Fadumo

Fadumo, Faduma, Fatumo, Fatima… It was not always easy to remember the pronunciations of such similar sounding names of these particular co-workers at my part time job at the retail giant. But these Somali women were in fact individuals in their own right. One was a young girl, the rest were women with children. All had strong families ties separately and among each other. All were working this retail job as a way to earn a living after migrating to the US.

Fadumo worked with me as a cashier. She was always traditionally dressed, long flowing dresses and complete head coverings. Whenever I wore a scarf or wrap on my head, she would say ‘‘you look so nice” as if to her way of thinking that is how one should dress. And she would laugh at me and shake her head vigorously when I would say to her, "Fadumo let me see your hair.”

So when I saw the name Fadumo Mohammed, I had an awful start because her name was in the newspaper as the mother of a murder victim. But she could not be the Fadumo Mohammed that I knew, I comforted myself. My Fadumo did not live in the South End of Boston. She lived in an apartment complex on the Jamaica Plain/ Roxbury Line. I was sure of this because I had driven her home from work at night on occasion Boston Herald article. Abdirauf Abdullahi, Fadumo's son was walking toward his home late Sunday night when he was shot by a 15 tear old boy for no apparent reason. Unfortunately I learned shortly after I read the newspaper article that Fadumo and her family had moved to the South End because she thought it was safer.

I am sure that Abby did not know this boy. And even if he did, I can’t imagine anything he could have done to warrant that type of attention. He was a sweet quiet boy by all accounts, he even worked at the retail giant for a little while last summer. All I can think of is how proud his parents - his father a former newspaper editor and Fadumo a former accountant must have felt when their oldest child was preparing to enter college. And how I cannot fathom how it must be like to overcome so much and strive so much to see your hope die in the street.

I had been very very sad about the whole thing. I could not shake the feeling of depression and anxiety. This was some one that I knew. This was another young person murdered in my city.