With the dawn of 2025, I found myself embarking on a nostalgic weeklong journey back to my roots – the small town of Buuloburte. The last time I set foot in this quaint dot on the map was back in August 2023, when a break from the daily grind led me here for a refreshing week. This time, however, I was playing the role of dutiful son, escorting my mother back home after a delightful, yet languorous, stay in the hustle and bustle of Mogadishu.
Imagine our arrival at Buuloburte airport on January 2nd—an airstrip bustling with the promise of a new year. It’s a place that feels like a heartbeat of the town, with one commercial flight a week setting the scene every Thursday. For many, it’s the lone thread knitting them to the wider world. Given the schedule, it became clear that unless I fancied a marathon, I would be in Buuloburte till the next Thursday’s takeoff. That buffer provided a superb opportunity to reconnect with the town folk as they whittled away the time at the airstrip. Within a mere ten minutes, the plane we arrived on was echoing with the chatter of return passengers, quickly transforming from a vessel of arrival to one of departure.
Guarding this minuscule hub of aviation is the Djiboutian contingent of AUSSOM, ensuring safety amid the peace and quiet of the surrounding landscape. Night descends as a dark cloak, and the airport’s security presence recedes almost magically, 5 kilometers away from the town itself. Mornings here have their quirks; on landing days, the telecom antennae mischievously play hide and seek, disappearing until the Djiboutian contingent gives the all-clear. It’s check, double-check, and cross-check time, including the bags for those Mogadishu-bound. Yet, let’s be honest, the waiting experience—with barely a chair in sight—is about as cheerful as a wet dishcloth. Still, there’s an undeniable sense of gratitude for the very existence of the airstrip and the lifeline it offers to us nomads.
Mahad Wasuge near Buuloburte airstrip, the vital lifeline that links this tranquil town to the wider world / Photo: Courtesy of Mahad Wasuge.
Wandering around the town is akin to replaying an old tape; familiar scenes and static landscapes, untouched by the waves of change. I remember learning economic theories during my university days—those nifty concepts of price, demand, and supply—but in Buuloburte, it feels like the ‘all else remains the same’ assumption perennially rings true. It’s as if time took a pause, or maybe hit rewind. New ventures seem few and far between; the main road shops often lie dormant, and economic chances are scarcer than hen’s teeth. Yet every visit, dating back to my jaunts since early 2021, has left the same echoing sentiment—stasis.
Still, my heart finds a warm embrace here. This town holds more than just memories; it carries the essence of belonging. Each visit unfolds as a tapestry of family, friends, and neighborly chats. My treasured moments include meandering through the lanes hand-in-hand with nostalgia, ushering visits with my dear old mother to our neighbors, wiring myself back into the close-knit community web, and asking around about familiar faces.
An unforgettable visit was to the site of my Alma Mater, the Al Imra Institute of Languages. The place where my English grapple turned into a lifelong affair. On an impulsive afternoon visit with Liban Dirie, my friend, a moment froze as he snapped my photograph outside that iconic, blue door. Using a bit of arithmetic humor, I told him he was born just as I embarked on my English-learning journey there—a gentle reminder of time’s whimsical dance.
Standing before the humble blue entrance of Al Imra Institute, Mahad Wasuge basks in the lingering sentiments of his formative years / Photo: Courtesy of Mahad Wasuge.
Not to be missed on my pilgrimage down memory lane was a visit to my Quranic Madarasa, a sacred space founded by my late, cherished teacher, Moalin Abdirahman Muhumed Ali. Though he departed this world in March 2019, his teachings perpetuate through the walls of the mosque a kind Kuwaiti soul sponsored back in 2005. Delivering an Arabic lecture at its inception now seems a lifetime ago. Reuniting with his sons, Moalin Ahmed Rashid and Moalin Ibrahim, reminded me that Moalin’s legacy lives grandly.
Ahmed Gurey Primary School also drew my curiosity, now bolstered by the gentle inclusion of secondary education since my own graduation from its four walls in 2006. While exchanging words of encouragement with Form Two and Form Four students, I couldn’t escape reminiscing about the time I unknowingly hurdled the same youthful obstacles. The absence of teaching staff provided an unexpected twist, catapulting me straight into teaching mode for the young minds sitting inquisitively before me.
Outside Ahmed Gurey Primary School, Mahad Wasuge finds himself sharing wisdom and pondering over the future of new learners / Photo: Courtesy of Mahad Wasuge.
In Buuloburte, education seldom makes it to the spotlight of conversations, despite the existence of two universities. Among the few interested in academic discussions was Mahad Nur Abukar, a dedicated son of the late Nur Abukar. His tales of online learning, interwoven with the challenge of running a pharmacy and family ties, paint a vivid picture of ambition grappling with geographical confines. The stark contrast between the opportunities available to a wanderer like myself and those shackled by the town’s logistical limits urge reflection on life’s disparities.
As my week in Buuloburte drew to a close, it resonated with the melody of old friendships renewed. Conversations with Abdirashid Omar Wehliye, an erstwhile football comrade, and countless other interactions grounded me back into the very essence of belonging. Despite the town’s humble prospects and the woeful struggle for a decent cup of coffee, it wields the magic wand that shapes identity. A notion embracing a place where I hope the sunset years of life find me.
Mahad Wasuge is more than just a name; a tapestry composing an explorer, pedagogue, storyteller, and seeker of social justice in Somalia’s intricate mosaic. These days echo with his flair for unraveling the threads of governance, life, and society. His journey serves as a testament to teaching and learning, blending academic rigor with an inquisitive spirit.
Report by Axadle.
