“Where are you really from?”: Navigating identity and belonging in the Somali diaspora

This photo essay was produced in collaboration with Somali Sideways. A condensed version of the series appeared on our social media pages. Read an introductory note below: 

Somali Sideways is a storytelling platform founded to amplify the voices and experiences of Somalis around the world. It aims to showcase the diverse stories of the Somali diaspora, focusing on the richness of identity, culture, and personal journeys. The project encourages Somalis to share their narratives in their own words, offering a platform that breaks stereotypes and promotes authenticity.

At the heart of it is the creation of a sense of community, one that inspires future generations, and provides a space for Somalis to reflect on their challenges and triumphs. It is intended to be a cultural archive that captures the multifaceted experiences of the diaspora, whether related to migration, business, entrepreneurship, or activism. Many stories highlight the challenges of identity, integration, and overcoming adversity.

Mahamed Jama:

“It was December the 24th, the icy chill and an unforgiving cold crept through the cracks and  edges of my hospital window on my 27th day of stay. Undeterred, I set out to finish my research  paper before the morning nurse rounds. My eyes strayed to the blinking notification light on my phone. There were thirteen missed calls:  seven from my cousins Mustaf and six from Abdalla 

Despite our warm and peaceful greetings, Mustaf’s voice bore an unspoken heaviness, a deep  sadness in every word. 

“I just spoke with my mom and…and…um…your brother was killed last night.” Silence blanketed the room as I grappled with shock. 

Without thinking, I dialed Hamza’s mobile number, hoping for some miracle, but it was my aunt  who picked up, her voice merely a whisper as she confirmed the tragic news and delved into the  details of his killing.

Soon after, my mother called, and I tried to comfort her, gently reminding her that death is a natural part of life we all must face. With a trembling voice, she urged me to inform my grandmother. 

I faced the challenging task of calling my father to deliver the devastating news of his son’s  death. Nothing could prepare me for such heart-wrenching conversations, but I mustered my  courage and made the call.  Our conversation was brief, the signal flickering and unstable. After our initial greetings in Somali,  the exchange took a grim turn. My father met the news with an acceptance rooted in deep faith, 

“We surely belong to Allah and to Him shall we return.” 

The call ended abruptly before I could delve into the details. I knew the depths of pain he must have felt. He recently lost his father, a man he had dutifully  cared for over a decade. His call was followed by a futile attempt to reach the rest of our family. The lines remained silent,  the world outside my hospital room wrapped in the quiet serenity of Christmas Day in Sweden. 

The next call was the most difficult – my grandmother. Her scream was so piercing it woke my  uncle. Still healing from her son’s tragic death three years ago, she now faced the devastating loss of  her grandson. I knew that this was a pain from which there would be no recovery”. 

Frah Abdi: 

“My parents were among the many who had to make one of the hardest decisions of  their lives. To send their child away to safety and hope for a better future. I was one  of many Somali children to leave in such circumstances, leaving behind your entire  family with the knowledge of sacrifice, intention of betterment and the reality of life’s struggles.

Growing up in a foreign country without the presence and guidance of  your parents comes with a lot of obstacles and challenges. At 16, I ran away from  home and I remember being in the park the whole day with friends like nothing was  wrong. As it got darker people started to leave until I was the only person left in the  park. That’s when I realised I had no home to go to.

These challenges taught me that  the only thing you can absolutely control in life is how you react to things out of your  control, and there’s a lot you can’t control so the better you adapt to this reality, the  more powerful your highs will be, and the more quickly you’ll be able to bounce back  from the lows.

Everything that happens to you in life is either an opportunity to learn  and grow or an obstacle that keeps you stuck. You get to choose. My life’s experiences whilst growing up has led me to see the value in young people and provide opportunities for them that wasn’t available to me. Alhamdulillah I work for the biggest youth organisation in the world which enables me to do the job I love and  lets me travel the world.

So my brothers and sisters when life hits rock bottom, Take  a deep breath; it’s going to be ok, maybe not today, but eventually. There will be  times when it seems like everything that could possibly go wrong is going wrong, You  might feel like you will be stuck in this rut forever, but you won’t. Sure the sun stops  shining sometimes, and you may get a huge thunderstorm or two, but eventually the  sun will come out to shine. Sometimes it’s just a matter of us staying as positive as possible in order to make it to see the sunshine break through the clouds again and  remember Allah won’t put you through more than you can bear, he might let you  bend but he won’t let you break. “

Yahya Saadiq: 

“The last thing I remember before I fell asleep in the back of a Peugeot car is that my  family and I were travelling from Yemen to Jeddah through the mountains of  Hudaidah.

Later, after 14 days I found myself in a room lying on a bed in a very poor  condition. The only thing I was remembering at that moment was that I was with my  family traveling back home. From the bed I looked through the window and I saw the  mountains. My brain was telling me that there were no mountains in my  neighbourhood, and started asking myself why I’m here?

Then a woman walked-in  and shockingly screamed “he’s up, he’s up!”. Later on, I knew that she was my nurse  and a horrible accident happened to us where our car flipped three times upside down, driver died, and my life stopped for 14 days. Doctors were telling my family that I won’t survive.

