Somali Children

Somali children are so beautiful and so sweet. They look at you with curious little eyes wondering from where you are and what you have come for. The moment you make eye contact with these little angels they faces light up and they give you the biggest happiest smile their little faces and parched lips allow them.

It is for me very heartbreaking and I feel so sad as I sit and think about them and all their little smiles run through the memories of my mind.

They are born into and grow up with so much suffering, so much difficulty and so much pain…yes it makes them strong and righteous adults but why should children experience such tragedy from birth ?

When a 20 something year old looks at you and with a smile says to you, this is life it is nothing to grow up in this situation, to them it is ok but to you, you who have played in the sun and know what it feels like to swoosh down a slide or swing as fast and hard as you can to try and touch the sky, it is doesn’t feel okay.

You feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach and find your eyes facing the floor, swelled with tears, hoping that those around you won’t see. Suddenly your life feels so trivial and insignificant and your achievements seem to not feel like success.

For a Somali child to live to become and adult and to not be maimed or diseased or fatigued by conflict and disaster is success.

For a Somali child lala-byes are the sweet melodies of Quraan, hugs are the comforts of endless hunger and tireless pains, kisses are vaccinations for dying diseases.

At the medical camp we come across a class of kids, probably aged between 3 and 10 sitting together. Singing as hard as their dry little throats will allow, the ayaats of the Quraan. When they notice our attention on them, they build the moment of pride and passion in their recitation.

Somali’s, by and large don’t share the luxury we do of have books and kitaabs and e-catalogues containg everything about hadith and Quraan. For the madressah at this make shift camp the pages of their Quraan are long and broad wooden planks with Surahs hand printed in black.

I pull a 5 year old boy out of the crowd… I want to understand how he views the graveness of their situation. His name is Mohammed Hassan, thankfully both his parents are with him but they too have traveled from far; Baidoa Province west of Mogadishu. His family arrived here after and exhausting Bus ride. I ask him why they came to Mogadishu. With his finger by his lip he looks at me and says in Somali, because of drought and hunger. I ask him if he was scared he slowly shakes his head; NO.

I ask what do you expect it Mogadishu; he answers Hope.