Gifts - Softcover

Farah, Nuruddin

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0140296425 ISBN 13: 9780140296426

Publisher: Penguin, 2000

Synopsis

Gifts is a beguiling tale of a Somali family, its strong matriarch, Duniya, and its past wounds that refuse to heal. As the story unfolds, Somalia is ravaged by war, drought, disease, and famine, prompting industrialized nations to offer monetary aid—"gifts" to the so-called Third World. Farah weaves these threads together into a tapestry of dreams, memories, family lore, folktales, and journalistic accounts.

About this title

About the Authors

Nurudin Farah is the author of nine novels, including From a Crooked Rib,Links and his Blood in the Sun trilogy: Maps, Gifts, andSecrets. His novels have been translated into seventeen languages and have won numerous awards. Farah was named the 1998 laureate of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature, "widely regarded as the most prestigious international literary award after the Nobel" (The New York Times). Born in Baidoa, Somalia, he now lives in Cape Town, South Africa, with his wife and their children.

Nurudin Farah is the author of nine novels, including From a Crooked Rib,Links and his Blood in the Sun trilogy: Maps, Gifts, andSecrets. His novels have been translated into seventeen languages and have won numerous awards. Farah was named the 1998 laureate of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature, "widely regarded as the most prestigious international literary award after the Nobel" (The New York Times). Born in Baidoa, Somalia, he now lives in Cape Town, South Africa, with his wife and their children.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Gifts

By Nuruddin Farah

Penguin Books

Copyright © 2000 Nuruddin Farah
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0140296425

Chapter One

In which Duniya sees the outlines of a story emerging from the mist surrounding her, as the outside world impinges on her space and thoughts.

Duniya had been awake for a while, conscious of the approachingdawn. She had dreamt of a restless butterfly; of a cat waitingattentively for the fretful insect's shadow to stay still for aninstant so as to pounce on it. Then the dark room lit up with the brightnessof fireflies, agitated breaths of light, soft, quiet as foam. Faint fromheat, Duniya watched the goings-on, supine. The butterfly flew hereand there, movements mesmeric in its circling rainbow of colours. Asif hypnotized, the cat's eyes closed slowly, dramatically, and it fell asleep.

    Fully awake, Duniya got out of bed.

Knowing she had to walk to work, she left home long before her childrenwere up. She had timed herself on previous occasions: it wouldtake forty-five minutes at a luxurious pace, allowing time for exchangingelaborate morning greetings and yesterday's gossip with any neighboursor colleagues she might meet.

    In the event she only nodded a few times, acknowledging salutationswithout pause as if she did not know those who spoke them. Sheaverted her eyes from several men in the side street, men in sarongs,towels draped round naked chests, men gargling gregariously, chewingon rumay sticks to clean their teeth. Duniya needed no reminder thatthe half-mud, half-brick houses in front of which these men stood hadno running water, no wash-basins, no proper toilet facilities. She livedin one of the few houses in this district of Mogadiscio that boasted suchamenities.

    Wherever one looked, people were pouring out of opened doors.The streets were alive with activity: women chatting volubly withneighbours; groups of uniformed children on their way to school;infants, too small to carry their satchels, being led to kindergarten.Here and there someone was busy siphoning petrol from one vehicleinto another. Most cars had an abandoned look, their bonnets up,engines cold. Occasionally one was driven past and everyone wouldstare, first at the vehicle as if seeing a miracle, then at the person at thewheel, perhaps hoping for a lift. The one time a taxi stopped, crowdsconverged on it and there was a scuffle, whereupon the driver sped off,safe in his securely locked car.

    Contrary to expectation, there was a touch of gaiety in the air, withtotal strangers willing to engage in conversation on any topic, thoughuppermost in everyone's mind were the scarcity of fuel and the increasinglyfrequent power cuts. Some people spoke knowledgeably aboutthe politics of commodity shortages, guessing how long this would last.A man claiming to be in the know spoke of a government delegationgoing on a mission to the oil-producing Arab countries in the hope ofreturning with tankerfuls of petrol.

    Duniya crossed an asphalt road which, though not sign-postedas such, was the boundary between two districts, one poor, in whichshe herself lived, the other middle-class if not well-to-do. Fromthe nature of the conversation and the accents, she knew she wasin Hodan. She entered a dirt road linking two tarred streets, a broad roadthat was quiet as a cul-de-sac. Suddenly, she felt violently upset; thesurrounding silence disturbed her, making her breathing erratic. Seizedwith inexplicable fear, she sensed a chill in her bones, as if she had venturedinto dangerous territory. She halted, not wanting to go further.

    It was then that she spotted a cat resembling the one in her dream,crouched fearlessly before her, waiting to be picked up and cuddled. ButDuniya did neither. She and the cat stared at each other and thisincreased her awareness of inner stress.

