Don’t close the door, Mom, I’ll be back | Opinion

Portland educator Abdullahi Ahmed reflects on a life that bridges two worlds

Portland, Maine – When Abdullahi Ahmed, a 60‑year‑old educator and natural‑born citizen of the United States, was asked to describe his journey from Somalia to the United States, he said the most vivid memory was the moment he left Mogadishu. “I didn’t think I was leaving my country. I thought I was leaving for a while,” he recalled. What he imagined as a brief sojourn turned into more than two decades of living in a country far from his childhood streets, yet one that never quite left him.

Ahmed arrived in the United States after a refugee flight that took him through Pakistan. Though the exact length of his stay in that transit country was short, the experience reinforced the sense that home was not a place but a collection of memories and relationships. “I carried Somalia into Pakistan,” he explained, “and I carried it with me when I came to America.”

Since 2001, Ahmed has worked for the Portland Public Schools, rising through the ranks to become an educational leader. “I have been a teacher, a curriculum developer, and now a district administrator,” he said. “I also am a husband, a father, and a member of communities that welcomed me.” Ahmed holds an Ed.D., and his work focuses on supporting immigrant students and fostering inclusive classrooms.

Yet despite his professional achievements, Ahmed’s heart has always remained tied to his homeland. “I used to promise my mother, ‘Do not close the door. I will be back,’” he said. While the door may not have truly closed, the promise speaks to the immigrant’s sense of continuity: an ongoing connection that outlasts geographic distance. He sees the metaphor of the door as a reminder that his Somali identity is not something he left behind, but something he carries inside.

In recent years, Ahmed has shared his story in columns for the local press, weaving together reflections on war, displacement, and hope. He writes that “people leave their homes with a suitcase, a few belongings, memories and a promise to themselves and to the people they love,” and that “the door they walk through is not one that closes behind them.” The article, while personal, has resonated with many in the region, prompting conversations about the broader immigrant experience.

“Somalia continued living in me,” Ahmed said. “I became an American. I built a life in Maine. I became an educator. I also carried my country.” That dual identity is common among refugees in the Northeast, where growing Somali communities maintain cultural practices while adapting to life in new schools and workplaces.

Ahmed’s story underscores the ways in which the United States has become home for many who once fled war and uncertainty. “I built a life in Maine,” he noted, “and it has grown into a home in ways I could never have imagined.” The experience of staying for years, seeing friends move on and children grow, reshapes the notion of time for those who left their home countries. A year can stretch into a decade, and the streets one once knew may no longer exist in the same form.

Yet, as Ahmed’s column illustrates, the emotional bond to one’s country of origin remains intact. “The promise to return was about more than geography,” he says. “It was a promise to remain connected.” He sees this promise as a silent dialogue with his mother and a broader testament to the resilience of immigrant communities.

Maine’s Somali population, though small, has grown steadily over the past decade. Ahmed is one of several community leaders who mentor young Somali students, helping them navigate both the academic challenges of the public school system and the cultural adjustments of life in the United States. “We carry old homes in our hearts,” he told a local newspaper, “and we build new homes while carrying the old ones with us.”

In a society that often frames immigration in terms of policy and statistics, Ahmed’s narrative reminds readers that behind every statistic is a human story—a promise of return, a door that never truly closes, and a life that bridges two cultures. His words invite Maine residents to consider how the city’s growing diversity shapes the collective identity of the community and how immigrants like Ahmed enrich public schools with perspectives that span continents.

Ahmed’s experience is a testament to the resilience of refugees who, after leaving everything familiar, find new ways to honor their heritage while contributing to the fabric of American society. The door he speaks of may have remained open, but the promise it holds continues to echo across both sides of the Atlantic.