Singer Prohibited from Mogadishu Performance Celebrated with Open Arms in Hargeisa
In the lively embrace of a bustling Hargeisa evening, Somali singer Haboon Nuura beamed with an illustrious glow, reflective of the impassioned welcome she received. The scene unfolded at Egal International Airport, where a symphony of cheers, warm smiles, and waving North Western State of Somalia flags greeted her arrival. Wasn’t it just a vivid testimony to her significant place in the hearts of the people?
Nuura found herself at the center of attention, not always a comfortable place to be, particularly when controversy precedes you across city lines. Her journey to Hargeisa was triggered by a decision in Mogadishu that thrust her into the glare of public and political scrutiny—a concert cancellation over lyrics deemed contentious by some. The words she sang innocently enough almost a year ago, “I have no enemy worse than Mogadishu,” inadvertently became the flashpoint, sparking both debate and division.
Somali authorities, citing safety reasons amidst the ensuing uproar, decided that the show would not go on. To her ardent supporters, this was not just a concert; it was art under siege. Yet, it was not art alone that bridged the divide between Nuura and her admirers but a shared narrative, a shared history, and a shared yearning.
In Hargeisa, the storyline took an optimistic turn. As throngs of well-wishers hailed her arrival at the airport, their collective voice was a powerful affirmation of solidarity. Nuura, amidst the sea of welcoming faces, offered her heartfelt thanks.
“To the people of North Western State of Somalia, your support sweeps over me like a tide of encouragement,” she proclaimed with sincerity. “In you, I find victory and dignity.”
Does Nuura’s experience not echo a broader commentary on the entwining paths of culture and politics in Somalia? Once upon a time, musicians freely traversed the lands, their music a unifying language. But realms of art and politics have since collided, and the lines, once bold, have blurred. Today, who is to say where art ends and politics begins?
Among those greeting Nuura was the esteemed Abdirahman Haji, former chairman of the once-glorious Xidigaha Geeska. Haji’s presence was not merely ceremonial; it projected a historical narrative—an observation steeped in reflection.
“Art used to be our common ground, untouched by political winds,” Haji reminisced. “Yet if the landscape changes, North Western State of Somalia charts its own destiny.”
The melody of Nuura’s challenges is not solitary in the annals of Somali music. Recall the stir caused by Dayar Dalnuurshe, another artist whose candid words led to his exclusion from Hargeisa events. The pattern repeats—emotions swell, opinions form, and somehow, amidst the chaos, social media becomes the microcosm of society’s voice, posting hashtags, sharing sentiments, calling for action.
What creates this cultural solitude, this barricade against artists who dare to voice their truths or critiques? Are we not all in this together, each voice distinct yet forming a cultural chorus?
In the end, Haboon Nuura’s story, her melodies contested and revered, is emblematic of the complex interplay between expression and reception—where geography, politics, and art converge, and where each note played stirs a different audience response.
Her journey is reflective, like a mirror held to society, questioning, provoking, and ultimately, resonating—leaving in its wake a trail for contemplation.
Edited By Ali Musa
Axadle Times International–Monitoring
