It Takes a School

by Jonathan Starr

  Key members of the Somali community are now claiming that Khadar is trying to rally religious leaders against Abaarso. To counteract this, Abaarso plans to host a meeting on campus to show religious leaders that in fact the school is highly respectful to Islam. The leaders can watch students going about their day, observing prayer times and going to the mosque. The imams would be free to ask questions of anyone. We have nothing to hide. However, the night before the event is to take place, I receive a phone call from Somaliland’s vice minister of education requesting that I delay the meeting, as Khadar is gathering the anti-Abaarso forces to create a disturbance at the campus. Harry also receives a call from the head of the police in Abaarso Village, warning him of an increased security risk due to the planned protest.

  On the day the religious leaders are scheduled to come to campus, Khadar’s driver comes to the gate of the school, accompanied by about twenty of Khadar’s relatives from the village. They intend to disturb the planned meeting with the religious leaders, which is now canceled.

  The accusations increase. Our students at American boarding schools report that their families have been told that they have been kidnapped and that I need to be stopped before I abduct more students. Fadumo writes to Harry, “I, Fadumo, and all the other kids, are disgusted with the lies people are spreading about us. Waking up this morning and seeing this just breaks our hearts.” One website even runs a story picturing our students in the United States and adding them to the list of those who believe Abaarso and I are destroying Islam. The story is, of course, completely false, and I am certainly suspicious about who fabricated it.

  On December 20, Daallo reports that Somaliland’s former finance minister, Mohamed Hashi, by most accounts the most respected man in the country, is removing his daughter from the Abaarso School because of its lack of religious morality. This same story is also reported in Khadar’s Gollis. The stories are absolutely false.

  Not only has Hashi not removed his child, but two days earlier Hashi had come to the school with the parents of the girls Khadar had claimed our teacher had messaged on Facebook. The families were sorry for what was happening and upset that Khadar was using their daughters for personal gain. Mohamed Hashi was sorry, too. While it seems that the teacher had indeed written something, the families did not want to make a big deal about it and were furious that Khadar had done so without their permission. To the best I can figure it out, Khadar and his Hargeisa Programs students knew some message had been sent to the girls, but they couldn’t get it directly from them. Instead, they re-created something like it, which is what they posted. In fact, when one enlarges the online image of the dialogue, it appears to show signs of tampering. It has a blurred background everywhere there is lettering, which happens with editing, indicating the Facebook conversation is a forgery.

  That they have forged evidence, however, is by no means what is most upsetting about this incident. Due to the ruling of the Higher Education Commission, Khadar is at this time the chairman of Abaarso, giving him plenty of power to raise issues internally. If he is concerned about a teacher then he should bring any evidence of a possible cultural insult to me. If I fail to act then he could raise it to the entire board. Not that this would have even been necessary, as after talking to the girls and their parents we decide on our own to send the teacher home. This was partially for his own safety, but also because his actions violated our school’s policy of always being respectful to the local culture and religion.

  If disciplining this teacher was Khadar’s goal, then such an outcome was easy to achieve internally. Instead, I didn’t even find out about the situation until I read about it in the news. My only explanation for this handling, as well as all the attacks that followed, was that the Abaarso chairman aimed to discredit Abaarso and its employees, in a move that could endanger the school and its staff.

  The news report about Mohamed Hashi has put the teachers in the most dangerous situation since the start of Abaarso. It is the first time I truly feel at risk. Mohamed Hashi’s reputation is impeccable, his connection to the government even a big reason why people voted them into power, and if Mohamed Hashi says Abaarso is immoral, then people will believe it. At that point, even our own guards could shoot us. I take to sleeping with a baseball bat next to my bed.

  Also on the afternoon of December 20, another of Khadar’s close relatives holds a press conference at the hotel he owns in Hargeisa. In attendance are a few of Khadar’s current Hargeisa Programs students and a couple of Abaarso School dropouts. They step before the cameras to claim that Abaarso taught Christianity and that I committed sins against Islam. The video runs that evening on two networks, Bulsho TV and Horn Cable TV. Almost all programming is paid for in Somaliland, even the news. When we asked why they ran it, we are told that Khadar has paid for the video to be played. That same day, a story accusing me of being “anti-Islam” is posted on Gollis, as well as Daallo. With the television and print press proclaiming sins, arguably a thinly veiled call for action against us, the campus is reeling. The students are devastated that their own countryman would do such a thing. One begs me, “Please go home. It is not right that you should have to suffer this.”

  The following day, according to officials at the Ministry of Education, Khadar visits four mosques in Hargeisa to spread the message that Abaarso employees are anti-Islam and need to be stopped. That same day, several of Khadar’s Hargeisa Programs students also visit mosques claiming that members of my staff and I are committing sins against Islam. A leader at one of the mosques reportedly then tells his congregation that it needs to do something to stop the Americans. Thankfully, Mohamed Hashi steps in to speak to the imam, telling him this is a lie. Many of our male students do, too, visiting whatever mosques they can to ask where such information has come from and to explain the truth.

