http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/ What's on the minds of young leaders from around the globe? en-us http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/633585 As a beneficiary of many of such initiatives I cannot underestimate the huge role such noble causes and initiatives are playing in empowering the over half of the world’s population (young people). I would not over burden you with statistics as you have seen many and read about lots of them. The purpose of this article or essay which ever way you might call it, is to shed light on the growing number of young people that are been left behind because of lack of imaginative and creative leadership on the part of youth leaders and challenges of technologies in the so called third world.

More than half of Africa’s population is under the age of eighteen, yet many of our elders, teachers, and governments try to persuade us we are victims of slavery. We cannot deny the inhumane treatment our ancestors got from past generations of western citizens but is not an excuse that generations later we are still been made to look back. They went further to lay blame on the Breton Hood institutions and conspiracies for our backwardness, poor infrastructural development, diseases, conflicts; they only fell short of blaming the Greek gods. When in effect we are victims of our leader’s greed, corruption, nepotism, hypocrisy, and short sightedness, one can only speak about the burden we are carrying as citizens of Africa. The mad rush of our politicians toward self enrichment has become all too obvious. A ruling caste had arisen in our countries which based its power on the sowing of hatred, on pitting brother against brother, on liquidating everyone who held a view different from theirs. On the old continent a change of generations or players does not always bring relief.
If only because old habits expectation and role models die hard. Today sad as it may seems the current generation is steadily following the footsteps of our leaders.

As the wave if youth led development, empowerment initiatives sweep across the continent I cannot help but marvel at the number of young people been left behind underpowered. Due to technological advancement many young people who after attending one or two workshops through the internet have assumed the roles of youth consultants and developments experts on the continent. Opportunities though vast are limited to urban or city youths who have no idea the disheartening effects of poverty and even if they do are at the privileges of hours sitting behind internet cafes filling forms for the next international conference. From Bawku to Accra there are hundreds of youth groups claiming to be campaigning on social and developmental issues, their actions are anything but seeking opportunities to line in their pockets hundreds and thousands of $. They seek quick fortunes and build organisations credible enough on the internet. Many of the workshops and conferences aimed at empowering young people on the continent for immediate and future challenges are attended by youth who are qualified to be there by virtue of their youthfulness, yet do not belong to a community or group to impart the knowledge they have gained. Many of them are pompous and are ignorant of the plight of the ordinary youth living in the rural and poor urban settings who by no faults of theirs do not have the privilege of the internet or the resources. Like our leaders we scramble for every available position and carry needless titles. Ironically after attending conferences for which we have neither contributed anything meaningful, yet proud to openly advertise and add the latest of our country of conquest. Once I sat through a presentation at an international conference from two youth leaders from Ghana and Sierra Leone, I bowed my head in shame as they struggle to get the words out and convince the audience that they do what they were talking about, as sweat form all over their faces, though one of them claim to be a consultant on youth affairs, when he had never travel outside the confines of his modest family home in Accra, the capital of Ghana prior to that conference.

For six to seven years as I traveled through the length and breadth of Ghana working with many youth leaders, who go through enormous challenges and obstacles trying to make genuine difference and imparting knowledge to less resourced youths, I have nothing but deep respect for the creativeness and tenacity of some of the youth leaders we have in Ghana and Africa. In the same vain ashamed at some of the sheer greed, corruption, opportunists, and tribalism some of them propagate discreetly through their narrow mindedness. In the shadow of some of our leaders we are promoting injustice to our fellow youths and countrymen which has dogged the continent. Through ignorance we are creating elitism among our generation and building walls against proper integration of our diverse ethnic groups and opinions.

The thousands of campaigns that have been launched to achieve the UN Millennium goals have been confined on the internet and a few sporadic workshops in major cities. It is no wonder that 80% percent of the youth population in Obuasi, Upper Denkyira and greater part of rural and semi-urban towns in Ghana have not even come across the millennium development goals. Least its significance. What is the use of this campaigns and empowerment when only the elite of youth understand them?

