Transcript of Oral History Interview With

Ubah Dhiblawe Narrator

Ahmed Ismail Yusuf Interviewer

January 20, 2014 Minneapolis, Minnesota

Ubah Dhiblawe -UD Ahmed Ismail Yusuf -AY

AY: This is Ahmed Ismail Yusuf. I am here with Ubah Dhiblawe, whom I am going to interview for the Minnesota Historical Society Somali Oral History Project. Today is January 20, 2014. We are in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Ubah, welcome to the interview, please, and thanks for agreeing to it.

UD: Thanks for having me.

AY: Could you spell your name? Just tell me your full name and spell it for me, please.

UD: Ubah, U-b-a-h. Last name Dhiblawe, D-h-i-b-l-a-w-e.

AY: And, Ubah Dhiblawe, where you were born?

UD: I was born in Mogadishu, Somalia.

AY: Could you tell me the year, too?

UD: Nineteen seventy-five. I’m sorry, October 8, 1975.

AY: So you are not 01-01?

UD: No, I’m not, thank God. [both chuckle]

AY: Okay. So tell me about your past in Mogadishu or wherever else that you grew up. What was life like for you?

UD: Growing up, life was beautiful, now that I’m looking back. I grew up in a small town named Afgoye [Afgooye].

AY: Wow. How do you spell that place? I am just saying wow because I know it’s one of the most—was—I think, one of the most beautiful places in Somalia. So how do you spell that city?

UD: Yes. Afgoye is spelled A-f-g-o-y-e. Afgoye.

AY: Sure.

UD: Afgoye is a small town. Not necessarily small, but small compared to other big cities. It’s close to the capital city, about thirty kilometers south of Mogadishu.

AY: South of Mogadishu. No, it was west of Mogadishu.

UD: No, south of Mogadishu.

AY: Well, we can debate…

UD: Sort of west. Okay.

AY: Southwest.

UD: I don’t know. Southwest.

AY: Yes, go ahead. Of Mogadishu.

UD: Yeah, of Mogadishu. Afgoye is a very beautiful town. There’s two rivers in Somalia. One of them passes through—the River Shabelle [Shabeelle]—and it’s the agricultural site. Most of the bananas and papaya and fruits are grown in Afgoye, so it is always green and nice and beautiful town.

AY: So were you farmers or were you raising cattle? Or what was your profession or what was your life?

UD: Well, to begin with, I was young, so I didn’t have any profession at that time.

AY: Well, I’m talking about the family possibly.

UD: The family, yes. My mom was a shop owner, so she had a wholesale shop in Afgoye. My father—my stepfather, but almost my father—was in the military. So military family slash business-owning family. So my mom was the main—

AY: How large was your family and how many siblings?

UD: At that time we were five siblings. Four girls, one boy, and mom and dad. So, including me, we were five kids.

AY: “That time,” you said. Were there others that were born outside of Somalia later on?

UD: Yeah. It was the one girl who was born in Kenya.

AY: Oh, in the refugee camp.

UD: Yeah. So we had a total of six siblings.

AY: So what is it that you most remember about growing up? You said it was happy. It was a happy life?

UD: Besides eating fresh fruits, banana every day, the most memorable for me, looking back, was when I was going to school. My school used to locate—and I hope it still is, I don’t know— near the river, just next to the river. And sometimes, depending on which class I’m in, some of the classes were actually aligned by the river, so you can see anything that’s happening in the river. Some of the days, especially during the summertime or the hot season, if I get lucky enough to sit to the next window—of course there wasn’t any assigned seats in our school, you can just sit wherever—and if I get there early, if I get lucky enough to sit the window side, I used to see the alligators. Is it alligators or the…

AY: Yes, yes, alligators.

UD: I can never tell which is which. It’s not a crocodile—

AY: Yeah, crocodiles as well. Well, I’m not able to tell either. You were living next to them, so you should have known!

UD: I don’t know the difference. I mean, I know the difference, but I don’t know which is which. I have to look at it. But let’s just say crocodile. I will see the crocodile getting in and out of the water, just laying outside.

AY: Basking in the sun.

UD: Basking in the sun, getting in the water. And to me, at that time it was, you know, not a really big deal. But now that I’m old and looking back, and the life that my kids are living now and my childhood, I just think that was a really cool experience. I mean, going to school and living next to alligators.

AY: Were there wild animals? For example, in that area, even though it was actually close to Mogadishu, there could have been lions, there could have been… No?

UD: No. I mean, since it was next to the river and it’s an agricultural site, the only wild animal that you can see is the wild pigs. The African wild pigs, the black ones, big ones.

AY: African boar.

UD: Yeah, alligators and stuff like that. But there’s no lions or cheetahs or elephants. They don’t live in that sort of climate. They live the other side, where it’s hot and wild.

AY: Excuse me.

UD: I mean, my school was in the city, but these alligators were sort of a part of the pretty much people who lived.

AY: Well, it is still mesmerizing to know that you were living next to the river and the alligators were just exactly right at your backyard and you could see that what—

UD: No, I didn’t live next to the river. The school was located next to the river. So was the shops and the markets—everything. People do live the other side of the town, and the alligators were just part of the community, per se.

AY: Are you kidding?

UD: Seriously. They never harmed anybody. You can go and shush them, and then they will run into the water and that was it. They got used to human beings living next to them, so they were not wild alligators who will cut you or anything like that. There were kids who swum in the river. People washed their clothing in the river.

AY: With the alligators?

UD: Alligators just on the sides!

AY: Are you kidding me?

UD: See, you’re from the north, so you don’t know this experience.

AY: Yeah, I am from the north. I am from another planet!

UD: Actually, there’s a little boat that will cross back and forth, and there’s a lot of especially lower income people living the other side of the river, and they’ll come this side—you know, shop, do business, whatever. Poor people will wash their clothings by the riverside, and the alligators are just actually laying out there, laying in the sun, playing around, and they never harmed anybody.

AY: Now we decided, actually, it’s alligators.

UD: Yeah, we decided alligators. Let’s just say that.

AY: Yeah. So you’re just telling me that they were friends with the entire community?

UD: They were part of the community. They never harmed anybody.

AY: That you know of, possibly.

UD: I would have heard of it. It’s a very small town. [chuckles]

AY: So in your entire life—

UD: The ones that lived right in that area where the town is, they got used to the humans. If you go down the stream or if you go up in the stream, the river, where it is just—how do you call this—no building around that area, it’s just the alligator and the water and the bushes—maybe if they see someone down there, those, they might eat that person. But this particular side of the town, the market, the everyday life things happening—they were part of the community.

AY: And you think that—

UD: Nobody ever killed them. They never killed us. We were just, you know?

AY: Ah, you made it…

UD: We made a peace. How about that?

AY: [chuckles] It was a truce.

UD: We were very peaceful people. We never harmed anybody and they don’t harm us.

