My Hero
My mother is the most heroic mother I have ever known. First of all, my mother walked about two hundred miles on foot in search of her children after losing them to a terrifying war. My mother is very determined, strong, and independent woman who loves her children unconditionally. My mother’s determination and courage when faced with overwhelming obstacles has inspired me to strive for the same characteristics in myself.
When we came home, my dad was not home and my mom was packing very quickly. She was packing clothes, food, jewelry, toothbrushes, and the necessary stuff. My grandma who had a broken arm was also home. My aunt was giving rice with goat meat to eat and pineapple juice to drink. We also ate banana with the rice with goat meat. Eating banana with rice or pasta or anything that is sour is part of Somali culture. We ate as fast as we could. I was so terrified to even eat but I was so hungry and so were my siblings.
A group of people who o had a big truck offered us a ride. There were families in the truck who were also running away like we were. My mom recognized one family that was in the truck and the rest of the people were strangers to us. My mom agreed to go with them and we were all in front of the house ready to go. My dad was nowhere to be found. My grandma said, that she wanted to stay at the house in case my dad comes back home. My mom went back in the house to get something before we leave; meanwhile one of the men in the truck picked us up one at time and placed us in the truck and he drove off before my mom comes back. My brothers, sisters, and I were lost in war. My siblings and I have been taken by groups of people and migrated to far places that we though would be safe from wicked militants who were murder-hungry. As the car was moving, I screamed and shouted “Mom…Mom,” and my siblings were screaming along with me. The driver of the truck was afraid of his life so he had to drive off and he kept driving as if he did not hear our shouting. I was crying and so were my siblings. A lady who knew my mom sat next to us and told us that our mom and grandma will be okay and that they will come after us. My mom did not have a car to come after us; my dad took the car to work and he was missing. I remember seeing a smoke that cover the sky, houses that have been destroyed. We drove all day and stopped in some areas that were safe and rest for the night because we could not travel at night because it was too dangerous. The militants blocked most of the road and they stopped people and robbed them. They usually took gold, money or expensive stuff. “Key themes include the slaughter and loss of men, who were the prime target for killings; rape and sexual violence as a weapon of war; changing roles in the family and within the pastoralist economy; women mobilizing for peace” (Winter). The former President of Somalia Mohammed Siad Barre was dictator but the country was in peace when he was in charge. “In June 1990, a hundred prominent citizens signed a declaration called the Mogadishu Manifesto, calling for his resignation and the appointment of a transitional government pending free elections” (James).
Furthermore, we had lost hope of ever finding our mother again. However, it was my mother who never lost hope and seemed braver than all the fathers and mothers who were in the community looking for their lost loved ones. While war continues my mother had traveled to every city in Somalia and checked every community, she even searched through dead bodies for her children. She walked to a town called Baidoa and paid the people at Jowhar (a radio station) with her lunch money in order to ask for her children on air for sixty seconds only. She continued traveling and questioning people if they had seen us anywhere. After hearing that we were dead, she kept hope and faith hand in hand and prayed very emotionally to God to bring us back to her again. My mother made an oath to God that she would fast one hundred days if He would bring us back to her safely. Surprisingly enough, months later, we were re-united in Baraawe with our mother, and I can still remember the smile on her face. “Somalia came to the world's attention in 1992 when television and newspapers began to report on the terrifyingly violent war and the famine that resulted. Half a million Somalis died that year, and over a million fled the country” (Gardner and Bushra).
Ever since I was a little girl, I always had this fear of losing my mom again. I remember almost losing my family; I remember being a young child, walking around on dangerous streets that have taken the lives of many people. I also remember God, who turned me from a hopeless sight I have been staring at and turned me to a whole new picture to absorb. Today, I am twenty-five year’s old, living in San Diego, a fascinating city in America. I came to this country fleeing the civil war in Somalia. America is a place where everyone is equal and effort separates one from the other. A country that gives you the opportunity to be who ever you wish or who ever you desire; this is the land of choices; this is the land that forces me to consider many situations that I never thought exist.