    A few seconds later she saw in the hazy distance what at firstseemed to be a butterfly with colourful wings revolving like spinning-tops.To her delighted surprise, it turned out to be a red-and-yellow-stripedtaxi, empty.

    She got in, speaking not a word, and made herself comfortable inthe back seat. Something told her not to interrogate her luck lest itshould flee, but she did wonder if hiring the cab on her own mightprove an exorbitant affair on a day like this. A discreet look in her walletreassured her. But why wasn't the man moving? Had he spottedother potential passengers wanting to share? Then she realized she hadnot closed the taxi door. She clicked it shut and the car moved.

    The driver touched the peak of the golf cap he wore, asking,"Where would you like me to take you, Madam?"

    "Maternity Benaadir Hospital, please."

    "At your service, Madam."

    Duniya tried to dismiss a lurking suspicion: the man didn't talk, actor look like a taxi-driver. Phrases like "At your service, Madam"pinched his tongue in the way that new shoes press tightly on one's toes.He drove hesitantly, cautious with the controls, as if more accustomedto automatic transmission than manual gears. He reminded her of aninexperienced rider in the saddle of an unbroken horse. Several timesthe car stalled and he got out, apologizing, opened the bonnet, pulledat its wiry intestines, then got back in, only to repeat the process. Hedid not appear anxious, nor behave like a professional driver whoselivelihood depended on the vehicle functioning. Rather, he was like aman condescending to cook for you while his maid and wife were bothaway: not wanting to be remembered for the ill-prepared result but forthe humility with which he served you, the effort put into the task.

    Moving at cruising speed, he said, "As you may have gathered, I'mnot familiar with the idiosyncrasies of this taxi."

    Then Duniya saw her face and his framed in the mirror, as if theyhad both waited all their lives for this one instant when their visagesshared the space, sealed in a common fate. He was grinning, his jawstrong, his face shaven smooth as oilcloth, shining a friendly smile. Itgave her an eerie sinking feeling, as if the earth were falling from underher. All of a sudden she did not want to be alone with him. Concurrentlya realization came to her that she knew this man, knew his name.

    "Why pretend to be someone you're not, Bosaaso?" she asked him.

    "I'm afraid I've no idea what you're talking about," he replied.

    "Disguise comes in handy to you men as soon as you run out ofyour natural masks. Men," she trailed off, as if the word described aspecies for which she had nothing but disdain.

    She looked up at the sky. The sun seemed held in place by thinstilt-like strands of cloud, white as the branch of a deciduous tree withoutbark. Below the sun were two tiny dark clouds resembling footrests.

    She and Bosaaso knew each other all right. She had been on nightshift when his late wife spent a few laborious days in intensive care atthe maternity hospital where Duniya was a senior nurse. Besides, theyhad a mutual friend in Dr Mire, principal obstetrician at the hospitaland a boyhood friend of Bosaaso's.

     "If I had known this was not a taxi I wouldn't have flagged it down,I promise you," she said.

    "But it isn't a taxi when I'm driving it," Bosaaso said.

    "Why are you driving it anyway?"

    "Because my own car is being serviced, that's why."

    "None of this makes sense to me."

    Bosaaso tried to explain: "I bought this taxi for a poor cousin ofmine, who drives it so he can raise money. All income from taxiing ishis, though the car remains mine and in my name." He sighed, sensingthat he had been long-winded.

    "In that case, I'd like to pay."

    "Pay?" He sounded offended.

    "You may choose to give the money to your cousin." She paused."Would a hundred and fifty shillings be enough for a town trip, giventoday's fuel shortage?"

    "Sure," Bosaaso said.

    But she sensed that he did not take her offer seriously. To counteracther hurt feelings, she gave a theatrical chuckle, pretending to beamused.

    "What's so funny?" he said.

    "The thought that one defers to money," she replied.

    He hung on her words like an angler to a rich catch. But hecouldn't frame her face in his mirror, however much he adjusted it. Shehad gone very quiet in the back. He looked over his left shoulder andthen his right, but saw no Duniya. Impervious to what he was doingor that he might meet other vehicles, he impulsively turned his headright around. Still he could see only a small part of her; her body wasbent over—maybe she was picking up something from the floor.Then he lost control of the steering-wheel. The car swung, its tyresbumping against one kerb and then another, nearly colliding with thebumper of a vehicle that was parked off the road. Finally he came to asafe halt.

    Suddenly the two of them were exaggeratedly conscious of eachother's presence, aware of their physical proximity for the first time.Disregarding a small crowd that out of curiosity had gathered aroundthe car, Duniya and Bosaaso touched, marvelling at having shared alife-and-death experience, at having stopped in good time before crossinga threshold.

    Without him suggesting it, Duniya got out of the back of the taxiand went to sit with him in the front. He removed his golf cap and threwit out of the window. They started to move.