AY: Oh, you don’t harm the alligators and the alligators do not harm you, except we harmed other human beings. [chuckles]

UD: No, no. Afgoye people are very calm and peaceful people. They are not the crazy, the other part of Somalia.

AY: Wow. Were there birds also?

UD: Oh, gazillion of birds. You’ll see the bird houses. Every season is a different group of birds and just the sound—like I said, that time it wasn’t a big deal, but looking back now, it was really…

AY: Singing and calling…

UD: Singing, the sound, early morning.

AY: Meeting calls or celebrating, possibly.

UD: Yeah. When it rains, when it’s not. When it’s rainy season, you will see all the birds, the father and the mother. I don’t know how to say—all the male birds just going out to the riverside, picking up some stuff and then making little nice houses.

AY: Nests.

UD: Yeah, nests. And then you will see some snakes sneaking through them.

AY: Snakes, too?

UD: Eating the birds.

AY: Eating the birds?

UD: Or the eggs.

AY: And don’t tell me you were friends with the snakes, too?

UD: No, no, no. [chuckles] The only harmful thing that I can remember was the scorpions, during the raining season, at night, around the town or even your house. You don’t see, you might step on them. A scorpion might bite you. That’s the only thing I can remember that was harmful, as you say. I don’t remember anything else.

AY: Wow. I want to leave that lie. So when did all that change? What do you remember that exactly happened that completely took you away from that environment?

UD: All that changed in 1991, when the civil war began. They started to us…

AY: During the civil war, that’s when you…

UD: That’s when we…

AY: Fled.

UD: Yeah. It was 1991 in January and I was in school. Eighth grade, I think? Ninth grade? I don’t remember. Middle school. And everything changed then. People started killing other people. Government personnel and military or whatever running from Mogadishu, and clan members will walk through us, because we were in the middle of major…

AY: You were on their way.

UD: On their way, technically, because Afgoye is a major connection between Kismayo [Kismaayo] and Baydhabo [Baidoa] and Gedo. So it’s the right center, so everybody will come through. Or even if you want to cross to Kenya.

AY: Whoever was being chased or whoever was actually chasing someone—

UD: Just from the city and the capital, they just go through. Those are two major roads. One going all the way, the other way, from Baydhabo and Gedo and then the other side—

AY: To Kismayo and the Kenya border.

UD: Yeah.

AY: You were in the middle of it.

UD: We were, technically, yes. And then depending which tribes is being chased, my mom’s shop was looted and couple of people was killed based on their tribal alliance.

AY: Couple of people who are working for your mother?

UD: No. Just people that my mom knew and members of the community at that time, whether they are military or—

AY: Meaning the first day that you realized that the life might change—

UD: The first few weeks. The war didn’t reach us right away because, like I say, we were a little bit on the south—west, as you say.

AY: Southwest. Yes.

UD: But the war began in Mogadishu. There was a fight happening in the capital for at least a week or two, and then we can hear the sound sometimes or people fleeing. Especially relatives of us who were living in the city just fled from the war and came to us. And then our house became like almost a mini-camp. Us young kids were just happy and excited, just seeing long-lost cousins and aunties and uncles and sleeping outside. It was fun for us because we didn’t know…

AY: You thought it was like camping.

UD: We didn’t know exactly what was happening, per se, but we were just happy that all the family members fled from Mogadishu and came to our house and it was a big family gathering. Then eventually, you know, it caught us up, so we had to move.

AY: So it wasn’t a time for you just exactly to realize that you didn’t even have enough to eat, because you were feeding a lot of people.

UD: At the same time, I myself and my young siblings, we were having fun because there were a lot of cousins who came over and just having play. But still, it was a little struggle, because we were confused, we couldn’t figure. I couldn’t go to school and I didn’t know why, because there wasn’t any school. We couldn’t go out freely like we used to go to the market and buy stuff. My mom and my aunties just became overprotective all of a sudden and then it was like, “Okay, what’s happening?” And then before you know it, the war just reached us in Afgoye and we had to leave.

AY: So by the time that you said that, “Before we knew it, the war reached us and we had to leave,” were there armed militia, or was there military that exactly attacked you? Or just because the melee or the rest of the people who were running away—when you saw a group of people running away, you just run away with them?

UD: Yeah, there wasn’t any specific target to my…

AY: Particular community?

UD: Particular to our neighbors or my family. But my mom’s shops were looted. Some militaries and some groups who were just fleeing just robbed everybody. So then all of a sudden we didn’t have anything to eat, we didn’t have money, we didn’t have nothing. And on top of that, you don’t know when they will reach you, because it was two different clans that’s fighting between the government and then at that time the USC [United Somali Congress]. So you don’t know when it will come to you.

AY: USC?

UD: United Somali—I don’t know.

AY: Congress.

UD: Is that what it is?

AY: Well, USC.

UD: Whatever the militias who were fighting at that time against the government.

AY: I’ll get that.

UD: United…

AY: United Somali Congress, I think it was.

UD: USC.

AY: USC. Well, I will figure that out.

UD: I don’t know what it stands for. So then the war was just getting intense and we were really confused. We didn’t know what’s going to happen to us or which tribe is going to attack us, so we were just confused—and lack of money, the shop was looted, everything. So we just had to leave before it really got…

AY: Where did you go?

UD: So this is the first time I left outside Afgoye at any side, because I never left. The only place I went was Mogadishu and that was it. My dad lived in Mogadishu and my stepmom and my half-siblings.

AY: So your entire world—

UD: So my entire life was just going once in maybe a year to my father and then the rest in Afgoye. I never even went a few kilometers outside.

AY: Thirty kilometers east and west. That’s all.

UD: Not even ten. That’s it. And then this time my auntie with her ten kids and us, we were like, “Okay, let’s go to Kismayo, and then there’s a boat that can take us to Nairobi, Kenya.” So this is the first time we are leaving Afgoye, heading to Kismayo, and along the way we stopped at a village—I think it was Jilib and Jamame [Jamaame] or some other beautiful places.

AY: How do you spell Jamame?

UD: Jamame? J-a-m-a-m-e, Jamame.

AY: Okay.

UD: And then we ended up in Kismayo and stayed there about two weeks until we were figuring out where to go. My auntie had big shops and her husband, my uncle, had a good job. So she was the one who was sort of providing all of us, paying the boat fees and staying at a family member’s house in there. Because she already had a business going in Nairobi and she had a business going in Mogadishu, so she just wanted to move altogether and just stay in Nairobi—

AY: She was prepared. So ahead of time she already had moved.

UD: She already had decided to move to Nairobi.

AY: Half of her assets.

UD: No, because she saw a business opportunity in Kenya, so she started a business there before the war, like two years before the war. And then she was planning—

AY: What was her name?

UD: Maryan.

AY: Maryan who?

UD: Maryan Awale.

AY: Okay.

