Personal Narrative: The Overabundance Of Culture In Somalia

Culture is the people’s identity. Traditions, norms and society values determine how best parents bring up their children. Interactions among individuals from different cultures are platforms for acceptance and understanding among people. On the other hand, the interactions can pose culture shock and a person may end up feeling like a misfit in the new environment. The United States is a multicultural environment with the majority being whites. Other minority ethnic groups have either been born in the US or migrated there for work or studies.

I am originally from Somalia a country located in the East Africa also called “Horn of Africa”, bordered by Ethiopia, Djibouti and Kenya. I was born and raised in Kenya. However, both my parents were born and rise in Somalia, they went their school in Mogadishu, Somalia, and built their family there. Five of my siblings, we were born in Mogadishu Somalia, but unfortunately, they did not had the opportunity to experience them early childhood in Somalia. In a brief history the Republic of Somalia has had its ups and downs with unrest, starting with a war, which broke out in the early 90’s. With these conflicts came unbearable life situations and many people searched for opportunities all over the world, mainly the western continents.

My “outside” cultural influences I have: America is one of the most ethnically diverse countries in the world culturally. We have German-Americans speaking German, Filipino-Americans speaking Tagalog, Irish-Americans speaking Irish, Scandinavian-Americans speaking Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, etc., Welsh-Americans speaking Welsh, Japanese-Americans speaking Japanese, Iraqi-Americans speaking Arabian, Mexican-Americans speaking Spanish, and all Americans united in the common goal to create the best possible nation in accordance with our Constitution.

My bucket filled with images represents my surface and deep culture unique to me. I found out where I got my passions and which people influenced my culture, and what I need to do to continue to keep my culture and faith to be something I’m proud of.

I was born in the summer of 1964, to lower middle class parents, my mother was divorced with having left three young sons behind with her first husband. My father owned a very popular gas station and repair shop, by birth being the result of a torrid love affair, this topic remained in the gossip pool well into my twenties. I was kept in the dark until Jr. high school, my mother was forced to tell me part of her truth, after the principal sent a note home. My mother suffered from depression and substance abuse as a coping mechanism to sooth her pain. At the age of two my mother gave birth to my sister, although, my mother loved us, I believe her pain tortured her relentlessly. Soon my father choose alcohol to numb his

“Don’t let the Arab play dodgeball with us. He might try killing us.” As I looked around exasperatedly for the origin of this voice, I was greeted with a barrage of laughter. I did not have the cultural or linguistic qualifications to be deemed Arabic. Nor could my long, spindly arms cause harm. Yet, slowly, and in unison, each of my new sixth-grade classmates turned to stare at me. “Hey Arab, wipe that target off your forehead,” someone called out. I quickly realized my verbal assailant had mistakenly connected my tilak chandlo, a distinct Hindu forehead marking, with his own misinformed understanding of “Arab-ness.” My first lunch period ended with a bloody nose and a seat in the principal’s office. From that point forward, my future in middle school and high school appeared rather grim. The prospect of re-educating my peers seemed daunting and unmanageable.

The independent cultural experience that I chose to participate in was going to dine at the Taj Palace, in Yakima, Washington. This place is very authentic. When you walk in the restaurant, it felt very traditional because they had Indian music playing, and it was well decorated. I felt very interested in doing this experience because I have an Uncle related by marriage who is from India, and I do not know very much about this culture. Although I don’t know very much about it, I am very curious and interested in learning about it. India is a place that has always intrigued me, and has been on a list of places that I would love to travel to. Learning very surface level facts about India in school has sparked

Who has a cultural identity? Only people who lead big lives or do crazy things have things that are interesting to them, right? As it turns out, this is not true at all. Everyone has a cultural identity, and it is made of many things that might fly over our heads and seem normal to us, but completely foreign to others. Only recently have I started to delve into my identity and really started to appreciate how different I am to others, my specialties and experiences and even how I view basic life and others around me. There are thousands of factors that contribute into making you into you and me into me, and as you could go on for a very long time venturing into them, I only needed to reflect on a few to find out

Wrapped in the history and culture of East Asia. Unaware to me, I became enthralled by the language, art and culture of East Asia.  The colors are vibrant. Catching my attention, I can’t seem to look elsewhere. It took me awhile to find my fit. My parents since I a little kid had a dream for me to become a doctor. Coming to the last stages of high school I realized that was not the right choice for me because of different amount of reasons. An exceeding amount of arguments between my parents and myself. My mom came to me and told me of a major that she said would fit me. I did not know East Asian Studies was a subject until my mom researched it. At that moment I found the career to pursue. Now Even I have to admit mothers are always right.

Migration is the movement of people in and out of the country.This happens all over the world and Somalia is not acception to this, many people migrate Somalia to kenya.Migration has greatly affected Somalia in many ways.Some facts that made the Somalia in war is.War have talking over Somalia since 1991 until now and every year the war

The person I interviewed was a Somalian friend I met in middle school. Back then, I never really asked why she came to America, and now after many years I actually know the answer. Everything that is happening in Somalia right now is pretty horrifying and it is pretty obvious now why her family decided to leave everything behind, including their home and culture. Even though her family 's memories of Somalia are filled with nostalgia, they feel safe here.

I chose to write my essay about Somalia because I don’t know much about the country and I would like to learn more about it. In doing so I hope my readers will also learn something along with me. In this essay, I intend to define what culture means and to interpret the characteristics of culture in the Republic of Somalia. I will write an overview of Somalia’s topography, significant military conflicts, the impact of the weather on Somali’s, and expand on community features to learn more about Somalia.

While it is obvious that Somalia has a plethora of problems that it needs to solve before it can repair the damage it has sustained, one problem in particular is the most prohibitive to a developed Somalia. The strangle-hold on society that clans have achieved prevents any form of national identity building or institution solidification. With citizens more enticed by being a member of a clan than being a citizen of Somalia, any institutions created will be seen as just another way to enrich their clans. It is imperative that clans either be eliminated completely, or integrated into government in such a way that they sustain said government. Somalia will not be able to function as a successful state until the problem of clans has been addressed.

My earliest memories are of my best friend, my mother, reading with her, drawing with her, sleeping on her, and cooking with her. She used to read The Cat in the Hat everyday to me- so much that she memorized it. When I got older, it became The Magic Treehouse, and then Harry Potter. She had an eternal patience, and even when I made her reread a book twenty times without letting her progress past page twenty, she would oblige. She was my sole entertainer, and she took the job seriously. My mother was the one that taught me Tamil, the language that my family spoke in India. She opened the doors of religion and culture by explaining the basis of Hinduism, what each god metaphorically stood for, and spoke to me as if I were her friend, not her child. Being the inquisitive child I was, I frequently asked questions, and amazingly enough, my mother answered all of them without giving me a senseless answer

The Middle East has always had an interesting place in my heart. I was nearly four years old when Al-Queda had committed the terror attacks on the world trade center, but I was old enough to remember a little bit about what happened, but also where President Bush was sending our troops to combat the terrorist threat. Ever since then, however, I have been interested, and passionate (even fearful) of the Middle East. Growing up, my parents were (are) very religious, and it began to bleed over into their children. My three siblings and I grew up reading the Bible, formulating opinions, and looking at the world through the eyes of other people. The Middle East, for me, has always been my favorite area of historical study. It amazes me, time after