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by Hussein Ali Yusuf

                Somali Boy

Part I

Boxed and chained by the gods of the tribe
We march to the battle field; Darood against Hawiye

Young, sixteen or so, the sound of the machine gun
is music to our ears , until, until
Masgarayd cries, “I am thirsty I am thirsty, give me water”

His chest opened wide by the first wave of bullets


What was music has now become death to my friend

In that instant, mercy, compassion, love and reason-
 the pillars of humanity became foreign language-
Rage and revenge engulfs my heart

My gun cocked, ready to fire but instead I throw up
and my fingers fail to move.
I sit there- tears blinding my eyes.

“We must withdraw, “yells Abdi, his face and hands
covered with  blood.

I can hardly move

We carry Masgrayd, dragging him on the ground-
keeping our upper
bodies low, hiding
from the flying bullets.

 I hold Masgrayd's
 Head, my back turned to the enemy-
Farah and John handle
the rest of his body.
His eyes are now closed.
He has lost a lot of blood.

We come home defeated for now.
Masgaryd's burial only takes 40 minutes.
No mourning for the dead.

There could be
 few crueler ways to die,
 but that rare selflessness,
of this child will be an abiding
memory for those that loved him.  

Next morning lorries line up in the city center
 ammunition and AK 47 at hand I climb
a lorry to defend the walls of the city
and seek revenge for the death of a friend

Day after day each morning finds a battle ground,
Smoke, deformed and scattered human remains

I  have not died but God knows how  long
I will last

My evenings are filled with loneliness
And I wish I were still a child playing soccer



Tired. I look in the mirror
I see not a sixteen year old but
a man in  a child's body
doing a man's work


I  think
I reason
I ask for a future

I  ask my elders “why the war”

Their answer? They have none except that
 the Hawiyas' are cruel, ignorant, blood thirsty,
racist and of course ill-mannered

In the evening before he died, Masgaryd swore
“I am going to defend the city, our families
and our sisters”

Part II

This was the difference between him and I. He was always the quick and
  passionate one.
On the soccer field, through thick and thin-
  he put himself through the mill again,
Fortune stubbornly refused to smile on his final fling.

He hated to lose whereas
I come home visibly distraught but accepting loss.
We depended on him in the defense.
His passes always found their target, ME because
He had a way to read the game.
What I remember the most about this warrior is  
his defensive master class in central defense,

it was position more typical taste
of his resourcefulness and enduring quality.

Off the soccer field, I remember

His smile. His integrity. His love for community,
And his ever undying  loyalty.



That last night I would ever see his face- he came over and
 looked me in the eye and demanded
“You must come with us and fight
you are not a child any more
there is no time for childhood

I had no answer for him

I had one for myself.
I was going to leave for somewhere far away.

Sadly, I did.