The very next day there was a brisk
knock on the door, promptly at my
After overcoming uncountable hurdles,
I had finally made it all the way to
Somalia’s capital city of Mogadishu
– a dream of mine. But now, ten days
into what was supposed to be a three-
week trip, I had very little to show
for it.
Four years earlier I had watched
with rapt attention a video about the
archives of Radio Mogadishu. In that
clip an elderly gentleman could be
seen sorting out reels of tape, and
my mind ran wild. I was able to get
the phone number of the radio station
but, despite the blend of Arabic and
English between me and whoever was on
the other end of the line, we could
barely understand each other. These
calls were followed by countless
emails.
Since Radio Mogadishu seemed
unreachable through the various
telecommunication means available
to humankind, I decided to travel to
Somalia myself. I began writing to
various hotels around the capital
and the reply I would get would
typically be this generic response:
Dear Samy,
Thank you for choosing Peace Hotel.
The rates are as follows:
– Airport pick-up
@ USD 150 per trip
– Accommodation
@ USD 150 per night per person
– Airport drop-off
@ USD 150 per trip
– Transportation and security escort
@ USD 1,200 per day
Armed vehicle including escort
pick- p with well trained and armed
security personnel.
Currently, we only accept cash as the
payment method. We are looking for-
ward to host you in Peace Hotels and
we hope that your trip to Mogadishu
will be an enjoyable experience.
Yusuf – Manager at Peace Hotel
I replied numerous times asking if
I could book the room without the
security escort option, but I never
got a response. To find private accom-
modation proved to be an almost
described as being mainly instru-
insurmountable task. Hosting a
foreigner is a risk and meant some
serious security measures would have
to be organised and nobody was crazy
enough to do that – except for one.
November 2016 - I finally arrived in
the old port city and immediately
attempted to get in touch with Radio
Mogadishu. Fortunately my host Fatuma
Abdullahi, who was running her newly
opened bed and breakfast, was well
connected, and a few days later
I had an appointment with the direc-
tor of the state broadcaster. Driving
towards the station with my ‘body-
guard’, I was surprised to see wall
paintings and wonderful hand-drawn
shop signs everywhere. Like no other
city in Africa, street art is omni-
present in Mogadishu.
Anxious to start, I arrived early.
Amisom soldiers – short for African
Union Mission in Somalia – surrounded
the building and I had to go through
a few security checks. I was greeted
by Mr Nasser Hussein and Mr Abdullahi
Amin, respectively the directors of
Radio Mogadishu and the television
station, both housed on the premises.
We went through short introductions
and I was very surprised to hear Mr
Nasser say that I must have lots of
connections since many at the station
knew about my arrival and about the
project. Perhaps my email bombardment
had not been in vain.
I was shown around and eventually
found myself inside the archives, the
very reason why I had come all the
way to this place. As soon as
I slept like a baby only to be
thrown out of bed at 7 a.m. on D-day
The National Theatre (Mogadishu)
I walked in the door, I recognised the
face of the gentlemen from the docu-
mentary – Colonel Abshir Hashi Ali.
We had a brief chat, I offered him
some delicious pastries I had brought
from Tunisia, and he began showing me
around. The room where the reels were
stored was about 100 square metres
and crammed with tapes from floor to
ceiling – circa 20,000, divided into
various categories: political spee-
ches, religious radio programmes,
patriotic music and love songs.
“What music are you interested
in?” he asked. Since I only knew
three bands I asked if they had any
music similar to Dur-Dur, Iftin
and Shareero. At that very moment
Colonel Abshir began to delve into a
huge notebook, then shouted a num-
ber to his right-hand man, Hamud
Ibrahem Hamud, who climbed a ladder
to grab a tape which he then handed
to Abdullahi Barre, who was responsi-
ble for the digitising. This routine
involving the ledger and stepladder
would become a recurring scenario.
I was told they would look around
and get in touch if they found some-
thing – thus ended my first visit to
Radio Mogadishu. Nasser and Abdullahi
escorted me out of the facility
and asked, ‘Where are your secu-
rity guys?’ I pointed to my escort,
who was relaxing against a wall,
a Kalashnikov nonchalantly hanging
from his shoulder. I was about to
bid farewell when I spontaneously got
invited to join them for a coffee.
We ended up at Posh Treats, a kind of
country club, the first to be opened
in the city after more than two deca-
des of civil war.
Once inside the heavily fortified
walls, Nasser suddenly produced some
fancy baklava, unwrapped it and sha-
red it with everyone around. Someone
connected a cellphone to some spea-
kers and started blasting out Dhaanto
music; watermelon and grapefruit
juice was brought out and shisha –
also known as nargile – appeared from
nowhere. The mood was light and fes-
tive and I could hardly believe I was
in Mogadishu. A few hours later, high
from too much smoking, Nasser pulled
me aside to tell me that it wasn’t
safe for me to drive around like
I was doing. ‘One escort is not
enough. From now on, every time you
need to get out, call me. I’ll send
you my people,’ was the final verdict.
requested time of 10.30 a.m. Parked mental and strange music. The words by a deafening explosion. I bol-
outside was a bulletproof Toyota ‘strange music’ pricked my ears. ted to the roof and watched a grey
surrounded by four men with machine cloud passing through on the wind,
guns, as well as the driver seated The pile turned out to be a cor- seemingly taking my luck along with
on yet another weapon. These cha- nucopia of different sounds: radio it, or so I thought. But in Somalia
perones would escort me across the jingles, background music, interlu- everything runs differently, so I
city to Radio Mogadishu every mor- des for radio programmes, television shouldn’t have been surprised when
ning, except Fridays, which is the shows and theatre plays. The two I was called and asked the normal
day off here. Mr Abdullahi – still Iftin Band songs included here all question of whether I was ready to
confused as what to make of a random came out of that pile. There were be picked up.
individual looking for Somali music also a good number of disco tunes
in Mogadishu – had been delegated to that had been stripped of their Cautiously, I entered the car and
assist me for the whole duration of lyrics. The interesting music parts monitored the demeanours of my com-
my stay. He turned out to be a huge had been recorded multiple times then panions. They showed no immediate
music fan and a very fine connoisseur cut, taped together and spliced into effect, other than taking a slightly
of Somali plays, and never missed an a long groovy instrumental loop. With different route to the station. I
opportunity to describe the import- this haul of good music it became was told that someone had rammed a
ance of theatre and cinema in Somali crystal clear that I had to delay my vehicle filled with explosives into
music. return flight by at least two weeks. the main entrance of the port, kil-
Thank you, Turkish Airlines (not a ling and injuring a lot of people.
