Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The perfection of a couple

The Rise of the sun early in the morining completed by the arrival of shadows of the night.
The hotness of the sun during the summer mixed with the green and the melodic songs of the bird making up the perfect july
wat would winter be without the cold?
If the lion wasnt bold wats the point of it being strong?
Could we learn if we were never wrong?

Wats the point of the sweetnes of honey if the tongue cant taste it?
How can u win if u have never lost?
How can you loose if u have never tried?
How can there be thruth if there is no lies?
How can you feel joy if u have never cried?

All the aspect i mention above..none can exsist without the other.

So when we speak of a perfect there a such thing i doubt!!

Your man might not be as rpmantic as u want him to be, but watch hows eyes glow when he sees u smile
Your woman might not cook as good as u expect
But tell me how u feel when she lays her head on ur chest

Your man dosen have the perfect body,
but in times of danger he would jump infront of a bullet for you
Your woman might not be the sm,artets one but she always knows wats the best for you.

He dosent have hillarious jokes
and he has never brought u a rose
But he has never left u alone and
he holds u tight untill the brake of dawn
Some times she is moody and she naggs
but would she die for u??
u dont even have to ask.

The 2 in the relationship neither of them are perfect
But together they make the perfection
So pleas stop waisting your time lookin for the perfect partner
coz u will never find one
Just let the love embrace your heart,
The negative characters of your lover forget about them
Concnetrate on the things u love about one another.

Ladies and the men who are PERFECTION OF A COUPLE!!

Wardhi Axmad
Copyright © 2010


You ain't a surface I can lean on in times of strife alone.
I'm more than capable of holding myself up.
I've walked a thousand miles without you
and have managed to make it seem but a few.
Tears I've shed many.
On my own.
So I ask not that you walk or cry with me.
I ask not that you count my tears.
Or my steps.
Instead I ask that you know not the many but the weight.
Why do I cry?
Understand the chest that heaves and the lashes that soak.
Look not to my tears but the lump in my throat.
Look to my shoulders slumped.
Why do I not stand straight?
The tears themselves do not matter.

Please look not even to my successes.
Do not share with me only my lips curved in smile.
Look not to my dress, gorgeous as it is.
Watch my little details.
My walk is my fashion statement.
My stride is my style.
Watch how my face glows.
Hear not my excited words as I speak
But just listen to the rhythm of my flow.
Let my voice be your instrument.
My words? They are irrelevant.

Replace my goals and victories
With an intimate knowledge of my fantasies.
What do I see everytime you look at me?
Learn of the things no one else can give me.
Impossible for any to know but you.
My past is a closed book.
To remain unaltered forever.
But learn of all that it took
to stand before you today.
Know that sometimes I cry and times I smile.
But understand that you can feel the weight of my burden from a single lash
and know my sorrow from a single breath.
Because when all fades and our memories blur
We will have nothing of the obvious left.

Nimo Hussein
Copyright © 2010

wishing upon a star

Wishing upon a star
Waiting for a miracle
Waiting on the world
Wailing about the past
Wearing your heart on your sleeve
Wondering where to from here?
Wisdom as rare as unicorns
Wealth in your pockets, emptiness fills your heart

Winding path that carries you to your destiny
With all your strength you master on
Where is everyone heading?
Why are they living without purpose?
When it all comes down to the end
What’s been gained?
Worlds strong prey on the weak
Wingless birds seeking heights
Worthless things with priceless tags

Will someone lend a helping hand?
Will someone be there to catch you when you fall?
Will someone show the way when you’re lost?
Will someone heal you when you’re hurt?

Will someone walk with you when the journey’s long?
Will someone wait for you when the world has long gone?
Will someone be there no matter what?
Will someone build you when others aim to break you?

When life’s challenges bring you to a halt
Will someone be there to give you a starting jolt?
When you are drowning in bitter days
Will someone be there to remind you of better days?
When suddenly you feel like giving up
Will someone hold you and lift you up?
When they reject you, and try to change who you are
Will someone be there to accept you for who you are?

