Hiding in Plain Sight (27 page)

“I recall our Somali neighbors in Uganda,” Padmini says, “and after we relocated to England, we had Somali neighbors in our area of town too. In Uganda, they struck me as the most colorful people, their clothes far more beautiful than any sari. In England, however, where there is a growing population of Somalis, they are unsmiling, their expressions dour, and they dress all in gray.”

“What do the two lots of Somalis have in common?” asks Salif, “the Somalis of your childhood in Uganda and the Somalis in England?”

Padmini says, “They are all a noisy lot.”

“What else?” Salif asks.

“In Uganda, their daughters are irresistibly fetching, unlike any I have seen. In fact, I can trace my fascination with women's faces and bodies to this period of my life. I envied them their irresistibility! But they had no time for me. Look at Bella, and look at Dahaba, both of you lookers in your own ways. It would be criminal to deprive us of the pleasure to see either of you.”

Valerie asks Bella, “Are veiling and infibulation linked in any way?”

“No link whatsoever.”

Padmini says, “Is there a difference between infibulation or female circumcision and genital mutilation, which seems to be the term these days?”

“None,” replies Bella. “Both terms describe the total removal of the clitoris, a most terrible barbarity to which our Somali society subjects women.”

Valerie makes as if she has to choke, as if she can't bring herself to ask the question she means to ask. Then she takes a large sip of her drink so as to gain the mad courage to speak, and she says to Bella, “I've always meant to ask but haven't dared to. Did the brutes do it to you too?”

Salif is shocked into silence. Padmini looks up at the ceiling. Even Dahaba disapprovingly says, “Mum, how can you?”

But Bella coolly answers, “My mother spared me that.”

“Just as Aar spared our daughter, right?”

In the silence that follows, Bella watches with no small shock as Salif brings out a cigarette pack and a lighter. Holding a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, he rolls it and turns it and sniffs at it. Bella can't tell if he is trying to provide a distraction or provoke a reaction from everyone present, especially his mother. Will she rant and rail, advise him against smoking? But Bella won't say anything, given that Valerie is here.

Bella remembers when she was Salif's age, maybe even a year younger, and she lit her first cigarette at a friend's party. Later at school, she and her classmates would hide and puff away, doing all they could to avoid detection or punishment. At home, she would pilfer the odd cigarette from Aar, who by then was a heavy smoker. Despite his disapproval, Bella's habit grew, and she smoked on and off until eight years ago, when she kicked the habit with considerable difficulty, not because she wished to please her mother or brother and not for health reasons, but because once antismoking laws began to be passed, she hated belonging to the smokers' parliaments huddled outside bars and buildings, puffing away together to feed their nicotine cravings.

In any event, Salif doesn't light his cigarette. After playing with the cigarette for a while, he replaces the lighter in his shirt pocket and lodges the cigarette above his right ear.

Valerie says nothing about the incident and then changes the subject altogether. She says to Salif, “Apropos of visiting us in India, would you like it if we found you a school in our town?”

“As things stand now, we wouldn't,” he says.

“We've been uprooted enough times, Mum,” says Dahaba. “We would like to complete school here.”

“What about schooling in the UK?”

“We are happy here, Mum,” says Dahaba.

And Salif says, “We don't want to live in the UK.”

“Why don't you think you would be happy in England?”

“Black boys my age have big problems in England. Often, they run into trouble with the school authorities or with the neighborhood police. I'd be viewed as a threat to the established order run for the benefit of those of a color different from mine.”

“Would Dahaba be viewed with the same lens?” asks Padmini, and she looks at Bella, as if willing her to say something.

“Girls fare better,” says Salif.

“Why is that so?” Padmini asks.

“Because they are not seen as a threat.”

“Who have you been talking to about England?” asks Padmini.

Salif gives the matter serious thought. Then he says, “I follow the news. In England, I could easily end up in a detention cell for being black, male, young, and for bearing a Muslim name.”

