There’s a Xaaji Af-Qalooc poem titled “Taariikh iyo Dhaxal: Gabay Ceerigaabo” that touches upon some now largely lost oral history. According to him, the ancient inhabitants were Madigaan, the ones who left behind archaeological structures. “Madigaan qusuurtay dhisteen waa macruuf weliye…” (The Madigaan built palaces renowned for their glory…). I know little of clans, but are Madigaan Dir?
“Muftigii Isxaaq” (Isaaq religious jurists) and “mudankii Daarood” (noblemen of Daarood) came after. In the poem, he also alludes to other ancient polities that rose and fell, which aligns with my family's passed down tales about Maakhir.
Taariikh iyo Dhaxal: Gabay Ceerigaabo
Taariikhdu waynoo musbaax maanka caawima’e,
Adoo mala gudaayaad yaqiin marar ku gaadhaaye,
Maankaaga waa inaad taqaan meelba waxa yaalle,
Dalkan waxa ugu mudan Ceerigaab uguna muq dheere.
Waa Maakhir – koostii la degey mar aan la koobayne,
Jamhuuriyaddu meel shaabahdiyo ma leh mataalkeede,
Madxafkii dadkii hore dhigiyo madhaxi baa yaale,
Maanlahiyo taalloyin aad aqallo moodaysid.
Meelihii kinsiga lagu qarshey maangaddood tahaye,
Muuqooda qaar baa ahraam lagu maleeeyaaye,
Arraweelo meeshay degtiyo mulugga Ceel-Wayte,
Iyo waxa manaasiir ku jira moodkii la halleeyey.
Madigaan qusuurtay dhisteen waa macruuf weliye,
Maquure iyo godqoraan ninkii marayba yaabaye,
Maageere waataa daryale maagga la arkaaye,
Nimankii mar dhexe talinjirey maylinka afaystay.
Magaadle iyo reer miisanleey midhadh ka joogaane,
Maydh laba kun oo sano ka badan maray samaysnayde,
Iyadaa magaalo u ahayd Maakhir oo idil’e,
Muftaaxii karaamada kuwii midigta loo saaray.
Muftigii Isxaaq baa degiyo mudankii Daaroode,
Maqbarka Ciise Ceeleeye waa kaa masaarka lehe,
Sheekh Samirre marinkii Dibgax buu meel u leeyahe,
Madoobiyo Garruuraa lahaa madaxa Ceel-Dheere.
Jiidali Maqaamki Subeer baa u moosin ahe,
Dhammaan meeshaney degi jireen magaca Soomaale,
Waxna waa madheen, qaarna waa kii muhaajiraye,
In yaroo markii soo hadhay baa haatan maamula’e.
Mandartiyo kamaalkaad Lubnaan ugu malaysaaye,
Manaakh iyo hawoba waxay ka tahay Mawsilta Ciraaqe,
Kolkaad madaxa surudeed tagtiyo meesha ugu taagan,
Badda waxa maraayoo dhanbaa kuu muraayadahe.
Sayid Maxamed meeshuu dhisaan maabku doorasamine,
Madfaca laga ridaa wuxu socdaa kuman masaafoode,
Melaterigu meeluu degoo muhima weeyaane,
Muntasah Marso iyo Daalo waa lagu murqaamaaye.
Mayay baa ka da’a goortay tahay milayga jiilaale,
Daruurtoo mijaha soo rogtiyo wadayda mayl gaadha,
Sida mawjaddiyo doonyahay marar is jiidhaane,
Dhirtaa qaarba midab leeyihiyo man iyo awraaqe.
Mawareed in lagu daadiyaad midabka moodaaye,
Min aroos sidaad soo gashiyo mawlidkii Nebiga (CS),
Miski baa ka ura kaymihiyo malafka geedaha’e,
Shimbiraha mukhtalifka u ciya ee midiba hees qaado.
Oo midabka kala gooniyoo cadad malyuun gaadha,
Mawdiyo siyaaxaad ardiyo macallin moodaaye,
Qoolley ku madadaalisiyo muurradaa badane,
Goortuu gobyahan waa murdiye gooni miranaayo.
Oo uu gumburi sawd macaan meel fog kala yeedho,
Oo marisku kuu soo warramo meesha waxa jooga,
Ood raha maddixiisa iyo maqasho daa’uuska,
Oo gorod muyuusigga tumuu galow ku maaweesho.
Adigiyo naftaada murmaan doonin meel kale’e,
Intay mudunka kale dheertaheye Maalik ku abuuray,
Oo wada manaafiic dawo ah baa markhaatiya’e,
Dayib mudhay mataanaha dhosoqa marinta guudkooda.