When the questions finally run dry
When you are tired and can no longer cry
When you are ready to wave the world goodbye
When you lay down your weary head and just sigh
When you let it all go and close your eyes
You realize God was there all along

By: Famo A. L
Copyright © 2010

This is dedicated to you

This is dedicated to my enemies, friends n' acquaintances

my favorite girl for every single gentle embrace or kiss,

and to all those who never learned to treasure relationships,

but the love good, so mind eventual chains & whips,

tied down...while God is upstairs, spreading his radiance

big ups to those who thought there's even a heaven for atheists.

Desert arabians, Chinamen and Native Americans

Aryans, terrorists, victims of humanity from Haiti to Maryland

shaping the paraffin, light the wick and let it burn to the wax

as it drips down the side like blood through tourniquet cracks

those who service the rats, feeding us their version of facts,

cuz with enough time and pressure, we'll all learn to adapt.

Word to the cat who lets dudes cop a twenty for fifteen,

and fronts the other five, just for a shot of this Jim Beam.

So tell me you missed me...& i'll come back with a vengeance,

but don't ask me anything and I might answer some questions.

Those who couldn't be happy - with their veins naked & bleeding,

if you think suicide is can't relate to the feeling.

It's vague & defeating, painful, misleading, hateful, deceiving

some folks put themselves to sleep, just to awaken the healing.

So this is dedicated to them. and to you, critiquin' this verse

dissecting every portion posted just to see if it works...

but before you make a judgement, just try re-reading it first a dedication to every single human being on Earth...

Mukhtar mohamed
Copyright 2010

Friday, December 10, 2010

I say

I say we've had it enough
for past 20 years 
time was elapsing
world was evolving
my people still dying
and we are relaxing
I say, No more

I say we've got ton of leaders
Honestly leader shouldn't describe 'em
Leader brings about change
Leads his followers to destiny
Followers is the keyword
I say we need lots of 'em

I say Qabiil isn't the problem
The problem is more complex than that
Close to the heart 
at the DNA level we've issues
marked by ignorance and arrogance
I say we need to attack those first

I say we take a step back
get a birds-eye view 
of our issues
connect the dots 
and do something Great
Make a difference
I say we start TODAY

-- Muhammad A. Ali
Copyright 2010

If peace exists

Peace could help towards decreasing hate, stop wars, also keep evil at a bay so very far away,
Not tempting people to stray, stray to the wrong doing 
But in reality our world is already ruined beyond repair.
How can we live life if we don’t share?
The world leaders just stop and stare, whilst Palestinians killed in unnecessary warfare
Its simple they don’t care, Gordon brown wouldn’t dare, if it was Tony Blair he’d send in troops and his excuse would be” were stopping the war on terror” 
He still isn’t admitting that sending troops to Iraq was an error.

They gave out our land, let them spit on us, give them first class jets whilst we take the bus!

If I was to look at a young boy’s mentality, all I see is something that we couldn’t imagine in reality,
he saw his Pop’s being shot, mother being robbed, trying to protect his family , from what looks like the ruthless mob

I would never think of pulling the trigger killing the body which protects the soul 
So if I takeaway a life, then I takeaway mine
No fast-forward button to quicken my crime,
No rewind button to go back to that so, on so time

Peace can help prevent the death of a future innocent 
But God the merciful, and the magnificent
Has the right to choose who dies and lives
He’ll punished the kind of people who lied and killed

Jama Hussein
Copyright 2010

Nothing last forever

Two happy couples
Hugging and kissing
They might not even
Be together tomorrow

Two elderly people
Husband and wife
He looks at her as he Saw her first

He visit her grave as
She just passed away

Fresh flowers he puts down
Waiting for her to smell it right away

Didn’t they know
That nothing last forever?

Ups and downs
Still, their love has no boundaries
It gives me hope. 

Laila Siad
Copyright 2010

I am freedom

They say some times what you want is not what you need, yet I am on my knees into the heavens above I plead, protection and mercy for me and my family, rinse my sins away like dipping my feet into the clear blue sea.