UD: So that was the lucky part for us, because we already had an auntie who already knew something about Nairobi and business and stuff. So we just had to leave that area, and came with her to Kismayo, and then took a boat to Kenya at that time. And this is the first time ever I actually saw an ocean or ever been to a seaside. Even though Mogadishu has a long coast, I had never been there.

AY: You were living next to the Indian Ocean.

UD: Like I say, I was young and I was not adventurous. So in Kismayo, that was the first time— like the day that we were leaving Kismayo, coming to Kenya—that actually I saw the ocean and stuff that I never experienced before.

AY: We have one of the most beautiful beaches in the entire world, and just exactly the Indian Ocean kisses the shore of actually the entire city of Mogadishu. It just plays with it and around it. And you are just exactly saying that you have never put…

UD: My finger? No. [chuckles]

AY: Okay. Just go ahead.

UD: When I’m traveling with my mom in Mogadishu I can see some views of the ocean, here and there. But me, personally, or even my family members, going to the ocean and swimming and being part of that group? No, never. We had our own river and alligators. I knew it was there. I had just never been close to or touched. Let’s just say that. Then we ended up in this boat, all of us.

AY: From Kismayo.

UD: From Kismayo. Now we’re heading to Kenya. The boat didn’t have an engine at all. It was just the wind-driven—I don’t even know the name of the…

AY: Yeah, yeah, neither do I.

UD: Shiraac [mainsail]. And that was it. So, seriously, it took us five days and four nights to come to Mombasa.

AY: Mombasa. Wow.

UD: Which usually it takes, I think, a few hours. I don’t know. I never travel in that way, but if you have a real nice engine boat, it doesn’t take that long.

AY: And did you have seasick or were you run out of food?

UD: Right away, right away, as soon I ended up in the boat and we started moving. Before even they started moving, just people coming in and out, it’s just the commotion itself—I started throwing up. The next two days was like that. We ran out of food, out of water. People just started getting diarrhea. Sometimes the kids will just have a diarrhea in the middle of the boat. Sanitation—forget about it. And it was just a mess and chaos, and I prayed a lot those days.

AY: What were you praying for?

UD: Oh, God, just please God, let me get out of here alive.

AY: Were you praying alone or everybody was praying?

UD: Oh, everybody was praying. At least I know myself. I don’t know whether everybody, but a lot of people were reading the Quran and praying. We were like one hundred forty people— close. That’s what they said. And this boat is not supposed—

AY: Dhow. I think if it’s that small it’s called dhow.

UD: No, it’s not supposed to be transporting people at all. This was just a cargo boat where business people just load some stuff and back and forth. And that was it.

AY: The fishermen possibly, just exactly a few miles away. Two miles or three miles away from the shore.

UD: The fishermen, yes. I mean, it was a big boat, but it was not designed for carrying one-forty people.

AY: So you think it was overloaded too.

UD: It was overloaded. And then halfway—I think it was into two days or three days—they decided to stop at one of those small towns between Mombasa and Kismayo. It’s not Malindi, but Lamu or something like that. They decided to stop there so they can get fresh water from this little tiny, small city. It’s like a resort, village. I think Lamu is a resort. So what they did is they just stopped the boat in the middle of nowhere, and then they threw small mini-boats and they left around 11:00 a.m., right before the…

AY: Canoeing, possibly?

UD: Canoeing, yeah. And then they came back like 6:00 p.m., when almost the sun set, and they brought some fresh water. But it was like two, three small boats. How much water can they bring for one hundred-plus people? And then people start—I remember this particularly—people started running beside where they were loading the water, and then everybody wanted to have some water. And then the boat started moving—not moving, but tipping to that side, and then the captain and the other people start yelling, “Please stop it. Come to the other side! Let’s balance the boat, because otherwise we are all going to sink.” And then some men started running there and chasing people to the other side, and then finally came in same…

AY: Balance.

UD: Balance. And everybody had some water and then the boat started moving. For some reason, like I said, this boat doesn’t have an engine or generator, or anything, or navigator, so it’s all wind-driven. It doesn’t even have lights or anything, so it’s just—

AY: You floating with the—

UD: With the wind. And then what happened, middle of the whole night, it was just floating with the wind, and then when the sun rise, we didn’t know where we were. [chuckles] It’s not funny, but in a way it just was… I don’t know. The captain was like, he looked with his…

AY: Telescope?

UD: Telescope. Every corner and could not find a shore. Before we were like moving along the shore. You could see the shore. It’s on your right hand. If you just look, you can see the houses, the sand, everything—trees. It was just close by, because it was a small boat. Now everywhere you look it’s just ocean, blue water, and the sky.

AY: And the captain himself had no idea where you were.

UD: Had no idea.

AY: Did he say that?

UD: He said. Yeah. Some people were saying, “You know what happened? Last night they took it. Someone stole his dinner, and he got upset.” I don’t know if it’s true. [chuckles]

AY: [chuckles] Yeah, he got upset, and he wants to die now with the rest of us.

UD: And then he starts smoking—something. Maybe now if I think back, they said hashish. But that’s marijuana, right? Close enough.

AY: Hashish is just a little bit different, but yes, close.

UD: They say, “Oh, he starts smoking hashish, and then he just went along with the wind without even steering or anything.” That’s what they were saying. I don’t know if it’s true, but that was the talk of the day.

AY: And how old were you?

UD: At that time? I have to think. I was fourteen. So I remember everything. Yeah, I was old enough.

AY: And what were you saying to yourself when people would…

UD: Still, I was praying. I didn’t care what happened. I just wanted to get out of there alive.

AY: Now you are in the middle of nowhere.

UD: I’m really scared. All day the boat moved. We didn’t know if we were moving deep into the ocean or if we were moving somewhere. Even if you were going back to Somalia, nobody knew. The boat was just moving. And then the night. So, all the sudden, at night, here we see a huge

12 ship. We see the lights. When you see a ship, that means we are deep into the ocean, because a ship doesn’t…

AY: It doesn’t approach the shore.

UD: Approach close to the shores. And that’s where we were supposed to be, because we were a small boat. And now all the sudden, us and the ship are somewhere in the middle of the ocean.

AY: Oh my goodness.

UD: And the sad thing is that the ship cannot see us, because you know how the ocean is dark. We have no lights. We have nothing. They cannot even sense it or pick us up. It’s just like any other. So forget about ship touching us. If we were even close enough, just the water itself can just knock us off completely.

AY: But at least the sea was actually…

UD: If you are close enough and just the commotion of the ship going through. Yeah, that water can—we’re talking about small boats—can knock us off, and we’ll be dead. And then they started steering the boat away from the ship and using the torch, using the lights, flashlights.

AY: Because they were afraid that it was just going to run over you or—

UD: We were close. Our captain was trying to avoid being close to the ship or running over, because the ship cannot see us. So what they start doing is while they are starting away and running away from being close to the ship, they started using the flashlights, just sending signals.

