Mohamed is retiring; model citizen, universal muslim, content answering to Vini by his secular friends.
Company man, faithful husband and dutiful father, pragmatic to a fault -- the point of being faulty -- his, a guarded abut an enlightened weltanschauung.
When his nubile daughter starts actuating, Vini's nobly rehearsed contingency plans kick into play: defer to the wife's tutored authority to implement the relevant protocols he has painstakingly developed whilst removing himself from proceedings.
Ziza's suitor complicates the weltanschauung by announcing (all of) himself -- uninvited, one evening, on fetching Ziza as he's been prone to surreptitiously for some time now.
At young Bhaiza's penultimate step to the threshold of Vini's domain -- the abode -- Vini, thrown off-guard, gesticulates wildly to the wife. A desperate grin that grins the grin of a death-mask grin, silently mouthing No! No! No!, his arms orchestrate a giddy plea to stall for time in order for Vini to vanish.
To no avail.
Bhaiza had crossed the rubicon, the obligatory exchange of courtesies was underway. Death-mask grin still, the gesticulation segues into directing the young suitor to his seat.
Leaving the boys to acquaint themselves the better for it, Ziza escapes to apply her final cosmetic flourishes. The virgin banter between father and suitor steadying, she enraptured by the quickening intimacy.
Ziza and Bhaiza take leave finally, to repair to an evening sighing with the nocturnal youthful delights that is the preserve and mystery of the youthful alone.
The next morning, Ziza, tone sweeter for a fruitful evening, de jure if not de facto, lilts boldly at her father.
'So, Dad, what did you and Bhaiza discuss last night?'
He doesn't break to surface.