Somali Money From Abroad Is a Lifeline at Home - NYTimes.com

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By MATTHEW SALTMARSH

PARIS — As Somalis struggle to survive the chaos that has overtaken their country, a network of companies that distribute money from the nation’s large diaspora has quietly expanded, providing a crucial safety net.

As in other poor countries, the main purpose of these companies is to ensure that money from those working abroad reaches family members left behind.

But in war-torn Somalia, where the government has little control of the country and is itself struggling to survive, the companies are now also helping international organizations shift money into and within Somalia, according to the World Bank, academics and aid workers.

And in Somaliland, a breakaway region where the government is more stable than in other parts of the country, the Somali diaspora has contributed money for education, health and other social programs.

“The remittance system has become the lifeline for the Somali people and the lifeblood of the economy during the last two decades of civil strife,” said Samuel Munzele Maimbo, a World Bank specialist based in Mozambique, who added that many Somalis survived only because of the money from abroad. For others, the money has been crucial to establishing or propping up businesses.

A study sponsored by the British Department for International Development from May 2008 found that 80 percent of the start-up capital for small and medium-size enterprises in Somalia benefit from money sent by the diaspora.

Dilip Ratha, a World Bank economist, said that Somalia, like Haiti, was among the countries that are the most dependent on money from abroad.

The remittance system — and its importance in Somalia — has grown as decades of political upheaval have driven many Somalis abroad and, in recent years, as Islamists have wrested control over much of the country from a weak transitional government. The government, which has international support, is trapped in a small section of the capital under the protection of African Union peacekeepers.

A recent study by the United Nations Development Program estimated the size of the Somali diaspora at more than one million and the amount of annual remittances to Somalia at up to $1 billion, equivalent to about 18 percent of the nation’s gross domestic product.

The system began to take off during the dictatorial rule of President Mohammed Siad Barre, who ran the country from 1969 to 1991. As the banking system weakened, according to Mohamed Waldo, a consultant who has worked with Somali remittance companies, traders stepped in with a solution: act as middlemen in the resale of consumer goods shipped home by the increasing number of Somalis working abroad, especially in the Persian Gulf region. The traders kept a small cut of the proceeds and turned the rest over to the laborers’ relatives in Somalia. The shipments got around currency restrictions.

Eventually, when the government collapsed, Somali workers abroad began to send money instead.

Mr. Waldo said that these days, there were more than 20 active Somali remittance companies, five of them large. One of the leading companies is Dahabshiil, founded in the early 1970s by Mohamed Said Duale from his general store in Burao in northwest Somalia.

In 1988, fighting between government forces and rebels with the Somali National Movement swept Burao. Mr. Duale subsequently left the country and continued his work from abroad.

In 1991, when the Barre government was overthrown, Mr. Duale returned to Somalia. He opened offices in major towns and later in remote villages that the Western money-transfer giants would struggle to serve.

“Through word of mouth we built this business,” said his son, Abdirashid Duale, now chief executive of the company.

Today, Dahabshiil says it has more than 1,000 branches and agents in 40 countries.

The United Nations Development Program uses Dahabshiil to transfer money for local programs, said Álvaro Rodríguez, the agency’s director for Somalia. Such companies provide “the only safe and efficient option to transfer funds to projects benefiting the most vulnerable people of Somalia,” he said. “Their service is fast and efficient.”

Abdirashid Duale, who gives his age as “35, but with 25 years of experience,” declined to provide profit or revenue figures, saying that would only help his competitors. The company charges commissions that vary from 1 percent to 5 percent depending on the size of the transaction; he said most Somalis he worked with abroad sent home $200 to $300 a month.

Nikos Passas, a professor at Northeastern University in Boston who researches terrorism and white-collar crime, said Dahabshiil was helped by the closing of a larger rival, Al Barakaat, at the behest of the United States authorities in the wake of the attacks on Sept. 11, 2001.

In the end, F.B.I. agents found no evidence linking Al Barakaat to terrorist financing. But for Dahabshiil, gaining market share from Al Barakaat was “like shooting fish in a barrel,” Professor Passas said.

Dahabshiil’s image has been helped by its charitable works. It says it invests 5 percent of annual profit in such ventures; Abdirashid Duale said this represented around $1 million a year.

In Mogadishu — a city of pockmarked Italian architecture and rubble — Dahabshiil operates from Bakara Market, despite continued clashes in the area between the weak government and Islamist insurgents.

Its office, in an unassuming two-story building, is protected by security guards.

Looking ahead, Abdirashid Duale plans more expansion.

“One day the fighting will stop,” he said, “and we will still be here.”

Mohammed Ibrahim contributed reporting from Mogadishu.

Afghans in U.S., Unable to Vote in Presidential Election, Campaign From Afar

By Tara Bahrampour
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, August 17, 2009

Late at night, after he gets home from his job managing an Afghan restaurant in Alexandria, Mir Farid Hashimi makes long-distance calls, trying to convince relatives in Afghanistan that despite the hard times there, Hamid Karzai should keep leading the country.