AY: To get their attention.

UD: To get their attention. They say, “Hey, somebody else over here, it’s not all water!” I remember, even, some of the youngsters saying that, “Oh, let’s put a cigarette so they can see the light.” [chuckles] It was very sad. And that’s how we ended up in Mombasa. Eventually we made it to Mombasa.

AY: Was it the daytime or nighttime when you just…

UD: It was around 4:00 p.m. Almost sunset.

AY: Wow.

UD: Right before the sun set.

AY: So you were telling yourself that your prayer was answered?

UD: Yeah, I think so. I’m still alive, so I did.

AY: And then from Mombasa, how long did you stay there or how long were you in refugee camp? Or where did you go from there?

UD: It was not at that time a refugee camp, because we were the first wave of people who came, of Somalis who came. I think we were like the third or fourth boat who came to Mombasa. And they put us in a place that used to be a sort of mini-zoo. It’s not a big zoo, but a zoo.

AY: Zoo. They put you in a zoo. [chuckles]

UD: It used to be a zoo, that’s what they said. There wasn’t any animals, any wild. But there used to be a zoo, that’s what the people were saying, and not anymore. So it was just one big open place. And Mombasa is like Somalia, where it’s nice and warm and hot. It’s not like Nairobi, cold. And they had some houses. Like I said, the refugee was not a whole lot of people. It was a couple of hundred people.

AY: It was not that tragic, are you telling me? It was not that bad?

UD: It was not. We took the boat January 1991. Even though I was misplaced and left alive and everything. It was not like the refugees in Dadaab [refugee camp] or whatever you call the other places.

AY: Okay. So you did not have that horrifying experience and all that.

UD: No, I didn’t have that bad, horrifying experience. To me it wasn’t that way.

AY: And then where did you go from there?

UD: We ended up in Nairobi. Like I say, my auntie started a business already over there with the family and everything.

AY: So you were actually self-supporting?

UD: No, we were not self-supporting. We didn’t have money or anything. We were living under our auntie’s house.

AY: Yes, but meaning that still your aunt could provide you, so you were not exactly receiving subsidies or any of support or aid from the United Nations.

UD: No, no. Because the aid was mainly in the refugees’ camps.

AY: People who were registered.

UD: We were registered, but I guess we left. Everybody was registered when we came. I mean, they started registering us right off the boat. Like everybody’s name and age and everything, and stuff like that. To me that sort of was a bad experience in life, lifetime, teaching, or lifetime experience.

AY: Lifetime lesson. Then when did you leave or where did you go from Kenya?

UD: Next stop from Kenya? It was coming to here.

AY: To the United States.

UD: Yeah, to the United States.

AY: When did you come to the United States?

UD: In 1999. January.

AY: January 1999.

UD: Yes.

AY: So, in January 1999, and in what city did you land?

UD: I started in California.

AY: In California.

UD: In California. My auntie is living in California.

AY: Where in California?

UD: Orange County. A place called Santa Ana. Yeah, she lived in Santa Ana.

AY: Santa Ana.

UD: Near Anaheim. In California. I stayed there for a few months.

AY: With your aunt, same aunt?

UD: Yeah, with my aunt.

AY: Same aunt, Maryan?

UD: Same aunt, yeah. Maryan and her kids. And then I ended up in Tennessee, where my ex- husband lived.

AY: Yeah, that’s fine. Your ex-husband lived?

UD: Yeah, he lived in Tennessee. Then I got settled. I had my second daughter in Tennessee. She was born in Memphis, Tennessee. Samira.

AY: Where did you have the first one?

UD: Kenya.

AY: She [Sihaam] was born in Kenya. So you got married in Kenya.

UD: Yeah. He was here, my husband.

AY: You were a teenager, right?

UD: No. I got married in 1996, not 1991.

AY: So you stayed there for quite a while.

UD: Yeah, yeah.

AY: Oh, okay, okay. So your husband actually came to…

UD: The ex-husband came first. We were separated. He came first.

AY: He came first and he was in Tennessee, and you were in Tennessee with him.

UD: Yeah, in Tennessee with him.

AY: How long did you stay in Tennessee? Where in Tennessee?

UD: Memphis.

AY: Memphis, Tennessee. You lived there for a while.

UD: I lived there for a while.

AY: That’s how you started your life in the United States?

UD: Yeah, that’s technically how I started my life in the United States. Started in Tennessee, moved to Ohio.

AY: How long did you stay in Tennessee, though?

UD: In Tennessee—about a year.

AY: And what was it like for you? Did you work or what was your perception of the United States then?

UD: I was still getting used to it. The perception, it was different—the reality—than when you are in Africa.

AY: East Africa.

UD: I think everything is different—East Africa.

AY: I don’t like the word Africa. [chuckles]

UD: Well, it still is part of Africa.

AY: Yes, but you should say—

UD: Whether it’s east or west. Why? Are you discriminating on the rest of Africa?

AY: No, it is just the idea of just simply saying “Africa.” No one says “Asia” or “Europe” in that matter. They tell the country. They name the country. When they’re talking about Pakistan, they don’t say “Pakistan in Asia.” They say “Pakistan.” If they’re talking about Paris or—

UD: Okay. So should I say the perception that Somalis have…

AY: East Africa, just say East Africa. Okay. Go ahead.

UD: All East African have the same perception?

AY: Well, anyway, it’s a disease that I have. Anyway, go ahead.

UD: But the life actually was better, because now you’re in America with husband, you just starting learning how to drive a car, with the kids.

AY: So you begin learning how to drive and…

UD: Yeah. I was a housewife, because I was pregnant and gave birth, so there wasn’t a whole lot of things I can do. And he was supporting us. But I was getting used to it, watching TV shows, and the Cooking Network, and—

AY: What were you watching?

UD: Cooking Network and Jerry Springer show and that stuff.

AY: [laughs]

UD: I hope you edit that part later on. [chuckles]

AY: Jerry Springer? No, I will not.

UD: Yeah, you have to edit.

AY: No, no. [both laugh] You were just there only a year and you were already watching—

UD: But that’s what’s on at eleven o’clock, twelve o’clock. It’s all the crazy talk shows.

AY: But there are soap operas…

UD: Soap operas, too. I was watching soap operas.

AY: You watched that too. Oh my God!

UD: Yeah, I did. Like I said, I was the housewife, so I had to do something besides cooking and cleaning.

AY: You got your child.

UD: But actually, I used to watch a lot the Cooking Network.

AY: So did you learn from anything?

UD: Not necessarily. I mean, cooking? No. It was just interesting to see.

AY: So possibly you cook well now?

UD: In my Somali stuff, I know how to cook.

AY: No, they don’t cook Somali stuff, by the way.

UD: I say my Somali cookings, I know. Not necessarily them.

AY: Okay. So you moved to Ohio again?

UD: Yes.

AY: Within two years, or actually less than three years—

UD: Within two years.

