Ismail Khalif Abdulle stared at the map of Norway for much of the two-hour flight from Oslo to this city 200 kilometres north of the Arctic Circle, trying to imagine what a day with only a couple hours of winter twilight would be like.
“It’s okay,” he shrugged eventually. “The sun in Mogadishu used to drive me crazy.”
The skinny teenager from Mogadishu, who had seen snow only on TV and thought an African evening that dipped to 18 C was chilly, was travelling to his new home in the land of polar nights and midnight sun, ready to deal with whatever culture shock awaited him.
But even with his laid-back nature and the most open of minds, the 18-year-old refugee could not believe his eyes when he was greeted at the airport by a smiling, six-foot-eight Somali.
Mohammed Osman, who is known as just “Osman” or by his Norwegian nickname meaning “Little Friend,” was part of Ismail’s welcoming crew last week. Like Ismail, he had been given refuge in this picturesque town of 23,500.
Osman was just one of many unexpected surprises for the teenager, who had gone from seeing the worst of humanity to experiencing the best.
Just one year ago, Ismail was sitting in a Mogadishu government compound fighting back tears as he told a Star journalist about how he became a victim of Al Shabab, a Somali-based insurgency that has declared itself Al Qaeda’s proxy in the Horn of Africa.
After refusing to join the group, he and three other boys were taken to a stadium where Shabab members cut off their right hands and their left feet in a barbaric public amputation in the name of sharia law. The boys’ limbs were later hung in the town’s square as a lesson to others.
In Somalia, a country brimming with tragedy and mired in an unending war, Ismail’s story was only one of many. But it was also one that touched many.
Toronto’s Somali diaspora started a group called Project Ismail and lobbied to get Ismail to Canada. Abdul Hassan, a Somali-born Canadian living in Nairobi, enlisted an underground network of supporters to spirit Ismail out of Somalia and into Kenya.
A month after his rescue, the United Nations declared Ismail a refugee in need of protection, and the teenager applied for sponsorship outside of Africa. His first choice was Canada, which is believed to have the largest Somali diaspora outside of Africa (and is the country where his beloved rescuer, Hassan, has citizenship). Other choices included Norway and Finland, where he has half-siblings from his now-deceased father’s first marriage.
In just a matter of weeks, Norway accepted his application on an emergency basis, and Ismail’s stunning odyssey ended here last week in the rugged far northern reaches of the country.
Hassan, whom Ismail calls his “second father,” accompanied the boy on the flights from Nairobi to Brussels to Oslo, and then, finally — along with a Star reporter — to Harstad.
Overcome by emotion, the slight teenager could not believe his fortune.
“They could not break my spirit,” Ismail said of the Shabab. “If they break your spirit you cannot go anywhere. They only took my hand and foot.”
Then flashing a grin, he added, “There was a day when I could not even hold a cup of water, and look at me today. I’m in Norway!”
Seeing another Somali in Harstad was only Ismail’s first surprise. Just hours after arriving and on his first trip to the grocery store (Corn Flakes, Coke, a bag of candy, buns and a bag of oranges), Ismail was stunned to find more boys from Somalia. In all, he would discover, there are as many as a dozen Somali residents among the nearly 150 refugees living in this town.
Ola Steinvoll, a barrel-chested, big-hearted Norwegian who runs the refugee program here, says Harstad works hard to integrate the asylum-seekers, providing intense language and life skills training, and then a university-level education.
Within his first few days Ismail had been given a bank card for a modest account and a medical checkup, had registered with police, and had filled out the paperwork for his social insurance number and new identification (where his name is spelled Ismail, as opposed to an earlier spelling of Ismael).
The process to get him proper prosthetic limbs also began. Incredibly, the small town has not one but two companies that customize prosthetics.
Ismail was also provided with a temporary, ground-floor apartment — which he proudly swept every morning even though the floor was spotless. Eventually he’ll settle in with Somali roommates elsewhere.
The formal refugee program here is just two years old, and most credit 54-year-old Steinvoll, along with other staff, as the reason for its success.
