I returned to the United States to continue organizing the school from there, and Khadar sent me pictures of a dinner that symbolized the completion of the land transfer. He informed me that it temporarily needed to be put in his name. He said he’d transfer it over to the school as soon as the school’s government filings were complete.
Like Billeh, Khadar was part of the Isaaq clan, as were the vast majority of Somaliland people, probably totaling a few million and 80 percent of the Somaliland population. I thought that there was no difference from one Isaaq to another. I thought clan was only relevant when there was a conflict with another major Somali clan, such as the Darod, who border the Isaaq on the east, or the Hawiye, who live in Mogadishu, the capital of Somalia. I know all Isaaq clansmen remember the pains of their civil war, when the Somali dictator, who was not Isaaq, laid waste to their cities. It is true that on this level the Isaaq clansmen are all united, but it turns out that is only a surface-level understanding of how clans impact Somaliland society.
I approached the concept of clans from my limited knowledge of the Rwandan genocide. In Rwanda, you were either a Hutu or a Tutsi, and that was where the difference among the clansmen ended. If two people are Tutsis, then they are on the same team. I assumed the same was true for members of the Isaaq clan. But when Isaaq clansmen are dealing within their own clan, the fact that they are both Isaaq becomes irrelevant, and all that matters is their subclan. Three Isaaq might be united against a Darod, but that doesn’t mean the three Isaaq view one another as equals. If two of them are from one subclan and the other from another, the two who are from the same subclan will be expected to stick together against the third. If all three are from the same subclan, then you go down another subclan layer to where they split, and once again the two who are closer family are expected to be united. And thus it continues, through sub-sub-subclans, all the way down to choosing one’s brother over one’s cousin.
Within the Isaaq clan, Billeh and Khadar were on different lineage tracks from the very first Isaaq split many centuries ago. I knew that Billeh’s clan led back to his home in Erigavo, but I didn’t know anything about Khadar’s, nor did I know it would be relevant. As it turned out, Khadar traces his subclans down numerous layers until finally landing on the clan whose ancestral home is Abaarso Village. Khadar had grown up in Hargeisa, but clan-wise, Abaarso is his family’s historic home and its inhabitants are his people. For better or for worse, I would build my school in his territory, though I didn’t know it at the time.
Khadar’s clan ties to Abaarso Village had made the land acquisition for the school easy and explained why Khadar had bypassed the vast open spaces between Hargeisa and Abaarso. From his perspective, he could easily connect with the local people and make his pitch. If any of them gave him trouble, then he could call on elders in common who could sit everyone down and make peace. At the same time, if Khadar promised the school to a different village, then his clansmen would be furious and would demand to know why he’d help another village instead of theirs. Bringing a successful school to his own village would gain him glory among his clansmen. It would also gain him a tremendous amount of control, as even the Somaliland government will rarely challenge a clansman in his home village. My school being built in that village would inextricably link the school and Khadar in the minds of all Somalilanders. Given the significance of the clan connection, I would regret not knowing about it sooner.
Next Khadar connected me to a Somali architect in Atlanta, Georgia, to draw up the plans for the multibuilding complex. The architect was also clan-connected to Abaarso Village. The architect, a man by the name of Amin, provided some early drawings free of charge. I liked Amin and felt he truly cared, and while I didn’t go with all his designs, we did use his drawing for the main school building. This would include six classrooms, a larger lecture hall, a library, a staff office, and a cafeteria. It was to be the first phase of construction, and with designs in hand Khadar said he would get quotes from Somaliland construction companies.
When Khadar came back with the construction quotes, the numbers were much higher than he’d first estimated. Rather than building our school for $500,000, which he had told me was sufficient, the price for full construction was now looking to be at least $1 million. This was a major setback, but Khadar assured me that my $500,000 was more than enough for me to personally donate. He said Somalis were used to talk of projects that never happened, but once they saw our construction starting, they’d come up with wood, cement, and whatever else we needed. If I started it, then the Somali community would come up with the rest. I didn’t know if I believed this, though I certainly wanted to.
At the construction site, the first thing built was a perimeter wall. Then ground was broken for the school’s academic building. Khadar would periodically send me pictures, and I loved watching the progress, as well as the construction methods, which were so different from ours. Rather than using machines to dig, workers used hand tools for all the construction work. They even made the concrete blocks on-site, mixing the cement and putting it into molds. Trucks brought in dirt and rocks, as well as stacks of cement bags. When they weren’t transporting materials, they were transporting workers. Dozens of laborers were now transforming the hilltop. Outside the school’s new walls, a tiny economy of makeshift shops had formed to serve the workers.
Despite the promising start, work didn’t progress as quickly as I had hoped. Before long I made another trip to Abaarso. I spent a couple of weeks in Somaliland working out the remaining phases and details of the project. Khadar and I discussed where to get the furniture and supplies; how to contract with purveyors for food; how to outfit the school with day-to-day supplies, water, power; and everything in between. Feeling assured that construction would continue apace, I returned home to Boston and kicked into overdrive. With less than three months until my next trip to Somaliland, I needed to pack up my life in America, prepare our teachers for travel, and ship supplies and books. I had discovered Books for Africa, an organization whose mission is shipping books and computers in order to end the “drought of books” in Africa. It would still cost us almost $10,000 for the shipping costs, but it was worth it to fill the library in one stroke. I also had to figure out how to deal with the remaining construction delays. Then I would be moving to Somaliland to assume my role as headmaster of the Abaarso School.