WILLMAR, Minn. — Imagine living in a one- or two-room house made of mud bricks. The bricks are a terra cotta color, as is the dust that rises from the dirt path outside your door.
Your closest neighbor probably lives only feet away in a community of a half million people, smashed into an area originally intended for 90,000.
There’s never enough to eat, and, sometimes, the little basic food you have is the currency used to obtain “luxuries” like tea, or underwear. You’d like to have a job but that isn’t allowed.
Your entire family may be with you, or just a part of it. Or, you may be alone, with no family members nearby.
If you are a boy, you have a 50-50 chance of attending a primary school, about a 20 percent chance of going on to secondary school. The numbers for girls are much lower.
That is life in Dadaab, the world’s largest refugee camp. The name symbolizes several sprawling refugee camps that surround the Kenyan city of Dadaab. It is one of many such refugee camps that have developed in Kenya, Ethiopia and other countries during the 25 years of Somali civil war.
Now, contrast that with Willmar, with its quiet streets and green, leafy trees swaying in the breeze next to a lake reflecting a blue sky.
These are the two main settings in the newly released documentary film “Warehoused.”
The film follows the struggles of the Mohamed family from their arrival at Dadaab through the years it took to make their way to the United States and finally to Willmar. Much of the story is told through the voice of elder son Liban Mohamed and his brother Abdihalim. Liban Mohamed had to stay behind when his mother, brother and sister were resettled in America. Abdihalim Mohamed is a graduate of Willmar Senior High School.
Through the story of this one family, the filmmakers hoped to illustrate the plight of millions of people who have been forced to flee their homes because of civil war, genocide, famine or other situations beyond their control.
The film premiered worldwide June 20 on World Refugee Day. A free showing at the Willmar Education and Arts Center drew more than 600 people to the auditorium. The crowd shared in traditional food from the Somali Star restaurant afterward.
In the film, experts describe the living conditions of the camps and the various organizations that work with the United Nations to provide for them. The U.N. provides food and clothing, but refugees accepting food are not allowed to work.
The title, “Warehoused,” refers to people who have been in the camps for as many as 25 years, many with little hope of ever being resettled. Less than 1 percent of Dadaab’s residents are resettled each year. In some families, generations have been born in the camps.
Liban was prevented from leaving with his family because they had started the intensive refugee screening process while he was out of the camp.
Still a young boy, he sneaked away from the camp after his father’s death with a plan to get a job and support the family. Instead, he was enslaved for months in Nairobi, washing dishes in a hotel kitchen he couldn’t leave. When he escaped and returned, he was not allowed to join his family after missing the initial interview. He waited more than eight years to join his family in Willmar.
In the film, Liban often spoke of joining his family in America and getting a job to help support them. It finally happened, and the film shows the family welcoming him at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and closes with Liban gazing at a clear Willmar lake.
The crowd gave the movie sustained applause, and many people said they found it interesting, informative and moving.
“We enjoyed it a lot,” said Sheldon Groff, a retired missionary who used to serve in Bolivia. “It gives us a better understanding.”
For Nagi Abdullahi, a Somali immigrant who works as a cultural liaison for the Willmar Public Schools, watching the movie brought back some difficult memories. While she never lived in Dadaab, she does recall her family fleeing to Ethiopia and not having enough to eat, she said. The story of family separation made her think of her own mother still in Africa.
She spoke of the culture shock and her surprise at the cold weather when she arrived, she said, but she concluded, “We are in one of the greatest countries in the world.”
Abdullahi’s friend KerriAnn Mahon said she appreciated the movie but had found it difficult to watch Abdullahi “knowing how much she misses her mother.”
Mahon, a pediatrician, said, “I think Willmar is such a remarkable place,” with ethnic businesses and schools where students from different cultures are friends.
“This is how it can work,” she said.
Willmar Vision 2040 plans to show the film at least four more times. The times and dates are still to be determined.
Lame Jokes by RK Twins
Somali-British poet Momtaza Mehri named young people’s laureate for London
THE GUARDIAN — The 24-year-old Somali-British poet Momtaza Mehri, who has been chosen as the new young people’s laureate for London, is hoping to spend her year in the role convincing young people “to see poetry as part of their every day, rather than in some dusty tome, or academic niche interest”.
