H: The overwhelming direction of Fuun composition became the lionization of Siyaad Barre. Increasingly, all institutions, including the SSRC, began to atrophy and their place was taken by an overblown Siyaadism. This profane personality cult drove many of us into internal exile. I, for example, decided to avoid reporting to work at the National
Theatre and did not collect my paycheck for two months. My dejection became so acute that, in 1983, I once again moved to the now Republic of Djibouti. In 1986, Siyaad Barre visited Djibouti City to meet with then Ethiopian ruler, Colonel Mengistu Haile Mariam. Under the auspices of President Hassan Gulaid of Djibouti, the purpose was to reconcile the Somali Republic and Ethiopia. During one of the evenings, I had an encounter with Siyaad Barre. He inquired why I was living in Djibouti. I retorted that Djibouti was an old zone of comfort, the place that I had ventured from years ago to come to Mogadishu. He suggested that I return with him, but I declined. Nonetheless, I gave him some advice, including rescinding the ill-advised state policy of burning qat farms in the North. I told Siyaad that the armed resistance to his regime outside of the country was numerically tiny. However, any further alienation of the citizenry, particularly the destruction of qat farms, would create an exodus to dissent politics. My sense is that he was not listening. I think he internalized the sycophantic praise that became the routine of official symbolic production to such an extent that he saw himself as a paragon of truth and wisdom—Aabihii garashada—as his retainers or the tribalists in Mogadishu sang in those years.
AIS: I assume that the deepening of regime illegitimacy and worsening conditions of civic life became an unavoidable preoccupation among the artists. Would you comment on this?
H: Waa run (It is true)! Two series of songs stood out. One was called Seenlay (given the name of the letter S). Scores and scores of Abwaan joined the effort, with each contributing a line. This started with the song line, Saxarlaay ha fududaan (Saxarlaay, don’t be berserk). It reached the line, Dhulku waa sanqadhayaa, cagta saarimaynee, socodkeennu xeel iyo ha ahaado laba suul (the land is making noises, we will not put on our full feet, our walk should be clever and light on the toes). The end point of Seenlay was the symbolic presentation of a naxash (coffin)—the death of collective history! For some, the composition conjured up the need for mobilization of serious resistance. The second was Deellay, whose impetus came from a poem authored by a man who was a member of the resistance group, the Somali Salvation Democratic Front (SSDF). In order to diminish the attraction of the poem, Siyaad Barre convened a number of major Abwaan. Those included Gaariyeh, Yum-Yum, and Hadrawi. The President gave them a mandate to respond to the poem effectively to such an extent that it would be “run out of public circulation.” Gaariyeh, known for his mental quickness, was the first to pick up the challenge, right in front of “the old man.” Gaariyeh said, “Digdheh deelka maansada.” During the long circulation in the Somali-inhabited lands, many contributed. This became a long composition, with multiple dimensions. Even I added a piece, with the concluding thought, Aan ka tashanno (Let’s deliberate together). My key point was to ask the nation that we leave the captain of the ship of state to do his work while the rest of us discuss, without violence, what to do next. Of course, you know now that such advice was not adopted and soon everything deteriorated from bad to worse and then to the worst of times.
AIS: Who were the most significant Fannaanniin at this time—in the decade of the 1980s? Whose moon was visible?
H: For composers, one would be, first, Hadrawi. Then there were Gaariyeh and Yum-Yum. But, of course one would have to also mention the long celebrated (from the beginning, decades ago) personalities such as the mighty Ali Suguleh, so creative and versatile. Whatever the occasion or the issue, Ali always brought forth a notable piece. He was endowed with the gift of matching poetic expression and the topic at hand. In any event, by the last years of the decade, the speed of the cascading social and institutional decomposition accelerated, with armed opposition engaging government troops on a number of fronts. By early 1991, Mogadishu itself exploded and the end of Siyaad Barre’s regime was complete.
AIS: But for you, the decision to get out of Mogadishu and the Somali Republic was made earlier, right?
H: Yes, as I said before, I left in 1983 for Djibouti.
AIS: Who were you working with in Djibouti at this time?
H: Everyone who was involved in serious fuun. You know, the Djibouti Fannaanniin and leaders have always been sweet to me—that is, cordial, hospitable and caring. At this time, Djibouti was already so different than Mogadishu: more peaceful, open, and congenial.
AIS: Who were the Somali cultural figures that received you so well in Djibouti? Could you name some of them?