  Mubarik writes an article for publication in defense of the school and the teachers. But the accusations do not stop, with at least one of Khadar’s Hargeisa Programs students continuing to post claims on Facebook that I am a Christian missionary. Defamatory stories about me and my school continue to appear, with Geeska Afrika, the most widely distributed newspaper in Hargeisa, running the same news story that had appeared on Gollis several days earlier, in which I am called anti-Islamic. The story also alleges that our Arabic and Islamic Studies teacher, a man of Egyptian origin, has left Abaarso because the school is not religious enough. This is patently false.

  Upset over the publication, an official from the Ministry of Education contacts the editor of Geeska Afrika and is told that a group of students from Khadar’s Hargeisa Programs have approached him four times with this article, and that each time he has denied them, but it has slipped through the editorial office on his day off without his knowledge.

  At Abaarso, we are now in an all-out war, not just to save the school but also to save our lives. Of all the things I imagined that could have gone wrong, it had never occurred to me that I would be accused of being a covert anti-Islamic Christian missionary, with these rumors fueled by a U.S.-educated man who had told me he wasn’t religious. I could barely sleep as I worked through all the news, all our retorts, and all of the anxiety about what I’d wake up to next.

  PART SIX

  WINNING THE SOCIETY

  Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.

  —OSCAR WILDE

  38

  MISS MARPLE

  Given our history of government challenges, I wouldn’t normally welcome the sight of two Higher Education commissioners walking through our gates. But one look at their faces tells me the dynamics have changed. “Apologetic” isn’t exactly the word to describe it, though that might also be true. Upon seeing me, their shoulders shrugged, as if to say, “Sorry. If we had known Khadar was this bad…”

  Khadar’s strategy of launching a full-on attack of Abaarso, both by trying to have me deported and by generating negative media, won him support from those who didn’t know better and those who were a
ll too happy believing the worst—some competitor schools, for example. It was a bold move that raised his prospects for a quick and decisive victory. But the strategy was also a risky one, as his true intentions would be revealed. Until this recent attack, he’d painted the Abaarso battle as Khadar versus Jonathan, which in Somaliland terms was a total mismatch. But now it wasn’t Khadar versus Jonathan. It was Khadar performing a full-on assault of a Somaliland institution and everyone connected to it.

  The latest attacks, particularly those in the media, could also be viewed as serious condemnations of the Somaliland government itself, as he’d implied that the government had failed to protect the society from our Western invasion. In addition, Somaliland had spent decades trying to project a reputation as being safe for foreigners. As Khadar’s media attacks could incite physical violence, this was serious business that the government could not support.

  In fact, the Higher Education commissioners are now on campus to clarify that they in no way support Khadar’s actions. They are sorry that we are going through this, and they want to help. While the government might not yet trust me unreservedly, Khadar has unwittingly pushed us closer together.

  As it would turn out, an Abaarso government alliance would form shortly after this visit, and it would come from the most unlikely of places—Minneapolis. One weekend during our college tours, Eli and I found ourselves in Minneapolis where Tom, our former math teacher, was then living. He knew some Somalis who, on my behalf, arranged an informal evening gathering for me at a local café, where I could talk about Abaarso, our mission, and our success. There were a couple of dozen Somalis in attendance, which was an excellent showing for such a casual event. My presentation was going well when someone suddenly interrupted me. “Tell us about the troubles you’ve dealt with,” a man at one of the tables said.

  I didn’t know who he was, but I decided to tell it all, particularly the parts about Khadar’s attempts to destroy the school. I didn’t use names; I didn’t even pause to consider the risk involved in speaking my mind, or maybe I just didn’t care anymore. But I was ready to spill.

  “I know exactly who you are talking about,” the man who had opened the dialogue said. “He’s a close relative of mine.…” Here we go, I thought. Prepare for the irrational battle.

  His next comment shocked me. “… and I know he is a liar!” I’d be less surprised if it snowed in June.

  It turned out that when Khadar had been involved in the opposition party in Somaliland, this relative had watched him behave in a scheming manner, and had even videotaped some of his bad behavior. He had then watched Khadar utterly deny the allegations. Clan loyalties run deep, but to this gentleman, there were limits. When I walked out of the café that night, the man promised to help the situation with Khadar by arranging a meeting with his cousin, an older woman who lived in Somaliland. I was skeptical, not because I questioned his intentions but because I didn’t know how his cousin could assist.

  Back in Hargeisa, I am now at the cousin’s gate, where a gentleman brings me to a lovely covered terrace garden, lush with potted plants and flowering vines. He shows me to the seating area, which is furnished with cushioned wicker chairs and a wicker couch. On the glass table in front of the couch, our tea is steeping and ready to be served. Then enters a spitfire of a woman dressed in a bright blue hijab.

  One of my favorite literary characters is Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, the little old lady genius who solves murders while maintaining an unassuming demeanor. In A Murder Is Announced, she explains her method: “A policeman asking questions is open to the grave of suspicion, but an old lady asking questions is just an old lady asking questions.” The not-so-old lady in the garden is Somaliland’s Miss Marple, and that is how I’ll refer to her.

  Miss Marple’s English is quite weak, though still better than my Somali, so we speak in English. I use simple words, staying completely on topic, and she understands everything because she knows all the players involved. Not that she shows her hand. She is just Miss Marple, the not-so-old lady asking questions.

