– Guest Editorial
By an anonymous Somali Scamster/Daycare worker
Let me tell you about the brutal, unrelenting grind of being a pillar of the, like, community—specifically, the Somali community. A community that is smarter than yours because we figured out how to get theAmerican dream delivered, pre-paid, by the US government.
My day starts when most people’s end, at 6 PM, because I’m an innovator. I opened the doors to my Somali Learing Center—yes, Learing, it’s creative—for a fresh new day of government-subsidized ‘child care.’ The quotes are important. It’s like art. You wouldn’t understand, it’s cultural.
By 6:15, I am already deep in logistics, calling every relative I have to parade their children at the entrance. Why? Because CNN was doing five minutes of ‘journalism’ outside. My cousin Abdi’s kids are particularly photogenic when they look sad, so I always place them front and center. At 6:17, I gave a tearful, profound statement to the press about racism, rice, and bananas. I’m pretty sure I tied systemic oppression to the glycemic index. The reporter was scribbling like I was totally Confucius. Little does she know I was just hungry and listing things I saw on my kitchen counter that morning.
This is about more than Bananas and Rice but also, it’s mostly about Bananas and Rice
By 7:24, the coast was clear, and my work was done. Time to go home! Finally! I am a strict GirlBoss, and I refuse to pay myself overtime. You feel me? Two hours of being visibly present is a full day’s work in my community’s ledger.
Now, a savvy Minnesota businesswoman like me can’t be too careful. At 9:02, I stopped by the mosque for a quick prayer—mainly to throw off the scent of any independent journalists and or ICE who might try to follow me back to my 12-bedroom, taxpayer-subsidised mansion. I prayed for my BMW’s suspension and for the handsome Jake Tapper to keep his fiery spirit. Allah listens to the details.
I finally got home at 10:42. Working for, like, two hours is the worst! I didn’t leave Africa for that pile of shaqo xun! I came here for the spacious walk-in closets and the magical concept of credit. Standing in my vaulted foyer at 11:16, I had to give myself props. Damn, girl! You done good in America by getting dem white folk to pay your place and your bills! Hahaha! I patted my granite kitchen island. It felt like justice. Racial justice. And equality and equity and like stone.
By 11:23, it was time to unwind. I put up my feet, threw off my mydirac, garbasaar, and hijab—the uniform of the oppressed—and cracked open a Bud Light. The champagne of the common man, I’m told. It tastes like freedom, if freedom was slightly metallic and smelled like donkey urine.
Of course, my peace was soon disturbed! Can’t an independent businesswoman catch a break? Haha! At 11:49, I realized my husband/brother was late. He should have closed up his Learing Center hours ago. He better not be fooling around with my sister again. That dheg. I was mentally drafting a very angry text in all emojis when, alhamdulillah, at 12:04 AM, he walked in bearing the universal peace offering. It was my favorite from my sister’s kitchen: bananas and rice. All was forgiven. The man may be a pirate (like, literally), but he knows the way to my heart is through my stomach and through not embarrassing me in front of our shared relatives. Our mother-in-law is such a bitch.
With brotherly love restored, I settled in for some quality social media propaganda at 1:02. There was my whiteboy Jake Tapper on CNN, taking down a pro-ICE Trump thug in the studio. “Get him, Taptap!” I yelled, sipping my Bud Light and imagining him pounding me, with uh, questions. He’s doing Allah’s work, so I don’t have to. Inspired by his brave bravery, at 2:34 I filled out an online petition to get ICE off our streets. I mean, after all, they’re our streets now, just like our daycares, all paid for by taxes. Other people’s taxes, but details, details.
The peace didn’t last. At 3:15, my ex-boyfriend/cousin called. What does this ey want? I already set him up with my niece. And she’s so cute—even though she only has one butt, not two. He’s impossible to please. Ugh. Men on my mother’s side are so difficult!
But then, fortune smiled! At 4:18, I got an exciting email from a prince in Nigeria who needs my help to get his royal treasure out of the country. And he’ll share it with me! This is my big score. I just need to figure out a smart way to scam this blue-blooded buffalo before he scams me. It’s a race of wits, and I watched a whole season of Scam School that my husband/brother torrented. I like my odds.
Exhausted from my entrepreneurial scheming, I decided at 5:30 it was time for bed. It’s probably nighttime in Somalia now. Too bad there’s no way to really know! Time zones are a conspiracy by the colonialist globe companies to sell more globes.
I drifted in and out of sleep, living the hard life of a mogul. At 7:02, my sister/cousin messaged me that Tim Walz isn’t running for re-election. A tragedy! If only there was some way to reward him for his service aside from all the community gratitude donations we’d already arranged. Maybe a fruit basket of different types of bananas?
He Be Chopstick’n with me, you know
Feeling generous, I texted my fat Chinese friend at 8:19. I think his name is Chang or Wong or Wing. I told him that because he stood next to me at a rally once (like, literally just stood there!), I’m gonna cook him some bananas and rice! That fatchino gonna liiiiikkeee! I am a bridge between cultures.
Speaking of unity, at 9:21 the left-wing white women from the neighborhood started blowing up my phone. They want to “solidarize” and “center my voice” at a rally. I told them I’d be there if they “centered my catering invoice.” They said “absolutely.” See? This is how you build coalitions, with suckers.
To prepare for my inevitable future political career, I took my Ilhan Omar online elocution class at 10:09 run by a Somali Learing Center Univer-city . I want to learn to talk just like a smart fearless politician like her: endlessly without saying anything. I practiced in the mirror: “The systemic… uh… ramifications of… the thing… are profound.” Nailed it. I’m basically ready for a senate seat. Maybe I can get Waltz to endorse me.
Of course, you can’t have greatness without haters. At 11:00, I logged on and saw it: Fascists. Someone on my X account said my daycare smelled like cumin. This is clearly a white supremacist dog whistle. I reported them immediately. I am a warrior, online.
Let me be frank about something at 12:08 PM. I don’t really like those Black people. Don’t gets me wrong, I mean the American ones. They’re always so… loud and asking for things without going through the proper grant-writing channels. No hustle. Just my opinion, no hate ya.
That’s Bananas! … and Rice
After a well-deserved nap, I checked the daycare security cameras at 2:47. Yep, no kids, all is normal.
My husband, the idealist, had the audacity to ask at 3:21 if we should actually HAVE children enrolled at the Learing centers? The man is a beautiful fool, who is clearly not big-brained like Jake Tapper. The funding is for HAVING a day care, not running one!
At 4:18, destiny emailed again! My new Nigerian uncle/prince says he’s ready to trust me with his fortune. I told him to wire me $500 for “processing fees” to prove his loyalty. The student has truly become the master!
And now, at 5:45, as the sun prepares to set on white people, I rise. It’s time to get ready for another long “day” of running my successful, vital, taxpayer-funded community institution. I put on my most professional hijab—the one that whispers, “I am a serious businesswoman who also knows how to work the system.”
It’s a tough life, being this smart, this blessed, and this tired from all this success. But alhamdulillah, I carry the burden with grace. And a Bud Light.
