Because the time does not seem right for Cambara to ask a leading question and Kiin has taken a pause, each of the two women remains absorbed in her silent thoughts.
Kiin says to Cambara, “You have been away from the country for a very long time, haven’t you?”
Cambara feels that Kiin knows a lot more about her than she lets on, most likely because their mutual friend who alerted Kiin of Cambara’s imminent arrival in the city will have filled her in on her life story. Their mutual friend will have described Cambara as a celebrated actor; as a woman whom a man betrayed; a mother grieving over the loss of her only son. A woman of good breeding, Kiin has not even alluded to any of this. There is time yet, though; there is time yet. The waiter retrieves Cambara’s half-eaten meal and brings her half a mango, the size of a football, and cut into squares. Cambara is so sweetly impressed with her first mouthful that even Kiin’s mouth waters, and she asks the waiter to bring her the other half. They eat scoops of it before Kiin dares to break the silence.
Then she continues, “Right now, Somali society is at its most disintegrated. There are so many fault lines that no two Somalis think alike, or are even likely to share a common concern for the nation’s well-being. The men prefer starting wars to talking things over; they prefer going their different ways to coming together and sorting out their differences; they help provoke more fighting and begin shooting, despite the fact that their disagreements are about matters of little or no significance. Men are prone to escalating all minor differences until they become armed confrontations in which many lives are lost, every shoot-out boiling over into unstoppable battles and the battles exploding into wars. I would say my husband and I might not have upgraded our disagreements into a serious falling-out were it not for the uncivil conditions in which we find ourselves. We love each other, my husband and I, but we cannot see our way out of the positions we take. I am a woman and am for peace at all costs; my husband is not for peace at all costs. Living under such a stressful situation day in and day out for years has taken its toll on the way we relate.”
Then, quite unexpectedly and without prior intimation or warning, Kiin remains unspeaking for a long time. She shakes her head, disturbed at the memory of her own and Cambara’s broken home. Then suddenly she sniffs loudly and, with the abruptness of a storm raging, bursts into tears, her cheeks wet with the flood of emotions breaking their banks.
By way of explanation, following a pause, Kiin says, “It is times like these and stories like yours and the many tragedies of other women that are disheartening to listen to, the terrible things men have always done to women and gotten away with. It saddened me when I first learned of your tragic loss, and it breaks my heart now to remember how Wardi neglected your son.”
Neither speaks; the waiter removes the plates.
Kiin says, “I am sorry that I have dropped the weight of my emotions on you in this way, tearfully linking your loss to mine and to all the other women that I know.” She pauses, looking about, and then says, “Men are a dead loss to us, and they father wars, our miseries.”
Uncomfortable in her silence and unable to think of what to say, Cambara shifts restlessly in her seat, her hand covering her mouth, unavoidably charged with a keg of emotion; she prays that she is capable of quashing them before they explode, like Kiin’s. How delicate! And what a tempestuous woman!
Kiin says, “It is on behalf of the other community of women and because we have a mutual friend in Raxma that I am extending a hand of friendship to you. Maybe we’ll invite you to join us.”
At first, Cambara knows neither how to react to what she has witnessed nor how to respond to the proposal to join the community of women working for peace.
“But of course,” says Cambara finally.
“I am so pleased, so pleased,” says Kiin, who, with disconcerting jerkiness, rises and lifts Cambara, hugging and kissing her. She appears pumped with the adrenaline that is of a piece with the joy of recruiting Cambara to the cause of women. She goes on, “We have our all-women half-yearly party tomorrow evening, and I am hosting it here. I am very, very happy that you can join us. You’ll enjoy yourself: an all-women party, good food, excellent music, lots and lots of dancing.”
For her part, Cambara, now taking her seat and acting calmly, is thinking how she has come to the end of her veil-wearing days, and how, now that she can dispense with the need to be in disguise, she will go to Zaak’s and pick up a couple of her suitcases. She has in mind the low-cut dress that she will put on for the party tomorrow evening and is about to ask Kiin questions about the other women when the gate opens and a man is shown in. Soon, Kiin is welcoming the plumber who has come with his tools, and Kiin is organizing a car and bodyguards.
“Be on your way with the plumber, take him where you want, and show him the job you want done,” Kiin says. “I trust you are carrying the mobile, so call me if there is need. Or come to think of it, even if there is no need, call to chat. In addition, I am sending along with you a driver and the head of the hotel security, both of whom are family, and they will treat you well and do what you ask of them. Let me know if there is a problem. Meanwhile, I will go home and be with my daughters. Take care till we meet again at suppertime.”
Cambara wonders if the world Kiin has entrusted to her will be a better place when she has the time to give it a shape in which she will be at ease.
SIXTEEN
Kiin lends her saloon car to Cambara, who, again in the veil she wore earlier, now sits in it waiting for the driver, for the youths assigned to the car as armed escorts, and for the plumber, who has been brought to her to give her an estimate, to finish praying. The escorts have stood their weapons against the wall they are facing, and the plumber has placed his tools close by, where he can keep an eye on them. To a man, they have left their shoes, which they took off before making their ablutions, behind them. They are almost halfway through praying, with the old man leading the prayer, reciting his verses excitedly, when a couple of the waiters, wearing their uniforms, join them, hastily prostrating in obeisance to the fast rhythm already set. As if not wanting to be left out, the chef of the restaurant, with his white paper toque still on, is the last to become a member of the praying party.
She remembers that when she was introduced to them one by one, their names recited as she shook their hands, Cambara found every one of them to be as carefree as a sailor on R&R, easygoing, blasé in the manner in which they engaged one another in amicable banter. The younger ones have the habit of yanking each other’s chin or of challenging each other to a wrestling match. Young or old, Cambara is under the impression that they have been together for a long time, which may be so, and have shared life-and-death experiences. She feels certain too that they are prepared to stick their necks out for one another and that, in addition to delighting in the camaraderie of participating in the same battles, they are bound to one another by their commitments to the same blood family. On the strength of what she has seen so far, Cambara prefers their company to Zaak’s lot, except for SilkHair, whom she is already missing. This is so, in part, because the Maanta management disallows any of its employees to chew qaat on the premises or while working. Buoyed by what she considers a healthier atmosphere and cheered to a large measure by the fretful chat with Kiin, her awareness of selfhood boosted, she feels invigorated. As a result, there is discernible pluck to her decisions and the actions arising from them.