  She speaks to me in short phrases directly on point. She has insights and advice that, while not commands, are to be taken seriously. All of this comes with an abundance of tea and cookies her British counterpart would have enjoyed.

  Many meetings follow, wherein Miss Marple heals my damaged relationship with the government. She sees Zamzam, the minister of education, a close relative and friend of hers, as the kingpin, and she masterfully works with us both until we are all in sync. My conversations with her go like this:

  “No problem with ministry,” she says.

  “Well, I am upset because of…”

  “No problem. Zamzam likes Abaarso. Zamzam likes Jonathan. Zamzam knows Jonathan works hard. Zamzam wants Abaarso to be good.”

  I’m reasonably sure she then has the same conversation with Zamzam.

  “No problem with Jonathan.”

  “Do you know what that American did…?”

  “No problem. Jonathan respects Zamzam. Jonathan respects the ministry. Jonathan appreciates all Zamzam’s help.”

  After a few of these tea and cookies sessions, I start thinking that maybe I’ve been unfair and the government is on our side after all. Miss Marple gets me to see all of them, especially Zamzam, in a new light. In my frustration, I’d been rash in response to what happened with the exam in Burao. I am now ready to move on, and my guess is that the government feels the same way.

  Another of Miss Marple’s little tricks is to invite me for tea, at which it just so happens that someone she wants me to meet is also there, such as a consultant for the Ministry of Education.

  “Sit down,” she says, directing me to a chair across from her surprise guest. “I check on the tea.” At that point, she leaves the two of us to talk. When she comes back, she makes sure we are on the same page.

  Step by step, this little lady takes two sides with deep mistrust and brings them together. It is masterfully done, without my realizing it at the time, but in the end, Abaarso and the government are on the same side. Khadar has broken what alliance he has, but it is Miss Marple who has made sure the government now partners with Abaarso.

  I am told that during this time, Miss Marple is also meeting with Khadar, working her magic with him, too. Somaliland needs good schools. It doesn’t need this war.

  Losing the government’s support is a major blow to Khadar. Without it, he has no position at Abaarso. He has taken a risk to gain a quick and decisive victory, and he hasn’t succeeded. In the meantime, he’s angered Somaliland’s leadership, and, in doing so, damaged his own reputation.

  39

  RELIGIOUS COUNCIL

  Of all of Khadar’s miscalculations, his biggest was taking on Mohamed Hashi, the former minister of finance and a famously honest man who founded Somaliland’s movement to separate from Somalia. Mohamed and his wife, Amran Ali, have been deeply involved in the school from the start, having been introduced to it by Khadar, a close relative of Mohamed’s. Their daughter Suleikha is a stellar member of our charter class.

  Amran and Mohamed have become major supporters of Abaarso and are particularly pleased that because of the school, Suleikha can now receive a proper high school education without going abroad. When Khadar had first ordered us to leave the country, Amran had been a leader among the parents making sure the school survived through it. Perhaps because of his close relations with Khadar, Mohamed had then stayed behind the scenes.

  But after Khadar’s media attacks, Mohamed spoke to the Abaarso villagers in support of the school. It was then that Gollis published the lie about Mohamed pulling Suleikha out of Abaarso. When Mohamed went on TV and to a newspaper with the truth, that he supported the school and his daughter remained an Abaarso student, Khadar’s credibility took a tremendous hit for all to see.

  Because Mohamed is a close relative of Khadar’s, almost everyone who considers Khadar to be a relative considers Mohamed to be one, too. Khadar has foolishly made the Ab
aarso fight one in which it is Khadar versus Mohamed, which means none of their mutual clansmen has any reason to support Khadar anymore. Indeed, many now shun him.

  Mohamed Hashi and Amran are by no means alone. The rest of the parents now rise to defend their children against Khadar’s attacks. This is especially true of parents who see their daughters’ honor under fire. They reach out to a religious council and bring the council members to the school. Religious councils are unofficial groups of religious figures whose purpose is to provide scholarly guidance. The particular group that came to Abaarso is the most respected in Hargeisa. One afternoon in January 2013, about a dozen religious scholars arrive in several cars, all of them dressed in traditional religious attire. The leader, Sheikh Mohamed, has been educated internationally and speaks English well.

  Abaarso’s entire student body gathers in the auditorium for the meeting with the council. The religious scholars sit up front, with the students sitting attentively in the audience. The discourse lasts for hours, during which time the council asks many questions and the students answer, explaining the truth, telling how much their teachers care for them, and all the while showing their maturity and education.

  Most of the back-and-forth is in Somali. But I join in for a bit, as does Jake Galloway, an English teacher and the dean of the boys. Jake and I discuss some issues in English, which represent a bit of our point of view. When the meeting is over, Sheikh Mohamed states that the council has been extremely impressed by the high level of education at Abaarso. In addition, he notes the strong principles the school lives by. “Abaarso has better Islamic values than most of the Somali-run schools,” one of the scholars declares. In fact, Sheikh Mohamed says he is interested in enrolling his daughter.