From a way off, as he entered the café, he looked young and handsome but when he sat down there was something wrong in that face. He moved like a man with a terminal illness. For no particular reason I decided he was carrying a bomb in his briefcase. I felt the urge to run, to escape this crowded place. Instead we ordered tea.
We met because I was looking for certain contacts in Mogadishu and I had been told he could help. I introduced the subject in a roundabout way, but I could see he knew exactly what I was after. He was obliging, breezily described his network of friends and connections, and told me he would set up the introductions. I kept my eyes on that briefcase placed next to him on his seat and when he reached for it I wanted to shout out. I wondered if he had noticed as he picked the case up and shambled out of the café.
After that he wouldn’t leave me alone in Mogadishu.
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