AY: Within two years you landed in California, and then moved to Tennessee, and then Ohio. Where in Ohio?

UD: Columbus, Ohio.

AY: What were you after? Where were you running? Why were you running?

UD: I wasn’t running. My ex, he’s a still truck driver, so I guess he saw some opportunities.

AY: Oh, he was the one who was running.

UD: Yeah, he was the one who was moving us. I wasn’t moving anywhere. Like I say, I was brand new.

AY: So every time that he said, “Let us go,” you just exactly…

UD: Oh yeah. That’s what the good wife… [both laugh] That’s right, you follow your husband.

AY: You packed your stuff and just exactly went away with him?

UD: To me, to be honest with you, it wasn’t even any difference between Memphis or Ohio. I mean, it was just any other state. I’d been a refugee pretty much all my life, so moving state to state didn’t make a whole lot of difference.

AY: Not that much of a difference. So what greeted you, then, in Ohio? Columbus, Ohio, you said?

UD: Yeah. Columbus, Ohio.

AY: So was there…

UD: Columbus, Ohio, actually was good. I started working for the first time.

AY: What did you do? What was your first job?

UD: I was a cashier, working at Kroger’s. [chuckles]

AY: Kroger?

UD: It’s like a Cub Foods here.

AY: Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s actually a well-known chain.

UD: Chain, yeah. And it was interesting to do it. There were some things that I didn’t like doing it. For example, like selling alcohol or asking ID—can you drink or not drink. And then you have to sell it. I didn’t like that part, just because it intervenes my religion.

AY: Do you still believe that?

UD: I do. But I did it anyway.

AY: Well, yes, because you have to follow the law of wherever that you are residing.

UD: Exactly. But it was a good experience for me. I started learning how the work force in America—

AY: Work ethics.

UD: Work ethics—you know, work in America.

AY: But even though you may have some reservations, you did not exactly refuse to serve people, did you?

UD: I served. I sold them. You’re a cashier, you sell whatever that comes through the checkpoint.

AY: Yes, it’s not your grocery store, not your father’s—

UD: Exactly. And I knew when I was going in there, but at that time I wasn’t thinking. Okay, I was brand new, like just barely two years in the country, and, like I say, I never worked in America, so I wasn’t even sure what to expect or not to expect. It’s just it hitted on me when I started working, and then people started lining up like Heineken and whatever you call the vodka and stuff. I’m like, “Oh, this is actual alcohol now, and I’m selling it.” Well, you are there, what can you do? I mean, I had other, bigger issues than whatever that.

AY: I have to tell, you’re doomed. You sold it. [chuckles]

UD: [chuckles] But one thing I really felt uncomfortable. Maybe I shouldn’t say this. Selling condoms, you know.

AY: What’s wrong with condoms? Why didn’t you—

UD: What is wrong with them? I was new. I came to the country not long ago, being there for two years or less than two years, and never saw…

AY: A Somali woman who is selling condoms.

UD: No, it’s not even Somali woman. The condom itself is not something that you see every day in life. This is not part of where I was, or, you know…

AY: So did it bother you most when men came to you or when women?

UD: Yeah, that bothered me the most. I didn’t care who.

AY: You didn’t care about the woman?

UD: I didn’t care about the guy or the woman. It’s just the fact that somebody asking me, “Get me some condoms.”

AY: And then asking you to get them some condoms?

UD: Yeah, because they were not exposed—like they cannot grab it themselves. It’s like the cigarettes. You have to go and get it for them. That bothered me a lot. More than the alcohol.

AY: They were not asking you for sex. They were just exactly asking you—

UD: But to me that was like the whole thinking of, “Oh, I can’t believe this guy’s asking me to…” It’s just the whole thought of it. The fact that I was selling condoms.

AY: Oh, so this is where the cultural sensitivity or the cultural identity plays a role here. So what you possibly were telling yourself was just that if you were in Somalia, no male or man were actually able to utter such a word like condom.

UD: It was just something that—okay, the whole sex thing should be something sacred.

AY: Private.

UD: Yeah, private, sacred, and whatever the people they do. And then the fact that somebody is coming and saying that. “Give me condoms.” And you know what they are going to do with the condoms.

AY: No, you do not know.

UD: Why you want to buy a condom? Just to decorate your home? [both laugh]

AY: Maybe so.

UD: Okay. Now you have to edit all that crap. [chuckles]

AY: No worries.

UD: But to me, actually, I didn’t care about the use or the whole idea behind the condom. It’s just me selling condoms. I felt like I was less…

AY: Less of a human, less of a…

UD: Less of me. I felt like I was…

AY: Your integrity was…

UD: Yeah, I degraded my values and my integrity and my just even being me. It’s like—selling condoms? That’s just kind of like a low—

AY: It lowered your status.

UD: Yeah, my compass and status and everything. Even though I was a refugee all my life, that bothered me. [chuckles]

AY: Maybe that was exactly the lowest moment of your life. So, let’s see, when you—

UD: I left. I went to a childcare job, just to let you know, because of the alcohol and the condoms, among other things. I didn’t like being the cashier anymore.

AY: How long did you work there?

UD: I worked there almost nine months. I held on to it. And then I found a childcare.

AY: Okay, so tell me, when you got your first check, though, or even that job that you did not like, whenever you cashed your check—did that change your mind?

UD: To me, again, cashing the check, yes. But I liked the whole idea of going to work and being there for eight hours and coming back and taking care of my kids—at that time they were young. And I felt productive, like someone who is doing something for herself and for her kids. So, actually, I liked the whole idea, not necessarily the check part.

AY: It boosts your self-esteem, your personal confidence.

UD: It boosts my self-esteem, yes. I felt like I was doing something, because I was not working, pretty much—

AY: You were not waiting, as they say, for a handout.

UD: I felt like I was doing something.

AY: Good. So then, I gather that somehow or other your marriage fell apart in Columbus?

UD: In Columbus, Ohio.

AY: Yes. What did you do, or what did you not do? What happened?

UD: Oh, when the marriage fell apart I moved out of Columbus. I still don’t like Columbus. [chuckles]

AY: Oh, just because of that.

UD: Not necessarily. It’s just—yeah. Bad experiences, let’s just say that.

AY: Bad experiences. So what happened? I mean, you were a couple when you came to the United States. You had two children. Now you are working. You are not in Somalia anymore. When you just exactly go back to that, or just exactly thinking about at that moment itself, what happened, you think?

UD: I think we were just not—

AY: Or will you care to say anything about it?

UD: No, I can say it. It’s just we were not two compatible people. Like, we did not understand really well. Too little bit different culture. He grew up in East Africa. When I say East Africa, excluding Somalia. He grew up in Kenya and I grew up in Somalia. So different. There were cultural differences—

AY: Subtleties.

UD: Miscommunications, misunderstanding. Soon we were not—

AY: Even though you were both Somalis?

