Somalia: Xawaalad, remittances, or transfers from the diaspora
some of my oldest memories as a child are of sunny weekend mornings eating canjeero, staring wide eyed at my parents as they yelled into the receiver. that’s how you knew they were talking to relatives back home. the amplitudes of their voices would let us know right away they were on a long distance call. my brothers and I would always laugh at the faces they made when the connection was particularly bad. they winced and yelled and repeated the same sentences over and over and we, being nothing but the goofy children we were, found their facial expressions, their repetitions hilarious.
they would ask so-and-so if they’ve received their money, would inform their siblings or cousins how much would go to whom. some was intended for so-and-so’s schooling, this part would go to grandmother, and this fraction to another aunt or uncle. education was paid for, healthcare, rent, you name it. I still watch them go through the same routine.
I remember walking to Western Union with my father as a child; the Ghanaian clerk still works there. it is not a Western Union anymore, the banners changed more than once the past few years but if one thing stays the same, it was going to that office and getting that money transferred. the companies changed but the people stay; bills still need to get paid.
I remember being a child and telling my father he had to introduce me to the relatives I had yet to meet, by phone now and in person eventually. I remember looking up at him and saying, in that serious manner children adopt when they believe what they are saying is of utmost importance: “If you die, I will have to send them that money, but how would I know who to send it to?” (read more)