What’s wrong with my universe, meaning is only found in the merchant’s purse, it’s like the footpath taken by mankind is were I lay my verse, the versatility in my words is not a phase, I close my eyes and they come flowing at a steady pace.

Is life but a one big race, intended for all the seeds that trickled down from Adam’s race, I seek tranquillity a place of sanctity, a sanctuary of peace to spend forty days and forty nights, away from the hustle and city lights.

I am reminded of my weakness daily, when the strength to change my surroundings abandon me, my innards tighten at the sorry sight of my community, very little see value in humanity, a twisted mentality born from hate, sad to see how we condemn one another to hardship and call it fate.

Slavery of the mind is no different then the shackles that bind, hands to feet or the whip that makes you eat your words when you speak, when nothing else is on your mind but the freedom you seek.

Yet I am unsure of this freedom, in our times has the notion or its composition changed, no longer the image of green pasture, pictured perfect and within ones brain enshrined and framed, is it delivered on legal paper, out weighing morality in all its tender.

Verily it is just as important as the blood that flows through me, like the water that softens my tongue when I am thirsty, then without a doubt it is something that enlightens and strengths me, for freedom is and can only be found in wisdom.

Knowledge holds the key to salvation from the blindfolds of ignorance, a clear path from the social dilution and pretence, before the noose of my own unawareness hangs me, what I prescribe for myself then I must intend the same for humanity.

For I am freedom, in the darkness I am the light to guide my people; I am the knowledge to teach from the difficult to the simple, my efforts will never subside even thou at times it will not be more then a trickle, and when my time of departure beckons me, I will pass on the torch of wisdom to the ones that come after me.

Hamza Egal
Copyright © 2010

What if?

What if Somalia never had a civil war
we would be the sparking star of Africa
exploring our best
and reaching our greatest potential

What if we didn't fail our country
we would never have foreign vultures preying
on our

What if qabil didn't matter
we would have a unified Somalis
unique individuals with different ideas
yet united on the concept of Somalinimo

What if we were united
your hoyo would be chilling with my hoyo
and our abos sipping shax at the beautiful view of sunset at the ocean
and my brother without hesitation would ask for the hand of your sister
without worrying about his or her qabil

What if we cared
our children would not be eating dirt just to fill their belly
our religion would not get hijacked
our identities would not be strangled by the few
who are driven by hatred

What if we didn't hate
we would treat each other with a bit more respect
embrace one another
rather than killing and bickering even in foreign soils
we would be alright with one another, wouldn't we?

What if we behaved like Somalis
we would extend a genuine heart to our people
love our nation and unite
and extend a caring hand to heal those who are wounded

What if a peaceful
wasn't just a dream?

Halima Ahmed
Copyright © 2010

Aawo Part 1

We dont like to remember Aawo
she was around before we existed,
we dont care to rememberher voice before it got raspy with the chokeholds of her inner demonsbefore her remaining right hand became leathered with her own historyeven then,
when we were in her presence,
we were taught to contradict her in her own old waynot to be comfortable looking into her deep hooded eyes,
irises blue around the fading edgeslooking like someone had beaten her down to that shade of sad colourknowing it was fully brown beforeonly disdain now,
what happened to make her look at us that way?
insight has been blindsided,
we don’t like to look her way
as cowards, creep around and look through her broken windows
lights shattered to the ground,
dark and endlessher home was full of the pain, the lies and the men who tricked herall of it haunting her,
her mind is not really hers anymoreshe wont clean her head out, all of it killingAawo was on her way into limbosome of us tried to help her, stir her ageing body in a different directionwhen we saw stifled emotions go across her face,
she never released any of itthe pent up pain was still there, wiltingin the crevices, wrinkles and scars, a beautiful canvas destroyed willinglyshe opens her mouth to laugh at the irony of her life,
a gaping black hole dry of poetry, love and life,
what happened to make her laugh by herself that way?
we dont like to eat the food she makes from her own cropsoverripe and rotting, visibly sickeningwe as the workers have become plump with apathy, foreign aid and crimewe dont know how to pluck the fruits of her labour and
our conscious  not by our side any more,
left behind with unnatural shadows under the Acacia treesnothing really matters to her people anymore,
they are being paid to forget the promises made to Aawo and
to guard the viruses foreigners plan for usthe only road before her hold nothing she recognises,
what happened to us to desert her that way?

