Hiding in Plain Sight

by Nuruddin Farah

  “I hope Salif doesn’t think that by saying what you’ve just said you are taking my side on your first day here,” says Dahaba.

  “Listen to her!” Salif says.

  Bella says, “Maybe there is much sense in silence if your sister says something provocative. Especially when you are a guest in someone else’s house, someone who has hosted you and taken good care of you.”

  But her words have little effect, and the words that emerge from their mouths, as noxious as raw sewage, put an end to the sweet good-byes. Bella decides not to intervene again, reasoning that perhaps this rowing is at least a distraction from thinking about their father’s death. She feels there is no point hassling them about their sibling rivalry, even if it is improper. Let them have their altercations. And in any case, their set-tos are nothing new. Bella remembers witnessing a terrible quarrel when she visited them a few years back. Aar had planned a beautiful day in the countryside near Naivasha, and Bella was packing a lunch for a picnic when the children got into a fight about whose turn it was to sit in the passenger seat. Salif insisted it was his turn first. In effect, Bella was partly responsible for the row, as she interfered with the smooth working of a system they had fine-tuned to a T: Salif or Dahaba would sit in the front seat beside their father on the way there, and the other one would have his or her chance on the way back. Aar, naturally, had suggested that Bella sit in the front for the entire ride, but she had foolishly offered to sit in the back because she wanted to speak privately to Dahaba because Aar suspected Dahaba was having “woman trouble.”

  Distressed by the conflict, Bella had asked Aar in Italian to step in. But Aar had explained to her, also in Italian, his belief that as part of growing up children had to acquire for themselves the skill of learning when to fight and when to accommodate. “It is something you can’t teach them,” he said. “They must come to this understanding by themselves.” He quoted the Somali adage that with age children become good adults. Bella wasn’t convinced, but she let go, saying, “Who am I to challenge you on this?” And to make the peace, she got them to toss a coin.

  But today there is no one else to intercede or decide if intercession is warranted. They ride in silence, watching the view and each other, apparently living alone in their thoughts. Now there is a ravine to the right, now a clear blue sky as the highway bends to the left, now an eagle descending to catch its prey and taking off again with its victim in the clutches of its talons. But the beastly row has left an ugly feeling in the car, and it is difficult to enjoy these sights. It isn’t until Dahaba begins to cry again, silently, that Salif reaches back and touches her shoulder in silent commiseration.

  Then Dahaba asks, in much the same mode as Americans ask where people were when JFK was assassinated—or, for a new generation, where people were when the planes flew into the World Trade Center—where Bella was when their father was killed. This is a different question from the one Bella has been asked before. She did not learn of the death until she landed at Fiumicino, but she has done the math and she knows exactly what she was doing at the moment the bomb went off.

  Bella is the first to believe in the therapeutic benefits to be gained from speaking openly about the circumstances around the death of one so close. But she is caught in a trap from which she does not know how to free herself. In truth, at the moment when Aar’s life was ebbing away, Bella was with Humboldt, her Afro-Brazilian lover. They had made love and were taking a breather. Humboldt had already come, and he was just beginning to assist her toward the longer, deeper orgasm they both sensed she had in her when she glanced at the clock and realized she was in danger of missing her plane. She hesitates; Dahaba says, “The question upsets you?”

  She is amazed at how many difficult questions there have been to answer from these two in less than twenty-four hours! Concentrating on the scenery, she decides that this is a private matter that she can’t share with them truthfully. Giving Dahaba’s hand what she hopes is a comforting squeeze, she says, “Nothing else matters more than the death itself. It is the saddest thing that has ever happened to me. Or to you.”

  Salif says, “But surely . . .” but Bella presses on.

  “For days I have blamed myself for not speaking my mind when he called and said he was going to relocate to Somalia to work on the logistics of moving the UN offices to Mogadiscio.”

  She feels the tears filling her eyes and wishes she didn’t have to expose either child to the harsh realities of life; for there is no merit in doing so.

  They drive on, having fallen silent, the car engine hardly making any sound, the highway straight. Dahaba’s eyes have closed and her breathing has slowed; she seems to be asleep. Salif is busy with his iPhone.

  Bella asks Salif, “And you, my dear. What does your father’s death mean to you, his firstborn?”

  Salif says, “Uncle Mahdi told me that the death of a father is the making of a son. Not in quite those words, but something along those lines.”

  “And is that what you feel?”

  Salif replies, “Yes, I think so. The surviving older offspring has to take on more of a burden of responsibility and offer help to the other immediate family members, especially the younger ones, who are in more need than he.”

  “Is that what you will be doing, helping Dahaba?”

  She locks gazes with him in the side mirror into which they are staring from their respective positions. Neither looks away, as each holds the other’s gaze. At this, he comprehends her meaning.

  “But she is annoying,” he complains.

  “You haven’t answered my question. Have you?”

  “She is trouble every minute of every day.”

  “Still, have you shown her kindness?”

  “I doubt it,” he says grudgingly.

  “How about you do it? There’s nothing stopping you.”

