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By Hassan Haji-Abdirahman, MD
Monday, March 23, 2009
Preface: The following literary reflection humbly presents the academic success story and experience of an average Somali student. Even though in chronological order it might mistakenly or unintentionally resemble a biographical composition, my sole intent here is to present it merely as a stimulus academic package – a virtual gift for my fellow Somalis struggling in the academic life. With a patriotic spirit, the starting paragraphs would pay a brief tribute to the life back home during our peaceful era; following sections will give a snapshot glimpse into the refugee experiences; and at the end will be a condensed diary of a decade academic journey. Enjoy!
I could’ve never envisioned myself residing elsewhere but home, unknowingly however, now here I’m on the verge of establishing a long-life career in North America – Allah willing. The Almighty spoke the truth when stated ".....No soul knoweth what it will earn tomorrow....." 31:34. As many folks in my generation, I'm blessed with the fortune of growing up in the heart land of Somalia, the capital Mogadishu, from birth till the start of the great depression, after which, in search of peace and survival, circumstances prompted massive migration to neighboring countries followed by inter-continental relocation. Now while fully content with the magnificent progress in material life, admittedly there is still something lacking in my life here as a North-American citizen. I am medically diagnosed with “homesickness” i.e. call it a helpless victim of nostalgia. In the midst of this endemic calamity of our nation, healing glimpses and vivid memories (or hallucinations) of the heydays of the past often become the crash cart necessary to satisfy my psychic needs and psychological stability.
A look back in history proudly brings me back to the pleasant reminiscences of the social solidarity and family cohesion we possessed in our recent history. Indeed these are among the unforgettable memories I rejoice at the most, with pride and joy. In our golden past, unity of purpose and togetherness practically translated into oneness, unity, union, and a coincidence of interests and sympathies, both at the social and family levels. As a young Hamarawi resident, my urban experience made me witness pledge of allegiance among my generation being readily offered only to those living in the same neighborhood while all would subscribe to the same family tree, namely “ciyaalka xaafadda”. The virtual bond between members belonging to this imagined hereditary line was at least relatively comparable to that of flesh and blood. To give history its due credit, dhiiga iyo ciishow milix (go figure!) were among the most virtuous terms depicting such cohesive binding back in those days - just to borrow a native casual dialect. This in-born angelic trait is indisputably rarity in today’s contemporary world but stands as a symbolic of our unparalleled, cultural heritage.
My years in spiritual institutions and formal schooling cultivated the seed of knowledge which ever thereafter became an immortal catalyst thriving for righteousness and perfection. Despite the dominance of certain dialects becoming prevalent in our literature as a result of coinciding trivial political factors, our entire academic curriculum, unlike that of surrounding African neighbors, had enjoyed modern science readily available in our poetic mother tongue – a treasure to be proud of. Till now, out of nostalgia, at leisure times, I find almost irresistible to curb a reflective interest in reading our native middle and high school texts which often leave emotional scars taking too long to heal. At all levels and types of education, our teachers, back home, assumed parental-like status and exercised unconditional absolute authority both in the classroom and elsewhere while positively contributing to our academic success and intellectual well-being. Perhaps the most memorable of educational events is Barnaamijkii Kedis, an academic battle/competition whose main objective was to showcase motivated students, elevate the status of high-achievers, and generate positive school spirit. Sadly however, hopes and aspirations were dashed by nationwide destruction of our infrastructure and complete social disintegration imposed by our tribal divisions and hunger for power.
At home, our seas vulnerably turned out as an open site for international industries fishing illegally; our land became military training battleground for foes and friends; and our people had fallen prey to pitiless chameleon-like murderers who are utterly merciless in pursuit of their ill objectives. My arrival in Kenya marked the beginning of our inferiority complex imposed by our status. We overnight became people of no past and no future. Kenyans called us “refugees” or the later famous slang “Waryaa” - at best. Career and academic discontinuity rendered vast majority of Somalis fully dependent on foreign aid and support of relatives living abroad for those who were fortunate. Our busily unemployed minds were so obsessed in entertaining ever-lasting dreams of resettlement (a.k.a “buufis”) which often had adverse psychological effects. The trans-national flow of information made these people envision how their lives would’ve changed had they lived elsewhere. To pursue this dream, an enormous number of our people irresponsibly compromised their lives. By His grace, some had established a relatively better life; others had lost their lives in a ruthless manner while the remaining yet remains unaccounted for or assumed to be dead at best.