“You speak with clarity,” says Padmini. “I am impressed.”

And with that, they are all ready to call it a night.

Bella is up very early, while the rest of the household is still asleep. She enjoys the quiet as she sits at the kitchen table and writes the phrase “home processing” on a pad and then underlines it. She is designing a very simple darkroom where Salif and Dahaba can learn to process film and have a bit of fun. Later, she can modify it so that it will serve her professional requirements. Since before dawn, she has been moving about with stealth, taking measurements. She settled on the spare room as sufficient for this purpose. Ideally, she would have preferred a basement or a room directly under the stairway, or an outbuilding or a stand-alone garage, as these are easier to black out using masking tape to block the light entering through any cracks. But none of these exist, and the bathrooms are too small for the purpose she has in mind. The spare bedroom will do, with an extractor fan installed to provide adequate ventilation. In addition, she will need an electrician to install more outlets for the enlargers and the dryers, and a plumber for the water supply needed for washing prints. Mahdi will know the right people to hire; she writes his name on the pad and then underlines it twice to remind herself.

Over the years, she has overseen the construction of many darkrooms, starting with the simple black-and-white processing setup Giorgio Fiori's colleague helped her to make in that closet back in Rome, when she was twelve. It is such an arrangement that she intends to start with here.

Before digital cameras came into vogue, darkrooms were fairly common, and most photo shops had one in the rear. As demand grew, though, little shops tended to outsource processing to larger, more sophisticated ones of industrial size. But remembering those simpler setups, Bella adds more items to the list she is drawing up: enlargers, three large trays, an eight-by-ten easel, a red lightbulb.

She hears the soft tread of someone approaching the kitchen, and when she looks up, Salif is there in his pajamas and robe. He looks surprised to find her already dressed and writing lists on a notepad.

“Morning, Auntie.”

“Morning, darling.”

“What's up?”

“A darkroom, that is what's up, today's priority.”

A sweet smile later, he sits down. “That's good, bright and early,” he says.

Bella pushes the notepad aside. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“I can make my own if you are busy.”

“Good. Will you make my espresso for me too?”

“I would love to.”

Salif busies himself making the espresso for her and an omelet and toast for himself. The household seems to be at peace with itself since they all went to their rooms last night, although Bella slept fitfully, listening for Dahaba's movements and reflecting on all that has happened so far. On the whole, she feels reassured about Valerie, who now seems
much less in a position to muck matters up. The image that comes to her mind is of a hurricane, once strong and menacing, losing its ferocity as it hits land.

Salif asks, “Is it very complicated to organize a darkroom, Auntie?”

“It's not rocket science. I just need the help of an electrician and a plumber. And I'll need to go to a camera shop to purchase a supply of chemicals and paper.”

The espresso is not to her liking—a bit watery—but she makes enthusiastic noises when she takes her first sip. She looks up when Salif's toast pops up but says nothing when she observes that his omelet is a little burnt. She clears space on the table for him to join her with his breakfast. When she sees that he has emptied the remainder of the ketchup onto one side of his plate, she adds “tomato ketchup” to the list on her notepad.

“Which room will we use as the darkroom?” Salif asks.

“The spare room is ideal,” she says. “It is a corner room, set apart from the other rooms, it is spacious, and it has its own toilet so it already has a water supply.”

“Super,” he says. “Can't wait for it to be built.”

Padmini is at the kitchen door. “Morning, dears,” she says to them. “Did I hear the word ‘build'? Build what, if I may ask?”

“A darkroom,” says Salif.

“How forward looking,” Padmini says. “Where?”

“In the spare room down here.”

“Brilliant,” Padmini says. “How exciting!”

Salif is up on his feet. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

“What can I offer you?”

“Tell me the available options.”

“Tea or coffee to begin with. And then you can tell me whether you would like oatmeal or an omelet.”

“I would like tea with milk and oatmeal,” says Padmini.

“I'll make the tea, then, and Auntie will make the porridge.”