  They are passing through a village now. An accident has occurred here—just a few minutes before, from the looks of it. The street is full of bystanders curiously looking on. Bella thinks of how one accident often leads to another; she has never understood why crowds gather around collisions. Are they there to share the gory details of what has occurred or get their hands on any available loot while everyone is distracted? Salif suggests that they stop to see if they can be of any help, but at Bella’s urging, worried for their safety, the driver pushes on. After all, she has in the trunk of the car her photo equipment as well as her computer, her passport, and quite a lot of cash.

  She returns to their earlier conversation. “Being the older sibling, in what way do you feel obligated to care for Dahaba, your younger sibling?”

  “It should be a pleasure, not a duty.”

  “Do you find the weight of this responsibility—even if it is a pleasure—too heavy to bear at your young age?”

  “No,” says Salif thoughtfully. “After all, my father started helping you when he was even younger than I am, and he contributed to your life in some ways more than either of your parents, according to what you’ve both told me.”

  “Does it worry you that your father’s death could be the unmaking of you?” Bella asks, and then she pauses before continuing, “You will have more freedom, which, if not wisely used, can be the cause of inescapable failure—yes?”

  Salif says, “Dad as a single parent carried the burden of our absent mother. This means I have twice the weight my father carried.”

  “Are you man enough to meet the challenge?”

  Neither speaks, but Bella observes that a touch of sorrow has entered his eyes. She asks, more gently, “Are you okay?”

  “Why are we talking about all this?” he says.

  “What do you think?”

  “To be sure, I was out of order earlier,” Salif at last acknowledges. “Can I rely on you to guide me and set me right when I go wrong?”

  “Of course, darling,” Bella says.

  �
��It is a deal, then.”

  They are getting close to Aar’s house—even Bella recognizes the neighborhood now. When they turn into a side street, Salif leans forward.

  “Ours is the fourth house on the left,” he says.

  They stop in front of a green gate and honk. A man in a uniform—a day guard—opens the gate and they drive in.

  Dahaba awakens. Salif gets out of the car but does not retrieve the bags from the trunk. Dahaba is woozy, deeply involved in her sleep or a recent memory of a dream; she sits on the front steps of the door, waiting to be told when they will go in or what they will do.

  Meanwhile, Bella asks the driver how much she owes him. He takes a long time working this out and she waits patiently, watching his lips move as he calculates then decides on a sum then shakes his head, probably thinking he has totaled the fare wrongly. Such a sweet man, Bella thinks, and she decides to assist. And to make it all aboveboard, lest he should think that she is cheating him, they do the sum together, so much per hour, so much per kilometer—and then she adds a generous tip. He leaves a happy man, grinning from cheek to jowl and offering to come and get her whenever she needs a ride. In fact, for a moment, she even abandons the thought of driving Aar’s car to the hotel and parking it there—and instead she thinks about requesting that he take her to Hotel 680 now. But she remembers that they have to settle in the house and get something to eat before she returns there.

  As the limousine reverses, Bella observes that one of the day guards has come to offer to help carry the bags in. But Salif declines the offer, saying, “Thanks, but we can cope.”

  When he sees the question in Bella’s eyes, he whispers, “It is always safer not to let any security personnel know the inside of your house. Then they won’t be able to organize break-ins if you fire them. You learn that by living here.”

  They wait for Salif to disarm the alarm. When he has done that, he comes out to help to bring in the bags, one at a time, leaving them on the ground floor for the moment.

  “I’ll take them all up later,” he says.

  Dahaba, now fully awake, is in her element; she says, “Just because we are women, it doesn’t mean we can’t carry our own bags upstairs ourselves.”

  Salif refrains from answering back, and Bella is impressed. Maybe their little talk has made an impression. Salif makes himself busy opening the downstairs windows then turning on the taps until the water runs clear. Not that it is drinkable unless it is boiled, Bella reminds herself.

  With Dahaba trailing her every step, Bella gives herself time to take it all in: a big house with two floors and, from what she can so far see, boasting a sizeable kitchen, a lavatory, and plenty of secure windows with mosquito netting fastened between the outer safety glass and the inner blast-proof safety panes. There is a large living room boasting a big flat-screen TV of Japanese manufacture, and Dahaba is pleased to explain the complicated processes of how to turn it on, play video games, and go back to watching TV.

  Bella is thinking of other practical considerations. She says to Salif, “Do you still have a maid in your employ?”

  “We do,” Salif says hesitantly.

  “Dad didn’t think well of her,” Dahaba says.

  “Why is that?”

  “He used to say she had butterfingers.”

  Bella says, “Dropping things, breaking them?”

  “We are still paying her though,” Salif says.

  Bella is so encouraged by the progress Salif has made in such a brief time that she wonders if she can train the children to help run the house without the services of a maid. For when she looks through the cupboards, she observes other signs of sloppiness or laziness: The forks don’t match; the plates belong to different eras of the household, some going back to the day when Aar and the children lived in England and some from when they were residing in Vienna.

  “Let’s not call anyone yet,” Bella suggests. She decides to talk to them about this later.

  “Let’s enjoy one another’s company,” Dahaba says.

  “All right by me,” Salif says.