My life changed ever since I became more conscious. I got through a lot of things since the accident that made me so grateful to Allah. One of those things that I’m proud of is the Somali Community Runners, which I co-founded it with my friend Kamil. It’s basically a community of Somali Runners who gather every week to run in the streets of Cairo. Our dream is to enlarge it and have Somali  Runners in every Somali community around the world. This is my way of thanking  God for being here”.

Naima Farah: 

I was born in Somalia and at a very young age was raised by my grandparents. My  grandfather Professor Caalin was my everything. He was my hero and until today I  love him more than anything. Unfortunately, he passed away few months before me  and my older sister went to Finland to reunite with our mother.

My childhood in  Turku, Finland was the best childhood a child could wish for. I was fluent in Finnish  and had a lot of friends. Few years later, we moved to Stockholm, Sweden. To start  everything all over again was pretty tough but alhamdulillah Swedish is a much  easier language than Finnish.

It took me only 6 months to be fluent in Swedish. After  few years in Stockholm, we moved back to Turku. I was quite happy about it  because I needed to leave Stockholm behind me and start my new life in Finland.

My  mom was smart to put me and my older sisters in a Swedish school in Turku but we  were the only Muslims, Blacks and Somalis in the whole school. We also spoke  “Rikssvenska”, the real Swedish language while in the school everyone spoke a  mixture of Finnish and Swedish.

Almost every day people ask us “So where are you  from?” Today I’m still trying to find a short way to explain where I’m from”. 

Rahma Rodaah:

“My story started when we immigrated to Canada at the cusp of the civil war in  Somalia. I went from being a happy child who fit in the sea of people who looked like  me and spoke my language.

My mother always recounts how early and clearly I  spoke as a child. But all that changed when we immigrated, and I became the only  Black Somali girl in class not talking or understanding this foreign tongue. 

I got bullied a lot by teachers with their eyes and words and physically by my  classmates, and I had no one to lean on. We left behind all my cousins, aunts and  my beloved grandmother who raised me. My parents were drowning in their own way  and fighting their own fights. 

The world is made of stories. There are the stories we hear, the ones we read and  tell each other. Each situation is shifted by the story that surrounds it. Each outcome  is perhaps influenced by the story it began with.  

Growing up, the stories I read about my identity as a Muslim were always negative. A  Muslim was someone who was always radical and violent. My hijab symbolized an  oppressive ideology that needed to be irradiated. As Somali, I was known to be part  of a nation of perpetual conflict and rootless pirates. 

Motherhood and witnessing my eldest daughter’s childhood unlocked a lot more  traumatic memories I had hidden within. 

My work in writing positive and affirming stories featuring Black Muslim characters is  to help future generations overcome years of hurt and trauma, believing the negative  stereotypes told by others.  

Reclaiming the art of storytelling with a purpose to make a difference isn’t always  easy, but each seed we plant in the mind of a young reader is worth the sacrifice. I write for little Rahma, who never saw herself anywhere. You made it!” 

Aar Maanta: 

“Be at the right place at the right time” was the quote written on the board of one of  the dormitories at Wamy Orphanage where few friends and I have been doing charity  work for the past few days. Many of Isiolo’s residents, a town 285km north of the  Kenyan capital, are descendants of Somali soldiers who fought in World War I.

I  didn’t know much about this town until the morning of January 13, 2013, when I  received one of the most shocking news: My best friend of nearly ten years Jamal  Moghe was killed by bandits on a nearby road and was to be buried there.

Brother  Jamal was a tolerant, kind and above all a forgiving individual. He was the sort of  friend you could have an argument with and regardless of whose fault it was, he  would always be the first to call. If you did not answer, he will call again. He never  took anything to heart. It was no surprise that one of his last tweets was: “Forgive me  if I have wronged you, forgive those who have wronged you, for Allah forgives the  forgiving heart.”

On the night of my wedding, Jamal was my best man. Having done  so much to help me prepare for my big day, I wanted him to enjoy the moment  without any responsibilities. However, being the kind of friend he was, he spent the evening outside in the cold welcoming guests at the door.

Following his sudden and  tragic death his widow, some friends and I have been exploring charitable options to  keep his memory alive. Eventually we came across ‘Wamy School Children’s Home’  under-funded orphanage school situated under the mountains of Isiolo town – not far  from Jamal’s final resting place.

One of the orphanage’s teachers remarked that they hardly had visitors so our visit alone was much appreciated. After we asked what we  could do to help, they gave us a list of things. The list included fixing broken  windows, buying water tank, mosquito nets, blankets, bed sheets, slippers, washing  buckets etc. Thanks to money we collected from families and friends over several  months we were able to provide all the items requested ourselves.

I believe all our  lives are somehow connected. There was a reason why my friend’s final resting  place was to be in Isiolo, there was a reason why my friends and I ended up in that  orphanage. In other words we will always be at the right place at the right time for  what is destined for us. However, miracles happen when we get out of our comfort  zones, when we consciously and actively create chances for those who are less  fortunate than us.

Let’s not rely on NGO’s or other organisations whose business it is  to help others. But let’s get out there ourselves with whatever money or resources  we can afford and make a difference in the lives of our brothers and sister every now and then Insha Allah.” 

Edited/Reviewed by: Caleb Okereke and Sarah Nene Etim