Suaad Jama
Copyright © 2010

Walk with me

Walk with me as friends do,
no matter where you want to go,
and i will happily walk with you.

be nice but at the same time be enthusiastic,
forget your tiredness and discard them all away
walk with me as friend do

And sleeplessness too,
let all that is in you go another way,
And, i will happily walk with you

we've been through a lot shit
had our ups and downs,
And we been through rough pavement,
so walk with me as friends do

i'll do anything for you,
and if ever reincarnation is possible
I pray we both reborn as sisters
so i will happily walk with you

all bad things turn to good when tum aur hum cry,
laugh and happy
thus come walk with me as friends do
and i will happily walk with you.

Fatima Ahmed
Copyright © 2010

Glossary: Tum (You) Hum (I) in Hindi

Maybe. living

Heart broken.
Maybe, living.

She felt all that and more over the years
Unable to unleash her heart's burden
To the womb that carried her for 9 months
He took advantage of her weakness
He knew the fear of embarrassment had enslaved her tongue
She would never utter a word
Not even to her mother
And, that she knew just as much as he knew.
So he touched her
Night after night
right under her mother's protection
Oblivion to the fact that her husband
Her daughter's step father was violating the sacred relationship
Of a parent and a child.

Maybe, living.

He felt all that and more.
Years ago an ugly stain splashed all over his naive mind
The same hands that promised to
Nurture and nourish 
abused his tender childhood
Night after night he cried to sleep
While she fulfilled her sadist pleasures
Of molesting a child.

For years and still they carry a wounded heart
A wound that has no remedy
And a pain that time won't heal
Even though they are grown 
How can the child in them ever make sense of the betrayal
Carried out by the same hands that was suppose to 
Protect and nurture them?
Love and care for them?

For years they lived under the shelter of abuse
No one questioning the agony in their eyes
The pain they carried
No one questioned the fear in their mind
The bruises on their body
No one questioned
No one listened
Therefore no one helped....

-Halima Ahmed
Copyright © 2010


Allow me to take you to a journey back in time
When hiphop was pure and at its prime
Now its degraded and almost dead
Lyrical content dont matter no more
As long as you can bob ya head to a funky beat.
Our women degraded portrayed like a peace of meat

Im feeling like J Cole, losing my balance
Nowadays its all about money never is about talent
Jayz is a puppet he aint runnin this town
Plus Lupe said he would never dumb it down

That's why these devils put his album on hold
Like a convict on parole
And who ever said being new is better than being old.
They couldn't have ment hiphop, truth be told
Pac promised me better dayz , but am still waiting 4 it to unfold

Gangstar asked ,maybe your soul you'd sell 2 have mass apeal
Akon was cool when he mentioned the Ghetto
Got a little money now  he makin songs with David Guetta

See it's like simple Mathematics
Mos Def got me feeling all extatic
Nas used 2 kick it when he was so ILLmatic
But look at the outcome it's so tragic
We got Lil wayne waisting oxygen on a lollipop
50 cent tryna take us 2 the candy shop!?
What ever happend to The Furious 5 screaming let the knowledge drop
Na, somebody gotta make the madness stop
Dead Prez trying 2 put HipHop back on track
Im cool like dat as long as they bring Digable Planets back

So you can thank me later like i was Drake
Real rappers dont blend in with the fake
While y'all sleeping 2 Tpain , Talib Kweli keeping me wide awake
KRS One got me listening 2 the sound of tha police
Knaan asking, when will the violence seize
Remember when Lauryn Hill was a part of the fugees?
She always used 2 kill me softly
Now imma bout 2 go crazy like Gnarls Barkely
We need more concious niggaz like Bob Marley

And Immortal Tecchnique is still dancing with the devil
But still none of these ''rappers'' come close to his level
It's like we only hear nonsense on the radio 2day
You ever heard Jedi Mind Tricks getting radio play?
Man , Common told me he used 2 love H.E.R.
I told him ive moved and found another....