Maqaariga abeesada deliyo wegerka moohaaya,
Maraaraale dhamiskiyo Shinnuur midabka yaaquud leh,
Manka ubax dibowgay, shinnidu miida ku abuurto,
Muddaahda iyo guubalida iyo mooligu xiiska.
Minyeelahiyo geed-gaalka iyo shayga midhihiisa,
Moxorkoo luubaan laga gurtiyo mayddigiyo fooxa,
Dhirta milixda wada yeelatee maalku ku hagaago,
Mudo haddii la dhigo soorta aan midabku doorsoomin.
Intaas oo manfac ah baa jirta oo waa la moog yahaye,
Madaar iyo marsiyo laydh maliyo Baan macaamilo’e,
Miishaarta qorigaa halkii meel la dhigay taalla,
Waxay muhandisyadu soo direen riiggay madhiyaane.
Waa miilo cagafay, ilkuhu maqan yihiin qaare,
Haddaad maanta noo timidse waa mahad Ilaahaye,
Maansha Allee wax u dhammee way madowdahaye.
English Translation
History is vast, a lamp that lights the mind,
When you trace its depths, you learn the ways to reach your moments.
You must know your own mind, what lies in each place,
And of all in this land, Ceerigaabo stands noble and high.
It is Maakhir, once a bustling port beyond measure,
The Republic has no equal nor parallel to it.
The museum holds relics of the ancients,
With monuments and statues you’d mistake for royal palaces.
Where treasures were once hidden, their wisdom lingers still,
Some sights there resemble towering pyramids.
Where Araweelo once dwelled, and the shadowed depth of Ceel-Wayte,
Are ruins where once great civilizations stood.
The Madigaan built palaces renowned for their glory,
Their carvings and subterranean tunnels astonish all who pass.
Maageere stands, a guardian, the land reveals its secrets,
The kings who once ruled sharpened the blade of their domain.
Magaadle and the noble clans left fruits behind,
Maydh, over two thousand years old, was shaped long ago.
It was the capital of all Maakhir,
The key to honor placed in the hands of the worthy.
Isaaq’s scholars settled there, and Daarood’s noble chiefs.
The tomb of Ciise Ceeleeye bears sacred marks,
Sheikh Samirre’s path through Dibgax remains his legacy,
And Madoob and Garruuraa once held Ceel-Dheere’s heights.
Jiidali, the station of Subeer, became a sacred resting ground,
All who dwelled there carried the Somali name.
Some have passed, some have migrated far,
And only a few remain to govern today. (Who is he talking about here, I wonder?)
Its elegance rivals that of Lebanon,
Its climate and skies resemble Mosul in Iraq.
When you stand atop its highest peak,
The entire sea before you becomes a mirror.
The place Sayid Maxamed built was no ordinary ground,
Cannons there could fire across great distances.
The army camped in strategically vital locations,
At Muntasah Port and Daalo, people find joy and peace.
When rain falls in the heart of winter,
Clouds gather and travel far across the land.
Like waves pulling ships together,
The trees bloom with colors, sap, and leaves.
The blossoms spill their hues like scattered gems,
Just as in weddings and in the Prophet’s (PBUH) celebration.
A scent of musk rises from the trees and fields,
And birds of every kind sing songs, each in its own tune.
Colors blend and burst into millions of shades,
The fields teem with life, students and teachers alike.
Monkeys play in joy, and herds grow vast.
When the noble harvest ripens, it falls freely.
Sweet melodies echo from afar,
And the wind carries stories of those who live there.
You hear the rustle of reeds and the call of doves,
And the crane’s music charms you by the riverbank.
You and your soul seek no other place,
For God made it higher than all others.
It is filled with countless healing blessings,
The twin springs of life flow richly from its heart.
The cobra’s skin and the mongoose’s fur shimmer there,
The beeswax glows ruby-red.
The pollen of its blossoms births the finest honey,
The hum of bees and the dance of moths fill the air.
From the milky frankincense tree and its resin’s fruits,
To the myrrh and incense collected from its bark,
The salt-bearing plants enrich the land.
Even if stored for long, their color never fades.
All these blessings exist, yet many remain unaware.
Airstrips, ports, and bright lights now fill the land,
Where once only the gun barrel stood guard.
Now, engineers drill deep and find wealth below.
It’s a land plowed by machines, its riches uncountable.
And if you arrive here today, praise be to God,
For all is complete, though still wrapped in mystery.