Publisher: Riverhead books, 2004.
Hardback 334 pages.

This is why there is hope for Somalia

The novel Links, by Nuruddin Farah, opens with a very arresting line:
“Guns lack the body of human truths!”

Right away we are introduced to a story of guns and concealed truths. To untangle what lies in this statement, we follow the author’s narrative of the wars within a war, and a lost battle. Tension maps every page with each exposition of the dangerous terrain that’s become Somalia, the characters intentions and impenetrable intrigues.

Links is not a one person story. Neither is it just a political one. It is a balanced, gendered one. Each woman, each man, each child is a story. Amidst the violence and senseless horrors experienced by most characters, we are inclined to embrace Rajo, (Raasta) a child who is both vulnerable and legendary. She is seen as “a symbol of peace in war-torn Somalia, the stuff of myth, seen by the city’s residents as a conduit to a harmonious coexistence.” Wise beyond her age, she talks people out of their depression, comforts mothers and gives confidence to the children. “…she gives shape to the links between words and their meanings, and then fits them into chains of her own choosing.” By age four she has figured out what marriage is like. With “a face as ancient as the roots of a baobab,” she is referred to as the “Protected One.”

Rajo is Somalia wearing a dress and a child’s face. As her story unfolds, we find out how she is abducted but not stolen. She has to put up with risks but like enduring hope, she is the sun that rises each day to greet the once beautiful Somali land. There’s little wonder therefore that Rajo actually means hope.

We are also seduced to listen and accept the story of Jeebleh, who returns to Mogadishu after twenty years to pay homage to his mother’s grave and also settle a few scores with one of the bad guys—Caloosha. At the airport, Jeebleh presents his Somali passport. The officer leafs through the pages looking for the visa. It is Jeebleh’s turn to be sarcastic and ask when it has become “necessary for a Somali to require a visa to enter Mogadiscio?” Jeebleh must tread carefully because he is walking on eggs. He cannot tell who is a foe and who is a friend. Nothing is told straight up. He even has to go through a tangled maze to locate his mother’s actual grave. Bile, the good guy is walking on landmines with his trying-to-do-good attitude and actions. Af-Laawe, who has started an NGO to take care of the dead prides in his “Funeral with a difference!” He speaks in metaphors all through the story. He is consistent in not giving clear answers to simple questions.

“How is Bile?” Jeebleh asks Af-Laawe.
“It depends on who you talk to,” Af-Laawe responds.
Later, Jeebleh asks Af-Laawe, “Why the nickname ‘Marabou’?”
“Somebody has been telling you things,” is Af-Laawe’s response.

Behind his back there are rumors that his efficiency and expediency in gathering the bodies into his van is only because he is selling organs of the dead and making huge profits out of calamity.
Within the quandary, Farah goes on to weave a delicate hope. He uses whatever realities are at hand to send a double textured message of hope. For instance, on the collateral damage that’s become Somalia’s rubber stamp, he writes: “A cynic I know says that thanks to the vultures, the marabous and the hawks, we have no fear of diseases spreading.” In another instance, one of Jeebleh’s contacts says, “My cynical friend suggests that when the country is reconstituted as a functioning state, we should have a vulture as our national symbol.” There is irony as well as good hope considering the manner in which the sentence is stated. “…when the country is reconstituted as a national state…” Farah sees the coming into constitutional state Somalia, some day.

And the use of the vulture too must be deliberate. In ancient Egypt—Kemet land, the vulture was the symbol of royal protection won on the foreheads by pharaohs, gods and the goddess Nekhbet. Egypt then was fertile, just and prosperous. Also, the powerful Ghanaian empire before the fatal brush with colonization had the symbol of a vulture. During slave trade, for those who escaped slavery, the vulture acted as a guide to the hills, away from the dogs, the horses and the overseers. For those who collapsed or died along the way, the vulture ate (read cleared) their remains. This gave a certain sense of freedom to those Africans since they believed that the vulture would carry their spirit back to their roots, back home to Mother Africa. Farah’s use of the many deaths and vultures can be interpreted through this original African expression of freedom and return to a desired state. A delicate hope!

The major strength of the novel is Farah’s honesty about the links that break and mend Somalia. The links that are the threads of hope as well as the strands of death, the root cause of the existing chaos threatening to extend to the neighbouring nations, the network of clans and lunatic warlords. Farah merges the landscape of memory and reality to recreate a possible Somalia, scathed but not diminished.

* Mildred K Barya is Writer-in-Residence at TrustAfrica (www.trustafrica.org)

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