Nuruddin Farah - Hiding in Plain Sight

Bella tells Salif about the darkroom Giorgio Fiori’s friend built her, and how Fiori taught her the basics of photo development.

“He wasn’t a photographer, was he?” asks Salif.

“My father taught jurisprudence, and his specialty was the theory of law, or rather the principles on which Roman law is based. Photography was just a hobby for him. But what got him initially interested in photography was his enthusiasm for the history of image making and his interest in the reproduction of images in a variety of forms: in photography, in drawing, in painting, and in design patterns borrowed from African traditional societies. He had an early hand in the design of the fabrics that would become fashionable in West Africa.”

“He was a brilliant man, your father?”

“He was indeed.”

“I thought he taught in Somalia, where he met your mother,” Salif says. “How did West Africa figure in his life?”

“He taught in Mali before coming to teach in Somalia,” Bella explains, “and it was in Mali that he developed his interest in Dogon art.”

“Dogon? What is Dogon? Who is Dogon?”

Bella answers the question with exemplary patience, as if she were a teacher. “The Dogon are a people known the world over for their exceptional wood sculpture, and their art revolves around their high ideals. Theirs is an art not meant for public viewing, so it can be seen only in private homes and sacred places. Dogon society puts great value on the symbolic meaning behind every piece.”

Salif nods his head in appreciation, and Bella recalls how Aar spoke in an adult, sophisticated way to his children even when they were tiny. He would say that it was important that you talk to children the same way you talk to grown-ups. Children have the ability to catch up to you faster than you can imagine, he believed, and they remember tomorrow some of the things you speak about today.

Bella says, “So my father was the first to show me sculptures from the Dogon in Mali, sculptures whose forms excited my young mind. I decided then to become an artist. At first I thought I would pursue my ambition as a sculptor or painter, but finding my pursuit of these two modes of artistry challenging, I lowered my expectations and tried my hand at photography.”

“And he built you a darkroom?”

“He taught me to treat the darkroom as both a sacred space and my own domain, my secret place,” says Bella. “He discouraged me from allowing anyone else access. He spoke of the darkroom as though it were a tomb, a secret space not to be exposed to the eyes of others, lest it should be compromised.”

Just then the doorbell rings. It is the contractor, who has come back with the items needed for the darkroom. Now the noise the men are producing increases tenfold. Bella hears the contractor shouting, “What have you been doing all this time? I don’t want to disappoint Mahdi, who will be expecting a good report from her on our work. So get on with it.”

Salif asks, “What do you think happened that made Mum and Auntie Padmini go into panic mode this morning?”

Bella tells him she has no idea.

“I hope they are okay.”

“I hope so too.” And she means it. She doesn’t wish Valerie and Padmini to be subjected to further harassment of the sort they endured in Kampala. On the other hand, she will not be sorry if this turn of events makes them hasten their departure for India. After all, her motives in paying their hotel and legal bills were not entirely altruistic; she had hoped to get them closer to the exit door. Not that Padmini is likely to let Valerie know who their unnamed benefactor is. Pleased with her own discretion, Bella can’t help but allow herself a smidgen of mischievous curiosity at how things will pan out. You never know if a given development will pique Valerie’s rage or elicit the grace to admit defeat, say “thank you,” and then depart.

The contractor enters the kitchen, rubbing his hands together and looking happy.

“We are done,” he says. “Please come see.”

At first the room is too dark for them to see. Then the contractor, who is behind them, turns on the light. Bella likes what she sees: plenty of room for their immediate purposes, as well as for improvements for her professional purposes. The contractor says to Bella, “Give it until tomorrow for the putty to harden and the grout to set, and then it will be ready for use.”

Bella pays in cash, giving each of the workers a generous tip. The contractor gets Mahdi on the line. “Listen,” he says to him, “there is a happy lady here who wants to have a word with you.” He passes her his phone.

Tears well up in Bella’s eyes unexpectedly, and her voice is tender with unreleased emotion. She tells Mahdi how delighted she is with the result his contractor has managed in such a short time.

Just as the men are leaving, Dahaba comes back downstairs. “Is it done, the darkroom, done, done?”

“Yes, it is,” says Salif.

“What’s it like?”

“Amazing.”

“Can I see, Auntie?”

Salif tells her, “Not until tomorrow.”

“Auntie, let me have a quick peek, please.”

Bella allows Dahaba to stand in the doorway but no farther, lest she ruin the work before everything sets.

“A celebration is in order,” says Dahaba.

“How do you want us to celebrate?”

Bella makes herself some tea and they toast each other with tea and soft drinks. Then Bella, exhausted, goes upstairs to bed.

She dreams that she is dressed to the nines, but the heels of her shoes are broken and she can’t find a cobbler anywhere to repair them for her. It is raining very hard, so she shelters in a low shed with huge cracks in its zinc roofing. Wet and miserable, she sets out to seek better shelter, but her way is blocked by several stray dogs that bark viciously at her then attack her. She defends herself the best she can, but the harder she fights, kicking away at them, snarling, cursing, and screaming for help, the more dogs join in the attack. Eventually, she employs the shoes without heels as a weapon and hurls them at the dogs.

She retreats back into the shed and her bare feet come into contact with a bag. It seems to have been pushed into a corner and abandoned. She hasn’t the time to investigate, however, before one of the smaller dogs makes its way past her, snarling, as likely as not to lead the attack from the rear, she fears. But when she kicks at him, she misses and kicks the bag instead. It breaks open, revealing bones. Is it possible, she thinks, that it was the bones the dogs were keen on instead of her?

She makes the opening in the bag bigger, then takes a handful of bones and scatters them over a large area outside the shack. The dogs fight fiercely over them and tear hungrily into them. While the dogs are busy fighting over the bones, she tries to scuttle away, unobserved. But a big bloodhound seemingly uninterested in the bones impedes her progress. Scared stiff, she searches for something to defend herself with — a stone, a stick big enough to strike with. She finds nothing. She lives on the edge of her nerves for a few minutes, trying frantically to imagine what it is about her that is drawing the hound’s attention. Via a process of elimination, she focuses on the necklace of bones she is wearing. She unclasps the chain and throws it at the bloodhound, and at last he lets her leave.

She wakes up, heavily perspiring.

—

A couple of hours later, after a hot shower, Bella comes down to the kitchen. She makes herself some porridge and brews some strong coffee. The children aren’t yet downstairs, but Bella has an appointment with Gunilla at the UN office this morning. Before long, Salif wakes and comes down to have his breakfast, and eventually Dahaba saunters in, holding a toothbrush aloft.