Aging Men with Dirty Diapers

18 October 2009 | Op-Ed
Bookmark and Share

 

Ah, to be a little kid again with skinned knees that is easier to heal than broken heart.  In the golden years of childhood, we used to be ourselves and nobody else.   As kids we did things just for fun and to make us laugh.  Authenticity was an involuntary impulse in our veins. There were no false notes on our cheeks.  We used to hate rain at night and we did not like goodbyes.  With a gentle heart that was tied with an easy thread.   Honesty with a sincere smile which goes hand in hand with a strong desire for beauty and pleasure.  A pleasure seeker from sunrise to sunset.  A teen – age era that runs after beautiful dreams, beautiful flowers, and beautiful scenes.   Ah, I wish to be young again with that imperial rate of sixty horsepower.  No mortgage  headache, no monthly utility bills, no burden of responsibility, with no worries of any sort.  Socializing myself with courteous girls that have great smile, which reflects a glow of happiness.  That sleeping beauty with curly hair and romantic eyes that are dressed up with bushy eye – brows.  Those heavenly bodies of the category ,slim and tall. Those silky long legs and cozy boobs.  Heart to heart talk to those royal beauty queens with dimple on their cheeks when they smile, were my love – interest.  A romantic dinner decorated with a bunch of flowers and lot of lightening candles on the table.  Then strolling or walking to the beach.  Sometimes staying home, watching  a movie while courting and cuddling on the coach.  But up to now, always my dating ends up with a broken heart, due to  Mother In Law from hell.  In several times, I was trapped in a life – boat by a witch Mother In Law from hell.  She always misjudges me by reading an evil on my eyes, and  suspecting  me on unhealthy marriage.  I got heckled in several occasions where my brain went blank; and my cunning wit evaporated.  Slapped the door on my face and received dark angry words from her.  That bad impression of the Mother In Law from hell, left a never lasting bad taste in my mouth.  Owing to that, my dating always ends up with crash and burn.  My wife is her mother’s slave.  She would hang on her for every word whenever she criticizes everything about me.  My dressing, my diet, and my eating habits, and the way I will raise up my child.  Not being allowed to wear the shirt and the pant that I prefer.  If a cow gets out of the pen, and the calf follows.  You don’t get mad at the calf.  You put the cow back in the pen.  The Mother In Law from hell is the butt of jokes and comedies all over Africa.  She is always the cause of all divorces.  That is a brief  spectrum of my social habit – ordeals.  But my psychological dependence is strictly panned and tightly sealed under the Privacy Of Information Act.    

According to a poll prepared by Hawa, a non  profit Organization in Hargeisa.  Nowadays young girls have got a new vision of dating aging – men.  The poll says almost two third of young girls who fling to older men believe and say.   “ Older men are  better on bed, more generous, more reliable, and more secret worthy.  Never had the experience  of cheating, a broken relationship, or empty promises.   The reason we are dating older men is simply because.  Most young men of our age have already deserted this barren  country.  Went through illegal human trafficking in between the devil and the dead sea.  The few numbers who are left behind  are staying home idle;  and are regarded as snooty.  Having not the least gleam of hope to get  a mean job for survival.  Continuing the revelation, the spokeswoman for the Organization said.  “ That is a spine numbing ride that boils our blood and sparks out our rage.  It is a child abuse in rank and file, and a Human Rights Violation.” 

 

Zahra from Hargeisa University also said, “Our fate is trembling on the balance.  And right now there are no reliable men of our age to make dating with.  Girls are living increasingly busy lives to earn their basic essential needs.   Gone are the days where we look for young men of our peers  to take care of us. That is why our morals are down and our love to be hijacked by expired older men with dirty diapers.   But  in reality,  though we are dating older men; yet this relationship is missing the sensational  live sentiment and drive, in It’s true sense.  Because the ingredient and the recipe don’t match each other.  The quality of our future will depend directly on the quality of our thinking.  That is why all our perceptions and intuitions are faulty; and our logics gives the wrong answers.  Because if your eye – sight is sharp but looking at the wrong directions; you will not see what you are looking for.   As everybody is in a despair mood and can’t wait for a never ending tomorrow of Mr.Riyalle’s empty promises of honey and milk.”   Zahra ended with her painful anecdote.   