Among a section of the youth success is measured on how many countries you have been able to gain entry visas .It has become a bench mark on which hundreds of youth set their target on. Only a few legitimately want the opposite.

Like the peacebuilders and government officials in the Northern Ghana who have tried to force connection with the local people by establishing their own contact groups, consisting of journalist, business people, human rights activists, civil society and other community leaders to the negotiating table. But they are no substitute for the uninformed public and vast majority of illiterates who really matter for the sustainability of peace in the three Northern Regions.

To meet donor requirement for this internet based youth organisation and the opportunity to embezzle funds these youth organisations hold large workshops that are often prepared hurriedly and are not particularly incisive. Participants rarely know the issues to be discussed ahead of time and seldom feel afterwards that they have been empowered except for the benefit of the per-diem.

However there are few youth organisations, groups who are quiet heroes and heroines trying to make a difference in the face of daunting odds. It’s unfortunate that the higher the African officials go in the hierarchy, the greater our sense of entitlement. As Robert Calderisi remarked in his book `the trouble with Africa` African leader’s water their roots but their sensitivity, imagination and ambition do not stray very far from their home.
They go at every lengthen to strengthen their ethnic and cultural ties whiles in power and position of affluence. The same trend is setting in the youth leaders where you will visit an office and be struck with the lack of diversity and opinion. The leader surrounds him/herself with his tribal men and women. His initiative barely goes beyond his hometown.

For changes to emerge on a continent deeply wounded by poverty and conflicts, we need to question the moral justification of continuing a path that has divided us for generations.

By Rashid Zuberu

]]> Mon, 06 Apr 2009 17:25:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/633585 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333 http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/499811
My mum always worried about me losing my life. It was her dream to see me in school and become a doctor. She said that the greatest thing in life was to be a servant to others so that Allah can bless you and that you have to have a big heart to contain life miseries.

My mum was inside cooking one day whiles I was outside playing with my friends; all of a sudden a group of armed men in a jeep got out and started firing in all direction. Some of my friends were shot, I ran as far as I could on my tinny feet. My mother was shouting and screaming at me. She was crying and cursing me for nearly losing my life as she held me tight to her chest. Tears of seeing me alive fell from her cheeks. I was sorry for my friends as they could not make it. The agony of losing my friends will linger on for ever. The scares of an unwanted civil war.

The lives of many innocent children, the tattered clothes of many widows and the bony cheeks of widowers. It’s the true story of a never ending war. Our people have been reduced to beggars. We have no resources so our plight is not reported, the lives of mutilated children do not make news. Its does not make news when our mothers are killed, our fathers are killed. Its not as if we are barbaric, it’s not as if the world has never seen such acts of brutalities before. We are different because we are Somalis and Africans. It’s the most dangerous place on earth to be, yet it only makes the news when weapons are stolen, when ships are high jacked. We will not give up the fight for peace just because the world has forgotten us. We will care for our children no matter the odds; we will care for our land. They say we are a failed State; there is no remedy for our situation so we are left to perish. I realize that when one travels the road of life weathering storms and standing in the eye of many hurricanes, survival is determine by the strength of ones will. Our sacrifices have been many, our complaints few. And all along we the people of Somalia knew what the land holds, no matter our plight without reservations.

We had to move to the border of Ethiopia where we lived in tents and open spaces. It was hot but you had no choice. A life of a refugee, living in a different country, speaking different dialect. Where you are viewed with suspicion. You have to prove yourself. If you are an African, its double tragedy as your identity can be contentious as many rural Africans are not registered at birth. You will be locked up for an indefinite period till your identity is proven.

The life of a refugee is a forgotten one. The open mass media use you for publicity; the NGOs and inter-governmental agency use you as a tool for their work and as a means of livelihood. You cannot comprehend the daily struggles that refugees go through, the psychological trauma of losing your identity, your love ones, your family, the open racism and hypocrisy. You are only a tool for more misery and fear. Nothing can atone for the life that you have lost. The people you left behind, the opportunities of your homeland.

