North of Dawn Page 16

  She remembers the wonderful times they had when he was young and a constant companion to her son. She had always thought him a handsome youth, with his Cupid’s bow lips, blond hair, athletic build, and charming personality, and she recalls many a girl wanting to kiss him. In her freer moments, she will not deny she had a crush on him as well, though this was no more than an occasional feeling and never lasted long. In life, there is always a lucky girl.

  Of Fredrik’s partner, Johan says, looking in his son’s direction, “It is commendable that Fredrik seldom complained when she traveled on assignments to dangerous cities like Aleppo or Mosul, and spent such long periods away, the two often barely seeing each other.” Then he rises, saying he needs a refill on his drink, and walks to the liquor cabinet. “Anyone else? What will you have?”

  Mugdi would very much like a stiff drink, but is unsure if his mind approves of it, or if his heart can take it. In the end, he says, “A tall glass of mineral water, with a slice of lemon, please.”

  “Are you sure?” asks Johan.

  “Give the man what he wants and don’t needle him with your questions,” Birgitta reprimands her husband. “He wants a tall glass of mineral water.”

  Gacalo wonders from this exchange if perhaps Johan has been guzzling large quantities of alcohol and Birgitta suspects he wants Mugdi to partake as well. Drinking the hard stuff has never troubled Johan, who can manage any amount from morning until bedtime. It is amazing how little he would be affected by it. Not so Mugdi.

  “What about you, Gacalo?”

  “I would love some water for now,” she says. She is pleased this meets everyone’s approval, especially Birgitta’s.

  Johan doesn’t bother to ask what Naciim wants. He gets water for Gacalo in a tall glass, like Mugdi’s. They all sit in silence, until Fredrik says to Naciim, “Did your stepfather prepare you for life without him before he committed suicide, knowing that he wouldn’t live long?”

  Taken aback, Naciim stares at Fredrik, as Birgitta jumps in and says, “No doubt he prepared his family for the troubles they might have once they arrived, aware he would no longer be around,” before falling silent once more, head down to avoid catching anyone’s eyes.

  Gacalo then steps into the breach and addresses her words to Fredrik, as though seeking his endorsement. “Dhaqaneh readied this bright-eyed boy for what was to come.”

  Mugdi is eager to change the thrust of the conversation. He wants Fredrik to talk about his interest in the stories of the Norwegian migrants to North America, a subject that served as the kernel of Fredrik’s PhD thesis, whose publication will be in a few months’ time. “Tell us also what you are currently working on, in terms of research.”

  Naciim sits back and listens, glad the focus is no longer on him.

  Fredrik replies, “I am at work on a comparative analysis of the first Norwegians to settle in Minnesota and the Somalis—the most recent arrivals. And I’m coming around to the idea that you can’t do well in a new country if you don’t have a good measure of the one you left behind.”

  “Please explain,” says Gacalo.

  “The Norwegians who migrated to North America were poor farmers in need of land to farm. Their arrival in the US in the early 1860s coincided with the mass hanging of Native Americans at Mankato during Lincoln’s presidency. That mass execution provided the Norwegians with land on the cheap, at times for less than a dollar an acre. Later, farmland in Minnesota was cheaper still when even more Native Americans were driven off the land and Europeans were arriving by the shipload. With land—that really belonged to others—given to them for next to nothing, and the easy availability of credit, it is no surprise that they were successful. And of course in terms of weather, winter in Minnesota is no worse than what the Norwegians had known back home.”

  “What about the Somalis then?” Johan asks.

  Fredrik answers, “Both in Minnesota and Norway, the Somalis have come en masse as refugees, many with little or no education. They found the climate in both Norway and Minnesota disagreeably cold, very different from back home; nor was it easy to adjust to their new circumstances—the Somalis arrived damaged from the scars of war in both Norway and the US, while the Norwegians landed in the Dakotas full of hope and helped by the situation they found: plenty of land and support from the state. The Norwegians were welcomed with open arms, as a desired race that was good for the new country, whereas here in Norway, the Somalis are very much unwelcome, being black Muslim refugees at a time when migration is now viewed both as a political problem and as a threat to the Norwegians’ continued existence as a ‘pure race.’ Right-wing groups see the Somalis as real pests, worse than bubonic plagues.”

