Cambara receives Jeebleh and Malik with warmth. She has waited for them close to the entrance, the door open, her smile broad and beaming. She meets them halfway as they walk past the day guard. She hugs and kisses Jeebleh on the cheeks. She is formal with Malik; she takes his right hand in both hers. Dajaal takes his leave, suggesting that they ring when they are ready to be picked up.
On the way in, Cambara walks between the two men, Jeebleh’s hand in hers in acknowledgment of their presumed closeness, even though the two have only ever spoken on the phone. He remembers that Cambara arrived here with the disquiet of a mother mourning, after losing her only son, her marriage broken and her life in tatters. Seamus, with whom he had spoken about her, described her as being equally suicidal and murderous. Then she met Bile, and he and Dajaal, with assistance from Seamus, helped her to deploy her strength constructively, in addition to helping her to reclaim her family and to produce a puppet play, the first of its kind in Mogadiscio, despite religionist threats. Eventually Cambara chose to throw in her lot with Bile’s, and the two became an item, despite the dissimilarity in their temperaments. Their need for each other has set the terms of their togetherness.
Now Cambara says to him, “It feels as if I’ve known you ever since I met Bile. I am so pleased you are here.”
With Dajaal gone, the features of the day guard harden and his eyes open wide at the sight of Cambara embracing and kissing Jeebleh and placing herself between him and Malik. Malik wonders if the man will report them to the religionist authorities for indulging in such un-Islamic intimacy.
Inside, Bile is lying prone on the couch in the living room, only a few days after his return from Nairobi, following surgery on his prostate at a clinic there. But when Bile hears them approach, he jumps up to welcome them. He and Jeebleh hug for a very long time, despite the tremor in Bile’s grip. The storied house echoes with their words of joyous reunion, after which Bile hugs Malik, too.
Bile is a little shaky on his legs. Jeebleh observes how age has affected them differently. Whereas he is heavier around the waist, paunchier, with bags permanently under the eyes, Bile has grown thinner in the face, his chin oddly extending downward, the anemic skin on it wrinkly and sporting grayish sprouts of hair, stylishly trimmed. He ascribes this suaveness to Cambara. Indeed, Bile is dressed with uncommon flair, a linen shirt and a pair of trousers, tailored with sophistication. Cambara stands by, confidently wearing a plain caftan with a matching shoulder cover. Not wanting to take the luster away from their meeting, she allows the conversation to flow, seldom interfering, though she pays constant attention to the changes of mood when they get to the table. Bile asks questions about Jeebleh’s family and grandchild as Cambara goes back and forth between them and the kitchen. Jeebleh remembers Seamus, their mutual Irish friend, commenting on how Bile, without two shillings to rub against each other, resisted having them take care of the expenses of his prostate surgery. “Typical Somali behavior,” Seamus had said. “Such vacuous arrogance.”
When the meal is served, they tuck into their food in appreciative silence. Malik has many questions about the country. However, it is never easy to talk fluently and without inhibition in a room where the sick are. Cambara notes that Bile is starting to display early signs of exhaustion from the small talk. She says to Malik, “Et tu?”
Malik says, “It feels bizarre that I am back in a place to which I have never been before.”
Interested, Bile shifts in his seat and sits forward, his fingers close to his mouth in an effort to hide the ugliness of a front tooth with a tiny chip. He says, “Can one return to a place to which one has never been?”
Malik explains, “I meant that even though I have never been to Somalia, I know a lot about the country, because my grandparents and my father wished they could visit the country of their ancestors. In fact, my old man is living somewhere in the breakaway Republic of Somaliland, tending to his camels, married to a much younger woman and raising a new brood of kids.”
Cambara lays her hand on Bile’s thigh, and, turning to him, asks Malik if his mother is Chinese Malaysian. He nods his head. “She is. It is my father who is Somali.”
Bile interjects, “You see Somalis everywhere.”
“Stranded in an alien place, like flotsam,” says Cambara.
Bile frowns and goes on, “I seldom imagine Somalis stranded. Many do well wherever they end up.” Then suddenly he holds his breath, as though he has the hiccups, and when he inhales he changes tack. “Have you ever heard of a Chinese female pirate, name of Mrs. Cheng?”
Malik, who has read a lot about the exploits of the Somali pirates in the peninsula and is equally familiar with other aspects of piracy, appears puzzled. “No, I haven’t heard of Mrs. Cheng.”
Jeebleh says to Bile, “Why did I think you would not be in the least interested in the question of piracy, either off the coast of Somalia or elsewhere?”
Bile replies, “Of course, I am interested.”
Jeebleh is aware that among the Somalis with whom he has discussed the subject of piracy, many without reservation condemn the illegal foreign vessels fishing in the Somali Sea. They say that this unchecked robbery has caused joblessness among fishermen and led them to piracy. In fact, Somali fishermen appealed to the United Nations and the international community to help rid them of the large number of foreign vessels, estimated in 2005 at about seven hundred, engaged in unlicensed fishing off the country’s southern shores. The country profile compiled by the United Nations’ own Food and Agricultural Organization in 2005 confirmed that not only were these vessels plundering Somalia’s marine resources but many of them were also dumping rubbish — nuclear and chemical waste.
Jeebleh asks Bile, “Why are you interested in the topic?”
“Because one of my distant nephews, a former fisherman, bought a skiff and set up his own piracy unit in Xarardheere after a Korean fishing vessel shot at him and his companions when they tried to discourage their presence near their own fishing grounds. Shot at, injured, made jobless, and very upset, they set up a cooperative and, together with some of his mates, formerly fishermen, now unemployed, they armed themselves to fight back. First, they hijacked a yacht, made a small killing amounting to a few thousand dollars in ransom, and then they took a Korean ship and crew captive. They received a ransom in thousands of dollars.”
“Only a few thousand dollars in ransom?”
Jeebleh asks, “Do you think that vengeance is the motive behind these acts? They want to reclaim what is theirs by right, since the world cares little about the illicit fishing.”
Bile says, “From what my nephew tells me, there isn’t much money in it. Somalia loses more in the amount of fish taken away, in the continued degradation of the environment, and so on and so forth.”
Malik wonders aloud, “You mean there are no lavish weddings being staged, no formidable mansions being built in Eyl, Hobyo, and Xarardheere? The entire region is not flush with funds and full of luxury goods?”
Bile replies, “All I know is what my nephew has told me. He speaks of ten thousand dollars apiece, much less than what the newspapers claim.”
Malik asks, “So where does the money go?”
“I keep thinking something doesn’t add up,” Cambara says.
Jeebleh says, “Do you think then, Bile, that Cicero’s often repeated description of pirates as the ‘enemy of humanity’ does not necessarily tell the whole story, when it comes to the Somalis locally labeled as the nation’s coast guard?”