“You surprise me, darling,” says Bella. “Making oatmeal porridge is a lot easier than making an omelet.”

“I'd be happier if you made it,” he says all the same.

Just as Bella rises to oblige him, Dahaba walks in with Valerie not far behind. “Morning, everyone,” says Dahaba. Valerie silently waves and then slumps into a chair. She says, “I had an almost sleepless night, my daughter kicking me every time she turned. And when I tried to get away and return to my bed, she wouldn't let me.”

“Mum snored as loud as a coal train,” says Dahaba.

“How did everyone else fare?”

“Very well,” says Salif.

“And you, Pad?”

“Slept well, thank you.”

Dahaba is leaning against the back of Bella's chair. Bella says, “Come sit, my sweet, and I will make breakfast for you and your mum.”

Valerie asks for bacon and eggs, and Dahaba opts for the same. Bella shoos Salif away and brings Padmini her tea and then her porridge. She steals a furtive look at her watch and reminds herself to call Mahdi soon. Once she has served breakfast to the stragglers, she goes upstairs for her credit cards and wallet, and then takes her leave of everyone, saying, “I'll be back soon.” She gets into the car and turns on the engine; then, while waiting for Cawrala to respond, she rings Mahdi. He promises he will call her back with the name of someone who can get the job done quickly.

He calls her back when she is in the process of leaving the camera store with her purchases. He tells her the name of a contractor he
recommends and says the man will call her shortly. And he does when she is on her way to the supermarket to buy more milk, fruit, soft drinks, sugar, tomato ketchup, and bacon and eggs. He says, “It's your lucky day today because, as it happens, we've just had a cancellation of a big job; the building where my electricians and plumbers were working collapsed. We can have an electrician and a plumber at your place in the next couple of hours if you give me your address.”

“I'll be there,” she says.

“Mahdi is a good friend,” he says. “We'll look after you.”

When she gets back home, she is delighted to see that she has hardly been missed. The four of them are playing cards, Valerie and Dahaba as one team and Padmini and Salif as the other, their rowdy noises reaching her even before she comes through the door.

She takes some of her purchases into the spare room and stores the rest in the pantry and fridge.

She says, “Anybody need anything?”

Dahaba asks, “Like what, Auntie?”

“Tea, coffee, some other drink or food?”

Salif says, “We're okay, thanks.”

“We're not okay,” says Dahaba. “I would like a Diet Coke.”

Valerie says to her, “Can't you get it yourself?”

They stop playing cards while Dahaba gets her drink, and then Valerie's mobile phone squeals. She looks at the identity of the caller and then she says, “I must take this call.” She leaves the room for privacy, and when she returns a few moments later, she is wearing the expression of a mourner. “Something terrible has happened,” she says. And then she says to Padmini, “That was Ulrika. We need to get back to the hotel pronto.”

“What's happened?”

“BIH has been raided and there have been arrests.”

It is as though the two of them were speaking another language that the others cannot follow.

Bella offers them a lift.

“Can I come with you?” asks Dahaba.

“Not this time, darling,” says Bella.

But Valerie and Padmini decline her offer and insist on calling a taxi instead.

—

The electrician and the plumber show up half an hour or so later, not only the two of them but the contractor himself and two additional workers. Bella gives them the sketch of what she wants done, and the men unload their tools. The plumber and the electrician write up the list of what they will need, and the contractor takes off to get the materials. Before long, the sound of hammering and male voices brings Dahaba and Salif down from their rooms. Before nightfall, Bella tells them, they will have a darkroom.

“Super,” says Salif. Bella begins to explain the process to them, but Dahaba loses interest in the technical difference between pre-digital and digital photography, and the mention of landmark names such as Kodak does not excite her. “It sounds like the difference between typewriters and computers,” she says, before she drifts back upstairs.

Bella tells Salif about the darkroom Giorgio Fiori's friend built her, and how Fiori taught her the basics of photo development.