UD: Yeah. All Somalis are not—you are from north and you are…

AY: Well, you and I are not alike, yeah, that’s true. I am from the north. I have an issue with the south, okay? [chuckles]

UD: There you go. And he’d never been to either one of them, so you can imagine.

AY: Well, you know, south and north…

UD: There are cultural little differences—communication, culture. We’re still Somalis, speaking same language and same religion, but…

AY: I don’t know about that, but I think we are still talking. You and I are…

UD: We are talking about Somalia, not the diaspora.

AY: All right.

UD: Thank you.

AY: Yes. And…

UD: So, the marriage itself, and working, and little kids, and life in general was hard. And expectation, I guess…

AY: Did you get divorced or you got separated?

UD: Divorced.

AY: Divorced. So now, it was difficult for you to provide for your children because no one else was just coming up with…

UD: Oh yeah. That’s when it started. That’s when everything started.

AY: He was not contributed to the…

UD: Not really. He was not. Being new, almost, and being in the country for about two and a half years and working at childcare, I was getting like $7.50 an hour and my paycheck a week will be like $250. And I couldn’t afford to pay the rent on my own or anything else, for that matter. So I moved in with my mom and my sisters at that time.

AY: And you were not on a subsidy or…

UD: Since I was working, I didn’t qualify anything. And the housing, you have to be on a waiting list to get a housing subsidy, but in terms of food stamps and cash and stuff like that, I didn’t qualify. I got medical coverage, which was nice, and that was it. My mom and my other siblings were living in a two-bedroom house and a basement, so I moved in with them and stayed there for a few months, and then they moved to Minnesota because they didn’t like Ohio that much. And then I stayed one month behind. I couldn’t do it on my own, so then I left Ohio and came to Minnesota, following the families.

AY: Minnesota. Where did you come?

UD: Minneapolis.

AY: Minneapolis. And how old were the kids then?

UD: It was 2002. The older one, she was eight, and the little one, she was six.

AY: Okay. So you came to Minnesota, you came to Minneapolis. Tell me a bit about the life in Minneapolis. Why did you come? Your aunt exactly moved ahead of you, but for you?

UD: I moved because of the family. My aunties, cousins, uncles were already here, established here. And then my mom and everybody else moving here, it was just easy for me. So I came to Minneapolis.

AY: Because of the rest of the family.

UD: Because of the family. And just started life slowly. It was hard, because, again, I had to live with my mom—two-bedroom apartment, eight of us—and because, again, I couldn’t afford it. I applied subsidy in Minneapolis, but still I wasn’t able to afford even one bedroom with the two kids. So when I came here, right away I applied for a job at JC Penney, and I got it—cashier job, or sales associate, getting paid eight, nine dollars an hour, with two kids, and I couldn’t afford again. So then I heard that housing in Mankato are cheaper. My aunties and other people told me. So I used to go on my off days to Mankato. I’ll drive to Mankato, look for apartments, come

24 back. And then my next off days I’ll go there, and then eventually I found two-bedroom that I could afford—like five-something. And then I talked to my manager and asked her if she can transfer the JC Penney job here to over there. That was hard because at that JC Penney they have college students. You know, young American, energetic—

AY: Fast.

UD: Fast. And then here I am, foreigner, an accent, and they were like, “Oh, we don’t have any openings.” My manager really liked me at that time, and she pushed to hire me, and I got a few hours. It was like fifteen, sixteen hours every week. And I ended up getting a job and an apartment at the same time in Mankato, and that’s actually where I really started my life—like, real life—in America.

AY: Real life meaning that you were able to get your groceries, pay your rent…

UD: Yes. Work.

AY: Work, learn how to drive—or, actually you learned how to drive.

UD: I learned how to drive, so I had a small car already, coming here. But then I started working on the JC Penney, and then I started taking classes in the evening. That was when I started my schooling.

AY: Oh, so did you have a formal education? Did you graduate from school before you got to the United States? No.

UD: No.

AY: You didn’t. When you got to Mankato that’s when you started taking classes. You didn’t have an opportunity before that.

UD: No.

AY: So what classes did you begin?

UD: Oh, basic English. You have to start with English.

AY: English. It is called…

UD: ESL—English Second Language.

AY: Okay.

UD: So I started taking some ESL classes and then some math classes, basic math classes, and my goal at that time was to get a GED [General Education Development diploma]. That was my goal. So once I started taking those classes, I really wanted to do it, so I put a lot of energy and

25 effort. So within a couple of months I didn’t have to do the ESL classes. I went to the GED classes, so I started doing the reading and the math preparation. And then as I was doing it, one of the teachers told me, “You know, you can actually go to the community college and take more advanced supplemental English classes before the college level and just go from there. You don’t necessarily have to—” Because she saw me coming here almost every day and trying to push. She actually told me, “Just go to the college, do the test and application and then they will start some early, advanced classes before the college level credit ones.” I’m like, “Okay.” So there was a school next to where I—community college, South Central Community College in north Mankato. So I went in there and I started taking supplemental classes. I took one or two. That was still connected to the…

AY: GED.

UD: The adult GED. This is more focused, college way. And then I started doing interpreter for the Somali community who was living there. There was a Somali agency in Saint Paul that hired me.

AY: So now you speak enough English that you are sought after. I mean, the others are just exactly asking for your assistance.

UD: Yeah.

AY: In less than three years.

UD: In less than three years. Yeah, it was less than three years. Or three years. Three years, yeah. Or four years, almost.

AY: So now you are just exactly pursuing your GED, you are taking college classes…

UD: Supplemental classes.

AY: College classes, supplementary classes. You have two children that you are raising your own.

UD: Yes. I was working at JC Penney part time.

AY: Still work JC Penney part time.

UD: And then I was doing the interpreter. So I was really busy.

AY: How many jobs and how many people were you? One person?

UD: One person. Had two jobs.

AY: Three jobs. Two schools.

UD: Two jobs and school. JC Penney, interpreter, and the kids, of course. The good thing is the kids were school age, so they went to school in the morning until four o’clock. And then my family, I convinced them to come over there. So they came, and they used to watch my kids after the school hours, which was really nice and helpful.

AY: Your mom.

UD: My mom and sisters. But then I would leave the house around 7:00 a.m. and come back maybe nine, ten at night. If I’m doing interpreter, sometimes they would call me middle of the night, asking me if I can come in because they have an active labor. And I’ll go in and stay there for a few hours.

AY: In the middle of the night, and tomorrow going to school and classes.

UD: Yeah.

AY: Going to school and work.

UD: And work, yeah.

AY: Wow.

UD: I mean, they were paying good. I liked the money and the service itself. I felt I was doing something really—

AY: For the community.

UD: At least I was not selling condoms. [both laugh]

AY: Happy life. Okay. So, condoms again. And how long did you then last in Mankato, and how did you end up being a registered nurse?