Once in the archives, we spent about sponsor). Abdullahi Barre, the youngest staff
a week listening to some of Somalia’s member in the archives at the sta-
biggest names: Luul Jeylani, Maryam Five weeks into my trip, Mr Abdullahi tion, had returned from taking the
Mursal, Ahmed Naji and others – music kindly asked me to start the digiti- body of his friend to the cemetery
reserved for future projects. Now sation process soon, and December the and apologised for his tardiness.
it was time to look for something 11th was the day we choose. During my I spoke my condolences in Arabic,
The next few days gradually conden- that ‘swam against the current’. The whole stay I was told several times but except for that I had no words.
sed into a tightly regimented routine stars must have been aligned because that I had been very lucky: except
while I awaited further word from rummaging around I found a big stack for a light explosion at the market, Written by Samy Ben Redjeb.
Radio Mogadishu. I was effectively of tapes, all unlabelled, lying on Mogadishu had been quiet. But that
trapped in the guesthouse. It wasn’t top of each other in a rather preca- was about to change. In Mogadishu it
a complete waste of time as I had rious state. Hamud clarified that the is custom for the police to cont-
been lucky enough to find a cassette pile consisted mostly of music nobody rol traffic with gun shots – after 40
warehouse and was spending my days had managed to identify, or music he nights my ears had become accustomed
going through boxes of tapes. I spent to the sound of random volleys.
entire days listening, selecting and
digitising while sipping on coffee
mixed with camel milk. I discovered
the song Hoobeya during those days,
as well as the master cassettes with
the tunes Check Up Your Head and
Ladaney. Finding pictures of bands in
Mogadishu is such a rarity that when
I came across the cassette of Iftin
Band, Volume 4 – which included the
cover used for this compilation –
I jumped.
This regime lasted for about a week.
There was still no communication from
Radio Mogadishu. I began to get wor-
ried – until someone pointed out to
me: ‘Here in Somalia, when you inter-
act with people, if you want them to
do something they require “refresh-
ments”. Have you provided that?’ As a
Tunisian this was nothing new to me,
and licensing the music from Radio
Mogadishu was the idea all along. But
since they hadn’t actually supplied
me with anything to listen to yet,
I thought we hadn’t reached that
point. I was running out of time and
decided to make a move by proposing
a fee for each song I would select –
and suddenly we had a deal.

When Siad Barre first came to power in a peace-
ful coup in 1969 events were seen in a largely
triumphant light – Italian colonialism and the
subsequent shaky coalition were condemned to
the dustbin of history; money was pumped into
healthcare, education and the arts; Mogadishu was
designated the new centre of cultural life.
Siad Barre
Many ministries within the government had their
own band. Waaberi Band, the national orchestra
affiliated to the Ministry of Information,
boasted a massive line-up of 300-plus artists.
Their skills extended across music, dance, and
performance, and their repertoire bridged tra-
ditional, modern Somali and Western music. The
sheer talent within Waaberi created a seemingly
never-ending pool of musicians and actors to
draw from. Although employees of the government,
Waaberi musicians were allowed to join private
bands like Dur-Dur and Somali Jazz as a means to
earn a second salary.
These private bands not only performed the hits
of the day in luxury hotels but were also often
commissioned by independent producers to provide
the soundtracks for theatre plays at Mogadishu’s
national theatre; plays performed in turn by
actors and dancers from Waaberi.
Waaberi Band
Being affiliated to the government came with some
conditions. Musical classes in schools had to be
provided on a regular basis, songs with lyrics
highlighting the importance of education had to
be composed, and the bands had to be available
for official gatherings and for any recordings
needed by Radio Mogadishu. Iftin Band, affiliated
to the Ministry of Education, recorded count-
less jingles and interludes for the station, and
the two masterpieces of the band included here
are such tracks. Sirmaqabe´s vocal version, had
previously been popularised by Sahra Ahmed Jama,
a leading member of Waaberi and something of a
legend in Somalia’s popular song and theatre
scene.
Radio Mogadishu, the national radio station,
served as a unifying line across an otherwise
disconnected nation. With music airtime up to
15 or 16 hours a day, listeners could casually
hear five hours of music, and catch some 50 to
100 songs a day. Programming varied: educational
clips emphasising work – in agriculture or
fisheries – sat alongside bulletins concerning
personal hygiene, moral obligations and numerous
love songs.
Such a far-reaching radio system benefited the
nation both in terms of the dissemination of
cultural music, and the drawing of talent to the
urban core of Mogadishu. Regions in the ‘bush’ as
far as 700 kilometres away could be reached and,
upon learning of a music competition, a person
from the countryside could head to the capital to
compete in the contest – Shimaali linking up with
Bakaka Band and Qoomal joining Onkod Band came
about under such circumstances.
Music piracy began with cassettes and for an industry
100 per cent reliant on that format it wasn’t all good
news. Copying beyond these shops was easy, quick and
cheap and bootlegging arrived in Somalia in no time. But
although piracy was rampant, the primary function of the
tapes was never to make money. Rather, they served more
as a marketing device to draw additional crowds to the
bands’ live shows and theatre productions. It won’t come
as a surprise to learn that most of Mogadishu’s music
stores were founded by the musicians themselves.
The 1970s were lit up. What could go wrong?
The answer was: plenty. Barre’s grip tightened.
The repressive nature of the regime extended
across all aspects of life. The constitution was
Although not totally independent from each other there were clear-
suspended, freedom of assembly was heavily res-
ly two separate music industries in Somalia. One was government
tricted, and habeas corpus was removed. Criticism
controlled and gravitated around Waaberi Band. The other was run
and opposition directed against the leader or the
by independent producers, who founded private bands. This second
government resulted in jailing under Barre, but
category also included theatre plays, although a few of these were
the creative soul of Somali musicians craftily
also recorded by the Ministry of Information.
eluded the censors by using figurative language
and idiomatic expressions. Songs were composed
The Radio Mogadishu recording studio facilities were reserved for
that would superficially seem to support the lea-
artists backed by Waaberi, Iftin, Horseed and other bands affilia-
der, but a more careful examination of the tune
ted to the government. Some important lead singers from Waaberi
could show otherwise.
who had ties with private bands – Maryam Mursal with Somali Jazz,
for example – were also allowed to record there.
By 1972 schools were closed while all government
employees took a year out to learn Somali Latin,
All others bands had to rely on a four-track cassette recorder
the official new language of the nation – repla-
connected to a mixer. The recording sessions would generally take
cing Arabic. By the mid-1980s Ethiopian-inspired
place in one of the hotels at night, after a performance. These
communist uprisings were being extinguished in
sessions would yield one master which would then be dubbed for
the north; come the end of the decade the Cold
half a dozen second-generation cassettes which in turn were dis-
War was over, the first waves of Islamic fun-
tributed to the major music stores: Shareero Phone, Iftin Phone,
damentalism were breaking, Somalia’s economy
Shankar Phone and a few others.
collapsed and, by 1991, Barre’s military dicta- Shareero Phone
torship had fallen with it, plunging the country
into civil war.

