UMTATA

  “Do I need to tell the police?” asked Naomi.

  “No, he does not want any interference.”

  “What was it all about?” Naomi dared not ask too many questions as it seemed Pet knew all the answers.

  “Naomi, forget him, for he is a dealer, a fraudster and a money launderer. Do not get involved, and forget you have seen him – if you meet again, excuse yourself and walk away.”

  “What about this number I have?”

  “It’s probably a bank account, so pass it to me and I will ensure that it is returned to him. Is that clear? Forget that this has happened.”

  “Thank you, Petula, you are a true friend.”

  “I don’t know about that, but let’s move on; it could have been dangerous for you.”

  The call was ended.

  Naomi always felt better after visiting her friends Pet and Jim. Although she did not agree with Pet’s infidelity, she found her a good and loyal friend.

  It was Friday and the institute’s director informed Naomi that her working week would change; she would now be required to work on Saturday and Sunday. This was due to the new students’ enrolment period before their Monday start.

  22

  Curfew,

  September 1981

  In 1964 Zambia became the ninth African state to win independence, and Kenneth Kaunda became their first president.

  He was born in 1924 to Malawian parents, a teacher by profession, as was his Presbyterian father. As in many African countries, after independence the governing of Zambia was never going to be easy, and his time in office was plagued by tribalism, unrest and civil war.

  Many African state leaders who sought independence from the British formed a group and called themselves the African National Congress, a movement that was to achieve independence from the British in the majority of African countries, but this did not happen without sacrifice and some, including Kenneth Kaunda, demonstrated so vigorously that they were subsequently detained in prison by the British for long periods of time. When those who did experience incarceration were released they gained hero status, as did Kaunda when he was finally released in 1960.

  During his time as president ethnic unrest was prevalent, and in an effort to stabilise this, Kaunda imposed a curfew on the country, forbidding any movement outside the home between six o’clock in the evening and six in the morning. His party announced that any person found on the streets between these times would be deemed an agitator and imprisoned without recourse.

  At Jim and Pet’s house, weekend curfews were a good reason to party, and the group made the most of the situation. On most Saturdays the house was full of friends, with parties continuing through the night until the curfew was lifted at six the next day.

  On one particular weekend Pet was looking as glamorous as usual when Naomi arrived at five o’clock on Friday evening. Jim was his usual untidy self – he was cooking meat on the braai. It was sizzling and he occasionally poured beer over it to stop it burning; he said it would give it a better flavour.

  Brendan and Veronica arrived shortly afterwards and the group started the weekend as they intended to finish it. The three ladies went into the house whilst Jim and Brendan talked outside. The night was warm and the sky clear.

  “You know, Jim, last week I played golf with another Irishman who has just moved to the area. He is called Charles Siddons, hell of a nice guy. I have invited him over tonight; being Irish like myself, he can charm Naomi with his incessant talking and good humour.”

  “Does she know yet?” asked Jim.

  “No, and she won’t until he arrives.”

  “What does he do?” asked Jim. “For work, I mean.”

  “Nothing at the moment, although he told me he’s trained as a mechanic and worked on some site somewhere in the UK. I hope Naomi doesn’t throw a tantrum when she meets him.”

  Jim laughed. “Even if she does, there is no place for her to go once the curfew starts.” He was uneasy in case of any misunderstanding.

  “That’s right, but let’s advise her that we have a golfing friend coming tonight; nothing obvious.” Brendan looked mischievous.

  “Naomi?” Jim shouted towards the house.

  “Yes, Jim?” It was Naomi’s heavily accented Afrikaans tone.

  “Brendan wants you a moment.”

  A few seconds passed and Naomi skipped into the garden, her head held high. She was in a good mood, it seemed. Towering above a much smaller Brendan, she smiled down on him. “Did you want something, Brendan?”

  “Yes, my dear – I have invited a friend over tonight; his name is Charles Siddons. He is Irish and alone in Zambia, so please be nice to him. There is no hidden significance to my inviting him; he is our friend.”

  “Who is this Charles Siddons?” Naomi quizzed. “Is he sixty years old, with white hair?” She was going to add, ‘and a fat stomach’, but looked at Jim’s before saying anything more.

  “No, he is the same age as me,” Brendan said. He waited for a few moments and then added, “That’s old, I suppose.” There was silence, and he continued, “But he is a kind man and lots of fun.”

  Naomi hesitated, and her thoughts made her more defensive. A makiwa [white man], youngish, is coming tonight. It sounds suspicious to me, she thought. She looked down at Brendan with her deep brown eyes. “Please make it clear to your Mr Siddons that he can find better girls in the bush, who are younger and prettier than me.” She turned angrily, as if offended by their suggestion.

  “But we are not suggesting an association between the two of you; only that you welcome him.”

  “That I will do willingly, but that is all. Your man can look elsewhere.” She headed for the bathroom, her head held high, but her heart low.

  “I only tried.” Brendan’s rich voice sounded disappointed, and Jim continued to look at the floor. He felt embarrassed.

