Ohio’s secret society
A cultural lesson to be learnt from an immigrant
community
By Cindy-Lou Dale
 Mohammed Dallin, a towering
barrel-chested man, smiled broadly. “Let me just clear this off the front seat
for you,” he announced, unlocking his car. It was the most impressive mobile
office I had ever seen: Nothing fancy, just a run-of-the mill SUV crying out for
a wash but it was the organised chaos within that impressed me. It revealed much
of the man’s psyche.
“Oh wow!” I exclaimed. “Man, you’re just
so together.”
 Everything had its place and a place for
everything. On the passenger seat and in the foot well were neatly organised
colour coded files neatly stored in square plastic containers. An open diary
rested on a tray of office supplies wedged between the front seats. Numerous
electronic communication and navigational devises were secured to the dashboard.
 Dallin, the Columbus Ohio Chamber of
Commerce assured me, was a serial entrepreneur, a businessman and Somali
immigrant who co-owns a strip mall, a construction company, a chain of dry
cleaners and is currently engaged in a land development project. This was the
dynamic businessman they had sourced for my interview. An African based business
magazine I regularly write for had giving me tight specifications.
 Dallin’s sad tale is that of most
African immigrants, but since arriving in the US he has made a life for himself.
He spoke of attending university in Washington D.C., of his numerous businesses.
As some point in the interview I quietly wondered how I could turn his story
into a compelling enough piece which people in business could relate, aspire to
even. No sooner had I buried this thought in a dark crumb-littered vest pocket
in my brain when he offered to show me his Mall and the proposed location of his
forthcoming housing project.
 “The first Somali refugees arrived in
Columbus in early 2000; they were assigned to an area called Capital Park –
commonly referred to as the ganglands as it was overflowing with gun wielding
hoods and drug dealers. You know, the kind of place even the emergency service
try to avoid. Coupled with other offshoots of crime, like prostitution, it was
definitely not a place you’d even want to drive through,” he stoically claimed.
I nodded, not knowing how else to respond.
“But, as you can see, it’s all changed
now.”
 Maybe I’d misheard him as we were
driving through a leafy neighbourhood of neat homes and clipped lawns. Family
cars and SUVs were parked in driveways; we passed some kids playing hopscotch on
the sidewalk, two elderly neighbours were having a chat over a fence, and up
ahead was a teenager mowing a lawn. Perhaps I zoned out a sentence or two back
and asked that he repeat the statement.
 “That’s right,” he smiled knowingly. “It
was right here where the pimping and pushing of toxic chemicals took place. But
then the Somali immigrant community moved in...” He paused, carefully choosing
his words. “Let’s just say, we cleaned up our neighbourhood and cleared out the
trash. This was once a hostile area but we soon changed that. In fact the change
was so dramatic that the authorities had to close down our police station as
there was no crime to speak of!” He placed a finger under my gapping jaw and
pushed it shut.
We rolled up outside the International
Mall in Cleveland Avenue - a tatty looking strip Mall in dire need of a little
TLC. Dallin held open a door allowing two kids to pass. Their toffee coloured
ice-cream faces beamed up at me. “Good day m’am. Nice to see you here.”
 It must have been at this point that
teleportation occurred. This is the only way I can explain how I happened to
step into the babbling excitement and aroma filled world of an East-African souk:
Fifty or more kiosks chaotically trading in everything African; an intoxicating
explosion of vibrant colours and exotic spices; silks of copper and azure and
intricate hand-made gold jewellery. It was a fusion of noise, a sensory blast of
African music and local women who shriek with hilarity at the gossip being told,
a raw, in-your-face African experience that will leave you breathless.
 “I’m graduating in a few months,” Malik
Ebrahim proudly declared. “a BA in Arts and Sciences.”
Providing financial assistance to his
family, Ebrahim works at VIP Barber Shop when he’s not in class. “America is a
great country. She has given me opportunities I could never dream of in
Somalia.”
 Mohamed Husbse, a programmer for one of
the computer giants works in the Mall on weekends. A sign announced my arrival
at Amana Financial Services.
“We send back life saving funds to our
families in Africa – mostly those housed in refugee camps.” He continued
explaining that some of the areas he transfers money to are so remote and
dangerous, that businesses and banks don’t operate in the region.
“We are of course strictly controlled,”
his face saddened somewhat. “But this is to be expected, we are Muslim.” He
reflected on this thought for a moment. “I’m grateful the American government
has given us the tools with which we can assist those we left behind.”
 A customer walked in, a soul shake was
exchanged together with the customary As-Salamu Alaykum Islamic greeting of
peace. Small talk about family and business ensued which finally concluded with
the new arrival requesting $20 be sent to his sister at an inaccessible refugee
camp. Evidently Husbse had the history stored somewhere. “I’ll fix you up when
I’m paid next week, okay?” The transaction was concluded with a handshake.
I knew at once Paul Astleford, my host
and front-man for Experience Columbus –the local visitors’ bureau - needed to
know about this secret community within his city. We were meeting for dinner
later that evening, so I asked Dallin to join us.
 As in most cities, it takes fresh eyes
to spot potential. I spoke of my experiences at the International Mall and what
I saw at Columbus Park. Astleford was astounded, twittering with excitement.
Dallin spoke of his housing development, of how public housing had failed,
sapping any hope from future generations and producing few success stories.
“When an immigrant community arrives in
America they usually land with their extended family, immediately creating a
problem as the accommodations given them are insufficient in size. This has
numerous repercussions, the least of which is over-crowding.”
 He proposed to initially build a group
of homes providing sufficient space to accommodate large families, taking
advantage of a tax deferred programme already in place. He hopes to convince the
local government, who are already paying seventy percent of the loan, to
transfer ownership of the homes to the occupants after 15 years.
 This tweaked Astleford’s interest. A
lengthy and rather animated discussion ensued. Other locations and vacant
buildings were discussed, the amalgamation and integration of the African
immigrant community and all the possibilities this would create for the city,
the country even.
Dallin held an open hand to his heart.
“This land and its people have been good to us, but it is time that we are given
the opportunity to give back. You see we Africans are a rich people, rich in
morals and values. Look beyond the habib to the principals of our culture. Just
because a handful of radical terrorists have lost their minds does not mean we
all have. We have so much to learn from America and we ask that America give us
the opportunity to share a little of our ethnicity and invite you to visit our
open markets, come into our restaurants. Who knows, you may leave with a few new
friends but very definitely a different perception of our society.”
 Astleford beamed enthusiastically.
“We’ve got to make this happen Mohammed! We are already one of the most
progressive capitals in the country; we could lead the way in racial
integration.”
Back in my hotel room I read through the
notes I’d made over the past few days.
Everyone respects everyone and show due
courtesy to those doing a job well. Columbian's are a courteous, well mannered
people like the world once was.
 These folk are genuinely pleased when you are
satisfied with your experience/their service. This courtesy has a contagious
affect. Coming from a somewhat aggressive society myself I found the kindness
extended to me somewhat startling - even when I took my press badge off.
There was little I can add.
On my return flight to Belgium a buxom
stewardess examined me critically when I stirred to life. She stated that it
“luuks likya’ll needa aaaaaa upna”, which I believe translates into ‘it looks
like you need an eye opener’ – aka a shot of bourbon before breakfast. The other
passengers looked on in morbid curiosity whilst I dutifully downed the
ceremonial blast of what could quite easily have been drain cleaner. I thought
it would be impolite to enquire after a beer chaser so settled for several shots
of coffee instead.
I could not think of a more fitting end
to my Ohio trip.
www.experiencecolumbus.com
1-866-EXP-COLS |
