I might be quite for a while but I might be speechless too because what I have to tell is already told and what is not told yet is already known.

Can modern technology such as USB equivalent to Ogadenian child’s memory?  We all have misery, good and many untold stories. This is based on a man called Carte and his grandson want to take you to a long journey deep inside the Ogaden region.

As a young I lived through memorable moments, seeing my father jumping like a chosen kangaroo from the gate knowing that he would survive if he only reach the mosque safe and sound. This was an old method which is used against Ethiopians. Leaving his AK 47 in a hole that we dug nights. People were happy that time. Nobody cared about COLONY. The word didn’t exist maybe. Waking up very early in the morning to look water for the livestock.  There were no names which could describe them, Geeljire? Ceeblasuuli? Aar? Saxarla’ ? Halgame? Naftihure? They born with this tittles. In the evening they milk the camels, cows and the goats to prepare for the daily big upcoming night events ‘’dhaanto’’ the living dance. The western world gets drunk when they are upto relaxation but drinking fresh, soft caano geel (camel milk) is like living in heaven. This may sound prosperous but what is hidden behind this glamorous words is never known. The year is 1996 Carte ran away to save his life from the hungry Ethiopian hyenas.

Nobody could imagine how far Carte  had been walking. The sun rose on him, nights pass by sleeping beside the most dangerous animal in horn of Africa “lion”. The dark turned into daylight. He couldn’t  continue his journey, he was starving. Turning back won’t be possible either because no one is left. Everybody died for hunger and a few could be rescued but they were slaughtered, hung up and down like butcher man does with his morning beef, others were raped. Who are these people? Do they exist at all? Questions dropped on him like a rainy day. He didn’t know but what he knew is that some people call them freedom fighters but he called them “rabbi sugayaal” (waiting for God). Carte had been experiencing this in chronological order getting nightmares and the birds in his worst dreams singing merely, flying from tree to tree. He was only waiting for the right bird to give him some pain-relief. He never gave up on struggling. He was a strong man, a patriot with his own word. Everybody called him “shan kalle” a man who has the strength of five grown men. He could kill a man without using any kind of a weapon. Although he is a brave man he has not the ability to help his people neither himself nor someone else. Matter fact he is weak. what else could you be when you stare at your own people suffer. The sorrow is deep and has dwelt in Cartes Head. He finally found a company. The un-faded poetry that invade his mind. God blessed his people with poetry. They ‘’Ogaden’’ are known as the ‘’poetry nation’’. He uttered like this:


‘’Harar agteediyohadaan hawdka dago


deegaan sokeeyiyohadaan weheshado waraabaha


damiirlaawe la jaar noqo dantu soo iguma kalifin


dagaal sokeyiyo daacun aan dabayaaqo laheyn


dulmi daa’in ahsoo key janjawiidhta ku doogsaden


taasi waa Darfureteeni hadaan dib ogu soo noqdo


dadyahow  daa’in Allahendulmigan miyuu noo uumay?


He spitted it out this way finding shelter under the shadows of his poems. This cannot be explained in one article but endless pages. I know this sounds fiction or fantasy. This is what I have to tell for my fellow Swedish, expecting me to tell them a fascinating story. Sorry for melting your heart. This is the real tragedy which is going on inside the Ogaden province. Lot of people has the lack of understanding this pain but a few. As a young I knew every Ogadenian child had a tale to tell. If you are out there and can’t share your emotional stories then who will tell? You might be quite for a while and you might be speechless too because what you want to tell is untold and what is not told yet is already unknown.





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