Ismail Mopreme
Copyright © 2010

Sirad’s Son by Sindiya Darman

Jamila was drinking her fourth coffee and it was only noon. She walked to the main university library to meet with Faisal. They had a big class project due next week. Pushing up her yellow scarf up, she rubbed her forehead, and sighed in frustration.
      La ilaha ilallah.
     She was tired.
      She had a full schedule. Just thinking about it was making her head hurt even more. She really wanted to go to bed and not wake up for a few months. Every night instead of staying up studying, she stayed up at work. Every afternoon instead of going to hang out with friends, she had soccer practice. Jamila had thought that with her soccer scholarship and a part time job at the gas station, should give her enough money, but she still was always broke. Lately her family was short of money.
      She couldn’t wait to graduate in two years. She would get a great job, so her family wouldn’t struggle anymore. Jamila refused to act like her older sister Sirad who left the family at her first chance. She would always help her family.
      One day everything would be great.
      At least it was a beautiful day. She loved that November in Atlanta felt like spring.
      She smiled and swished the bottom of her white long skirt with yellow flowers.
     “Jamila!” her younger sister Sainab waved at her to stop. What does she want? She had no time to listen to Sainab’s gossip. Sainab was out of breath and very upset.
     “Jamila! My cellphone got disconnected!”
     “Did you forget to pay?”
     “No!” she wailed, “Stepfather took my money!”
     Jamila’s temper jumped from mild to burning fire in two seconds. “Why did you give it him!” she screamed.
      Her sister stepped back in fear. “He said he needed it!”
      Jamila took a moment to breathe. She shouldn’t take her anger out on her sister. It wasn’t fair. Her sister probably fell for their stepfather’s lies.
      “Next time say no. He is only going to waste it on chewing jaad to get high. ”
       Her sister hung her head in shame. “Sorry.”
       She reached in her purse and handed her little sister the money. “Why did our mother have to fall for such a stupid man?” she muttered under her breath.
       She loved her mother, but hated that she was so naive. Why can’t she divorce that roach, so he could leave her life? Life was so much better before.
       Her sister happily put the money in her pocket and hugged her quickly, “Thanks Abbaayo. You are the best sister ever. You always help me. Love you.”
       “Love you too.”
       Sainab clapped her hands. “I heard that a new guy named Mubarak just started. I heard that he is cute and one of the best soccer players in the Somali circuit. Maybe you should meet him-”
      “Don’t go there-.”

      Sirad Ali Mohammud pressed her car remote and threw her Gucci briefcase in her white Mercedes-Benz. She bought the car last year, but she still smiled every time she saw it.
      She turned and waved goodbye to her coworkers.
      “Bye Sam.” They shouted.
      She pushed in her Magool CD that she had bought last week and leaned back.
It had been a long day, but fun. She never imagined that one day she would become Vice- President of a company, especially after her good for nothing husband left her.
      She still remembered how he used to get so angry whenever she worked late. Two years later, she got promoted and her son was now four. She loved her son Ismail. Her mother always said that you will understand a mother’s love one day but she never believed her until she had her son.
       Her phone rang. “Sirad?”
       “Hi Mom. How are you?”
       “I am wondering why you haven’t talked to your sisters lately.”
       She rolled her eyes. “Why would I want to talk to them?”
       “Because they are your sisters.” Samira said.
        “We don’t have anything in common. Besides Jamila and Sanup are just kids. They are still in college. All Jamila cares about is soccer and Sainab just gossips all day. I don’t see what we have to talk about.”
        “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have anything in common, they are your family not your friends.”
        “I am busy.”
        Her mother sighed. “When are you going to talk to your sisters?”
       “I will talk to my sisters on Thanksgiving.” Sirad loved her Mom, but she wished she would leave her alone. “Hooyo, I am busy. I don’t have time to talk to the family every day. That is what holidays are for. Right? I gotta go.”

