Rashid Ali is a Somali-British architect and urbanist.

Ali is
a Lecturer in Architecture and Urbanism at the University
of Liverpool School of Architecture

Andrew Cross is an artist known for his photographic Rashid Ali and Andrew Cross
and film based explorations of structure and place. Cross
is Associate Lecturer in Photography at Southampton
Solent University.

Mohamed Abdulkadir Ahmed is an architect and urban

designer. Ahmed is the director of the Mogadishu based Urban
Development, Heritage and Resilience Research Centre.

Cristina Ali Farah is a Somali-Italian novelist and poet. She

has published stories and poems in several anthologies. Her
first novel, Madre piccola was awarded the 2008 Vittorini
Literary Award.

Omar Al-Qattan is chairman of the A.M. Qattan Foundation.

Rashid Ali and Andrew Cross
 Contents

Commissioned by The Mosaic Rooms

Head Curator: Rachael Jarvis 8 Disappearing Cities
Gallerist: Angelina Radakovic
Omar Al-Qattan
Marketing & Press: Rosa Attwood
Copy Editors: Rashid Ali and Megan O’Shea
Art Direction & Design: Avni Patel
10 The Making of a Modern Africa City
Photography: Andrew Cross, 2013
Archival photographs courtesy of: Laboratorio di Ricerca Documentazione Rashid Ali
Storica Iconografica, Roma Tre University, Italian Geographic Society

Original print run of 500 16 The Past for the Future — the Protection and Conservation
of Somalia’s Historical Coastal Towns: The Case of Mogadishu
This book is published on the occasion of the exhibition
Mogadishu – Lost Moderns at The Mosaic Rooms, London  Mohamed Abdulkadir Ahmed
7 March–26 April 2014
www.mosaicrooms.org
24 Timacade in Mog
Supported by the A.M. Qattan Foundation Andrew Cross
The A.M. Qattan Foundation is an independent, not-for-profit
organisation founded in 1993 and registered in the UK as a 28 Mogadishu, Pearl of the Indian Ocean
charity (no. 1029450). Its principle remit is the support of culture
and education in and about Palestine and the Arab World. Cristina Ali Farah
www.qattanfoundation.org

All texts copyright the authors © 2014 A.M. Qattan Foundation 37 Early Transformations
All rights reserved 59 Present Conditions
ISBN 978-9950-313-49-1 £18.00

Rashid Ali and Andrew Cross would like to acknowledge

the support of the following individuals and organisations:

