In a City where People Respect Themselves

In a city where people respect themselves, buildings are designed with physically challenged people in mind.

The most popular color for cars is white and the least popular is black.

People dispose each type of wastes in, and only in, special containers.

Everything is civil, and only civil.

Everyone is aware of the importance of recycling.

On the street, priorities are for ambulances, funerals, weddings and walkers, especially ladies and children.

You see no one begging.

People may not like each other's ideologies and ethnicities, yet they are all equal under the law and they respect the law or object it in a lawful way.

Men and women dress in nice, neat, cheerful and decent way.

You don't hear whatsoever profanity and swearwords.

You do not find a cat, or any other animal, that gets terrified when you come close to it.

You rarely hear a sound that is produced intentionally and that irritates you.

You go walking at any hour fearing no person or obstacle on your way.

Security authorities' number one responsibilities are to research health and natural disaster issues and to eliminate negativity between civilians.

There is no such a concept as a servant.

At shops and markets, customers are always right, and customers are able to help themselves by themselves.

Walking, or moving on wheelchairs, on sideways is a safe and straightforward experience.

There is no person above the law.

Diplomats and CD cars are not allowed to enter the city.

Traveling by public transportation is a nice social experience.

You see no political signs.

Everybody is positively focused on their own business.

Everybody cares actively about the city, country and the entire world.

It is highly competitive and lucrative to become a teacher.

You find bookshops that sell books on subjects other than novels, astrology, pseudoscience, standard textbooks, poetry and metaphysics.

You can afford to buy books.

Copyrights are respected.

People smile and great everyone they pass by.

When they hear or see some sign calling for prayer, they all pause and try to remember their life missions.

You rarely see someone over thirty-years old who is not married.

People work proactively on their social skills.

The relationship between the two genders is open and healthy.

Nobody's body is a product or service.

People respect food, and eat healthily.

Refugees are always welcome and "no one is illegal."

There are no lofty buildings, nor does anyone like such buildings.

Everybody can speak a world major language.

Everyone believes in a better city.

Sweet Somali Banana

Ever since I was little innocent Omar at my early school years, poor Somali refugees symbolized misery to me; I remember seeing them in person in the streets of Jeddah and Mecca, Saudi Arabia.

I later saw many poor people in Syria bravely endure their disabilities, but the disabilities that many Somalis suffered from were, in most cases, far much severe and challenging.

Back then, in Jeddah, Somali banana was without a doubt little Omar’s favorite fruit. It was beautifully yellow, easy to peel off, soft and simply tasted good; only one should never toss its peel on the ground!

At home, I remember that I once didn’t want to complete eating the food in my dish, so my parents, as yours perhaps did, reminded me that people in Somalia are starving and we should never throw away food.

From time to time, I felt guilty to eat while people are starving in hot dry Somalia. I knew their suffering couldn’t be put to an end by money only, as there were boxes to gather monitory donations for them in every commercial center in Jeddah. After all, there must be a reason why their misery carries on.

At school, I had a lucky Somali classmate; he was a hardcore soccer player and one of the best players of our school team, he was well built, strong and peaceful. One time, I was standing in our schoolyard during PE class; I was supposed to be playing and running, but I was daydreaming when he unintentionally kicked a heavy, almost standard, soccer ball straight to the area between my chest and stomach; Man! It was a missile, so tough and painful that I hardly could breathe. We were at our third or fourth grade when that accident occurred. He was tough, even his accent and pronunciation of letters was tough. Anyway he was far much luckier than most of his Somali citizens to be able to attend a private school.

Nowadays, I feel that Somalia is associated in my mind with an odd mix of something sweet and yellow, classmates, a sweet friend of mine, misery and severe disability. I wonder if poor Somali people were able somehow to enjoy the taste of their banana.

Sadly, the misery of Somali people continues while I’m writing this post; it seems to be developing, as if they haven’t suffer enough already.

Some international organizations are trying to provide humanitarian aid; I wouldn’t praise any of them, make no mistake about it, but still I would like to say “God bless you” to everyone who is faithful to humanity and acting upon good intentions to help the others.

I pray for every good person, and I still praise the Lord for the sweet Somali banana. It is a [great] blessing.