The waiter appeared with a tray of glasses containing milky black tea flavoured with ginger, cinnamon and green cardamom pods. He carefully placed a glass in front of each of the men and a bowl of sugar cubes on each table.

Crazy Boy waited patiently for Taban to sip his tea. As the oldest member of the Somali community, Taban was the head of the gar and was entitled to deference and respect but Crazy Boy knew that the old man wouldn’t live much longer than his ailing wife. Once he had joined his Maker, it would be Crazy Boy who ran the gar and who administered justice within the Somali community. Crazy Boy gestured at the teenagers at the adjacent table as Taban put down his glass and smacked his lips. ‘We are here today to pass judgement on two boys who attacked and injured another. That boy, Nadif, is now in hospital. He was stabbed in the stomach and his throat was slashed.’

‘He will live?’ asked Taban.

‘Yes, he will live, but he will be scarred for life,’ said Crazy Boy.

Taban looked at the man sitting between the two elders opposite him. ‘You are Nadif’s father?’

The man nodded.

‘I trust God will care for your child and hasten his recovery,’ said Taban.

‘Thank you.’

‘Your wife is not here?’

‘My wife passed away, five years ago.’

‘I am sorry for your loss, may God watch over her soul,’ said Taban. He looked over at the next table. ‘Those are the boys who hurt him?’ he asked Crazy Boy.

Crazy Boy nodded as he stared at the two teenagers. One of them, the younger, was listening to an MP3 player, his head bobbing back and forth in time to the music. The other was toying with a bottle of sauce. Taban tapped his knuckles on the table to get their attention. ‘Take out the earphones,’ he said, pointing at the teenager with the MP3 player. ‘Show some respect.’ The teenager did as he was told and stared sullenly at the tabletop.

The father of the boys continued to stare straight ahead but the mother smiled at Taban. ‘We are so sorry for what happened,’ she said. ‘My boys are good boys, they have never been in trouble before.’

That was a lie, Crazy Boy knew. The two teenagers were well known in the area as bullies and thieves. But he held his tongue.

‘They have apologised to the boy?’ asked Taban.

‘Not yet,’ said the mother. ‘But they will. They will go to the hospital and tell Nadif that they are sorry for what they did. They will beg his forgiveness.’

Taban sipped his tea.

‘We need to agree on compensation,’ said Nadif’s father. ‘We need to agree an amount. His injuries are bad, he will not be able to work for many months.’

‘Does he have a job?’ asked Taban, placing his glass of tea back on the table.