Fahad Yasin
Abdisamad Ali
Zahra Ahmed Mustaf
Cristina Ali Farah
Xalimo Cabdillahi Axmed
Cumar Maxamed Cali
Hanan Bihi
Jacqueline Jeffries
Ellen Cross
Southampton Solent University
Rome Tre University
Italian Geographic Society
Disappearing Cities
‘Beware of saying to them that sometimes different cities follow one another on the same
site and under the same name, born and dying without knowing one another, without
communication among themselves. At times even the names of the inhabitants remain
the same, and their voices’ accent, and also the features of their faces; but the gods who
live beneath names and above places have gone off without a word and outsiders have
settled in their place.’1
The Mosaic Rooms are delighted to present Mogadishu – Lost Moderns, as part
of Disappearing Cities of the Arab World, an ambitious cultural programme of
exhibitions, talks and screenings, focused on the destruction of Arab urban life
in the post-colonial age.
The city is the space where civic life becomes possible; where the tribal,
ethnic or confessional divisions of the peoples who settle in it can potentially
dissolve and mutate into unfamiliar forms of social order governed by new
rules and customs. The city is also a centre of resistance to the invader
and of rebellion against injustice. In it also lovers will meet anonymously,
discovering new spaces in the imagination that would have been unthinkable
in the countryside or desert, and developing new kinds of relationships. The
city transforms our perceptions of childhood; our experiences of light and
sound, of space and perspective, and of the past, present and future.
But cities are also great betrayers of their own inhabitants, repositories
of vermin and dirt and pollution, as well as theatres of chaos, civil war and
massacre. In the contemporary Arab world, cities have often been profoundly
deceitful—promising lawfulness, peace, equality and freedom only to turn
into prisons and traps for the unsuspecting citizen, who is often chased out
Omar Al-Qattan
from them or persecuted for the language he speaks or the God she worships
(or indeed the one repudiates).
Jaffa, Beirut, Lydd, Baghdad, Cairo, Aleppo, Homs, Tripoli (Libya and
Lebanon), Kuwait City, Jerusalem, Mogadishu—these cities have, to varying
degrees of course, undergone terrible destruction and violence in the post-
colonial age, bearing witness to what can only be described as a failure of
the civic project. Other cities are tragically promised similar fates…
Our programme explores the histories and consequences of this failure
through art, architecture, literature, music and cinema. Far from a merely
academic or nostalgic reflection on the processes that have led to this failure,
we examine how the inhabitants of modern-day Arab cities have continued
to resist the breakdown or destruction of their environments through civic
projects or artistic expression—or simply through an improbable love affair!
The Programme opened in Spring 2013 with Dor Guez’s show 40
DAYS, focussed on the remaining Palestinian minority in the previously
Palestinian city of Lydd, almost completely depopulated in the 1948 war
by the invading Israeli forces. Earlier in 2014, we featured two exhibitions
on Baghdad, including a homage to its cultural hub at Al-Mutanabbi Street,
which was devastated by a bomb in 2007. Other talks, lectures and readings
within this programme attempt to throw light on the continuing tragedies
tearing apart the region’s societies where they are most intensely gathered:
in the urban space.
A note on the term ‘Arab world’: we use it here in its most generous,
open and inclusive sense, and not to delimit or exclude groups or cultures
which may consider themselves as non-Arab but which have present or
past bonds to the region. We recognise that borders, like languages and the
human mind and heart, are porous, fluid and ever changing and thus a term
8 9
like ‘Arab world’ designates for us a space open unto itself as much as it
is outward looking. Mogadishu may thus be only partially Arab but it
is of the Arab world because of its neighbours, history, culture, trade and
religious heritage.
If that is true of geographies, our approach may also apply to the region’s
histories. So if we look at the process by which the past has been destroyed
and decimated, it is also to help us answer the painful question of how we
ever got here in the first place and how we might go somewhere radically
different to the present experience of horror and decimation in the future.
Rashid Ali and Andrew Cross’s exhibition helps us understand the
process by which Mogadishu was built, reconfigured and nearly wiped out.
Yet Cross’s photographs of destroyed or abandoned buildings, mostly taken
under great pressure of time because of the unpredictable nature of the city,
are strangely affirmative of other, better future possibilities. The hollow
shells, rarely crossed by the human figure in this series, and even then most
discretely, nonetheless invite us to imagine how the buildings may have
looked in the past and thus how they could look again in the future. There
is a force lurking in these images – the force of an ageless, timeless light
perhaps – that draws us to desire that these shells come to life again, that
the silent figures tucked away behind a column or shyly standing back on
a balcony or walking away in Hopper-like melancholy, shed their hesitation
and populate the space once more with their presence.
One striking image that illustrates this dynamic is the photograph of
empty plastic chairs in the hallway of the old parliament building, where
these days the business of government is partly conducted (see page 70).
A strange sense of liberty exudes from images such as this one in which
old bureaucracies seem stripped bare of their trappings, emptied of their
Remains of the old
Arab style city.
Mogadishu, 2013
old, impatient and perhaps corrupt employees. Anyone who has experienced
modern dysfunctional bureaucracies in the region and indeed anywhere
else will no doubt recognise the relief of seeing the machinery of inefficient
government ‘disappeared’ in this way. But of course, symbolically this
disappearance also means the loss of the power to govern altogether and
thus also the undermining of all possibility of a collective, civic project! Still,
the plastic chairs, even if empty, evoke a contradictory will to continue, and
at least offer the potential for conversation and negotiation, the two elements
that are essential for the success of any civic or political process.
It is difficult nonetheless to forget the powerful, eerie sense of absence
in these images, and the persistent sense that Mogadishu and its inhabitants
might yet be victim to more violence and destruction. Nature, light, colour
can provide only limited reassurance in such quiet landscapes and these
images leave us in the end with a longing for people and normality, both
victims of years of civil war.
1 Calvino, I. (1972), Invisible Cities, pp30–31
The Making of a Modern African City
To the popular imagination, the Somali capital Mogadishu has in recent years
became synonymous with violence, destruction and displacement caused by
infighting among groups who have sought to impose their control over what
remains of its population and built environment. However, only two decades
or so ago Mogadishu was spatially, politically, socially and culturally a very
different city altogether.
It is a city whose architecture tells the story of Somalia’s journey from
traditional African nation, via colonisation and post colonialism to emergent
independent state. The tale may be common on this continent but this
urban manifestation of it is not: the rolling reinvention of Mogadishu
created a modern African capital.
As the largest urban centre in Somalia, Mogadishu had been a major
trading port since the 13th century and played a significant role in both the
movement of goods to and from the Arabian Peninsula and India, and in the
spread of Islamic cultural influences along the East African coast. Crossed
by Arab, Persian and Indian merchants, and, later, by European settlers, the
city – as an urban enclave with diverse inhabitants – has historically remained
outside the nomadic traditional clan structure of the interior, to which
most Somalis belong.
Changing rule
From the 14th to 17th century Mogadishu was ruled by the Muzaffaridi
dynasty before coming under the control of Zanzibar, which ruled lasted
until the second half of the 19th century. Over the subsequent course
of its history it has been influenced by the various cultures of its diverse
inhabitants, merchants and rulers, all of which strongly informed its pre-civil
war social, cultural and physical characteristics.
Rashid Ali
Mogadishu’s pre-civil war architecture and urban environment owe their
morphology and characteristics to its former colonial power, Italy, the last
of the European powers to join the ‘scramble for Africa’. The city’s modern
history began when the Italians arrived in 1889, taking control of the city
and other coastal urban settlements after purchasing the port of Benadir
(Mogadishu region) and signing treaties with local sultanates. It was then
entrusted to royal commissioners of Italian trading companies, who set up
residence and ran the new colony on behalf of Rome, but were in fact more
interested in agricultural experiments on the fertile lands along the country’s
two major rivers than in developing the city as a viable urban centre that
could become a seat of government. After Rome took direct control of the
administration of the country in 1908, Mogadishu was officially made the
capital of the new colony of Southern Somalia. The built form predating
this period is of a compact walled city with two separate neighbourhoods.
Behind the heavy walls, through which caravans brought goods from the
country, was an Arab-style old centre generally made up of terraced one-
storey houses with battlemented cornices in the most noble examples,
and thatched adobe homes.
Town plan
The transformation of the old city began under its first governor Giovanni De
Martino, who immediately started to undertake projects that radically altered
the character of the old city and were to form an enduring and somewhat
radical influence on its future development. De Martino and his small group
of military and civil officials were entrusted with the task of giving the city
administrative organisation, and the construction of infrastructure and the
first public buildings under colonial rule. The 1912 1:500 plan of  Mogadishu
10 1927 plan
Southern Cross Entrance, Southern
Hotel, 1935 Cross Hotel, 1935
can be considered the first town plan of the city (and one of the earliest in
the continent) in terms of the projected developments that accompanied it.
Under the plan, the walls of the old city were knocked down and two new
native suburbs constructed to the east and to the west, together with the
barracks of the Eritrean Askari and the radio and telegraph station. In contrast
Construction of the
new Triumphal to other colonial planning models, for instance in Asmara and the Libyan
Arch, 1927
medinas, where the colonial city developed next to the existing native city, in
Mogadishu the buildings of the occupying power were inserted in its centre,
Aerial view of
Shingani with surrounded by Arab neighbourhoods inhabited by Indians and Eritreans,
new administrative
buildings, 1923
outside which a modest native city gradually grew. In the centre a new
administrative area, connecting the two old neighbourhoods and defined by
a wide north-south avenue, was created. Government buildings, a distiller
and houses for civil servants began to be installed closer to the sea, on either
side of the avenue, while the rest of the area further north was designated
as a native market. Further investment allowed additional public works
New European
style housing, 1920s programmes to be implemented, including the construction of the railway,
reorganisation
of the road network and the creation of the port.
Although the 1910 plan radically altered the morphology of the old city
by breaking it up and carving out more open, European type city spaces, it
was only after 1928 that Mogadishu could begin to be compared with the
town planning conventions of its better known colony, Eritrea. Within a
short space of a time there were 50, 000 inhabitants, 20,000 of whom were
Italian, and the city became the subject of a new town plan. Its footprint was
based on the coastal outline connected by a series of roads, often adapted
caravan routes heading towards further inland and nearby regions. Starting
with modifications, which followed the 1912 plan, it envisaged the creation
12
One of the entrance
gates to the city,
1909
of a new European quarter in the appropriated Shingani district (one of the
two neighbourhoods in the old city). A new major thoroughfare, the Regina
Elena Avenue, heads east and divides the Shingani district in two, and on
either side of a major new axis it forms with Corso Vittorio Emanuele are five
parallel roads that divide the area into 60 equal rectangular lots. These new
thoroughfares were devised to transform the urban environment into spaces
for celebrating the triumph of the fascist state. Corso Vittorio Emanuele, in
particular, was used for ceremonial processions, marches and parades. The
definition of the old inhabited area, which included the construction of a
cenotaph at the sea front, excluded the ancient mosques and noble houses
of the native aristocracy. Instead, the plan intended to create an imperial
Mogadishu and only tolerated the remains of the old city by concealing
it behind the reconstructed seafront and the cenotaph.
On the whole, the architecture of this period, implemented under
the two plans, imitated colonial stereotypes. However, some significant
structures were built, which would for a long time to come define
Mogadishu’s cityscape. The catholic cathedral, which began to be
constructed in 1925 and was inaugurated for the visit of the Prince of
Piedmont in 1927, was one such building. The architect Antonio Vandone,
and his Franciscan client, showed complete indifference to its local
environment, allowing  the church’s 37m bell towers to dwarf the old
compact Arab style city. The Roman triumphal arch built during the same
period also reflects the alienation of the compact fabric into which the old
Mosques of Fachr-el-Din and Grama fitted harmoniously. The architectural
mishmash of these interventions was due in part to the dominance of its then
governor, who approached the style of each project in the form he saw fit.
One of the few exceptions, considered the earliest explicitly modernist style
13
Newly created
public spaces in
Shingani, 1927

New Cenotaph,
1930–35

A man weaving
building in the country, is the Croce del Sud Hotel (Southern Cross Hotel) the ‘futa Benadir’,
1920–1925
built in 1933 by the architect Carlo Enrico Rava.

