Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “No.” Amie was surprised.

  “The boundary cut right through the middle of tribal areas to give England, Mount Kenya in Kenya, while Germany took possession of Mount Kilimanjaro in what is now Tanzania.”

  “So, in Togodo, how big are the other tribes, are there many of them? Could they start a civil war?” Amie had fretted all week over what she’d heard at the sewing factory.

  “Difficult to say,” replied Diana. “Up to a couple of weeks ago, I would not have taken any notice of such rumours, there are always rumours. But if, and I say if, they have found a rich source of useful minerals in the north, then those tribes might have a much better reason to fight. It would depend if they can get backing from one of the super powers, to supply them with arms and military training. Up until now, they may have complained, but generally the Luebos and the M’untus and I believe there are a few Tsaan as well, have been peaceful.” Diana noticed the fear on Amie’s face.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Firstly, those three tribes in the north have to work together and it’s most unlikely they’ll ever co-operate. They also have to find backing. Long before that happens, the desalination plant will be up and running and we’ll all be miles away from here.”

  “But what if it happens quickly?” asked Amie, shivers running down her spine.

  “Then that’s where Her Majesty’s Government comes in and rounds us all up, and whisks us out of here to the strains of ‘Rule Britannia’.”

  Amie knew Diana was making light of the whole situation, but she resolved to listen carefully and see what other small snippets of information she could pick up. She would keep her eyes open as well.

  When Amie got home that afternoon, she was greeted by piercing screams from Pretty standing in the garden next to what looked like an old bundle of clothes. It was William. He was lying on the ground and he was shaking from head to toe. Pretty was having hysterics, which wasn’t helping anyone.

  Amie had a cousin who had an epileptic fit when they were playing in the garden, and she remembered her mother had put her on her side until the shaking stopped.

  “Quick, get me a spoon,” she said to Pretty.

  Pretty stopped wailing long enough to stare at her Madam in amazement.

  “Don’t just stand there! Go!”

  She ran off, while Amie turned William over and held his head and when Pretty returned with the spoon, Amie gently pushed it into William’s mouth and held his tongue down. She wasn’t certain this was the right thing to do, maybe it was a myth that having a fit could result in swallowing your tongue, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

  After several minutes William relaxed and then opened his eyes. He was horrified to see Amie leaning over him on the grass, and he began to gabble.

  “Hush,” said Amie, “You had a fit, but it’s over now. Do you often have them?”

  William’s English was not as fluent as Pretty’s, and in his current state, all he was able to do was mumble in Togwana. Amie turned to Pretty for a translation.

  Pretty was keeping her distance and she was very reluctant to come closer, even though William was now lying quite still.

  “He says he has this problem several times Madam,” said Pretty, then added “but I have not seen before. Ah, the spirits have got him!” She began to retreat back to the house eying William with horror.

  “Pretty! These are not spirits,” said Amie firmly. “He had an epileptic fit and many, many people have this problem.”

  Pretty shook her head. She didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Ask him if he takes any medicine for his problem,” Amie quizzed Pretty.

  Reluctantly, and from a safe distance, Pretty translated. “He says the sangoma give him muti,” she said. “But now it not work as many days, as he only get a little muti as the prices are higher.”

  Amie looked at William. “Before the price went up, you had enough muti for the month?” she asked. “Now you only have enough money for muti for some of the month?”

  William nodded, looking totally miserable. He struggled to get up.

  “Right then, we are going straight to the hospital,” said Amie. “Come on Pretty, you come too, I may need you to translate for me, or hold William if he has another fit.”

  Pretty wailed and walked backwards shaking her head. Nothing, not even her Madam’s anger was going to persuade her to get into the car with William, much as she adored riding in cars.

  William didn’t look too keen either. The word hospital put the fear of god, or maybe the fear of the sangoma in him, but he did not like to upset the Madam. He was sure she would fire him now, and then he would have no work. He decided it was best to obey.

  Reluctantly he climbed into the back of the car and they set off for the hospital. This time the Dutch doctor was on duty and listened as Amie explained her amateur diagnosis. He disappeared into an examining room with William, and Amie passed the time reading the notices on the walls, primarily about AIDS, and basic health instructions for washing hands and keeping food clean. There was lots of advice for pregnant mothers, urging them to use the hospital for pre-natal checks, and the advantages of giving birth to healthy children. Most of the information was just plain common sense, but then Amie wondered just how much knowledge she had learned, almost by infusion, as she’d been growing up.

  For as long as she could remember, she knew to wash her hands, and how to use the bathroom, but what if her mother hadn’t known about such things? She wouldn’t have passed the knowledge on, especially if they’d never had a bathroom, or running water and plenty of soap. The things we take for granted are a new and novel experience for many.

  When the doctor reappeared with a subdued William trailing behind him, he agreed further tests were needed, but it looked as if William suffered from epilepsy, and he was going to prescribe tablets which would keep it under control.

  “How much are they?” enquired Amie. “I will pay for them.”