Some say that it was so quickly adopted because
it had strong similarities with the traditional
beat from the western region of Somalia cal-
led Dhaanto. But then suddenly the trousers got
tighter as the disco tsunami hit the country.
Michael Jackson appeared with a new sound that
would revolutionise Somalia’s live music scene.
You couldn’t walk the streets of Mogadishu with-
out seeing kids trying to moonwalk.
Habib Sharabi
Like everywhere in Africa during the 1970s both
men and women sported huge afros, bell-bottom
trousers and platform shoes. James Brown, Stevie
Wonder, Kool and the Gang and The Temptations’
funk were the talk of the town.
In 1977, Iftin Band were invited to perform at
the Festac festival in Lagos where they represen-
ted Somalia at the Second World Black and African
Festival of Arts and Culture. Not only did they
come back with an award but they also returned
with Afrobeat. While Fela Kuti’s ‘Shakara’ had
taken over the continent and was spreading like
wildfire throughout Latin America it was the track
‘Lady’ that would become the hit in Mogadishu. At
the same time Bob Marley was busy kick-starting
reggae-mania in Somalia, which became such a phe-
nomenon that even the police and military bands
began playing it.
The two leading singers for most of these styles
were Mahmud Abdalla Hussen, aka ‘Jerry’, and
Mukhtar Ramadan Arbow, known as ‘Iidi’. The
demand for English-singing artists was such that
both were constantly switching orchestras. Jerry
moved from Shareero to Iftin via Somali Jazz,
while Iidi jumped from Somali Jazz to Dur-Dur
band via Shareero. Such a shuffling between the
city’s main acts was a common thing but these two
were extreme cases.
‘Somalia had several nightclubs and although most
use DJs to play records, some places like Jubba
Hotel, Al-Uruba, Al Jazeera, Liido and La Bamba
showcased live bands such as Iftin and Shareero’
– so ran a quote from an article from 1981 about
the explosion of Mogadishu’s live music scene.
The venues mentioned in that article were the
luxury hotels that had been built to cover the
growing demands of the tourist industry. The
state-of-the-art hotel Al-Uruba, with its orien-
tal ornaments and white plastered walls, was a
wonder of modern architecture. All of Mogadishu’s
top bands performed there at some point or
another. Ties with the Middle East, especi-
ally Yemen across the Gulf of Aden, were strong
and Somalia frequently hosted dignitaries and
foreign entourages in such plush establishments.
Intellectuals, students and the high society of
Mogadishu also took a page from African American
dress codes and began to party there too. Alcohol
was served, but locals didn’t partake as it was
mostly for tourists – allegedly.
Colonel Abshir and I had developed
a good understanding. Due to his
age he wasn’t always present at the
archives, but would always check how
everything was going, at least once
a day. He is without doubt the mind
and soul of the archive; something
that became painfully obvious each
time we struggled to find a particu-
lar reel – Abshir would know exactly
where to locate it. On my last day
at Radio Mogadishu I asked Colonel
Abshir if he would give an interview,
a proposal he happily accepted.
‘My name is Abshir Hashi Ali. I was
a colonel in the police force for a
long time. Soon after the fall of the
previous regime mobs ransacked and
looted some of the materials of Radio
Mogadishu, and so I was entrusted to
safeguard the archives of the sta-
tion by the Somali National Alliances
group.
‘The archive was created by the
Italians in 1951 and although some
damage was done to the buildings most
of it is still intact. I began work-
ing here in the early nineties. By
my side were Abdi Qalafi and Abdullahi
Hassan Diirshe. We were soldiers
place if I didn’t give him the keys. decades of war, looting and bom-
But I ran towards him instead, grab- bardments, but what we are fighting
bed his arm and told him that we against now is climate and the con-
both would die before he took the dition in which the tapes are stored.
keys from me. I wasn’t joking and he Although these tapes are of high
understood that. So he left. quality and can withstand heat, it
is important that we digitise all of
‘When I began working at Radio this as soon as possible. That pro-
Mogadishu the archive consisted of cess has begun, a few years ago, and
roughly 100,000 songs. And although we are currently five employees taking
there is a wide variety of material care of the digitisation – four men
– such as political speeches, theatre and a lady. We have a few reel-to-
plays, religious content – the two reel machines and two computers.
main categories are love and patri- The digitisation of each master tape
otic songs. represents roughly two-and-a-half to
three hours of work – multiply that
‘In 1993 the television station was by many thousands and you understand
bombarded by the Americans, and parts the task ahead.
of the archive got damaged. And a few
years ago a rocket-launcher was fired ‘I have dedicated my life to this
onto the building of Radio Mogadishu place. I’m doing this so it can get
by members of Al-Shabab, a radical to the next generation; so that the
Islamic group affiliated to Al-Qaeda culture, the heritage and the songs
who believe music is haram (a sin). of Somalia don’t disappear.’
As a consequence many of the people
working at the radio station – In August 2017, Mohamed Farmaajo, the
especially women – receive death president of Somalia, awarded Colonel
threats on a regular basis. Some do Abshir Hashi Ali the medal of honour
not dare to leave the premises of for protecting the archive of Radio
the radio station and live here. Mogadishu during the civil war.
‘Over 80 per cent of the stuff recor-
ded here since 1951 has survived the Written by Samy Ben Redjeb
and didn’t know anything about clan
differences, but when the war began
everything changed. The city was
divided in enclaves and each enclave
was controlled by a clan, and each
clan looted the enclave it lorded
over. And so the ones that were
controlling the area where Radio
Mogadishu was located thought they
could just walk in and take what-
ever they wanted. The inter-clan
conflict became so severe that people
began fleeing this place due to hun-
ger and suffering. So, of course,
I can understand the situation of
desperation, but the looters didn’t
truly understand the value of the
recordings. Rather, they were concer-
ned with how they would eat and they
believed they could gain some kind of
profit from the tapes stocked here.
‘But my conviction was that the
riches stored here were not theirs.
The archive belongs to all Somalis
– so we fought. There were a few
attempts to take the keys of the
station from me and the most
dangerous situation was when I got
threatened with a hand grenade. The
guy had already pulled the pin out
Colonel Abshir
and was threatening to blow up the
The three Dur-Dur Songs included in
this compilation were all recorded
while the band was in exile. Daraadaa
Muxibo was recorded in Djibouti,
while Ladaney and Shaleedayaa were
immortalised in Ethiopia and released
on a cassette called ‘Africa’ - also
known as Volume 6 - Dur-Dur band´s
last official release.
The musicians had just fled war-torn
Mogadishu, leaving everything they
had behind, and by the time they
had reached a safe haven, only Adan
Handal (drums), Sahra Dawo (lead
singer) and Mukthar Ramadan Iidi
(lead singer) remained from the
original line-up.
