Minneapolis: Somalis swap news, views at 25th and Riverside

Yassin Issa lives in London, but when he first visited his wife and daughter in St. Paul last fall, he soon was drawn to a coffee shop at 25th and Riverside Avs. in Minneapolis that he'd heard about an ocean away.

Word among Somalis was that the Riverside Starbucks captures the spirit of gathering spots across Western Europe and North America where Somalis forced to leave their war-torn country exchange news and views of their native land and connect with each other across continents.

Issa, 45, an officer with London's Metropolitan Police and a native of northern Somalia, said Somalis in Minnesota are less volatile than those who frequent the cafeterias he patrols in Central London.

"Here it's more liberal. People, they talk and they discuss and they laugh," said Issa, who was separated from his wife during resettlement. In Great Britain, he said, it is better to be quiet if you disagree with something a speaker is saying. But in Minnesota, the speakers are "not waging any conflict at all."

The main attraction at the Riverside Starbucks is lively debate about culture and politics. They meet to discuss centuries-old clan rivalries that run deep as bone marrow and to maintain an oral tradition of exchanging information.

Every day, 20 to 40 Somali men play a game of musical chairs, grouping around tables and snatching open seats, as they shuffle in and out of the Riverside Starbucks from opening until closing.

They say their daily prayers in a hallway between the coffee shop and the adjacent Bruegger's Bagels. A sign at the end of the hall warns them to be careful because the door opens frequently.

Omar Jamal, 35, is a vocal supporter of Somali President Abdullahi Yusuf and a fixture in the local Somali community who goes to Starbucks every day -- even though other men provoke him into "crossfire" by attacking his political positions. This is known as "fadhi ku dirir," or "fighting while squatting," Jamal said Americans have a similar practice: It's called talk radio.

Somalis present their opinions as if on a debate team, said former Somali Prime Minister Ali Galaydh, who was a visiting professor at the Humphrey Institute in Minneapolis. Somalis have an oral culture, said Galaydh -- they had no written language until 1972.

"Your point will be most persuasive the more allusions [it has] in terms of poetry, in terms of story and anecdotal stuff," Galaydh said.

Yusef Yusef, also known as Liban DJ, discovered Somali gathering spots throughout the United States and Canada while promoting his film, "Flight 13," a comic documentary on Somali refugees.

"They're building a government every morning, and before they leave the table they destroy it," said Liban DJ, a Minneapolis resident who frequents the Riverside Starbucks.

Varying interpretations of an unwritten history fuel unrelenting debates between Somalis from different clans, sub-clans and ideologies, Galaydh said. For a half-century, two clans in Somalia, the Darod and the Hawiye, have been swapping power, he said.

"You are told your genealogy, just like in the Old Testament: 'So-and-so begat so-and-so,' " said Galaydh. "If you are 5 or 6 years old ... you are told your genealogy, and you commit it to memory."

Ali Isse, 41, often drives to the Starbucks from his home in Shoreview or after his workday ends at UCare Minnesota. Isse's mother and father are from rival clans, he said. To him the "fadhi ku dirir" is not about clan rivalry, but about venting as a form of therapy.

"Say what you have to say now. Don't take anything home to your family," Isse said. Because Isse has a relative in every city in Somalia, he is one of many information brokers on current events at Starbucks, he said. He calls family members several times a week.

"In the morning, first I check what happened on the Internet," Isse said. "So, I see, 'OK, there's an attack happening here. How many people got killed?' and then you make the decision to call based on that."

He compares information from Somali, Western, African and Arab media sources. But Somalis get their definitive answers by calling home, Isse said, and gathering in groups to share what they've learned.

Missing from the Starbucks debates are women. Amino Abdi, Ali Isse's wife, said women don't have time to socialize because they are busy with children and jobs. Every weekend there is a wedding, Abdi said, typically attended by only the Somali women; the events provide a way for women to exchange information and dress lightly.

Galaydh gets daily calls from friends, relatives and political affiliates in Somalia, and says he goes to the Starbucks only for the New York Times. Many Somalis who frequent the shop are avid supporters of President Yusuf, a rival of Galaydh.

Neither Isse nor Galaydh has taught his children a genealogy. When Galaydh's son, then 14, was questioned about clan affiliation by an uncle in Somalia, Warsame Galaydh responded that his father was a Democrat.

Abdi Omer, 40, an engineer for the city of St. Paul, goes to Starbucks because of its history and good drinks, he said. When the first Somalis immigrated to Minneapolis, this Starbucks was the only place on Riverside to meet, Omer said. As more Somalis came and started businesses, the clans began supporting their respective family-owned restaurants at mealtime, reconvening at the Starbucks afterward.

Galaydh said older Somalis are not learning from exposure to "open society, competitive politics, and peaceful dialogue" in America.

The crossfire doesn't typically become physical, although Jake Miller, a full-time Starbucks employee, has witnessed a few coffees fly and one fistfight in the parking lot. But no non-Somali customers have complained about the Somali gatherings. "A lot of non-Somalis just sort of look around in awe," he said. "We just say this is like their bar."

Tiffany Corrine Dow is a Minneapolis freelance writer.

Source: Star Tribune, Mar 03, 2007