Nuruddin Farah - Gifts

“Let’s pray to God I can afford it,” said Duniya.

As though on cue, Nasiiba said, “Mummy, Uncle Abshir has sent you lots of cash, three thousand US dollars.” The young girl gave herself the luxury to pause, get up and walk over to where her mother sat. Standing over her, she went on, “Here’s the money in this envelope, I’ve counted it myself. And here in the thinner envelope is a long letter containing just one important piece of news: he’s arriving the day after tomorrow, in the afternoon, on the Somali Airlines flight from Rome — not tomorrow afternoon, as Miski said.”

Duniya received the envelopes, thanked Miski for bringing them.

Whereupon Nasiiba urged her, “I suggest you go now, Mummy, taking Bosaaso with you, poor man, who’s been out of it all. Miski, after her shower, will take me to the landlord and I’ll bring the key when I come home. If the flat has been taken, so be it; we’ll have to think again, look again.”

Duniya could not ignore the wisdom of Nasiiba’s suggestions. When as a bonus she was offered a young, stronger hand to help her rise to her feet, up and out of the sagging armchair into which she had sunk, she took it gratefully.

Bosaaso appeared relieved to be leaving and as she assisted him, Nasiiba teased him (calling him “Old-bones”), adding, “You two give each other your driving lessons and leave us to deal with the flat.”

Miski looked sad.

As they said their goodbyes, Duniya’s anxiety showed all over her face. It was not going to be easy to convince Bosaaso that she had no knowledge of the foundling’s identity before this afternoon.

Duniya had had only a quarter of an hour to practise her driving, when, with the suddenness Bosaaso began associating with her, she brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt. She said she wanted to talk, explain all that had happened, including the reason why she hadn’t told him all that she suspected she knew about the foundling’s identity. It was up to him to trust her or not.

She started the story from the beginning, omitting nothing, arguing that the foundling had become and would remain for her a symbol uniting the two of them. Would their affection for each other survive such self-questioning?

Nature had supplied Bosaaso with an accommodating spirit. He listened attentively, did not speak nor move any part of his body for a long time. Then his nose twitched involuntarily, as if overcome by a musky sexual odour or something as vital, as immediate. “Will you marry me, Duniya?” he said.

The question did not surprise her; she had expected it for quite some time. Nor did its timing disturb her. Rather, it was the way he spoke it, as though it were an ordinary request, as pedestrian as “Please pass the salt.” Silent, like someone determined to set a hurt bone, Duniya reasoned that he must have worked on the question so thoroughly that he botched it.

“Will you take me home, please?” she said.

“Of course,” he replied.

They swapped places and he drove her home.

GENEVA (UPI, AFP)

Foreign donors from more than 80 governments and relief organizations have pledged 300 million dollars to cover Mozambique’s emergency needs for the next calendar year. More money is likely to be promised in the coming months to bring the total to 400 million dollars, the sum requested by the Mozambique government.

The International Donors’ Conference gave its full backing to the Maputo government’s argument that the chief cause of the country’s economic crisis was the war being waged by the Mozambican rebel movement, assisted by the USA and South Africa.

In which Duniya meets Caaliya, the woman with the pseudo-cyesis problem, and learns of Caaliya’s pregnancy. Later that afternoon, Duniya is given her first swimming lesson at the Centro Sportivo, where she meets Fariida.

It was clinic day for Duniya.

The beggars begged and chanted; and the poor pregnant outpatients gave what they could ill-afford in the hope of having uncomplicated deliveries. The women sat in close formation, facing in the same direction. Duniya moved to and fro, filling in forms, several other nurses helping her with the assignment.

Today there were not many patients and the nurses talked of taking a mid-morning break and maybe finishing the day’s work by noon. The doctor on duty was an obstetrician named Cawil, who had a very high opinion of himself He spoke of no one but himself, telling how many deliveries he had assisted, giving himself an extraordinary ratio of success. He didn’t like Duniya, whom he made redundant on the days he was in charge of the clinic, assigning her the most boring jobs. She had the strength of mind to overlook his meanness.

Just before the mid-morning break, the woman Caaliya came wanting to speak. There seemed to Duniya a difference in her behaviour as well as her physical posture, although the exact nature of the change was indeterminate.

“I’d like you to take a look at this,” Caaliya was saying, and she offered Duniya a piece of paper, decorated with a doctor’s illegible scrawl. Duniya received the indecipherable chit.

“That’s Dr Mire’s hand, believe it or not,” said Caaliya.

Duniya studied the coded mysteries. “What does it say?”

“It confirms beyond any doubt that I am with child,” said Caaliya.

Duniya made as if to walk away, but didn’t.

“You don’t believe me?”

Duniya’s face seemed to prepare for the onset of a sneeze, though it was not a sneeze that made her twinge, it was the discovery of a fellow-feeling, a sudden closeness to Caaliya, at the thought that this woman might be truly pregnant. “Have you seen any other doctor?” she asked.

Again Caaliya delved into her bag searching for the Chinese evidence of her incredible story: the story of a woman who had the persistent charm of collecting any piece of paper a doctor had scribbled on, who carried them as evidence of her motherhood, in much the way a mad person might show a document proving his sanity; Caaliya who had insisted for years that she was pregnant — now at last she was!

During the break, Duniya met one of the Chinese doctors in the corridor. It amused her to think what beastly appellation the Chinese might give to a year in which Caaliya did become pregnant, a year in which Duniya fell in love, a year in which Abshir confirmed he was coming to visit. On her way back to the clinic she ran into Dr Mire. Since neither seemed to be in great haste, they spoke for a while and she gave him news of Abshir’s impending arrival. She invited him to dinner with them the following night. Then she asked if it was true that Caaliya was indeed pregnant.

“She is,” he answered.

Duniya said nothing for fear of sounding foolish.

“The human body has its inherent mysteries and one cannot always account for its behaviour, neither are all its self-expressions and manifestations an open book to medical practitioners. Maybe she wants to be a mother so much she will become one.”

“But why is it necessary to give her a To-whom-it-may-concem testimonial?”

“Well, she asked me to give her a document stating that she was pregnant. Something to show to her co-wife, I suspect.”

Duniya let a soft smile descend on her face, like a bird alighting on a leafless tree. Then without so much as a “Good day,” Mire nodded in her direction and walked away at the very instant she had prepared to allude to what was happening between her and Bosaaso. It was just as well, she thought, and returned to the clinic.

Soon it was noon and two hours later she was at home preparing lunch. Bosaaso came to take her and Nasiiba to the Centro Sportivo for her first swimming lesson.

Duniya had difficulty getting her feet off the bottom of the swimming-pool and was incapable of controlling her balance. She remembered her dream from the previous night in which she was a sparrow. She had stood guard at the entrance to a cave. Afterwards, a large bird arrived. This giant new arrival had an illuminated disc in its beak and this he gave to Duniya. She was squinting when she awoke and her tongue had been taken hostage by her own teeth, which bit into it until blood was drawn; and she was pale with fright.