In conversation with Somali artists Ayan Cilmi and Fozia Ismail, art writer Mark Sheerin explores a travelling home for nomadic culture, community, and song.
Dhaqan Collective, House of Weaving Songs, British Textile Biennial 2025. Photo: Matt Savage
Bringing weaving and song to the heart of the art world, Dhaqan Collective is achieving global recognition for the oft-overlooked handiwork and oral traditions of Somali women in East Africa, and across the national diaspora. Composed of two Somali artists based in Bristol, UK, this duo bases projects around workshops that unite communities and generations to produce textile art, tapestry, installation, sound art, and interactive experiences.
Showing at the British Textile Biennial 2025, one of their newest works is House of Weaving Songs. Designed like a Somali Aqal, this steel-framed dome is an immersive environment based on a nomadic shelter. The interior acts as a gallery for traditional Somali weaves, soundtracked by joyful song and, for the braver visitor, one’s own amplified voice to join the chorus.
House of Weaving Songs has travelled to the art and technology festival Playable City in Osaka, Japan. This October, Dhaqan Collective also featured in Jodhpur Arts Week, where they presented work created with indigenous camel herders as a site-specific tapestry on the landmark clock tower Ghanta Ghar. The word Dhaqan is Somali for ‘culture’ and the Collective centres on artists Ayan Cilmi and Fozia Ismail, who spoke to Sheerin from Japan.
Dhaqan Collective, House of Weaving Songs, British Textile Biennial 2025. Photo: Matt Savage
Mark Sheerin: Nomadism is a recurring theme in this year’s British Textile Biennial. How widespread is this lifestyle in Somalia currently?
Fozia Ismail: I think previously it would have been millions. The country was really nomadic. I mean, before the war, I’d say 80 per cent of the country lived outside these core cities. Hargeisa, for example, is now a city of 500,000 people, but when I returned after the war for the first time in 1998, there were 50,000 people there. It was a small city. So if you think, in that time, that’s 25 years, 20 years or whatever, 50,000 to 500,000. They’re coming in from the rural places, so yeah! I think it’s got harder with climate change. I think more people are moving for that reason. I don’t know what the figures would be now. I know that more than half the population is displaced due to climate migration. I think that’s about four million people.
Ayan Cilmi: It’s really hard. We try not to glamourise nomadic life because it’s really difficult. There are a lot of things you have to get up and do almost daily, like sanitising all of your bowls and making sure everything’s watertight. I mean, one of the reasons why people are moving into cities is climate issues, but also industrialisation. Actually, industrialisation makes life more convenient, and for many people, that is very attractive. But also in that kind of process, you lose this really beautiful culture that has kept people sane and given them a powerful sense of self, and that’s something we’re trying to connect to.
Dhaqan Collective, House of Weaving Songs, British Textile Biennial 2025. Photo: Matt Savage
A strong element of that culture is weaving, which is also central to your practice. What is it like to engage in this activity?
FI: We chat and we process all the crap that’s happening. It’s a genuine wellbeing and mental health practice for us, and so, yeah, it’s just an excellent way to unwind and focus on something else. We also do workshops, so a key part of our practice is also doing nomadic weaving with different people. So, for example, we’ve got a commission with Hospital Rooms [a UK mental health charity] that will be happening; we’ve worked with asylum seekers in Bristol for Hospital Rooms; and then from that, there’ll be a piece of artwork that’s been created that will go into this new mental health unit in Bristol. We love doing community workshops because they’re a really key part of the work, along with design and installation.
AC: And they’ve been quite magical these workshops with the elders. Initially, when we taught, we learnt to weave because we were really inspired by one of the elders on a previous project. She brought in a weaving, and we found it to be so amazing. We were pretty in awe of it, and we wanted to start weaving and to learn for ourselves. So then, when we started doing workshops to pass on this knowledge, some of the elders already knew how to weave, while others were weaving from memory, recalling their grandmother’s or mother’s weave. It was pretty magical to see that happening, especially when initially trying to convince them. They were, like, What’s the point of this practice in a Western context? In Somalia, you weave to build a Somali nomadic home. These tapestries actually become structures and make the foundations of a house. So here it was, like, What’s the purpose? What’s the point? But when they started weaving, they realised that, like with all other kinds of craft practices done by women, it allows them to gather and have honest, frank conversations, making lulls in conversation less awkward. Otherwise, you might be sitting around, but it totally erases that and encourages people to be individual while also being part of a group at the same time. It’s been really amazing to share that with them, but we’re also kind of learning as we teach, so many of our workshops end up being skill shares. So we’re learning and teaching at the same time; so it’s been great for us, but also great for our sense of self at the same time.
Dhaqan Collective, House of Weaving Songs, British Textile Biennial 2025. Photo: Matt Savage
House of Weaving Songs travels well. What do you think gives Somali weaving and song a universal appeal?
AC: People are just so drawn to them, musically, because with Somali people, there’s an oral tradition. There wasn’t a written language until recently. So there’s a big emphasis, actually, on the way people speak, on the rhythm of their voices. There’s even, actually, amongst the elders, a hierarchy on who can speak the most eloquently — the word isn’t eloquent — the person who can speak in the most compelling way.
FI: Yeah, it’s oratory. What you say is one thing; the way you say it is a totally different thing. It places a huge emphasis on the way you say something, so, no, it’s not just about how you say it. But can you say it musically? Can you make it more poetic? Can you say it more beautifully?
There’s humour in the mix as well. I’m sure lots of visitors to the Textile Biennial will have had some fun singing into the microphone.
FI: I love that there’s humour in it. Did you find it hard to add your voice to it?
Dhaqan Collective, House of Weaving Songs, British Textile Biennial 2025. Photo: Matt Savage
I felt compelled to try.
AC: I’m glad you did.
FI: Lots of people struggle with that element… but not kids. But in Somalia, everyone sings. We don’t sing because we were brought up in Britain. We’re, like, inhibited, but if you look at a certain age group, everyone sings. And no one cares about whether your voice is bad or good. Singing is an important part, and it has actually been proven to be really good for you. And I’m glad you highlighted the humour in the piece, because sometimes that gets lost. Sometimes people get weighed down by the seriousness of the situation. But, actually, there’s a lot of humour. You do hear laughter [on the recordings]. It’s just real, even if people are suffering. But part of the reason it’s so hopeful is, you know, my aunt’s a nomad. She has lived through multiple droughts. She’s lost her herd. She’s gone through it. She’s lost four kids. By being a nomad, she’s actually gone through quite tragic things, but actually, there’s so much humour. She is so funny. I would say that nomadic people are funny.
AC: And we laugh a lot. There’s a lot of humour in our relationship, so we hope that translates to other people because it is what keeps us sane. It’s what keeps us able to navigate life, and humour is an excellent way to prevent yourself from becoming pessimistic. Or, you know, allow yourself to be swept into some dark abyss because we’re in a difficult time. I won’t say it’s unique to our particular period of time, but it is a difficult time.
The Aqal (House of Weaving Songs) can be seen until 2 November 2025, at Blakey Moor in the British Textile Biennial 2025, Blackburn, UK.
Mark Sheerin is a UK-based art writer and critic from Brighton. A member of the International Association of Art Critics, his writing appears in Border Crossings and Disability Arts Online. He has also contributed to Plaster, Art Monthly, Hyperallergic, and The Arts Desk.
