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By Ahmed I. Hassan
Times are a-changing. By default as well as design, women have increasingly
taken over the role of being the de-facto heads and breadwinners for many
families. Is this a sign of feminine progress? Not necessarily.
The late ‘60’s and early ‘70s were my formative and school
days. I grew up in the Goljano suburb of Hargeisa. These were good olden days.
More than nostalgia for carefree youthfulness nourishes my fond memories for these days. These were the days families were families: men as breadwinners; woman as homemakers and children as beloved wards.
The man went out in the mornings in pursuit of work to secure the family needs. It was a given that he should provide for his family and likewise strive to raise its standard of living. He was willing to do anything in order fulfill this important and primary responsibility. And when he had earned money, his priority was to spend it on his family’s basic necessities and not on his personal desires or habits. Many men even cared for other families when unfortunate circumstances degreed it. If a man died, his brother or cousin would assume the deceased’s responsibility towards his family including, most times, becoming a husband to the deceased’s wife (The Dumaal System). If a man became invalid through illness or accident, or unproductive through detention, ditto.
It was rare that you saw women working in other than the professions of nursing, teaching and as office secretaries. They were in deed making progress in education and workplace but by choice not necessity. Women used to look after the children and prudently run their households. Men earned the money but it was the women who managed it. Poor and rich lived in the same place and it was the blessed women who blurred the difference. In their free time, usually in the afternoons, while keeping an eye on the children playing nearby, they used to sit around in their houses’ courtyards, sunning themselves, applying henna to their feet and hands and exchange gossip. It was a pleasant sight. In the evenings sweet whiffs of incense and fragrance permeated from houses. Men came to happy and welcoming homes. The following year you became aware of the addition of several lovely babies to the neighborhood. What a life!
In school when we got naughty or careless in our studies, teachers used to instruct us to bring along our fathers the next day to tell them. This was tantamount to capital punishment as far as the student is concerned. The amazing thing, however, is that it never occurred to our teachers that some of us didn’t have fathers. Those who didn’t brought over their uncles or other male relatives. One resourceful and fatherless schoolmate used to employ a kind of “father-for-hire” technique when he got into trouble. He would raise some funds, usually three or four shillings, from his friends and go the owner of nearby shop.
“Come along with me to the school, you are my ‘father’ today!”
“Go away, I’m busy” The shopkeeper would say
Our schoolmate would then open his palm to display the shillings it held. This unfailingly generated in the shopkeeper an instant and kindly disposition towards our schoolmate.
“Let us go.” The shopkeeper would say, “You are a silly boy. What is it about this time?” Bless your father in the grave who doesn’t have to deal with this nonsense.”
The shopkeeper played the role of the ‘father’ perfectly. He would assume an indignant attitude towards the boy in the presence of the teacher. After the teacher had laid bare the boy’s crimes, he would rage and rave at the boy and to cap it, slap solidly his face. If the slap had been too hard, the boy deducted a shilling from the fee, which exchanged hands after the incident. But generally the matter ended to everyone’s satisfaction. Especially the boy was very happy.
“I would rather kill myself than let my mother face this crab” He once said.
My point is not to tell a trivial story but to assert that even small boys knew that decency required protecting women from ugly situations. And boys learned this commitment early. I am reminded the first time my father left for a long trip. He called my eldest brother, 11 years old at the time, and installed him as the head of the family.
“Look, Mohamed,” He said, “I’m going away for some time and in my absence, you’ll be the man of the house. Make sure to look after the family, especially your mother and sisters.”
As the second eldest son and infected with siblings’ natural rivalry, this turned me green with envy. I protested.
“Dad, let me be the man of the house. I can do it better than Mohamed.”
Mohamed gave that ominous look, which made it clear that as soon as our father turned his back, he would make short work of me. But our father was tactful. While he retained him as the head, he made me his deputy.
Mohamed and I took our assignment too literally. We pestered, almost terrorized our ladies. When they complained, we invoked the powers that were vested in us by our father. Less they had forgotten it, we reminded them that we were the men of the house. Sometimes our mother had to put us in our place by getting physical. This failed to be much of deterrence. When our father came back, the ladies related to him a litany of woes that they had gone through on account of us. Our father, ever tactful, supported Mohamed and I in front of them, but gave us private tuition on how to rule without resorting to tyranny. Eventually, after several more tenures as head and deputy, we mastered the role by trial and error.