        Faisal and Mubarak stood in the university courtyard. Faisal rubbed his full stomach and sighed happily, as he thought of the succulent ari meat. He never had meat so delicious and flavorful in in life. He would go back to the new restaurant tomorrow.
       “Mubarak let’s go play pool in the student lounge.’’
Mubarak nodded while continuing to drink his tea.
         Then, Faisal saw Jamila walking towards him. Oh no! He had to get out here before she saw him. “Mubarak, sorry I will meet up with you later.”
         “Faisal!” Jamila screamed. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!”
         Faisal turned around with a pained expression on his face.
          “You jerk! I was waiting one hour in the university library for you. Our project is due next week and you don’t even care. I am going to kill you!”
          “Hey,” he attempted to smile charmingly, “Abbaayo Macaane- was that today? I forgot. Mubarak just transferred here and I was showing him around, “Don’t worry we have plenty of time to finish the project.”
           “Plenty of time!” she sputtered. “Maybe you do, you lazy bum, but I don’t.”
          Faisal held out his hands. “It is not even due till next week.”
“Idiot!” she grabbed Faisal’s arm and dragged him towards the library.
            “Help,” he pleaded to Mubarak.
           Mubarak smirked but did not say a word.

          Sirad slowed the car down when she heard the police sirens. She lived Atlanta, so sirens usually meant car accident. This city had dozens of car accidents every day. She didn’t understand why every bad driver had moved to Atlanta.
          A few minutes later, she turned onto her street. It was only then that she saw the police cars were in front of her house.
          Her son?
          “Ismail!” she parked her car, and ran into the driveway.
           A police officer blocked her way. “Ma’am you have to stay back.”
           “This is my house.”
            “Sam!” Emily, her baby sitter shouted. “Sam, I am so sorry.”
           “Where is my son?”
           “I-I was talking on the phone and I didn’t realize that he left. I looked everywhere in the house and I couldn’t find him. He must have went into the woods but -”
           Sirad jumped forward but the police officer held her. She was going to choke Emily and fire her. “Let me go!”
          “Ma’am you need to calm down. I am sure that he will turn up. I will file a report.”
          “Report! My son is missing. I need to find my son. Now! Is there anyone else coming?”
         “Sorry it is just us.”
          “Just us! If my white blue eyed daughter was missing you would  have brought a hundred people. But who cares if my son Ismail is missing?
          “Ma’am calm down before I have to arrest you. I have to follow procedure. So let me file the report and Amber alert. It is not my job to get a search party for you. Now if you get one I will be more than happy to organize it.”
         She glared daggers at him. “Let me go. If you are not going to help me, then leave. I am going to find my son.”
          He shook his head and let go of her. She ran into the woods. “Ismail where are you!”
         She shouted. “Ismail! Ismail!”

           Faisal’s hand hurt from taking notes. He shuddered as he turned back to look at Jamila. She was evil. She would be beautiful if she weren’t glaring at him like the devil.  
            “Enough,” Jamila announced. “I have to go to soccer practice.”
            Faisal stood right away. Finally, he could escape.
           Suddenly, Jamila grabbed his collar, choking him. “Next time be on time, or else,” she threatened.  
           When she released him, he pulled back in shock, grabbed his books, and walked quickly to the elevator. As he walked into the elevator, he asked, “Jamila, I thought girls who wear scarves and long skirts were supposed to be sweeter?”
            She put her hands on the table and stood, glaring at him. “What did you think? That just because I wear a scarf and a long skirt that I will roll over and put up with your crap. If you mess with me again, I promise I will make you regret you ever met me.”
            He gulped as the elevator doors closed.
She was the devil.