I strive to work toward the same characteristics that my mom has because I want to be a role model for my nephew and nieces, like my mom has been for me. There are times when I feel like dropping out of school and just working and I stop myself before I do that and remember what my mom has been through looking for us, jeopardizing her life to save mine. I could never repay my mom of what she has been through for me and my siblings but I could try to make her proud of me. My mom is my inspiration and she is the reason why I wake up everyday and go to school.
Having hope and confidence in something or in anything, is a great feeling. In addition, having a family, who supports me, to be the supreme in everything and a religion that provides self-confidence and conviction to my ideals and attitude, will rapidly change me for the good. I have
The New York Times. 12 March 2007 http://www.netnomad.com/
Menkhaus, Ken “Somalia: A Situation Analysis”. Relief Web. 30 Nov. 2000
Relief Web. 12 March 2007 http://www.reifweb.net/
It was beautiful sunny day. The sky was bright blue, the sun was shining and the wind was blowing gently. The trees were shaking back and forth. My mom and grandma were cooking rice with goat meat added with onions, garlic, red pepper, potatoes, beans and many more vegetables. I always smell my mom and grandma’s cooking from two blocks away from my house. It was ordinary day; my dad was at work, my mom, grandma, and aunt were at home cooking lunch and my sibling and I were at school learning the Koran. Suddenly, without warning the war started. In 1991, the civil war started in Somalia by different tribes fighting to take control of the country. I was six or seven years old when the war started in Mogadishu, Somalia. It was a weekday and my two sister and three brothers and I were all at school, which was walking distance from my house. We were learning Arabic and the Koran which is the Islamic holy book, when we heard a gun shot. We all stopped what we were doing and the teacher closed the door. We were all sitting down on the floor with fears in our eyes and glancing at each other. We all waited fearfully for our parents; we hear a loud knock on the door and I jumped fearing that it would be the men with the guns that we heard earlier. The teacher stood up and walked toward the door to open and I looked at my two sisters and three brothers who were sitting next to me. As the teacher opened the door, it was my aunt who was breathing so hard and she was not wearing shoes. She grasped my hand and said to me “Let’s go home.” My siblings, my aunt and I all ran home together while hearing the gunshots in the background. Luckily, the house was not far from the school, the school was four or five blocks away from my
house.
When we came home, my dad was not home and my mom was packing very quickly. She was packing clothes, food, jewelry, toothbrushes, and the necessary stuff. My grandma who had a broken arm was also home. My aunt was giving rice with goat meat to eat and pineapple juice to drink. We also ate banana with the rice with goat meat. Eating banana with rice or pasta or anything that is sour is part of Somali culture. We ate as fast as we could. I was so terrified to even eat but I was so hungry and so were my siblings.
A group of people who o had a big truck offered us a ride. There were families in the truck who were also running away like we were. My mom recognized one family that was in the truck and the rest of the people were strangers to us. My mom agreed to go with them and we were all in front of the house ready to go. My dad was nowhere to be found. My grandma said, that she wanted to stay at the house in case my dad comes back home. My mom went back in the house to get something before we leave; meanwhile one of the men in the truck picked us up one at time and placed us in the truck and he drove off before my mom comes back. My brothers, sisters, and I were lost in war. My siblings and I have been taken by groups of people and migrated to far places that we though would be safe from wicked militants who were murder-hungry. As the car was moving, I screamed and shouted “Mom…Mom,” and my siblings were screaming along with me. The driver of the truck was afraid of his life so he had to drive off and he kept driving as if he did not hear our shouting. I was crying and so were my siblings. A lady who knew my mom sat next to us and told us that our mom and grandma will be okay and that they will come after us. My mom did not have a car to come after us; my dad took the car to work and he was missing. I remember seeing a smoke that cover the sky, houses that have been destroyed. We drove all day and stopped in some areas that were safe and rest for the night because we could not travel at night because it was too dangerous. The militants blocked most of the road and they stopped people and robbed them. They usually took gold, money or expensive stuff. “Key themes include the slaughter and loss of men, who were the prime target for killings; rape and sexual violence as a weapon of war; changing roles in the family and within the pastoralist economy; women mobilizing for peace” (Winter). The former President of Somalia Mohammed Siad Barre was dictator but the country was in peace when he was in charge. “In June 1990, a hundred prominent citizens signed a declaration called the Mogadishu Manifesto, calling for his resignation and the appointment of a transitional government pending free elections” (James).
