have a feeling that I am not intimidating as often as I should…
The level of material wealth shown in the photos were infuriating. A lot of resources are committed to these institutions that make the budget of Somaliland appear small. The 2011 – 2012 budget of University of Cambridge, where an alumni of Amoud is currently pursuing his doctoral studies, is twenty times larger than Somaliland’s budget. Open University of UK, where I earned my Professional Diploma in Management, revenue in 2012 was greater than Somaliland’s 2013 budget more than four times. Somaliland’s budget eclipse Amoud’s in equal measure, if not more.
However, it was not easy to realize that comparing the institutions under which you studied to discern the quality of the student is like comparing children based on their parents. While it is true that the majority of good parents will instil goodness in their children, it does not necessarily mean all good parents will have good children, and vice versa. While parents influence their children a lot, they do not mold their children in their image. Children, in the end, take their own way. While aggregation is often useful, it is usually not in instances where quality is concerned. Should identical twins could go through life and demonstrate very different personalities, how could one expect to see students to share the same qualities simply because they happen to go through the same school?
Amoud’s misfortunes were countless; so were her blessings. One of the greatest misfortunes was the kind of students she had to admit, including me. The university came into existence in the unholy time when there was no graduates from Somaliland High School System. That meant to accept all those who were at the high schools when the government collapsed. Some of these students had to carry the pen and the book for the first time for more than a decade. That very thing was its blessing at the same time. Mature as they were, they became a voice that reaches out to the community, a manpower that sweeps the bumpy road to actualizing the dream, and the patient adults that know tomorrow will be better.
And Then I Came…
When I joined Amoud, I was a class of my own. In the history of Somali schooling, I was one of those endangered species who survived in the brackets within the parentheses. Any history book would read like, “…The public education system of the country collapsed during the civil wars [with a notable exception that some regions restarted as soon as a relative peace was restored (and in some cases, especially for high school, individuals started private courses to cover the material without any learning aide)]. Thanks to those brave men who immediately restarted Xaawa Taako in Boorama. Thanks to Sh. Cabdillaahi Muuse who started and ran, all by himself, an exemplary high school intensive course in Hargeysa.
What many call the fringe, I call the mainstream. That is what I know. In 2010, I applied for Open University of UK to study a postgraduate diploma of management. They sent my transcript to foreign qualification assessment and replied back with rejection. They must have realized that my schooling was on the “fringe”. The assessment concluded my degree to be equivalent to two years college level. They suggested me to take a certificate level to complete the remaining two years. I requested a sample of the material they cover (I am not sure if you are following any Amoud trait here). They were kind enough to share with me not only the outline, but also some course materials. Then, I realized I already covered the material. I told them that it was a level I studied, used in my work, and taught to undergraduate students. I made clear to them that retaking would not be a wise use of my time and resources. They requested my resume, which I sent. I was referred to a regional admissions officer who conducted an interview with me over the phone. She was convinced that I was at par with the requirements. She informed me of my admission and congratulated me. I turned to my wife, who was dining with me at Fish and Steak House that night, and informed her. We were elated. We both knew that my schooling was not fringe; it was the mainstream – thanks to Amoud.
A year or more ago, I requested my transcript for some of my restless endeavours. I realized the registrar who signed my transcript was none other than my classmate at Amoud, Yurub Abdirahman Moumin. I was privileged to be close to her and the late Umalkhayr Abdi Omer (may she rest in peace). They opened my eyes to the challenging world of women in schools without saying a word; that silence, itself, is related to the profound way women touch the other half of the society, only if tuned in. Our society demands a lot from the girls. They have to study, like the boys, and take care of families, unlike the boys. Nevertheless, Yurub is that rare model that thrived under such inhospitable conditions. While the ones like Yurub deserve the best recognition and offers, it is also worth mentioning those left behind did not choose to be where they are. Or so I learned from those thriving.
The Great Subtleties
Hamda had countless misfortunes; she had countless blessings. Her birth marked the start of both. Life, in general, is a blessing. She was endowed with good health and everything about her birth was normal and good. However, her misfortune was that she joined a list of siblings dominated by males, five brothers altogether (excluding a half-brother and a half-sister who were not living with us). By the way, we did not recognize how important this was then, but we realized it would stamp a permanent ink on her psyche as she grew…
At a tender age of five or six, she realized how much we rely on maids and female relatives than on ourselves. My mother, with her many hats in business and community works, was not always at home. Hamda made her personal mission to serve our dad and cook for him. As a clumsy little creature with weak minute fingers and hands, she sustained cuts, burns and bruises. Determined, she was finally on top of that job.
On she moved, shouldering a bigger responsibility. She had to, literally, babysit all those dysfunctional brothers that came this world before her. She would cook, clean, and organize after us all. She was that machine, that master who knew where things were. She was only seven by then. Not only did she expand her responsibility, but when my mom travelled outside Boorama, she would entrust the responsibility of the household on her. Only Mom and Dad would know how important she was. I was oblivious. My brothers, I am guessing, were too. But every recognition I was granted at the university, Hamda was there, hovering at the background, checking on me.
But all these misfortunes, those that seem to deprive her of her childhood, seem to be the building blocks of her character today. We did not recognize how important this was then, but now we see that she became very caring and responsible person as a result. With each one more meal she cooked, each one more floor she mobbed, each one more cloth she washed, she wielded a lot of love and respect in our family that I doubt any of us could muster.