              Sirad couldn’t breathe.
              She kept imagining the worst.
              She knew she shouldn’t panic, but it was dark. She didn’t know what she would do if she lost her son. Ismail was all she had. He was the reason she woke up every day and tried her best. She wanted to give him the life that she didn’t have. She never wanted him to struggle. Sirad wanted him to enjoy his life like a regular kid.
             She didn’t want him to know pain or struggle. She tried her best to protect him, but she hadn’t done enough or this never would have happened. The guilt ate away in her stomach. 
             “Ismail! Where are you?”
              She needed help. But she didn’t know who to call. Sirad didn’t have any real friends, just coworkers. She didn’t want to call her Mom since she would panic worse than her. Jamila? She hadn’t talked to Jamila in a long time. She couldn’t call her. She probably hated her by now.

             Jamila packed her books. They got a lot of work done today despite Faisal wasting so much time. Their project would be complete in no time at all. She tightened her loose yellow scarf. She really needed to find a safety pin, so it would stop threating to fall.
            She looked up to see that new guy. Mubarak? Faisal’s friend? “What do you want?”
            For a moment he didn’t say anything he just walked up to her, leaned across the table next to her neck, and took a long, deep breath. “Nice perfume.”    
             She backed away and fell off her chair.
            “What is wrong with you?” she shouted before clamping her mouth shut when the old librarian looked at her. She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
            He smirked. “Faisal forgot his book bag, but he didn’t want to come back. What did you do to him?”
            Jamila snorted as she stood up and smoothed her skirt. “Nothing. Faisal is stupid.”
            “He didn’t mean to forget about meeting you. He just had to pick me up from the airport,” Mubarak said.
            She narrowed her eyes. “Well- he should have told me.”
            “Confess and be killed. If you are always yelling, don’t be surprised if no one wants to tell you the truth.”
Mubarak said.
            “Shut up.”
Suddenly her phone rang. It was her sister Sam? She never called her. Was it a holiday or something? No- it was just a regular day. She flipped open her phone.
            “Jamila, I don’t know what to do. My son is missing.”

           Twenty minutes later Jamila and Mubarak pulled up to Sirad’s house with five cars behind hers. Jamila was so worried. She jumped out of the car before Mubarak parked, she ran to go look for her sister. She heard Sirad’s shouts coming from the woods, and it made her feel sick. She ran to catch up to her.
“Jamila?” Sirad asked with tear filled eyes.
Jamila hugged her quickly.
            “Who are all of those people?” Sirad gestured to the young Somali people that she didn’t know.
            “I was at school when you called me and when everyone heard what happened they wanted to help search for Ismail.” Jamila said.  
            Sirad smiled weakly and waved. She couldn’t believe that all of these people came for Ismail. She had her search party after all. The group spread out to comb the woods.

            Finally, she heard someone shout. “I found him!”
           Sirad cried with relief as she ran towards the voice. She saw her son lying at the bottom of the hill with the young man.  
           “He is alive, but unconscious, and his leg is broken. I am going to call an ambulance,” he said.
           “My baby,” she half slid down the hill. Ismail was alive. She was so happy when she saw his small chest taking slow breaths. He is alive. She leaned forward to embrace him when the young man stopped her.
           “Don’t move him,” he said.
           “Oh- you’re right. Who is the stranger who saved my son?” she asked.
            “Mubarak but- ” He raised her eyebrows. “How can you call me a stranger when we are both Somali? I could be your cousin’s cousin or mother’s friend’s nephew. Your mother would be so ashamed.”
            Sirad frowned. What-? She turned around when she heard someone running up behind her. Jamila. 
             “Shut up Mubarak. Don’t tease my sister.” Jamila retorted. “Sam is Ismail okay?”
            “Yes, he is just unconscious and his leg is broken. Thanks little sis for coming here with all your friends,” Sirad said.
            “Sam, we are family. Next time- call me right away.” Jamila pointed her finger at her nose. “I swear if you weren’t my sister I would have to beat the crap out of you. You know he is not just your son; he is my nephew too. I know you don’t think family is important, but family is important to me.”
            Sirad’s eyes flew open in shock. “Jamila-”
            “Stop,” Jamila cut her off. “We are family. So none of this thank you nonsense I came here because my family needed help. There is no need to ever say thank you for that.”