Free Crossbones by Nuruddin Farah

pirates had taken the ship close to their lair, within view of Hobyo. Several men from the Courts entered the fray, claiming that the pirates would not be allowed to hold hostage a ship that belonged to a Muslim nation. According to reports received in Minneapolis, it was this delegation for whom Taxliil had acted as translator.
    On another occasion, persistent rumor had it that Taxliil, whom “History” (the instructor of the unit to which he was seconded) looked upon with favor, because he had been teaching her English, was given the honor of escorting the envoys from the Courts to meet up with a delegation that had arrived in Kismayo following the capture of anIranian-flagged boat in Puntland. The ship moored near the ancient historical town of Eyl, along with several other ships held within view of the town. While the negotiations for the release of this ship dragged on for months, rumor spread in the town that the pirates assigned to guard it were starting to lose much of their hair and breaking out in rashes or suffering skin burns. One of the pirates spoke to the local press of exposure to radiation or heavy doses of chemical waste that the ship was carrying.
    Ahl is about to fall asleep when he hears the captain announce that they will be starting their descent into Djibouti in a few minutes and that the passengers must make sure their seat belts are on.

    In his hotel room, Ahl lies on the bed, fully clothed and waiting for a local SIM card so that he can send a text message to his wife and to Malik, to let them know of his safe arrival. The air conditioner is on, and so is Al Jazeera, blaring in Arabic. As he listens, he thinks how every decade brings its own political troubles: Palestinians hijack aircraft for political reasons; the Italian Red Brigades kidnap Aldo Moro; the German Baader-Meinhof group assassinates bankers and top government officials. Just like Al Qaeda and its offshoots, of whom Shabaab claims to be one, are doing in Somalia. Despite the differences in their modus operandi, the differences in the provenance of their adherents, the use of terrorism for political gain runs through them. There was a time, in the sixties, when university-based movements engaged in agitations, albeit not as deadly. At present, entire regions are considered “terrorist territories”; entire nations are said to “host terrorism.” Western commentators clued in on recent events add Islam to the equation, work it into the quandary, as if the idea to terrorize is in the Muslim’s genetic makeup, forgetting that more Muslims than non-Muslims die at the hands of terrorism.
    Now Ahl hears the maids in the corridor making a loud ruckus over a missing broom, nearly coming to blows over it. How he wishes Somalis in Minnesota showed the concern for their sons’ disappearance that these women do about a missing broom. The Somali imams at the mosques in Minnesota responsible for the young men’s disappearances go unchallenged. The feeling among Somalis is that it is a “clan thing.” The curse of it, Ahl thinks. Somalis, adept at surrounding themselves with smoke screens, relish confounding issues. You are seldom able to corner them, because they know how to give you the runaround.
    The phone in the room rings, reception telling him his SIM card has arrived. He collects it immediately, then sends brief messages to Yusur and Malik, giving them his Djibouti mobile number, which will be valid for only twenty-four hours. On learning that the airline offices reopen at four, he takes a nap.
    In a dream of a clear quality, he meets a Somali woman unknown to him in a room in an unfamiliar city. They talk about nothing in particular for a very long time. Then they go for a walk, up a mountain, into a valley of extreme greenery, the leaves shiny, the shade of the trees delicious. To make him speak, a masseuse offers him a massage.
    He wakes up, feeling rested.
    In search of something to eat, Ahl walks out of the hotel and turns