In the late nineties, thankfully Canada became my adopted home. For me, family re-union was the most colorful and joyous part of the migration. Honeymoon phase of the culture shock was romantic, but soon after arrival, the adjustment phase proved to be nerve-racking. Feelings of insecurity, lack of confidence, and physical, as well as emotional discomfort, were overwhelming. At the onset, there was a noticeable absence of unified fellow ethnic role models; this in turn, for the better I presume, necessitated a self-guided paddling academic as well as spiritual adventure. I had the fortune of befriending a local youth club, namely SOYAT - Somali Youth Association of Toronto. Among the Somali community centers in Toronto, SOYAT in those days was by consensus the torchbearer foundation in preservation of Islamic cultural heritage, academic enrichment programs, and holistic community outreach. There I found like-minded individuals with whom I had ever since grown intellectually -thriving in an academic Islamic environment. Like many others, this stimulated my inert personal creativity allowing me to positively confront the obstacles of the new world by first re-defining my life objectives.
As I embraced the realities of life in the new adopted country, making a clean break from the share of dreams and hopes entertained as an immigrant, was inevitable. In Canada then, scarcity of even so-called “blue color jobs” had narrowed my chances in the employment market down to almost a zero level – paradoxically to my favor. This admittedly enabled me to surpass my ego needs which, at best, could’ve created a temporary success not lasting too long. Needless to acknowledge the family support and the relentless parental mentoring as my key fundamental in developing a vision whose sole task was to pave the way for a new direction. Willingly, but helplessly, academics topped and bottomed my objective’s list. Reconciling my educational background with the curricular standards of the West then became a daunting up hill task. My twenty-eight months experience in High school taught me that brainpower is not only an inborn quality but is also acquired property achieved by those who possess its two mental prerequisites, namely will and determination. A will was the mental faculty with which I decided to embark upon a course of action whereas a firm determination was my guide helping me to eventually arrive at the end point. Laying the foundation of the academic roadmap was, without a doubt, a challenge, but with the willpower, academic and social barriers started to melt away making perseverance to the finish line a down hill process.
The short time period between my recent arrival in Canada and the commencement of my higher studies didn’t exempt me from taking the TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) exam, which, by law, was a precondition for any post-secondary education. Here was another hurdle which challenged my academic fate and could potentially alter the new journey in life I was about to partake. During the spring of the millennium year, one month of intensive self-guided prep was suffice to give me the confidence to tackle the computerized version of this standardized test which consisted of reading and listening comprehension exercises, essay writing contest, and English grammar assessment. From this exam, it became an inherited wisdom that only sincere effort – not brilliance or cleverness- is the prerequisite key to unlock our inert potential. When language proficiency was no longer an issue and eligibility was now validated, transition into first degree higher studies tempted me with an accepted view espoused by a number of my fellow ethnic youth. In large numbers, many of those youth used to go to colleges with the notion that it prepares students for entry-level work positions in a quick and efficient manner. After a logical thinking however, instead I came to the conclusion of bravely standing the heat and pursuing a university degree rather than a college diploma.
Student life in the undergrad setting was far different and finding a balance between unlimited student freedom and satisfactory academic survival was a scholarly chore. I embraced a Biology stream major program at York U. in Toronto. A typical first year class had the capacity to accommodate more than five hundred students and lectures were attended from big screens at every corner of the class. At the individual level, professor-student relationship was almost non-existent -at least for the majority- and the minimum academic requirement was to show up on the days of the exam and to cumulatively pass the class at the end. Even though freshman class size in my major program was monstrous, I noted following years had a pattern of exponential decline due to students dropping out courses and hence falling behind while others would shift to a different faculty changing their major. For the sake of a higher GPA, well-informed students would choose relatively comfortable pre-med programs while they satisfy med school admission pre-requisites as electives; it was like the “Had I But Known” where this grim secret was lurking behind - a fact I lately discovered. Unregretably though, I haven’t lost knowledge in the information I was lacking, but in order to compensate and to stay just potentially competent, indeed I had to do extra work.
After completion of Biology degree from York U. in a timely fashion, for the sake of time efficacy, I decided to avoid the congestion and competition of medical schools among my fellow Canadian candidates. In a manner analogous to the sighting of Sheba Kingdom by the colorful, continental bird -Hoopoe of Prophet Suleiman (PBUH)-, coincidental discovery of Saba University of Medicine, the Harvard of the Caribbean, was a historical milestone. Saba U. is located in Saba Island, a secluded haven in the Caribbean see, far away from the agony of this troubled world. The “Unspoiled Queen” – as they call it- is divinely endowed with a natural beauty ranging from woodland forest with a damp soil to high altitude mist and a tropical weather throughout the year. Saba U. enjoyed a rich multicultural diversity of both faculty and students, but nevertheless, the overwhelming majority of Muslim students and students of color were from Asia. Undeniably I became over joyous, felt pluralized, and proudly represented when two Somali girls –both from metro Toronto area- joined a class two semesters behind me. Since then I used to enjoy a sense of pride during the broad daylight, where at night during the darkness I often prayed to bless my community with so many of their likes.
