Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  Shalima sniffed and continued. “Then me uncle took Shebia back to Pakistan to marry some old goat, least twenty years older than she was, ‘cos he said it was a match wiv a good family. Geez you should see him, he wheezes and smokes this disgusting pipe and is a real slob. He only took a bath once a month, and never changed his clothes, he stank! Sure, it was done so he could come and live in England as he was now married to a Brit. And they never have no money as he sends it all back to Pakistan to his first wife! Imagine that, he has five children with her. Shebia refused to sleep with him and the family got mad and she got beaten up and the police got called. But she was too afraid to tell them anything and she got beat up even more. She tried to run away, but like she ain’t got no money and she was on the streets and someone saw her and dragged her back home.”

  “But surely there was someone she could turn to?” Amie was horrified by the story. “Social Services?”

  “Yeah, right. She told one of the teachers and they said that until she was eighteen, she’d have to stay and put up wiv it, or they’d put her in some kind of children’s home. And she didn’t want that.”

  “That must have been so awful for her!” Amie was not sure if Mrs Motswezi understood everything Shalima was saying as, apart from her broad accent, the words came tumbling out in a steady stream. It seemed that once she started talking she couldn’t stop.

  “Yeah, gave me folks a fright, and they was extra vigilant with me and my sisters. We had no freedom, and there were so many rows in the family. We heard about one girl who was killed by her father and brothers ‘cos she had brought such shame on the family by walking out on her husband. She weren’t gonna to take no more beating and she claimed refuge in a woman’s shelter place. She only went out the once, but they was watching out for her and as soon as she walked across the road they grabbed her and stuffed her in the car and that was the last anyone saw of her.”

  “Do you think they sent her back to Pakistan?” Amie suggested.

  “Nah, they’d never have got her on a plane, she would have screamed the whole way. No, we heard they done her in.”

  “Murdered her! But that’s illegal,” cried Amie. “The police would investigate and …”

  “What, yer joking ain’t you? No body, no one to spill the beans, no one to complain. No, she’s a gonner I tell you. Only they weren’t gonna do that to me, no way.”

  “So, what did you? Uh, how did you ...?”

  “They helped me at school.”

  “What! To escape and come and fight for IS?” Now Amie was really shocked. “In a British school? I don’t believe you!”

  “You ain’t got no idea what them teachers tell us in class. There’s plenty of them who follow the cause, and teach us about salvation and being a martyr and gonna heaven and all that stuff. The world must be rid of infidels and the faithful must get revenge for what them Americans and them British have done to their people in the Middle East, killing them and putting the rest in prison, and beating them up and torturing them and all just ‘cos the West don’t like their leaders and the way they behave.” Shalima rushed on without a pause.

  “You do have a point there I suppose.” Amie had never thought of her own country as an aggressor. Even coming to live in Africa she had spent most of her time cocooned with other British expats and kept her own customs and culture close to her heart. Yes, she had grown to love Africa and her peoples, but inside, she still felt herself British and proud of it. Now, she wasn’t quite so sure how she felt. There was a lot going on that seldom came to light. There had been no Muslims at her school although she had seen plenty in the streets. How many of them, especially the women, led lives of quiet desperation? How many were happy to follow the age-old customs of their families, and how many envied the western youth with their freedom, their dress, their music and their open interaction between both sexes? And how many feared arranged marriages? She shuddered to think what it must be like to be told to go with some elderly man, especially if he wasn’t even clean, possibly didn’t speak the same language, and considered you a kind of possession. It was too awful to think about.

  In comparison she had had it so easy; loving parents, a great sister, even if they did fight sometimes, and a happy, stable home. They’d always been supportive and she knew they would be there if she ever needed them. Her home was the safe haven she could turn to at any time. She’d never had the problems Shalima had experienced.

  “And it’s not only on the Internet. They is on Twitter and WhatsApp and Facebook and you know what? They even boasted they hacked into the Twitter and YouTube accounts of the US Central Command. How clever is that? These guys are on a mission, I tell you”

  “But the school?” Amie asked. “How could they possibly …?”

  “They made us all feel special, part of the new uprising, and they suggested we log on to these sites and there was plenty of them, where they told us they was looking for recruits.”

  “To come and fight?”

  “Yeah, help the cause. And there are plenty of kids leavin’, they even helped us with money for the plane fares too.”

  “So, where did you go? How did you get away?” Amie was both fascinated and appalled by the story.

  “Packed up a few things, they sent a taxi for us, all the way to Heathrow and we got on a plane for Turkey. Knew where me dad had me passport, think he was getting ready to take me to Pakistan and marry me off as well. No way was I having that! And when we landed we was taken to a camp and they trained us and showed us how to handle guns and stuff and explode bombs. It was quite cool really. We was taken in a pick-up to Syria, but that weren’t such fun. Lots of fighting and bodies and kids with no one to look after them. It was all a bit gruesome.”

