Imagine federal funds meant to feed hungry children being siphoned off to bankroll beachside resorts and rented Rolls Royces.

That’s the jaw-dropping reality of a massive fraud scheme involving Somali Minnesotans tied to the Feeding Our Future non-profit, where over $250 million in COVID relief money was stolen, the New York Post reported. 

This scandal saw hundreds of millions in federal Child Nutrition funds, intended for underprivileged kids, diverted through shell companies and splashed on extravagant lifestyles, luxury properties, and overseas investments.

The scheme’s roots trace back to Feeding Our Future, a Minnesota-based non-profit that secured millions under the guise of providing meals during the pandemic. Instead, the money fueled personal empires. It’s the kind of mismanagement that makes one question the blind trust in bloated bureaucracies.

Unpacking the Extravagant Spending Spree

Take Liban Yasin Alishire, 43, who pleaded guilty to wire fraud and money laundering in 2023. He funneled $350,000 of stolen funds into Karibu Palms Resort, a luxury getaway near Diani Beach in Kenya, complete with pools and Netflix-equipped suites renting for $155 a night. One wonders how many meals for kids could’ve been bought with that cash.

Then there’s Abdiaziz Shafii Farah, 36, sentenced to 28 years in prison in 2024 and slapped with a nearly $40 million restitution order. Farah falsely claimed to have served 18 million meals across Minnesota, while investing $1 million in Capital View Apartments, a swanky four-story complex in Nairobi with gyms and parking galore. It’s almost as if feeding children was the last thing on his mind.

Ayan Jama, convicted in early 2025, also played her part, fraudulently claiming 1.7 million meals through her Brava restaurant. She pocketed over $5 million and snagged a $365,000 apartment in Turkey. Apparently, real estate abroad trumps real help at home.

Lavish Lifestyles and Social Media Swagger

Aimee Bock, pegged by prosecutors as the mastermind, didn’t hold back either, funneling stolen funds to her former boyfriend, Empress Malcolm Watson Jr. They rented Lamborghinis and Rolls Royces for $2,000 a day, vacationed in Las Vegas, and splurged on jewelry and cars worth $680,000. Watson Jr. wasn’t charged, but his flaunting on social media paints a grim picture of misplaced priorities.

Speaking of social media, Watson Jr.’s Instagram bio brags, “I was always taught if you hang around 9 broke m-ther f–ka, you’re bound to be the 10th” (via Instagram). Well, hanging around stolen millions seems to have worked out just fine for him—until the law caught up with others. It’s a sad commentary on values when relief funds become personal piggy banks.

Meanwhile, in Kenya, social media buzzed with shock over Somali involvement in Nairobi’s real estate boom. A TikToker marveled, “Somali people have money, these people have money,” after spotting apartment projects linked to Somali investors (via a viral X post). It’s a stunning disconnect when funds for hungry kids build luxury towers halfway across the world.

A Broader Pattern of Abuse

The total haul from this Feeding Our Future scandal tops $250 million, primarily involving Minnesotans of Somali descent. This isn’t just a one-off; it’s a glaring example of systemic flaws in government funding distribution. When oversight is lax, the most vulnerable pay the price.

Attorney Joe Thompson estimates that social services scams in Minnesota could reach a staggering $9 billion, with significant ties to the Somali community. It’s a figure that should alarm anyone who believes taxpayer money deserves accountability. Without reform, these schemes will keep thriving under the radar.

The pattern of abuse in Minnesota’s government funding is undeniable, and it’s not about pointing fingers at any group—it’s about fixing a broken system. How many more children must go hungry while fraudsters vacation in style? That’s the question bureaucrats and policymakers must answer.

Calling for Accountability and Reform

This scandal isn’t just a crime; it’s a betrayal of trust in programs meant to uplift the needy. When relief funds turn into personal slush funds, faith in public institutions erodes faster than a sandcastle at high tide. Conservatives have long warned about unchecked spending, and here’s exhibit A.

The glitz of rented supercars and Kenyan resorts shouldn’t distract from the real victims: children who never got those promised meals. It’s time for tighter controls on federal programs, not more blind handouts pushed by well-meaning but naive policies. Let’s prioritize results over rhetoric.

Ultimately, the Feeding Our Future fraud is a wake-up call for anyone who believes in fiscal responsibility and genuine compassion. If we don’t demand accountability, we’re complicit in letting the next $250 million vanish. That’s not just bad policy—it’s a moral failure.