In a Mogadishu theatre once scarred by a suicide bombing, an elderly man steps forward. His weapon is not a gun, but words. This is the resilient heart of Somalia, where the ancient art of oral poetry refuses to be silenced by decades of conflict.
A Fading Light in the National Theatre
Hassan Barre, 70, stood sombrely at the podium in the largely empty National Theatre. His recital, emphasising good citizenship and mutual responsibility, echoed through a hall that symbolises the nation's battered cultural soul. Around him, ageing poets in austere suits gathered, some with hennaed beards and eyes clouded by glaucoma, sharing verses and memories of better times.
These men represent a fading beacon of hope for a country slowly stripped of its cultural wealth. Oral poetry is considered Somalia's highest art form, recited from remote outposts to militant camps in the bush, earning Somalis the description "a nation of poets." Their work often venerates pastoral life and traditional roles within the predominantly Islamic society.
From Golden Age to Modern Struggle
Poets once flourished under the iron-fisted rule of Siad Barre, who respected artists' intellectual work. His ousting in 1991 triggered a civil war, leading to the rise of the al-Qaeda-linked al-Shabab. Today, Somalia is known globally more for bombings than ballads.
The fragile federal government dedicates most of its budget to security, leaving cultural institutions in limbo. The National Theatre, inaugurated in 1967, shut in 1991 and reopened in 2012 after African Union troops pushed al-Shabab from the capital. Months later, tragedy struck again: a suicide bomber killed eight people there, including the head of Somalia's Olympic committee, during a speech by the prime minister.
Access remains perilous. Visitors must notify intelligence agencies in advance, providing not just a car's licence plate but its make and colour, to reach the heavily guarded venue near the presidential palace.
The Unyielding Voice for Peace
Despite the dangers, poets persist. Hirsi Dhuuh Mohamed, chair of the Somali Council of Poets, says the group has 400 members, including diaspora. He notes improvement from the "worst" late 1990s when warlords divided Mogadishu. "One thing that unites all Somali poets... we stand for peace," he states, adding they avoid direct politics, focusing instead on security, good governance, and community integration.
Financial and security challenges limit programming, but traditional poets still perform at weddings, and verses air daily on local radio. Poet Hassan Barre laments the lost patronage, recalling, "During Siad Barre’s reign we were treated like kings." He criticises the current administration for not supporting artists as before.
Culture Minister Daud Aweis acknowledges poets' "vital role" as a pillar for cultural vitality and peace. While his ministry offers limited National Theatre funding, he told the AP the long-term goal is to expand support.
Maki Haji Banaadir, the theatre's deputy director, is a popular figure. In 2003, he and six poets journeyed across Somalia preaching reconciliation—a trip impossible now with the government's weak hold beyond Mogadishu and regions seeking secession. A decade ago, he composed a song critiquing the useless Somali shilling in a dollarised economy.
Asked about nurturing new talent, Maki responded with determined hope: "We are working day and night." In a sandbagged city ringed by checkpoints, the poets' gatherings in the National Theatre foster a fragile community, using the power of verse to keep a nation's hope—and its stories—alive.
