Seven members of Somali Youth Link were walking just outside Dinkytown late on a Saturday night when they saw people hanging out in a dimly lit parking lot.

Twenty yards away, the group appeared only as silhouettes. Abdi llahi — one of the youngest members of SYL, a city-funded group of Somali elders who walk Minneapolis at night to keep an eye on their community's juveniles — turned to his companions and suggested approaching them.

But before they even had a chance, the silhouettes realized who had taken notice of them. They wordlessly packed into a car and left. Two women made for the parking lot's exit by foot.

The women were met by Basheir Elmi, the leader of the elders that night. He greeted them in Somali, then switched to English. He asked for their age and how they were doing.

The two women smiled. They said they were 19 and 20 and having a good time. They looked at the elders in front of them — all dressed in blue shirts with the depiction of a lion — and asked what they were doing.

Elmi explained they are just making sure young people are making good choices.

"That's so cool!" one woman exclaimed. "I hope you have a great night."

It was never confirmed whether those who fled in the car were Somali or not. Either way, breaking up a group of young people in a dark parking lot before anything can go haywire is what SYL wants.

"That's what we strive for — zero events," Elmi said.

This is the second year members of SYL have patrolled city streets in areas where Somali kids tend to congregate, making sure they stay out of trouble. After a promising showing in 2023 as a privately funded pilot project, the program received a $300,000 contract with the city earlier this year to expand its services.

The group was formed after a series of events in recent summers involving Somali youth, ranging from loitering, reckless driving, shooting fireworks at people or sneaking into college parties.

The blue shirts of SYL have since become a staple in those target areas — surrounding Minneapolis' Stone Arch Bridge, Boom Island Park and Dinkytown — and the program has continued to receive positive feedback.

"[Business owners] have said, 'Yes, we've seen them walking the streets and it has been a big help; we like that visibility,'" said Nick Juarez, the community engagement liaison for the University of Minnesota's Department of Public Safety. "Now they know, if they're going to come down to Dinkytown, they know they're going to run into the elders from Somali Youth Link."

A culturally specific solution

The issues with Somali youth began occurring around the time of the pandemic, when schools were closed, social services were shut off and children in general lacked a normal daily structure, said Farhio Khalif, a director of Somali Youth Link and community advocate.

Eventually, problems grew into daily nuisances in 2021 and 2022, according to City Council Member Michael Rainville, who represents areas covering the Stone Arch Bridge and Boom Island Park.

Growing up in Minneapolis can be difficult for Somali youth, Elmi and Khalif said. They may be new to the U.S., unfamiliar with how things work. Like all other kids, they want to make friends and they face peer pressure. They don't trust police and they can be profiled by residents.

"The neighbors panic when they see a group of Black teenagers coming here," Khalif said while walking near the Stone Arch Bridge.

During July 4th celebrations in 2022, seven people were injured in a shooting at Boom Island Park while reckless driving and dangerous use of fireworks broke out in the Mill District and northeast Minneapolis. During a community meeting that followed, Rainville singled out Somali youth as a problem and faced heavy criticism from local and state officials.

In the fallout, Rainville apologized and worked closely with the Somali community to find additional support. He helped secure funding from the Minneapolis Downtown Improvement District to pilot a project for a culturally specific patrol unit to keep an eye on youth. SYL debuted last year.

Since then, the group has grown to 16 members, 10 of whom are paid. They range in age from their late 20s to their 60s. They often walk around Boom Island Park, the Stone Arch Bridge and Dinkytown — areas that attract Somali youth for the scenery, nightlife energy and space for electric scooters.

When SYL members come across kids, they speak to them in Somali and ask if they are OK. If they are misbehaving or out too late, they are told to go home. If police are involved, they interject and ensure everyone remains calm.

Rainville, who has joined the group on its patrol, has raved about the impact and said complaints from residents in his district have dropped considerably. Juarez, the university police official, said SYL has played a significant role in reducing nuisances in Dinkytown as well.

"Youth engagement is a big gap here in our city," said Shane Zahn, the director of safety initiatives for the Minneapolis Downtown Improvement District. "The lack of activities that are free is a big deficit.

"We need this proactive mitigation work that I think grassroots groups can do," he said.

Looking after their own

As winter approaches, Khalif said Somali Youth Link will continue its patrols but also branch out into hosting town hall events for Somali families. The goal will be to empower parents, connect youth to mentors and build trust between the community and law enforcement.

Even now, most nights are quiet, Elmi said. After two summers of patrol kids are harder to find, and he suspects it's because they know SYL will be around.

After the elders broke up the group in the parking lot near Dinkytown last Saturday, there was nothing else to disrupt.

They walked about 15,000 steps — a typical night's work — and mostly engaged in friendly conversation with any Somalis they passed, and other uniformed workers keeping the streets orderly.

As they passed the Varsity Theater, 1308 SE. 4th St., a Minneapolis police officer and a security guard for the venue greeted them enthusiastically, offering bottled water and thanking them for their work.

Elmi shrugged somewhat and said they're just looking after their own.

"Just like our parents would," the officer said.