On the road to Ethiopia, there was a man and his family who had all their possession on their head, trekking the long journey along with the thousands of us fleeing the fighting. There was this boy who had AK 47 in his hand, I can never forget this as it was the most traumatizing experience I had ever had to witness; not even nearly losing my life was as traumatic as this. The boy wielding the gun came behind us, called on the man and shot him. The woman with tears dripping down her eyes held on tight to their little boy and asked him not to look as they trek along the journey. She couldn’t hold her tears neither could she look at her dead husband. Many lost their lives on the journey either through hunger and thirst or through the barrel of a gun.

Back in Ethiopia we struggled to cope with life as a refugee, my mum will go around to look for food in the camps so I could get something to eat. We had no money and had to do with food rationing.

My mother found work in the camp as we had no money on us and it was crucial if we are to survive. The money she got proved crucial as we had to pay our way through a journey on the desert to Spain. Our boat capsized but mum wouldn’t let go of me, she held me like an egg. It was so cold, I looked deep in my mum eyes and for the first time on our journey I saw fear. A fear a 10 year old kid could not understand. Its was a miracle but we were saved by the Spanish coast guards. My mum was rushed to the hospital for treatment. She had bruises all over and was very cold.

At the camp on the Spanish island. It was like a prison, the trauma was nothing compared to our years of toil on the streets of Somalia. You are more like a criminal than human seeking a better and safer place to live. My mum will cry everyday; she couldn’t believe her eyes at the sight of so many miserable Africans. She would have preferred to die in Somalia than come die on an Island in a miserable situation with no end in sight. We were birds in a cage – a cage bird was more appropriate.

Uncle Khalid a fellow Somali hanged himself. He couldn’t bear the shame and misery any more. The world has no place for us. May be we are not humans enough, I was very sad to hear the news of Uncle Khalid death. The pain of seeing a fellow country man death was too much for mama. She never recovered since that tragic episode, couple with the experience at sea, she died a few weeks later. Mama could not fly away high although she reached the other side. I was moved to a foster home after mama’s death. I lost a mother I could never replace. I cherished mama. I couldn’t stay in Spain because of the pain of losing mama, so I went to Canada.

Why the world so cruel, mama was only trying to find a safe place for her child, Uncle Khalid lost his life for wanting to escape death and seeking a sanctuary.
I don’t know why it’s so difficult for people to understand, my experiences are a scar in my mind and heart.


This article was inspired by Lady Aisha…a friend I am still discovering.

By Rashid Zuberu
]]> Fri, 10 Oct 2008 17:06:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/499811 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333 http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/499803
My mum was inside cooking one day whiles I was outside playing with my friends; all of a sudden a group of armed men in a jeep got out and started firing in all direction. Some of my friends were shot, I ran as far as I could on my tinny feet. My mother was shouting and screaming at me. She was crying and cursing me for nearly losing my life as she held me tight to her chest. Tears of seeing me alive fell from her cheeks. I was sorry for my friends as they could not make it. The agony of losing my friends will linger on for ever. The scares of an unwanted civil war.

The lives of many innocent children, the tattered clothes of many widows and the bony cheeks of widowers. It’s the true story of a never ending war. Our people have been reduced to beggars. We have no resources so our plight is not reported, the lives of mutilated children do not make news. Its does not make news when our mothers are killed, our fathers are killed. Its not as if we are barbaric, it’s not as if the world has never seen such acts of brutalities before. We are different because we are Somalis and Africans. It’s the most dangerous place on earth to be, yet it only makes the news when weapons are stolen, when ships are high jacked. We will not give up the fight for peace just because the world has forgotten us. We will care for our children no matter the odds; we will care for our land. They say we are a failed State; there is no remedy for our situation so we are left to perish. I realize that when one travels the road of life weathering storms and standing in the eye of many hurricanes, survival is determine by the strength of ones will. Our sacrifices have been many, our complaints few. And all along we the people of Somalia knew what the land holds, no matter our plight without reservations.

