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You Can Watch A Thief, Not A Liar

Issue 314
Front Page

A Controversial Conference Adopts Somaliland ICT Vision 2025

Visit of Somaliland Delegation

A Human Catastrophe Unfolds In Northeast Awdal Region

Western World Cannot Impose Democracy In Africa: Ethiopian PM

Finding Calm In The Most Unexpected Place

Three killed in Somali blast near presidential palace

Somalia, Iraq And The Price Of Defeat

Despite rivals' talks, at least 12 people die in Kenyan violence

In Eritrea, UN Mission Is Running Out of Fuel, While Council Mulls Six More Months of Staying

House Church Members Flee Somaliland Amid Government Crackdown

Regional Affairs

Another 132 dead in Gulf of Aden over weekend

Somaliland President Meets With Senior US Officials

Special Report

International News

New US Commander Prepares for Africa Assignment

Looking at the bigger picture

Somali man faces city centre sex assault charge


Hasan Sh. Momin: An Ordinary Man with Extra-ordinary Insight

Kenya tourism, economy devastated by violence

Gates Says He and Bono Discussed Africa Policy and AFRICOM

'When They See Us Coming They Must Be Scared'


Getting boots off the ground

Food for thought


The Tale Of Two Cities; One Is Isolated And The Other Is Rubbish:

Somaliland’s Search For Independence Will Continue


Beyond The Empty Gestures

A Reply To Mr. Jawaan's Article

Mr. President Please Hear Me Out

Failure To Dispose Off Municipal Wastes Safely Can Cause A Huge Public Health Disaster!

What Does It Mean The Removal Of SNM History From The Curriculum?

You Can Watch A Thief, Not A Liar

By Yusuf Deyr

In ancient Korea, when parents reach an advanced age and become too frail to work; their sons would carry them up to the high mountains, isolated to die there. Part of a tradition known as Koryojang. The young generation of Somaliland who followed the dispersion of the Somalilanders after the mass – graves. Believe much that they can’t get along with the remnant cadre of that old regime of the old vampire Siyad Bare. The old cadre like me can’t be a correlation coefficient, that match the correctitude attitude of this new generation of today, with a reformist mentality. Because every age needs it’s playing tools. Bad boys bad toys. Good boys good toys. Due to the vastly differing experience in the generation shift; the new generation suggest to arrange a Quarantine Canters for that old cadre. In order to be safe from their contagious killing disease. The reformist mentality of today insists to prepare Gas – Chambers in the Surret Mountains of the Golis Range for those old generations to perish there. Your Honour, I plead Guilty with no Appeal.

Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without edge. Fitter to bruise than to polish. We grow like how we think. So let us think of the true, the good, and the beautiful. We must buy the truth and never sell it. A good cause makes a stout heart, and a strong arm. And the future belongs to those who prepare for it. Kind hearts are the gardens, kind thoughts are the roots, and kind words are the flowers. Gazing up in the blue sky at the clouds moving; and think of all kinds of scary things that are expected to happen in Kenya. Give me the list, who is next? I have learned earlier in life that crying out peacefully in protest against an African dictator could accomplish nothing. That is why some kind of Psychological deterioration has hit our family circles, and began to eat away all our pride. In peace, Iron is bright. In war, gold is dull. Preaching us with lying lips that won’t feed us or cloth us. Giving the image of Africa to the Western World as naked savages, cannibals, monkeys, tigers, and steaming jungles. Big head, little sense. If you do what you should not, you must hear what you would not. We, the masses can do nothing except pray to God and keep optimistic.

War leaves a country with four armies. An army of cripples, an army of mourners, and an army of thieves, and army of mentals. Villains may prosper for a time, but their end is ignominy. Drunkenness with power is an egg from which all vices are hatched. We dwell on scary nightmare now and then. Mistrust and doubts have coloured and shadowed all our life style. Half is false of what we hear. When we think positively, we always end up back to square one. Meditating in solitude, quieting my mind by giving away all my serious thoughts. Because Mr.Rayalle is carrying two faces under one head. He must turn his face to the sun. The face is a mask, look behind it. Action and words are the windows through which the heart is seen. A man’s action are motion pictures of his beliefs. Mr.Rayalle, suit the action to the word. When gold speaks other tongues are dumb. Analysis seeks to identify the true components of any particular situation. There is no gain in subtracting from your character and to add it to your popularity. Because it takes a life time to build up a character, but you can lose it in a very short time. Musicians like our drama queen Mr.Rayalle, is offering soothing sounds after each painful bite.

