Chapter 65 2018
“The women put money together and made for you a present,” Hodan said.
I had just finished playing soccer with some of the girls in the school courtyard. It was my last day before I returned to the institute for my final month of training before the Olympics.
I’d come back to Somalia for two reasons.
First, to celebrate the holidays with my family and recharge.
Second, to officially receive my Somali dual citizenship.
The president himself presented it to me.
I still couldn’t believe that it was actually happening and that I was going to compete in another Olympics.
When Joseph had planted the seed over two years before, I had no idea if it was possible.
It turned out it was if four things fell into place.
First, I needed to be granted citizenship in Somalia, which required special government approval, which turned out not to be a problem.
The government was excited to have me compete under the Somali flag.
Second, I needed Meryl and Botan to agree to train me.
Third, I needed to convince the International Olympics Committee, IOC, to allow me to skate for another country.
And last, Somalia needed to earn a spot in the competition, and the only way for them to do that was for me to do well in one of the qualifying events leading up to the games.
The IOC was surprisingly open to the idea of allowing me to skate under the Somali flag.
I think they were worried about the media backlash if they said no.
I also think privately they believed I wouldn’t pull it off.
The figure skaters vying for the next Olympics were exceptionally talented, and I’d been off the ice for nearly two years.
The IOC was almost right. I bombed the first three competitions, stumbling and faltering and making a fool of myself.
Despite the intense, relentless training I’d done since making the decision to skate again—double sessions on the ice and endless hours in the gym—the time I’d taken off was obvious.
But somehow, at the fourth event, the stars aligned, and I skated well enough, and the top skaters skated poorly enough, for me to eke out a bronze medal.
That was enough for Somalia to qualify for a single slot in the women’s figure skating singles in Pyeongchang, South Korea, making me the first and only athlete from Somalia ever to qualify for the Winter Olympics.
When the news broke that I’d qualified, Somalians celebrated in the street, and once again, I found myself in the blinding spotlight of hope.
The country had been through so much, I think they simply needed something to cheer for.
Boodo said it had more to do with a little person who’d been knocked down standing up against a system that seemed unbeatable.
For so long, Somalis had been at the mercy of governments, regimes, and events they had no control over—dictators, war, famine, AIDs—people in power making decisions over their lives as disaster struck from every direction.
And there I was, this single person, defying the odds to represent them, Somalia, in front of the world.
Boodo said they were calling me horyaal yar, little champion, thinking of me as their emissary and certain I would win.
It was an awful lot of pressure, and I didn’t feel worthy of their confidence. I had never intended to become the symbol of a nation. I’d only wanted to skate and to have one more shot to show the world what I could do.
“They work very hard on it,” Hodan said, holding a brown paper package toward me like an offering.
The surgery on her palate had been a great success, and other than a thin pale scar that ran from her nose to the top of her lip, her face and smile were perfect.
Around her, dozens of people from the village, mostly women, looked at me expectantly.
They wore their finest clothes, colorful dirac dresses and garbasaar wraps.
I opened the package carefully to reveal a fire engine–red skating outfit.
Legless and single armed, it was hand embroidered with diagonal stripes of yellow, orange, green, and maroon, and the edges of each leg opening were trimmed with orange crochet fringe and wood beads that clattered when I lifted the outfit from its wrapping.
I looked at each painstaking stitch, and my throat grew tight.
It must have taken hundreds of hours to sew, and it must have cost these impoverished women an enormous amount to buy the leotard, thread, wool, and beads.
“It from all of us,” Hodan said, “a gift to help you skate well.”
I had never seen a skating outfit so garish or strange.
“Thank you,” I said as I hugged it to me. “I will do my best to skate as beautifully as this remarkable gift you have given me.”
“We are with you,” Hodan said. “We love you. You skate for all of us.”
I didn’t know if she meant the group around her or all of Somalia, and all I could think was, What if I let them down?
What if my blade catches and I stumble? What if I’m simply not good enough?
Through the cacophony, I thought of the great chief, still the steadfast checkpoint in my life, and my nevus pulsed, and my spirit flame blazed.