  “I don’t think they cost very much, but take this to the hospital pharmacy and you can pay there. Oh, and William, don’t lose the prescription, as it will give you pills every month, until we can arrange for the tests. Can I use your address?” The doctor turned to Amie.

  “Oh course, I’ll give you our post box number.”

  The doctor finished filling in the forms and smiled. “You should not have another fit as long as you take one tablet each morning and another each night. Do you understand?”

  Still looking a little bewildered, William nodded vigorously.

  It was quite late by the time Amie returned home. She had dropped William off close by the township where he lived, clutching his pill bottle tightly in his hand. Pretty was waiting in the kitchen and for once Jonathon was home first.

  “William good now?” asked Pretty.

  “Yes, he is fine, and he has muti to stop another fit,” Amie told her as Pretty put the evening meal on the table.

  “Pretty, had you never seen William having a fit before?”

  “Oh no, Madam, no. I would tell you so you could send him away! He is cursed by the spirits.”

  “No, Pretty,” said Amie sternly. “That is not true. William has a problem in his head, and now this medicine will keep him well. He will not have another fit as long as he takes the pills.” Another thought occurred to her. “Pretty, do you know how much William was paying the sangoma every month?”

  “I not know what for, but he pay one hundred and twenty dollars.”

  “That’s almost ...” Amie was shocked. She turned to Jonathon as soon as Pretty had left the room. “Do you realise that’s almost all of his monthly wages?”

  “Compassion is scarce in Africa,” replied Jonathon. “But then you have to hand it to the sangoma. He must have diagnosed the problem and given him the right herbs or potions. There is more to tribal medicine than we give credit for.”

  Amie nodded. There was a lot about Africa which still made it the Dark Continent. There were so many things, that coming from t
he so-called civilized world, they simply didn’t know or understand.

  The days flew past. Amie was out most days shooting. She’d decided to get as much footage in the can as fast as possible and then she’d sit at home and edit all the inserts.

  For the programme to illustrate the state sponsored training facilities, Amie was only ever shown one project, but if there were more, she would have been surprised. The workshops were all inside a compound with small cubicles behind metal shutters. There was basket weaving, which as far as Amie knew, had been a local occupation for years and years. There was a small pottery workshop, where they were using wet clay dug from the nearby river bed to fashion small bowls of appalling quality. There was no furnace to fire the pots and no glaze. The finished, sun-baked articles were rough, and certainly not of a standard high enough to offer the absent tourists. But the artists were quite insistent they made their pots for the tourists to buy.

  There was yet another sewing group, but this time the machines were operated by hand and their productivity looked quite high with lots of garments set out for sale. However, in the three days Amie and the crew were there, not a single customer approached the compound to even have a look, much less buy anything.

  There was also a bead workshop, where another group of cheerful, chattering women were talking much faster than they were threading beads. There were a few completed necklaces, and bangles but Amie was puzzled by the lack of symmetry. Ben told her that in the past, young maidens used to make bead love letters, the various colours having a different message, and it told the young man who received it what the girl thought of him. When Amie asked him if he’d ever been given a bead love letter, he looked quite offended, and said if he wanted to pass a message, he wrote it down on paper, or used his cell phone to send a text! Amie wasn’t sure if she’d upset him, but he seemed sulky for the rest of the afternoon and stayed well away from her.

  The woodworking shop was abandoned, and the only way they could identify it was by the few wood shavings on the floor; there were no tools in sight. The shutters were down on the last four ‘training facilities’ with no clue as to what went on inside when they were open.

  Amie asked Ben to find out what they made and when they would be open, so they could come back and film them another day, but the only response he got was shrugged shoulders and shaking heads. Amie wondered if they were occupied. She had no idea how she was going to pretend this was a thriving training facility. No one was teaching anyone anything and there were no new or modern techniques or equipment in sight. Perhaps she could show it as a fostering of age-old crafts and traditional handwork, although she had a good idea that was not what Colonel Mbanzi wanted. But there was a limit to what she could produce with so little to show. Could it get any worse, she wondered? It could.

  The only bed and breakfast establishment they went to was a larger than normal house built of bare breeze block. Every time Amie brushed near a wall, her clothes got covered with a fine powdery dust. It got on everything, and she immediately put a piece of plastic over the camera, afraid the dust would get inside it.

  Mrs Rabata was the proud owner of this fine establishment, and she happily showed them around. There were three bedrooms, one for the family and the other two for guests. Rustic wasn’t the word for it, but it would be the only truthful way of marketing it, thought Amie as she gazed in dismay at the metal framed, springless beds and thin foam mattresses. The covers were bright and cheerful and they looked clean, although the towels looked somewhat threadbare.

  Mrs Rabata swept them into the kitchen to show off the facilities. It was spick and span but certainly quite primitive, maybe simple would be a better word, thought Amie, feeling a little ashamed of herself. Her hostess was a cheerful, friendly lady and was quite happy to chat. She had been expecting them and as soon as they arrived, the tray appeared with the inevitable tea and three sugars. Amie decided to go with the flow, although she wasn’t sure how the bed and breakfast would react to having sugar put in their tea for them, especially three or four large spoonfuls per cup.