When all is said and done; Mr.Rayalle wins a trip to Addis or Jibouti, with a ring in his finger and a kiss on his cheeks. In order to meet another black panther of the Animal Kingdom. Friendship is an empty word if it works only one way. That is why Mr.Meles is breast feeding us with bloodshed, and empty promises. Because grandchildren are the interest paid on the original investment. But fate has no tracking justification for courting and embracing my past of doom and gloom. It is totally a sad reminder. After few days, we shall all be bald. Mr.Rayalle, farewell to your negative fate. Forethought is better than afterthought. At twenty years of age the reign, at thirty years the wit, and at forty years the judgment. Mr.Rayalle, in telling the age of another, multiply it by two. In telling your age, divide it by two. But there are no reserved seats in the halls of fame, or the chapels of faith.

Early in the morning when I open my eyes. I see those scary ghosts with tiny legs made of clay, dictating my destiny. Overstepping my boundaries and trespassing on my fundamental rights. Every morning is another rude awakening for all of us. Living in a land of mystery, full of melancholy, contrasts, and paradoxes. The despair has become more frequent and more intense than before. Always feeding with a cold dinner, and no supper. My vivid memory rewinding the pain of the past, enduring a heavy burden of the present, and focussing on the future shock of the fearful coming tomorrow. Feeling the curse of the inferno under my feet. Everything is on monopoly for some special interest group. While some true Somalilanders, and honest commercial men like the Harbi company are under embargo. Simply because they do not pray with the same Mosque of Mr.Rayalle. Our genuine heroes who liberated us from the shackles of slavery are banned from running our political affairs. It is a crying shame in every culture to drive by force the Qaran leaders from the dinning table, and deport them from Borama to Hargeisa against their will. I am afraid that simply some one may turn off the tap on the water; and your breath of oxygen; and then you are a dead meat. The reasoning is more conspiratorial than journalistic. Lots of scary things swarms into my mind when I am dangling my tiny legs out of my smoky destitute shack, called home. I pray for myself not to vanish, not to be swallowed up through the street by a hit man operation. Orchestrated by the Mad Cow Cashier of our Revenue. Or melt in a suicidal mission of a walking bomb. As everybody is in a desperate mood and can’t wait for a never ending tomorrow. We are led by a leader wearing an infidel suit and attending a Satan’s chapel. Wailing too long for justices from a primitive tribal society led by Mafia Gangs who are entitled to nothing; but to hoard money and to hold power. Nowadays we teach our children to fight back and to badmouth others. Shoot first and ask questions later. Guilty until proven innocent. Excuse me is not available in our vocabulary. People are friends in January and foe in February. That Government employee with the good attitude makes you feel like he is doing you a favour, when he is doing his job by serving you. Thank God he has not asked for a kickback money. He is remembering that a stranger is just a friend you have not met before. A destitute shack and a scolding wife with a running tongue, are my only two companions.

If you perceive me as a sadist, psychopathic who loves no one; your industry of reasoning is built on a shaky ground. I am an American philanthropist working in Iraq. Sitting on a nodal point between the Greco – Roman World and the cultures of Persia at a crossing point on the Euphrates river. Counting seconds and minutes, waiting for his death penalty, and has lost his wisdom tooth. I don’t want to ignite fear or anger of any sort. But we must thoroughly understand that our national dream for a better tomorrow is under siege. A foe to God was never a true friend to man. Mr.Rayalle, he that has a head of wax, must not walk in the sun. Don’t tax your true friends with your heavy faults. You can’t dance in two wedding with one leg. If you can’t read my lips, I can read your heart.

In all history books the rim of civilization has been patrolled by great brains to keep out the barbarians. These great men made the World safe for cheap sissies like me and you; enjoying this luxurious life that we are indulging today. All the mathematical proof shows you to pick the path that leads you to where you can see further. It is good when you are hunting for the truth, to have your mind free. Mr.Malcolm X said, in America there is always a reason to think. As a black man in America, your sense of calculations must work overtime. If you burp, sneeze, yawn or hiccup. You can say. “ Excuse me.” But if you fart, you are just supposed to pretend as if nothing happened. Back in my high School days. My social science teacher Mr.Blume said, in the United States, if somebody breaks in to your house; you can shoot him. It is the law. Because it takes forty two muscles to frown when somebody pisses you off; and only four muscles to pull the trigger of a decent sniper rifle. I think the words “ excuse me.” Is inappropriate in a number of situations. For example if some one keeling forward and ending up his nose in your soup; and spitting hatred into your eyes. Or if some one kisses your girl friend infront of you. In the World of Mr.Rayalle, truth is always elusive; and lying is a stroke of genius to abuse power. I can challenge any fool, I can debate with any lettered man, and I can bet with my last penny. Viewing Mr.Rayalle talk – show TV. After the first three words of the anchor; I can tell what he is going to say next. We have a long way to go to shake the dust of slavery off our shoes. He has a dozen of faces, as if an idea is working it’s way painfully down a constricted bottle – neck pipe line.

