SHUKRAN

Dear brothers and sisters,

I’m really moved by the high opinion you have of me and by the recognition you considered me worthy of. My heartfelt congratulations to the person who had the idea of starting this prize and to those who supported it as they understood the importance of such an honour. Sixteen years ago, when i began my struggle for the Banaadiris, I had few references and I had to make mistakes and correct them myself. Thus I think this is a prize whose importance goes way beyond my merits, since it conveys a powerful message, mostly addressed to young people. With this prize the Banaadiris say, ultimately, “From now on anyone who pledges himself or herself to enriching and defending the Banaadiri culture, dignity and freedom will never be left unassisted”. Well, now young people do have references to attain, to improve and to overcome. I also hope this prize will become a yearly event and will become more and more important, so that everyone will vie in helping his/her own people: the Banaadiris.
A long time ago, on my Yemenite ancestors’ sailing ships, a character known as ahl sadr al-samar was always taken on board, and his only duty was to keep the crew awake. Up to a few years ago the journey Yemen-Banaadir-Iran-India was very dangerous. The Indian Ocean wouldn’t stand cowards and punished any little mistakes made by the sailors. That was particularly true on the long and treacherous night crossings, when the star lights became intense in the sky and the Indian Ocean became ghastly, an expanse of luminous seaweeds and shining spots like the irises of felines, and the ship crew could fall asleep as a result of boredom or fatigue. The vessel ran the risk of getting stranded and wrecked. To avert this disaster, the ahl sadr al-samar (the waking men), kept the crew awake telling them every kind of stories, recalling ancient epics and reciting qasiida (poems) written by them or others.
But when night threatened to turn into a shroud and its silence conveyed anxiety and terror, or a storm forced the sailors to brave waves as high as mountains with their ships, the ahl sadr al-samar helped their shaken hearts to conquer panic and defeat fear.
The task I have given myself for many years is similar to the ahl sadr al samar’s: I must keep the crew awake and watchful so that the Banaadiri ship won’t go adrift and get wrecked.
I decided to fight for the people who raised me, fed me, taught me, protected me and brought me up in happiness. I decided to fight for people that have no voice. And if I succeed in convincing the runaways not to desert the weakest and not to repudiate their identities, then I shall be even happier.
I confess I’ve often felt as if I were a bard, a ballad-singer, standing in a corner of a dusty market, amongst the whisperings of a resigned crowd, and began to sing at the top of my voice a story nobody was interested in.
To know for certain now that many people think my work hasn’t been useless, rewards me for all the sacrifices and humiliations I have suffered in the attempt to defend the freedom, the dignity and the identity of my people: the Banaadiris.
Thank you for everything,
Nuredin Hagi Scikei