revealed, he had no idea how to find the housekeeper, who was actually in his employ, in that he paid her salary in the form of monthly remittances from America, directly into her account in Mogadiscio. Jeebleh was sure the housekeeper held the key to many secrets, and he was eager to talk with her.
âDonât you have any blood relations in the city who might know?â the Major asked.
Although he was tempted, Jeebleh chose not to talk about his motive to visit, or admit that he was hoping he might be able to locate his motherâs story in the context of the bigger national narrative. So he kept it simple: âThere are no surviving relations that I know of, or that Iâm in touch with. But I have a couple of friends I plan to look up, and Iâm pretty sure theyâll help in leading me to where my mother is buried.â
âHow odd!â The Major sounded shocked.
âWhat?â
âI cannot believe that you have friends in the city, but no surviving blood relations.â He repeated the word âfriends,â pronouncing it with a mocking distaste. âThis is what America does to you.â
âWhatâs America done to me?â
âItâs made you forget who you are.â
âNo, it hasnât.â
âYouâll see for yourself when youâve been here for a couple of days that there are no longer âfriendsâ you can trust, anywhere in this country,â the Major asserted. âHere we donât think of âfriendsâ anymore. We rely on our clansmen, on those sharing our ancestral blood.â
âI find it hard to believe that you donât have friends,â Jeebleh said.
âOnly a fool not in touch with the realities of this country and our current history would insist on placing âfriendsâ above the station occupied by blood relations.â
The driver shook his head. âI donât agree with you, my dear cousin,â he said. âYou and I know that even in the worst times of the civil war, many of us have been saved, given shelter, and then helped to safety by our friends.â
âThis is no longer the case, and you know it!â the Major replied. âLetâs not kid ourselves with these and other lies. Nor is it that this fellow doesnât have any surviving blood relations hereâhe has plenty of them. Only he chooses to have nothing to do with them, believing theyâll relieve him of his American money, which he doesnât wish to share with them. He thinks our reliance on blood kinship is backward and primitive. He is saying that he has money, that his family is safe and in America, that he belongs to the twenty-first century, while we belong to the thirteenth. Canât you see what heâs saying?â
The driver said, âNo, I canât.â
âHeâs saying that weâre backward fools, because we think of our kinsmen. Listen to him. Heâs here not to visit the country or some relations, but to call at his motherâs grave. And on his way to her tomb, heâll make the time to look up a couple of his old friends. Heâs a modern man. Weâre primitive, we have our heads in the sand.â
The militiaman with the cast said, âI think he should go to the south of the city, where theyâre all crazy, to look for his motherâs grave. I agree with the Major, thereâs something wrong with this man!â
The driver winced like a parent in whose presence a child has been rude to a guest.
The Major now launched into a new tirade on how people like Jeebleh were on show-off visits âas false as their teeth.â He devoted a few enraged remarks to their mannerisms, their clothes, their shoulder bags, the Samsonites-on-wheels in which they carried steam irons with which to press their stonewashed jeans. âThe man is here to be gawked at,â he said. âYou can bet he left America after paying a visit to his dentist,