She remembers his favorite descriptions of her behavior or general attitude when they were both young, and the word “impossible” was the key one, as in “You are impossible.” Or he would use the word “incorrigible,” as in “She is incorrigible.” The former description was always directly addressed to her, the latter more often cast in the third person to third parties. In those days, his descriptions of her were made in an amicable tone of voice with not a trace of anger. He may have thought of her as too forward in the way she looked at him and in the teasing manner she threatened she would touch him, even though she never dared, fearing a reprimand from her mother. He was vulnerable when provoked and prone to giving in. She was wont to saying he was lying, and he wouldn’t bother to tell her off, unless he felt embarrassed, which he often did in front of their peers. She remembers the shock on his face when she wore her first lipstick, her mother’s, at the age of nine. There was an amused look of expression when he saw her putting on a bra, to cover the dark patches on her chest that passed for nipples.
Cambara is debating what to do or say when she discovers a change in the surroundings and then hears footsteps quiet enough to suggest the tread of someone tiptoeing, his or her intentions unknown. Turning, she sees a figure silhouetted against the fading light in the doorway and moving neither forward nor back. When she identifies the person as SilkHair, a smile of relief spreads itself all over her face.
She says to SilkHair, “Would you like to come and help me cook supper?”
He replies, “Yes, I would.”
She tells SilkHair to go into the kitchen ahead of her and to start chopping the onions, tomatoes, and garlic on the new cutting board.
Then, just as she prepares to take her leave politely from Zaak, he speaks slowly, getting his words out sluggishly, maybe because the chewing has already affected the pattern of his speech. “Do you know why it does not augur well for outsiders who have no understanding of what is going on in Somalia and have no idea what has caused the civil war to erupt to meddle in it?”
She does not like the intent, the tone, or the implication of his question, but she realizes that she has no desire to engage him in further banter and cuts it to the quick. “Tell me?”
“Because when we Somalis are hemorrhaging one another, it is best that we sort out our differences without outside interference.”
Cambara is impressed with the sensational progress SilkHair has made, his ability to get the hang of cooking improving at a phenomenal speed. She finds the onions chopped, the garlic crushed, the tomatoes cut into quarters, the potatoes and carrots washed, peeled, and then put to soak in water.
She assumes from his demeanor, his body language, and his speech mannerisms that in all probability he has a middle-class background — a ten-year-old boy fallen on tough civil war complications, maybe both parents dead and no living relation to look after him — but she chooses not to ask him questions, concerned that he might close her out. From his gradual opening to her, initiating the dialog himself and then terminating it, he puts her in mind both of a tortoise pulling in its head out of self-preservation and a lizard scuttling away at the slightest threat.
The vegetable curry and rice cooked, she asks him to take the food out to the youths in the outhouse, where they are camped. She makes him promise her that he will bring the containers back, wash them, put them on the drain board, and dispose of the paper plates and plastic knives. When she asks Zaak if he has changed his mind and will eat, he says, by way of dismissing her, “Good night.”
She withdraws to her room to read and sleep.
THIRTEEN
Feeling young of heart, strong of body, questionable of judgment, and yet unbending in her doggedness to set things in motion, Cambara walks away from the gate to Zaak’s house the following morning swathed in a baggy, custom-made all-gray veil with the sides zipped up for quick, easy removal in the event of a need to karate-kick an aggressor. The veil she has on today is easier and more pleasant to wear: less weighty, airier, and lighter in color. She ambles away from the entrance when she is certain that no one is shadowing her and after she has securely locked it. There is a determined spring in her stride that bespeaks of a secret urgency to which no one else is privy; there is much purpose to her gait. A casual observer might think of her as someone fleeing from a crime scene, edgy that she might get caught before escaping.
She draws her eyebrows together in concentration, frowning, her downcast look proof of her single-mindedness. She is carrying with her several items that she purchased yesterday from the general store and secretly stored in a corner of her room until this morning. She intends to offer as tokens of peace the boxes of sweets and a few bars of chocolate to Jiijo’s charges; the body cream, lotion, shampoo, soaps, and other woman’s things to Jiijo; and some rice. She would return the bag to the shopkeeper, if there is time. Faintly worried at the thought of staying longer than necessary, not knowing when the children get back from school, she hopes to present herself before Jiijo, get acquainted with the young ones, and complete her gentle questioning of Jiijo and leave before the minor warlord and his cohorts bestir themselves from their late lie-ins. Among other things, Cambara means to learn a few essential facts about her principal enemy, enough to know what to do and whether to share what information she gathers with Kiin and others who might give a hand in helping dislodge him. She needs all she can learn from today’s conversation with Jiijo and her charges, anything that might lend her an advantage in furthering her plans. The expropriator of the house and his minions, from what she has worked out so far, appear to be totally lost to the real world, chewing qaat all their waking hours and sleeping it off until early afternoon. She prays they keep to this timetable and do not alter their habit.
As she moves forward with confidence, Cambara becomes aware that it may not be long before her repeat visits raise Jiijo’s suspicions and she demands that Cambara explain her true motives. Cambara wonders how she can home in on who the various parties she will be up against are, what their relationships are to one another, and, more specifically, to the property: who stays where and how many of them sleep to a room, and where in this equation the children are. Friendly approaches and gift-giving can help deflect suspicions or can equally rouse someone’s dormant mistrust. She herself does not know how resolute she will remain in the face of adversity; if her early attempts to get the information she is after produce no reliable results and the conditions become so inimical, she will have no choice left other than to try to stave off the unavoidable consequences that may lead to violence. Even though she has made inroads here and there and has discovered the presence of a soft center in the youths’ outwardly hard attitude, as well as in Jiijo, Cambara is sure that it will be days before she makes a solid breakthrough.
If there is a concern that puts all her other worries in the shade, she thinks it wise to vary the routes she takes to get to the family property, detouring from the course of yesterday. This is because trouble comes with any territory that one passes through twice. One may go unnoticed the first time, but if one takes the same route a second time, then this presents someone with the opportunity to lay an ambush. The armed militiamen mount checkpoints in a matter of seconds, and they stop pedestrians and vehicles passing through, to harass, to impose a levy, to rob. That is how things are, she has been told more than a couple of times. Zaak has pointed out on more than one occasion that the vigilantes do not bother to differentiate between the goods on which a customs officer at a point of entry into a country may exact a tariff and a woman minding her business and walking through. But she dare not change the direction of her route too much for fear of losing her way to the property.