Sahara

by Oscar Luis Rigiroli

  Yes, something we can share, I do not know if these people reach for all.

  “Do not worry; we are accustomed to share our scarce food.” Replied the man.” Talk to Ousmane, the boy who is with me. He is the one who actually manages our provisions, he might haggle with you, but he will do his best to help you. He also knows how to multiply the bread loaves.”

  “She is beautiful, is she not?” The woman snapped suddenly.

  “What! Who.”Answered the French blushing once he had recovered from the embarrassment.

  “You know well of whom I speak.” Was the resounding response of the robust African.

  “Yes, she is indeed a beautiful woman.” Étienne answered admitting his defeat, this time with a certain pleasure.

  “ Tuaregs destroyed her village, saw the death of his father and a brother, and she does not know was the fate of the rest of her family. She joined us for five days ago when we found her wandering on the forest.” The woman turned to the young man and sighed. “I wonder if she will finally be raped by a mob at the side of a road or on the bank of this river. Poor thing, she deserves better. All these children deserve better.”

  Despite being used to African realities the mental picture shocked the man. He did an extensive visual tour covering the situation of precarious camp. Struck by precariousness he formally greeted the big woman and returned to his tent, where Ousmane was expecting him at the light of a small fire.

  “Her name is Mariam.” Said the boy without introduction.

  “But, who asked you something?” Étienne had been taken off guard again. Damn nosy Africans!”

  “Really pretty.” Continued Ousmane not too impressed by the reaction of his employer.

  “She has a beautiful face.” Ceded the French, knowing that Ousmane already knew well his thoughts after three years of daily contact. Such a close and longstanding relationship erodes any mask.

  “Start cooking , what are you waiting for?”

  An hour later Guerin called by radio.

  “Excuse me for calling so late. I had just arrived from N'Djamena.” He apologized.

  “¿From Chad?”

  “Yes, we had a meeting related to the situation in the Central African Republic, which as you know is deteriorating rapidly.” His tone was one of boredom and weariness. “The same basic issue as in Mali with slightly different actors; Muslims against animists with Christians in the middle.” He paused. “Well, what do you have?”

  Étienne gave again a description of the situation found on the banks of the Niger River. As he finished Guerin thought for a moment and asked.”

  “How many people are we talking about?””

  “Thirty women and fifteen children of both sexes.”

  “Sick or injured?”

  “No, they had to leave them behind in the villages or were left on the way.”

  Guerin thought another moment, then gave his instructions.

  “Well, starting tomorrow relieve the demographic situation , from what villages they come from, what occurred in them, civilian casualties if there were, where are the rest of the villagers moving. Pay particular attention to military information: who were the attackers, whether they were only Tuaregs or there were Arabs among them, how many men and weapons, with what means they moved. We are interested in the possible presence of Al Qaeda. I also wish that this time you do some research on all human rights abuses, murder, rape, torture.”

  “Capitaine ,excuse me, what will you do with the last part of the information?”

  “ Give it to a journalist we trust. You do not worry and make a written report freely, then I will review it before submission.”

  “Press censorship?”

  “I have no options. Make sure to include all the gory details you obtain.”

  “All Right. Capitaine, if you have concluded I have a request to make.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “These people have no food nor clothes.”

  “ Well, I'll send some sacks of rice, millet and wheat flour. If I get rations with no identification of the origin I will also send them to you. I think I´ll also get some clothes. Anything else?”

  “Yes, batteries for radio and the camera ....”

  CHAPTER 3

  In the morning a loud noise woke Étienne. He immediately recognized the sound of the blades of a helicopter approaching land. He dressed up in a hurry and left the tent; then he saw Ousmane was also emerging from his. Down on the riverbank, a big fuss denoted that women and children were extremely alarmed by the event.

  A few minutes later dark green helicopter without any identifying signs landed in a clearing free of trees. Étienne was quick to greet Pierre Sissoko, African member of the Legion, coming down the appliance with a uniform also free of insignias. The two men embraced and chatted briefly.

  “So soon! I sent the request only yesterday.”Said Étienne surprised. “This is not the Legion I knew!”

  Do not grow too many illusions.” Answered Pierre. “We just could snag your order with a trip to the outskirts of Bamako we had already prepared. Help me to download.”

  Between the two soldiers, the pilot of the aircraft and Ousmane dropped packages sent by Guerin, who were only a small fraction of the total load. As all were concerned that the flight pass unnoticed as long as possible, the helicopter departed almost immediately after brief greetings among comrades.

  Étienne went to the camp placed on the shore, where he soon saw the matron with whom he had spoken the day before. The woman looked a little perplexed the whole maneuver she had witnessed.

  “Excuse me.” Said the man heading toward her. “ I still don´t know your name.”

  “I'm Madame Kadidia Diakité.”

  “Well Madame Diakité, as you see, I have brought some presents for you.”

  The woman did not believe her eyes and could not help weeping.

