A returning ex-pat, an espionage mission, a mysterious Islamist counter-intelligence figure locked away in Djibouti’s Devil’s Islands, a palimpsest of letters written to Walter Benjamin appearing through the notes a scribe is taking from “The Master,” a rageful twin brother who plans the death of his twin, devotion to the great African pianist and singer Abdulla Ibrahim. All these are woven up in a small, intriguing novel, Passage of Tears, by Abdourahman A. Waberi, in an excellent translation by David and Nicole Ball. First published in French in 2009, the English version comes to us in a nice Seagull Books edition, in 2011.
In alternating chapters by the narrator, Djibril, and the scribe, Djamal, the setting and story unfold, at once two biographies — which may be one–, a situation report of the Horn of Africa, and an appreciation of Walter Benjamin who died decades before, an immigrant in flight, but who created a new kind of history, much admired by the narrators:
…a conception of history, which was not theoretical or arid in the least. It appealed to me [Djibril] because it seemed as sensitive to human beings as the stories my Grandpa Assod used to tell.”
Djibril, having lived in Canada for many years, has returned as an employee of one of the new private security firms to which nations are outsourcing their intelligence work.
“I returned to Djibouti for professional reasons, not to feast at the table of nostalgia or open old wounds.
…My mission consists in feeling out the temperature on the ground, making sure the country is secure, the situation is stable and the terrorists under control.”
The problem is, he is in fact, caught up in his nostalgia; an old wound is opened, wide.
The chapters from Djamal, are titled with letters of the Arabic alphabet. Alif, Ba, Ta to Ya, and so, far less indicative than those from Djibril: The Scent of the Father; Revolt in the Desert. Though apparently deep inside the prison, Djamal and the Master are intimately aware of Djibril’s presence. Many of his notes, intended to be transcriptions of the Master’s sermons and homilies, are directed to him — as though he were the auditor, or reader.
So what do you know…you trickster from McGill, you wanted to get close to us ! And to do what? To look through your binoculars and take snapshots of our jail from every angle?
…We are closely monitoring your every move. We know all about you, the cover of your bedside book and the brand of your toothpaste. Every word you say is reported back to us, all the way to this watertight cell.
