Knots Read Free Page A

memories—her living, active son wearing them. She will wait for a few days before deciding what to do and among whom to distribute them, gratis, no doubt.
    He says, “What do you say? Shall I take you to a who-die stall to buy a veil?”
    Cambara sidesteps his question, putting one to him herself. “Hadn’t you given up smoking many years before you left Toronto?” she asks.
    â€œYes, I did.”
    â€œThen why have you gone back?”
    â€œOne vice leads to another,” he says with a smirk.
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œ Qaat chewing is the first vice I’ve picked up coming here,” he says, waving his cigarette. “It passes the time.”
    â€œWhat does? Smoking?”
    â€œ Qaat chewing helps me to bear the aloneness of my everyday life,” he says. “You see, Mogadiscio is a metropolis with none of the amenities of one. There is nothing to do here: no nightclubs, no places of entertainment, and no bars in which to drown your sorrows, as even the taverns are dry of liquor. Only restaurants.”
    â€œNo cinemas?”
    â€œNone to speak of.”
    â€œNo theaters?”
    â€œNone,” he says.
    â€œWhat has become of the National Theatre?”
    â€œThe National Theatre is in the hands of a warlord whose militiamen have used the stage and props, as well as the desks, doors, ceiling boards, and every piece of timber, as firewood. The roof has collapsed, and everything else—the cisterns, the sinks and the bathtubs in the washroom, not to speak of the iron gates, the computers—all has been removed, vandalized, or sold off.”
    â€œWhat if someone wants to put on a show?”
    â€œIt would be a hit, but it will never happen.”
    â€œYou mean because of the warlords who run the city?” she asks.
    â€œOr the Islamic courts that will step in to stop it going ahead,” says Zaak.
    â€œOn what grounds?”
    â€œOn moral or theological grounds.”
    â€œBut you reckon ordinary folks will watch it?”
    â€œI reckon they would,” he replies.
    Cambara’s enthusiasm is unconcealed. “How do the armed youths entertain themselves when they have time on their gun-free hands?”
    Zaak replies, “They watch videocassettes of Hindi, Korean, Italian, or English movies.”
    â€œSurely they are not schooled in these languages?”
    â€œThe movies are dubbed into Somali.”
    â€œDubbed? By whom?”
    Chuffed, Zaak is clearly pleased that he has for once impressed Cambara with his knowledge about something of which she hasn’t an idea.
    â€œThere is a burgeoning dubbing industry in Mogadiscio,” he says. “There are also kung fu films, locally produced and entirely shot here.”
    â€œWhere are they shown?”
    â€œIn the buildings that once belonged to the collapsed state, which are now free-for-all, run-down, and populated by the city’s squatters. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the city polytechnics, the secondary schools.”
    â€œHow are the films distributed?”
    â€œThe Zanzibaris, who have come fleeing from the fighting in their country,” Zaak informs her, “have cornered this side of the business. They have total control, Mafia-like.”
    â€œHave you seen the dubbed movies yourself?”
    â€œNo, I haven’t.”
    Maybe he has time only for qaat , she thinks, then she asks, “Do you know anyone who has?”
    He shakes his head. “No.”
    She needs to get in touch with Kiin, the manager of Maanta Hotel, who, according to Raxma, a close friend of Cambara’s back in Toronto, is well connected and might serve the salient purpose of Cambara’s accessing information about the videocassettes, and building local contacts, including the Women’s Network, which may help her with all sorts of matters.
    Cambara will admit that she has made a faux pas arriving in Mogadiscio unprepared, with no addresses and no