  Birgitta affirms what her son has said, adding, “Moreover, the Somalis are seen as a burden on the social welfare system, a lazy lot unwilling to adapt to their new country or integrate.”

  “In the Dakotas, the Norwegian migrants were told that they held their fate in their own hands and would either sink or swim. Here in Norway, because the state offers the Somalis enough to get by, they are not required to earn their upkeep by the sweat of their brow. There’s no dignity in relying on handouts, that’s for sure,” Fredrik says.

  “But there are no employment possibilities here,” Johan objects, “unlike Canada and the US. Besides, Norway is too small to create jobs as an export-based market economy.”

  Now Mugdi jumps in, saying to Gacalo’s mild annoyance, “And we Somalis refuse to do certain jobs on account of being Muslim.”

  Mugdi’s words introduce a new elephant into the room, one occupying far more space than anyone is willing to allow it. Naciim, who has finished eating, fidgets restlessly. He wants to take his plate to the kitchen sink but waits for his hosts’ permission.

  Gacalo is the first adult to indicate that she too is done. They soon break into smaller groups as Naciim helps collect the plates and follows Birgitta into the kitchen.

  Mugdi finally brings the evening to an end an hour before midnight, and they leave for home, tired and, despite the dinner’s occasional awkwardness, mostly happy. Mugdi ascribes this happiness to the fact that, for the first time in a long while, no one has mentioned Waliya’s name.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gacalo took ill the following day.

  Timiro telephones her dad to ask after his and her mum’s health, and to let them know that she is in London. He asks, “What urgent business takes you there?”

  She says, “I’m just here for twenty-four hours to finalize the divorce.”

  “And how is that coming along?”

  “Thanks to Eugenia,” Timiro replies, “I’ve got an appointment with an attorney first thing tomorrow, and plan to fly back to Geneva late in the afternoon after the consultation.”

  “And how are Kaluun and Eugenia?”

  “They send their love.”

  “And how is Mum doing?”

  “Back to her usual self, full of gumption.”

  “Can I talk to her please?”

  “She’s gone to see her doctor for tests and such. But I’ll let her know that you called and asked after her.”

  “And how is that woman faring?”

  He knows who “that woman” is and he tells her that lately there have been new and positive developments that involve Saafi.

  “New developments? Let me hear them.”

  He explains all the brouhaha involving Naciim, the flag-waving, and his mother and how Saafi entered the fray. He goes on, “Mum and I didn’t think that Saafi had it in her to stand up to Waliya. But when Waliya threatened that she would give Naciim the beating of his life if he defied her instructions one more time, Saafi not only defended Naciim with vigor, but also reminded them that it was not their place to speak of matters that are not of their concern. She added that Naciim had the right to have a bit of fun so long as his actions are inoffensive to the community an
d our faith.”

  Timiro asks, “Your source for this?”

  “Naciim is my primary source and when I met Saafi, she confirmed it.”

  “Where are they, as we speak?”

  “He’s at school,” replies Mugdi, “but she is home with me and has just given me verse and chapter of what happened. My feeling is she is here to stay.”

  “She’ll no longer help at the nursery?”

  “I doubt she will.”

  “How is Waliya reacting to this?”

  Mugdi says, “It’s is fair to assume that she’s understandably steamed up over what has occurred. And even though she views our stance as one of betrayal, she knows that we are much easier to deal with than the Child Welfare Services that would take them away and punish her. From what Naciim has told us, she is angry that we are allowing them to stay here, but she can’t or won’t say anything.”

  “Please help me get this right. Are you saying that Saafi has braved her mother’s meanness and fought off the imam and his deputy all on her own, despite the obvious pressures?”

