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Personal Narrative : Mother 's Wedding

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Mother’s wedding Before the civil war in 1991, Mogadishu used to be like any other capital city in the world. It was not different from Roma, Italy. Mogadishu traditionally served as a commercial and financial center in East Africa. Tourists used to love visiting Mogadishu and lie down on the beach to sunbathe. In those old days, local Somalis and foreigners used to enjoy the city. The city had beautiful beachfront hotels, resorts such as Jazzira, and Lido, museums, and cathedrals. Its people used to dance away at a nightclub. Back then, Mogadishu residents used to spend time swimming and having picnics and then, in the evening, they would go out to the cinema or theater. On the beaches, swimmers reclined on lounge chairs and erected big umbrellas. Women in full-body bathing suits splashed in the ocean. Ice cream and seafood were sold at the beachfront restaurants. This is the city in where my mother was born. My father, Omar Ibrahim and mother, Faiza, met at a meeting held at a local community neighborhood. My father told me they ended up exchanging contact information. They used to talk with each other as friends for a while until both fell in love. Before their relationship developed, the minister of education relocated my mother to work as a teacher in remote villages. My mother left Mogadishu. My dad’s eyes grew larger when he heard she was being transferred to the rural area. He felt upset that he would not see her for the whole year. A year later, my mother came

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