  “Forgive this old stupid woman.” She said and standing on tiptoes kissed him on the cheek.”I hope you will soon receive another kiss, you know from whom.” Taken unaware once more by the effrontery, Étienne blushed.

  “Do not be silly.”Added Kadidia.” The whole camp has seen the way you look each other. Cheer up.”

  “What is your interest in this?” Replied the man feigning anger.

  “That child who needs care, and you can be the man.”

  Ousmane was already distributing supplies among women, with great effort to book something for their own consumption. Étienne approached him and asked him in a resigned tone.

  “Since my interests and feelings are public domain could you could find out what dialect does the girl?”

  “I do not know what girl are you talking about, since you are not interested in any of them.” slyly replied Ousmane. Then added smiling. “I've already found out, of course. She was educated in school of French nuns.”

  That morning began the demographic survey that had been ordered by Guerin. They sat in a small makeshift table, to which approached every woman or family group in order to have their data collected, basically their family, tribal and territorial origin as well as the fate of other member of their and other villages. Kadidia, which proved to be a kind of natural leader of the group, perhaps because she was member of a prominent family of the clan and spoke good French, collaborated in translating whenever Ousmane did not understand a particular dialect

  Étienne caught a glimpse of the girl named Mariam was at the end of the queue and assumed that it was no coincidence. He perceived in himself some anxiety by talking to her. When at last came her turn she was the last. Ousmane quietly got up and disappeared from view. Étienne stood up and moved the rustic seat to let her seat; the girl sat in a very careful manner. She looked at the man straight in the eye, which pleased but forced him to stay focused despite the scrutiny of that intense look.

  “¿Mademoiselle ...?”..

  “I understand that Diawara are an important caste in Mali.”

  “ For what is worth! It did not prevent m
e to end up in this camp.”

  “Mademoiselle, you do not end in this camp. You are in it in an unfortunate but transient way. This is not then end of the story, your story.” The man said this in cordial but firm tone.

  “I hope so.”

  Étienne then commenced with the survey.

  “Your Age?”

  “Eighteen years.”

  “ You speak French very correctly.”

  “Thank you, I received a good education.”

  Étienne neatly toured the questionnaire he had developed. Until the previous year Mariam had attended a religious school where she completed the high school level, unique in the camp. Part of his family had been wiped out by the Tuaregs and the rest were presumably dispersed; Mariam was anxious to know the fate of his mother and five younger siblings. She had saved her life and integrity by hiding in the muddy stream bed, covered by vegetation. At that time she described what had happened her poise and her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears.

  Moved Étienne left his distant and professional pose and squeezed the small woman's hand tightly. This time his eyes searched hers.

  “My dear girl.” He said in a deep voice. “As I said before, this camp is not the end of the story, your story.”

  Étienne completed the survey obtaining photos of each member or family group, so as to make a sort of virtual dossier of the group of refugees. Then he sat down with his notebook to compile all the abundant information and drafting the report requested by Guerin for a reporter certainly connected with the information services in France. All this consumed the rest of the afternoon and it was already eight o'clock when he went to the tent where her partner was waiting him with dinner.

  Ousmane was in his tent with the lamp off but still unable to sleep. In the glow of an external fire lit to ward off varmints he saw a girl passing by and getting into Etienne’s tent; the thin, translucent fabric he was looking through allowed him to recognize Mariam with certainty. The light inside the tent of the French died immediately.

  The youth had seen several women slipping in the bed of his friend along several years of company, but he sensed that it was different, far from a simple adventure.

  Ousmane sighed, he loved Étienne dearly and silently, knowing that if his secret came to light, Étienne was likely to reject him and the security services would separate them forever.

  Kadidia also saw Mariam quietly passing towards the tents of the men. She smiled involuntarily; not only the couple pleased her but took away one of her many responsibilities of the moment.

  CHAPTER 4

  The girl arrived exhausted and wounded at the camp. In addition to the beatings while she being raped forest bushes had mercilessly torn her skin and many insects had deposited their larvae in her injuries.

  Ousmane Kadidia and other women attended the newcomer using the French kit . Étienne recommended the rehydration of the girl as a first step, to avoid a shock caused by prolonged exposition to sunlight and heat. Once the situation stabilized about one hour after and the woman was out of the desperate state in which she had come, Étienne proceeded to make her some questions helped by Kadidia as a translator. It was essential to proceed with caution and courtesy as the state of confusion and terror of the fugitive was too recent.

  She was a resident of a village on the Niger River, about twenty miles east of the position in which they were. Desert Tuaregs after a stop in Gao advanced sweeping intermediate populations towards Timbuktu, in what seemed a kind of ethnic or religious cleansing regardless of the fact that most of the villagers were also Muslims. The details of the horrors suffered by the young woman were ignored to avoid reliving painful memories.

  Worried by the news, Étienne left the group and went to his tent, where the communications equipment was always ready.