We had to move to the border of Ethiopia where we lived in tents and open spaces. It was hot but you had no choice. A life of a refugee, living in a different country, speaking different dialect. Where you are viewed with suspicion. You have to prove yourself. If you are an African, its double tragedy as your identity can be contentious as many rural Africans are not registered at birth. You will be locked up for an indefinite period till your identity is proven.

The life of a refugee is a forgotten one. The open mass media use you for publicity; the NGOs and inter-governmental agency use you as a tool for their work and as a means of livelihood. You cannot comprehend the daily struggles that refugees go through, the psychological trauma of losing your identity, your love ones, your family, the open racism and hypocrisy. You are only a tool for more misery and fear. Nothing can atone for the life that you have lost. The people you left behind, the opportunities of your homeland.

On the road to Ethiopia, there was a man and his family who had all their possession on their head, trekking the long journey along with the thousands of us fleeing the fighting. There was this boy who had AK 47 in his hand, I can never forget this as it was the most traumatizing experience I had ever had to witness; not even nearly losing my life was as traumatic as this. The boy wielding the gun came behind us, called on the man and shot him. The woman with tears dripping down her eyes held on tight to their little boy and asked him not to look as they trek along the journey. She couldn’t hold her tears neither could she look at her dead husband. Many lost their lives on the journey either through hunger and thirst or through the barrel of a gun.

Back in Ethiopia we struggled to cope with life as a refugee, my mum will go around to look for food in the camps so I could get something to eat. We had no money and had to do with food rationing.

My mother found work in the camp as we had no money on us and it was crucial if we are to survive. The money she got proved crucial as we had to pay our way through a journey on the desert to Spain. Our boat capsized but mum wouldn’t let go of me, she held me like an egg. It was so cold, I looked deep in my mum eyes and for the first time on our journey I saw fear. A fear a 10 year old kid could not understand. Its was a miracle but we were saved by the Spanish coast guards. My mum was rushed to the hospital for treatment. She had bruises all over and was very cold.

At the camp on the Spanish island. It was like a prison, the trauma was nothing compared to our years of toil on the streets of Somalia. You are more like a criminal than human seeking a better and safer place to live. My mum will cry everyday; she couldn’t believe her eyes at the sight of so many miserable Africans. She would have preferred to die in Somalia than come die on an Island in a miserable situation with no end in sight. We were birds in a cage – a cage bird was more appropriate.

Uncle Khalid a fellow Somali hanged himself. He couldn’t bear the shame and misery any more. The world has no place for us. May be we are not humans enough, I was very sad to hear the news of Uncle Khalid death. The pain of seeing a fellow country man death was too much for mama. She never recovered since that tragic episode, couple with the experience at sea, she died a few weeks later. Mama could not fly away high although she reached the other side. I was moved to a foster home after mama’s death. I lost a mother I could never replace. I cherished mama. I couldn’t stay in Spain because of the pain of losing mama, so I went to Canada.

Why the world so cruel, mama was only trying to find a safe place for her child, Uncle Khalid lost his life for wanting to escape death and seeking a sanctuary.
I don’t know why it’s so difficult for people to understand, my experiences are a scar in my mind and heart.


This article was inspired by Lady Aisha…a friend I am still discovering.

By Rashid Zuberu
]]> Fri, 10 Oct 2008 17:02:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/499803 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333 http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/499805
My mum was inside cooking one day whiles I was outside playing with my friends; all of a sudden a group of armed men in a jeep got out and started firing in all direction. Some of my friends were shot, I ran as far as I could on my tinny feet. My mother was shouting and screaming at me. She was crying and cursing me for nearly losing my life as she held me tight to her chest. Tears of seeing me alive fell from her cheeks. I was sorry for my friends as they could not make it. The agony of losing my friends will linger on for ever. The scares of an unwanted civil war.

