Source: Broadly.
When I call Fadumo Dayib, she tells me she's in the middle of a school run and driving her car. Straight away I notice her way with words; the way she pauses to choose the right word with each sentence. "I had a very interesting childhood," she tells me, "one that was happy but was also very sad. It's one that I don't like to dwell on. But I think it's what has made me who I am, it has actually defined who I am in a very positive way—not negatively."
This year, Dayib is running for president in Somalia. She is relatively young for a residential candidate—Dayib is only 43—but she has already been through enough to last several lifetimes. After growing up in Kenya, she was one of the thousands of Somalis who were forcibly deported in the 80s from the country. Her family returned to their native land, but she fled to seek asylum in Finland when Somalia became engulfed by civil war. "The first night I came to this country [and stayed] in a motel in the center of Helsinki," she says. "I knew then and then that I was given a second chance in life."
Dayib, she says, found life in a peaceful country liberating. After settling in to Finland, Dayib immersed herself in education and took it "very, very seriously." She studied for two Master's degrees, including one in public administration from Harvard after she won a fellowship to the Ivy League school. In 2005, Dayib went to Somalia with the UN and set up the first clinic that aimed to prevent mother-to-child HIV transmission, and then carried on her humanitarian efforts to Fiji, Ghana, and Liberia.
Most young Somalis who are part of the diaspora yearn to grow a connection with our homeland. Our parents have told us of their distressing stories of war and their journeys of escape; they make us realise how easy we have it. I ask Dayib what made her want to return home to run for the presidency, especially since she has lived in Finland for the last 26 years.
She tells me of a particular story that hit home when she was watching the news while in hospital in Helsinki with her second child. "There was a Somali mother in the national news who had walked for three kilometers," Dayib says, "and when she reached the nearest centre and she got the baby down, it was dead."
A sense of guilt engulfed her. She felt she "had to do something" for her country—especially of her background as a healthcare practitioner.
The civil war in Somalia broke out almost three decades ago, and people are quick to criticise the little amount of progress that has been made. Thanks to Somalia's incredibly complex political system, four major clans rule all aspects of life, from businesses to whole districts. It is even codified in government as the 4.5 system (the 0.5 represents all the other minorities).
However, Dayib argues that many are dissatisfied with the clans' stranglehold on power system. She has a clear stance on the tribalism that rules Somalia, and it is one which is arguably considered extreme by traditionalists: She wants to get rid of clan involvement within government altogether. "This four point based clan based system is incompetent," she argues. "It is a system that is not meant for efficiency, one that it not meant for results."
Somlia has made several attempts to shake off the instability that has plagued it since the reign of dictator Siad Barre, but it has not had a democratic election in the last 48 years. One major reason is this is the terrorism perpetrated by groups like Al-Shabaab, which still controls certain regions in Somalia.
Security, Dayib says, is the largest issue Sthat that the country faces. She is willing to negotiate with Al-Shabaab, saying that communication is key: "Inviting all these other disgruntled entities to the table and opening the country up for peace and reconciliation [is necessary].
Dayib is an anomaly in many ways—among the other 18 candidates standing for election, she is the only refugee and the only woman. But she is quick to downplay the historic significance of her candidacy, stating that women are already active contributors—or as she puts it, "informal leaders"—in Somali society.
She stresses that women in Somalia are no longer content to just dawdle at the political sidelines. "We've been polite about demanding our rights," she says, adding, "if society is not ready [for female leaders] we will make it ready by exposing [and] reprogramming [it]."
If she does succeed in her bid to be president, she'll have to take on one of Somalia's biggest political issues: corruption. Right now, the Somali diaspora contributes up to $2 billion into the economy by sending money home. Dayib believes that some of this money is hurting the country by funding corruption.
"You have some of the leaders who are responsible for the biggest crimes and corruption in the country and who happen to be from the diaspora. The resentment against the diaspora is growing [in the country] and we need to do something about that," says Dayib.
But Dayib also acknowledges that her chances of victory are slim–in one Guardianarticle, she describes her likelihood of power as "non-existent" because of her refusal to bow to corruption. Still, she has already made waves by prompting a broader conversation of women's roles in Somali society.
"I think Fadumo Dayib is realistic about her chances in the election coming up," says Peter Chonka, a PhD candidate who specializes in Somali nationalism and teaches at SOAS. "It has a huge amount to do with where the country is at in terms of the security situation, in terms of politics."
Chonka says that it is very difficult to predict next year's election, let alone any elections in the distant future. "At the moment," he explains, "the level of political distrust that exists in the autonomous regions [such as Puntland and Jubaland] is so high."
Instead, Dayib stresses that she is not a politician—she states that her candidacy fueled by a moral obligation for her country. However, all presidential hopefuls face an uphill climb in Somalia. Though voting for the new parliament was supposed to begin on September 25, elections have been postponed to sometime between October and November due to disagreement on how to select future members of parliament.
The idea of a fully democratic election—with one person casting one vote—has been nixed. Instead, around 14,000 delegates representing different clans will pick MPs, while the various state assemblies will nominate members of the upper house. The two houses will vote on a president. It may not sound fair, but it is an improvement over 2012, when 135 tribal elders selected the last parliament, which in turn voted on the presidency.
According to research from the Heritage Institute for Policy Studies, a non-profit research institution in Somalia, 80 percent of Somalis want a democratic election. Dayib herself believes that the country will have fully democratic elections in the next four years. She hopes that people like her will "ensure that this is the last time we shall have elders deciding on behalf of the Somali population."
Even if Dayib doesn't triumph, she has already made waves with her call for progressive politics at a time when Somalis yearn for change and development. "If you want to lead a nation you have to walk the talk you have to set a good example," she says. "You cannot be breaking the constitution and then demanding that people respect the rule of law. Why should they when you yourself are doing it?"