UMTATA

  The man who had sat next to her on the plane sidled up to her and again tried to start a conversation, but she had seen this all before and wanted no part of his hospitality.

  “Ma’am, I have my car parked just outside the airport and it would be my honour to take you to town.” He smiled; he seemed a little creepy, she thought.

  “No, thank you. It is so nice of you to offer me your services, but I have someone who will pick me up,” she lied.

  A few moments later her case was hurled towards her, and in an instant she had it in her hands and was making for the taxi rank.

  “The university, please.” Naomi had made her mind up quickly.

  “Yes, ma’am, I will drop you at the reception, but it will take some time due to traffic.”

  “Do not worry; just get me there before the reception closes.” She checked her watch; it was five minutes past three in the afternoon.

  At precisely three minutes to four o’clock she strode into the principal’s secretary’s office. She was sitting at her desk chatting with another lady – perhaps the typist, Naomi thought – and they ignored her.

  “The principal, please,” Naomi said with authority.

  The secretary looked up, agitated at being disturbed. “Er, Mr Sisoko is in conference and not available until tomorrow.”

  “OK, so please book me in for then. My name is Zimba, Naomi Zimba, I am the estranged wife of Kwasi Nzema and please show me where I shall meet with him tomorrow?”

  “I will book you in to see him at 9.30, and his office is the one behind you.” The secretary looked down and noted the details. “What is the matter you wish to discuss with him?”

  “I will tell you after I see him.” But instead of leaving the premises, Naomi walked directly to the principal’s office door and entered. The secretary scrambled towards her, not expecting her to enter the office without permission.

  “Ma’am, please – you can see I am busy and I have to complete this report tonight, so please make an appointment with me tomorrow.”

  “Sir, we have not met before but the reason I have come to see you will not wait a minute longer.”

  Before he could protest further she was in full flow, and the principal, though clearly annoyed, nevertheless listened.

  “My children were taken from me illegally by my husband Dr Kwasi Nzema some years ago, and now I have information that he teaches here at the university. I need to see them now, and will not wait another moment.”

  “Mrs Nzema please, it is not under my jurisdiction to tell you who works here or what their private life entails.” He intended to scold her further, but she stopped him in his tracks.

  “Sir, I once again inform you that a teacher working at this university has three children in his care, but has done this illegally, and what is more, he intends to get married to another woman in a few weeks and commit bigamy. If you do not address this situation immediately I will go to the press and concoct a story they will love to publish, especially with your name in the headlines.”

  “That’s preposterous.” He glanced at his secretary standing at the open door. “Sandra, please get Nzema up here and sort this out.”

  The secretary’s attitude seemed to have changed. A group of women from the office had joined her, and they were agitated and made no secret of the fact regarding the children.

  “Come, ladies, please clear the office; we will get this situation clarified very quickly.”

  The principal turned to Naomi. “Please, Mrs Nzema, wait in my office and we will resolve this as quickly as possible.” He sighed, and thought to himself that he could have done without this unfortunate situation.

  47

  Ndola

  There was uproar at the police station in Kitwe. Superintendent Banda was shouting at his officers seated in front of him.

  “When I give an order, it must be obeyed. We are under the control of the high commission, and after today they will probably fire me and all of you simultaneously. Now please move quickly; I want two cars and eight officers to return to Ndola without further delay. I expect this dangerous fugitive to be under lock and key by tonight, so please do not fail me. Arrest him by force if necessary, then shackle him, and I want him in our cells before any of you go home. Do you all understand? Because if you don’t, then do not bother to come to work tomorrow. Now, let us have action.”

  The house in Ndola where Charles had lived was now under siege. The eight officers had surrounded the house and their lead man, Mwale, was waiting for a reply to his heavy banging on the door. But there was nothing. Mwale instructed his men to be ready to enter the property by force.

  After a few minutes the door was broken down and four armed men entered. There was no sound or movement, and they moved through the house as quickly as possible, checking for any sign of life.

  There was nothing.

  Umtata

  When Kwasi reached the secretary’s office he had to walk through two lines of university staff. They were waiting for him to arrive, and made his entry uncomfortable by hissing at his every move, showing resentment for the treatment he had given his wife. He was a tall, thin man and towered above them all, and had to bow his head when he entered Sisoko’s office, but stopped abruptly when he saw Naomi sitting cross-legged on a chair next to Sisoko’s desk.

  “Have you brought me trouble, Naomi?”

  “No more than you have given me these past years. Have you the children?” she asked.

  Kwasi ignored her and sat at the opposite side of the desk. She was controlling her every emotion, but his silence infuriated her more.

  The next forty-five minutes of discussion revolved around various events in their marriage, but the inevitable question regarding the children: had Kwasi taken them away from their mother illegally?