Mehri, who has a background in biochemical science and wrote the poetry chapbook sugah. lump. prayer, has been shortlisted for this year’s Brunel African poetry prize and won last year’s Out-Spoken Page poetry prize. As laureate, Mehri hopes to encourage young people to voice their concerns and experiences through poetry.
The poet, from Kilburn in north-west London, was selected for the role by a panel of arts organisations and poets, and is, according to Spread the Word’s chair of trustees Rishi Dastidar, “an inspired choice” and a “poet to watch”.
“For young people to have an artist who is an ambassador for them, who brings their concerns, struggles and joys to those in authority, and the wider world, is vital,” Dastidar said. “Her poetry is precise and powerful, and rich with images that are haunting. She is not afraid to tackle the biggest of subjects, which, combined with her talent, is going to give the role a renewed sense of purpose and visibility.”
Mehri said she was exposed to oral forms of poetry by her family when growing up, but only began writing for publication around four years ago. “Over time I honed, or found, my voice, and that allowed me to feel comfortable, finding the poetic voice I felt was most suited to me. Obviously at the beginning you’re very much inspired by your influences,” she said. “I think the poetry I write is interested in questions or ideas around disruption or movement, whether it’s movement of people or places, movement between different ideas, between how things change over different generations, and in themes of migration and urban spaces.”
During her time in the role, Mehri will be looking to amplify the voices of Londoners aged between 13 and 25, “to let them lead conversations, to be as inspired by them as hopefully they can be inspired by me”. She will work with writer-development agency Spread the Word on youth-focused residencies across London, head a tour to six outer London boroughs, and co-host a special project for young London poets called The Young People’s Poetry Lab.
According to research from the National Literacy Trust, 84% of teachers who participated in a poetry programme for disadvantaged children in London schools over a five-year period said their writing skills had improved.
Outgoing young people’s laureate for London, Caleb Femi, said that “poetry has the potential to play a vital part in self-expression and artistic enjoyment in the lives of young people”.
“We need a dedicated person who can assist in integrating the joys of poetry into the everydayness of young Londoners,” he added. “We are extremely lucky to have a talented and dedicated poet such as Momtaza Mehri appointed as the new young people’s laureate for London. Her tenure is sure to be an extraordinary one.”
Mehri said that she wanted to: “Reach everybody, to allow people to see poetry as part of everyday living in London, and all the different poetry traditions that people bring to London.”
“I am very much aware of the fact that I came out of a very different poetic tradition, and what that’s brought to my writing of the English language. So I want to be aware of the fact that people are carrying different poetic influences, whether they consider themselves poets or not,” she said.
‘I grew up in a refugee camp, now I’m on the cover of Vogue’
BELFAST TELEGRAPH — Halima Aden is used to firsts. She was St Cloud, Minnesota’s first Muslim homecoming queen, and St Cloud State University’s first hijab-wearing student senator. She was the first hijab-wearing contestant to compete in Miss Minnesota USA — she wore a burkini in the swimsuit round — and the first to be signed to a major agency, IMG, the industry colossus that also represents Miranda Kerr, Karlie Kloss and Cara Delevingne.
And last week the 20-year-old became the first hijab-wearing model to appear on the cover of British Vogue. “It’s taken 102 years for there to be a hijabi model on the cover,” Aden says. “People are very proud of this moment.” Indeed, by the time the issue appeared on news stands last Friday, the cover had already gone viral.
Alongside Aden, a Somali model born in a Kenyan refugee camp, appeared other faces rarely seen on the cover of a mainstream, European fashion magazine — the mainstream European fashion magazine — including South Sudanese Adut Akech, Indian Radhika Nair, Korean Yoon Young Bae and mixed-race, plus-size Paloma Elsesser. “I think the cover really was true diversity,” Aden says. “Not a matter of ticking boxes but really people from different religions, different ethnic backgrounds, all thriving in an industry that has brought us together.”
Officially she works in this industry: she has walked Milan Fashion Week catwalks for MaxMara and Alberta Ferretti, and for Yeezy, Kanye West’s fashion line, in New York. She has appeared on the front cover of Vogue Arabia.