The lives of many innocent children, the tattered clothes of many widows and the bony cheeks of widowers. It’s the true story of a never ending war. Our people have been reduced to beggars. We have no resources so our plight is not reported, the lives of mutilated children do not make news. Its does not make news when our mothers are killed, our fathers are killed. Its not as if we are barbaric, it’s not as if the world has never seen such acts of brutalities before. We are different because we are Somalis and Africans. It’s the most dangerous place on earth to be, yet it only makes the news when weapons are stolen, when ships are high jacked. We will not give up the fight for peace just because the world has forgotten us. We will care for our children no matter the odds; we will care for our land. They say we are a failed State; there is no remedy for our situation so we are left to perish. I realize that when one travels the road of life weathering storms and standing in the eye of many hurricanes, survival is determine by the strength of ones will. Our sacrifices have been many, our complaints few. And all along we the people of Somalia knew what the land holds, no matter our plight without reservations.

We had to move to the border of Ethiopia where we lived in tents and open spaces. It was hot but you had no choice. A life of a refugee, living in a different country, speaking different dialect. Where you are viewed with suspicion. You have to prove yourself. If you are an African, its double tragedy as your identity can be contentious as many rural Africans are not registered at birth. You will be locked up for an indefinite period till your identity is proven.

The life of a refugee is a forgotten one. The open mass media use you for publicity; the NGOs and inter-governmental agency use you as a tool for their work and as a means of livelihood. You cannot comprehend the daily struggles that refugees go through, the psychological trauma of losing your identity, your love ones, your family, the open racism and hypocrisy. You are only a tool for more misery and fear. Nothing can atone for the life that you have lost. The people you left behind, the opportunities of your homeland.

On the road to Ethiopia, there was a man and his family who had all their possession on their head, trekking the long journey along with the thousands of us fleeing the fighting. There was this boy who had AK 47 in his hand, I can never forget this as it was the most traumatizing experience I had ever had to witness; not even nearly losing my life was as traumatic as this. The boy wielding the gun came behind us, called on the man and shot him. The woman with tears dripping down her eyes held on tight to their little boy and asked him not to look as they trek along the journey. She couldn’t hold her tears neither could she look at her dead husband. Many lost their lives on the journey either through hunger and thirst or through the barrel of a gun.

Back in Ethiopia we struggled to cope with life as a refugee, my mum will go around to look for food in the camps so I could get something to eat. We had no money and had to do with food rationing.

My mother found work in the camp as we had no money on us and it was crucial if we are to survive. The money she got proved crucial as we had to pay our way through a journey on the desert to Spain. Our boat capsized but mum wouldn’t let go of me, she held me like an egg. It was so cold, I looked deep in my mum eyes and for the first time on our journey I saw fear. A fear a 10 year old kid could not understand. Its was a miracle but we were saved by the Spanish coast guards. My mum was rushed to the hospital for treatment. She had bruises all over and was very cold.

At the camp on the Spanish island. It was like a prison, the trauma was nothing compared to our years of toil on the streets of Somalia. You are more like a criminal than human seeking a better and safer place to live. My mum will cry everyday; she couldn’t believe her eyes at the sight of so many miserable Africans. She would have preferred to die in Somalia than come die on an Island in a miserable situation with no end in sight. We were birds in a cage – a cage bird was more appropriate.

Uncle Khalid a fellow Somali hanged himself. He couldn’t bear the shame and misery any more. The world has no place for us. May be we are not humans enough, I was very sad to hear the news of Uncle Khalid death. The pain of seeing a fellow country man death was too much for mama. She never recovered since that tragic episode, couple with the experience at sea, she died a few weeks later. Mama could not fly away high although she reached the other side. I was moved to a foster home after mama’s death. I lost a mother I could never replace. I cherished mama. I couldn’t stay in Spain because of the pain of losing mama, so I went to Canada.

Why the world so cruel, mama was only trying to find a safe place for her child, Uncle Khalid lost his life for wanting to escape death and seeking a sanctuary.
I don’t know why it’s so difficult for people to understand, my experiences are a scar in my mind and heart.


This article was inspired by Lady Aisha…a friend I am still discovering.

