The path Not Taken by Mohammed Hussein Ali
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, …
—‘The road not taken’ by Robert Frost
Just about 20 years ago, I was a herder who reared camels in the country side with my family there, but my father decided to send me to the city of Hargeisa to kickstart my journey as an Islamic Scholar to study Quraan, and fundamental Sharia courses like Hadith, Fiqi, Sirah, and Aqeedah, and then I would move to higher level of Islamic Studies like taking courses abroad.
At first, I was unhappy that I had to leave my home to another city entirely where I shall most likely feel forlorn. However, I also realized my father wanted what he believed was best for me. So, I embraced the challenge reluctantly.
All thanks to my father, arrangements had already been made for me to reside at a distant cousin’s house when I arrived Hargeisa.
Life in Hargeisa was a stark contrast to my life in the country side. The city was a concrete jungle with several tall buildings cast in heavy stones and cement. It had sparse green vegetation and was extremely hot. It was not exactly like my father’s spacious house in the country side where I lived with numerous siblings. Hargeisa felt noisy, cramped, and claustrophobic to me. Vehicles honked everywhere. Houses were packed too close to each other like fish in a tuna tin, and your business was known by your neighbours. I wanted a return to those early mornings of taking my camels grazing for pasture and in search of water. I yearned for those days of sitting beneath the cool shade of a tree quietly sipping camel milk. Most especially, I missed wandering about with my camels in green vegetation and cool breeze.
Nonetheless, I began my path to studying Islamic Knowledge from the colleges and mosques in Hargeisa; Somaliland; in my first two years. Later on, I changed my journey to one of the private schools in Hargeisa but my father was not notified of this radical change in my career. Whenever my father came visiting or I visited home, my father would always speak to me with pride and gusto about the scholars of our country to motivate me in pursuing my goals. ‘They are pious and well-respected men,’ he would say to me. He dreamed that I would one day join their ranks of being a respected Sheikh; guiding others with wisdom and compassion. He had even arranged for me to study Sharia in Pakistan, a rare opportunity that could have transformed my life.
But I was young, stubborn, and distracted by the world around me. I was carried away by the glittering city lights, houses and flashy lifestyle of living in beautiful houses and driving fast cars. I didn’t want to leave my friends, my new comfort zone, or the life I thought I was building. I told him I wasn’t ready to further my learning in Pakistan. ‘I need to find myself first,’ I said to him bluntly. He tried to reason with me, reminding me that true success often comes from discipline, honesty, learning my religion, and sacrifice.
Many years later, he noticed that I had changed everything he dreamt of for me and had become obsessed with the materials things of the world, especially how to earn more money to build my dream house, and ‘buy nonsense things’ as he was wont to call them.
I was unhappy that I had caused him that much disappointment. There are times when I would sit and reflect on the path I had chosen for myself and how I had derailed. I often wonder if I could turn back the hands of time or make a U-turn now, but then, I realise that it is far too late and there is no need crying over spilt milk. I rue the fact that I went against my father’s wish and often tell myself in those brooding moments that: ‘If only I had listened to my father, I would have become a prominent sheikh in Somaliland today!’

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