Unofficially she is also a full-time ambassador for her faith, and for the hijab. This is inevitable, as Aden observes, matter-of-factly. “I’m the first high-fashion hijab-wearing model. Automatically, I know there are a lot of girls looking at me. I need to be a good role model, a good representative of my faith, a good ambassador to my community.”
Being this in the hyper-visual, exposed and exposing world of fashion does, though, invite scrutiny — from within and outside her community.
Aden admits she recently cleansed her Instagram (where she has 577k followers). “I really wanted to explore a new look,” she explains.
“But I noticed that my younger followers were messaging me and saying, ‘Hey, this isn’t stuff I can wear. You’re the only person in fashion that I can look to, and you’re wearing stuff I can’t wear’. When I noticed that, I was like: ‘OK, it’s true’. I was still covered head to toe but I was trying out shorter dresses with knee-high boots. Those pictures got 60,000 likes but I wanted to stay true to my original followers. There are a million other models who can rock the same outfit but there’s not anyone besides me who can say, ‘I’m going to wear modest fashion’. I owe it to these little girls.”
Aden was born in Kakuma camp, in Kenya, in 1997. “I grew up in a refugee camp — there weren’t really many highlights,” she deadpans.
“I remember having malaria what felt like every other week. I remember scorpion bites and my mum having to apply Colgate toothpaste. It had a cooling effect.” She shrugs off any sense of victimhood. “I remember a lot of good things. When you don’t know ‘the other’, you tend to appreciate life.”
When she was seven her family went in pursuit of this ‘other’ life: Aden, her mother and younger brother were granted refuge in St Louis, Minnesota. “It was such a big deal,” she says. “A lot of Africans have the misconception that in America money grows on trees. But the neighbourhood we were in was very impoverished. You heard gunshots at night. The school I went to didn’t have an English language learners’ programme so I just went to school and listened and went home.”
After six months her mother moved the family to St Cloud on a word of mouth tip. There, teachers “would always help me, after school, during my lunch hour”. Her English is natural, her accent American.
“My mum made this quick call,” says Aden. “’I raised these kids, I went through hell and back for them, and I don’t want to risk them ending up in gangs, or in prison, or not getting a proper education’. It was really brave. African mums — I’m telling you,” she laughs.
Being crowned her school’s homecoming queen was “a big deal”.
“I’d never seen kids who are Muslim up for that, so I didn’t even think it was a possibility.”
And indeed, symbolically, it resonates: a prom is the gala event for the all-American teen experience, and she is a young Somali-American wearing a hijab.
She’s diplomatic about racial politics in contemporary, supercharged America. “Because Muslims are such a small number — one per cent in America — a lot of Americans never get to interact personally with a Muslim person.
“If you see horrible stories day in and day out on TV, you’re going to have this deep psychological fear of Muslims. It’s not right but that’s the hardest thing to show people — we’re not all the same. But fear is also human nature.”
She entered Miss Minnesota USA partly because there were scholarships up for grabs, but: “I also wanted to show other women in my home state that I didn’t conform in order to fit in. I wore a bathing suit — but it was a burkini.”
What happened next is one of those star-crossed fashion coincidences: Carine Roitfeld, former French Vogue editor, saw the pictures of her at Miss Minnesota USA and asked her to appear on the cover of CR Fashion Book, her new project and an influential countercultural industry tome. Roitfeld’s endorsement led to the IMG contract, which led to everything else.
Still, Aden was “shocked” to get the call from British Vogue editor Edward Enninful. “I met him at the British Fashion Awards in December. He was like: ‘I know we’re going to work together’. But I never imagined it being a cover story.”
For her portrait inside the magazine, Halima’s aesthetic is arch fashion: she slouches and pouts, staring down the camera in a mohair cape and woollen trousers — both Dior — and Altuzarra cowboy boots. She says it is “one of the biggest blessings that has come in my career” — though her favourite moment of the two-day shoot was off-set, shooting the breeze with fellow cover star Adut Akech.
It transpired the pair had been born in the same refugee camp. “We had a moment like The Parent Trap: ‘How old are you? What do your parents look like?’ And it was our first time meeting. Just imagine — these two girls from this camp, reunited for the first time on the cover of British Vogue. I can’t make that up.”