A new cityscape
On the whole the process cancelled the original settlement and proposed
a city that was destined to grow in place of the old Arab-style centre and
remove traces of its history. However, the implementation of the two town
plans, in particular the later one, gave Mogadishu a new urban character:
New European-
style commercial of an open city with an attractive cityscape that formed the basis for the
buildings, 1950s
future expansion and division of city spaces into a functional layout with
commanding new public buildings and public spaces. Before it came to an
end with the outbreak of war, the buildings that emerged during this period
of intensive urban development tended to be a mixture of colonial, Islamic,
Norman gothic, indigenous vernacular and modernist aesthetic. However, it
was modernism that was to have an enduring influence on post independence a long time the legacy of Italian traditions could be experienced through
architecture and the built form, since this was largely seen as a way for the local cultural practices until the onset of the civil war in the early 1990s.
country to assert its identity through new architectural forms. Significant The long, wide thoroughfares previously used for ceremonial marches
public buildings that expressed the stripped-down modernist aesthetic of became appropriated for new local forms of social, economic and cultural
earlier schemes such as the Croce del Sud Hotel, as well as influences of practices. The café culture, cuisine (pasta became a staple Somali diet) and
broader 60s tropical modernism from the continent and beyond, included the unhurried Mediterranean tradition of evening strolling to shop, see and
the National Theatre and the National Assembly, both of which were be seen are some of the traditions that were adopted. Sadly, most of what
completed between 1969 and 1972 and Banadir Hospital, built in 1977. remained of this legacy; articulated and experienced through built form, was
Italian colonial planning strategies imposed radical alterations to the pre- uprooted during the civil conflict of the last 20 years. More recently, the city
colonial city, profoundly impacting the native forms of spatial organisation has begun to experience a relative degree of normality and with it has come
and experience. The city plans and resulting structures have come to define a mini construction boom. Whether this rebuilding process is informed by
the city’s appearance and transformed it from a small port into a modern knowledge on the city’s distinctive historical spatial character and cultural
city. Moreover, this influence was not confined to the built form, as for memory remains to be seen.

14 15
The Past for the Future — the Protection and Conservation of Somalia’s
Historical Coastal Towns: The Case of Mogadishu
Context
The civil war in Somalia has affected all layers of Somali society. The war
has also been associated with the substantial displacement of people. Massive
destruction, damage to historical sites and old town centers, looting of
private sector assets and public infrastructure have been other prominent
features of the war. While the war has its root in political factors, it has
gradually shifted character into a war of economy. It is now centered on the
control of economic assets, which are the source for both financing the war
and private enrichment. Indeed, the gain to be made from the control of
these assets has become the main obstacle in the efforts to bring an end
to this ethnic conflict.
Over the past 21 years, the civil war in Somalia has removed even
further all remaining traces of the past. Henceforth, an approach is needed
that focuses on rediscovering present potentialities and for future cultural
development.
The link between Somalia’s Cultural Heritage and East African
Coastal Towns
The cultural heritage of every people is a memory of human creativity that
combines past and present in continuity. A civilization’s memory consists
of various historical developments beginning with its inception and including
its diversity of identities, cultural achievements, and land cultivation. The
conservation and improvement of civilization are an essential component of
every cultural policy. Without a sufficient awareness of culture it would be
difficult to know what to establish and for whom, how to plan and build.
The medieval archaeology of East Africa is still, in great part, an
unexplored field. The principal reasons for this are that while linguistic
Mohamed Abdulkadir Ahmed
and social problems have gained scholarly attention, and hence historical
documents are abundant, yet, scholars have not considered that it is only
through archaeological analysis that it might become possible to reconstruct
the events of past centuries. Documents regarding historical sites along
the East African Coast are fragmentally supported by travelers, explorers,
geographers and conquerors up to the 18th century and in the 19th century
documentation is available. To this documentation should be added oral
testimony and other literary documents. Only at the beginning of the 20th
century do the descriptions of the ruined sites become accurate, especially
with regard to those sites in Kenya and Tanzania.
Part of Somalia’s culture has been formed through its historical roots
in East Africa. It is well known that along the East African coast, cities
developed a culture that is reflected in a common architecture with local
variation; significant traces of, and archaeological findings from, these
cultures have resulted in many historical studies of Somalia. Following
on from these studies there have been further archaeological excavations
and land surveys.
Somalia’s architectural and environmental heritage was neglected in
the past. It was subject to degradation and deterioration, and to violent
transformation and destruction during previous regimes. The dramatic
events of recent years have inflicted further alterations and devastation
that is, even so, hardly noticeable in the actual situation of long-protracted
tension between the warring parties. We can state, without compromise,
that Somalia’s past has been systematically destroyed in both periods of
peace and war; for example, the deep wounds inflicted on Shingaani, the
old Mogadishu center, which was razed almost to the ground, are a vivid
testimony of human madness.
16
A brief history of Somalia’s main historical towns
Somalia, and, specifically, its major centers located on the coast of the
Indian Ocean, such as Mogadishu, is considered to be an integral part
of East African history.
Mogadishu is the most important town on the Banadir coast. It was
one of the city-states founded more than ten centuries ago along the East
African coast, which, together with other commercial towns and cities such
as Barawa, Mombasa, and Malindi, flourished through commerce with the
Arabic Gulf countries of Persia, India and China. It is recognized as one
of the most interesting historical centers on the whole coast of Somalia.
From the 13th century on, Mogadishu knew a period of magnificence as
a maritime trade center. This period was Mogadishu’s heyday. It was at this
time that the Mosque of Fakhruddin and the Minaret of Jamia were built in
Hamarweyne. Sultans ruled Mogadishu. Copper coins were found with the
names of these sultans, and, of a later dynasty known as the Mudhaffars, that
are comparable with the coins of Kilwa and Tanzania. The Mudhaffars lasted
until the middle of the 17th century (Freeman-Grenville: 1963). Mogadishu
never submitted to Portuguese rule. Alpers1 points out, that Mogadishu in the
19th century was a shadow of its former splendid self and this is a generally
accepted fact. One has only to compare Ibn Battuta’s famous description of
the town in 1331 to those of its visitors five centuries later to realize that its
heyday was long since past. But, the Portuguese attempt to gain exclusive
control along the route of the Indian Ocean aggravated the decline of
Mogadishu and the other Banadir coastal cities
1 Alpers, Edward, Mogadishu in the 19th Century: A regional perspective, Journal
of African History, 24; pp. 441–459
in the 15th century. In the 18th century Mogadishu was under the control
of Zanzibar, the capital of the Oman Sultanate during that period. After
then, Mogadishu became involved in the politics of European colonialism.
At the end of the Oman Sultanate, Mogadishu came under Italian rule
in 1889 (Cerulli:1957; Corni: 1937).2
Whatever the pattern of urban development in Mogadishu in earlier
times may have been, it follows the wider coastal development of East
Africa during the nineteenth century. The influence of Indian merchant
capital under the protection of British India and the Sultan of Muscat in
Zanzibar fed the process of transformation that would lead ultimately to
the Italian administration. Many features of Mogadishu, particularly its
urban morphology, illustrate the influences of the different periods. The
old, original urban centers, Hamarweyne and Shingaani, still stand on
Mogadishu’s initial site, however, they were extensively damaged during
the recent years of civil war. Shingaani suffered the most damage in the
city. There is widespread Arab influence in Mogadishu’s architecture, but,
the Italians were the first to formulate and effect urban planning in their
area of residence. Before its collapse in 1990, Mogadishu was the dominant
national urban center for government activity and military installations.
Similar to the old towns of Marka and Barawa, Mogadishu retained
memories of an evolved urban culture, in which waves of migration and
centuries of inter-oceanic trade and intermingling can be traced. These
towns were subject of interest to new waves of research undertaken
by various institutions and scholars of different disciplines seeking to
2 Cerulli, E. 1957 Somalia: Scritti Vari Editi e Inediti. Istituto Poligrafico
dello Stato, Roma
17
Fakhruddin Remains of
Mosque, 1882 Fakhruddin
Mosque, 2013