By Rashid Zuberu
]]> Fri, 10 Oct 2008 17:02:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/499805 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333 http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/458497 Its mroning,the weeds are wet,i cannot make music.The weeds are always wet in the morning
but today its different,the heavens opened it doors on mother earth.
Hmm, my feet will be cold and dirty and my teacher will scorn me.Anyway i will have to leave home early
to avoid the teacher seeing my dirty feet. Yet again it will be boring as i have to
travel 10 miles to school and back without the rythm of my feet on the dry leaves.I love the forest
its green, the sound from the birds.they help me deal with the stress of walking the long distance to school
everyday.My feet hurts all the time i have no shoes.My auntie has promised to buy me one
as a christmas gift if i do well in my exams.Wait a minute how am i going to pass my exams when i have to work
after school everyday.But it will be a dream to have shoes on, its funny but i long to hear the sound
of my feet in a shoe.I will be the first person to have shoes on in my school.i will
be a star just like the lady in the Ghanaian movie on the poster on my uncles mud wall....Hey stop right here,
i just remembered there is no electricity in my village but the stars and moon lite up my
village.
It gives me light to study,yeah i have to start preparing for school...my uniform is tattered,torn from the
arm pit right down to my waist. I have to get a needle from the neighbour to saw up my uniform.I am late now i
will do that when i am back.
The dense of the forest bring hope ,my bird friend akan wonders why the forest is becoming bare,whiles so
many of the animals are moving away...akan know but he wants to be sure....
In the night sky,twinkling quite bright with the light of the moon,its a magnificent sight,lying in the meadow,
crickets trilling hushed.Peaceful and calm.Nothing to be rushed.Rivers proceeding,forest arising,suns waking up,
nothing surprising.Birds going to fetch some food for their young,its still so quiet.Besides whats being sung.
The morning air,as fresh as the spring,perfectness about,what nature will bring.The dancing feet of people,
makes music for the soul,it tells story of sorrow and hope
The cry for help from their feet,ignite the passion of togetherness and abandon the sorrows and emptiness of
independence.My feet tells the direction and stress am under,it gives me away so easily as the birds can tell
where i am headed and what in my mind.I hold my book for a chance of a better life but my world surrounded by
a measure of uncertainty..
As i am part of a new generation of children to be educated in my village.My teacher tells us stories of chaos
out there for which i am ignorant off.But what can be out there which is more sorrowful than watching my mum lose
her sight and her legs rotten from a strange disease,what emptiness is out there than watching my younger
brother die of malaria.What world is out there which is worse than having no medical post for pregnant women
who are victims of death through child birth at my village.My teacher says the world out there is cruel and
that the people in it are like a chess `Oware` (mable game).But i am tempted to believe that there is no life out
there much cruel like seeing your uncles head chopped off and having your auntie disfufured without help.Its
mental torture...now i have to work in this cruel conditions to take care of my mum
and my two siblings..i want education but no one to help,
its a relief to be finally in school,even if its temporary..
I know the sounds of my dancing feet and music from my bird friend `akan` will
carry me through the sorrows of my young life.
This note is dedicated to Patience Adams of Kramokrom DA primary school..a little girl with extraordinary
story to tell the world even if there is no audience to listen...i shed tears in my eyes for you!!]]> Tue, 19 Aug 2008 15:30:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/458497 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333 http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/455093 The congress has been amazing with lots of people and skills building works to learn and share skills whiles contributing positively to a better world.

The congress is already in its 4 day but but the experience is so amazing and i urge you all to keep an eye on this page...]]> Thu, 14 Aug 2008 15:20:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/455093 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333 http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/449743
In the village of Kramokrom, a lost village in the centre of a rainforest is found a paradise seemly devoid of man’s destructive usage of nature. A closer look at the lives of the people tells a story of lost hope and despair. As morning approaches and the sun begin to raise and set in the west, the sight oh children wearing tattered clothes, looking malnourish and pale sums up the plight of children in this lost village. They faced abuse on a daily basis, used as slaves and had no education, no one had heard of their plight. No one cared about them; their plight had never been reported.