  After listening for a while to the dialogue, the principal held his hand up. He had heard enough, and now wanted to go home. “OK, OK, I have the one and only solution to resolve this issue immediately, and I will tell you what is going to be done in a few days when I have had more time to think about it.

  “In the meantime, Kwasi, you will need to advise me of your intentions regarding your wife in the long term. In the short term you will ensure that your wife has accommodation and food whilst she is here, but most of all that she has access to the children. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “May I suggest that she visits them tomorrow at your house, and every day until we get this situation sorted out? The provisional details will need to be discussed later, when we make a decision as to whether this needs to be settled by the courts, or whether an agreement between the two of you can be made now.

  “OK, then it is time we all went home. I have decided to advise the governors of what has transpired here today, but I hope that we can resolve this without it going to them on a formal basis.”

  The Ultimate Reunion

  The next day a car picked Naomi up and drove her slowly through the streets of Umtata. With each turn she expected the residential area to come into view, but it was over forty minutes later that the car edged through the gates of the university halls, took a left towards the staff accommodation and parked in a small car park.

  The driver switched off the engine and, without looking at Naomi in the back seat, explained, “Mr Nzema’s house is 55A; it is the fifth house in the road opposite us.” He pointed to a corner.

  Naomi exited the car and walked in that direction. She had the feeling that, through all the windows along the road, people were looking out at her. She remembered that Charles had told her to keep her head high whatever the situation, and, feeling conspicuous and alone, she forced her neck and back to straighten and walked with purpose.

  Quite unexpectedly, she heard a cry. “Mama, Mama – over here!”

  She looked, and standing in the doorway of a house on her
left were three children. A maid was holding them back, but in a second two of them broke free and ran towards their mother. The smallest of the three held back, as if unsure of what to expect. They met, it seemed, running too fast, as they crashed into their mother and hugged her. Naomi fell to her knees and encircled them with her arms.

  The smallest child had decided to follow the other two and as he reached the trio Naomi pulled him in close to her.

  She had never forgotten the anguish she had suffered when he had a heart operation some five years previously. She cried for joy; he looked so healthy.

  They held this position for many minutes before Naomi could speak. The two oldest children, now twelve and eleven years old, remembered her and held her arms tightly.

  “Children, my children, you have much to tell me. I want to know every detail, from the time that we were parted. We have time. And now you must open your presents.” And they walked into the house where the maid had made breakfast.

  The tallest and oldest child broke in. “We have three days off, just to see you.”

  His sister interrupted him; she did not want to be left out. “Mama we can stay with you in the hotel all of the time you are here.”

  “Well, that is a lovely thought, and I will enjoy these three days more than any I have ever had in my life.” She was so happy.

  After breakfast they walked back along the road to the car that had brought Naomi to her children. The driver smiled, and Naomi gave him instructions.

  “Please drive, but take us somewhere close to where the birds sing the loudest.”

  48

  Slipping His Tail

  The old Opel drove slowly through town. It passed Mulema Street, then took a turning into Alongo Road towards the centre of Ndola, the driver looking for a place to hide.

  He noticed a discoloured white Toyota; it was parked adjacent to a plot of wasteland. Inside the cab were three rough looking individuals; through the open window they were talking with another man leaning on the offside door. As the driver passed the group he recognised the man on the outside, pulled to the side of the road, and quickly backed up in front of the white vehicle.

  The three men in the white Toyota, on seeing a white stranger, moved swiftly to his vehicle and positioned themselves outside Charles’s car door. It was a threatening gesture, and he tried to calm the situation before it escalated.

  He held up his hand and slowly opened his window. “Hold up, brothers; that man leaning on your car is my friend George Mwanza.” Charles pointed towards the man who had now moved under the shadow of a tree.

  “What is you name?” one of the guys growled.

  “Charles Siddons. He knows me well.”

  The man walked back to the tree and spoke with Mwanza and returned to Charles. “OK, man, George wants you to join him; savvy?”

  “OK.” Charles left his car and joined George.

  “Well, if it is not my old friend Charles.” Mwanza was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hi, George; it’s great to see you, and by the way, thanks for the presents.”

  “The presents, man, what presents?” countered George.

  “The python and leopard skins, but I had to ditch them; those skins are no longer legal in the UK.”

  “Look, man, that was just a taster; I still owe you but I will pay you back soon.”

  “George, please do not worry, you don’t owe me a thing, but I need help, man. Your police force are out looking for me.”

  “Never – what is that all about? You killed somebody?”

  “No, not quite; it’s just an organisation that I was involved with some time ago, that’s all.”

  “What organisation?”

  “Forget it, George, it’s in the past.”

  “Man have I underestimated you? Were you mixed up with Krays?”

  “Look, forget about that – I must find a place to hide.”