Mogadishu, 1856

Barawe, 1924

Sheik Moeddin
Mosque, 1925

18 19

overcome a lack of knowledge in East Africa’s historical development and faced in succeeding in Somalia. In the case of Somalia, UNESCO was unable
urban structure. They evolved as city-states, each with a unique civilization, to go beyond emergency educational assistance. The transdisciplinary and
not least in respect of their architecture (Molon and intersectoral approaches adopted have changed the conception of human
Vianello: 1990).3 security, cultural identity and integration, conflict prevention and post-
conflict peace building, and have helped the development of national plans
The important role of heritage preservation for education and for a culture of peace. But, what are the procedures to use
The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization in order to have a real and sustainable impact in countries where legitimate
(UNESCO) works for the conservation and protection of humanity’s governments are not in place and cultural heritage sites are left abandoned
common cultural heritage, and its values are universal. The Convention or in a state of constant deterioration?
of 1972, regarding the protection of World Cultural and Environmental UNESCO’s efforts led to the protection of sites where civilization has left
Heritage, was based on the fundamental concept that this protection important and highly visible traces throughout Kenya and Tanzania. This has
does not only cover the State where an ‘object’ to be protected/saved contributed decisively to the preservation of the history of these area. The
is located, but, expands to cover the whole world, as we are all implicated International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) divides cultural
in humankind’s greatest creations. heritage along thematic lines. Namely: archeology, historic towns, religious
Today the world heritage activities are no longer designed merely properties, architectural monuments, technological ensembles and cultural
to restore old buildings, but are very often geared to strengthening or landscapes. In addition, cultural heritage includes testimonies, products
even creating a common identity among groups with different affiliations. or works of science, art, and the culture of past civilizations of a country.
The same concept applies to environmental initiatives, which no longer Knowledge and protection of cultural heritage contributes to an awareness
seek merely to preserve natural resources and biodiversity for future of the past. This could perform an important role in the constitution of a
generations, but also aim at sparing present generations’ from conflict. present cultural identity. It is a fundamental support for progress. It gives
The change in UNESCO’s constitutional mandate to accommodate meaning, sense and reason to the work of a whole society.
emerging issues in pre- conflict and post-conflict societies with the Medium- In order to establish a culture for peace initiatives, there must be a
Term Strategy for 1996–2001, highlighted the difficulties the organization guideline for in-depth and specialized activities such as systematic surveying
campaign strategies, technological studies and recovery programs. These
guidelines should consist of diverse support for cultural activities and
3 Molon, M. 1994 Ricerca sull’Architettura dell’Africa Orientale. Progetto
MURST. Politecnico di Milano, Facolta’ di Architettura, Dipartimento di future institutions that might facilitate perspectives of culture and peace.
Progettazione dell’ Architettura, 1992–94. Milan, forthcoming. The international organizations, together with the Somali people, who,
20
on the whole are indifferent to the preservation of their culture, should be
involved in defending Somalia’s cultural heritage, with UNESCO promoting
peace and reconciliation among warring factions in the country.
The main difficulties confronting such endeavors are that the
bibliographical sources, cartographic bases for research work, and consistency
of data control, are not available in Somalia, however, a lot could be done
if a research project were established with UNESCO to survey Somalia’s
cultural heritage. More than a century has passed since the colonial period
and the collapse of its dictatorship and subsequent intervention consisting
of preservation and protection of cultural heritage, unfortunately, the export
of cultural property is inexistent. In the handbook of national regulations
concerning the export of cultural property prepared for UNESCO, Somalia
was reported as a nation without legislation on the matter. It was not
party to any international legislation concerning unlawfully exported
cultural property.
Even though UNESCO has acted with laudable intentions, the list
compiled by its ‘experts’ for the World Cultural Heritage Sites in Danger
doesn’t include Somalia. Somalia, with its present political situation, should
be included and its historical coastal towns and archaeological sites should be
considered as part of the list of World Cultural Heritage Sites in Danger. The
international community must act to save the past of this country. As a result
of the civil war, Somalia’s cultural heritage is in need of urgent attention and
emergency conservation action by UNESCO.
Methodological approaches for future action
International conventions exist for the purpose of the cultural promotion
of less developed countries that are not favoured economically and that are
Abdul-aziz
Mosque, 1889–1891
undermined by the elimination of cultural heritage — a toxic mixture of
policy, religion and tribalism, in the case of Somalia. Without the foundation
of the past, countries fail to develop. Moreover, in post-conflict and peace
building situations, a project to reestablish the past is the best indication
of serious attention to the future.
Many factors and circumstances have contributed to threaten the
architectural and environmental heritage in this dramatic historic period
in Somalia. Cultural heritage represents an integral part of cultural and
economic development. Architectural and environmental goods are part
of cultural heritage. Each of these aspects is critical for the development of
any country — an inevitable resolve for each country’s development. They
are an important conjunction that unites past and present. They represent
the foundation for any cultural change, strong social interaction, as well as
the exchange of ideas and plans for future development. Henceforth, such
protection will further the cultural awareness of future generations
in Somalia.
A second problem concerns the selection of ‘objects’ of interest from a
historical point of view and their period of belonging. These ‘archaeological
objects’ belong to ancient periods, however, recent architectural production
and the preservation of ‘archaeological objects’ is also significant in the
context of urban process and spatial organization. For this reason, the
interesting features of the architecture of the colonial period in Mogadishu’s
old town center Shingaani (2nd Lido) should be considered alongside the
buildings of the 19th century that are already known and reported by
scholars, such as the residences of Barawa linked to the Zanzibar culture.
A number of public buildings that are integral to Mogadishu’s urban
landscape include the Old Post Office in Hamarweyne, and the Old
21

