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and Jeebleh were of the same clan. Curious how the clan system worked: that two half brothers sharing a mother, like Caloosha and Bile, were considered not to be of the same clan family, because they had different fathers, and that Jeebleh, Bile’s closest friend, was deemed to be related, in blood terms, more to Caloosha, because the two were descended from the same mythic ancestor. For much of the former Dictator’s reign, Caloosha had served as deputy director of the National Security Service. Many people believed that he had been responsible for Bile’s and Jeebleh’s imprisonment, for the death sentence passed on Jeebleh, and also for his eventual, mysterious release. Bile had remained in prison until the state collapsed, when the prison gates were finally flung open.
    â€œCaloosha lives in the northern part of the city,” Af-Laawe said, “near the hotel you’ll be staying in. Say the word, and we’ll be only too pleased to take you to him, any day, anytime.”
    Jeebleh was disturbed to learn about Af-Laawe’s intimacy with Caloosha, but wanted to wait until he knew more. “He is all right, Caloosha, is he?”
    â€œHe’s a stalwart politician in the north,” Af-Laawe answered, “and on the side acts as a security consultant to StrongmanNorth.”
    Rumor mills are busiest, Jeebleh thought, when it comes to politicians with shady pasts. He had gathered, from talking to people and interesting himself in the affairs of the country, that many politicians with dubious connections to the Dictator had found safe havens in the territories where their clansmen formed the majority. The way things stood, Jeebleh should’ve expected that Caloosha would be chummy with StrongmanNorth, who would guarantee him immunity from prosecution for his political crimes. Of course, Jeebleh had no intention of looking Caloosha up, and he did mind staying in a hotel in the north of the city, close to this awful man’s residence. Yet who was he to raise objections about these things now?
    â€œBut staying in a hotel in the northern section of the city won’t prevent me from moving about freely, will it?” he asked.
    â€œCrossing the green lines poses no danger to ordinary folks,” Af-Laawe replied. “Unarmed civilians and noncombatants seldom come to harm when crossing the green line. However, the warlords and their associates do not cross the line unless they are escorted by their armed guards.”
    â€œWhere do you live?”
    â€œI live in the south.”
    â€œIn your own property?”
    â€œNo, I’m house-sitting!”
    â€œHouse-sitting?” Jeebleh had read and heard about questionable dealings when it came to the practice of house-sitting.
    â€œI’ve entered into an arrangement with a family who own a villa and who’ve relocated to Canada since the collapse,” Af-Laawe explained. “An empty villa in civil war Mogadiscio is a liability as well as a temptation. I live in the villa for free and look after it.”
    In the local jargon, “house-sitting” meant the taking possession of houses belonging to the members of clan families who had fled, by members of families who had stayed on. Not all house-sitters were squatters, pure and proper. Some lived rent free. Others were paid to look after the properties of people living abroad, who hoped they would find them in good condition to do what they pleased with them once peace had been restored and a central government put in place. Of late, though, there had been a number of cases in which men claiming to be the owners of the properties they were looking after had sold them.
    As Jeebleh was about to ask what kind of house-sitter Af-Laawe was, he was gone again, only to reappear with the immigration man in tow. Af-Laawe turned to the man and took the document from him. Then, sounding satisfied, he said, “Let’s see.”
    The man bearing his passport