The year was 2018, and I had just closed my clothing store after less than six months of operation (I should definitely write about my obsession with creating a clothing brand since high school and the utter failures that came with it—not once, but three times 🤦🏾‍♀️). It was one of those moments when something doesn’t work out, and I take a step back to focus on something I’ve always wanted to do. That’s when I decided it was time to visit Somalia for the first time. Although I was born there, my family fled when I was very young, so I had no real memories of the place. Visiting Somalia had been on my mind for a long time, and 2018 felt like the perfect opportunity. I needed a break from my disappointment, and I felt that reconnecting with the motherland was exactly what I needed.
I talked to my mom and told her I wanted to visit Somalia. I wasn’t sure how to do it by myself, since I didn’t have anyone to travel with. She suggested I visit my aunt in Garowe, which she said was safer than other cities. So, I booked a three-month ticket to Somalia, excited to see the country for the first time as an adult.
The trip was one of the longest I had ever taken. I flew from Minnesota to Amsterdam, then to Mogadishu, Bosaso, and finally Garowe. The small plane from Mogadishu to Bosaso, and then to Garowe, made me nervous. It was really hot inside, especially in Bosaso, where we had to wait in the plane while people got off. I started to question my decision—if the plane was like this, I wasn’t sure what the city would be like!
When I landed at Garowe Airport, it was brand new, and my aunt later told me we were one of the first flights to land there. Even though the airport was new and nearly empty, it didn’t have air conditioning, so it was really hot and humid inside. The process of going through immigration and getting my bags took a long time, and I was exhausted.
I didn’t know what my aunt looked like, so I was really nervous, and the whole process of going through immigration was a bit intimidating. But then I saw a woman dressed in all black, wearing a niqab and full gloves, and I just knew it was my aunt. As soon as she saw me, she lifted her niqab, and I was greeted with a warm smile and a face full of familiarity. She gave me a hug, and it was exactly what I needed at that moment.
When I arrived at my aunt’s house, I was greeted by the smiles of my cousins, nieces, and nephews. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, mixed with the beautiful scent of roses that surrounded the house and the calming fragrance of unsi (incense). A gentle breeze cooled the air, and I instantly forgot about the long and exhausting journey I’d just endured.
I soaked in these beautiful feelings and spent the next few days relaxing, not stepping outside once. I really needed this time to rest, and it gave me the calm I’d been craving—alhamdulillah. I didn’t use an alarm to wake up; instead, the sound of the adhan would gently wake me each morning. I spent my time sleeping, eating freshly cooked organic food, reading, and drinking coffee in the courtyard during the day. At night, I sat under the moonlight with my aunt and cousins, talking, eating, and getting to know each other. It was a peaceful way to start my first days in Somalia.
After feeling refreshed, I was ready to explore Garowe. I went almost everywhere with my aunt, who was incredibly busy and deeply involved in her community. She took me to the local masjid, the dugsi she was part of, charity events she organized before Ramadan, and visits to family members I didn’t even know I had. I followed her everywhere, like her shadow! I was amazed by her leadership and her nurturing spirit. She had such a powerful impact on me that I realized my love for Somalia wasn’t just because of the place but because of her. She made me fall in love with my homeland and I wanted to return.
Coming from the U.S., where everyone is caught up in their own lives and community ties can feel distant, I was mesmerized by my aunt’s role as a pillar of support for her family and community. She served them wholeheartedly, and her sense of duty was inspiring. I had never wanted to be like someone so much as I did my aunt, who I had only just met!
I also went on road trips with my cousins, including a week-long trip to Eyl (which I’ll write about in my next post). The first two months were spent relaxing and traveling, and then came Ramadan—my first Ramadan in Somalia.
I remember the day before Ramadan clearly. My aunt, with the help of women from her masjid, organized a charity event to give food to the needy in the community. It was a scorching day, and we stood in the open, under the blazing sun in our black jilbabs. In that moment, I felt truly part of the community and useful. Back in Minnesota, I’d usually spend the days before Ramadan shopping for our family (which is fine), but here, I was part of something bigger—these amazing women were putting their community first before even thinking about their own families!
With a start like that, this Ramadan felt like the closest I’d ever been to my deen. During the day, I continued to shadow my aunt and helped with iftar preparations, though my cousins did most of the cooking since they were making food for many people. We would have iftar together as a family (men, women, and children in the same courtyard but seated separately). Afterward, we’d walk to the masjid, just five minutes away, carrying our prayer mats. We prayed outside under the gentle night breeze, with beautiful recitations filling the air. There’s nothing better than praying outside on a warm, breezy night!
A few days before Eid, we traveled to Nairobi for a family vacation that my aunt had planned, and I decided to join them since I still had a month left before heading back to Minnesota. So, my first visit to Garowe and Somalia lasted two months, followed by a month in Nairobi (I should write about that, too—it was a fun trip).
By the end of my trip, I didn’t want to go back to the States—I was ready to be adopted by my aunt and live in Garowe forever! But like all good things, my time there had to come to an end. I returned to my life in Minnesota with a big question mark hanging over me: What was next?
