Ubah Hassan

[Fontenrose]

beautiful. You know I love every picture of Ubah where she has her mouth open. somehow better

[simplylovely]

Mala Breton Clip: 1:43

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1Rhf6PV2ak

[The_Ida]

Somali girls are so ridiculously beautiful.

[tigerrouge]

Ubah Hassan appears in an interview in the Dec 08 issue of UK Glamour, recounting how her family fled Somalia for Canada, and how she fell into modelling.

[fer19dog]

models.com

[CharlottefromCA]

Wow good for her!

[Sugarmama]

That's great! She looks good in gold!

[_incognito]

She looks fantastic!

[simplylovely]

Love it!

[simplylovely]

Click

[simplylovely]

http://www.style.com/stylefile/2008/...-john-patrick/

[Urban Stylin]

i hope she does more print...Somali models are aaalways drop dead gorgeous!!

[tigerrouge]

As I don't have a scanner, I'm typing out the Ubah interview from Dec 08 UK Glamour, because it's an interesting read of what she's gone through. First part here...

From Somalian refugee to supermodel

She’s the new darling of the fashion world, but 21-year-old Ubah Hassan’s glamorous life is a world away from her harrowing past as a refugee and asylum seeker. She tells Glamour’s Wersha Bharadwa how her future has finally freed her from her past.

Prada, Gucci, Ralph Lauren, Burberry. They’re all brand names you’ve always known, right? Well, up until a few years ago I’d never heard of them. Even more bizarre considering that two months ago, Ralph Lauren asked me to close his show at New York Fashion Week. I had no idea it was a big deal until I made front-page news.

As I sit there looking out of the window of my amazing New York apartment, I can’t believe how far I’ve come; I was a refugee fleeing war-torn Somalia, then an asylum seeker in Kenya and Canada, and now I’m a successful fashion model living in the world’s fashion capital. I treat my new life like a fragile gift: I’m grateful for it but always terrified of it being ripped away from me at any second.

In Somalia, my childhood had been fairly charmed. My father was a successful entrepreneur and we lived in a large white stone house in the city of Baidoa. My three older sisters, Fatima, Sado and Amran, went to boarding school and my younger brother, Jama (who we call Hassan) and I attended a private school. Everything revolved around village life. It was the sort of place where we all left our front doors unlocked. That was until 1991, when the government collapsed and the war broke out. I was seven at the time, too young to really understand what was happening in my country, but I knew there was something wrong. The effects of war are devastating; families were being murdered and famine and disease were claiming one in four lives.

[tigerrouge]

Second part...

Family split

The damage to my own family happened early on. My parents soon began fighting about whether to stay in Somalia or flee. My mum insisted it was far too dangerous to stay but my dad, unable to bear the agony of being ripped away from his homeland, and believing the war would end soon, refused to go anywhere. In the end my mum left with my sister - Hassan and I stayed behind with my dad. I’ve never asked why or how they chose to split us up - I don’t think I want to know.

Then one night in April 1994, Dad woke me up in a panic and said we had to leave immediately. We’d been singled out by the militia because we had a farm and everything would be taken by force; if we tried to resist, we’d be slaughtered. We left the house in under an hour. I was carried out of bed wearing a nightdress and clutching my pillow for comfort. We were put in the back of a shoddy pick-up truck bound for Kenya, the nearest country to us that had opened its borders to Somali refugees. We didn’t have a choice. The saddest thing is not knowing what happened to the people in my village. I’ll never know who died and who survived, because we have no contact.

It took us 15 fraught hours to reach a small village just outside Nairobi. Luckily we had an uncle in Kenya who agreed to take us in. My dad wasn’t allowed to work as he was an immigrant, so there was absolutely to money. Thing were bad but at least we weren’t in a refugee camp. The Kenyan camps were hell on earth. Reports filtered through that there were so many refugees that clean water and food had virtually run out and the stench was unbearable. Groups of bandits were viciously raping young women and torturing families. It was horrendous.

Dad was amazing. He comforted me and Hassan by pretending the war would soon end and that life would be wonderful when we returned home, even though he knew it was unlikely. I think any strength I show today, I owe to him.

[tigerrouge]

Third part...

Moving again

Not long after, our resettlement papers came through. We were no longer allowed to stay in Kenya and were sent to Canada, a country I’d never even heard of. The difficulties started the moment we boarded the plane to Toronto. I’d never been on a plane before and was terrified. I remember finding a washbag containing a toothbrush and toothpaste in the seat pocket in front of me. I wanted to take a closer look but Hassan told me not to; we didn’t realise it was free. I’ll never forget my first few days in Canada. I’d seen a few white people before but nothing prepared me for the multicultural city we were placed in.

We were allocated a social worker and given refuge in a cramped shelter with other refugees. Everything was so alien. The three of us shared a dingy bedroom, fitted with a microwave. I remember learning to cook pasta in the microwave - it was fascinating! Even today, I have a strange fixation with microwaves. I was just as obsessed with showers. In Somalia, our housekeeper would heat hot water over a fire, which took ages. But in Canada there was instant hot water.

We made the best of our situation but it was frustrating and confusing. War and asylum take their toll on you. The trauma sticks to you like glue and no matter what you do, you can’t escape the horror. I used to cry myself to sleep worrying about my mum and sisters, we had no idea where they were. But, above all, I craved stability. I still do. I dream about the perfect suburban white picket-fenced house where I can raise a family. A simple life, which doesn’t involve living out of a suitcase. You never really get used to all the relocating. I have a tendency now to be emotionally closed; I allow people and friends into my life and value the time I have with them because I never know how long I’ll be around for. But I don’t get attached.