From September to December 2007 without any official statistics I had witnessed three pregnant women die due to the fact that, there was no vehicle to convey them to the district hospital as they faced complications during the night of supposed delivery. The cause of death was obvious but apparently it was normal for pregnant women to lose their lives this way at the village so no one cared. As I worked through the forest with a friend from Spain we came across a seven year old girl, crying uncontrollably, her parents were gone to the farm leaving her very sick at home to take care of herself. We approached and touched the little girl’s forehead; we were both moved with tears. She had a temperature as high as 100.7, a closer examination also found a big boil on one of her thighs. She was in pain but no one to help her. We did what was humanly possible to save her but she couldn’t survive the 6 miles journey on foot.

Sara, as we later got to know was a primary 2 pupil from Kramokrom D/A primary school. Full of life and had always wanted to be a nurse. Its was a long shot for a girl in an unknown village but for children of this village, its alright to dream.

A dream of a better life, an illusion they know is untenable owing to their present situation.

]]> Wed, 06 Aug 2008 03:54:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/449743 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333 http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/442471
They run away from their home, their home a safe place. A place they have adored since they were young. They leave because it’s not safe anymore, because they cannot feed their families, because they have lost hope in the land they once cherished. It hurts them to leave but what can they do, they have two option. First they can stop fleeing and die by the bullets. Secondly by hunger and starvation and torture.

Yes this is the story of the cage birds. They all have different stories to tell. They travel from far away lands seeking that elusive dream. A dream of better life. A life of dignity filled with respect. But wait a minute, dreams can be a façade. Like the birds in the cage, it was once free; it could do whatever it wanted. ‘Hmm, it dreamt of traveling around the world in search of a paradise……a paradise it hoped is filled with milk, butter and bread. “Oh, no it stopped on the way whiles pursuing it dreams.



Captured just half way through it journey, ‘oh, what an irony…..It felt pains all over, It joints hurt and wings had died out on it….The dream is fast becoming an illusion…each passing day as it spends it time in the lonely cage. No it can’t give up now, very soon it will be free…..days gone by, there is no sign of freedom, frustration begins to set in, the food taste sour now, the water is no more fresh and this metal fence which prevent it from freedom begins to stifle it. ‘Oh’, the stress will kill it. How it longed to be free again. The days back in the forest, there was plenty to eat, fresh fruits and water to drink…………It could fly miles and admire the beautiful green forest…there was no metal fences…..The forest was a birds paradise. But then it all began to disappear….The trees were no greener, the water was no more like the paradise we used to take our flights in. What is happening? ‘Oh, no the forest has become bare….and where are the animals? This strangers why are they fighting over food, why is there chaos in the forest….I must save the situation….I must go in search of a new paradise. But how? Yes I know…I will fly away like the other birds which used to visit this forest a long time ago.



But now here I am clipped by my wings, unable to fly. As if that isn’t enough, here is this metal fence with barb wires, watched on by the almighty eagle…Back home, there is great hope, I have found the paradise everyone is waiting on for..



A paradise that is intended to bring joy to the many sufferings. There is great confusion among them…..some say I have been captured, others think I made it. With so much expectation back home, I cannot give up now, it’s humiliating. What will they think of me a hero or a journey bird……This strangers, why are they still keeping me here, are they not witnesses to my plight and the folks back home. Yes, they do but why should they care. I can’t continue any longer, the dream has to come to an end……..but who will take my letter back to them…..a letter filled with messages of sorrow and pain. It’s a shame it has to come to an end like this…..with me in a cage. It’s the irony of a dream.



This article is dedicated to the thousands of illegal Immigrants held in detention centres around the world.

By Rashid Zuberu

(shahiddisu@ yahoo.com)]]> Wed, 30 Jul 2008 06:33:00 EDT http://shahiddisu.tigblog.org/post/442471 45.5 -73.583333345.5-73.5833333