Introduction
Last weekend Hoyo gave me the best news ever and the most shocking news ever. After five long years of looking, waiting, meeting and negotiating, Habaryero, my mum's sister, is finally getting married. That is the best news ever.
And then the most shocking news ever: after twelve years of absence, of being missing, of fearing but never saying the 'd' word, Abo, my dad, is finally coming home from Somalia.
It was last Saturday morning that Hoyo got the phone call. We - Abdullahi, Ahmed and I - were sitting in the kitchen, eating hot njero with loads of butter and sugar (I tell you, some of our Somali traditional food should carry a health warning!) and Hoyo took the call in the living room. As usual, Ahmed was entertaining us with another one of his crazy stories when Hoyo came back in. As soon as I saw her face, I knew that something major had happened. She had tears in her eyes and the colour had drained from her face.
"That was Abo," she whispered, her lips trembling. "He's coming home…" And I felt everything around me freeze: silence from the street, steam frozen in mid-air, me, unable to move or think or say anything. Abo? Coming home?
Just over a year ago, we had received the news that Abo was still alive. Although Hoyo had never talked about the details, I suppose we all assumed that he had been killed during the fighting in Somalia. So many other families had lost relatives in the war – we assumed that we had too. That was until last year when my Uncle Yusuf received a letter from his cousin's nephew, telling him that Abo was alive and that he was trying to trace us. That was the first time I remember hearing my father's voice. But I don't think we understood; don't think we thought it was real. We knew about the war, about stolen passports and smuggled visas. But I don't think any of us thought we would really see our father again.