In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

36 e arrange to meet at a Columbia City coffee shop in seattle. i arrive a few minutes early and, in preparation for our interview, set up the recorder with date, time, and place. i have not met asia mohamed egal before, so every time the door opens, i look up hopefully. Through the large window, i have a good view of Rainier avenue and every so often, among the United nations–like passers-by, i recognize somali women going about their business. Up the road, Horn refugees from the nearby Rainier Vista housing development feed their longing for home at a small grocery store that displays ethiopian, eritrean, and somali videos, while around the corner, workers at an ethiopian restaurant start preparing for the evening meal. By the time asia arrives, i’ve already drained the last foam bubbles from the bottom of my latte. asia (pronounced asha) is a tall, imposing young woman. Her eyes sweep the room and linger on the notepad and recorder on my table. she breaks into a smile. Her gums are purplish black in the somali fashion and accentuate the whiteness of her teeth. “sandra?” as i rise and smile back in greeting, she strides toward me, holding out her hand. We shake, and i offer to get her something to drink, but she refuses. Her head is covered, but below her neck, americanW i THi n TH e ameR i Can g aZe We somali, Ethiopian, and Eritrean exiles are like guests in somebody else’s house. We each live in separate rooms and have little to do with one another. out of respect for the host family, we are polite and try to keep our antagonisms out of sight. —abdihakim hassan, seattle, 2006 WiTHin THE amErican GaZE 37 style sweater and pants complete the picture. Once the greetings and my explanations about the manuscript are over, asia and i settle down to talk. amid the steaming hisses of the espresso machine and the strains of norah Jones’s distinctive voice flowing from the ceiling speakers, asia begins to tell her story. a vital and lively young woman with the confidence of someone of privilege, she constantly interrupts herself to greet and hug somalis who enter the cafe. she seems to know everyone. she is a member of the elite egal family, the italian-educated daughter of mohamed egal, a former colonel in the somali military whom, she says, siyad Barre appointed governor of Bosaso in 1990. Just before “everything hit the roof big time,” she tells me now, talking of the 1991 civil war in mogadishu, her mother had gone to kenya and her father to Bosaso, while she went to stay with her grandmother in mogadishu. since nobody thought there would be a civil war at that time, she says, her grandmother flew off to saudi arabia and left her with Omar, the butler, plus two other ladies related to her grandmother. What she goes on to recount horrifies me, yet her storytelling remains nonchalant, and she frequently breaks into laughter, astonished at her own experience: so, anyway, right before new Year’s Day, it really got frightening. The electricity went out, so Omar went to find the generator. and then the next thing i know [she alternates between past and present tense], bombs are flying everywhere. i wanted to scream, but i couldn’t scream. so i was, “Ok, you’re dreaming. Just stay calm.” and then i started hearing gunshots. You know, i wasn’t sure if they were actual gunshots [laughs] or if it was just firecrackers. That’s how dumb i was! so, i don’t know, but somehow i ended up being under a bed. and it’s like daylight outside even though it was about nine or ten at night. so i thought, Ok. i guess i fell asleep eventually. i don’t know what happened, but i got up about six the next morning because i could hear the animals making a noise, and . . . i come out and there’s no Omar and no ladies and blood everywhere. Half the house is gone. so, i’m like, “O . . . k.” and i go back and i brush my teeth—it was weird. i brushed my teeth, put on my tennis shoes. i was wearing jeans, but i said to myself, “if you go out in jeans, you’re going to get killed.” so i put on this black dress covering, an abeaa that a...

Share