  After a first contact with the radio operator, Guerin arrived. Étienne briefly told him the news, and waited for the reaction of his superior.

  “Well, boy.” His tone was worried. “Your report is consistent with other news we are getting from last night. Organized gangs are breaking the entire area between Timbuktu and Gao, departing from both cities in a kind of pincer movement with a terrible destructive effect. Clearly the purpose is to terrorize and expel the tribes north of the Niger River to unify the whole area with the state of Azawad that they formed in northern Mali, which only consists of fringes of the Sahara desert.

  “If you received that news yesterday you could have warned us to immediately start the evacuation.” Complained Étienne.

  “We're completely overwhelmed, we can just start now drawing a picture of the situation.”

  “Picture of the situation, merde! We are surrounded by women and children, not toy soldiers.”

  “I understand your anger. It is essential to evacuate immediately towards Mopti, where we can assure shelter and support from Malian army units that have not yet been disbanded.”

  “But for that we must go through Timbuktu.”

  “To avoid Timbuktu you must cross the Niger and get into the south.”

  “I can´t do that with thirty women and children.”

  “Forget the villagers, there is nothing we can do for them at this point in time.”

  “And at what point in time can you do something? When we return to bury their dead? I refuse to go without them.”

  “Is it about the girl in the photos? Take her with you.”

  “Where is the French humanitarian intervention you were talking about?” Etienne’s voice was altered. “With an air raid and paratroopers you can send back Tuareg to their lair in the desert.”

  “It's more complicated than that. The high command has to analyze the situation in Mali in the context not only of what was the French Sudan but also of the former French Equatorial Africa as a whole. There is oil involved, Étienne! I say this having in view the overall picture. You're still a soldier. You have really no alternative. You must evacuate immediately! This is a direct order.”

  An ominous silence stretched on either side.

  “Capitaine Guerin.” Étienne 's voice sounded now under control again. “I am not going to run away and have these people left to their fate. I will proceed according to my best judgment.”

  New heavy silence on the line.

  “Son, I have given you the instructions that I have received. I know that all this is bullshit. Do what you have to do. Perhaps in your place I would do the same. God bless you.”

  Étienne quietly hung up. A choke cut his breath but he could overcome it. At that time Ousmane appeared at the tent door. His expression showed that he had heard part of the discussion and guessed the rest.

  “Ousmane.” The French sounded deceptively calm. “ You shall take one of the camels, the one in better conditions, weapons and supplies. You will carry Mariam riding on the same animal, cross the Niger and then head south towards Mopti, as commanded Guerin. You will leave now.”

  “And you, what will you do? You have nothing to resist an attack with. Will you stay here and wait for the carnage?”

  No, with the other members of the camp we will march through the woods on this side of the river. We will travel at night and there will be no light fires. As soon as you arrive at Mopti you have to organize a contingent of the army to meet us. You know who you must contact there. Use Capitaine Guerin´s name if you have to. Off you go.”

  Ousmane's eyes filled with tears.

  “Behave yourself as if you as a soldier.” Ordered Étienne. “I am putting in your hands the life of this young woman.”

  When Ousmane and Mariam left Étienne went to the camp and sought Kadidia. He immediately found her surrounded by other women all with tense gestures.

  “What happens French.” The woman anticipated. “Why is your partner carrying Mariam? Are you leaving us alone?”

  “Listen woman ...”

  From the Author

  Dear reader

  I appreciate your interest in reading these few words in which I talk about my
work. It is a good habit to try to understand what led an author to write a particular book, because the motivations vary from author to author and from book to book.

  As a sign of respect for the reader, in all my books I make a thorough previous investigation of the facts the work refers to, particularly considering that many of them take place in places sometimes very far apart from each other and also in various historical periods; my books often travel indeed through dilated stretches in time and space.

  These searches are based on my memory, in the large family library and the huge quarry of facts and data existing in the Internet. In the global network everyone can search but not all find the same ... fortunately, since this results in a huge variability and diversity.

  The plot of course comes from the imagination and fantasy. This is critical for me and I confess that I would never write a book that I wouldn´t like to read; my interests as a writer and as a reader coincide to a large degree.

  My works often take place in exotic locations and refer sometimes to surprising and even paradoxical facts, but never enter the realm of the fantastic and incredible. Moreover, the most bizarre events are often true.

  About the Author

  Oscar Luis Rigiroli was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, practiced as a chemical engineer until 2005, when he started his literary career. He writes in Spanish and his areas of interest are the narrative and the real economy. His fiction books belong to the suspense thrillers, romantic, erotic and noir genres. Besides his fiction works he has written a critical essay on political economy. All his works are based in extensive research, have been translated into English and are available in print and digital editions

  Books by Oscar Luis Rigiroli

  FICTION

  (In English)

  Enigma under the Frost

  Golden Legend

  Ebony Lady

  Mirage- Three Exotic Stories

  I Ching and Crime- Ten Wings