THE POEM THAT PUT SOMALIA ON THE MAP

By Mohamud S. Togane

A stone cast
Falls close by
But a word cast
Courses around the world —
                                    Forever.
                                                 — A Somali saying

You are not gonna live forever
So leave
Some bonbons
Some bons mots
Behind.
                — A Somali saying

Here is the poem
That put Somalia on the literary map of the world
Here is the poem
That immortalized Arfaye

Here is the poem
That made Togane more famous than the town
The Japanese named Togane
After Togane’s father

Here is the poem
That proved
The Faith of Hawa Isse Alasow
In her son Togane
When she broadcasted
When she baramburred her ode
When her love for her son
Boss-teye
The champ that chews up chumps
When he chows down
When her love for her son
Bubbled over
Wixii buug dhigi jire waa ka wada baqen:
All those who once penned books
Are panicking now
Because of Boss-teye!

Here is the poem that
Gilbert H. Muller
Of the City University of New York
John A. Williams
Of Rutgers University
Put in their book
Called
Bridges: Literature across Cultures
To pay homage
To the lyrical legacy of the Somali race

Here is the poem
That students across the world
Now mark and study and copy
In their notebooks

Here is Arfaye
The metaphor of Mogadishu
Mister Mogadishu
When Mogadishu was no mean city:
ARFAYE
A man without a nickname is like a goat without horns. —A Somali saying
Arfaye: the sweet-smelling one
Fattest Somali
In the city of Mogadishu
City without deodorants
Everybody knows his nickname
And the irony that sweetens the truth
Nobody knows his real name
I can see him now
In my mind’s eye
In the middle of Main Street
In the frying sun
Melting away
About to drown
In his sweaty khaki uniform
Flinging sweat away from his eyes
Trying to direct a traffic of stubborn donkeys
Skittish camels
(Impatient drivers poking their behinds)
Hauling grass and milk
Donkey-carts driver by heedless drivers
Who claim the city belongs to their clan and donkeys
Goats
Sheep
Cattle
All on their way to the slaughterhouse
Jay walkers
Paraplegic beggars scuttling on all fours
(An American nicknamed them spidermen)
Beeping Fiats and thunder-farting ancient Mussolini trucks without mufflers
Out of this medley
Sometimes
A relief
A release
Would appear
Quivering breasts of a careless bushwoman
Or some undulating steatopygous behind
Then
Arfaye would pause
Tilt his head
In worshipful wonder
Flash a smile
And throw darts of desire.

Mohamud. S. Togane
Montreal, Canada
E-mail: togane@progression.net