Abba had just sold the property, and Nanno knew of the transaction, and demanded his share, Takas 200,000 ($5,000 at the time).
He left, and the talks went on for a few days. Fortunately, my wife and I were not living with my parents at the time; otherwise, he might have slapped us around to impress them.
It didn't even occur to us to go to the police. My parents had connections in the Awami League, but they were told they had to pay up; the money would go to the top.
When I learned what had happened, I made a phone call, and summoned eight professional murderers in my living room, most of them bleary-eyed with booze. They came pillion-riding noisily on four motorcycles, and made quite an impression on the guards.
"Tell us what we have to do," barked the boss.
My father smiled and shook his head. I was young, and he was old. I had only one concern, their safety, and I didn't care what I had to do to get it. There was no state to protect us.
I don't know how much he paid Nanno, but they soon moved out and into an apartment building secured 24 hours by guards.
Homo psychologicus has graduated to Homo economicus. But sometimes, the thumotic soul just loses its thumos, as happened with Javed (not his real name).
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