“For refugees here he is not the big boss, he is a father, he is our friend,” says Ahmed Ayoub, a 33-year-old Yemeni who was among the first to arrive when the program started. “He is smiling all the time. If you are sick he will come to you. If you need something he will give it to you. Every time you say, ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ but it is not enough. You know, we have nothing to give.”
By the second day here, Ismail has learned his first Norwegian word, bestefar, which means “grandfather” and is what he calls Steinvoll.
For Steinvoll, a married father of two boys now in university and a former health-care system worker, the experience of helping refugees settle has been life-altering. “Earlier I was pre-judging people,” he says. “I thought Canadians are like this, Americans are like this, Somalis are like this, they are lazy, Arabs are criminals.”
“After four weeks in this job I realized this is totally wrong. Now when I am out speaking about my job I say that. I find some guys in the audience and I say, refugees are like me and you and are totally different, and they need to be treated as individuals, with respect.”
Osman was one of the first refugees here. After two years, he is already fluent in Norwegian and English. Recently, his wife and four children joined him, also accepted as refuges. Osman is eager to help Ismail and already knew his story, since he had read the local news report in the summer of 2009, when Ismail and the other boys had their limbs amputated.
Osman had also escaped the Shabab, which is designated a terrorist group in both Canada and the U.S. “They are animals,” he says. “They are lions eating the hands of the people.”
The 30-year-old is a trained nurse but worked for the Coca-Cola plant in Mogadishu making syrup, which was a more lucrative job and one he needed as an only child, having to support his parents, wife and young children.
But the Shabab wanted him. “I was told I had to be prepared like a good soldier because I was so strong,” he recalls. “I had to be prepared to hold big mortars. I was told it was the military and I said, ‘No, no, I won’t take a gun.’ ”
They accused him of working for a “Jewish company,” and came looking for him. Instead they found his parents and executed them both.
Abdul Hassan had read about Ismail’s plight in a January 2010 Star article and vowed to help him. When he met Ismail four months later in Mogadishu, he was captivated by the teenager.
Along with members of Toronto’s Somali diaspora who started Project Ismail, Hassan managed to get Ismail from Mogadishu to Nairobi. The Star agreed to not disclose the exact route of the escape as that could jeopardize the lives or jobs of his rescuers. “Abdul Hassan” is actually an alias, since the Canadian father of three still lives in Nairobi, where al Shabab has a presence.
Sponsorship requests often take months to process — in the case of Canada’s busy Nairobi bureau, sometimes years. Hassan said he was happy to adopt Ismail during that time and shelter him in his Nairobi apartment with his children.
“Just psychologically, that day I prepared for the long haul, maybe a year, two years,” Hassan says.
But still, until accompanying Ismail here Hassan was nervous for the teenager. Ismail had cousins and his half-brother in Norway but they lived hundreds of miles south in Oslo.
But once Hassan met Steinvoll and saw Ismail’s new life, he was relieved. “I’m not sure we could have asked for any better,” he says.
Like most Somali-born Canadians, Hassan loves his adopted country and despairs about the unending war in his homeland. Hassan has worked over the years in more than one profession to help bring peace to Somalia.
“When you are young and out of school, you’re an idealist and you think you can change the world overnight,” he says, reflecting upon the past year and looking at Ismail. “Things don’t happen that quick, but little by little. You can’t change the whole country but . . .” he trails off.
He remained in Harstad for five days before having to return to his sons in Nairobi. He vowed to visit Ismail often.
With the teenager now safe, the members of Toronto’s Project Ismail are hoping to continue their work and rescue the other three young men who had their limbs amputated alongside Ismail.
Two of the boys remain in Somalia and one has reportedly made it to nearby Djibouti.
Ismail is also concerned about the friends and family he had to leave back home, which include his mother and younger siblings.
He hadn’t told his mother where he was going, but called as soon as he arrived. She couldn’t believe he was half a world away.
“It’s okay now I’m safe,” he said into the phone, then lowered his voice: “Tell my little brother to study hard and whatever I do, I’m going to pay for his university.”
Asked how his mother replied, Ismail said: “She told me, ‘The only thing I can afford is to pray for you.’ ”
Source: Toronto Star
No comments:
Post a Comment