  Salif and Dahaba are in their element now that they are in their own home. They are more at ease, as if they feel unbound, unchained. Bella knows that their father’s death will hit one or the other of them hard and knock them around. It is one of the challenges awaiting her, the revisiting of sorrows, the emptiness. But just now, they are cheerful.

  Bella follows Salif up the stairs, helping with the luggage. As she remembers, there are four bedrooms, three of them en suite, one for each of them, plus a spare room, which served as Aar’s study, the only one that was often locked in Aar’s day.

  They stop in the children’s rooms first. Dahaba’s door is painted dark purple and adorned with a couple of photographs of women singers, including Celine Dion. Dahaba says, “Meet my room,” as if she were introducing her aunt to an entire world. Inside, the room is adorned with more posters of female singers. There is a messy unmade bed, and the floor is littered with dirty socks. But there are also books everywhere, and Bella thinks that this is a girl for whom reading will be the best defense against depression.

  “Where do you borrow books from,” she asks, “the school library or the public library? Or is there one in Nairobi?”

  “She likes her books bought new,” Salif says.

  Bella says, “We’ll have to talk about that.”

  “The biggest bookshop is in the Yaya Center.”

  “Prices are exorbitant, aren’t they?”

  “Quite often five times more expensive than a book costs anywhere in the UK or the U.S.,” he says. “When you think of it, there is no way most people can afford to buy books at all here. Nor does Nairobi have any good secondhand bookshops. So many secondhand clothes stores, a number of which are run by the church, but no good secondhand bookstore.”

  Dahaba says, “For someone who seldom reads, Salif is making strange comments about the price of books, Auntie.”

  Salif still does not allow her comments to upset him. In his room, indeed, the bookcases are almost bare. In fact, there is hardly any clutter in the room at all. Everything seems to be in its right place except for the sports shoes that are arrayed on the lowest shelf of the bookcase. He does not seem eager for any of them to enter any farther. He closes the door to his room and says, “Auntie, let us show you to your room.”

  “Who has a key?” she asks.

  “We both do,” Dahaba says.

  “He was a good dad,” Dahaba says. She begins to weep again, but when Bella and Salif each reach out a hand to comfort her, she regains her composure, and they enter the room.

  Dahaba says, “Our dad had no secrets from us.”

  “Except when it came to work,” Salif says. Then they retreat to their respective rooms, Bella wanting to shower, Salif turning his computer on, and Dahaba starting to read a much dog-eared sci-fi novel.

  Just as Bella is undressing, she receives a text message from Valerie, who has checked into the hotel and wants to know where Bella is and how soon she can visit her children. Before Bella can even think how to respond, Salif calls from his room, saying that he too has received a text message. And then Dahaba receives a message as well.

  They meet in the kitchen and read the text messages they’ve received from Valerie, and Salif dictates a message, on which all three agree and which Dahaba is assigned to forward to their mum. “Just got back to Nairobi and we are too knackered to see you. But please come for dinner tomorrow evening at seven p.m., Mum.” And she provides her mother with detailed directions on how to get there and tells her to call if there is need.

  “Does that mean we’ll have to cook tonight?” asks Dahaba.

  “No, it doesn’t,” says Bella. “You can eat a takeaway of your choice here or I can take you to eat out and then I will drive you back home.”

  “What is your plan?”

&nbs
p; Bella says to Salif, “Your dad’s car keys first?”

  Salif runs up and comes back with the car keys.

  “We won’t eat in tonight,” she says.

  Salif says, “Cool.”

  “I want McDonald’s,” says Dahaba.

  “I want sushi,” says Salif.

  “Do you know the addresses of the restaurants?”

  Dahaba says, “We sure do.”

  “Here is the condition,” states Bella.

  Dahaba is quick to say, “We won’t fight, promise.”

  “Just wait. Do let Auntie tell us the condition.”

  “What is the condition?” asks Dahaba.

  “Since I need to get back to my hotel to get my remaining suitcases, I will bring you home; drive away; do an errand or two, including perhaps meeting your mum for a drink; and then come home,” says Bella.

  Dahaba says, “I want to meet Mum too.”

  Salif is of a different opinion. He says, “I think it is best that Auntie meets her alone first. We haven’t seen Mum for a very, very long time and waiting to see her for one more night won’t kill either of us since we’ve invited her for dinner.” Then he says to Dahaba, “What do you think, my little sister?”

  “Okay, we’ll meet her tomorrow,” agrees Dahaba. Then she adds, “But I want a Big Mac, one huge tub of ice cream, and a Diet Coke. And I want us to go right away. And let there be no argument.”

  —

  Bella goes to the car to get herself reacquainted with it. Dahaba sits in the front by her side, knowing that Salif is unlikely to make a fuss now because he sat by the driver earlier and because Dahaba acceded to Salif’s demand that Auntie Bella meet their mother outside their presence so they could talk about matters of adult concern.

  Bella turns the engine on while waiting for Salif to set the alarm. She lets it idle as she gets accustomed to where everything is. She engages the gears, pretending she is changing them, and then lets up on the clutch gently and moves forward half a meter—this startles Dahaba, who seems frightened by the suddenness of the move.

  Bella says, “Sorry.”