In 1988, the band´s legendary lead
singer Baastow had left the band and
had been replaced by Mohamed Ahmed
Qomaal, the singer on the track
‘Shaleedayaa’, who now lives in
London. Curious to learn about the
dramatic events that led to the making
of Africa, I met him on a grey and
rainy day in Hounslow (UK). Throughout
the whole duration of the interview,
I couldn‘t help but think what a
cultural shock it must have been for
Qomaal to trade the wonderful sweet
climate of what was once known as The
White Pearl of The Indian Ocean for
Hounslow´s dreary weather. “But at
least here,” I thought “no rockets
falling from the skies.”
“My singing career began in 1972
in Baidoa, a town some 250 km from
Mogadishu, where a music contest
was being held once a year. Regional
bands from all over Somalia would
flock towards the sleepy town to
present their songs. Since I loved
music, I went to see the rehearsals
and one tune in particular struck
a chord with me. It was called
‘Rhodesia’ - a patriotic tune - and
I had memorised it by heart.
‘The organisers were always on the
lookout for new talent and one of my
neighbours, Tariss, was one of them.
“Hey Qomaal,” he shouted “You can
sing; come here and give it a try”.
So, I sang the tune ‘Rhodesia’ for
them and they really liked it!
To such extent that they asked me
to represent the neighbourhood. I was
shocked and told them I couldn’t take
part, as my father wouldn´t allow it.
They laughed and said, “Don’t worry.
We´ll arrest him and lock him up for
the duration of the competition”.
I thought that they were serious and
screamed „Don’t lock him up, I’ll do
it!” and that’s how my career as a
musician began.
‘I moved to Hamar (Mogadishu) and was
recruited by Onkod - a police band.
I performed with them for a few years
and then left to join Iftin Band.
I was known for singing tunes in Maay
Maay, a Somali dialect. Isse Dahir
Qassin, founder and band leader of
Dur-Dur, had spotted me a long time
ago. When Abdullahi Sharif ‘Baastow’
left for Saudi Arabia at the end of
1988, I was asked if I would like to
replace him. I loved Dur-Dur because
they were different and were consi-
dered the most futuristic band in
Somalia. I also knew Sahra Dawo well
since we had previously recorded a
few things for Radio Mogadishu toge-
ther. The stars seemed aligned, so
I agreed.
‘I didn’t arrive empty handed and
had brought many good compositi-
ons. The first tune I proposed was
Gariirtee(Shiver) which later became
an instant hit. That was was follo-
wed by another one called Caashaqan
Dartii (Because of this Love). We
used to perform them at Jubba Hotel
and had decided to record them, along
with a few others, as part of the
band´s Volume 4... but we got struck
by a tragic event.
‘We were all at Mogadishu´s National
Theatre preparing the stage for a
Banaadiri play called Sharaxii la
tumaayey Sheekaa ka Dambeysay (After
the Wedding Party a Lot of Stories
unfold).”
‘Isse Dahir Qassim was arranging the
sound and the mixer was connected
to a defective power wire. When Isse
grabbed one of the microphones for
the soundcheck, people thought he was
dancing – but he was being electrocu-
ted. It was only when he eventually
dropped that we knew something very
serious had just happened. He was
taken to the hospital in a Land
Cruiser, but by the time they arrived
there wasn’t any life left.
‘Without our founder and the soul of
the band, Dur-Dur was broken. For
a while we didn’t get together, we
couldn’t get together – it was as
if we were paralyzed. It was Mohamed
Karama, a keyboard player and son of
Fadumo Qassim, that saved the situ-
ation. He and Isse had bonded many
years earlier and Isse had treated
him like a younger brother, show-
ing him all of his musical secrets.
Karama knew of Isse´s tricks and
proposed to regroup. In addition to
Mohamed Karama on keyboards, we added
Abdiqadir Buunis and Abdinur Daljir
(Singer of Daraadaa Muxibo)
on vocals and recorded Volume 4 at
Jubba Hotel. Not only did the inclu-
sion of these new elements give
Dur-Dur Band a fresh boost, but
our drummer Adan Handal also began
experimenting with new sounds and
electronic drums, something unique in
Somalia at the time. He also attached
two bongos to his kit, to push for a
more percussive sound, and one time
I even saw him pouring water on his
snare to give the back beat a dif-
ferent tone. That guy was something
else; toying around with sounds was
his thing! Riding the wave Volume
4 had created, we quickly recorded
Volume 5 in 1990 and before we knew
it, all hell broke loose.
‘My father had just died, so I was
in Baidoa sorting everything out when
the war began. Most of the band mem-
bers, as well as other musicians from
Waaberi Band, had managed to jump
on a truck to take them to Ethiopia.
They drove through Baidoa by chance
and they picked me up on the way.
‘The truck was a stolen military
vehicle with 6 wheels. The driver,
a nutter, had negotiated the trans-
port fee with Mukthar Ramadan Iidi
and they had agreed that he would get
paid once we arrived at our destina-
tion. Our goal was Dolo in Ethiopia,
just on the other side of the border.
We arrived safe and sound. Since we
had brought a mixer, a guitar, a bass
and a drum kit, we decided to stay
for a while, earn some money, and
continue to Addis Ababa.
‘Once in Addis, we got introduced to
an Ethiopian businessman whose name
I can’t recall - screw him. What
I know is that he owned an electronic
shop (Elham Video Electronics) and
that he negotiated a recording deal
with Mukhtar: he would host us in his
house and provide food and beverage
for the duration of our stay. A small
amount of money was promised for the
recording. It was a good deal and we
recorded Africa in a day or two. The
master cassette was then taken to
Addis for multiplication.
‘As we were planning to leave for
Djibouti, some officials came to see
us and told us that we had to get
our documents in order before leaving
Ethiopia. There was no such thing as
documents and, since an armed sol-
dier was constantly guarding us, we
understood that we were being held
against our will. We learned that
the shop owner had been greasing the
hands of some corrupt officials from
the Ministry of Interior with the
aim to keep us in Ethiopia for more
time, probably to record another cas-
sette. That was the only explanation
we had. We were stuck; they weren’t
going to let us go. This carried on
for a while, until eventually we got
smuggled out of the country in the
middle of the night by a gentleman
called G´Ali. He had found out what
was happening and had organised our
escape with some of his friends.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t interested in
money and explained that he was a fan
of the band; the only thing he wanted
was for us to be alive - angels do
exist!”
Mukthar Ramadan Iidi passed away
a few years ago, Adan Handal and
Abdiqadir Buunis have since been
living in a refugee camp in Ethiopia.
Abdinur Daljir and Sahra Dawo got
married and are now in Columbus
(Ohio), while Mohamed Karama and
Qomaal have found shelter in the UK.