    Duniya noticed how his smile emphasized the handsomeness of hisfeatures. And he had a habit of tilting his head to one side as thoughleaning against something; and he wrinkled his forehead, like someonein private trouble.

    Duniya remembered the night she and Bosaaso had been togetherlongest. While his wife, then in labour, was asleep in the private ward,they tiptoed outside for some fresh air. He didn't say much; and hishead, she recalled, had inclined like the tower of Pisa.

     He was now saying, "About your paying for this journey, if Imay ...," and he fell quiet.

    "Yes?" she said, and waited.

    "Do you ever go to the cinema with your daughters and son?" heasked tentatively.

    "Now and then," she lied.

    "What kind of films do you see?"

    Wondering where it was all leading, she said, "The odd spaghettiwestern, or an Indian or kung fu film; there isn't much choice. Why doyou ask?"

    He didn't say anything immediately. Entering a difficult lane heconcentrated on his driving. His indicator was not working, so he stuckhis arm out of the window to show that he was turning right. However,first he braked in order to let a pedestrian cross the road. Duniya notedhe was a careful man, considerate too.

    Changing gear smoothly, he said, "I suggest you take me to a filmwith you and your children, instead of paying anything today."

    "But I don't know when I'll next be seeing a film," she said.

    "There's no hurry," he replied.

    Was this some sort of male trap that would be impossible to undoat a later date, like links of an invisible chain?

    "Perhaps you don't have time," he said, "what with grown-up twinsand a young daughter to look after." He added as an afterthought, "Andyour work at the hospital. It must all be extremely demanding. Plusother engagements, I'm sure."

    Surprising them both, she said, "I have plenty of time."

    He didn't speak for a while. Then: "Perhaps I'm too slow. Or isthere a catch? Is there something you haven't told me yet?"

    "To be frank, I'm not sure I want to take anyone to a film."

    "Fair enough," he said, as he turned a corner.

    She hoped she hadn't been unnecessarily off-putting. From thecorner of her eye, she watched him switch on the car's hazard lightwhich blinked red, in time with her heartbeat. He was looking at herintently, wondering if he dared interrupt her thoughts.

    In fact she spoke first. "I hope I haven't been rude."

    "You'll be forgiven the instant you invite me," he said.

    "I've no way of reaching you anyway."

    "On the contrary," he said. "You're a very resourceful woman;you'll know how to get in touch if you want to."

    Too tense to think dearly, she remained silent.

    "One way of reaching me," he went on, "is through Dr Mire atyour hospital. I see him a great deal, almost daily."

    "Wouldn't he be put out by being asked to carry messages?"

    "He'll be only too delighted, I assure you." He grinned, dividinghis attention equally between Duniya's face and the road, which was fullof pot-holes and pedestrians.

    He brought the vehicle to an abrupt stop. "I am afraid I can't gobeyond this point. There's a sign that says `No taxis.' I forgot I'm notdriving my private car. I'm sorry."

    Sitting up, she prepared for the difficult task of saying somethingwise or neutral, managing, "You've been very kind."

    "My pleasure," was all he said.

    Murmuring something that was a cross between a "thank-you" anda "see-you," she stepped out of the car, confident they would meetagain. She closed the taxi door without looking at him.

    Having arrived early, Duniya conversed affably and at length withthe three cleaning women, even offering to help them tidy the Outpatients'Clinic where she was to work that day. But they wouldn't hearof it. She did all she could to keep her mind busy.

    But when the cleaners left and she was alone in the echoing hall,her mind kept replaying scenes from the chance encounter withBosaaso. To while away time, she unearthed an old newspaper in whichshe discovered an item of interest:

MOGADISCIO (SONNA, TUESDAY)

The Secretary of Agriculture and Livestock today warned of impending disaster and famine in Somalia unless immediate action is taken to terminate the breeding cycle of the desert locust. Mogadiscio residents recently witnessed huge swarms, 25 km wide and 70 km long. He said the government is launching a campaign to eradicate the pests but this can only be achieved with the help of insecticide and light aircraft for spraying, which are not available. A grant towards the campaign has been promised by the governments of the USA and the Netherlands. However, this was not enough.

The Head of State, Major-General Mohammed Siyad Barre, has invited the ambassadors of the Federal Republic of Germany, Britain, France and Italy to consider what assistance their governments can offer Somalia to cope with the disaster. Last night five light aircraft belonging to the East African Locust Organization were grounded in Addis Ababa through lack of spare parts and fuel.

Quoting a senior official of the UN Food and Agriculture Organization, the Secretary of Agriculture and Livestock said efforts to fight the plague throughout Africa had cost at least $100 million and that additional funds of over $145 million will be needed in the coming year.

Continues...

Excerpted from Giftsby Nuruddin Farah Copyright © 2000 by Nuruddin Farah. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Penguin
• Publication date: 2000
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0140296425
• ISBN 13: 9780140296426
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 256