Even though we may get stuck in the river – dance of religion difference that is dressed up with mock wounded vanity. Yet as human beings, I sympathize strongly the Jews past suffering like the pogroms and the holocaust. And even sometimes I doubt much as a Somalilander, if at all I have a Jew blood or not. I feel like a dog in a room full of humans, trying desperately to read their unspoken intentions. I have to be true with myself. I can’t lie. But instead, when I see Israelis swimming in an ocean of human blood in the Gaza Stripe. I become tongue tied and prefer to wrap myself in the most rigid ethical code; and keep my mouth zipped. Realising that Mr.Meles’s target is today Mogadishu; and tomorrow Hargeisa is the stake. That is why my conclusion ends up in a pointless grudge against everything. Finally regarding my criticism as null and void. Because if brains were shoes, it would be naked all the way to Mr.Rayalle’s knees. Telling big lies and claiming non existing victory.

Mr.Rayalle, when you are in Texas, look behind your back. Because the eyes of the rangers are upon you. All your political literature is a hallucination. Being short of the literalism of the English language worried me a lot. The big false myths in one side; and the lack of courage to discover plain facts on the other side. As Noah took one pair of each type of animal on to the Ark. Mr.Rayalle using a flying – saucer carrying some language oriented Robots that can serve only his proposed assignments of vanity. Wearing swastikas tattoo all over their arms. Arranging a clandestine illegal marriage with a married woman. Endorsing me to claim happiness by performing a public demonstration as an approval of my satisfaction with them. But the vice verse is true.

Mr.Rayalle, we have to put in good shape our messy house and bind our communities together before we meet the World on it’s own terms. Once you do that, we can define our own interests and relay our cultural truths to the rest of the World. How come you want me to give you a license for abusing power. We can watch a thief but we can’t watch a liar. Mr.Rayalle wants to lie to a very sophisticated World that can detect the sewing needle in the ocean while they are sitting in their living rooms. Mr.Rayalle, the International community have a good picture about who you are. Because a man’s reputation for his future is his record of the past. Some custom officers at Hargeisa Air – port on condition of anonymity has tipped us privately, that Mr.Rayalle brought nothing new from the UK and the United States. With the except of three 3piece suits and three jewellery sets for his private use. No economy boost, and no new ideas. A wounded reputation as usual. Just as he was a passenger in a football team. The masses are all buried up to their neck in the sand under the wistful stoicism of Mr.Rayalle’s poverty. Applying that old saga of his Godfather Siyad Bare’s teachings. “ Kill the body and the head dies.” The memory is starting to soften up and recede along with outrage. Acting against the complicity of evil deeds. If you speak the truth, Mr.Rayalle’s scholars will all eye at you as if you farted in a Mosque. Every hair on their body stands abruptly to attention. Flashing all the time a startling revelation that turns into a stormy sea. Truth is always weird and stranger than falsehood. But Somalilanders are a perfect match typifying that Phoenix of the Arabian desert; that rises from the ashes with renewed youth. We have extra force of nature; and our sweetest fruit of defence is a huge patience. Even though that mask on his face, and his sense of calculation has burned our brains completely blank. A racist against the truth who can’t manage civility. But a drowning man does not need a mirror. He needs a hand, a way out, a swimming lesson. Because diplomacy is the art of letting some one else show you his own way. Mr.Rayalle, we advise you to reserve judgment until you have all evidence, then draw the conclusion. Dump it, or keep it. Mr.False, do you make the trees pregnant? Of course you do. We have a smell of a big lie on the air and astringent lotion to reduce our bleeding. Glass, and reputation are easily cracked and never well mended. Resembling the great in some ways does not make us equally great.

Ability, not luck, conquers.

We can watch a thief; but we can’t watch a liar.

Thank you, for being totally ugly.

Yusuf Deyr, Hargeisa Somaliland

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