Written by Samy Ben Redjeb
Translated by Mohamed Khalif
 “Hab Isii? Really? I remember the
first time I heard that tune. It was
a Friday and I was in a rural area
50 km outside Mogadishu, driving,
when I suddenly heard voices coming
out of nowhere… It was wonderful
and it also made me smile because
they were singing, “Hug me, hold me
against your breast.” I stopped my
car and went to see and listen for
myself and found a group of young
Somali bedouins dancing. I learned
that it was a beat called Heliya and
that it is performed by the peo-
ple from the Lower Shabelle region,
especially in the area around the
city of Marka. I got inspired and
decided to modernise what I heard and
added some extra words to make it
more attractive. Hab Isii was eventu-
ally recorded at Radio Mogadishu with
the support of my favourite musician
Abdallah Noureddine as producer.
But it wasn’t a big hit. ‘Ladnaan’
and many other songs were played at
weddings and important ceremonies and
had much more impact… but you left
the nice ones and came for Hab Isii.
‘My name is Omar Abdulle Abdi but
everybody knows me as Omar Shooli.
‘Shooli’ is a type of fish and it is a
nickname that was given to me because
I was a good swimmer, both in salt and
sweet water. I was born in the 1940s
in a small town on the riverside some
30 km West of Mogadishu called Afgoye.
To my knowledge, I’m now 73. Music has
been performed here for centuries, it
has been transported from generation
to generation, until it reached the
ears of a young shepherd like myself.
It must have been around 1958 when
I decided to buy a guitar, but those
Italian electric guitars, the ones you
would find in town, were too expensive.
Omar Shooli wasn´t too happy with my So, I began playing my tune on hand-
- arriving at the archives before
selection. “You should have selected made guitars which I would buy for 60
anyone else - I found the place
something else! Ladnaan (well-being), shillings. I have been a professional
totally cleaned up with only one tape
for example…” was his answer when he musician since then and, though I’m a
languishing by itself in the centre
heard we wanted to license the song multi-instrumentalist now, the gui-
of a table. I carefully moved towards
Hab Isii (Hug Me). tar will always be the instrument I’m
it, hoping it was what I sought, and
associated with.
could already read Hab Isii - 1986.
Little did he know that - the first
time I heard it blasting out of the ‘I began playing music when people
digitising room at Radio Mogadishu used to listen to words that had a
- I ran as if chased by demons to meaning. The essence of a song is the
find what it was. I stumbled into the lyrics, what it tells is the value.
room and found Abdullahi Barre, Hamud Becoming a musician is not easy, let
Ibrahem Hamud and Colonel Abshir, alone in Somalia, so I decided to
basically the whole team, bouncing share my knowledge and began teaching
in their chairs like there was no youngsters until I was enlisted in
tomorrow. The whole place was groo- the military band. Osman Adam Askari
ving, and I knew straight away that was our band leader and an excellent
I needed that tune. I was told it had music arranger and, as a consequence,
been digitized a few months earlier we were “invited” to the Ministry of
and once that was done, the reel had Information. There, we were told
landed in one of the many piles, that we would be joining Waaberi
Band, the National Orchestra. Waaberi
patiently awaiting to be returned to
means “dawn” and it is a name given
their place. We did find a version of
the tune from 1978 rather quickly, by Mohamed Ali Kariye,
but it was not the version we were the musical director.
looking for. We continued searching
for a whole day until we gave up and ‘Hassan Adan Samatar, Maryam Mursal,
moved on, though Hamud pledged to Saado Ali Warsame and I were the
But Shooli wasn’t impressed.
keep up the hunt. A few days later musicians from Waaberi that traveled
the most frequently, to almost all of
the continents: Australia, New Zealand,
all of Europe, Latin America; Egypt as
well. I discovered a lot of music and
Fela Kuti became one of my favourites.
We used to perform some of his tunes
during night parties, especially the
song Lady, which became a hit on our
shores. I also listened to James Brown
and knew how to play many of his tunes.
At some point the disco movement took
over and all of Mogadishu´s bands began
playing that stuff in venues like Jubba
and Lido, mostly filled with foreigners,
Somalis from the high society, students
and intellectuals. We also performed
many Jimmy Cliff tracks as it was easy
for us because it’s in our culture. We
have a beat here called Dhaanto that
is similar to reggae. It has a rhythm
rooted in the Woqooyi Galbeed region,
close to the Ethiopian border and it
was brought to Mogadishu by Abdullahi
Sabgub, a famous composer who also
wrote poems and theatre plays.
‘That’s the beat I used for Hab Isii!”
Written by Samy Ben Redjeb
Interview and translation by Ali Mohamed
Despite performing in multiple thea-
tre plays and having a good number
of songs screamed in Somali, Mukhtar
Ramadan Arbow, commonly known as
Iidi, will always be remembered as a
‘western music’ singer, at least in
Mogadishu.
Born to parents of Tanzanian des-
cent, Iidi - a huge Marvin Gaye
fan - began his musical career in
Kismayo, a city in southern Somalia
some 250km from the Kenyan border.
I didn’t manage to find information
about the year he was born, nor when
he arrived in the capital city, and
the earliest ‘document’ that men-
tioned the singer didn’t say. It was
an advertisement from February 1981
promoting a Somali Jazz gig at the
newly built Jubba Hotel.
Soomaali Jaas - as written in that
part of the world - was one of the
country´s leading bands and had
become famous for backing the icon-
ic Maryam Mursal. Their young singer
was Iidi, and he must have excelled
during that time because none other
than Shareero Band came to look for
him. Why? To replace their singer
Jerry who had left them to join Iftin
Band, their archrivals. This drama-
tic episode - although there were
many - was one of Mogadishu´s most
significant ones in the era because
it symbolised a power shift from
Shareero - until then the dominant
force - to Iftin. It is said that
Ahmed Naji - founder of Shareero Band
and Jerry´s mentor - never fully
digested that chapter. To compen-
sate that loss, Naji had turned his
attention to a talented multi-
instrumentalist named Iidi, known
for his powerful and soulful voice.
But would he be able to fill Jerry´s
shoes? This question left everybody
guessing.
Following a memorable performance
at Al Jazeera Hotel, the government
newspaper Xiddigta Oktoobar (October
Star) wrote an article published on
the 11th of July 1981 with the head-
line ‘Iidi‘ Waa Heesaa Wanaagsan’
(Iidi is a good singer):
„A rejuvenated Shareero Band and
their singer Iidi performed for the
first time at Al Jazeera Hotel on June
26. Mukhtar Ramadan Arbow (Iidi)
had only recently joined the group
and many wondered if they had the
ability to satisfy the audience. But
after performing numerous new songs
and showcasing good dance moves, it
was clear that the skeptical crowed
had fallen in love with his voice.
