They are at their destination, a little too soon for Malik, who wishes he had more time to take the measure of the market, now that he knows it is likely to serve as the center for the insurgency following the invasion.
The computer shop is sandwiched between Tawfik Bank and a mobile phone outlet, in a four-story building of stone. It is constructed as though to survive a heavy bombing, with walls so thick that Malik wonders if it once served as a bunker. The two tiny windows are both closed, but the air conditioner operates only fitfully, not wholly effective. The ceiling fans turn with the slowness of a headstrong donkey hauling a pulley. The shelves where the shops’ wares are displayed are deep, but of cheap wood, with the few nails that are meant to hold them in place not hammered in properly. On the whole, however, it is a well-stocked shop, with all sorts of gizmos and gadgets, from computers and printers (both inkjet and laser) to the latest mobile telephones.
There are half a dozen young salesmen, some dressed in white shirts and khaki trousers, most of them bright-eyed and young, long-limbed, birdlike in the thinness of their chests. A family resemblance runs through many of them: the high cheekbones, the irregular shapes of their front teeth, their shovel-nosed appearance and their prominent jaws. Only one of them is in a long, loose shirt reaching down to his knees. The majority of the customers are young, too. A number of them are in jeans, and not a single one of them is bearded. A couple of them are there in search of a bargain, or have brought along an item to exchange. The salesman in the long shirt seems to be the head of operations in the computer section of the business, because the younger salesmen go to him with their questions and to ask if it is possible to offer a discount. Each time, he disappears through a door in the back, and comes back a few minutes later with a reply.
Dajaal has waited outside, to keep an eye on who is coming and going, and Gumaad stays close to Malik while Qasiir waits his turn. He spots his acquaintance, a hungry-looking, toothy youth. After exchanging a brief greeting, Qasiir requests Toothy to tell Sheikh-Wellie that he has come to pay for the item he’d reserved over the phone.
Toothy returns and goes back to serving customers, his eyes avoiding Qasiir’s. Malik is taking notes for the article on the computer store he’s already planning, but he sees that Qasiir is puzzled as to why Sheikh-Wellie is taking so long to come out. They wait so long that Dajaal sticks his head in to inquire if all is well. Malik, remembering that it’s been their intention to make it look as if Qasiir, not he, is buying the computer, slips him the cash. Then he continues eavesdropping on a man haggling over the price of a BlackBerry and watching another man eagerly collecting his new purchase, packed in a big cardboard box, beside which an urchin shorter than the counter is standing to take it to the man’s car.
It is not Sheikh-Wellie but BigBeard who emerges from the back of the shop. He does not seem to see Malik or Gumaad, but comes right to Qasiir and starts to engage him in computer talk. Malik feels a chill go down his spine at the sight of his nemesis. Qasiir is careful not to make eye contact with Malik, or in any way to acknowledge their having come together. To this end, he holds Malik’s wad of cash in his hand and waves it close to BigBeard’s face.
Eventually Qasiir and BigBeard arrive at a price, ten dollars more than what was previously agreed, and BigBeard returns to the rear of the shop. In his place arrives Sheikh-Wellie at last. A very dark, weak-eyed, timid fellow in his thirties, he is actually the deputy accountant at the computer shop, and he seems agitated and ill at ease dealing with a customer. He brings out the machine, deposits it before Qasiir, and abruptly requests that Toothy handle the sale. Then he, too, returns to the back of the shop.
After the obligatory, albeit perfunctory checks Toothy demonstrates that the machine is new and working properly, and Qasiir orders a color laser printer as well. Then he pays for both with Malik’s cash, and they depart without further incident.
Gumaad accompanies them to the car. Dajaal is stewing over the incident at the flat, about which he is certain Gumaad is lying. He can no longer stand the sight of the man. Gumaad reminds him of everything that has gone wrong with the destiny of the country. He wants to be rid of him but doesn’t want to pick a bone with him in public. So he says to Gumaad, “I would rather you found your way home from here, because we have other matters to attend to, Malik, Qasiir, and I.”
“I was hoping to talk to Malik.”
“Not now. Another time,” Dajaal says, dismissing him.
Gumaad goes, but Dajaal’s ire is not yet spent. His eyes, burning with rage, are now focused on Qasiir. He can’t even wait until they reach the car before he vents his spleen at his nephew. “What’s the matter with you, making us give more custom to BigBeard and then on top of that, striking an underhanded deal with your friend, whatever accursed name he answers to?”
“Let me explain, Grandpa.”
“Your behavior puts me to shame.”
Qasiir insists he can explain everything.
Dajaal says, “Don’t you ever take liberties with our trust or treat us as if we are all fools. We’ll talk, you and I. This is not the time and place.”
“It was the only computer of its kind I could find in the city, and I received no cuts,” Qasiir says, defending his honor. “Nor did anyone know I was buying it on Malik’s behalf. Give me some credit, Grandpa. I am not that cheap.”
“So what was BigBeard doing there?”
Qasiir says, “How would I know, Grandpa?”
Still clearly perturbed, Dajaal lets it go.
“Never a dull moment here, is there?” Malik says, hoping to lighten the mood. Malik wholly trusts Qasiir and is certain from Qasiir’s behavior that he had no idea BigBeard would be in the shop. If anything, Malik thinks that it’s Sheikh-Wellie who is guilty of “insider trading.” Qasiir is clearly offended that his granduncle suspects him of dishonesty. He won’t react to it angrily, not now, not in Malik’s presence. He and Dajaal will have a quiet word or two about it in the car later, on their way home, after he has set up the machine for Malik.
They drive off in silence, passing people thronging the stalls to stock up on provisions. At some stalls, meat hangs from hooks hastily nailed into the wooden frames, buzzing with flies. Others display wilted cabbages, lettuce, and broccoli, dried-out carrots, and cassava pockmarked with fungus. The poor anywhere live the only way the poor know how: they buy food that is inexpensive. And the majority of the clients at these roadside stalls belong to this category.
Dajaal stops often to let pedestrians pass in front of the car, even when the vehicles behind him honk impatiently. He tells Malik and Qasiir that Cambara has already finished her shopping, buying enough food to last them for weeks if need be.
They pick up Jeebleh from Bile’s house. Malik sits in the back and brings him up to speed, mentioning how much less the computer cost than it would have in New York. He notes with satisfaction that Dajaal has registered this comment, and hopes that it will ease his displeasure with and suspicion of Qasiir.
Jeebleh is neither surprised nor shocked to learn that they bought the machine from a shop presumably owned by BigBeard. After all, he thinks, Somalis are incestuous by nature, inseparable by temperament, and murderous by inclination; and such is their internecine closeness that quarreling is the norm — like twins fighting.
Malik asks, “What is your news?”
The news Jeebleh brings from his conversations with Bile and Cambara and from having watched the coverage on TV is just as unnerving as the sight of the hordes they are now passing along the roads, blocking traffic as they head out of the city, afraid of being caught in the impending war. He says, “There is a report of a most exasperating action of a Shabaab operative, who is leading a convoy of a dozen or so gun-mounted battlewagons to Buur Hakaba.” Buur Hakaba is the town nearest Baidoa, where the president, the Federal Forces, and the parliament have their bases. “When asked why he needed to provoke a confrontation between the forces of the Courts and the FedForces,” Jeebleh continues, “he said he meant nothing sinister by his actions, certainly not to do any harm to the ongoing peace talks between the two sides. He was paying a visit to one of his four wives. She lives in Buur Hakaba, as it happens.”