She and Kiin separate when Cambara knocks into one of the chairs placed against the wall. She hurts her right knee, stops, and then nurses the bump, rubbing it. Then she lights upon two young women who are different from many of the others not only in their approach to dancing but also in what they are wearing. One of them is standing in a pair of bloomers, with nothing covering her upper torso, not even a brassiere, her breasts firm and her body equally so. She is belly dancing and doing it well, almost like a professional. The other is in a very tight dress, her long, jet-black hair down, her frontal and posterior bulges prominently distended. Not that Cambara, fascinated, falls under their spell, but she finds it curious that no one else has. Every woman is doing her own thing.
Cambara finds her hand in the good warm grip of someone else’s. Turning, she is face to face with Kiin’s eager eyes, which put her in mind of the troubled muddy waters of a river working itself up to an overflowing point before finally bursting at the banks in a rainy season. Cambara puts a lot of effort into hiding her feeling and smiles reproachfully, because she has no idea why she senses a disturbing stir in the hollow of her stomach. Nothing that Kiin has done or said to her so far accounts for her behavior.
Kiin says, “Come with me.”
Kiin holds out her hand to her and grabs it, taking a very tight grip of it. Cambara has the eerie sensation of a minor tremor running through them, only she is not certain which of them is responsible for the quiver.
“Where are we headed?”
“Come and you’ll find out.”
In the café downstairs, Kiin introduces her to Farxia, the medical doctor at whose clinic Jiijo delivered her baby boy and who has been looking after her since then and providing the “fugitive” mother with a temporary safe house. Farxia is holding a mug and sipping from it. (In a number of Muslim countries, someone drinking alcohol may disguise it this way. Cambara is not sure if this is so, in Farxia’s case.)
Farxia, austerely dressed in a shirt and khaki trousers, is sitting in a dimly lit corner from which she can watch all the comings and goings. She has three strings around her neck, two for mobile phones and a third for her computer’s memory stick. From what Cambara can see in the little light provided, she wears no makeup at all and no jewelry either. Farxia, whom Cambara guesses to be in her late thirties or early forties, is a slender, soft-spoken woman of medium height, with a stern expression and a slight squint.
She has a firm handshake, however. Once introduced, she nods to acknowledge Cambara’s presence but does not say anything. There is a brief intense look in the eyes, nothing else. Barely have Cambara and Kiin seated themselves when a young woman arrives with platters of finger food: chicken wings lightly sautéed in honey, lemon, and garlic; baby carrots and a few sticks of almost-dry celery; a variety of dips and a choice of baguette and nan-like sabaayo; and a spread of salad for the three of them.
Farxia dispenses with all formalities and serves herself a very small portion of the food, at which she nibbles. As she does so, she looks down and studies her trimmed nails and her well-scrubbed, many-times-washed hands; she might be consulting them, she is so focused, her lips astir. Then she says to no one in particular, “Jiijo and her baby are both fine.”
Farxia frets; she is a little on edge, probably thinking not so much of what she has so far done for Jiijo as of the commitments she will have made to keeping the woman and her baby safe. And she keeps peering around in the softly lit darkness with which they are all surrounded, as if she is expecting an attacker to materialize. However, there is no fear in Farxia’s eyes. Cambara thinks she can read the unbending determination of a woman pursuing an ideal.
Farxia continues, “We’re lucky the delivery went smoothly and happy that to date there have been no complications of any sort.”
Cambara speaks despite the fact that she sounds highly unprepared to let go of the words, as if parting with them might cause offense. “Where are they, mother and baby?”
Farxia hesitates, clearly not wanting to divulge a secret pact. She looks at Cambara, then at Kiin before replying, “I have had them moved from the clinic to a private home. To a place where they are safe. And I have assigned a nurse to attend to them. I am in constant contact with the nurse, a trustworthy woman who used to work with Bile, whom I understand you’ve already met. I look in on them twice daily: just before dawn and late at night.”
At the mention of Bile’s name, Cambara fidgets self-consciously. She is reassured that neither woman takes notice of her squirm. Maybe as a decoy to put Farxia off, Kiin, in an audible tone of voice as confident as it is welcome, says in the manner of someone anticipating the relevant question that is to come, “Our network delivers them food and all their other needs.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“Yes?” from Farxia.
Cambara speaks slowly. “In what way can I pay for your consultation as a doctor at the clinic, not to speak of the ambulance that transported Jiijo from the property and the expenses incurred in housing her, feeding her, and mounting an armed security?”
“My dear, you’ll have to talk to Kiin.”
And Kiin cuts in, “Everything in due course.”
“These are huge expenses, and I am willing to settle it right away, in cash, in U.S. dollars, since that is all I have,” Cambara says, feeling foolish as the words pass her tremulous lips.
Kiin and Farxia exchange brief looks, then their eyes focus on Cambara a little too long, neither speaking. It’s obvious they are not going to share their thoughts with her. Kiin says, “We’ll talk about expenses in due course.”
Cambara senses a surge of apprehension rising within her from the lower pit of her stomach at the thought of how much she is costing these women, how much her meddling in the affairs of others must be affecting their lives.
It is in keeping with the Cambara who is given to complicating matters at the very moment when everything is running smoothly that she ask, “Can I visit Jiijo and her baby?”
“Why do you want to do that?” Farxia challenges.
If Cambara cannot bring herself to give flesh to the thought that crosses her mind, it is because she is aware that saying she might benefit from a touchy-feely reunion with Jiijo and her baby won’t do. If she has not shared her introspection with anyone, it is because Farxia has stared hostilely away, thus reducing Cambara to bashful silence.
Again, Kiin rescues Cambara from embarrassment. She says, “Even though it may not be advisable to call on Jiijo and her baby at their hideout, I’ll tell you where you can go without fear or worry.”
“Where?”
“Your family property.”
Cambara feels that before she admits to knowing of it, the good tidings — that at least she can go to her family property without fear or worry, thanks to Kiin and her friends in the network — will have wrought a keen sense of self-fulfillment.
“Anyone holding the fort?” she asks.
“Dajaal, his nephew, and their men.”
Cambara thinks that as much as she owes Kiin fealty, the fact is that she is also grateful to other well-wishers, including Bile, who has probably encouraged Dajaal to get involved, help in the recovery of her family property. Who knows, Bile may have been instrumental in making Seamus commit himself to giving her a hand. For her part, Cambara will have been responsible for everything that is detrimental to the well-being of the community: endangering Kiin, Farxia, and all these other women; exposing Dajaal, Qasiir, his nephew, and their sidekicks to possible peril. She prays only that nothing terrible will happen to all these good people.