By Ismail Warsame

Opinion Columnist

In Somali culture, men hold deep reverence for their mothers-in-law (sodoh). This respect is not casual but almost sacred—any man who dares break the unwritten rule risks ostracism. As I traveled beyond Somalia, I discovered this norm is far from universal. In countries like India, for instance, the mother-in-law often carries a far less honored status.

Over the years, while interacting with East Indian colleagues in the workplace and on my travels, I was struck by how often conversations turned to “the mother-in-law”—usually in tones of disdain, ridicule, or outright hostility. I initially dismissed such attitudes as crude and inhumane, until one day a friend of mine shared with me a deeply unsettling story of a Somali man whose experience with his mother-in-law shifted my perspective.

This man, out of duty and kindness, brought his wife’s mother from the unforgiving countryside of Galdogob, in Mudugh Region, to Mogadishu. He wanted to spare her the torment of scorching heat, parched earth, and chronic thirst. In his home, he gave her a self-contained room, where she began to study the Qur’an and pray five times a day, deeply grateful for the new life her son-in-law had provided.

But then came January 1991, when Mogadishu descended into the fires of civil war and clan cleansing. As the family attempted to flee, they were stopped at a militia checkpoint. The gang agreed to release his wife and children unharmed but targeted the elderly mother-in-law for rape. The son-in-law surrendered the last of his meager savings—the family’s escape money to Kismayo—to ransom her dignity. By doing so, he saved her from the worst of horrors.

In time, the family found refuge in North America. Yet the story took a bitter turn. The once-grateful mother-in-law grew hostile. One day, in a moment of rage, she slapped her son-in-law and ordered him out of his own home. He obeyed, left North America entirely, and resettled in Europe. His sons, left behind, grew up fatherless and spoiled, the family bond fractured forever.

It was then that I began to understand the attitudes of many Indian men toward their mothers-in-law. Their disdain, though still harsh, seemed less abstract after hearing such a painful story from within my own community.

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POSTSCRIPT

Among the countless tragedies of Somalia’s Civil War are stories too harrowing to forget. One such incident involved women being abducted at gunpoint from a lorry in the dead of night to be gang-raped. At dawn, one of the perpetrators made a devastating discovery: two of the victims were his own sisters.

During General Aideed’s USC occupation of Galkayo on March 3, 1991 and 1992, at least five hundred women were subjected to gang rape. Some were pregnant and miscarried from the trauma. These crimes, alongside the mass abuses in Mogadishu, stand as stark reminders of the unimaginable human toll of Somalia’s conflict.

In 1991, the United Somali Congress (USC) militias and clan warlords violently seized control of Mogadishu, Somalia. What followed was not just a military takeover but the deliberate destruction of Somalia’s future. The USC dismantled state institutions, ruined infrastructure, plundered systems and assets, and left the nation without the capacity to recover.

The devastation did not stop in Mogadishu. USC’s actions triggered a wave of killings, mass displacement, and indiscriminate destruction that spread across Somalia. Millions were uprooted from their homes, entire communities shattered, and the dream of a functioning Somali state collapsed. This deliberate wreckage marked Somalia as one of the world’s most glaring examples of state failure in modern history. The consequences were not confined to the capital but rippled through every city and region of the nation.

Mogadishu, once hailed as a proud African capital and cultural hub, descended into chaos. The city became synonymous with warlordism, violence, and organized crime. For decades, tribal militias and factional leaders turned the city into a battlefield, exploiting its people while denying them the peace and dignity they once enjoyed.

Even after years of international interventions and national reconstruction efforts, Somalia’s recovery has been repeatedly sabotaged by corrupt leadership. Among the most notorious figures is Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, a former civil war clerk turned politician, who squandered every chance to rebuild Mogadishu. Instead, he empowered militias and cronies through embezzlement, looting, exploitation, and wasteful spending—deliberately undermining the recovery of both the city and the Somali nation.

The tragedy of Mogadishu, and by extension Somalia, is not simply the legacy of the USC warlords of the 1990s but the ongoing betrayal by political elites who have weaponized clan loyalty, corruption, and international aid to deny their people a second chance at stability and prosperity.

If Somalia is ever to recover, it must confront this legacy of destruction and betrayal—both from warlords of the past and politicians of the present.

Ahmed Siad
September 7, 2025