Parliament building. These are examples of an architecture that has given
form to the urban center of Mogadishu. The Royal Palace of Barqash
was, for more than a century, the residence of various Sultans and Princes
of Mogadishu. Regrettably, it was changed into the Municipality of
Mogadishu during the Italian colonization in the 1950s and, later, this
national monument of significant and historic value was demolished by
the dictatorship and replaced with Hotel Uruba, which is itself completely
unrecognizable today.
There are examples of other architectural forms, and landscapes that
belong to the native culture, and wield significant cultural value. There has
been a heavy transformation of the lifestyle as well as the economic roots
of that lifestyle in the primary sector. The entire territorial balance has been
endangered by these transformations: 1) a drastic reduction of wild life; 2)
a reduction and impoverishment of the flora; 3) the concept of space in the
nomadic society; and 4) the sedentary communities currently living in the
inter-riverine banks and in the coastal areas. Most of these areas of natural
interest along the Juba and Shebelle rivers are endangered.
The uncontrolled use of land has compromised some stretches of
incomparable beauty, an example of which is the old town of Jasira along
the coast. Such land abuse has also resulted in the mismanagement of Lido,
the best beach in Mogadishu. Due to ecological disasters, it has become
necessary to question the definition of the ‘object’ to be protected, and a
need has arisen to delimit the field – an essential consideration should be
to enlarge the survey’s foundation. The methodological approach would be
to classify not only monuments such as the famous mosques of Mogadishu
(Hamarweyne Jamia, Fakhruddin, Arba’rukun, Abdulaziz), but, also, other
religious symbols and architecture in other towns in the country. The
tombs that ought to be considered are those in Southern Somalia in
Carved wooden
doorway, 1979
the Bajuni islands such as the pillar-tombs, or those enclosed in a field such
as the cemetery/mosque of Sheikh Sufi. Historical old urban centers include
Hamarweyne and Shingaani in Mogadishu, Marka and Barawa, and what
remains of other, almost lost, towns of the Old Warshiikh, Gendershe,
Munghia, and El-Torre.
In addition, the pastoral systems are dangerously fragile; graffiti
Coral stone
overwhelms Bur Heybe and the ruins of Baydhabo require immediate houses, 1979
preservation and protection. Beautiful areas are abundant along the coastal
dunes of Somalia, as well as along the rivers where ravines have formed
with ageing trees of particular beauty waiting to be classified and protected.
Thus, many places contain significant traces of material culture; for example,
the wells, the cemeteries along the coast are inevitably likely to disappear
along with actual economic life. While scholars do not wield sufficient
power to facilitate and protect initiatives, the policy makers must designate
what must be valued, protected and restored – a concern that is tied up with
Somalia’s collective consciousness. However, the recovery, rehabilitation
and requalification of historical cities is an aim of great complexity that will
require a long-term strategy. Any proposals formulated to address these
issues will need to be considered for their methodological work and criteria
that shape them, rather than the specific project results.
In conclusion, the classification and filing of the architectural and
environmental heritage is the essential prelude to its protection and
conservation: doing this now, even as a preliminary procedure, does
not seem an insurmountable task and could avoid errors of judgment or
oversights. This preliminary project-study would prevent further degradation
of archaeological sites and historic urban cores, thus ensuring their
sustainability for future generations. It would help lay the foundation
for coherent cultural heritage management.
22 23
Timacade in Mog
All new journeys are journeys of discovery. They are also speculative; to
experience something of the unknown often being much of the intention.
Yet, journeys are not only about exploring new territories and witnessing
new sights, they can also be about gaining new perspectives on what is
already familiar, they offer an opportunity to reflect upon the place you have
left as much as the place to where you are going. As the sociologist John
Urry has suggested ‘In order to theorise, one leaves home and travels’1.
As much as I might possess a curiosity for travelling, or the desire to
encounter something unfamiliar, or to comment on global issues, my journey
to Mogadishu was born out of a simple bond of friendship. Rashid Ali and I
came together through teaching architecture; Rashid a practicing architect and
myself a visual artist with an interest in architecture. Students treated us like
a double act, each one of us offering our own distinctive yet complementary
views on particular subjects, and it seemed inevitable that we would at some
point collaborate creatively. While the dynamic of our relationship reflects
familiar interests and sensibilities, more significant is how the understanding
of our individual experiences is framed by cultural histories that are in part
shared and in part divergent.
Rashid and I experienced upbringings in late 20th century Britain with
all the social and cultural considerations that might imply. Our experiences,
though, came from very different perspectives; Rashid being Somali in origin
and urban in his sensibilities; my own background being very English and
rural. Inevitably, as much as our time together in Mogadishu was shared, for
both of us, and for different reasons, it was an intensely individual journey
1 Urry, John, 2000, in Neil Campbell Route-work: Andrew Cross Castlefield Gallery, to. A slightly precarious itinerary was drawn up of significant buildings and
Manchester, 2005
Andrew Cross
of discovery. I was experiencing a place that seemed to be about as far from
my origins as I could get, while Rashid was re-engaging with the place of
his origins after a period of over twenty years. Of course, the world is far
more complex than we sometimes think or are led to believe. Our visit to
Mogadishu offered another clear reminder that it is the complexity found in
both similarities and differences that continues to surprise and fascinate us,
making journeys such as ours so reaffirming.
While in Mogadishu I was entirely dependent on Rashid for my
orientation within an otherwise beguilingly complex and deeply layered
culture of custom and protocol. It was Rashid and his generous friends who
facilitated my entry into the city – negotiating its somewhat chaotic airport
– provided hospitality, got me around the city safely and made me not only
feel welcome but ultimately feel there was a sense of purpose in my being
there. Not only was Rashid my guide, but he was also a form of ‘optic’;
a means by which I could view the city with a measure of understanding.
Correspondingly, through my photographs Rashid was able to examine
the city of his origins in part without the full weight of recent history and
personal emotion that he was clearly confronting, and in part somewhat
free from the ‘professional’ eye of the architect he has become while
living in the UK.
Andrew Cross,
A number of writers in the modern European tradition speak of walking Untitled (Mogadishu),
2013, Digital Video
the city with a desire of getting lost within its ‘labyrinth’. No matter how Stills
unfamiliar, chaotic and labyrinthine a place might be, upon arrival I can’t
help but immediately start plotting my position and grasping at where I am.
I wasn’t going to wander through the streets of Mogadishu, even if I wanted
locations to visit. It was enough to be negotiating the logistics of moving
24 25
from the hotel to various destinations throughout the city, as access would
often be a matter of ‘touch and go’, but despite these challenges and the
uncertainty of the situation it didn’t take long before a familiarity of place
began to emerge.
In my work I try to situate architecture within an experience of passing
by, passing through and of glancing upon, as well as to consider how we
might place ourselves within architecture and contemplate it. I feel my
via a global media hungry for human strife. The documentary tendency of
photography, the ongoing witnessing of events or ‘significant moments’, and
photography’s use as an essential tool in the gathering and dissemination of
information, has led to a particular emphasis upon what is being witnessed.
With the preponderance of conflict, political struggle and social upheaval,
photographic journalism has not only pictured recent history – journalistic
images have come to define history; the visual dynamics of such images
the same continuous here and now as of before, as of the time since.
At the time, it was a reality that was utterly fascinating and also perfectly
normal, a reality that assaulted my senses and provided reassurance, it was
a reality that appeared to be in a state of chaos and yet so overwhelmingly
full of purpose.
British historian Christopher Woodward suggests that ‘when we
contemplate ruins, we contemplate our future’2. As a backdrop to media
Stripped back to the bare essentials, elements of floors and walls, these
buildings, not as ruins but as monuments, spoke clearly of the civic purpose
for which they were built, and the possibility of continuing for the same
purpose in the future.
Translation:
Timacade white hair