“He wasn't a photographer, was he?” asks Salif.

“My father taught jurisprudence, and his specialty was the theory of law, or rather the principles on which Roman law is based. Photography was just a hobby for him. But what got him initially interested in photography was his enthusiasm for the history of image making and
his interest in the reproduction of images in a variety of forms: in photography, in drawing, in painting, and in design patterns borrowed from African traditional societies. He had an early hand in the design of the fabrics that would become fashionable in West Africa.”

“He was a brilliant man, your father?”

“He was indeed.”

“I thought he taught in Somalia, where he met your mother,” Salif says. “How did West Africa figure in his life?”

“He taught in Mali before coming to teach in Somalia,” Bella explains, “and it was in Mali that he developed his interest in Dogon art.”

“Dogon? What is Dogon? Who is Dogon?”

Bella answers the question with exemplary patience, as if she were a teacher. “The Dogon are a people known the world over for their exceptional wood sculpture, and their art revolves around their high ideals. Theirs is an art not meant for public viewing, so it can be seen only in private homes and sacred places. Dogon society puts great value on the symbolic meaning behind every piece.”

Salif nods his head in appreciation, and Bella recalls how Aar spoke in an adult, sophisticated way to his children even when they were tiny. He would say that it was important that you talk to children the same way you talk to grown-ups. Children have the ability to catch up to you faster than you can imagine, he believed, and they remember tomorrow some of the things you speak about today.

Bella says, “So my father was the first to show me sculptures from the Dogon in Mali, sculptures whose forms excited my young mind. I decided then to become an artist. At first I thought I would pursue my ambition as a sculptor or painter, but finding my pursuit of these two modes of artistry challenging, I lowered my expectations and tried my hand at photography.”

“And he built you a darkroom?”

“He taught me to treat the darkroom as both a sacred space and my own domain, my secret place,” says Bella. “He discouraged me from allowing anyone else access. He spoke of the darkroom as though it were a tomb, a secret space not to be exposed to the eyes of others, lest it should be compromised.”

Just then the doorbell rings. It is the contractor, who has come back with the items needed for the darkroom. Now the noise the men are producing increases tenfold. Bella hears the contractor shouting, “What have you been doing all this time? I don't want to disappoint Mahdi, who will be expecting a good report from her on our work. So get on with it.”

Salif asks, “What do you think happened that made Mum and Auntie Padmini go into panic mode this morning?”

Bella tells him she has no idea.

“I hope they are okay.”

“I hope so too.” And she means it. She doesn't wish Valerie and Padmini to be subjected to further harassment of the sort they endured in Kampala. On the other hand, she will not be sorry if this turn of events makes them hasten their departure for India. After all, her motives in paying their hotel and legal bills were not entirely altruistic; she had hoped to get them closer to the exit door. Not that Padmini is likely to let Valerie know who their unnamed benefactor is. Pleased with her own discretion, Bella can't help but allow herself a smidgen of mischievous curiosity at how things will pan out. You never know if a given development will pique Valerie's rage or elicit the grace to admit defeat, say “thank you,” and then depart.

The contractor enters the kitchen, rubbing his hands together and looking happy.

“We are done,” he says. “Please come see.”

At first the room is too dark for them to see. Then the contractor,
who is behind them, turns on the light. Bella likes what she sees: plenty of room for their immediate purposes, as well as for improvements for her professional purposes. The contractor says to Bella, “Give it until tomorrow for the putty to harden and the grout to set, and then it will be ready for use.”

Bella pays in cash, giving each of the workers a generous tip. The contractor gets Mahdi on the line. “Listen,” he says to him, “there is a happy lady here who wants to have a word with you.” He passes her his phone.

Tears well up in Bella's eyes unexpectedly, and her voice is tender with unreleased emotion. She tells Mahdi how delighted she is with the result his contractor has managed in such a short time.

Just as the men are leaving, Dahaba comes back downstairs. “Is it done, the darkroom, done, done?”