Truth be told, Hamda flunked at her fourth grade. At grade two, Hamda was promoted to grade four based on merit and the recommendation of the teachers. Why did she do well at grade two and not grade four? Very simple: it was a very difficult year in our home and Hamda was overwhelmed with chores (I guess you can ring date the stability of families by how good their daughters do at school). Everyone was shocked. My sister was embarrassed (I guess, she still is). She withdrew and doubted herself. She had every right to doubt the system; herself not. However, she was too young to distinguish between the two. The contrast between she and I here could illuminate the point: while she was useful to the family as she “flunked,” I was raking A’s and not helping my family. More accurately, I was feeding off her back to do what I was doing. I never get as outraged to see her in that dismal situation as when I see that many think, to add insult to injury, I was doing better than her.
Unyielding to circumstances, she continued to study, only harder. She continued to assist the family even more. Only then can you fathom why I had to invest in washing machine as soon as I got employment after Amoud. I thought I owed this to her. I thought my conscience will be free from indebtedness. I realized that was just a small token compared to what she invested and continues to invest in the family. Without advice in a country that is so deprived of anything but advice, she continued to do what she does best – teaching me by showing. Without knowing, being engaged with the life of my sister became a parallel university of equal magnitude with my daytime one. The tricky difference was that while my role at the daytime university was clear, that of my sister’s was not. In the majority of the time, I thought I was teaching her lessons that would be useful to her in the future. Maybe, maybe not. One thing is clear though ironic it may sound: she was implanting, knowingly or unknowingly, seeds in my conscience for later processing.
So, Hamda’s arrival at the doors of tertiary schooling is a success by all definitions. Her pursuit of medicine is a manifestation of her commitment to care, at a very basic level, the life of humanity. It’s a characteristic she does not know when she got it; she was too young to remember then. But discussing the successes of Yurub, or the potentials of Hamda for that matter, is a waste of time and resource if we are not accounting for those bright young ladies whose potential has been razed by the system, simply because they happen to be female. It is not a random fact that the oldest university in the world was founded by a female. It is not an accident that no one, except those touched by Divine Light, could ever beat a mother in teaching. I think it is not just an inconvenient coincidence that both our female education and our development are lagging far behind. Worst of all, it will not be very difficult to forecast a gloomy future unless we educate a great number of our daughters to levels of expertise in every field of study.
Conclusion: The Juncture
The need for keeping the flame of hope alive is as dire as when Amoud was instituted. A great number of young men and women are currently being swallowed up by the tides of the high seas. A great number of our young female talents are rotting under the spell of unfair competition, mercilessly boring household chores that could be reduced by sharing or mechanizing, and age-old traditions that do not hold truth and help our communities. That being said, Amoud’s intervention as a responsive institution, not just as a fixed structure, is badly sought for.
A responsive Amoud should be defined by what it is as much as what it is not: Amoud should be a place of original learning, not just for learning what was originally discovered elsewhere; a place of sharing knowledge and understanding, not a place of retailing information and theories; a place of equal opportunity even if that means compensating for realities outside its sphere of influence, not a place to empower just the dominant group; a place that is open to truth and change even when it is inconvenient, not a place of intellectual ghetto.
It is because of this tremendous challenge does Amoud need a loyal and competent partner: one that would stay in trying times, nourish these ideals and console, inspire and prompt Amoud to act to protect these ideals. I know none better than the female population. That is the role Yurub is currently playing. That is the role my sister will play some day. That is the role all these girls who are thriving under the system will play one day. That is the role all these girls currently dwarfed by the system would raise to play some day.
For you, Hamda, the thought of all these peers and friends you have lost to the system during your long torturous route should prompt you to take up their share in the same way you did take up your brother’s share of the household chores. While your brothers, myself included, always had the choice of taking up their share, these girls may not be as lucky. If they had, most of them would not have neglected it. Maybe few would. While your experience changed you for the better, there is no guarantee it would change every girl like you. Therefore, be careful to compare yourself with others and/or judge. And be careful to use your experience as a disciplining methodology. Use your experience wisely.
The road to learning never ends. You are in a critical part of it. Make sure you learn as much as possible – from the language you study with, to the technical matters you delve into, the equipments you use and the social context of where all the learning happens. More than anything else, discover yourself. As long as you are hidden in your body or the social construction of you, your essence remains concealed. You may not get such a wonderful time you have now again (that makes me feel old, but it is what it is). Dream big and do not listen to naysayers. If any happen to be talking to you, tell them they don’t know the miracles you are capable of. Tell them you also don’t know, but you are willing to give it a try. Remember, more than anything else, you need patience. Yes, you need more patience than intelligence. The world is teeming up with people of great intelligence. But to learn and permanently write a particular matter into your brain requires a toil and time. Unless you are patient, you won’t be able to see the value of toiling and spending time. And remember, someone once said accurately, “Life is what happens while you are busy with other stuff.”
Now, here I stand watching the interaction between my sister and my alma mater, the tremor of my sister’s frustrations (like I had) and the humming sooth of Amoud. I know they will pair up better than I and Amoud, for they both know how to nourish others. While I continue to search the work of my life and the legacy I want to leave behind, I cannot emphasize enough the value of educating our daughters. Thanks to Hamda and all the women who touched my life somehow, I enlist myself as an ally in the fight for justice, enlightenment and development. That is the journey of our society. That is the journey Amoud University should participate. That is the journey we do not afford to miss…
Maydhane 
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