I am the sister of the martyr.
I am the aunt of the potato seller at the local market.
I am the daughter of the local sheikh.
I am the injured of the revolution. The protester. The jailed. The detained.
I am the tortured. The exiled. The kidnapped. The raped.
I am the veiled. The non-veiled. I am a beautiful soul.
I am a Somali woman.
My skin is of ebony and ivory. I am young by spirit. Old by experience.
I am the pregnant. The wife. The single mother. The widow. The godobtiir and godobreeb tool forcing me into marriage as the compensation payment for another clan’s peace settlement.
I am a Somali woman.
Yet I am not a victim. I am a leader.
Not a woman leader. But a leader who happens to be a woman.
I clean up the streets of my nation. I rise up the past. The present and the future generations.
I brought the Nobel Peace Prize to Somalia.
I am a Somali woman.
I speak out for my son at school.
I speak up for my daughter in the madrasa.
I pray for my ancestors and for my older son in jail. I pray for my mother in the hospital.
I speak out for our artists who they keep bombing in theaters and on the streets.
I am a Somali woman.
I speak out for my mind. I am the pulse of the people.
I live in the city. In the town. In the rural areas. In the suburbs. On the mountains. Along the borders.
I am in Garowe. Mogadishu. Afgoye. Erigavo. Hargeisa. Galkayo. Bosaaso. Beletweyne. Badhan. Bocame. And every corner where there is life and sound.
I am a Somali woman.
I am synonymous with strength and victory.
I celebrate sisterhood. I celebrate motherhood.
I boost the economy. I advance the technology. I give life to the community.
Do I deserve to be equal to you?
Yes I do. Because I am a woman.
A Somali woman.
Read more: https://genderissuesinsomalia.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/i-am-a-somali-woman/