Though urbanites, my family, like others, had interest in the rural areas. My father’s sheep and goats were kept in the Guban or lower Oogo under the care of my paternal uncles and his camels grazed in the Haud, looked after by my maternal uncles. During school holidays we used to go to one place or the other if the seasonal rains were bountiful. So I learned a few things about life in the interior as well.
Life in the interior was unbearably hard. The striking thing, however, was the nomads were pretty oblivious to it and it was only we, urbanites, who whined about it. This amused the nomads very much and they called us “Arabs” meaning, I suppose “Softies.” Their resilience was extraordinary. Neither thirst nor hunger seemed to affect them. Darkness and light were one and the same thing. Sounds of wild animals scared us out of our wits, but were music to their ears. Walking long distances exhausted us, but was natural to them.
But one noticed that in the interior too, the brunt of the hardship appropriately fell on men and boys and women and girls were assigned to relatively less strenuous tasks. Men took the camels to far away pastures (daaq geen). They fetched water from distant wells or water reservoirs (Dhaan). If they saw a lightning in the horizon they made exploratory trips in its direction next morning looking for better and newly rain-nourished grazing places (Sahan). If decision was made to move to the new area, they took the lion’s share in packing up and putting the huts’ components on the burdens camels (Rarid). With everything on the move, one of them darted ahead of the pack and guide the group to the best settlement spot through a load guttural sound that traveled for miles (Baaqid). They helped unload the heavy items from the camels back (Dejin). They dealt with thorny bushes to make animal pens (Owdis). They took animals to the water wells (Aroor). They milked the camels (Lisid). They took animals to the market, sell them and exchange the proceeds for food, clothes and other needs (Safar). All this plus their role as protectors of the community from other tribal forays (Gurmad) and sometimes perpetrators of forays themselves into other tribes (Duulaan).
I am not saying that women had an easy ride. If nothing else rural conditions would not allow it. Indeed, their roles and tasks were as vital as their men folks’. But these roles and tasks were normally less strenuous and less dangerous.
Unwanted Transformation
Alas, times are a-changing. Things are not the same. A disturbing transformation
seems to be taking place that is destabilizing the true and tried, tranquil
family way of life and the respective traditional roles of men and women
that were the fundamentals of its sustenance.
Increasingly, women have taken over the role of being the de-facto heads and breadwinners for many families. The marketplaces of Hargesia and other major towns these days are filled with women selling all and sundry; from vegetables to electronics. They toil under abhorring conditions usually under naked sun. Some of them even bring along their babies and toddlers because obviously there is no one at home who would care for them. Women are out in force. They are money exchange dealers, shopkeepers, traders, tailors and scores of other things. You find them in foreign countries in more numbers than men buying merchandise to re-sell them back home. And going to foreign countries for business is not all fun. One finds an align culture and unscrupulous traders and dupers and mostly belligerent officialdom. In some places, especially in Arabia, foreign unaccompanied women are usually and mistakenly taken for to be trading in more ways than harmless merchandise. Women are harassed.
It is evident that women are not doing this by choice. This trend is not a sign of feminine progress. I am all for gender equality. It will gladden me to see more women doctors, lawyers, politicians, businesswomen and what else. It is only in countries that had tapped the vast reserves of female talent that made strides in living standards. However, such progress comes through genuine advancement in education and positive changes in attitudes, which do not upset but rather improve family life. The fact is many women are doing the toiling because the very survival of their families depends on them alone.
Where are the men?
It is true that the past oppression and economic deprivation that Somalilanders
had suffered under the Southerners brutally removed more men than women from
productive life. With their men either dead or invalid and with other male
relatives likewise, many women were forced to support themselves and their
families. It is true that Somaliland (with indifferent International community
that has denied it recognition and with hyenas lurking on its east, west
and north borders -Somalia, Djibouti and Arabia- that wishes to tear it to
pieces) is undergoing dire economic difficulties. Sure unemployment is widespread.
Call that a cruel fate. But what about when men are present and able-bodied?