  Amie asked how many guests had already stayed at the guest house, and Mrs Rabata told her cheerfully they were still waiting for the first rush of foreign visitors. Amie squashed the thought that maybe they would be waiting a very long time.

  And where had Mrs Rabata been trained in the hospitality industry? The proud owner explained her mother had shown her how to keep a house clean, and repair the floors which were made from cow dung and mud. Her mother was also an excellent cook and she liked to prepare food that people enjoyed. The dishes she described were all local, and unlikely to appeal at all to the average foreign traveller.

  Did Mrs Rabata have any training from a government department? This question didn’t seem to make any sense to the landlady. No, she hadn’t had any training, but she was given extra dollars to extend her house, with the idea of acting as a hostess when the tourism boom began.

  Amie was angry. She’d expected so much more, and these ‘projects’ of the colonel’s were nothing more than a scam. Even with the most creative filming in the world, Amie knew it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to see through the subterfuge and propaganda.

  She took a deep breath and with a smile, suggested they first took shots of the exterior of the house. Perhaps while they were doing that, did Mrs Rabata have some friends who could pretend to be real guests. And did anyone have a couple of suitcases they could borrow for the day?

  The school computer project was also a little tricky to show. Yes, the large primary school they were taken to did in fact have computers. Amie breathed a sigh of relief. At least she could show something real!

  How many computers?

  Three.

  How many learners at the school?

  One thousand five hundred, well, they said roughly that number but it was difficult to keep track.

  So, did they have a special room where they kept the computers?

  Oh yes, they were in the headmistress’s study which was locked. In fact, they were happy to find the keys and show how they had built cages to keep them safe.

  Amie looked at the row of three desktop tower units with their monitor screens and keyboards all behind steel bars, and it was only then she noticed the candle on the headmistress’s desk.

  Did they have frequent power cuts?

  Puzzled looks all round. No, none at all.

  They must be on a more reliable supply thought Amie.

  Are they on Internet?

  What’s that? They asked.

  Would it be possible to open the cages and show the children working on them? How often did they have a computer lesson?

  They hadn’t started yet. We are waiting, they told her.

  Waiting?

  Yes.

  What are you waiting for?

  For the electricity of course. But the government had promised it would be installed sometime next year. Maybe. But in the meantime, the children had been working very hard and practicing their dancing, so would the visitors like to have a cup of tea and come and watch? The children were so excited they were going to be on television.

  Amie’s mind worked overtime as she watched the youngsters sing and dance beautifully. She would take footage of them and explain they were celebrating the arrival of the new computers to make learning more exciting and open up the world to enquiring minds. Then maybe get a truck to drive up and show the offloading of the computers. If they walked in with them three at a time, they could cut and walk in with ‘another’ three. Then close ups of the children’s faces as they looked at the screens and she could take shots of her own laptop at home and cut them in between.

  What am I doing? Amie asked herself. This is propaganda on an enormous scale. I’m going to have to talk to the colonel and explain some of these difficulties. Even if I’m really inventive and creative, these programmes would be a laughing stock if they were shown outside the country. But how am I going to explain that? She had a horrible feeling Colonel Mb
anzi was not going to be the slightest bit interested in either her views or her problems.

  The last project to be visited was the hospital, and Amie hoped this location was not going to be a complete disaster. She’d been there twice, once for herself and once with William, but this time she was looking at things from a completely different perspective. How was she going to tell the story?

  She left Ben outside with the equipment, and asked him to walk around and find the best places where she could take a few exterior establishing shots. Amie mounted the front steps and entered through the main door. She was impressed with the cleanliness in the entrance hall. The lady at the reception desk was polite and directed her to the Matron’s office. She knocked on the door and was amazed to see that the woman sitting behind the desk was an Indian lady.

  Matron looked up and smiled at Amie’s obvious surprise. “Not what you expected, I’m sure!” she said with a chuckle.

  Amie was covered in confusion. “Oh, you must think me so rude, I’m so sorry …” she didn’t know what to say without making things worse.

  “No need to apologize,” replied the Matron. “It’s a very common response, you were expecting to see a black face?”

  “Well, I um …” Amie took a deep breath and decided to be honest. “Yes, yes, I was. In all the projects I’ve shot so far, there hasn’t been one white face in charge, or even involved in a government project, so yes, I am surprised.” Amie paused in embarrassment, Matron’s face was more brown than white. “I’ve seen you at the Club,” she added but I thought you were one of the wives.” Please don’t let her take offense, she thought.

  But Matron smiled as she held out her hand. “I know, you must be Amie. I’ve been expecting you. I’m Sohanna Reddy, and I really am the Matron here. Come, sit down. Let’s have a chat first.” Matron indicated a couple of easy chairs over by the window. “Tea, coffee?” she offered.

  “A cup of coffee would be great,” said Amie.

  While Matron ordered the drinks, Amie looked out over the green lawns surrounding the hospital. “You must have the best lawns beside the bowling green in Togodo,” she remarked.