Besides being an excellent singer,
Iidi also plays guitar and drums and
he has indicated that we might see
him doing just that very soon.”
That ‘marriage’ lasted two years and
Iidi ended up joining an explosive
new band named Dur-Dur, a combina-
tion that would mark the beginning of
a new musical era in modern music in
Mogadishu and the decline of Shareero
Band. Lead by Adan Handal - their
‘out of this world’ drummer - Dur-
Dur created a new and fresh Somali
sound becoming the talk of the town
in no time. Foreign tunes, however,
were Iidi´s expertise and unforgetta-
ble songs such Zambala and Baayo were
composed during that time.
But ironically Iidi was catapulted to
stardom in 1988 after performing in
the play Rafaad Iyo Raaxo, sang in
a more than perfect Somali. Although
Sahra Dawo shined supreme over many
of the songs it was Iidi´s tune
Duruuf Maa Laygu Diidee (Rejected
Because of My Circumstances) - backed
by Dur-Dur Band - that became the hit
of the play. After 30 performances
at Mogadishu´s National Theatre,
an additional month had to be added
due to popular demand, disrupting
the already loaded schedule of the
Theatre. ‘Rafaad Iyo Raaxo’ became
a huge success and would later be
turned into a movie starring Shimaali
Ahmed Shimaali in the lead role.
Written by Samy Ben Redjeb

Hamud Ibrahem Hamud - from the archi-
ves of Radio Mogadishu - handed me
a reel one day, adding: „These guys
would later become Dur-Dur Band.“
Needless to say, he got my attention.
I carefully took the tape, connected
it to a Studer reel-to-reel recor-
der and pressed play. A few seconds
into Geesiyada Halgamayow (Brave
Fighters), I knew that I had bumped
into something special.
Bakaka was a government band affilia-
ted to the Ministry of Interior and
funded by the Aboow Liberation Front
with the purpose of boosting the
moral of the troops fighting at the
Ethiopian border. The band became the
mouthpiece of the Aboow struggle for
liberation. So, it was no surprise
that all the songs on the tape were
of patriotic nature but performed -
as you can hear - in a great variety
of different styles.
One of their singers was none other
than the mythical Shimaali Ahmed
Shimaali. To get this interview,
Shimaali played hide and seek with us
for weeks and missed more than half
a dozen appointments, until we finally
corned him at Posh, one of his favou-
rite shisha bars.
“I was still in high school in the
city of Merca when I heard Radio
Mogadishu announcing a singing
contest. Anyone interested could
apply. So, I travelled from Merca to
Mogadishu by car for three shillings
and went straight to the Ministry of
Information to register my name.
I sang a popular tune that I had
heard on the radio and when we were
done, the jury committee told us to
come back the very next day to check
the results which would be displayed
at the National Theatre.
‘When I arrived, my name was the first
on the list. For the second round of
the contest, we were told that the
jury was expecting us to showcase
our very own songs. I didn’t know
anyone in Mogadishu, so I approached
Shiiraan Shidad, one of Waaberi
Band´s singers, for advice. He took
me to the house of Abdallah Nuurdiin,
the poet who would write the lyrics
for Farxad Aan Wadaagnoo (‘The
Happiness We Share’), my very first
song which eventually won the contest
in 1979.
‘As soon as the competition was
over, I was assigned to join Bakaka,
a band created in 1978 during the
Ethiopian–Somali conflict (also known
as Ogaden War) by an Omoro gent-
lemen by the name of Mohamed Said
Wagegaya. Bakaka is also the name
of a town located in the Aboow ter-
ritory and the band was named after
that place. Since it was a government
orchestra, it was very well funded
and boasted modern instruments, but
it was a risky undertaking since we
often had to travel to the front
line and encourage the soldiers with
tunes like Gobonimada Jira. It means
‘Choose Freedom’, and was composed by
Maxamoud Aadam Carabeeto, a popular
Somali actor.
‘After a few years, with the end of
the war, the band became somehow mea-
ningless and Isse Dahir Qassin, our
keyboardist and band leader, propo-
sed that we start a private band.
The drummer Adan Handal and myself
joined in, and Isse then quickly
proceeded to add his brother Abukar
Dahir Qassin on lead guitar and
Hassan Buufey on percussion before
approaching some of Mogadishu´s most
forward-thinking musicians in the
hope of luring them into his new
project.
‘Saxophonist Musa Mohamed plus Abdu-
lahi Ujeeri Ajami - a very talented
bass player - were pinched from
Somali Jazz, and Yusuf Abdi ‘Alype’
on rhythm guitar was recruited from
Horseed, a military band. Isse´s plan
was the formation of a variety band
that would primarily entertain hotel
guests, and the addition of Shareero
Band’s vocalist Mukhtar Ramadan Iidi
was the centerpiece that made it all
work. This was the birth of Gor-Gor
(Eagle).
‘What we didn’t know was that ‘Gor-
Gor’ was also the name of a militant
group opposed to the regime, and we
were all arrested in a case of mis-
taken identity. President Siad Barre
had to intervene personally and,
from what we were told, Barre had a
laugh about the whole situation. He
said that we were all Banaadiris and
didn’t have a clue what ‘Gor-Gor’
meant. “Set them free and tell them
to change to Dur-Dur instead,“ were
the orders.“
Written by Samy Ben Redjeb could play the guitar and sing,
Translation by Ali Mohamed I got hired by Radio Mogadishu
Ahmed Naji, director of
Waaberi, the National
Orchestra, founder of Shareero
Band, arguably Somalia´s most
important group, and later
director of Radio Mogadishu is
without doubt Somalia´s most
influential musician. After a
short phone chat in Arabic,
we agreed to meet in the
Shepherd’s Bush area, home of
London´s largest Somali com-
munity. I was late and stood
for a moment on the other side
of the road looking at Mr Naji
casually sitting on a chair as
dozens of young Somalis walked
by not paying attention to this
old man who had shaped Somali
music - an unreal scene.
“My name is Ahmed Naji Sa’ad,
and I am a well-known musi-
cian in Somalia. I was born in
Mogadishu, and studied Arabic
and Italian in school. As a
young boy, I was fascinated
by music and I used to go to
political rallies to listen to
the patriotic songs calling to
end the Italian colonisation of
Somalia.
‘In 1960, I joined the
Banaadiri Political Party loca-
ted on Via Roma in Mogadishu.
The party had a musical band
called Campagna Artistica Luna
Somali, which translated from
Italian meant something like
‘Somali Moon Band’. Meanwhile,
Radio Mogadishu was holding
musical competitions on a regu-
lar basis so that they could
recruit new talent. Since I
in 1963. I was a self-taught musician
but, of course, there were establis-
hed artists who influenced me greatly:
Hussein Baajuuni, Hussein Mabruuk,
Ali Roble, Ma’alow Nuur and Aydrus
al-Qadiri. All the musicians were
Somalis, although some had Yemeni
ancestors like myself.