The sad fact is many men have abdicated their responsibility and duty towards their families without equally relinquishing their rights. They want to be treated as those who wear the pants in the house without being those who put food on the dinner table or may I say, dinner mat. They would not even contribute to other household chores like looking after children, cooking, cleaning, laundering so that women are freed to secure livelihood. They want to eat the cake and keep it too.
Now Asha (name changed to preserve privacy) sells tomatoes and lettuces under the naked sun. You can see she was born a beauty but presently, unprotected from nature’s elements and ravished by constant exertion she is a pale and grotesque shadow of former self. Though in her twenties she looks more forty. She is holding a baby on her lap suckling her and a toddler squatting beside her. She tries to protect herself from sun with a battered umbrella but with her hands otherwise engaged, the umbrella sits on her head. Still she sells and does not complain much. After midday she collects such unsold and still saleable tomatoes and lettuces; stores them in a nearby building and with the baby wrapped on her back and the toddler in hand heads for home. It is not the end of a day for Asha. She still has the family to cook for and the house to clean up.
She has a husband. His name is Omer (name changed again). He is able-bodied. He goes out in the morning. He laments that there is no gainful work to do. What is a man to do when there is no work to? He shrugs his shoulders and says that it was God’s will. Fate is playing an ugly joke on me, he believes. It is not him that brought about such hard times. The lady can worry about food for the family and the household chores all right, but he has a pressing problem. How will he get his daily quota of qat, which he cannot do without? He scratches his head and thinks hard.
In our culture, there are two kinds of beggary. One is straight forward asking for alms (Dawarsi). One solicits it from strangers or acquaintances alike and one takes what is given gratefully. The other type is more clamorous, almost respectable and certainly comical. One goes to an acquaintance or to a relative and his mere presence or a perfunctory word is supposed to produce funds (Shaxaad). The donor is not expected to contribute; rather he is required to cough up all that his solicitor requested and happily do it in such a way as if it were his obligation to give. If the donor comes short and gives less than expected, it will greatly disappoint the solicitor or even draw his ire and the solicitor may say:
“Do you think I am begging you?! If you are hard up I will give you as much?”
The donor then apologizes profusely and explains the reasons for his meanness. The solicitor takes what is given as if it is a part and unsatisfactory repayment of debt he gave earlier and dejectedly walks away.
God forbid, our friend Omer is not a beggar (Dawarsede), but he is a master solicitor (Shaxaade). It has now become his occupation and he does not even bother looking for a job. If it is not his resident friends or relatives in Hargeisa, he looks for travelers from abroad (Janaalayaal). He walks the length and breath of the city looking for a familiar face. Some days he comes to a dead end. Not enough time has elapsed to revisit his local donors, some of whom are of no use anyway because they at last have acquired the courage of saying no. Besides, one does not always find a charitable Janaale. But it is midday and he must quickly get his qat by hook or crook. Suddenly he has an inspiration. He remembers his wife. He heads for home.
Asha takes one look at him and without a word dips into her little egg nest. She gives him such amount that would buy two bundles of qat, his daily consumption. Asha is a smart woman and if she can avert a catastrophe, she would not hesitate. The first time Omer had asked for his qat’s money, she protested. She said if she was providing for the family’s necessities he should not at least bother her with his habits. That brought about a volley of blows to her face and upper body. She was sore and blue for more than a week. Sales were lost and the children nearly went hungry. She learned her lesson.
Omer is happy. It looked like a bad day at first, but now he is enjoying chewing his qat amongst his friends. Asha had been very reasonable lately, he thinks. As Somaliland is a classless society, Omer’s qat-chewing pals are from all walks of life. After an hour of chewing they started getting a little high (marqaan) and presently are volubly discussing the affairs of world. They mostly talk about politics. Problems are expertly dissected and ingenious but simplistic solutions are given. Great plans are made and business alliances are formed amongst themselves. They decide to build skyscrapers soon. Everyone is earnest and means what he says, but it never occurs to them that these are exactly the same issues they discussed and decided on yesterday. Tomorrow glaring reality will present itself and nobody will remember a thing of what is being said now. But who cares about yesterday and tomorrow is another day. The important thing is they are all happy now.