H: There were a number of notable individuals. These included Mohamed Abdillahi Rerash, a man of intellectual distinction when it comes to Somali history and culture, the late Ibrahim Gadhleh, who was a master of Somali language and literature, Hassan Elmi, Aden Farah, Shibeen, and many more… .
AIS: How about the singers? Were there, at this time, Djiboutians who were recognized for the quality of their voices?
H: There were young and upcoming individuals but they were not regionally acclaimed persons yet.
AIS: The time from 1991 to the present, over sixteen years, has been described by some of us as the era of violent political squalor, with associational life and national institutions no more. What about fuun? What has become of it?
H: Somali fuun has had the same depressing fate—maybe even more difficulties! The supreme mode of the vast majority involved in fuun has been depressingly instrumentalist, a kind of, as Somalis aptly say, “working solely for one’s stomach.”
AIS: Are you saying that hardly anyone, in these sixteen years, has paid any attention to the national or collective agony?
H: Yes! Everyone witnessed the toxic developments and the subsequent demise of national identity. Yet, from my perspective, the national cause was deliberately cast aside. That is, Iyadoo la arkayo ayaa laga dhaqaaqay (Everyone saw clearly but decided to walk away).
AIS: So, parallel to the death of national political order was the evaporation of national fuun?
H: Affirmative! You must realize that patriotism (a love of one’s country, not chauvinism) and the awaking and flourishing of the spirit of fuun are directly linked. It seems to me that when one is destroyed, the other is drastically diminished. More than anything else, a fannaan is literally orphaned in such circumstances.
AIS: Now to some random and wide-ranging reflections. As you look back these past fifty or so years, since decolonization, and historically speaking, whom would you identify (according to your own taste and judgment) among the grandest of female singers?
H: There are many astounding women, and it is extremely difficult to name some and leave others behind. However, since you insist, I would name Maandeq and the late Magool. They were, to say the least, stupendous.
AIS: Could you comment on each?
H: Maandeq had, still has, the sweetest and most natural of voices; Magool, on the other hand, knew how to sing. The unrivalled raw talent was Maandeq’s gift but Magool excelled in the sheer effort of projecting her voice. The first was natural; the latter worked ever so hard at it. Here it is also important to mention Shamis Abokor, Gududo. She was a pioneer and remains a monument among the fannaanniin. Moreover, there is fantastic star, Asha Abdo. Besides in Somali, she could sing in Swahili and Arabic with equal gusto and effectiveness.
AIS: How about the male singers of national stature?
H: There are many here, too, and I am not comfortable in rank-ordering them. However, since you are insistent again (you are going to get me in trouble, Professor Ahmed!), here are a few names that are held in highest esteem among Somali communities around the world: Mohamed Suliman, Omer Duleh, Mohamed Mogeh, Mohamed Ahmed, and Shimbir come to mind. But Mohamed Suliman towers above all others in this way: he has the unique capacity to finish a long verse in a song without breaking his breathing rhythm. He has powerful lungs like the majestic Egyptian, Um Kulthum. In fact, you could light a matchstick and Mohamed Suliman, at his height, would not take a second breath until the whole stick burned out! Do you know how long that is? He is phenomenal!
AIS: How about the composers?
H: There are categories. On the composition of romantic songs, the late Mohamed Ali Kariyeh is preeminent. When dealing with weighty social and historical circumstances, Abdillahi Dhodan’s command of Somali language and poetic insight is in the same league as the legendary poets, such as Ragge Ugas and Qamaam Bulhan. Of course, Hadrawi and Yum-Yum are also leaders. Ali Suguleh distinguishes himself in creative flexibility—he could compose to fit the moment and the type of audience. As I said earlier, the late Hussein Aw Farah, among the greatest, had a talent for anatomizing important political questions with a combination of stylistic elegance and profundity. And then, of course, there is Hassan Sheikh Muumin. Known for his ethical sensibilities and principled perspectives on the issues of the day, he goes down as Somali modern culture’s most discerning and merciless critic. He is not only a highly original dramatist, but he is also fearless. His play, Nebi Daayeer (The Prophet Monkey), during the tenure of Prime Minister Mohamed Ibrahim Egal, is one example of Muumin’s fortitude. Also, he is the only one who has the gift of creative fertility to compose a major play of two volumes.
AIS: What about Abdillahi Abdi Shubeh? Where does he fit in the pantheon?
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