  Shalima paused. “One day some other soldiers arrived and there was a big powwow. Next thing we know we was split up and I was taken away from me mates, even away from me boyfriend, and I was flown to Africa and landed up in a camp and they don’t seem so keen for us to fight. And then to be bloody maids and service the men, disgusting creatures. Hell, I don’t even know what country I’m in now.”

  “We are in Togodo,” Amie told her, while thinking there was usually a boyfriend in the picture somewhere. “And I’m not sure any government knows there is an IS camp here. They seem to be spreading all over the place, there are also groups in Libya, Chad and Nigeria and now here as well. I only heard about this a few days ago. Shalima, I don’t know if you still feel any allegiance to them but do you realize how brutal they’ve been? I’m not talking about the street fighting in Syria, I hear that’s bad, but Jonathon heard when he was in Umeru these people had publicly beheaded journalists and aid workers. They posted videos on the net and they’ve killed people for speaking out against them. And they attacked a magazine office in Paris and twelve more people died. How could you support people like that?”

  Amie’s words seemed to sear into Shalima’s brain. She adopted her tough girl attitude again, pushed Mrs Motswezi away and gathered herself together. “I must be off. It’s givin’ me the creeps bein’ so close to the camp and all. So I’ll say g’bye.”

  “Wait a moment Shalima.” While Amie would be happy to see the back of her, she couldn’t let her wander off on her own, it would almost certainly lead to her death. “Think this through for a moment,” she said. “What will you do for food, and drink, and do you even know which direction to go in?”

  “Yeah, well, I guess, I’ll start walking and see where it takes me.”

  “Shalima, use some common sense!” snapped Amie. “You won’t last two days out there.” But who am I to talk? She asked herself. I walked out into the bush didn’t I? And I survived. Still she felt she couldn’t sit and watch the girl walk away.

  “Been all right up till now, ain’t I?”

  “So far, but you should at least have some breakfast before you set out.” Amie opened her backpack and laid out the contents on the floor of the cave. She gasped when they heard a rumbling sound outside,
but Mrs Motswezi smiled. “Thunder,” she said, “our tracks, they will all be gone now.”

  “That’s a relief, I’d almost forgotten they’ll probably be looking for us,” Amie had got so carried away by Shalima’s story that recent events had slid temporarily to the back of her mind.

  She counted up the biscuits and energy bars she had left, and the three cans of meat and she was pleased to see there were also several packets of foil she had not investigated. As she emptied all the contents out Shalima gave a whoop and pounced on the black plastic bundles.

  “Bloody hell!” she exclaimed. “What was you doing sneaking around the camp when you had all this lot? You mad or what?”

  Amie looked puzzled. “Frankly I have no idea what they are,” she said. “They were in Jonathon’s bag, so I thought they might be useful.”

  Shalima looked at her in amazement. “You honestly don’t know?”

  “No. I suppose they are explosives or something like that? But I’ve no idea how to use them.”

  “Well, I bloody do,” replied Shalima with satisfaction. “They might be bastards, but they trained me well. We could blow up half the camp with this lot.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Amie, “though we’ll have to blow up the right bits.”

  Mrs Motswezi smiled again. “We can rescue my sister, and Angelina and your man too, Amie.”

  “You really are going back? No shit?” Shalima obviously thought they were mad.

  “We don’t have an option,” replied Amie. “I can’t walk away and leave them to their fate, even if I don’t feel very brave about it.” She looked at the young girl. “Shalima, can you show me how to use these?”

  “Bloody wonder they ain’t gone off already,” she replied, “seeing you swinging that bag all over the place.”

  A shudder ran down Amie’s spine. “I didn’t think of that,” she muttered.

  “Sure, I’ll show you, after breakfast,” Shalima said slyly.

  The rain was coming down heavily. Long streams of water poured off the overhang and bounced onto the floor of the cave, sending small sprays over its inhabitants as they eased back as far as they could to keep dry.

  “So, what’s yer plan?” asked Shalima while chewing on a stick of biltong.

  Amie unscrewed a bottle of water and took a few sips, before answering. “To go back as soon as the sun goes down, or say late afternoon, before it gets dark, and hide out again and see what’s happening.”

  “What if they see you?”

  “I was watching the camp for hours before I crossed the river,” Amie said with not a little pride in her voice.

  “Ah, but they didn’t know you was there did they?” Shalima pointed out.

  “No, but do you really think they would expect us to go back?” Amie queried.

  “Um, no, guess not,” Shalima admitted grudgingly. “Only mad people’d go back.”

  “Which makes us stark, raving mad,” agreed Amie.

  “We should not go today,” Mrs Motswezi said firmly, the tone of her voice suggested the decision was final. “We must wait to see how much rain comes.”

  Amie realised the river was likely to be much deeper now, perfect for a crocodile who might fancy swimming a little way up stream. She decided to keep that information to herself, she didn’t want Mrs Motswezi to freak out and disappear along with the other three women who had vanished into thin air.