  The kitchen door swung open and Veronica burst in. “What have you done to that poor girl, talking about this Mr Goodwill, an Englishman without a woman?”

  She turned towards the bathroom, but stopped when she heard Brendan’s voice. “Veronica,” he began, “it is Mr Siddons, not Mr Goodwill, and he’s not English at all – he’s like me, Irish.”

  She didn’t look round, but smiled and shouted, “Then, Mr Keyhole, he can’t be all bad, I suppose.”

  “What can you do with them?” said Brendan, and Jim nodded.

  “What time is he due here tonight? It’s only five minutes before the curfew is due to start.”

  “OK, don’t worry.” Brendan’s eyes went to the ceiling.

  It was ten minutes past six when the doorbell shrilled.

  “Someone at the door,” laughed Pet. “Hello, Charles, it is so nice to meet you.” She was at her most charming as she invited the Irishman into the house.

  “Where are they?” asked Charles.

  “Oh, they are outside as usual drinking beer, but before you go out, can I introduce you to someone?”

  “Of course, and who might that be?”

  23

  Nothing Like Seeing Old Friends,

  November 1981

  The Nkana Golf Course is positioned on the outskirts of Kitwe. Leading to the clubhouse from the main road is a two-kilometre access road; it is narrow with a few nasty bends, and not something for a golfer to look forward to after a tiring round and a few strong drinks. The access road normally does not present a problem to the driver on his way in to play a round, it is on exit where the problem exists. It can be an utmost challenge for the unprepared driver, especially a slightly inebriated one; according to Geoff de Kok, one can take all the bends at sixty miles per hour and enjoy the ride at the same time. Along the winding route there are many trees, and these are a welcome break from the sun that burns incessantly in the hot season.

  Brendan had driven this route so many times, in
various states of inebriation, that he often boasted that he was getting better and faster after each trip. Today it was his turn to drive, and in the car with him were Jim and de Kok’s replacement Martin Valeron, who had joined the group on an invitation from Brendan. The two had met a few days earlier at the club.

  Brendan slowed to a stop just outside the car park and allowed Martin to practise his swing on the range before parking nearer to the club.

  “I hope he gets on well with his new partner, this guy Siddons – and by the way, is that name Irish?” asked Jim.

  “To be sure, it is not, but then he is probably from the English side – you know, the Black North. But it doesn’t matter; I am sure they will get on fine.”

  At the clubhouse, they changed their shoes and shared a locker to store the clothes they’d need after a shower later.

  The bar was big, with the viewing area built at thirty degrees to the fairway, providing a good view of the eighteenth green. Charles had not arrived when they entered the bar, so with twenty minutes to spare, they ordered drinks from the waiter.

  After a few minutes Brendan perked up. “Well, here comes our man. Good morning, Charles, glad you could make it.”

  Martin, on seeing the man he knew as Barney Coughlin, was struck dumb. He went pale, fidgeted for a few minutes and then held out his hand. “Hi, er, Charles; long time no see.” He sat down, embarrassed that he knew the man’s secret, and averted his eyes. “You did say your name was Charles, didn’t you?”

  “It is.”

  Brendan noticed the panic on Martin’s face. “Have you met before?”

  Charles turned to Brendan – “How are you, Paddy?” – and then looked at Martin. He did not show surprise or fear. “So, you must be my new partner. That’s great, and it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Martin sat down without another word and forced a smile.

  The others, sensing a tense situation, also found seats. The waiter put the tray on the table, and said, in his deep African accent, “I took the liberty and brought four of everything; I hope that is what you want?”

  “Of course, John, that is wonderful, and make sure you put this on my account. And here is something for you.” He squeezed some notes into the waiter’s hand.

  Four Hours Later

  “I knew it would be a good game, and sorry that the local boys beat the newcomers.” Brendan joked with Jim, and looked mischievously at Martin and Charles.

  “It was good company, but I played lousy.” Charles smiled as he patted Martin on the back.

  “Thanks, old man, but don’t worry; I played badly too. There is always another time.”

  “Let’s order some cold drinks before I collapse in this heat, and then we can shower and have a few more,” Brendan laughed.

  In unison, they all said, “Absolutely”, but it turned out to be more than just one drink; it was a few before Brendan headed off to the shower, followed minutes later by Jim.

  Martin and Charles continued sipping their drinks. Charles grimaced and looked sheepishly at his old friend. “I knew that you had come to Africa but did not expect you to be here. Nevertheless, it is good to see you.” He rose to leave for the shower, but then gripped Martin’s forearm and whispered, “Please do not say anything to my friends. I will explain everything whenever we can get together; is that all right with you?”

  “This is the strangest reunion I have ever had, and if it is a coincidence then the chances of it occurring must be incredible, but yes, that’s fine,” Martin laughed. “Let’s meet next week. Ring me at the office and we will make a plan, and don’t worry, I will not say a word to anyone in the meantime.” He held out his hand to Charles and they shared a firm handshake.

  Ironically, he had only recently spoken with George Webster, but now with Barney (or Charles) turning up, things were different. Next time he might have to tell him the news. He thought for a moment. No – let the man have his say and we may even let sleeping dogs lie. Either that or when George called he could just not answer the phone.