Dear reader. recently I made a bidding on a contract for exporting Dead Rats.  I assumed that this is the merest contract and nobody would bother.  But suddenly it turned in to a hot cake.  As usual, when opportunity presents itself in the World of whom you know, not what you know.  You assume that it won’t  work ; before you even give it a try.  When you doubt about what you can achieve, you limit your opportunity and you sabotage your own chance of success.  It was just like a blind date, and I went to the party as an alien, and a passenger in a football team.  Willing to take the risk.  Bearing in mind that I won’t lose anything if at all the worse comes.  As I have learned in my early childhood.  If you want something; you must make some noise.  And if things don’t work out.  It is not the end of the World.  In Africa, you must keep trying until you are a dead meat.  Because the only way to get something is to present yourself out there; and be a willing to face the rejection.  A date may be just a hello again. “ Stop hesitating,  Life is nothing but taking risks.” I said to myself.   As I have had  survived more than one false start in the past.   After few days, finally I was turned down simply because of my heavy accent from Taxes.   My face turned bright red.  Lately, I shrugged and said with a self – defeated attitude, “  what is the big deal ?  Did I fart in a Mosque ?   An interviewer with an infidel suit screamed at me and send me out of the interview – room.   I left the interview hall dragging my feet with despair.  But lately confessed  myself.  This is Africa, and every shoe is on the wrong foot.  Even love is hijacked by aging men that are wearing dirty diapers.  Work opportunities  is no exceptional.  We are a hog – tied nation by the Mother In Law from hell; that we have already prepared her coffin.  But always survives all flood and fire.   That is why our destiny is in the dirty hands of juvenile delinquents from the orphanage center, and expired old men wearing dirty diapers who are called, GUURTI.  This House of Elders who represent no one except their stomach and wallet.

The Rift valley Virus of Mr.Riyalle, for sure is a pressing deadly disease.   But there are more killing diseases sponsored by the GUURTI (HOUSE OF ELDERS). The tribal Smoking Pipe, Clan Traffic Jamming, Personality cults, and Las –  Anood Bird Flue from Mr.Xaabsade.  Who is a fickle that always swings his  faith from Sunni to Shia, and vise versa.  Mr.Sulaiman, the harsh truth is that.  You are introducing in the market that old poisonous  prescription that brought Mr.Riyalle to the power in the first place.  Candor once went further boldly in smiles, lately crept home in tatters and tears.    

Put all your false antidote, and personal  greed in a drawer and close it tightly.  We have no room for your old phenomenon.  Which introduces a religion that is a friendly to the Communist Party, and have good relationship with the Western World.   Mr.Sulaiman, you are an Eastern with Western roots.  According to your family tree.   As it is recorded in Burao Municipality archives; with authentic signature of your thrill –  maker cousin, Mr.Silaanyo.  Mr.Sulaiman, a man’s action is a motion picture of his beliefs.  We got your message that says.  Religon is a rival authority that needs to be controlled or suppressed.  A platform for bombs, explosives, terrorist activities, and rejection to civilization .   And people are sick of it right now.  You always count your eggs before it hatches.  But you have to know that religion is a missionary tradition that is woven in to the fabric of our veins and a stream in our blood.  We know that your cousin is the most charismatic figure.  We congratulate you for letting him win the American Lottery Numbers.  But our Mosque and School of thought does not accept Gambling Money as a  Charity Donation.  There is no a grace in a favor that sticks to the finger.  You can give that donation to your false Doctor with the four eyes;  who can make the trees pregnant.  It is a breach against Human Rights Act to impose your ill views on unwilling listeners.  There is a feeling of shame in size, if not in quality.  But take your time for now.  As far as our Supreme Court is a Sex – Slave – Fantasy, and turns a blind eye to your grave crime.  Who knows what is next in Mr.Riyalle’s rule and reign.  I pray for myself not to vanish, or to be disappeared by a hit – man operation on the street.  Or melt in a suicidal mission of a walking bomb.   Fifteen cents in the red and you are a dead meat.  The first commandment in my Budhist Mantra says.  You can’t be told what to believe; and you can’t be forced to abandon your core – beliefs.  The person who tells you to calm down; is usually the person who got you mad in the first place.  People want to know, why did split with your old ally Mr.Riyalle?   Nowadays you live on a nervous moments, hungary for pain.  Because of the seeds that you have had planted with your own hands in the past.

Dear reader, after watching the uprising rally at Burao in the mid of last September.  Burao, the land of the brave and the land of the free.  I came to realize that Mr.Riyalle is no more sleeping on the lion’s Den.  That is a clear evidence that the past dust of friction in between the Lion and the Tiger had settled down.  The dividing walls of sand of evil has crumbled after the family reunion.  The seven years of UDUB Empire colony is at dead end.  That illegal clandestine marriage has broken in to pieces.  The Bear’s hug in between the Lion and the Tiger; was a picture worth ten thousand words.  Mr.Riyalle no more pulling the apron strings of the Lion when ever his spider – web –  palace is shaken or threatened.  Mr.Lion, thanks for discovering lately that Mr.Riyalle is a chameleon with an invisible color dye; who has a respect for no one.  Every thing that he touches is either illegal, immoral, or frightening.   Always acting as a painter that turns white in to black.  He is a sealed book and a volume that is hard to read.  Mr.Riyalle,your regime has many heads but no brains.  Big names standing on no legs.  Mr.Riyalle, this time, killing time is not a murder, it is your suicide.  Eat the eggs but don’t kill the chicken that feeds you with the golden eggs.  Better the fruit lost, than the tree.  when you hear us singing.  It is not a sign that we are happy.  But Music is poor man’s Parnassus.  It takes more muscle to frown than to laugh.  A man is not poor if at all he can smile. 

