I was rushing through the dense and packed streets of Hargeisa\u2019s largest suuq. There\u2019s still a couple of hours until noon, but the sun could not be bothered to stick to schedule. My palms were having a hard time holding onto the shopping bags. The sweat and plastic completing a frictionless dance as I constantly adjusted. The battle was finally lost as one of the bags slips through my last finger and hits the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I turned to pick up my bag, I saw the\nman behind me almost trip as he tried to avoid it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWarya qashinkaaga naga qaad!\u201d he yelled\nangrily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I guess the heat\u2019s getting to everyone. I\ntried to apologize, but he had already walked away mumbling under his breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Luckily the bag didn\u2019t break open. I am not\nsure my mom would appreciate a muddied dirac. I bent over and picked it up with\nmy right hand and secured it tightly along with the others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After a few more blocks of stifling crowd,\nannoyed looks, and drenched armpits I saw Ibrahim. He smiled at me as he walked\ntowards me. Not a sign of sweat on his blue t-shirt. I looked lower and saw\nwhat else he was wearing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s with the old man macawiis\u201d I said,\ntaking a slight dig.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGotta keep cool everwhere.\u201d He replied\nwith a heavy English accent. A wink and a mischievous smile following right\nafter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pleased to see him, I reached out with my\nfree left hand. He reeled back, a look of disgust replacing his sly smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMa walaantahay!\u201d he said, genuinely\ninsulted at my gesture. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGacanta aa xaarka iska daqdhid baa isiinaysa?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I momentarily forgot where I was. The\nsmallest habits are hardest to break I suppose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After shifting the bags to my left hand and\nput out my hand again, the gesture was returned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDhaqanka iyo nadaafadda weli maa baraan\u201d he followed with eyebrows drawn down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I smirked with a slight guilt. I probably look\nlike a child that\u2019s been scolded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cfa-innal shaytan yakulu bishimaalihi\nwayashribu bishimaalihi\u201d he recited from memory, his mouth and tongue moving\nwith ease from countless repetitions<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Somalis being largely a Muslim people adhere to\nit. They might have even added greater restrictions to this hadith. But perhaps\nthis is also the reason why the transmission of some diseases are less\npronounced in Somali dominated areas. Since everyone knows which hand the \u2018business\u2019\nis done with, the other is used.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Inaadeer, bal aan raadsano cabitan” Ibrahim said with an unusual level of chipper. Perhaps feeling guilty for admonishing me, he offered to buy tea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As we walked to a favourite tea shop nearby, Ibrahim waved at someone he recognized. For some reason, it feels like you can\u2019t walk two blocks in Hargeisa without running into someone you know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man was dressed a bit more professional\nthan either one of us. His white shirt tucked into his beige khakis. A red\nskinny tie was carefully done and contrasted his white shirt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe he\u2019s taking a break from work I thought. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was momentarily blocked by the crowd as he\nwalked towards us. When he was about ten\nmeters from us, he passed by the last person. His eyes darting to me quickly\nwhile half his right hand was inside his face. Picking at whatever was lodged\nin there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWalaal, baryahan xaage aa kuluntai?\u201d He said,\nas he extended his arm for the proper greeting. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ibrahim took it happily. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIslaanti.\u201d He said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Both started laughing. Obviously an inside joke\nwhich I\u2019ll hear about over tea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His nose free from obstruction, he completed\nhis greeting and put out his right arm to me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I was rushing through the dense and packed streets of Hargeisa\u2019s largest suuq. There\u2019s still a couple of hours until noon, but the sun could not be bothered to stick to schedule. My palms were having a hard time holding onto the shopping bags. The sweat and plastic completing a frictionless dance as I constantly […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[9],"class_list":["post-100","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-short-story","tag-contradictions"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=100"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":117,"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100\/revisions\/117"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=100"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=100"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/handulle.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=100"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}