  “Is that all? I can do that, man; come with me to the border near where we met, and if they get close just pop across to the DRC.”

  Charles did not say a word, but gazed at George.

  “Give the car to the boys here; it will be out of your hands and they will not find you because of it, that’s for sure.”

  “Do I stay with you?”

  “Yes, we go now while you have the chance, but remember, I am not with you if they get close. It will be my life if they do, and do not ask me the reason.”

  “OK, George, I think I understand the situation let’s go, and now I will owe you.”

  “That’s for sure; you will owe me plenty, ha ha!”

  49

  Journey to an Unknown World

  That evening Charles spent the night in a very unkempt house in the township to the north of Kitwe.

  Mwanza and his ‘friends’ slept in the two bedrooms and Charles on the settee with a coat to keep him warm. It was uncomfortable, and there was a lot of noise coming from a local bar.

  Most of the night he tossed and turned, uncomfortable, his mind going over and over the plan for the next twelve hours. This time would be critical for his survival.

  Mwanza had explained to his team that Charles would travel alone to Konkola by truck; where he would transfer from the mine truck to a small school bus. In the truck he would double up as a relief driver and on the bus he would act as an assistant teacher… The school bus would drop him at Mwanza’s safe house, where he would stay until his new passport and air ticket were prepared. Mwanza and his colleagues would travel to the safe house in Konkola separately.

  Charles was set to leave with the truck after the curfew lifted at six o’clock and should make the transfer at around twelve o’clock. It was agreed with Mwanza that should any of them be stopped and questioned, they would abide by the rule of silence.

  Nothing was said between Charles and the other desperados whilst they waited in the house. Just before he left Mwanza wished Charles good luck and reminded him that he hoped to see him at the safe house.” There were no goodbyes!

  The journey was uneventful for the first hour. The road was clear, without roadblocks, and Charles was surprised that everything seemed normal.

  However, things were to change, and as the truck approached the Chingola turn-off, four policemen were standing next to bamboo cane that stretched across one half of the road.

  Large rocks obviously man-handled from the bush blocked the other half of the road.

  The truck slowed and stopped adjacent to the first policeman. The other two armed officers kept off the road but were with rifles ready.

  “Good day. May I see both of your identifications, please?” asked the policeman.

  The driver handed over his ID card and driving licence.

  “And yours.” The officer looked over to Charles.

  “My passport has been sent to the British Consulate for renewal, but I have my golf club membership card with me. It includes a photograph.” Charles remained casual.

  “It is not a legally binding document, I am afraid to tell you.”

  “I can take my passport into your station when I receive it,” Charles lied. His original passport was held at Ndola Police Station and George was to supply him with a new one. He did not carry details of the document with him.

  “I am afraid that is not permissible, sir. You must return with me to the main police station at Chingola, and we must obtain clearance from Lusaka Police Control.” He paused and went on, “Foreigners to Zambia must have proof of identity with them at all times, so please, you must travel with me to Chingola now.”

  Charles stalled for a few seconds, and it gave him time to think. “Look, Officer, I am a working man and need to stay with this vehicle to help with the unloading at the yard in Konkola. Why can’t we settle this thing now? Surely there must be a way?”

  Another large truck had pulled up behind
theirs, and the driver was becoming impatient, hooting his horn. The oncoming traffic on the other side of the road was also building up, and the officer in charge was becoming frustrated.

  “Yes, please wait a moment until I finish talking to these truckers.” He addressed Charles once more. “OK, I will need your address and movements over the next week.” He paused and added, “You will need to report to our Konkola office within seven days, take your passport, and it is necessary to pay me two hundred dollars for the inconvenience.”

  “Officer, that sounds harsh, but I see that you are busy.” Charles gave his personal details, which would be checked against his passport later, and handed over two hundred dollars to the officer.

  The policeman nodded and waved them through, and, still counting his money, walked to the truck behind them. “Identification, please,” he asked the driver.

  Just before Charles was due to transfer to the school bus, the truck passed three police cars. They were attending to a road smash but moved to the side of the road and pulled in Charles and the truck.

  “What can we do for you, Officer?”

  “We need a lift to our station on the Chililabombwe road; are you going that way?”

  “No, Officer, we will branch off towards Konkola, but one of you can sit in between us until then if you want?”

  “Thank you, sir. Please proceed; we will try the next vehicle.”

  Charles was sweating as he arrived at the safe house, and he did not know whether it was the stress or the heat. He was glad when the houseboy showed him to a small room at the back of the house.

  During his stay there Charles did not go outside, not even to brae or barbecue, and on the third day Mwanza visited. He walked into the house with a brown envelope and placed it slowly on the dining table next to Charles, who was making some notes.

  “It is there, my friend; you owe me seven hundred American dollars and that is a special price, and includes flight and passport.”