At the beginning of my stay in Mogadishu, I was pleased but also too often afflicted by visits, depending on whether they were made by friends like Filonardi, Dabbene, the kind wife of the Governor, or indigenous chiefs who came to bother me to obtain gifts.
Those chiefs, as good Muslims, came every day that God created, and with a flood of compliments and useless speeches, they made me waste the precious time I spent gathering ethnic and commercial information about the country. They sipped the inevitable half-dozen small cups of coffee, sometimes followed by syrups with biscuits, and, as every psalm ends in glory, after letting their greedy eyes wander around the room, they would finally land their request—one time asking me for a rifle, another time a revolver, ammunition, cotton fabric, perhaps a pair of scissors, a razor, or a box of matches.
But I, needing to keep my supplies intact for the Expedition, relied on the Muslim system and dodged their demands by responding: Bukra insciallah (Tomorrow, if God wills).
The next day would come, and I would be the target of new requests, to which I would then respond that God is great and that He had given two hands—one to give and the other to take. Someone would respond nahu (it is just), and instead of taking money, they would exchange it for its equivalent in talers; this did not please them, whereas it pleased Filonardi, who, having...
Caption Translation:
Sef bin Ahmed
Brother of the former Governor of Mogadishu.
Somali Dhib badana
