Faisal was helping me with the stocktaking late one evening when my cell phone rang. It was Salim, Uncle’s closest friend. I wondered why he was contacting me at this hour.

“Abdul, you need to come home quickly! Something has happened to your uncle!” Salim said, then hung up before I could find out what was wrong. What could have happened? Poor Uncle Hassan. I suddenly felt as though I had betrayed him by opening my own shop. Perhaps it had put extra strain on him at work. What if he had had a heart attack!

When I arrived at Uncle’s house, Aunt Mana was in tears as she talked to the police in the front yard. My young cousins stood behind her looking on anxiously. Salim greeted me and told me to come inside. Uncle was slumped on the sofa in a state of shock. His face was swollen and his clothes covered in blood. I had never seen him look so helpless. A Somali friend of the family who was a qualified doctor was attending to him, to save him the expense of going to hospital.

“Uncle Hassan, I am very sorry to see what has happened to you,” I said as I took his hand in greeting and sat down on a chair next to him. It was only once I was sitting that I realised how badly my legs were shaking. It was the same sensation I had had in Somalia on that fateful night when the war hit my village and my parents were murdered. I tried to calm my thoughts, focusing my attention on what I could do for my uncle.

It turned out that Uncle Hassan had been badly beaten by locals while he was closing the shop. During the attack the thugs had insulted him, saying that we Somalis had been taking their money and stealing their jobs. I had heard that these attacks on Somali shopkeepers happened occasionally, but I had not expected such a thing to happen to my uncle. He was a good man.

Aunt Mana came in, tears still streaming down her face. “We didn’t leave Somalia to live in fear of our lives in a free country!” she said, shaking her head. Then, looking at Uncle Hassan, she said, “My dear husband, remember how often I warned you to close the shop early. If only you had listened to me!”

Aunt Mana rarely showed her feelings for her family. For the first time I saw a woman who truly loved her husband. Deep down I’m sure she knew that the attack could not have been avoided. The thugs could have targeted Uncle at any time.

I got up and fetched some water in the kitchen. “I must leave now,” I said, handing my uncle and aunt the water. “But promise that you will call me if there is anything I can do to help?”

Uncle Hassan reached out his hand. “Thank you, Abdul. It was kind of you to come.” I held his hand firmly in both of mine. Then I embraced my aunt and my cousins.

Salim was standing at the door collecting money from friends and neighbours who wished to assist the family. I gave him R1000, but I wished that there was more I could do for the family.

As the days went by I kept hearing of other Somalis being attacked at their workplace, and of their shops being broken into by locals. Most of them feared returning to work. I was able to keep my shop open because the attacks were not as bad in the Capricorn community. Still, I kept my eye on the local news channel and I made a point of closing the shop earlier than usual. I could not afford to lose my business because I had decided to support my uncle and his family financially for a while. It was the least I could do for them – after all, they had taken me in when I had been in need.

*****

It was a sunny Saturday when Aunt Mana phoned and asked if I would come to the house and look after Uncle Hassan while she took the children to Madrasa and ran some errands. He was still in a wheelchair, but the swelling around his face had gone down. He was clearly pleased to see me and asked me to wheel him outside because he wanted to be in the sun.

He was determined to do as much as he could for himself and to my amazement managed to get himself out of the wheelchair and into a comfortable chair. I pulled up another chair and we sat together in the sunshine.

“Abdulrahman, these people are not my people and they will always do their best to show us that we are not welcome here. What happened to me is something that I cannot forget,” he said, unable to disguise his bitterness.

“I can understand your feelings, Uncle. Even now they continue to attack us. I was watching the news and I saw that they have cleaned out the stock from other Somali shops and even burned some of them down.” I hoped that he would find comfort in knowing that it was not just his shop that was targeted.

“Only Allah knows why these people hate us so much. If they really wanted to own shops, they could. Instead they choose to take our things.”

I could see that our conversation was only making Uncle depressed, so I decided to change the subject and talk about life in Somalia before the war began.

“My father was well liked in our community. His cattle-selling business was highly respected,” I said.

“Oh yes, I know,” said Uncle. “I remember your father before he married your mother – my sister. I used to admire his meticulous ways and how he could get people to buy just about anything he wanted to sell.”

“Really?” I said, my spirits lifting. I hoped that he would keep telling stories of my father, and of when he and my mother were young. It was the first time I had talked about my parents since I left my country two and a half years previously.

“Your father was a truly great man. He even used to feed some of his neighbours when he made a big sale. He was very generous. When I was planning to leave the country with Aunt Mana, it was your father who gave us most of the money,” he said, with a smile.

It was good to hear such wonderful things about my father. I missed him terribly and it warmed my heart to know that he was remembered well.

His expression suddenly more serious, Uncle Hassan continued, “Abdul, I promised your grandmother, my mother, that I would take care of you. Now you are growing up to be a very fine young man like your father. I think that it would be wise for you to find a proper Somali girl to marry – it is not good for you to be wandering around alone. A family allows a man to grow in stature.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. Uncle was suggesting the very thing I had dreaded most since I had found the woman of my dreams – Natasha. But I knew that I could not disrespect Uncle’s wishes.

“Yes, Uncle Hassan. You are right. It is not good to be alone. I am sure I will meet the right girl before long,” I said. In this way I pretended to agree with him and hoped that he would not try to arrange a marriage with a “proper Somali girl”.

***

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