‘In 1966, I was promoted and became
the musical director of Radio
Mogadishu orchestra. Before the end
of the sixties, the Chinese had built
Mogadishu´s National Theatre and a
military government came to power.
This started the formation of many
musical groups in Somalia, such as
Hagen, Onkod, Horseed, Asluutbta, and
Waaberi, of course. Waaberi means
‘dawn’ in Somali and that orchestra
was part of Radio Mogadishu.
‘I also created a private rock band
called Gemini 7 in the late sixties
consisting of myself on keyboards,
Said Abdallah on lead guitar, Antar
Naji on drums, Ali Naji on bass gui-
tar, Osman on percussion and Mahmud
Abdalla Hussen ‘Jerry’ on vocals. by the name of Fadumo Qassim as lead
Jerry attended an American school in vocalist. Her father Qaasim Hilowly,
Mahaday and was fluent in English. a singer at Radio Mogadishu, used to
bring young Fadumo to the studio –
‘In the beginning we played at wed- she was just eight years old the first
dings, private parties, dance halls, time I met her. I immediately nurtu-
theatres, and ballrooms. Soon after red her as my own little sister and
the Somali script was introduced in “Waakaa Helaa” became one of the many
the early seventies, as was the trend, songs we performed together.
we changed the name of the group from
Gemini 7 to Shareero Band, which is a ‘Later on, I was appointed as the
traditional Somali instrument. director of Mogadishu´s National
Theatre, a post I held until the
collapse of the ruling government of
Somalia in 1990. As for now, I live
in the diaspora and attend interna-
tional festivals all around the world
‘The song Waakaa Helaa which means
promoting Somali culture and music.
‘I Like You’ in Somali is from
It is something I have been doing
a theatre play called ‘Duq Aan
for over 50 years. I am still writing
Da’diisa Ogeen’ (An Old Man Unaware
songs and plays, and I am very proud
of His Age) which is the story of
of my contribution and promotion of
a ‘Sugar Daddy’ chasing younger
Somali culture and music.”
women. The main actors were Mohamed
Nuur Ma’alow and Luul Ali Hassan
Written by Samy Ben Redjeb
and the scores were performed by
Translation by Abdullahi Ahmed
Shareero Band with a young singer
Mahmud Abdalla Hussen ‘Jerry’
Ahmed Naji Sa’ad, Omar Boonge
Antar Naji, Said Abdallah, Ali Naji Sa’ad
‘Our popularity amplified, we stepped
up performing mostly weekends at Lido
nightclub, Jazeera nightclub, Jubba
nightclub and in the National Theatre
in Mogadishu. Some of the music that
we played was influenced and inspired
by disco music - Santana, James Brown
and many other contemporary artists
of that era. We were very eclectic,
listened to all kinds of music and
operated a shop in the historical
Shangani District of Mogadishu called
Shareero Phone - Photo and Arts where
we sold mainly cassettes and promoted
our plays.

To understand the somehow chaotic
evolution of Iftin Band, I met with
Salah Hariri - founding member and
percussionist of the fabled group.
Like many other Somalis, Hariri had
sought refuge in the Middle East
before continuing to the UK. We met
in London in his apartment during the
holy month of Ramadan of 2017 and it
was there, sipping peppermint tea,
that he shared some wonderful pictu-
res and the history of the band.
“I was probably 16 years old, maybe
17, playing drums in front of my
house. ‘Drum’ is a fancy word since
the kit I was harassing was an assem-
blage of empty carton boxes and water
buckets that I had tied together.
This seemed enough to impress the
young people of the neighbourhood.
One of these people was a wonderful
young woman who came to talk to me
after a little performance. She said
that her brother was playing drums
in a band called Danger Boys and
that they were looking for a percus-
sionist. Her brother was Sulfa, who
would later become one of Somalia´s
most iconic singers.
‘‘Danger Boys’, was composed of
four musicians: Abdullahi Sugule on
guitars, Shankanoole Abdulkadir on
keyboards and lead vocals, Abdullahi
Sulfa on drums and Sharif Shankar
Mohamed - the band leader - on bass.
I joined them as a percussionist in
1975 and that’s when the group chan-
ged its name to Iftin Band.
‘The jury at Festac, from what we
understood, had been caught by
surprise by Waaberi´s percussionists.
They didn’t expect such explosive
drumming coming from the Horn of
Africa and, as a consequence,
Waaberi won Best Traditional
Ensemble.
‘Unfortunately, the sweetness of
our success was blunted by a disas-
ter. One bus carrying mostly Waaberi
members flipped and hit a tree while
returning from Jos - a city loca-
ted in the Northern Islamic part of
Nigeria. six artists were killed.
‘On our return to Somalia, we became
the talk of the town and were affi-
liated with and sponsored by the
Ministry of Education. The Ministry
provided us with new equipment and
a steady income. We also managed to
secure a deal with the newly built
Jubba Hotel, where we had regular
gigs on Thursday nights, while Somali
Jazz performed every Friday night.
Jubba was owned by the government
and was under the tutelage of the
Ministry of Tourism.
‘We played at the Jubba for many
years and during that time got joined
by Shareero lead singer Mahmud Abdalla
Hussen better known as Jerry. Various
‘Saeed Salah - a fan of the band who
musicians constantly moved from one
worked at the Ministry of Education
band to another, this was nothing
- arranged for Iftin to represent
unusual, but this one was different.
Somalia at the Festac 77 festival in
Lagos where we would compete with
‘Jerry was fluent in English and had
various other African ensembles.
provided Shareero with uncounta-
Waaberi Band would travel to Nigeria
ble soul, funk and pop songs and had
as well and would be performing
Banaadiri folklore while Iftin would
provide a selection of modern Somali
Music. To maximise our chances of
winning, Habib Sharabi - an excellent
singer especially when it comes to
Banaadiri songs - was added to the
lineup.
Follow the curve from L to R:
Sharif Shankar Mohamed, Salah Hariri,
Habib Sharabi, Abdullahi Sulfa, Sheq Abdi
Kneeling: Abdullahi Sugule
‘We began by playing at private
parties and weddings, and then tra-
velled throughout Somalia - Garowe,
Hargeisa, Borama and so on. As for
performing in Mogadishu - only Lido
and Jazeera hotels provided venues
for live music at the time and the
mighty Shareero Band covered the
demand. Besides, Jazeera could only
be reached by car and none of us had
a driver’s license at that time. So,
it took us about two years and
a great number of gigs before we
could get any kind of recognition.
become a huge persona and the star of a growing disco scene. He was
also the perfect fit for hotels that hosted mainly Italian tourists
craving western tunes and the hits of the moment.