pictures are a reflection on the way we look at architecture as much as on
the object of architecture itself. Of course, as I move through the city with
a camera I am making choices about what to include and what to leave
out, giving a particular narrative to my camera’s gaze. Yet, I come with no
particular agenda other than to respond to the built environment in only the
way that I know how. And, in any given situation it is very hard to predict
how I might respond.
Not only was this my first ever visit to Mogadishu, it was my first visit
to Africa, and for that matter, anywhere near what might be referred to as
a ‘zone of conflict’. I point this out not for any dramatic effect, rather, it is
simply a statement of fact. In terms of my own history there is no particular
reason for this situation: I had simply spent my time travelling elsewhere.
Without knowing Rashid it may never have occurred that Mogadishu
could one day be a place I would visit, a situation that perhaps makes the
circumstance of finding myself there all the more unique and meaningful.
Places come with reputations and with reputations come expectations
of what one will find there and an anticipation of how one might respond.
When you image search for Mogadishu you generally find evidence of
bombed out buildings, bloodied bodies, Black Hawk helicopters, soldiers
or masked men with guns; the typical visual diet fed to the outside world
creating an expectation of how important events should appear. The
technical properties of the photograph – its ability to evidence in full detail
exactly what is before the camera, and subsequently to be mechanically
reproduced, infinitely has transformed its value as a form of ‘proof’.
Of course, with the advent of digital technologies, the nature and status
of photography has changed significantly in recent years. Not only has there
been an explosion in the production and circulation of images, the nature
of the event is also shifting from individual moments towards an infinite
continuity. However, the emphasis on the photographic image as bearing
witness to an event in front of the camera can lead to an overlooking of an
equally fundamental quality, the fact that a photograph confirms the event
of it being taken by someone who, for whatever reason, was there to
release the shutter.
Looking now at my photographs taken in Mogadishu not only am I
seeing fascinating architecture, in a remarkable city, I am reminded of my
presence there. I am also struck by how calm they appear to be. While taking
these photographs, in front of me was an environment that had a quality of
familiarity to it and I felt it was something I knew although clearly it was not
the media inflected reality of otherness. Instead, it was the reality of my here
and now, and although a different place and circumstance, therefore to me
images of conflict, architecture works particularly well. The extent of damage
is a good measure of the degree of violence. Showing the ruined shell of
a formerly prestigious building is a useful way of signalling the apparent
collapse of organised society. However, there is another way of looking
at such buildings and that is to consider the ability of an architecture, and
the societies that built that architecture (and the ideals and intentions that
informed the building), to endure despite the violence inflicted upon it.
Across the image search of Mogadishu, certain buildings seem to reoccur
within the frame of view. Interestingly, some of these buildings, like the
National Assembly Building and Somali National Theatre, also make an
occasional appearance, easy to overlook, in the form of old postcards. The
insistence of these buildings to be present through time suggests that the
current urban fabric of Mogadishu still retains the potential to provide a
visual identity for the city that need not indicate decline, but, in the spirit
of these earlier images, might allude to a much more positive future.
Being there, being in Mogadishu, being amongst these buildings with
the people who built them, I felt a palpable sense of architecture’s ability
to endure not only physically but also in the spirit of its original intent.
2 Woodward, Christopher, In Ruins, London, 2001