Humira Noorestani, who runs an Afghan economic development organization in Centreville, has used e-mail, Facebook and phone calls to lobby voters in Afghanistan, including her mother's 500 cousins, to vote for one of Karzai's rivals.

Hashimi and Noorestani are among an estimated 250,000 Afghans in the United States who, because they live outside Afghanistan, will not be able to cast ballots in Thursday's presidential election. But although they can't vote in the second election since the Taliban's defeat eight years ago, they can campaign, even from 7,000 miles away. This summer they have organized fundraising events, held meetings in support of candidates and spoken on U.S.-based Afghan television, which is beamed to Afghanistan. Some have traveled there to help educate people about voting, and others are working the phones and social networking sites to push for a candidate.

"Most Afghans in the U.S. are upset because they're not able to vote," said Ajmal Ghani, an Afghan American who lives in Springfield and is a representative for his cousin, presidential candidate Ashraf Ghani.

Afghans who live abroad couldn't vote in the last presidential election either. The polling infrastructure isn't in place to allow voting outside Afghanistan, although it is something the government would like to set up, said a spokesman for the Afghan Embassy here.

More than most expatriates, many Afghans in the diaspora, including about 35,000 in the Washington area, have deeply personal connections with the politics of their homeland. This is partly because most of the country's political and economic elite fled during the war-torn 1980s. People who in calmer times might have been leading the country found themselves driving taxis in Northern Virginia or selling hip-hop clothing in Northern California -- two of the biggest U.S. Afghan enclaves.

After the rout of the Taliban, many returned to Afghanistan to enter politics or business but retained close ties to the United States. Among those who remained here, plenty have family members who returned or have spent time themselves in Afghanistan, aiding in its reconstruction or seeking investment opportunities. Afghans from the United States have invested almost $500 million in the country's infrastructure since 2002, according to the embassy.

For this election, Ghani supporters held a fundraiser this month at the Afghan Restaurant (where Hashimi, the Karzai supporter, works). Ghani, a candidate U.S. officials have promoted as a possible chief executive for the country, lived for many years in Bethesda, taught at Johns Hopkins University and worked for the World Bank. James Carville is advising his campaign.

Local supporters of Abdullah Abdullah, an ophthalmologist and former foreign minister, held an event this month at George Mason University during which the candidate addressed attendees live remotely via speakerphone; they say they have raised about $30,000.

It is hard to know how much clout Afghans in the diaspora have with voters. At times, those who live in Afghanistan have resented Afghans coming in from abroad and trying to direct things. But many in Afghanistan also receive financial support from relatives in the United States.

A call from the United States can carry weight, said Said Tayeb Jawad, Afghanistan's ambassador to the United States. "It's received well, because [the recipient] thinks, 'Maybe he knows something we don't.' " Sometimes the callers abuse that power, he added, claiming that their recommendations are "the United States' position." The U.S. government has not endorsed a candidate.

Candidates, too, like to feature their American backgrounds. "Any kind of association or affiliation with the U.S. is regarded as an asset," Jawad said. "So if they have it, they use it prominently."

Those living outside Afghanistan might also seem more credible because they are less subject to pressures from local tribal leaders, said Mariam Atash Nawabi, co-founder of the Washington-based Afghanistan Advocacy Group, a networking organization.

"What the diaspora think actually has a reverberating effect on their families in Afghanistan," she said. "They can say more what people in Afghanistan can't say because they're afraid of the warlords there."

Many Afghans say they are frustrated seeing Afghanistan mired in corruption, ethnic partisanship and violence despite their efforts and those of the U.S. and other governments.

"In my personal opinion, anyone is better than Dr. Karzai, because unfortunately he has failed to deliver," said Atiq Panjshiri, a former president of the Afghan-American Chamber of Commerce who lives in Springfield and calls himself "a full supporter of Dr. Abdullah and also Dr. Ashraf Ghani."

Phone lines to Afghanistan have been jammed in the days leading up to the election, Hashimi said, but when he can get through, he urges family members to vote for Karzai, who he said has worked hard to modernize the country despite taking over at a difficult time.

"Most of them were going to Dr. Abdullah Abdullah," he said of his relatives, including an uncle he talked to for more than an hour. "But I changed a lot of them to go for Hamid Karzai."

Noorestani said her mother, who recently visited Afghanistan, was taking cabs several times a day. "She would ask the taxi driver, 'Are you voting?' " Many said they were not because they felt the outcome was predetermined or feared violence at the polls; she encouraged them to vote.

Noorestani's mother has 500 cousins who had been inclined to vote for Karzai because, like them, he is Pashtun. Ghani is also Pashtun, and Abdullah is Tajik. "She would tell them, 'Vote for Dr. Abdullah, don't you want to see change in Afghanistan?' "

Although she can't know how they will act on election day, she said, "they would tell my mom, 'Now you're telling us to, we're voting for Dr. Abdullah.' That's how politics works in Afghanistan. It's all about family ties."

