Nuruddin Farah - Crossbones

Ahl is at a loss for the appropriate response, but then it comes to him. He says, “I had no idea you were into pimping, too.”

Fidno doesn’t take offense. He says, “Just checking. Just offering. These are tempting times, and I know family men who won’t say no to Wiila.”

And then Ahl is up and off, and Fidno, for once, settles their bill.

AS BEFORE, THE DOOR TO AHL’S ROOM IS LOCKED FROM THE INSIDE.After he knocks on it repeatedly, the TV programmer lets him in. Ahl can’t help but feel amused at this point, especially once he has reflexively checked that he still has his money belt, and felt the weight of the laptop he is carrying. Then, as if to prove a point, he pretends to check on the state of his suitcase, which has had its lock torn off. Without waiting for the TV programmer to leave, he telephones his wife’s cousin, Xalan, to ask her to please come for him as soon as she can. He doesn’t explain why, he just wants to leave. Basta!

He moves about the room, picking up a towel, running the tap, and with the luxury of a man who has a lot of time to kill, washing his hands and his face. Seemingly unperturbed and unflustered, the TV programmer stays in the room, fiddling with the knobs and taking no notice of Ahl’s presence or his need for some privacy. Maybe the never-ending conflict in this country won’t tail off until its burglars master their art, Ahl thinks. Maybe the foolishness displayed by the nation’s politicians, its so-called intellectuals, its clan elders and imams, and its rudderless youths is contagious; everyone in the land seems somehow lacking in horse sense.

His mobile rings: Xalan is downstairs, waiting. Ahl awkwardly picks up his suitcase with the broken lock, not bothering to check if any of his shirts, pairs of trousers, underwear, or sandals are missing. He leaves the door to the room open, the TV man still tinkering with the set, the volume high, then low.

Xalan is a joy to behold: she is dressed in a caftan, arms showing, her figure handsome and her smile beautiful. She meets him halfway and they both laugh when their attempt at a hug fails and they both stumble. She carries his laptop down and leaves him to struggle with the suitcase with the broken lock.

There is no one at the reception, so they decide to put the suitcase in the trunk and wait by the vehicle, in the hope that one of the receptionists will show up and alert the manager to bring Ahl the bill. As they wait, Ahl tells Xalan all that has transpired so far.

“It’s shocking,” she says. “He’s still in the room? In any event, I am delighted you are moving in with us.”

Then they have a laugh about it.

“I don’t look forward to having further altercations with the hotel staff, including the hotel manager. Most likely, he won’t believe me if I tell him: it’s my word against the TV tinkerer’s. And I suppose his coworkers will gang up against me, an alien guest, never mind that I speak Somali.”

When the manager arrives with the bill, Xalan studies the squiggly figures, frowning; among other things, Ahl is being charged for TV repair, along with the use of sheets and towels and meals he did not order. The combined shakedown comes to a lot, but Ahl knows that you do not negotiate with extortionists, and this price is par for the course for a diaspora Somali visiting home from the “dollar countries.” If he refuses to pay and reports the rip-off to the authorities, he stands little chance of success. Later, he’ll be made to pay at gunpoint, possibly with his life. Woe betide the man who denies his bodyguard’s request for a loan, or the journalist whose newspaper refuses the ransom asked when his kidnapping happens to occur on the day he is scheduled to leave for home.

But Xalan won’t be cowed. “What if he says he won’t pay?” she asks.

“I’d advise him not to take that route,” the manager says, in a tone meant to intimidate.

An argument ensues when Ahl points out that he had already reported the programmer’s misdemeanor to a one-eyed man at the reception and the manager denies that any such person works in the hotel.

“Well, that’s something,” Ahl says with a sigh.

Inevitably, Xalan and the manager exchange harsh words, after the manager accuses Ahl of lying. She threatens to call the police and the manager retorts that the police are in his pocket and, in fact, he’ll have her arrested if they don’t pay up and leave.

Meanwhile, the heat has grown unbearable. Ahl’s shirt sticks to his back; even his hair is damp with sweat. He hasn’t the proper hardiness for this situation. He remembers hearing of an incident in which armed youths, too weak to carry their loot home, forced their victims to load the plunder into their own vehicles and, since the thieves did not know how to drive, to chauffeur them home with it. He doesn’t want to lose sight of why he is here, and to him the sum demanded is paltry. He insists on paying it in full, in dollars, and adds a tip for good measure. At last they are free.

Out of the hotel grounds, Xalan tells him the harrowing story of a Somali friend visiting from Nairobi. “Our friend visits Puntland. He’s invested a great deal of time and money here,” she says. “In fact, he is a founding member of the autonomous state, a highly revered homeboy and a businessman of great intelligence and cunning. He rents a car to travel from Bosaso and Gaalkacyo, and they make several detours. With him are two armed escorts the rental company insists he takes along, and two other men, both relatives of his, getting a free ride home.

“Well, you know what an amazing landscape Puntland has. At one point on the journey, our friend stops to gathers a handful of rocks with exquisite shapes. You see, we Puntlanders are of the unshakable belief that our region is rich in oil, gas, and minerals, and that even our stones are precious — if only we had them analyzed. He puts several stones into his bag, announcing to everybody within hearing that these must contain some treasure more precious than gold. He’ll take them to Nairobi; then, depending on the outcome, maybe to Europe, to find out their value.

“He returns to Nairobi with the samples. He shows the rocks around, and resigns himself to the fact that they are not worth anything. His wife and business partner finds a use for them in her office as paperweights.

“Several months later, our friend returns to Puntland. And guess what — three of the men who were with him when he gathered the rocks present themselves at the friend’s house where he is being put up and demand their share of the money he made from the sale of the rocks. He tells them off. They take him hostage and hold him incommunicado for a couple of days, accusing him of shortchanging them. The clan members intervene to set him free.”

Ahl’s phone rings, but when he sees Fidno’s number on the screen, he decides not to answer. He hasn’t told Yusur about his dealings with the man, for fear of raising her hopes and dashing them, and so far he hasn’t told Xalan much. He will tell Yusur when his efforts bear fruit; he will share the news with Xalan only when he is certain there is no possibility of a setback. He worries that keeping all these secrets will eventually get to him, especially when he is under Xalan’s roof — make him ill, complicate matters.

He fears Xalan’s tough loneliness, though — the aftereffect of her horrible experience in Mogadiscio, which Yusur described to him in some detail. She can be moody and difficult to please, a woman of discomforting character, the sort Ahl would prefer to avoid. Since Warsame is seldom in the picture, either running his business or chewing qaat , he’ll have to become skillful at navigating her troubled waters.