Just like back in Africa’s countryside, when the call to prayers, donkeys braying and the cockerel s crowing combine at the break of down as if to say “ Roll over Beethoven and tell Tchaikovsky the news. I got the rocking pneumonia, I need a shot of rhythm and blues”.
You know spring has arrived when you also find a number of people showing the signs of allergic rhinitis (e.g. pollinosis and hay fever) .
The sun sets late and rises early. In June it never sets in some parts of this wonderful country. Poor them muslims who will fast. In some parts of this country, you break your fast at 11.55 PM and commence it 12.01 am.
I went to a restaurant/bar and had what the swedes call “Fika” which might be translated as refreshments; coffee, a drink, tea and something to bite.
I also did some window shopping hoping to make a kill. I am not that of a miser but price is everything to me. I don’t know why but every time I go shopping, I think about people back home. I also subconsciously ask myself (at decision time) what a difference half-a price on the sale price will make to the lives of family and friends back home.
I have been eying a suit in one of the upscale shops lately. Every time, I am in town, I pass by the shop to see if the
price has been reduced. I have three other pairs of suits but I realised that they are summer/winter suits. I had a pair before but I gave it away last year.
I saw that it had that seductive red colour; sale!
I went into the shop. It was a small niched shop and there were not many customers. As I was looking for a size that fits me, I saw this silhouette walking towards me. This was not out of the ordinary in large cities in Sweden, in recent years. The arrival of many immigrants and European integration have combined to result in a hike in the crime rate (still very low though; this is a country where wolf hunting and a temperature change of 1-2 degrees make news headlines). Sometimes shopkeepers also approach you in the spirit of providing customer service.
But something about the eminent encounter with this approaching figure made me unease. She will probably ask me the customary but dreaded “ can I help you?” and I will interpret this as “ are you here to steal?”. Mind you, I don’t look like the stereotypical thief and I am rarely approached by a suspicious shopkeeper but there is always that feeling.
Hello Lamagoodle! She said in a typical immigrant Swedish!
I faced her and standing in front of me was this tall and somehow shabby but muscular Ethiopian/Eritrean woman. It was her! The woman who a few years ago was a girl. That girl who is always on your mind for the wrong reasons. That girl you always have in your revenge bank!
It also started during my undergraduate days. I was the only non-European in my study programme. Not like today when you see somalis in Campus. No, no, akhristow it was not during the dinosaur age. It was not that far back. Well, you might say that I was like a typical somalinet member, 23 sanno maba dhaafin jirin.
University education was tough then. I had this immense pressure on me to do well. Although I was integrated into the extra curricula activities of the student life (Friday nights were great, Saturday evenings likewise but Sundays were horrible because it was regret days), I somehow felt a sense of not belonging. I did not master the tacit subtleties of being with non-Africans. Jokes, curses and laughter were not mutual and sometimes I fell into a cultural dilemma.
Laboratory activities and theoretical classes were where I did well. I did less well in the seminars and discussions but I got good grades, maybe because of sympathy; maybe because my efforts paid off.
Then one Friday evening at a party to welcome new students, I met her. That girl that never left my mind.
This was the last week of my education and it was indeed a great pleasure to see an African not the least an African that I shared a lot with. She could be spotted miles away not only because of the colour of her skin but also her size and height. She was taller than almost all Eriterians and Ethiopians I have ever met. She was relatively taller than most somali women I know. He size made her look even taller than the average somali man. Your correspondent is not a short man but he is not a giant either. He is of average height or as some somalis say “ dadkiisa ayuu wax la qabaa”.
Hi there, I said smiling. I had no sinister motive. It was great to meet someone that I could relate to. Someone to talk about Africa. Someone, I could help if the need arises.
“Hi” she replied without any gesture of a reaction. In fact, her “hi” appeared to carry an ounce of detestation .
But I stubbornly repeated the “hi” with a broad smile and even added “sister”.
Nada.
She looked away. Kind of reminded me of the dhocosha xaafada blowing a chewing gum and showing the teenage suuro.
As the somalis say candhuufteeydaan dib iskaga liqay. Kind of looked around if people were looking at me . Smiled (a kind of gallows humour) and left.
The same evening, the student union organised the party of the year for the last year students and freshmen. It was that time of the year when sinning was expected and anything went. You could witness the different aspects of human behaviour if you are an anthropologist or a pschologist. But the following morning everything was forgiven and if you are religious you spend the day praying for forgiveness.
Dinner was served. The music played on. House music, rock-n-roll and the highlight of the evening; the sweet slow songs that attracted the most popular students. Here, in this country of Allah, you approach a lady or a lady approaches you (egaliterian society) and the question of “Får jag lov?” (ila dheel; may I?” is posed.
Generally, even if your dance moves are horrible (e.g. in the case of your correspondent) you accept it out of courtesy .
Your correspondent is not that good at dancing. When the occasion presents itself, he usually engages in a combination of the saar lugeed and cocktail of others somali traditional dance moves. He is not that good at the somali dances but when there are no other better somalis, you are lord of the floor. When they are no benchmarks, you can even fib and claim that your moves are inspired by somali dances. It was not uncommon to get positive remarks on your performance and someone asking you to teach them your somali dance and more importantly at the end next party be the king.
I said it is eureka time. Maybe, that Ethiopian/Eritrean lady was just not in the mood earlier today. Starting a programme as a freshman is always charaterised by pressures; performance, new culture, new ppl etc.
So, I approached her and posed the question “Får jag lov?” This is not negotiable and it is always expected that you provide a strong “Ja” with a smile that can be seen from the heavens.
She said “Ja” although there was no smile.
This was perhaps the first time two people of colour were on the dance floor of this building so there was expectation in the air. Even those on the floor were slowly going back to their seats to observe the dance of the decade.
Barry White’s single with the song “Didn't We Make It Happen, Baby" (with Glodean White) “ was played as if to mark the occasion.
It started very well. The first three steps and thenjust as I was making my Lamagoodle moves which thus far had taken me to the annals of history, she stops and shouts “ this is not dance! You don’t know how to dance” and goes back to her seat.
Humiliation. I was the king of dance; the African dance which many never have seen and here was an African lady claiming that if anything I was the king of fake. My brand was totally demolished.
I have not seen her since then. More than a decade had gone but the humiliation of that night has been potent in my thoughts.
“Hi . Long time not see” I replied formally.
“Do you remember me?”
“Yes, I do. How will I ever forget you” I replied.
“ it long time ago. What do you do today?” She asked
“ I am a dancer instructor” I replied .
“What kind of dance?” She asked with a smile.
“African dance” I replied adding “ do you want a free training?”
She smiled – almost seductively and replied “ Yes, I would love to. Can I get your phone number?”.
I replied “ I will be back in less than half an hour” and left the shop.
It was great been with you on these boards the last few days. Tomorrow is back to work day. See you when I see you next folks .
