The Cape Cod Bicycle War. Billy Kahora

from Mogadishu. We talk later.’

      They were shown into a room with couches and a large–screen TV. They vegetated for hours. Strange men walked in and out of the compound all day to see Ahmed. Chiri fell asleep. Solo and Juli had nothing to say to each other so they watched another DVD: Pulp Fiction. Solo got up halfway through the movie and went looking for Ahmed. The sun was about to go down.

      They chilled till Ahmed joined them for supper. They all ate quietly for a while and then Ahmed turned to Juli.

      ‘Let me ask. I hear that Maasailand has a lot of business opportunities with leopard skins, ivory, red mercury, and smuggled gold near the Tanzania border. I know a lot of government people doing that business. Solo told me you know Maasailand well.’

      ‘Kweli, its true about that business. I’ve heard that too,’ Juli said, his voice strained. ‘Have you managed to find the shaft?’ There was an abrupt silence and Solo said: ‘We are all good friends now. I am sure we can do more business than a gear shaft.’ Juli looked at him and remained quiet.

      The next day Juli and Chiri spent the morning looking for wholesalers who dealt in cereals who might be interested in their harvest and then headed to Ahmed’s in the afternoon. There were four cars outside and they looked at each other, thinking of heading off to relax elsewhere. But they knocked on the gate and one of Ahmed’s men opened the door and rushed away immediately. There was no one in the small courtyard when they entered. Ahmed’s wives usually sunned themselves in their buibuis during the day but now even the children were not out playing. In the courtyard, Juli and Chiri headed to the open area where the large-screen TV was and Solo emerged from the office at the end of the courtyard. He was out of breath as if he’d been sprinting. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you. Kuja you have to see this.’ Juli ignored him and picked up the remote and flopped on his back. Solo looked at him, grabbed Chiri’s hand and started dragging him towards the office. Juli stood up and they followed Solo.

      Inside Ahmed’s office were two women dressed in expensive buibuis and wrapped in a cloud of scent. Three very fat men sat on sofas. Ahmed welcomed the boys like long-lost relatives. Two other men dressed in lab coats stood to Ahmed’s side.

      ‘These young men are in business and I am trying to help them,’ Ahmed said introducing them. ‘They are large-scale farmers. I hope you don’t mind if they join us.’ The three fat men and two women nodded. They were all Somali. The younger woman smiled at them. The older woman seated in the middle of the group ignored them. Her fingers were covered in gold rings and she had bangles that went all the way up to her elbows.

      Ahmed said: ‘I have learned a lot about farming in the Rift Valley from these boys in the last few days. It might be something I want to invest in. So I thought as a matter of trust because we have not known each for a long time I would also ask them to my home. They might also be interested in this venture we are working on.’ He nodded at the boys.

      ‘We are all here in Nairobi to do business. We all know how tough things can be. When our fathers and families did business a long time ago things were very simple. Because of how things are in Somalia now we are lucky that there are new opportunities.’

      His face turned grave. ‘I will ask you for confidentiality in what I tell you. A lot of the money that has always been in the Somali economy is now here in Eastleigh. And this I tell you in the strictest confidence. A big opportunity has come our way from a friend of mine who was in the Somali government. When the war started a lot of money was looted and he was asked to be one of the caretakers of government funds. To transport these large amounts of money a special dye was used so that the money could look like normal black paper. My friend managed to bring some of the money over the border before all the looting started. Now the money is in secret locations in Kampala, Juba and Nairobi.’

      Chiri looked to Juli but his face was empty.

      Ahmed continued: ‘A lot of the powerful people in Somalia have now disappeared after the War. They went to America, England and changed their names. I now tell you that that money in my friend’s hands will not be claimed for a long time. My friend now needs some of the money to facilitate his own passage to Australia with his family. He came to ask how he can clean the money.’

      Juli leaned back, relaxed, watching Solo completely caught in the moment.

      ‘Cleaning the money is not the problem,’ Ahmed said. ‘Finding the chemicals that governments use is not even the problem. Money to buy these chemicals is the problem. I see all of us as partners. But before we enter any further discussions I want to show you all something.’

      The two men in the lab coats headed off to one of the doors in the spacious office and opened it. They all streamed into a long room, a chemical lab with no windows. There was a long table on one end and a long series of cupboards on the other end. There were stools along the table. On the long table lay test tubes, beakers, calipers and glass containers that the boys remembered from their O-level chemistry classes. There was also a strange box-like machine on one end of the long table and next to it, a money-counting machine.

      The two lab-coated men led everybody to the long stools. They all sat facing Ahmed on one side.

      ‘I want to show you how this chemical I am talking about works.’ The technicians arranged a flat tray and then put aside two beakers and turned to Ahmed.

      ‘Excuse me,’ Ahmed said. He went back into the main office and came back with two bottles, a paper bag full of white powder and a small stack of paper bills that was black in colour. Ahmed placed them on the table and nodded at one of the technicians.

      The man greeted them in a strange accent. ‘I know you are all wondering where I am from. I come from Liberia. Like Somalia our country went to war and I was lucky to settle in Kenya to do business. I used to be a banker in my other life in Monrovia. I have experience with the government ink that Mr Ahmed told you about.’

      ‘In my country we call these notes, black money, negative notes. I have been helping peoples with negative notes for a long time. Here,’ and he pointed to the two bottles, ‘we have the original solutions. SSD solution powder it is called. It is made from international mercury. See it. We have it all here – we can use it to solve the problem of negative notes. We will solve all the problems. We will go through the process.’

      Everybody was watching carefully. Chiri was distracted by the man’s English and a small laugh threatened to start in his stomach and explode. Juli noticed and frowned at him. Chiri excused himself and headed off to the toilet. He had a good hysterical laugh behind closed doors. When he was sure it was all out he went back to the lab.

      As the man from Liberia talked he removed five notes from the small wad and placed them on the trays. Then he put on plastic gloves and slit the packet of white powder with extreme care. He started rubbing the black notes with the white powder very carefully.