Now each twin took one of Yarey’s hands and brought her to the room where the baby lay in a cot, asleep, “Will one of you please bring him out of the cot and give him to me to hold?” she said.
Mataan lifted the Nameless One from the cot and handed him to Yarey, who received him as a fragile item. Her chest seemed about to explode with her excited breathing.
“Sit down if he’s too heavy for you,” Duniya suggested.
The twins sat on either side of her, balancing the baby on the little girl’s lap. The three of them chattered uncontrollably, Nasiiba summarizing the foundling’s history so far.
“How come you’re here without your overnight bag, Yarey?” Duniya asked.
“Because Uncle Qaasim didn’t have petrol in his car, so he couldn’t bring me. Someone else gave me a lift to a place not far from here, and I ran the rest of the way.”
“Who told you about the baby?” Nasiiba asked.
“I was running home, you see, when Marilyn stopped me to tell me about it. I ran faster to get here because I so was excited.” Despite having one deformed tooth and another that was lifeless, dark, dwarfish-looking, Yarey none the less had a sweet smile.
Duniya now took the opportunity to introduce her to Bosaaso, “Yarey, this is Bosaaso.” And to him, “This is Hibo-Yarey.”
“I guessed as much,” said Bosaaso.
Yarey’s smile was as disarming as a gypsy’s charm. “Has the baby been given a name yet?” she asked Nasiiba.
“His name is Abshir, after Mummy’s brother,” Nasiiba lied.
Mataan corrected his twin, “No, Yarey. The baby has not yet been given a name.”
“But he must be given one,” insisted Yarey.
“We’ve been calling him the Nameless One,” said Mataan.
“Why don’t we give him a proper name, his own?” Yarey asked.
“First we must know we can keep him,” interjected Duniya.
“But we found him,” Yarey rationalized. “Nasiiba was the one who found him, so he’s ours.”
“There are legal problems to solve before we can name him,” said Duniya. She was trying to drown out Nasiiba, who was telling Yarey about Bosaaso, saying that he lived in a house larger than Uncle Qaasim’s, had a TV set, the most recent make of Japanese video recorder and an extremely varied collection of video cassettes; and that he would eventually return to the USA where he had lived for over twenty-five years. If he and Duniya married, which was likely, then they all would move to America.
Suddenly, Yarey said, “I’ll take the baby to Uncle Qaasim and Aunt Muraayo’s house and leave him there for them to raise him. Is that all right, Duniya?”
“Why?” replied a surprised Duniya.
“Then I can come home, to live here.”
“But…!”
“If Uncle and Aunt have another child to replace me, then I won’t feel so terrible leaving them, you see!”
“But you can come home whenever you like,” said Duniya.
Nasiiba whispered more secrets in Yarey’s ear. Yarey looked from her mother to Bosaaso, and back to Nasiiba, who nodded encouragingly, For a second or so, Yarey remained quiet.
“What did Nasiiba whisper to you, Yarey?” Duniya asked.
“Nothing.”
Mataan moved away from his sisters, distancing himself from what was happening. Bosaaso, self-conscious, fell under Yarey’s intense stare as she pondered what was going on between him and her mother. But Duniya appeared ecstatic, and the house had a festive air, because of a foundling who made them all new friends.
“Can I come home then, Duniya?”
“Of course.”
“Will Uncle Bosaaso let me watch his video?” said Yarey.
Duniya could not think of how to reply. She looked at him, then at Nasiiba, then focused on the horizon, too embarrassed to speak.
“Yes, of course,” Bosaaso said.
But Yarey sensed she had upset Duniya. She motioned to Nasiiba to take the foundling. She then went to where her mother was sitting and knelt by her, kissing her hand. “I am sorry, Duniya. I shan’t listen to Nasiiba any more, I promise.”
Bosaaso rose to leave. “We’re expected at Dr Mire’s at seven-thirty. I’ll come for you,” he said.
“Stay well,” Duniya replied.
“You too,” he said.
MOGADISCIO (SONNA, 30 JULY)
The average Somali household cuts down (and uses fully or partially) as many as 150 trees or shrubs annually according to a study published last week by the Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock. A vast number of shrubs or trees are uprooted for one purpose or another and a great many of these are burnt as fuel or used as construction material for fencing or walling compounds.
This loss of woodland has in part caused a decrease in rainfall, in the availability of water perse, and in the presence of wildlife over large areas of the Republic. The report, compiled by Somali experts and the first of its kind, adds that overstocking of camel and cattle herds strips more and more tracts of land of trees, shrubs and grasses, thus contributing to drought.
The report commends the Somali government, aid agencies and friendly nations that have attempted to minimize the country’s disaster, which can be understood in the light of similar environmental crises occurring in Africa and throughout the Third World.
9
In which Duniya, in a dress borrowed at Nasiiba’s insistence, goes with Bosaaso to Mire’s home for dinner.
While taking his siesta, Bosaaso saw a handsome-feathered, heavy-footed bird, a cross between a hawk and an eagle, for which he had no name. The bird remained quiet and contemplative, perched on a telegraph pole at the edge of a park where he and his late wife Yussur were picnicking with their son in his cot, a portable radio playing nearby.
At some point the bird took off and was gone from sight for a good while. When next they were aware of its presence, it was descending threateningly from a great height, coming closer as though it meant to do the baby harm. Both parents were relieved to see the bird fly away, clutching in its beak not their child but a flower.
Bosaaso woke up, disturbed. Immediately he recalled that he and Duniya had a dinner engagement with Mire. He showered in haste, drove as fast as was safe, and was parked in front of Duniya’s place on time. He rushed into the Women’s Room breathless with worry and relaxed only after making sure that the foundling was unharmed.
On their way to Mire’s, they both sat like tailor’s dummies — Bosaaso because he had decided not to talk about his siesta nightmare, and Duniya because the dress which she had put on at Nasiiba’s insistence was beginning to feel tight round the waist, making her breathing difficult. Both smiled anti-septically, saying nothing for a long while.
Bosaaso, uneasy at the silence, said, “I envy Mire; living alone, he has a self-preserving quality about him. I guess I envy you too, mainly because, like my mother, you are yourself an activity. That is to say you happen, and the rest of the world happens.”
It occurred to Duniya how little she knew Dr Mire, and although she did not say so in as many words, she said circumspectly, “A balloon with air in it flies where there is wind.”
Bosaaso did not understand her meaning, but said, “If you get to know him better, you’ll appreciate how much he enjoys the company of people who interest him. You’ll be surprised to know that he speaks a great deal more than me, for instance.”
“Does he ever talk about himself?”