‘When Al-Uruba, Somalia‘s premier hotel and jewel of Mogadishu, opened
its doors around 1980 they immediately approached us and offered the
band a long-term contract. It became our home and, with Jerry´s magic,
we began performing disco, pop, rock and funky music like no other
band could. We played Michael Jackson and James Brown songs, and a few
Fela Kuti tunes we brought from Nigeria. We kept up with the trend and
played whatever the youth and our audiences wanted.
‘Shankanoole left for Djibouti around 1982, which caused Sugule to
switch from guitar to keyboards and be replaced, in turn, by Shankar’s
brother Sheq Abdi on guitar. Habib Sharabi went to Shareero while
various other vocalists would come and go, such as, Mohamed Adan Isaq,
Maryam Ali Muudey and Sayyid Khalifa.
‘I had switched from Iftin to Shareero for a short period myself and
was replaced by Salah Moussa on congas. By the time I returned around
1984 Iftin had become a household name. The band began being commis-
sioned to create the musical scores for Theatre plays at Mogadishu´s
National Theatre, an honour that until then had only been reserved
for Shareero and Waaberi Band. Theatre plays were a complex affair,
especially because you had to know precisely when to make room for
the dialogues and you had to be able to improvise at any given moment,
depending on the actors’ performances.
‘We would practise for about three weeks and then record the entire
play on a master cassette, which was used to manufacture many others.
As the date to perform got closer, announcements on the radio, adver-
tisements in the newspaper and posters designed by Ali Maleexaan and Hoobeya, also written Hobeya, Hobeyaa, Hobeeya, Hoobeyaa, Hoobeeya, Hoobeeyaa,
Amiin Amir would be printed and used as promotional material. Obeya, Obeeya, Obeyaa or Obeeyaa - just to name a few - was a track composed by
Shimaali Ahmed Shimaali and Ahmed Sharif Killer.
‘One of the most successful plays we performed was Imtixaanka Adduunka
Killer, a former football player, got his nickname because he didn’t like to lose.
(‘The World´s Torments’). It was a play written and produced by
He was a feared defender who made sure he ‘killed’ anyone who tried to dribble or
Abdiqadir Nuuraani and Dr Rafi and the main actors were Maryan Nasir
pass him by. Though he was always fighting on the pitch, outside the pitch he was
and Jerry.”
a gentle soul and a humble person. He minded his business and asked others to mind
theirs. He didn´t have trouble with anyone.
Written by Samy Ben Redjeb
Killer - the brother of Baastow, famous singer of Waaberi and Dur-Dur - was born
Translation by Abdullahi Ahmed
in Afgoye around 1964 and attended school in Mogadishu before joining Banaadiri
Band, an excellent traditio-
nal dance and musical ensemble
that frequently performed at
Mogadishu´s National Theatre.
The venue was not only Killer´s
headquarters but also a place
where dreams came true. A few
jaw-dropping performances with
Fadumo Qassim, with whom he
formed a formidable duo, were
enough to give birth to one of
its most iconic performers.
Killer became some sort of
a cult figure and was approached
by the mighty Iftin Band, who
were then seeking to replace
their lead singer Sulfa.
Shimaali had joined Iftin
a year or two earlier and
welcomed Killer with open arms.
That adventure lasted three
years until the war began and
both men were exiled to Saudi
Arabia and Yemen, where Killer
died in 2008.
In Shimaali´s own words,
“Hoobeya means ‘Hey Woman’ it’s
a relaxing love song!”
Written by Samy Ben Redjeb
Translation by Ali Mohamed
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AA No. 15 AA No. 16 AA No. 17 AA No. 18 AA No. 19 AA No. 20 AA No. 21

Angola Soundtrack 2 Mestre Cupijó – Siriá Verckys Amara Touré Senegal 70 Space Echo Bitori
AACD 075 | AALP 075 AACD 076 | AALP 076 AACD 077 | AALP 077 AACD 078 | AALP 078 AACD 079 | AALP 079 AACD 080 | AALP 080 AACD 081 | AALP 081

AA No. 22 AA No. 23 AA No. 24 AA No. 25 AA No. 26 AA No. 27 AA No. 28

Shadow Pop Makossa Hamad Kalkaba Camarão African Scream Contest 2 Dur-Dur Band Vol. 1 & 2 Jambú
AACD 082 | AALP 082 AACD 083 | AALP 083 AACD 084 | AALP 084 AACD 085 | AALP 085 AACD 086 | AALP 086 AACD 087 | AALP 087 AACD 088 | AALP 088

Graphic Design: Kathrin Remest  Pictures Courtesy of:

Somali to English Translation
Mastering: Nick Robbins (Soundmastering) Xiddigta Oktoobar, Abdullahi Ahmed ‘Somaliyow’,
Lacquers: Frank Merritt (The Carvery)  Salah Hariri and the Library of Congress.
A1 Daraadaa Muxibo (Because of You, Muxibo) - Dur-Dur Band
A2 Hab Isii (Hug Me) - Omar Shooli
Interview and Biography: Special Thanks to:
A3 Check Up My Head - Mukhtar Ramadan Iidi
Samy Ben Redjeb, Abdullahi Ahmed ‘Somaliyow’, All the good people at Radio Mogadishu:
Ali Mohamed Hussein, Mohamed Khalif and Nasser Hussein, Abdullahi Amin, Abdullahi Barre
B1 Geesiyada Halgamayow (Brave Fighters) - Bakaka Band
Jay Freistadt. and Hamud Ibrahem Hamud
B2 Waakaa Helaa (I like you) - F. Qassim and Waaberi Band
B3 Sirmaqabe (No Secrets) - Iftin Band
Propaganda Machine, Reel vs. Cassette And to the MogaDisco Collective for selflessly
and Disco Tsunami written by: allowing us to use the name they coined:
C1 Baayo (Hey Woman) - Mukhtar Ramadan Iidi
Abdulahi Ahmed ‘Somaliyow’, Yemi Brown, Kaspar Loftin, Jack Bryant and
C2 Hoobeya (Somali traditional chant) - Shimaali & Killer
Jay Freistadt and Samy Ben Redjeb Iyobosa ‘Bosa’ Igbinoba.
C3 Shaleedayaa (By Myself) - Dur-Dur Band

Translation: This Compilation is dedicated to

D1 Ladaney (Woman's Name) - Dur-Dur Band
Abdullahi Ahmed ‘Somaliyow’, Colonel Abshir Hashi Ali.
D2 Gobonimada Jira (Choose freedom) - Bakaka Band
Ali Mohamed Hussein and Mohamed Khalif.
D3 Ii Ooy Aniga (Cry For Me) - Iftin Band

Text Editing:
Jay Freistadt and Ian Preece