26 27
Mogadishu, Pearl of the Indian Ocean
‘Dear guest, on behalf of the population of the city, it is my pleasure to extend the
warmest welcome and to wish you a pleasant stay in Mogadishu, Pearl of the Indian
Ocean, Capital of the Democratic Republic of Somalia’ 1
These are the opening words to a bilingual guide of Mogadishu, penned
by Jalle Maggiore Osman Mohamed Gelle, member of the Supreme Council
of the Somali Democratic Republic and Special Commissioner of the
Mogadishu local government. 40 years on, such titles ring hollow and sound
redundant, yet the welcoming greeting that sounds out a few pages in – ‘this
guide is for you, appreciated guest of our city’ bathes us in openness and
hospitality. The guide is a small booklet that has lost its cover, with traces of
the binding to be seen down the left side, the pages held together by thread
and glue. On the frontispiece a mysterious sequence of numbers has been
jotted down, running all round the edge, bizarrely framing the national crest
of two rampant leopards, bearing a crowned blue shield with a central white
star, a symbol of independence. These are the years when Somalia embraced
the cause of real Socialism, ‘… for which many Somalis perished’, as Kaha
Aden observes in her documentary La quarta via, Mogadiscio – Italia2, ‘in order
to move on from colonialism and tribalism. They sought to eliminate these
blasts from the past in a brief arc of time.’ And it was in this period, pregnant
with hope, that my mother and I set foot in the country.
1 Mogadiscio Perla dell’Oceano Indiano – Pearl of the Indian Ocean, Edito a cura di
Mohamed Sheikh Alì Giumale per conto del Governo locale di Mogadiscio, Publi
shed by Mohamed Sheikh Alì Giumale on behalf of the local Government of my mother’s language, which is not that of my father): ‘I don’t understand
Mogadishu, Stampa ‘P. MARZARI’ Industrie grafiche s.r.l. 36015 Schio Italy
2 Simone Brioni, ed. Somalitalia: Quattro Vie per Mogadiscio. Somalitalia: Four Roads
to Mogadishu. Con allegato il documentario La quarta via: Mogadiscio, Italia
(Rome: Kimerafilm, 2012)
Cristina Ali Farah
The first time that I saw Mogadishu I was only three years old – it was
the summer of 1976. To be honest, I cannot remember anything about my
mother’s feelings on that occasion, but she must have been very moved,
since it was also her first time in Mogadishu. In the years to come, my
mother often spoke about that arrival, she spoke about the language, perhaps
in the hope that her recollections could in part match mine. My father, on the
other hand, never spoke about anything, perhaps because he knew that his
recollections couldn’t possibly match mine.
I said that I do not remember anything about my arrival, but in fact
there is something that happened afterwards which is like a tiny ripple in my
memory, something about the moment in which my first language mixed
with the next language. They mixed so well that, if it were not for this vague
recollection, I would think that the two languages had been born together
inside me, like a single bush springing from two roots; iskadhal, this is what
they call people like me in Somali language.
In this recollection, there is a small hedge, a hibiscus hedge, and behind
the hedge one evening I hide, and I am alone in the house of my uncle Cali
and my aunt Khadija. Alone – without my mother, I mean, and without
my father, the ones who can understand me.
My aunts and uncles are there, along with their six children and my
A street scene,
grandmother Barni Xassan and a host of others. My cousins laugh; they 1930s
don’t laugh out of scorn, but I don’t feel like laughing, I don’t want to laugh,
so I run and hide behind the hedge. ‘Come here’, they say and I reply (in
a word!’ So my grandmother, who was with us that night, calls out to me,
using a new name to soothe me, Ubax, flower, like the hibiscus blooms
on the bush.
28 29
 Waterfront by
Shingani district,
1980s
It’s no coincidence, then, that this is the only recollection where the
two languages are distinct – I understand one, I make no sense of the other:
I shout out in one, but I’m a mute in the other – a single memory of me
hiding behind a little hibiscus bush.
A few months went by and then we moved to a place behind the
Somali National Theatre: me, my mother, my father, his friend Osman
and my aunt Xamsa. The house behind the National Theatre stays with
me today, with its small garden and its large wrought iron gate. One
evening, my mother and I were coming back home in the dark and there
Old parliament,
1960s can’t have been a show on at the National Theatre that day, but I didn’t
know that as I was only three and still had many things to learn. As we got
to the entrance, my mother realised that the gate was ajar, but she didn’t
have time to be frightened. She was frightened afterwards, when two rangy,
dark men rushed out, wearing shirts and an osgunti. They must have been
two peasants, my father said later, otherwise they wouldn’t have dared to
Mogadishu
cityscape, 1980s scare a young Italian woman so close to the National Theatre, a dumashi
with her daughter hiding away behind her legs. The two men had run off
with only the living-room curtains, as there was nothing valuable in that
first house where we had gone to live. Hiding behind my mother’s legs, I
had understood the language the two men spoke in, and that of my mother,
who was concealing me, this time hoping that I had a different memory
of things to hers.
Those two men were not ilbax – men of the world, holders of traditional
principles, like the basics of hospitality and welcome. Recently, a Somali
refugee living in Rome said, during an interview, that in Italy he had hoped
to be treated like a foreigner in Somalia. He explained: ‘When we had a
government, if you were in a shop and a Westerner came in, everybody
30
Janaral Daud
Avenue, 1980s
busied themselves to let them be served first, because, being a foreigner,
they were not at home. Their needs took priority.’
To my child’s eye, my mother was always safe out on the streets of
Mogadishu, both when in a shared taxi and when she drove her old, red
Vespa, some time later. One day she even asked a passerby if she could
take a photo of me beside him in front of the ancient Sheikh Abdulaziz
mosque. The mosque stood not far from the Catholic Cathedral, where my
mother would go every Sunday. In the years running up to the civil war,
such a request would have been out of the question. Talking of taxis, easily
distinguished by their yellow and red livery, the guide is quite clear, ‘On no
account should the fare exceed Som. Sh 20 within the city of Mogadishu.
No tips are to be paid to taxi drivers, nor is anybody else entitled to a tip
in the Democratic Republic of Somalia.’ (p. 12).
In the decade before our arrival, the city had undergone major
expansion and the Somali theatre was at the height of its splendor.
As a new art form, it met perfectly the demands of the newly urbanised
population. It was the period when the best works were written, the most
famous songs were to be heard and the most famous artists emerged. This
explosion peaked in 1967 with the inauguration of the Somali National
Theatre, constructed under a Chinese cooperation programme.
The new literary genre reached out to a vast public and supplanted
the role formerly played by poetry in providing entertainment and cultural
models, stimulating debate on contemporary issues such as colonialism,
development, relations with the West and women’s rights. In the words
of the great Abwaan Cabdi Muxumud, ‘Suugaanta ama fannaaniintu,
waqti kasta oo la joogo, sida jaraa’idka oo kale hadda wixii dalkooda
ka dhaca ayay wax ka tinyaan’ (Literature or artists, regardless
31
 K4 junction, 1980s
of period or location, are chroniclers of what is happening in their nation).
Women, in particular, although not formally credited with the writing of
songs or for the parts they played, were in fact active in the creation of female
characters, drawing on their personal experience to flesh them out and word
their gags. Clearly this exposed them to public opinion and censorship,
which, in the years to come was to bear down ever more heavily on the
cultural output of the nation. To give an idea of the social significance of
these actresses, take the example of Maryan Mursal, the renowned Somali
singer and actress with two albums in Peter Gabriel’s Real World catalogue,
‘New Dawn’ and ‘The Journey’. Outstanding in her famed portrayal of the
protagonist in the two best works she feels she has acted in, Shabeelnagood e
Hablaayahow had maad guursan doontaan, in an interview in the West London
suburb of Southall, where she has opened the Botaan Business Centre shop,
Maryan declared: ‘I was the first woman taxi driver
in Mogadishu. Everyone insulted me. I couldn’t have cared less actually.
I wanted to work for the sake of my children, so that they lacked nothing.
Nowadays, when I see women bus drivers, it reminds me of that battle of
mine that started 40 years ago. And it makes me so happy.’
A famous Somali song, written by Cabdullahi Kharshe, is dedicated to
the ex-president of Ghana, while another song on the album ‘The Freedom
Songs of Somali Republic’, sings in praise of another important African head
of state, Patrice Lumumba. The sacrifices made in the name of independence
were still heartfelt for Somalis, and the Pan African dream, female
emancipation and modernity filled the air. The situation was still a long
way from that described years later in ‘War ninkow ninkow’, a song in
which Cabdi Muxumed Amiin and Saado Cali Warsame sing a duet of a
feigned dialogue with the, by then crumbling and abandoned, Hotel Jubba,
Lido Beach, 1980s
formerly described as ‘An outstanding hotel in a quiet position in the centre
of the city’. In this hotel there used to be a swimming pool, that I remember
going to with my cousins. We would sit on the side, bemused, with only
our legs in the water, as we didn’t know how to swim.
Mogadishu was a seaside town, ‘stretched out along the coast’ in the
words of Kaha Mohamed Aden, and when I look at the map, it’s easier for
me to recognize the names of buildings than those of roads. ‘Apart from
the restoration of historic buildings and the renaming of roads and squares
after patriots, the national rebirth manifested itself in the construction of
monuments to the perpetual memory of those who fell for the glory of the
Fatherland.’3 The three monuments referred to above are the Dhagaxtuaur,
the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and of Xawa Tako, the heroine who died
on 11 January 1948, and after whom my primary school was named. We all
wore white and blue uniforms and sang hymns to the Revolution and when
we came out of school, lots of us crowded round the wandering street-
vendors, who, for a few kumi, dispensed sesame snaps and milk gums.
If the city was quite different from our expectations – ‘it’s a normal city’
as my mother said in a recording on a cassette sent back to her family in Italy,
‘and it’s hot, it’s like being on holiday’ – this is no doubt because Mogadishu
was to some extent similar to an Italian city. In his essay ‘Fan-masraxeedka
Soomaalida’, Maxamed Daahir Afrax states that the wholly Italian custom
of spending the evenings in the centre, with its more busy cinemas, cafes
3 Mogadiscio Perla dell’Oceano Indiano – Pearl of the Indian Ocean, Edito a cura
di Mohamed Sheikh Alì Giumale per conto del Governo locale di Mogadiscio, ‘Unlike the overcrowded beaches in Europe and other countries with
Published by Mohamed Sheikh Alì Giumale on behalf of the local
Government of Mogadishu, Stampa ‘P. MARZARI’ Industrie grafiche s.r.l.
36015 Schio Italy
32
and bars, not only influenced the local lifestyle, but, must also partly have
influenced the development of the performances and songs of the Benaadir.
Bread was purchased at the bar-patisserie-restaurant-roofgarden-
takeaway-cheesemakers-bakery, Azan, the only establishment that would
make fresh pasta to order. If you wanted to see a film, the choice was more
than ample, from the Cinema Centrale, the Equatore and Il Missione, as well
as many others, all showing films directly in Italian.
I, on the other hand, preferred to go to the cinema with my cousins:
on Thursday evenings my uncle would take us all to see an Indian film.
Obviously he left us at the entrance and came back to pick us up when
the film ended. Sentimental Bollywood love stories were not his thing.
Our heroines were actresses with long, raven black hair and finest filigree
jewellery, like the handmade jewellery of the artisans in the gold market.
Occasionally, in the late afternoon, we’d go and watch my big cousin play
tennis and we used to frown at her opponents in the vain belief that our
eyes alone were enough to make them lose. In those years I hadn’t even
heard of the Casa d’Italia, a club reserved for Italians, as was clear from the
name. Just because he’d married a young Italian woman, it didn’t mean that
my father stopped being allergic to certain places linked to the colonial past.
I can’t tell how my mother lived in Mogadishu, because, as I mentioned,
my recollections are undoubtedly different from hers, and then the final
few years there greatly blurred the initial sensations. Perhaps the sea that
she described is still the same, ‘without any beach parasols’ and beautiful,
despite the risk from sharks.
affluent societies here there is ample space for long walks without having
to climb over other human bodies and without the threat of pollution.’ (p.
50). There is no doubt that the sea was the major element of my childhood:
hours spent on the beach observing what the sea washed up, the futile
begging to my aunt Xamsa, who was dead against sunbathing. In the early
years, we used a beach cabin reserved for employees of the Somali Central
Bank, where my uncle worked. This was the same bank where letters for my
mother arrived, given that P.O. boxes were in short supply in Mogadishu.
The cabins had terraces overlooking the sea and there was a bar and changing
rooms. There were always hordes of people at home, friends and relatives,
some of whom stayed a short while, others for longer periods.
In the recorded letters found in my grandmother’s drawers back in
Verona, my father’s brother can be heard briefly greeting the family and
describing my mother as follows: ‘The subject in question is a really kind
young woman. We really like her.’ She had become part of the family.
‘The Central Post Office, in Corso Somalia, is normally open from
7am to 12.30 and from 4pm to 6pm every day except Friday, providing the
following services: Air mail, Surface mail, Parcel post, Registered mail, sale
of stamps (…) Satellite telephone connection is available at the following
time: Mogadishu – Rome (direct) from 11am to 3pm.’4
As you might imagine, the Mogadishu central post office played a key
role in my mother’s existence. I remember it as an imposing, saffron-coloured
building with oleander bushes and yellow bellflowers outside the front.
Climbing a short staircase, you entered the main hall and this is where my
4 Mogadiscio Perla dell’Oceano Indiano – Pearl of the Indian Ocean, Edito a cura
di Mohamed Sheikh Alì Giumale per conto del Governo locale di Mogadiscio,
Published by Mohamed Sheikh Alì Giumale on behalf of the local
Government of Mogadishu, Stampa ‘P. MARZARI’ Industrie grafiche s.r.l.
36015 Schio Italy
33
 Public gardens and
Triumphal Arch,
1980s