UD: At that time I was not even thinking a nurse or anything. I was just happy to learn the language, to take some classes. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do it. But then in 2004 my sister was going to the U of M [University of Minnesota], and she didn’t have a place to stay and she was studying child psychology.

AY: Your sister who is actually younger?

UD: My younger sister, yes.

AY: The one that was born outside of Somalia, possibly?

UD: No, no, no. She was born in Somalia, but she’s younger. I’m the oldest in the family, so she’s younger than me. We stayed in Ohio, in Kenya, in Mankato. She graduated Mankato West High School—no. She came to here, Minneapolis, and graduated—I don’t remember which one

27 of the schools here, but she went to Mankato West. So she didn’t have a place to stay, so my mom asked me to move to the city so we can stay together.

AY: Move to Minneapolis.

UD: To Minneapolis. You know, what momma says always goes. You can’t say no. At that time, my other siblings were going to high schools, and some of them started college, so she didn’t want to interrupt them about finishing high school. So I agreed to move back to the city because of her, because of my sister.

AY: Okay.

UD: So me and my sister and my two kids stayed in the same house in Hopkins that I stay now, and she used to go to the U of M.

AY: You rented the place.

UD: Yes. I was working. No, no, no, no. I got a Section Eight. I got a rental while I was in Mankato, because of my income. Yes, I got a Section Eight and then I moved into the Section Eight. We stayed at the house. She stayed with me. She watched the kids after me when I’m not home, which most of the time I was not home. So that’s how I ended up—

AY: So you’re supporting her at school. She’s just also, in a way, just exactly paying you back…

UD: By watching my kids.

AY: By watching your kids and being there.

UD: Yes, yes. And then when I come back here I started working a part-time job at the welfare office, which was Monday to Friday, and 12:00 to 4:00 p.m., filing insurance, medical assistance applications for uninsured people. So that was my job. And then after doing, I don’t know, like six or seven months, they asked me to stay full time. And I told them no. I didn’t want to work Monday through Friday, eight to five, because I already started taking classes.

AY: You already started taking classes, college classes.

UD: College classes. And I’m thinking to do a degree, so if I do an eight-to-five job, then that’s going to slow down what I want to do. So while I was working with them, I started working at a nursing home. I got my nursing assistant certificate from Hennepin Technical Community College in Brooklyn Park. I got my nursing assistant certificate, so I started working night shift in a nursing home in Wayzata. So I would go ten o’clock, 10:00 p.m., and come off 6:00 a.m., go to sleep 6:30 until eleven, and then come to the Century Plaza Welfare Office at twelve o’clock. So I was doing already part-time night and part-time here, so I didn’t have to stay with them. I left the welfare office. So they say, “If you’re not going to do full time then we can’t keep you.” I’m like, “Okay.” So I quit it. And then I did my night nursing assistant at that nursing home, and then I ended up getting Fairview fulltime night shift. So I used to do night shift nursing assistant,

28 and then during the daytime I’ll take my college class. So when I get my nursing assistant certificate and I started working nursing home, then that’s when I got the idea. I always wanted to be a medical professional, even way back home when I was young. I wanted to be a doctor or somebody in the medical field. And the reason is I used to see my mom giving birth at home by choice.

AY: By choice.

UD: By choice. There was a hospital. Now I think it was by choice. There was a hospital. Whatever the reasons, she didn’t want to go by. She used to deliver home with some neighbor woman who had some experience. No medical background. She’d never been to school. It’s an older woman. [chuckles]

AY: So what we would call them umuliso or midwife.

UD: But she’s not a midwife. She’s just my mom’s friend’s mom, who happened to be expert because she’d delivered x amount of babies.

AY: And I’m going to come back to how your, yes…

UD: How I decided.

AY: Yeah, how you just exactly climbed up the ladder of education. But in Somalia, for example, you said that bothered—

UD: That bothered me a lot.

AY: Or it scared you, too.

UD: Yes.

AY: Because you somehow or another sensed the danger in it, the danger that your mother was dancing with?

UD: Yeah, absolutely. Like I say, I was the oldest, so every time that mom is going through a labor, you hear all the commotion, all the talks, people coming in and out. And then this—okay, this is about the time, the baby is coming, she’s been doing this all day, sometimes days.

AY: So your felt also responsible.

UD: Responsible.

AY: You were just participating.

UD: You were just nervous. It’s like, “What’s going to happen?” If something happens to mom now—that sense of danger. Not necessarily worrying about is it going to be a boy or girl. You

29 worry about is this going to go okay. Because you will hear in the town that so and so were waa umul raacday. It means so and so died while she was giving birth.

AY: Or while she was delivering. That was common.

UD: That was very common. So now that you see your mom in the back room—

AY: Well, you are not alone, I can tell you that. I was actually the oldest of my family too, and every time my mother had a labor, actually it was just reckoning day. It was just reckoning day for me.

UD: Yes. And on top of that, my mom, she used to be people who get really sick, morning sickness, from early stage. Actually, she went through the whole nine months.

AY: Wow. But she didn’t have a particularly, I think, hard labor, though?

UD: I mean, it will take her hours, sometimes into the nights. Hours, into the nights.

AY: Well, hours. It will take days for my mom. Are you kidding me?

UD: No, for us, if it was days, I think they would be forcing her to go to the hospital.

AY: Sorry, inserting myself in the middle of the story. Go ahead. That’s how you came up with it. That’s how you got the idea of just exactly—

UD: So that’s how I got the health care ideas. I’m like, you know what? I want to be the one who is delivering this baby. When I grow up and I finish school, I want to do this job. If I didn’t do that, I wanted to do some sort of sports, because—

AY: Sports.

UD: Yeah, you know, people are always famous playing.

AY: Oh, you wanted to be famous. Oh.

UD: You want to be famous. But in real life I really wanted to do this delivery.

AY: Even in Somalia, that you knew sports people. The way to get to fame was just exactly through sports.

UD: I used to entertain myself when I was young. I was a little bit tall, not necessarily tall-tall, and skinny, so I could make myself a difference in basketball team. There was a girl’s basketball. At least we had that dream back then. Not now. That’s crazy.

AY: Actually, you can still try. So even though that you were driven to succeed, or driven actually to get your education, you still think that you did not have a plan? Your plan was just exactly to get education, even though you…

UD: Just to get an education—an education. I just wanted to learn English. I want to go to college and get a degree, period. The type of degree didn’t matter.

AY: Okay, so you get your nursing assistant first, and then you get your associate in nursing, and then you get your bachelor.

UD: Yes.

AY: And now you are a registered nurse.

UD: Yes.

AY: Are you taking graduate classes, too?

UD: I am planning this fall.

AY: Oh, you are planning.

UD: I want to do public health.

AY: Yes. You want to take over the world now.

UD: I want to save as much as I can save or influence when it comes to women’s and children issues in Africa. In East Africa.

AY: In East Africa. Okay, thank you. In Somalia.