  “She did,” replies Mugdi.

  “I wish I were there to witness it.”

  “We’re happy to have her here.”

  “So you have both with you as you speak?”

  “He is at school, she is home with me.”

  “If she’s willing to be alone with you, can it mean that she is no longer afflicted with androphobia?”

  “We’re in no position to draw this conclusion. We can only say that Mum has the situation well in hand, and she’s continued to take Saafi to Qumman, the therapist.”

  “Well, I’d like to help anyway I can,” Timiro says.

  “Perhaps Saafi can eventually join you in Geneva?”

  “I’d love that,” says Timiro. “It would be wonderful to have her around. In Geneva, she could learn a new language, French, and also help with the baby. But tell me. How is Naciim doing?”

  “He too is in a defiant mood and wishes to prove he is no pushover. According to the boy, the set-to between him and his mother started well before the flag brouhaha, when it became obvious that Fanax is sweet on Saafi, has made his advances to the girl known, and his mother didn’t take the appropriate stand to discourage his moves.”

  “My God, how preposterous!”

  Mugdi then says, “Wait, please wait,” as Timiro hears him exchange a few words with a young female voice. Then he says, “That was Saafi on her way down to the kitchen. She sends you her best.”

  Timiro says, “Give her mine too.”

  Then before either of them hangs up, she adds, “And my love to Mum.”

  “Give ours to Kaluun and Eugenia.”

  * * *

  In London that evening, Timiro, Kaluun, and Eugenia gather at the couple’s favorite local restaurant, where Kaluun has booked a table. He orders sautéed scaloppini, Timiro all’arrabbiata, and Eugenia sole in white wine. As their drinks arrive, Timiro brings them up to speed on the latest goings-on in Oslo. Eugenia, for her part, updates Timiro on the arrangements she has made for tomorrow’s appointment with the attorney.

  Once the waiter sets down their plates, Timiro revisits her telephone conversation with her father and rehashes Saafi’s difficulties. “Does either of you remember the riddle in which there is a man in a boat who has to ferry to the other side of the river a goat, a lion, and a tuft of grass, conscious of the intractability of each?”

  “I’ve heard this riddle, yes, but told with a tiger instead,” says Eugenia.

  “In other words, how does one manage the continued safety of a girl as beautiful and as delicately put together as Saafi, who ‘attracts’ the violence that is of a piece with maleness?”

  Kaluun cannot figure out the relevance of the riddle to Saafi’s story and makes as if to interrupt, before Eugenia shushes him.

  They listen to Timiro as she says, “The first day I set eyes on the girl, she didn’t want to be anywhere near my dad. And when I pointed this out, Mum said that it is understandable Saafi would feel unsafe wherever men are. Keep in mind that she has already had to endure being ferried across an ocean, following a brutal gang rape at the refugee camp in Kenya. How can you guarantee that no further harm will come her way when her mother is determined to practically hand the girl over to Imam Fanax, who is lusting after her?”

  Kaluun helps unpack the question in a bid to make Eugenia and Timiro understand. He says, “It is precisely because Waliya is determined to protect her daughter, knowing what she has been through, that she arranges for the imam to marry her.”

  “But that is absurd,” says Eugenia.

  “It probably is absurd and brutal, from where you stand. However, according to the Somali or Islamist tradition to which Waliya is loyal, a married woman is a ‘protected’ woman. Marrying Saafi off guarantees the girl’s protection.”

  Eugenia comments on the shocking number of rapes that have recently come to light and says, “Girls whatever their age, women whatever their position in society, have never been completely safe, whether at home or in the streets or on public transport or in their workplaces. That we now can speak openly about these attacks and condemn them is something to commend.”

  A long, brooding silence follows, in which Timiro thinks of all the rapes that are the consequences of powerful men claiming their so-called rights to the bodies of women; rapes that are the result of civil wars; rapes that come about because young girls are married off to men in their sixties, seventies, or even eighties.