Furthermore, we had lost hope of ever finding our mother again. However, it was my mother who never lost hope and seemed braver than all the fathers and mothers who were in the community looking for their lost loved ones. While war continues my mother had traveled to every city in Somalia and checked every community, she even searched through dead bodies for her children. She walked to a town called Baidoa and paid the people at Jowhar (a radio station) with her lunch money in order to ask for her children on air for sixty seconds only. She continued traveling and questioning people if they had seen us anywhere. After hearing that we were dead, she kept hope and faith hand in hand and prayed very emotionally to God to bring us back to her again. My mother made an oath to God that she would fast one hundred days if He would bring us back to her safely. Surprisingly enough, months later, we were re-united in Baraawe with our mother, and I can still remember the smile on her face. “Somalia came to the world's attention in 1992 when television and newspapers began to report on the terrifyingly violent war and the famine that resulted. Half a million Somalis died that year, and over a million fled the country” (Gardner and Bushra).
Ever since I was a little girl, I always had this fear of losing my mom again. I remember almost losing my family; I remember being a young child, walking around on dangerous streets that have taken the lives of many people. I also remember God, who turned me from a hopeless sight I have been staring at and turned me to a whole new picture to absorb. Today, I am twenty-five year’s old, living in San Diego, a fascinating city in America. I came to this country fleeing the civil war in Somalia. America is a place where everyone is equal and effort separates one from the other. A country that gives you the opportunity to be who ever you wish or who ever you desire; this is the land of choices; this is the land that forces me to consider many situations that I never thought exist.
I strive to work toward the same characteristics that my mom has because I want to be a role model for my nephew and nieces, like my mom has been for me. There are times when I feel like dropping out of school and just working and I stop myself before I do that and remember what my mom has been through looking for us, jeopardizing her life to save mine. I could never repay my mom of what she has been through for me and my siblings but I could try to make her proud of me. My mom is my inspiration and she is the reason why I wake up everyday and go to school.
Having hope and confidence in something or in anything, is a great feeling. In addition, having a family, who supports me, to be the supreme in everything and a religion that provides self-confidence and conviction to my ideals and attitude, will rapidly change me for the good. I have
overcome a lot of challenges with the help of my mom.
My mom motivated me to the best I can, which gives me confidences and re-assures me that I am on the right path. My mother is my strength, the pillow that I rest my head on every time my mind frustrates itself from thinking too much sadness, or anger. My mother is truly a symbol of love for me, and also a very determined, confident, and faithful woman. Thus, for these reason, I say my mother is my hero.
Work Citation
Gardner, Judith. and Bushra, Judy. Somalia – The Untold Story: The War Through The
Eyes of Somali Women. Pluto Press, London, 2004
My mom motivated me to the best I can, which gives me confidences and re-assures me that I am on the right path. My mother is my strength, the pillow that I rest my head on every time my mind frustrates itself from thinking too much sadness, or anger. My mother is truly a symbol of love for me, and also a very determined, confident, and faithful woman. Thus, for these reason, I say my mother is my hero.
Work Citation
Gardner, Judith. and Bushra, Judy. Somalia – The Untold Story: The War Through The
Eyes of Somali Women. Pluto Press, London, 2004
James, George “Somalia’s Overthrown Dictator, Mohammed Siad Barre, Is Dead” 3 Jan. 1995.
The New York Times. 12 March 2007 http://www.netnomad.com/
Menkhaus, Ken “Somalia: A Situation Analysis”. Relief Web. 30 Nov. 2000
Relief Web. 12 March 2007 http://www.reifweb.net/
Winter, Joseph “Somalia – A Haven For Terrorists” BBC Website 24 Nov.
BBC Website. 12 March 2007 http://www.bbc.co.uk.com/
BBC Website. 12 March 2007 http://www.bbc.co.uk.com/
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