The Muslim Matchmakers of Birmingham

by Irfan Husain

The Birmingham Central Mosque —File photo

For the vast majority of young men and women in Pakistan, arranged marriages are still the only way for couples to tie the knot. In a largely segregated society, there are few occasions and venues for boys and girls to meet and get to know each other. But the system works well enough as most families have a vast network of relatives, friends and acquaintances, and clan and biradari connections are called upon when needed.

However, these links break down in the diaspora of Pakistani communities abroad. This is especially true when the young have grown up in a society where almost every educational and workplace is shared by men and women, and segregation is limited to a few old-fashioned men’s clubs. But for Muslims, this easy mingling of the sexes does not make it any easier to meet a life partner.

The younger generation of Pakistanis in Britain, for example, have imbibed values that belong neither to their parents, nor to the host community. Caught in between the two, they seek partners who are both ‘modern’, and yet hold fast to their traditional culture. And since their parents’ network in Britain is limited, young people often have to fend for themselves in a tricky marriage market. Also, as not many of them go to clubs, pubs or singles bars, they do not have the same opportunity to meet people that other Brits take for granted.

Compounding the problem for educated, professional Muslim women is the fact that their male counterparts often marry young, so when the women are successful and hitting 30, they find it increasingly tough to find the kind of partners they seek.

Many websites address this problem, and carry profiles and photos of Muslim women seeking husbands. Here in cyberspace, the essentials of lonely lives are laid bare. Meet ‘Kashmiri Kuri’: 29, a qualified accountant, working in London for a large firm, she is 5’ 3’ tall, likes going to the movies and listening to music, and does not smoke. She is looking for a man who is good-looking and has a sense of humour. He should not wear a beard, but should not drink alcohol. Will she find this paragon, or will she succumb to family pressure and marry somebody from Mirpur through a match arranged by the family?

Far too many lives have been ruined by a mismatch of expectations. Young men from rural Pakistan, unfamiliar with the liberal values of the West and concepts like gender equality, expect their educated British wives to conform to the submissive role wives play in their home village. The young brides, having been born and brought up in an environment where women are equal, often cannot adjust to the demands made by their husbands. Such matches end up in divorce or a lifetime of miserable coexistence in the name of duty.

For many in the West, the only idea they have of Muslim marriages is in the form of headlines announcing yet another honour-killing. This is a common phenomenon where a Muslim girl is made the victim of her father’s or brother’s outrage at her refusal to accept their dictation about who she should marry. But these incidents are rare exceptions: the majority community is largely ignorant of the problems young Muslims face in meeting Mr or Miss Right.

To address this issue, Channel 4 recently aired ‘Muslim and Looking for Love’, a documentary that examines the dilemma so many young Muslims face in Britain today. Directed and produced by the well-known London-based Pakistani director Faris Kermani, this is an occasionally painful scrutiny of lonely lives seeking love and companionship.

The film takes us to the Birmingham Central Mosque, where Mr Razzaq and Mr Haq are two of the more implausible matchmakers you are likely to encounter. Middle-aged and traditional, they maintain profiles of a thousand young men and women. Those seeking partners, often accompanied by their parents, are told about prospective spouses who, in the judgment of Mr Haq or Mr Razzaq, might fit the requirements.

A woman of Egyptian descent wants to meet somebody from her country who is educated and would make a good match. Highly qualified, she works for a re-insurance company in London and feels she is very eligible. After a long search, the matchmakers find Mo, somebody they feel who meets her requirements, and an introduction is arranged at the mosque. Here, the two young people talk, but sadly, Mo is too Westernised for her liking. He enjoys going to clubs, and admits to having a drink now and then; she prays five times a day, and feels she could not live with somebody who is not similarly observant of religious edicts.

Another successful young man comes to the marriage bureau with his mother, and is introduced to a possible match. Very attractive, she is educated and has a good job. Initially, the vibes between the two seem good, and they agree to meet again. At this meeting, she begins to have doubts, especially when he bombards her with emails, wanting to know more about her. They then meet for the third and last time with her cousins on a day in the country. Although they seem to enjoy each other’s company, she is put off by the pressure he exerts to push things along. He appears to be in too much of a hurry to get married, while she wants to be sure that he is the right man for her. Finally, he confesses to the camera that he will have to go to Pakistan with his parents, and let them find a girl for him.

Tellingly, all the young Muslim women who appear in the film make it clear that they will only consider men who are British nationals. Clearly, they are all too aware of the pitfalls of marrying somebody who is unfamiliar with the values and attitudes they have grown up with. But although they expect to be treated as equals in a marriage, they have not yet got to the point where they can bring themselves to venture into the world of clubs and singles bars where other young men and women gather to meet prospective partners. Perhaps their children will, but this generation will still be going to Mr Haq and Mr Razzaq for help in meeting Mr Right.