I should say Adan is a very shrewd man and knows how to look after his money, even though he no longer possesses a dhow of his own.
A few days since I had an opportunity of observing that his wife and children were as well dressed as any in the town.
As next-door neighbour he has a blind Arab, who lodged a complaint that Adan made a door through his compound. There was a lengthy argument in the court, which, in spite of the fact that of the two disputants one was blind and the other was minus a leg, led me to fear, unless the matter was settled, it might develop into something serious. I told both men to go away and keep quiet until the evening, when I should come myself to their houses and see for myself what was the matter. On arriving there later I found that these two men lived in houses of the same size, built side by side and so close together that I could neither walk nor see between them. In front, as well as behind, was a street. From the centre of the Arab's house a grass and wood fence ran onto the street fence, dividing the space between the two houses and the street into two compounds. When Adan walked out of his door he was in a compound, one side of which was walled in by his own house and half the Arab's house. The width of the Arab's compound on the other side was only equal to half that of his own house; obviously a very unfair arrangement. Opening out of Adan's compound onto the street was a wooden door.
I was inclined to decide against Adan, but he pointed out that on the other side of the houses the arrangement was reversed, and that half his house-back was in the Arab's compound. This I found to be the case, and, pointing out to the Arab that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, said that he could not have matters changed on one side of the houses to suit his convenience, unless he conformed to similar changes on the other.
The old man did not like this idea, and then the true cause of complaint was revealed. He loves his afternoon nap, but is unfortunately a very light sleeper. Just at the time when his head touches the pillow it appears to be the busiest time of the day for Adan's thirteen children, who seem to be perpetually passing through that wooden gate. Like all gates in Zeila it is latched on the inside, and every time a youngster comes to it from the outside he bangs it with a stick, until someone from the inside opens. Now, as bad luck will have it, the gate is in front of the Arab's half of the house that is in Adan's compound, and very near to the old man's head. So that with the everlasting procession of kiddies—sheitans he calls them, which means devils—passing to and fro, plus the banging of the gate, an afternoon siesta is out of the question. It was all right until Adan, but two weeks before, had bought the unlucky wooden door.
"But now," said the old man, pounding viciously on the ground with his long stick, "it is all wrong."
Adan agreed it was trying. He had noticed the nuisance himself, and if the old man had told him before, he would have had it remedied. He was quite prepared to have a muster now, and thirteen young imps of mischief—they were all there, every mother's son and daughter of them—were paraded and informed that, between the hours of two and four p.m. daily, the wooden door on side number one was barred to all children under pain of being flayed alive, cut to pieces, or sent to jail, or all three. There was a grass door on side number two, which no one could bang, and which was at their service. By which order and threats, I am sure, Adan made the wooden door near the old Arab's head, when he is lying down, the most irresistible spot in the world to bang. There'll be more to come of it. "Wait and see!"
What with Arab pirates, Arab robbers, truculent Arab neighbours, a livelihood that requires diving for with only one leg—not to speak of sharks, and thirteen young sheitans requiring a strong right arm to keep them in order—I shall surely not be accused of exaggeration when I describe the life of Adan Abdallah, the Soudanese, as being an eventful one.