Skip to main content

Monday 17 February 2025

  • facebook
  • x
  • tiktok
  • instagram
  • linkedin
Books

Salutation Road by Salma Ibrahim review – a diaspora coming-of-age

27 January, 2025
Image
Salutation road
Share
Salutation Road, Salma Ibrahim’s literary debut, tells the coming-of-age story of a young Somali woman navigating the tensions of displacement and culture in post-Brexit London.

Salutation Road is a must-read for those in the diaspora who are trying to make sense of their realities and identities. Cultural theorists often refer to those in the diaspora as "betwixt and between"—belonging neither to their ethnic identity nor their national one, but living in a space in between the two. I have always argued against this, believing that both cultures are part of our inheritance. Prominent Somali diaspora communities across the world—primarily in London, where this novel is set—demonstrate this. But what is it like to be part of this diaspora? How do they relate to their two homes, and what meanings do they draw from the arising tensions from those questions?  

In this novel, Salma Ibrahim honestly and skilfully explores the realities of a young woman who left Somalia as a child and is navigating the complexities of growing up in a foreign land.

Sirad Ali, 23, the main character, takes us to her South London neighbourhood, where she lives with her mother and younger brother. They are all navigating loss, disconnection, and a deep longing or sadness for what was or what should have been. Her father has left the family, an experience many Somali families go through. He left their home to return to his own—Somalia—without ever looking back. His absence, as well as the lack of a family full of love, connection, and a rightful home, are the major themes in the first couple of chapters of this book. However, as you continue reading, you learn the ways in which Sirad learns to cope and manage the loss, which permeates every aspect of her life up until that point.

What Salutation Road offers the reader, as well as Sirad, that is not often seen in content produced by the Somali diaspora, is an opportunity to go back home and engage with the “homeland”. She uses a unique science fiction trick to pull this off, placing her protagonist, Sirad, back in an alternate version of Somalia and I encourage everyone to read how that plays out.  

It also speaks to the ways in which the return home is not a readily accessible journey for many. At one point, Sirad asks her mother why she hasn’t gone back to Mogadishu, the city where she started her family. She responds: “It’s too expensive to go back, and it’s not the same place I left”. While the cost she speaks of is financial, it is also psychological and emotional—how could she bear to go back to a place where her life was ruined and where the heartbreak began? Sirad’s opportunity to return to Mogadishu, the city of her birth, happens under such extraordinary circumstances in the novel that it makes you reflect and think about why so many others choose not to return. In truth, it made me realise that despite the suffocating and haunting ghost of a Somalia that doesn’t exist anymore, that seemed to indirectly shape so many lives in the diaspora, in reality, Somalia today is just as inaccessible and uninviting.

Despite this, Sirad goes to Mogadishu and is welcomed as if they know of her, but she is unfamiliar to them. She’s given a chance that so many dream of, and I really enjoyed reading about her experiences of home. She touches on the subtleties that keep those in the diaspora connected to the homeland—both the romanticised notions as well as the stark realities. While initially met with love and openness by elders, she meets her equal, a sister-like character who laughs and taunts Sirad’s romanticised view of life for those who stayed in Mogadishu throughout the protracted conflict. They promised each other they’d see one another in London, and they eventually did. What happens after that is something every reader should experience. Ibrahim weaves in concepts of tahriib (illegal migration), loss, and memory effortlessly, as you also watch Sirad grow into her own woman.

Reading Sirad’s evolution into her own woman—her coming-of-age story—is a subplot that also makes the novel a real pleasure to read.

The tone of the text changes from that of a quiet young twenty-something woman trying to be the glue that holds her family together while carrying the weight of a complex family life, into that of a more rounded woman, conscious of her background and the responsibilities that entails but with greater awareness of her agency.  

There’s a heaviness that seems to envelop the beginning of the text—from issues to do with her mother’s physical and emotional wellbeing, to her teenage brother and the challenges he’s navigating as he grows up. However, as the story continues, it begins to feel lighter. This trip to Somalia becomes a catalyst for change in Sirad, offering new opportunities for her character to develop, expanding her confidence and capabilities. This is dhaqan celis, a rite of passage for many Somalis in the western diaspora, after which many return changed— for better or for worse— having seen “where they're really from”.

Yet, much like her parents, the struggles of home still weigh on her, and a new sense of guilt permeates her life. It’s an interesting juxtaposition that seems to shape many exiles from war who live between multiple cultures and landscapes: are you lucky to have been able to leave, or do you feel guilty about it? I don’t think there’s one clear answer, and throughout the text, you see how the two notions play out. Eventually, Sirad and her mother return to Somalia separately, and the experience gives them both something different. I’m always captivated by the idea of memory and return, which have marked the Somali diaspora since state collapse and civil war, and the way return challenges memory. You’re “coming back” but to what extent can you call it a return when Somalia isn’t the same place and isn’t populated any longer by the people you knew.  

Characters in Ibrahim’s novel go back to the homeland to connect with family members that are similar but different to those in their memory. 

The younger characters also seamlessly flow between Somalia and London without any mention of their experience there. This lack of discussion seems to speak volumes about how they are dealing with their connection to the homeland. It’s still an extremely personal experience, but also a private one. In a stark contrast to the previous generation’s communal way of life, Sirad’s life is marked by a sense of isolation and individualism that she cannot share even with those closest to her.  

What makes this text different from other books written on similar topics is that it’s set in the west, as opposed to Somalia. While many diaspora authors based outside their home countries write novels centred on their homelands, Ibrahim takes a different route. When looking at this novel, the last part of the description reads: “A beautifully told literary debut for fans of Nadifa Mohamed and Mohsin Hamid.” Like Mohamed and Hamid, there are traces of the homeland in this text but it’s at the core a contemporary diaspora tale written by a young woman based in London, and that clearly shows. The main character Ibrahim writes about could easily be a cousin or sister we know personally. This emphasis on a female protagonist is usually unseen in Somali diaspora literature, outside of memoirs written by women.  

Whereas Nuruddin Farah’s North of Dawn focuses on a male protagonist navigating extremism and a sense of identity, Salutation Road takes us into the day-to-day life of Sirad Ali, a young woman trying to carve out her own untrodden path through life. It’s not a sensationalised Somali story, but an authentic and effortless roman-à-clef type tale.

Ibrahim touches on many of the social issues and realities faced by Somalis in the diaspora. They’re easy to recognise as the characters resemble a lot of our family members and friends. While she addresses many of the themes we are familiar with, they are enriched by Sirad’s empathetic nature.

She doesn’t just recount events; she has lived and then remembers them, and as the story progresses, you see how she comes to terms with them, growing and coming into her own in the process. This sentiment reminds me of the popular quote: “Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve known.” In this text, that idea comes to life in various ways. Each chapter begins with a translation of a Somali proverb and a picture of a Dabqaad, or Somali traditional incense burner. These subtle reminders of culture and shared history frame the narrative of a young woman firmly rooted in London. Through Salutation Road, against the backdrop of a South London neighbourhood, the reader is taken on a journey through time and space, exploring notions of connection to culture, family, and self. You will not regret reading this book!