The title is unknown. The plot is unknown. The ending is unknown. It is Mabruk’s great secret. The sophomore cross country runner at Richland Northeast High School keeps the details to himself.
Eventually Mabruk, 16, will pen the story of his life: his family’s flight from Somalia, his upbringing in Kenya and, almost three years ago, his move to America.
A best-seller, no doubt. But where will his story begin? Maybe a big field in the Kenyan refugee village of Dadaab. That’s a good place to pick up.
Like many Somali Bantu, the Mabruks fled ethnic discrimination in their native country after a civil war in the early 1990s.
“I remember a lot of people escaped their own country,” Mabruk says. “Many people left their own children over there to save themselves.”
The Kenyan refugee camps were not much better; Mabruk watched his father die of tuberculosis three years ago in Kenya.
That is Mabruk’s tale to tell. RNE and a cross country team — let that be the introduction.
It is a sweltering Friday afternoon. Mabruk and his cross country teammates shuffle away from the Richland Northeast High School track.
The run is supposed to be a leisurely, 20-minute jog. However, the pace quickens as the athletes enter the concrete maze of RNE’s academic buildings. Mabruk takes to the front and spends the next 10 minutes wearing out his teammates.
Left, then right, then right, then left, then circle, then right ... and so on. A series of turns at breakneck speeds has Mabruk’s teammates gasping.Mabruk just laughs and continues to churn out the hectic pace. Eventually, he slows to joke with the other runners. A natural comedian, Mabruk seems to be just another part of the team.
“There is nothing phony about Aden,” RNE cross country coach Ginger Foley says nuances of English, his sense of humorbegan to show. People just gravitate toward him.”
But the ease was not always there. The adjustment to American life was difficult. When he arrived, he did not know where South Carolina was. He did not know how to use utensils. He struggled with school and a new form of discrimination.
“When I came to the United States, they put me in the eighth grade, and I didn’t even know how to read and write,” Mabruk says. “They asked me questions that I couldn’t answer. Some, they discriminated against me and laughed at me. I just had to work so hard.”
Foley saw an opportunity for Mabruk and other Somali Bantu at school. She thought they could learn more English by participating in athletics. Mabruk jumped at the chance. Likewise, Foley figured her athletes could benefit from an outstanding example of overcoming odds.
“As I learn more about Aden, I realize what a special young man he is,” Foley says. “He appreciates what these other kids take for granted. Anyone can learn from that.”
The sun scorches down on another day of cross country practice. Anxiously, Foley scans the athletics complex at Richland Northeast High.
“Where’s Aden?” she asks her team. “Has anyone see Aden?”
Mabruk is nowhere to be seen. “I saw him earlier today,” a student says.
“Yeah, I talked to him in the hallway,” says another.
“Where could he be?” Foley asks again, peering into the parking lot.
The absence, as it turns out, is the result of a miscommunication. Mabruk, a Muslim, missed practice for the first day of Ramadan, the monthlong observance of the revelation of the Quran.
While Ramadan includes many acts of self-discipline and piety, the most outward representation of the observance is fasting. No food. No water. From sunup to sundown.
“(Fasting) is how to train yourself, carry yourself, how God wants you to be,” says Imam Muhammad S. Adly, director of the Islamic Center of Columbia. “There must be submission, otherwise you remain in self worship. You have to fight the battle whenever it comes.”
For runners, fasting can pose a problem. The afternoon heat sucks the vivacity out of even the fittest athletes. Mabruk, who worships at the Islamic Center in Columbia, had to weigh his desire to run against the responsibility of his religion.
Despite being one of RNE’s top runners in his first season, Mabruk chose to sit out meets during Ramadan. The temptation to drink water would be too great, he decided. He rejoined his teammates for the last few meets of the season.
“When I see someone finishing, I can see myself trying to challenge them, compete with them, but Ramadan,” he says before pausing. “I ran one time when I was fasting. It is not really easy to me.”
Mabruk has not been home in nearly 15 years — too long ago to have memories of his native country — but he knows its past. The Somali Bantu, ancestors of former slaves, were long considered second-class citizens with few rights in Somalia.
“Over there, it is dangerous and not very easy to live,” Mabruk says. “It is hard to survive, especially people who have a large family and people who don’t have more economics.”
As the country crumbled under the pressures of civil war and famine, the Somali Bantu were the first to suffer, says Dr. Ken Menkhaus, a professor at Davidson University and an expert on Somalia.
“There is no law and order right now,” he says. “Most protection is guaranteed by the clan. The Somali Bantu have no way of protecting themselves or even exacting revenge.”
After refugees experienced equally difficult conditions in Kenya, world powers decided to undertake the largest group resettlement since the Vietnam War — more than 10,000 Somali Bantu, including Mabruk and his family.
Mabruk misses the home he never knew. It always will be a part of him. He will visit Somalia one day. But like his promise to write the story of his life, the timing will have to be right. For now, he has his eyes set on understanding America — one school day, one practice at a time.
SOURCE: The State, October 27,2007