Mogadishu, Somalia – Under the relentless heat of the Mogadishu sun, Mukhtar Abdiwhab Ahmed finds himself seated on a simple plastic chair outside his home. The sounds of children at play, soldiers in clusters, and rickshaws darting past are the symphony of his daily surroundings.
“Had I known I’d be here in Somalia, these tattoos would never have made it onto my skin,” he muses to Al Jazeera. Mukhtar, a 39-year-old, resorts mostly to long-sleeved shirts now, hoping to shield himself from the critical whispers and judgmental gazes that often come his way.
Mukhtar’s story is one of many layers. After spending most of his life immersed in the American way, adapting to Somalia’s conservative society hasn’t been a walk in the park, especially since his deportation in 2018 during the initial upheavals of the Trump administration.
With a change in presidency, the Trump administration once again rings the bell for deportations, targeting migrants labeled as undocumented, including over 4,000 Somalis who find themselves facing a future much like Mukhtar’s.
Yet, the decision isn’t without its critics. Lawyers and activists echo across the globe, alongside previously deported Somalis who raise alarms over the potential danger such a policy could incite. Somalia remains scarred by insecurity and instability, not to mention the mental toll of readapting to a land many left in their childhood. Employment prospects are a mirage in this desert of opportunity.
Even Washington casts a shadow of its own warnings over the region, alerting its citizens of the crime, terrorism, and civil unrest that riddle the streets of Somalia—a landscape frequently marred by al-Shabab’s aggressive antics.
The Wrong Path
Fleeing Somalia with his family after the 1991 governmental collapse was merely the beginning of Mukhtar’s journey. A stop in Kenya preluded his eventual refuge in the United States with his older brother. Let’s pause for a moment. South Seattle, 1995. The allure of crime, drugs, and violence tethered tightly to his youth like an unyielding anchor.
“I was barely sweet sixteen when trouble came knocking,” Mukhtar recalls, confessing to school truancy, petty crime, and an early brush with the justice system after a car theft incident spiraled into a felony charge. Though he sought redemption, life had another tumble in store. 2005 saw Mukhtar charged with armed robbery, ushering him into adulthood through an unforgiving justice system that led to his incarceration for two years.
As his prison tenure ticked to a close, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers swooped in, not to herald his freedom, but to ferry him to the Northwest Detention Center in Tacoma, Washington. The cold realization weighed heavy. It was as if he served two sentences for the price of one misstep, “like an animal led to the slaughterhouse,” Mukhtar admits.
His eventual fate seemed sealed with a deportation order to a war-torn homeland. By 2007, Somali ebb and flow of conflict saw US-backed Ethiopians clashing with insurgents, preventing Mukhtar’s immediate deportation. But the specter of further legal troubles in 2015 ensured another detainment, thrusting him back to grim cells of Tacoma, history on a scratched record.
December 2017 marked a pivotal moment on a deportation flight of infamy, where ICE-clad manacles were more than a legal maneuver—they were a prelude to an odyssey rife with abuse. The flight never reached its destination, spurring outcry and casting Mukhtar into a mire of international attention, unwelcomed as it was.
Many held onto a last-ditch legal lifeline, as desperate motions swirled in American courts. “But in my calculus, eight years of life shut behind bars was a decade too long,” Mukhtar explains, accepting the inevitable—Somalia’s call.
A Journey to the Unknown
March 2018 delivered Mukhtar to unfamiliar landscapes on a shared deportation flight from the US—a mosaic of nationalities shuffled within its metallic confines. Nairobi offered only a fleeting glimpse before Somali deportees faced another flight to Mogadishu, unaccompanied by their previous ICE escorts. As another deportee, Anwar Mohamed, poignantly inquired, “If Somalia’s dangerous for them, why am I here?”
The paradox is unmistakable—Somalia, under a travel advisory for US citizens, yet marked as the destination for thousands like Mukhtar in 2024. Amidst these diplomatic tensions, residents navigate a city grappling with its reimagined identity amidst the sporadic terror of al-Shabab’s reach.
Supporters of the administration grapple with the moral quandaries it presents, balancing public safety against those seeking asylum or refuge. Yet, as the drums of change rumble through legislative chambers, the echoes scarcely reach the men like Mukhtar scraping together a living one day at a time.
Coping with Shadows of the Past
Mogadishu presents itself differently to Mukhtar upon his reentry than the war-torn images seared into memory. High rises plant themselves where pockmarked buildings once cowered. Beyond these facades, the specter of unrest persists as backroom whispers and pointed glares follow Mukhtar’s every move.
Anecdotes abound, yet the city’s transition offers little solace. “Every road seems to lead to an unknown fate,” Mukhtar reflects grimly. A blast once spared him by a stroke of lazy fortune, emphasizing the precarious dance of existence in this conflicted capital.
Job prospects remain barren amidst the forlorn socioeconomic landscape, particularly challenging for the deportees integrating into a Somali tapestry woven differently from their own cultural threads. Language barriers tolled the familiar sounds of home into an alien tongue, with mere glimpses of opportunity waiting—perhaps as translators, perhaps as unlikely defenders in uniform.
Adapting to a New Normal
Cultural stigmas further mar Mukhtar’s journey. Emblazoned tattoos are a canvas of his misspent youth, scrutinized by society’s judgment, as each prayer preceding the mosque brings renewed antipathy.
Meanwhile, Anwar Mohamed, himself shackled to the past, wrestles with the ghosts of his Mogadishu memories. Reliving haunting childhood scenes of a mother’s prayer saving him from a grenade’s deadly speck of violence shapes his resolve to adapt, albeit within the confines of freshly applied cultural barriers.
Yet, he propels forward—juggling a humble rickshaw to make ends meet, aware that each societal snub is but a card dealt by a life unchosen, not undeserved.
Despite the roadblocks, a flicker of resilience springs forth. It leaves one pondering: In the crosshairs of divergent worlds, what future can these deported souls craft from the narratives of their past? How does one reconcile a displaced existence when the borders of identity blur into uncertainty?
“We carry on,” Anwar remarks, his voice a testament to the indomitable spirit that perseveres even in adversity. “This is the card I’ve been dealt, and I have to make the best of it.”
Edited By Ali Musa
Axadle Times International–Monitoring.