Nowadays most of the people spend their time reading the  menu, while you enjoy the banquet.   A Native Indian scalps his enemy as a battle trophy, but a black leader skins his civilians. Mr.Riyalle, When you are depressed, you  sell some blocks of the Government Real  Estate and then you  go shopping in Europe.  While poor families are dying for the lack of drops of drinking water.  Our sweet hearts, youth graduates from local universities are shadowed with despair.  Can see no gleam of hope to get  even food for work.  As a consequence of that, risking with their lives by going through a suicide mission in the dead sea, as illegal immigrants.  While some of your un -existing local NGOs receiving monthly, tons of food and sell it in the local markets under your concern.   Dear Somalilander, by digging deep we can steal the wind from the sails.  Democracy became a scourge to beat us to death.  Mr.Riyalle is a curse inflicted on us as a punishment from Allah; after we alienated Mujahid Abdirahman Aw Ali  and embraced  an alien person with stained reputation.  Because a rebellion to a freedom fighter is disobedience to God.  Whom the God would destroy, they hate the nobleman and they love the snooty.  We made a mountain out of a molehill.  You can debate with the lettered men, you can wrestle with the wild animals, but you have to fear the ignorant.  Somaliland had only two good men, one dead and the other unborn yet.  By now, there is no use to strip already naked man.  But let not the mistakes of yesterday, or the fear of tomorrow spoil our today.  Patience is a poor man’s weapon.   Even a frog would bite if it had teeth.  

Mr.Riyalle, Diplomacy is the art of letting some one else, show you his own way.  Slander expires at a good man’s door.  After the white man’s  arrival, no more hearing a clatter or a rattle of annoying sounds of the pedestrians on the side walk of the road.  A complete noise abatement.  A gentle breeze buffing and puffing in to the open air.  It looks as every one’s win.  Though some scholars predict that this agreement is anti – pain for relieving the fever temporarily.   As everybody is speaking in an amiable tone in agreement to the settlement of the pressing crisis.  No more ambivalence of mixed feelings, and no more doubting about what the weather is going to be like tomorrow.  There is a smell of sage and wisdom on the air.  And we got relaxed after the white man’s intervention.  That is a proof that white man is brain.  Black man is dumb and unproductive.  Teaching his terms with the big stick.  Thanks God , Mr.Riyalle will no more speak to the International Community the same tone and attitude, he did speak to the Xareed Tribe Elders.   As an African dictator, the big stick is the only language he can understand. Mr.Riyalle, you have wrapped yourself in the most rigid ethical code of diplomacy.  Keeping us in the dark for couple of weeks.   Experienced unpleasant drama and a future – shock.  Mr.Riyalle, It is good when you are hunting for the truth; to have your mind free of false friends.   Always pick the path that leads to where you can see further.   At least a flash of mother- wit will help you more better than Mr.Awill and Mr.Sulub ill advices.  Your regime has many heads but no brains.  Your wild mules don’t kick according to the rules.  You made a mountain out of molehill. 

Mr.Sulub, monkey in hard times eat red pepper.  According to your perception, all money is clean even if it is dirty.  Make money your servant, not your master.  If you kill the brain, also the body will die.  If you have many faces.  Your brain acts as if your ideas are working it’s way, painfully down a constricted pipe.  Mr.Riyalle, you have a long way to go.  To shake the dust of slavery and despair off our shoes.   
 

Dear country man, the man with the Satan’s crappy name, finally has bent down on his knees.  But still he is  cooking a bad dessert by wasting time.   Please tell him to understand that it takes forty two muscles a person to frown; and only four muscles to pull the trigger of a decent sniper rifle.  In Somaliland there is always a reason to think overtime.  A drowning man does not need a mirror.  He needs a hand, a way out, and a swimming lessons.  If you burp, sneeze, yawn, or hiccup.  You can say excuse me.  But it is inappropriate in a number of other situations.  For example, if you kneel  down forward, and ending up your nose down in a hot soup.  If you do what you should not, you must hear what you would not.  Mr.Riyalle, don’t beat about the bush.  This time, killing the time is not a murder, it is your suicide.  Because the white man is watching you, and he is the master mind of all magicians

Mr.Riyalle, you are cute when you are angry.

The Three Piece Suit Is Yours  And The Shame Is Ours.

Yusuf Deyr, Hargeisa.


Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.