mother used to sit with her long brown hair, waiting her turn after paying for
her call in advance. (The choice was limited, either three, five, or at most, ten
minutes). The operators would call out people’s names when their turn came
and then you would slide into the assigned cabin for the duration of the
call. During this lengthy wait one day, I remember going outside to explore
the garden. My father was there outside, chatting with a friend, who was
wearing a long tunic, the baggy sleeves of which seemed empty. ‘Where
are your arms?’ I asked him in horror. ‘The shark ate them.’ he answered,
‘If you want, I’ll show you the stumps.’ They both burst out laughing
at the look of terror on my face.
If, on the other hand, you wanted to send a letter or a card, or to view
the latest issue of stamps, you had to go to the counters on the left: the
young ladies were very polite and showed you splendid images of the flora
and fauna of Somalia, as well as many other things too. In the building’s
lateral wings there were long rows of P.O. boxes, each one numbered. These
were not individual and as I mentioned above, our mail went to the P.O.
box of the Central Bank, where my uncle worked.
Catholic Cathedral,
My grandmother used to send us all presents on special occasions. The 1980s
opening of these parcels was a cause for great excitement at home. At the
very moment the cardboard box was cut or torn open, a mysterious aroma
emerged, a mix of strawberry and talcum powder, the smell of Italy. Once,
National Theatre,
2013 my grandmother sent a musical box as a present. It was a little purple box
covered in sateen. A ballerina in a pale pink tutu, wearing a diadem in the
middle of her forehead, danced whilst looking at herself in a small, gold- Translation:
framed mirror. The moment you opened the box, she began to revolve, Dumashi sister-in-law
Iskadhal mixed race
dancing to the notes of Doctor Zhivago. It was monsoon season and her Osgunti traditional longhi
presence in my room seemed exotic and out of place. I loved her all the same. worn by Somali men

34 35
Early Transformations
 Aerial view of
Mogadishu, 1930s

38
 The ‘Garesa
command’,
Mogadishu, 1909

Aerial view, A husband and

Hamarweine wife, 1889–1891
(old city), 1923

Mogadishu
panorama as
seen from further
inland, 1920–24

40 41
Viale Vittorio Warehouses
Emanuele III and jetty at
(Jidka janaral the new port,
Daud ), 1927 1940s

View towards
the shore over
the old Town
Hall, 1930s

42 43
The Governor’s Old coral stone
Palace and the city, 1930s
old restored
houses, 1924–25

First Truimphal
Arch at ‘Giama
Square’, 1920–1925

Banadir Regional
Administration,
1930s

44
 A new
administrative
building, Shingani,
1930s

Mosque of Sheik
Mohieddin, 1920

46 47
 Old stone houses,
Hamarweine
(0ld City), 1930s

Old stone houses,

Shingani/
Hamarweine
(0ld City), 1930s

48 49
New Governor’s
Residence (Villa
Somalia), 1930s

51
 Ceremony by the Fiat Garage, 1930s
Governor’s Palace,
King Vittorio
Emanuele III
Boulevard
(Jidka janaral
Daud), 1924

New modernist
style buildings,
1930–40

52
New Radio A camel caravan The market
Mogadishu entering old for ‘Tongi’, 1920
building, 1950s city through one
of the gates, 1920

Marketplace, 1920s

New Radio
Mogadishu
building, 1950s

55
 Two men fishing
by the shore, 1924

King Vittorio
Emanuele III
Boulevard (Jidka
janaral Daud),
1950s

56 57
Present Conditions
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