Page 55

IN SOMALIA

I am the sister of the martyr. I am the aunt of the potato seller at the local market. I am the daughter of the local sheikh. I am the injured of the revolution. The protester. The jailed. The detained. I am the tortured. The exiled. The kidnapped. The raped. I am the veiled. The non-veiled. I am a beautiful soul. I am a Somali woman. My skin is of ebony and ivory. I am young by spirit. Old by experience. I am the pregnant. The wife. The single mother. The widow. The godobtiir and godobreeb tool forcing me into marriage as the compensation payment for another clan’s peace settlement. I am a Somali woman. Yet I am not a victim. I am a leader. Not a woman leader. But a leader who happens to be a woman. I clean up the streets of my nation. I rise up the past. The present and the future generations. I brought the Nobel Peace Prize to Somalia. I am a Somali woman. I speak out for my son at school. I speak up for my daughter in the madrasa. I pray for my ancestors and for my older son in jail. For my mother in the hospital. I speak out for our artists whom they keep bombing in theatres and on the streets. I am a Somali woman. I speak out for my mind. I am the pulse of the people. I live in the city. In the town. In the rural areas. In the suburbs. On the mountains. Along the borders. I am in Garowe. Mogadishu. Afgoye. Erigavo. Hargeisa. Galkayo. Bosaaso. Beletweyne. Badhan. Bocame. And every corner where there is life and sound. I am a Somali woman. I am synonymous with strength and victory. I celebrate sisterhood. I celebrate motherhood. I boost the economy. I advance the technology. I give life to the community. Do I deserve to be equal to you? Yes I do. Because I am a woman. A Somali woman. Sahro Kooshin

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Closing the Gender Gap  
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