Kismayo, once merely a modest town nestled in the corners of our memories, is morphing in ways few could have foreseen. The town which used to rest quietly in its own essence now stretches beyond its original confines, treading into territories never designated for habitation, much less for eternal rest. A graveyard, Bar Alen, which now awkwardly lies squashed between the bustling heart of the town and the distant whispers from the airport.
Amidst this unexpected evolution, one can’t help but wonder, “Where is the district administration steering this ship?” Are Mayor Omar Abdullahi Faraweyne and his team shaping a plan, or are they mere spectators in Kismayo’s relentless march towards the future? As the city stretches its limbs further, how can they justify keeping people’s final resting place here by 2025? More so, how do the neighbors of Bar Alen come to terms with residing next to a growing cemetery?
Mohamed Abdi, a fictitious name for a real person residing merely meters from Bar Alen, shared a poignant sentiment: “We see funeral processions pass every day. It really strikes deep into our serene life,” he expressed, worry etched across his face. “We honor our departed, but this isn’t the framework Kismayo deserves while blossoming. A perennial solution must be drawn,” he further asserted.
Envision a city—the way it breathes, the way it walks. A city respectfully crafted considers the honor and finesse due to both its living and departed. Kismayo, now charmed by the symphony of wheels and roads, must not graze past this essence. To propose relocating the cemetery 15 to 20 kilometers beyond today’s humbling border could be pragmatic, yet, somehow, deeply considerate.
“When I was younger,” reminisced Habiba Ali, a vibrant local, “no one felt Kismayo could kiss Bar Alen’s ground. It was distant, aloof even. Fast forward, it’s the urban nucleus. How long until it suffocates under houses?” she pondered aloud.
It’s time to juxtapose rationality with sentimentality, to cordon off Bar Alen, safeguarding its essence while activating the adjacent ridges for economic endeavors. Picture rolling hills, graciously awaiting a new purpose—perhaps a flourishing park, prosperous farmland, or even the cradle of burgeoning businesses. It strikes one; why squander precious land while people jostle for residential space?
A visionary local business owner stated, “Bar Alen lies at a crucial vantage point, and its fate shouldn’t be sealed in the city’s embrace. Instead, reshaping its destiny before the city’s appetite swallows it whole could mark our era as forward-thinking.”
Kismayo’s population swells with each passing day, like a river bursting its banks. This unchecked expansion risks an unsightly skyline littered with forgotten cemeteries, a thought both unsettling and impractical. The district’s administrators find themselves at a juncture, charged with the solemn duty to gaze into the horizon and chart a future respectful of both ancestral and upcoming chapters.
What then is the master blueprint, Mayor Omar Abdullahi Faraweyne? Will the local governance orchestrate a harmonious melody, blending our rich traditions with the demands of looming modernity, or will Kismayo’s vista resemble a pastiche lacking foresightful urban curvature?
The heart of Kismayo beats with anticipation. Its residents long to know: will Bar Alen finally be made a historical relic, replaced by a location far removed from the town’s heartbeats? Will their concerns echo into voids or reshape a city to match their dreams and cultivated hopes?
Ali Abdi Hussein, no stranger to Kismayo’s daily rhythms, watches keenly. As a community member profoundly invested in Kismayo’s developmental narrative, Ali speaks with a voice drenched in both hope and urgency.