Its now nearly 10 o’clock and the qat session is over. Omer comes home. He finds his wife and children fast asleep. But insomnia due qat keeps him awake. He feels that qat induced feeling that though it inhibits performance tends to gives the urge to do, errr, the thing. He roughly wakes up his wife. Asha is reasonable again. Exhaustion and worry robbed her of both stamina and desire, but she surrenders to her husband’s amorous advances. The alternative is not an option. Mercifully Omar is expedient in such thing. But the last baby is one year old and human conception is the result a joining of two cells irrespective of whether or not their donors enjoyed the process of the cells’ meeting. Asha knows that the unmistakable symptoms of conception will set in soon. Alas, another mouth to feed!
The life of this family is not an exception but an example. One finds too many Ashas and too many Omers in Somaliland these days.
Likewise the structured life in the interior has undergone a similarly destructive shift. It is not unheard of these days of women undertaking traditionally men’s tasks of Daaq geen, Dhaan, Sahan, Rarid, Dejin, Baaqid, Dejin, Owdis, Aroor, Lisid and Safar. War mongering is just about only role exclusively retained by men and this perhaps because war is loathsome to women’s nature.
I recently met an old man who had lost the sight of one of his eyes due to a freak accident. Milking camels one evening with the help of his wife (italicized for stress), he tried to free one baby camel from its pen by pulling the thorny shrub gate. A branch of the shrub sprang at his face and a thorn pierced his eye. He said it had fallen on him and his wife to milk the camels though both were past the time for such chores. His grandchildren, the children of the old man’s sons, and their young wives needed to be fed. Earlier that evening they decided to quit milking the camels to make a point. But the grandchildren, too young to know anything except milk in their bowl were perplexed when milk was not served them at the usual time. One by one they went to their grandfather.
“Grandpa, where is our milk tonight?” they inquired.
Remorse griped the old man. It was sinful to punish innocent children for something that had not been their folly. He called his wife and set out milking the camels and the accident happened.
“Where were the children’s fathers?” I asked him
“They were in the township chewing qat. They do that on most days”
Again this is not an isolated incident. It is a sign of modern times in the interior.
Discord In Diaspora
In last decade many families immigrated to foreign lands especially the western
countries. There as well the unique Somalilandian unitary family system seems
to be crumpling at an alarming rate. Admittedly cultural shock, different
social environment and laws are all contributory factors for this phenomenon.
Furthermore the qat has followed the Diaspora to far away places. Men argue
that women, suddenly planted in a permissive society and having recourse
to legal protection (especially against domestic violence), have gone over
their heads. They say women are casually repelling against men’s traditional
authority as heads of family. Women counter that men are as much a bundle
of trouble as they were back home. They accuse men of not trying to adept
to new ways and circumstances. The families’ status as refugees means
limitations in income and most men do precious little to look for work (any
work) to improve the their lot. Instead many men place disproportionate claims
on such meager income to gratify their habits of chewing qat and in some
cases alcohol abuse. Women complain that men lay restrictions on the women
and children’s behavior and activities, which are impractical and unwarranted
under the new social circumstances and way of life.
There is some truth in both allegations. Some women may have failed to distinguish the lines between more freedom and gender equality on one hand and excessive permissiveness on the other. Appearances fool any uninitiated and naive person. Western culture, despite superficial looseness is founded on rock solid values of family cohesion, hard work and the pursuit of knowledge. I have never seen a society where men and women are equal either in their rights or in their responsibilities. Perhaps these are the women who had erroneously believed that back home the odds were against them and that now tables have turned. Revengeful and carried away by seemingly sympathetic law enforcement, they tend to be, to speak figuratively, trigger happy, or may I say 911 happy.
On the whole, however, I tend to side with the women. At home or abroad, if men neglect their primary responsibility of providing for their families, anything women do can be justifiable or defensible.
Qat and other substance abuse are the obvious scapegoats and certainly aggravate the problem. It falls on our government, civic and religious institutions to eradicate or at least control them. But I refuse to ascribe them as its root cause. These products were available when things were better. The root cause is a baffling deterioration of the core values that are the essence of a man’s existence. Unless we return to these core values, God help us!