Slain cabbie a Somali refugee who worked helping children

By Lornet Turnbull
Seattle Times staff reporter

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Hassan Farah came to the United States 10 years ago, leaving behind the bullets and bloodshed of his war-ravaged homeland of Somalia.

In Seattle, he easily found friends and a community, and he quickly became the sort of neighbor people grow to depend on.

Four years ago, the Rainier Beach resident took a job as an instructional aide in Seattle Public Schools, helping Somali students adjust at a pair of South End elementaries. He also was the schools' link to the Somali community, which in Seattle is estimated at between 15,000 and 20,000.

The soft-spoken husband and father of three was also taking courses to obtain a teaching certificate. "Working with children was something he loved," his wife, Asiya Hussein, 29, said through an interpreter yesterday.

On weekends to make extra money, Farah drove a Yellow Cab.

It was in that cab, parked near Boeing Field, that police found Farah's body before dawn Saturday.

He'd been shot five times.

Late yesterday, Seattle police still had no leads or suspects in the shooting and knew of no motive.

Officials at Yellow Cab said Farah, 39, was an independent contractor, not an employee. They declined to comment further.

Other cabdrivers yesterday said Farah's death should be a wake-up call for more security in their business, including bullet-proof dividers between drivers and passengers. Cabdrivers also were slain in Seattle in 1996 and 1994.

The man with whom Farah shared his cab said his friend was planning to work until around 7 a.m. Saturday before quitting to attend a class he takes one Saturday a month.

"His backpack was still in the cab," said Deeq Farah who is not a relative but drives the same cab during the week.

"Imagine, he escaped the bullets in Somalia only to find them right here. He was a family man, a nice man. All these people you see here aren't even his relatives."

Dozens of taxicabs — yellow, orange, green — lined a stretch of Southeast 256 Street in Covington yesterday and took up the parking spaces of the House of Mercy All-Muslim Cemetery, where Farah was buried.

An ocean of male faces (women aren't permitted at some Muslim funerals) gathered at his grave site. From inside a van — its windows tinted to block her from view — Hussein watched as they laid her husband's body in the earth.

He leaves her with three children, ages 4, 3 and 1, to raise.

She speaks little English and does not work outside their home.

"When people have given me condolences, they say: '(The killers) didn't just take your husband from you, they took him from the community,' " she said, her voice stricken with grief. "There was no one who didn't know his face. From the south and north, everyone knew him."

She told her oldest son about his father's death; in time she'll tell the other children about the man their father was.

Farah came to the U.S. in 1993 from a refugee camp in Kenya, where he had put to use the nursing skills he acquired in his native Somalia before war tore the country apart and sent residents fleeing.

In 1999, Farah and Hussein met and married in Minneapolis, where she lived, and decided to make their home in Seattle.

Mohammed Ali, Farah's roommate here for two years during the mid-1990s, called him a "nice friend.

"I know it will be hard on his wife. She has three kids and basically no income at all. You can understand."

Farah worked three days a week at Rainier View Elementary and two days a week at Cooper Elementary. Yesterday, students and co-workers were coping with news of his death.

"He was Mr. Hassan to our children," said Rainier View Principal Cathy Thompson. "He was a quiet man but very, very dignified. There are many here who are feeling a great loss."

Ali-Salaam Mahmoud, who had known Farah for five years, said the two had been working quietly together to establish services for the community's elderly. "He was very dedicated," Mahmoud said. "He worked closely with children because he wanted them to be able to exceed in school so they could see opportunities beyond cab driving."

On Sunday, a day after Farah's death and the day Muslims around the world celebrated the annual pilgrimage to Mecca, parents took their children to playgrounds following prayers. Asiya Hussein overheard her 4-year-old talking to a cousin: "No one will take us out today," she heard him say. "My dad died."

Seattle Times reporter Michael Ko contributed to this report. Lornet Turnbull: 206-464-2420 or lturnbull@seattletimes.com

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