Unlike an American or a Canadian med school where you can pretty much assume the “MD” title or put it in front of your last name without any worries even on the very first day you get admitted, it’s much much tougher to survive the rigorous curriculum in Caribbean schools than to gain its admission, which, in fact, is comparatively much easier. For good twenty months –the duration of the basic science curriculum-, with the exception of two-week getaway home vacations between semesters, students literally lived inside the textbooks and continuously studied for non-stop frequent exams where the minimum pass percentile was 75%. It was not unusual to notice students disappearing from the Campus because either they were unable to maintain satisfactory status or they couldn’t tolerate the insanity and workload of medical school; Saba U. had a policy of student dismissal after two class failures. Block exams were all computerized, on the same day and only separated by 30min to an hour intervals, and results were on the screen right after the last click of the cursor. At the end of each semester, board exams mimicking the actual USMLE (United States Medical Licensing Exam) offered credible training equivalent to –if not more intensive than- that received by U.S. students and by the time we had to move back to the States, we came back fired up and fully charged. Overall, even though lonely, life in the Island otherwise was home-like, very peaceful and prosperous.
Step1 licensure exam partitions basic science and clinical medicine curriculum of med school. Its home self-prep was tedious and painful; it was more painful than taking the actual exam. And because this 8 to 9 hour exam is the only doorway to practicing contemporary medicine in U.S. hospitals, the 4week result wait-period was full of dreams, anxiety, worries, and uncertainty. This was when the optimal intensity of my academic journey reached its climax. Then transition into clinical medicine followed. Unlike basic science which was mainly theoretical, clinical medicine was the practical component and academic assessment throughout this remaining two years was subjective i.e. how well you can impress your Preceptor. Familiarity with the hospital setting and behavior, getting used to the medical jargons regurgitated by staff personnel, relating case scenarios in textbooks to real-life patient complaints, and reading the Physician’s mind were not easy to digest all at once. Embarrassment, criticism, and fear were part of the maturation process and later became everyday normal experiences in the hospital during clinical medicine. Step 2 licensure exam in the midst or at the end of the core program was more clinical-based but didn’t compromise the standard level of difficulty. Again after all, this exam was another determinant in eligibility to participate the U.S. National Residency Match.
Let alone my ‘Non-U.S. citizen status’ as a negative factor against selection, IMG candidates (International Medical Graduate) in general are always at odds with the residency selection process -except those who possess either a strong academic record, convincing personality trait, or a network of manpower/people. By virtue of these disadvantages, needless to say one has to compensate by applying to so many programs –regardless of the specialty- just in order to maximize number of granted interview invitations which usually is directly proportional to the likelihood of a successful match. Due to the fierce residency competition in all specialties, normally at the individual level, insignificant number of applied programs would only invite for interviews whereas the remaining applications would go down the drain by fate. After applying my share of programs, with the Almighty’s grace I was lucky enough to get a number of interview offers mainly from the Midwest and Southern parts of the U.S. Between last November and January of this year, I embarked on several trips of an unknown outcome to several residency programs and potentially all I could do was just to show my head, sell myself high and make it stand out of all other running contestants. Contrary to what I was expecting, I found almost all interviewers eagerly interested in listening and learning about the tests and trials of my life experiences as a young adult of East African descent.
Formal and informal sessions of these residency interviews covered topics ranging from pirates, about shabaab, to warlords, and surprisingly the focus was relatively less on academics. To my amazement, a month before the match date –March 19-, I was granted an early admission, a pre-match from one of the programs of my interest. My match experience and academic success is not either atypical or the result of being genius. Again it’s NEITHER of those. After Allah’s will then my humble efforts, I attribute my success simply to the fact that I had a unique story to tell. From this experience, I learnt about the existence of an inborn and acquired potential we Somalis rarely harvest – whether it be in academics or elsewhere. I also came to realize that fairness and justice exist and can be found somewhere in North America. Growth and learning is a life-long process and I hereby strongly encourage my fellow Somalis in the Diaspora to make use of the academic opportunities in pursuit of a future positive change for those less fortunate that we care about. Let’s all re-define and re-visit our identity and ideals so our young generation today does not blindly take a path similar to that previously paved by our current failed ancestors. The only difference between a successful person and a looser is the lack of will. If I did it then everybody can do it!
Hassan Haji-Abdirahman, MD
E-mail: [email protected]