PART 3: VISITING SOMALIA

First Day

Hello everyone! I think I've gotten used to life in Somalia. I don't hate being here as much as I first did (but seriously, life with no internet at home sucks!). I still wouldn't choose to live here. Anyways. Here's a little something about my first full day in Somalia.

On our first morning in Somalia, my sister, cousin, and mother got to making breakfast for the rest of the family. My aunt was fast asleep. I took the wooden bowl thingy with the charcoal to the outdoor hallway. People in Somalia usually cook inside the kitchen where there isn't proper ventilation for the smoke.

We made anjeero and y'all it was hard! Besides being used to cooking on a stove, I was used to using a metal ladle to make the circular shape of anjeero. We had to use a little metal cup for that. My mother cooked at first so she could show us how it was done. My grandmother ordered my mother to stop cooking and said my sister, cousin, and I had to learn to cook.

"Girls, how can you let my daughter cook? Such shame!" she said.

"It's not my fault!" I said. "We're not used to this way of cooking."

My grandmother tsked. "Your mothers are too soft on you girls." To me, she said, "I taught your mother to make anjeero at age 5. And if she messed up, I beat her." My grandmother lightly pinched me. Then she said, "Of what use is a marriageable girl who cannot cook? What man would want to marry her?"

"He's going to cook," my cousin said. "He has hands."

"Men do not cook. It's shameful. That is the woman's job. That is the way of things."

I didn't know the Somali words to explain how that was just a social construction so I didn't even argue with her.

Around 2 pm, we all headed over to where my maternal grandmother lived with my great aunt, my aunt and uncle, cousins, and cousin-in-law. They made a lot of food for us. I couldn't eat much because the food tasted different than what I was used to. Especially the meat! It had this strange taste and smell. I felt nauseous.

I absolutely love my great aunt. She's hilarious. After learning my sister and I were in our 20s and weren't giving marriage much thought, she gave us a serious talk.

"Girls must get married at a young age. Otherwise, they won't have a lot of  children. Having children is a gift," she scolded.

"What age should they get married?" I asked.

"Starting at 15. That's a good age." I almost fell off the bed I was sitting on. 15 was way too young!

"What are the Somali boys in Canada like? Do they flirt with you?" she asked.

"I don't know. We don't really know any," my sister said.

"They just make me uncomfortable when they try," I said. (No offence intended. This is based on my own experience.)

"What? They have no game?" my great aunt looked shocked. "That's not acceptable. We'll find you a good young man here. They know how to talk to the ladies." There is no way I'm letting that happen. But I didn't tell her that. She wouldn't understand.