UD: Or in Africa. It can be Central or West.

AY: So you are very much involved in politics or policy.

UD: No, humanitarian. Not politics. I don’t like politics.

AY: Not politics. You can’t separate the two—humanitarian. In East Africa, actually—

UD: Well, you can say that. But I’m not running to get a seat or to get this or that, but I’m humanitarian. Now if something’s going to help me to do something with humanitarian, I’ll do it.

AY: Oh, that’s politics. I have to tell you.

UD: But I’m for humanitarian.

AY: Yes.

UD: I’m not going there to get my neck out there to be somebody or something or a seat. No, if I go there, ever, it’s going to be because I want to do something or change something in a specific issue, a particular issue.

AY: Okay, in that case, then, if you looked at the Somali community or if you looked at Somalis in Minnesota, what are you proud of? What are the good things that you can say about us, or even the negative things? What would you say, “Well, I am proud of being Somali,” when you see it. Or where are we doing well? Let’s just exactly put it that way. Where are we doing well or where are we doing okay or what do you think of us?

UD: I am proud of myself as being Minnesotan and coming here and making it. This state is a great state. It gave us a lot of opportunity. And comparing the other states I lived, this is by far the best.

AY: Other states like Ohio and Tennessee.

UD: Memphis, particularly, and Columbus.

AY: You don’t think you would have made it?

UD: No, I doubt it. [chuckles] I doubt it, yeah. I mean, the support that I received, even getting those supplemental classes, ESL classes, or getting housing vouchers, like Section Eight. And be able to get a job. Just like I came here, I applied, right away I got at JC Penney. You know, those little things. If you are really someone who are a driven person that wants to do something, those little things help to get you to where you’re going. What I’m proud of as a Somali community—I mean, look at us here now. You are recording my oral history. We are part of the community. There’s a lot of good things happening, business-wise, education-wise. We’re succeeding. We just sent one person to Hollywood, so…

AY: Oh! [both laugh] That too.

UD: Barkhad Abdi. That, too.

AY: From Minnesota.

UD: From Minnesota. Soon we might send one to NASA.

AY: We are expecting that, too.

UD: So this is a lot of great things that’s happening, that the Somali community doing here. There is some negative, of course, but every community they have positive and negative. But being brand new, young generation here, I think we’re doing good.

AY: So, for example, if you looked at this cliché that always some politicians just throw around, like, if people get used to welfare they will never try to wean themselves off. Wouldn’t you say that everybody needs a bit of a support just exactly to get where they are heading for what their dreams are?

UD: Absolutely.

AY: So in your case, you are successful.

UD: Absolutely. If I didn’t get any help from the government, I don’t think so I would have made it or I would have finished school, and eventually that’s what’s the best for me as well as for the community and by and large for the society. If I didn’t get help—for example, Section Eight to pay my rent—then I have to work x amount of hours just to be able to pay my rent because rent is very expensive. And then I wouldn’t have the time to go to school, because I’m not a skilled person, so what am I going to—

AY: You were not. You are now.

UD: No, I’m talking about then. I was not. And getting paid eight dollars and nine dollars or ten dollars is a lot of hours to support a family, so when are you going to get a time or where to do anything else? So welfare is a great starter for anybody. Now there is always people who are lazy who don’t want to do it or don’t have a desire. But those are small numbers comparing to the people who started welfare and went to—

AY: In other words, somebody who is driven and somebody who has a goal and a place to go, somebody who has a plan, it won’t impede, you say, the process. It rather will—

UD: Yes. Oh, absolutely. Well, look at me. I took welfare and I’m right here. Public assistance, whether it’s the food stamps or medical or housing. And right now, I’m paying everything. I’m paying higher tax, I’m even paying my schools. I’m self-sufficient and actually paying back for what I received early-on, because I’m paying higher tax, I’m working a lot of hours.

AY: You’re a productive member of the society.

UD: I’m a member of society, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. I pay everything, including my school kids’ lunch. I pay because I don’t qualify. I mean, that’s how self-sufficient I am. A couple of years supporting somebody is not a bad idea. And if you look at it, people who are on the welfare and who cannot get out of it are always—I didn’t do the statistics, I didn’t do research on it, but just people I know, like what I see in the Somali community, my community. You know, older women, people who have eight, nine, ten kids, seven kids, who’ve never been to school, who are going through a lot, it’s really hard for them even if they are what they call working poor. Even if she’s working at Wal-Mart, she still cannot be self-sufficient, and she is not someone who is ready or able to go to school and get herself off the welfare. It’s really hard for her.

AY: In other words, they are the still the working poor. They are truly still struggling. They are still surviving.

UD: Yeah. I know how many people who are housekeepers and work in Mall of America, janitors, and Wal-Marts, and still on welfare because that’s all they are getting. It doesn’t support them.

AY: Because they’re doing possibly for their kids.

UD: Yeah. Everybody wants to be off the welfare. I doubt it if someone would stay in there indefinite.

AY: Just to conclude, though. What do you see for us twenty years later? For example, what do you see for your two daughters? The oldest is in high school now. What do you see for her?

UD: I see my daughter as any other child growing up in America, in Minnesota. She is doing great. Today she was working math with her friend who is a Caucasian, and there is no difference between her and him, other than her background is Somali and she wears the hijab [headscarf worn by some Muslim women]. Other than that they are pretty much doing the same thing.

AY: Two American kids.

UD: They are two American kids.

AY: In high school.

UD: In high school.

AY: So in college, and in profession, and in earning their living, you’re just exactly saying they’re going to be the same?

UD: Yeah. I mean, they will be doing the same thing as far I am concerned. A lot of children, some might not make it, but a lot of Somali kids that I see, I don’t see any difference between them and the Indian kids or the Jewish kids or the African American kids. To me they look the same. I mean, they do have the opportunities, so I don’t see what’s separating them.

AY: Okay, Ubah, I think that’s where we are going to conclude, except that before I actually forget, I should ask you the names of your children and also you mentioned your mom, so you have to tell me your mom’s name. What is your mother’s name?

UD: My mom’s name is Cilmiya.

AY: How do you spell that?

UD: It’s actually, in Somali, it’s C-i-l-m-i-y-a. Cilmiya.

AY: Okay.

UD: Awali, Awali last name.

AY: Okay, how do you spell that?

UD: A-w-a-l-i.

AY: Okay. And your two children?

UD: Sihaam, S-i-h-a-a-m. And Samira, S-a-m-i-r-a. Last name is Abdi, A-b-d-i.

AY: All right. I appreciate the opportunity that you gave me, and I think that is it for today. Thank you very much.

UD: Thanks for having me, and make sure you edit those condom comments. [both laugh] Thank you.

AY: Ubah is a single mother of two who clawed herself out of public assistance to registered nurse. The yesterday refugee, housewife, and semi-illiterate, is today among the millions of professional Minnesotans serving the need of others.