  Then Timiro’s eyes falls on a man with the physical features commonly associated with the peoples of the Horn of Africa. The man has in front of him a large meal and he samples now the meat, now the brussels sprouts, now the pasta, now the fish, now the rice, and now the T-bone steak. Timiro cannot make sense of what the man is doing, whereas Eugenia thinks the man is most likely a food critic writing for a journal, though perhaps he is consuming large quantities of food all on his own, attempting some feat like a Guinness world record.

  Kaluun calls a waiter over, as he too is curious about what the man is doing. The waiter gives what Kaluun thinks of as a tongue-in-cheek explanation, saying, “The man says that he hails from a famine country to which he is returning, and having found himself in the land of plenty, wants to eat enough to keep him going for a week or so, like a ruminant, blessed with a stomach that has several compartments.”

  After the waiter is gone, Timiro says, “He is pulling our leg.”

  Eugenia says, “It reminds me that when I was young and I didn’t eat the food my mother placed before me, she scolded me to think of all the hungry Ethiopian children who had nothing to eat. That used to frighten me out of my wits and I would eat my food.”

  * * *

  The phone is ringing as they return to Eugenia and Kaluun’s apartment. When Eugenia grabs it, it is Gacalo, saying she wishes to speak to all three of them separately.

  Gacalo talks first with Eugenia, asking a number of questions about the business that brought Timiro to London: how the process of filing for divorce is going, and whether, in Eugenia’s opinion, her daughter will stay the course or quit before the final resolution of the case. Their conversation lasts no longer than five minutes, then Gacalo asks her to put Kaluun on the line.

  Gacalo shares with Kaluun the shocking revelation that Xirsi, Timiro’s soon-to-be ex-husband, is in Oslo. “The scoundrel called our home on the off-chance that I would answer it, but he got Mugdi instead, who rudely wanted to know why he was phoning. Xirsi said that it was his understanding that Timiro was in Oslo and could he put her on please? And because it took long for Mugdi to confirm that he would put her on or even to say anything, Xirsi volunteered that he was now in Lillehammer attending a conference and that before coming to Norway, he had called the flat in Geneva and there was no answer, rang her number at work and a woman informed him she had no idea whe
re Timiro was. Mugdi said, “Timiro is not here,” and left it at that. But when Xirsi continued to insist that he knew otherwise, and that, in fact, a mutual friend of his and hers assured him that he had seen her in town a day or two ago, Mugdi told him to sod off and hung up on him.”

  “Where are you going with this?” asks Kaluun.

  Gacalo says, “I just want you to beware and to remember that Xirsi is a schemer, and you should do all you can to strengthen Timiro’s resolve to file the papers if you sense that she is starting to waver in her determination to divorce him.”

  The phrase “O ye of little faith” enters his mind as his conversation with Gacalo comes to an end, and he tells Timiro that her mother wishes to speak to her.

  Timiro, when she comes to the phone, senses that her mother is cross. Timiro is cross as well, though her anger is directed at Imam Fanax and Zubair, two men taking advantage of a confused woman.

  “Dad told me earlier that Saafi is staying with you,” says Timiro. “He seemed optimistic about her current state. Tell me, how do you think she’s doing?”

  “I think given the circumstances, she’s doing quite well. Qumman has succeeded in helping Saafi regain her sense of self and encouraged her to stand up to the combined bullying of Fanax and her mother. And so she did, by saying she has had enough of it, and leaving to come here. She’s no longer prepared to be submissive.”

  “And what have you been up to?

  Gacalo says she has been teaching Saafi a few basic things, including encouraging her to grow in self-confidence in her decision making, something that Qumman has been trying to instill in the girl. She has been helping her with her Norwegian too, assisting her in accepting her new way of carrying herself, of dressing, and making sure that she is comfortable “in her new self, her new skin.” She has taken her once to the gym to practice her swimming. There is some evidence that she has benefited from seeing Qumman and spending more quality with Grandma.