  Arriving back at his house, Martin threw his laundry into the basket, poured himself a glass of water and fell back on his comfy sofa.

  It was only a few minutes before the phone rang. “Martin, it’s Brendan. I noticed that there was something between you and Charles today – or was I imagining things?”

  “What do you mean, Brendan?”

  “I thought there was – perhaps not, as you seemed to get on well. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “Leave it, Brendan. I knew him in the past but let’s leave it there.”

  “OK. Before I go, I thought it was worth mentioning that this Charles guy is sound; he has joined our little community and fitted in well.”

  “I am sure he has.” Martin wondered where this was going.

  “You will not know the situation, but since meeting Naomi he has formed an association with her and he is helping her to find her kids; he is a humane guy, totally committed to the cause.”

  “Yes, I have heard,” Martin clarified.

  “He spends all day sending letters all over the world, spends his own money travelling to clarify leads, and I cannot think of a better person.”

  “Why are you telling me this, old mate?”

  There was silence for a few minutes. “’Cause I like him, and feel that he has done something in the past that you did not approve of, and you felt uncomfortable in his presence.” Brendan breathed out hard.

  “I have to go. I need to prepare for the trade fair; I’ve rented out the main outdoor stadium.”

  “That sounds fantastic, and I look forward to it. Thanks for listening to my woes.”

  “Not a problem, old mate; see you next week and we can talk then.”

  Martin carefully put the phone back on its hook. He needed to know how to explain the situation to his friends, and what he should do about reporting this to MI6.

  Martin lived in a house on the outskirts of Kitwe, shared with a workmate called Nat Crute. Nat was a remarkable man from the north of England. He was middle-aged, quietly spoken and would do anything to help others, and his claim to fame was that he had once been a finalist in the News of the World darts championship.

  Crute was someone who would be on your side when you most needed a friend, but he had a nervous disposition, which had developed after a mining accident. It was an unfortunate affair: he had been knocked unconscious by falling rock and trapped for many hours. When the rescue squad found him, they had a tedious job getting him to the surface. He survived, and was eventually invalided out of the mining industry only to start working in the oil and gas sector, but the ordeal had left its mark and he avoided all excitement or impending danger.

  During their stay in the house he and Martin had become firm friends, but on one occasion the project manager rebuked Martin over an incident that involved both of them.

  Does a Gift from a Friend Always Bring Happiness?

  Charles was receiving presents from a local man by the name of George Mwanza. In lieu of a payment of a loan Mwanza still owed Charles money and had promised to pay him back when they next met but in the meantime he continued to send a few presents in friendship.

  Charles was appreciative of Mwanza’s goodwill, but passed the presents on to his old friend Martin, whom he was trying to flatter.

  At first it was an eight-foot python skin, rolled up and treated, which Martin hung on his wall. The next was a full leopard skin, and when Martin received this he put it on the floor of his bedroom.

  The last gift he’d received caused a lot of trouble. The crocodile was over ten feet long – head, claws, eyes, tail and teeth – and delivered rolled up, and Martin had difficulty rolling the beast into the bathroom. Finally he managed to lay it in the bath – the head at one end, claws over the side and tail halfway up the wall; it nearly touched the showerhead.

 
When the unsuspecting Nat arrived home and went to the bathroom he did not expect to meet up with a scowling crocodile, and had quite a shock!

  The incident was one of gossip among the expatriate group and the thought of Nat nearly having a heart attack was thought of as dark humour. But when the story got to the ears of the Project Director he took a dim view of it and reprimanded Martin both for his collection of dead animals and the act of nearly scaring Nat to death.

  The deceased crocodile, snake and leopard were removed from the house.

  24

  Trust in an Old Friend

  Charles was looking forward to seeing Naomi. He had left Nkana Golf Club a little inebriated, and drove slowly and carefully – he needed to if he was to survive the exit road. On the way home he gave a lot of thought to his meeting on the course with Martin.

  When the heat had initially been put on him at Sullom Voe, he had suspected it was Martin who was the culprit who exposed him. Then later, during gym sessions, he was conscious of Valeron’s actions and mannerisms and felt as though he was setting him up.

  It seemed to Charles at the time that he was devising tasks for him, including visiting the IRA’s operations cottage in Brae, a secret location where they could link Charles and his colleague to bomb making.

  Could he trust him now? He was prepared to put things behind him and move on, but what if Martin did not feel the same way? He could set him up again. He’d seemed relaxed after the golf, but Charles would need to steer him and persuade Martin not to mention their meeting with anyone especially George Webster – he was sitting on a tightrope.

  That evening it was a peaceful time for Charles and Naomi; they were excited about their recent endeavours, and hoped they would get some positive return from them. He had made contact with a friend from Zimbabwe – he had met this guy at the pub in Ndola, but later he’d lost his employment and moved back to Bulawayo. His name was Chola, and during one routine telephone conversation he’d mentioned that he knew of a Ghanaian family who lived in the neighbourhood, and promised to investigate.