Nuruddin Farah - Crossbones

He stumbles a bit, then begins. “I am in Puntland searching for Taxliil, my runaway stepson, a teenager, believed to be somewhere in Somalia, sent, the last we heard, to Puntland as a liaison between his religionist mentors and the pirates.”

“Why Puntland?”

“Because it is his mother’s ancestral home.”

“Any other reason?”

“I’ve been told that he is in Puntland because it is a transit point for the religionists to Yemen and beyond. Would you say it is true that some of the pirates and some of the religionists, especially those with bases in Xarardheere, have struck a deal — that they collaborate? I’ve heard it said that some young Somalis pretend on the way out that they are migrants, and on the way back, escort the foreign recruits in boats that are virtually empty anyhow.”

“You think Taxliil is one of them?”

“Do the pirates collaborate with Shabaab?”

Fidno says, “There is a rumor that some do.”

“Do those that bring in foreign jihadis, who aren’t necessarily young men, receive in exchange protection from the religionists?” Ahl asks.

“There is a lot of movement between Somalia and Yemen,” Fidno says, “by means of dhows laden with goods, which return either empty or with illegal passengers. As for the human trafficking, that is part and parcel of the link; this is seasonal, with thousands of Ethiopians, Eritreans, Somalis, and other Africans trying their luck to get to Yemen in hope of making it to Saudi Arabia, where there are jobs, or Europe. I know some of the coastal villages from which they depart; I also know where the boats dock when they return. If you like, I can take you to some of these villages.”

“I’d be happy to go anywhere to find my son.”

“By the way, how old is Taxliil?”

Ahl tells him, and in addition, promises to provide him with a photograph of his stepson, taken a month or so before his disappearance.

“If he’s in Puntland, we’ll find him.”

“I’d be grateful for any help.”

Fidno says, “I’ll get things moving soon.”

For an instant, Ahl keeps at bay a clutch of worries snatching at his heart. It is as if he is in a fast-moving car, hurtling beltlessly down a ravine, moving perilously forward at an extraordinary speed, destination unknown, fellow passengers unfamiliar. It frightens him that he has been here for only a day and he has already formed a working relationship with a man who funds piracy, a man who, for all he knows, is on first-name terms with the owners of the dhows in the human trafficking business. Is it too late to withdraw? More to the point, is there any other means by which he may pursue his aim, to locate his stepson? After all, one devil knows another devil best — and it is best he gets to know Fidno, who may lead him to Shabaab’s redoubts in Puntland.

He asks, “How will you get things moving?”

“For a start, I’ll establish contact with the known big shots in the human-smuggling business and arrange for you to meet them,” Fidno says. “I’ll take you to a village called Guri-Maroodi, not far from here, from where the migrants depart. I have a mind to start with a man who has extensive connections among the top people in Puntland, the insurgents, the pirates, the lot. He is respected and at the same time feared everywhere in this country.”

“Won’t you tell me his name?”

“I’ll give you the information only on a need-to-know basis,” Fidno says. “And since I haven’t been in touch with him yet, I can’t tell you his name.”

“Please explain how meeting a man in the human-smuggling business will help locate Taxliil, when what I need is to burrow into the underground structures of Shabaab?”

“You are going about the matter in the way God-fearing, upstanding individuals do when they are dealing with a straightforward problem, when what you require here is to know the mind-set of those with whom you are dealing,” Fidno says. “If you are taking on men who operate outside the law, then you must approach the matter at hand from an equally shady angle.”

“Men working outside the law?”

Fidno says, “Shabaab, the pirates, and the human traffickers work outside the law, they know one another; they collaborate in ways not too obvious to ordinary men. Because of this, one needs a new approach.”

Ahl hesitantly asks, “Is the man you have in mind to contact, the human smuggler, capable of helping us to tunnel our way into Shabaab’s hideout, and is he prepared to assist us — and if so, at what cost?”

Fidno does not tackle several parts of the loaded question. All he says is, “A few of his men are seconded to Shabaab.”

“How is one to tunnel one’s way in?”

Fidno answers, “One will start from the outside, unsuspected, unannounced, and unseen, and with help from my contacts’ underlings, one will burrow one’s way in.”

“That way we’ll find Taxliil?”

“If Taxliil is in Puntland.”

“Why will he help us?”

Fidno says, “I’ve told you why he’ll help.”

“Because he owes you a big one?”

“Because he and I are friends.”

“What about the Shabaab operatives?”

“Leave it all to me.”

Ahl doesn’t know if he wants to do that.

“You meet your side of the bargain, I mine.”

Ahl looks away a little too timidly, determined to get their developing rapport on a firmer footing and to seal the deal with a declaration of his intent. Thinking that a thief believes that every man is a thief and can’t be trusted, he decides to assure Fidno that he’ll keep his word.

He says, “Malik will be very pleased to know of your help, and he’ll do as you ask.”

Fidno says, “I’m delighted we’ve traded truths.”

“I know now who you are.”

But Fidno is already dialing his mobile phone.

THE PROPOSITION THAT HE AGREE TO CONDUCT AN INTERVIEWwith Fidno as a way of securing his help with Taxliil strikes Malik as a development of second-water grade, as far as diamond discovery goes, even if Ahl makes it sound as though he has uncovered a first-water-quality gem.

Ahl has called not only to share his breakthrough, as he puts it, but also to talk about the bombing of Mogadiscio’s airports. Malik senses both Ahl’s excitement at the thought of coming closer to locating Taxliil, and his worry for Malik’s safety. Yet as they talk, Ahl can’t bring himself to suggest that Malik should be quitting the country. It is curious, he thinks, that of the many ways humans express their affection for one another, worry is an effective one; worry about those whom you love. Ahl’s worry about Taxliil is of a different weave from the twine threaded into his concern for Malik.

Now he says to Malik, “Maybe I am unjustifiably preoccupied, but do you think it is safe to remain while the city is bracing for more bombing?”

Malik is not the worrying type. Ahl has often teasingly pointed this out to him, saying, “It is because you are younger and you leave all worries to others.” He is alluding to the Somali proverb that youngsters worry most about themselves, less about others, and least of all about their parents.

Malik has no similar fears about Ahl, in large part because Puntland, as an autonomous state, has maintained an amicable rapport with the Ethiopian regime following the collapse of Somali state structures.

When Ahl repeats at length the exchange between him and Fidno, Malik asks what it is that Fidno expects to gain, as Fidno is not asking for financial renumeration. “What is his game, really?” Malik wonders.

Ahl does not have a clear answer, but he emphasizes the professional gain to Malik from the deal. Finally Malik agrees to the plan. “Still, I can’t commit myself to either the venue or the time where the meeting will take place,” he insists, and then he excuses himself, because he wants to get back to work.