  “Mrs Motswezi, where do you think the other women went?” she asked.

  The elderly lady looked puzzled. “Who knows? It was only me and my sister from my village and there is no village there any more to go to.” She paused while she wiped a few tears away. “They said they were from a village away from the sea, they go there, or possibly they go to Apatu? Where there are many people they can find help.”

  “Will they tell the government people about these men?”

  Mrs Motswezi didn’t answer her.

  Forgetting the fear many local people had for government people and anyone in authority, Amie pressed on. “But they’ll report it, and they’ll send out Togodian soldiers to attack them?”

  Mrs Motswezi remained silent again.

  “But these men are foreigners, they’re not African, they shouldn’t be here, they’re trespassing,” Amie was trying hard to push the point home, but Mrs Motswezi simply held her hands out and continued to look nonplussed.

  So, Amie thought, there was unlikely to be any help coming from the city. We’re on our own.

  The rest of the day was spent dozing, nibbling the food sparingly, collecting water in the water bottles as it poured off the roof, and keeping a look out for any movement in the valley. If anyone was scrambling down the cliffs towards the cave, they would not have heard them as the thunder rolled and the lightning erupted from the clouds.

  Amie and Shalima played noughts and crosses in the loose sand on the cave floor and half-heartedly tried a couple of games of ‘I Spy’. As soon as the rain eased off, taking a lot more care this time, Amie removed the grenades from her backpack and Shalima showed her how to arm them and explained how much damage each one could do.

  They slept again that night and remained where they were for one more day. It was towards the late afternoon when the rain stopped altogether and Amie felt it was time to move. It had been such a headlong dash from the camp no one was quite sure how far they’d come. For a while they discussed if it was a good idea to go and scout around and then return to the cave, or make for the camp and try to creep in as soon as it was all quiet. Both Amie and Mrs Motswezi agreed they should, if possible, try the rescue that night. They were worried the camp might move on, or more recruits might arrive or, no one put into words the thought that their loved ones might not be alive.

  Amie didn’t say a word, but she noticed Shalima was discussing the venture as if she intended to be part of it. Was she coming along? Was she going to help? Amie was afraid to break the mood by asking her outright, but her advice was invaluable.

  They had drawn out plans of the layout in the sand, but it seemed Ben had done a thorough visual search when he watched the camp, as Amie learned nothing new. The commander was in one of the three tents at one end, two tents on one long side of the rectangle next to the river housed the ordinary soldiers, with the women’s tent sandwiched between them. The three tents on the opposite side served as the sleeping quarters for more of the fanatics, with the ammunition and stores tent in the middle. The remaining short side was where they kept the prisoners, and the women thought there was another store tent there as well, but hadn’t seen people walk in or out.

  “Do you think that is where they store the weapons?” asked Amie.

  Shalima looked thoughtful. “Well,” she replied, “we have a choice of two tents, and they most probably have the weapons in one and the food and ordinary stuff in the other.”

  “And nothing to tell us which is which?” Amie.

  Both of the other women shook their heads.

  There was further discussion about whether to wear the hated burqas. Would they provide camouflage or mark them out as Muslim women the guards might recognize? Mrs Motswezi was most reluctant to put hers on again, although she did admit it was good as a blanket. It was all right for her, Amie thought, she could pass as a local Togodian walking from one village to another, but Amie had blond hair and white skin, although the deep tan she’d acquired helped. Shalima was halfway in between, neither one nor the other; her Asian parentage had given her a very light brown complexion.

  What a motley crew we are Amie thought, as she handed out pieces of biltong, and what are we planning to do? Take on twenty-five trained soldiers? Not that well trained, but possibly even more dangerous than disciplined troops. We must be out of our minds.

  As the sun sank behind the hill on the far side of the valley, the three women made their way up the slope above the cave and peered cautiously over the top. Everything looked quiet, with only a few buck grazing peacefully below them. Taking a deep breath Ami
e led the way down into the next valley.

  “I can’t see anyone searching for us,” she whispered to Mrs Motswezi beside her. Shalima brought up the rear. Not a single word had been said about the girl from Birmingham returning with them to the camp, and Amie was not about to raise the subject now.

  The rain held off and Amie was amazed to see how many new green shoots had appeared in such a short time. The parched earth, which looked so barren in places, had released the dormant seeds hiding below the surface, and new life was springing up everywhere. There were still plenty of clouds floating high above and Mrs Motswezi whispered there was a lot more rain coming. Amie thought this might be both a blessing and a curse. While rain would lower visibility, it would also provide more water for the crocodiles. She wished she could remember if they lived in packs in the wild. She felt very guilty she hadn’t mentioned them to the other two women, but she didn’t want to scare them and it was a comfort she wasn’t going back on her own. If it was at all possible, she would never go walk about on her own in the bush again. She’d done it twice and while the Africa of the twenty-first century was not exactly teeming with wildlife any more, she preferred not to push her luck too far.

  As they got closer to the incline on the far side of the valley, she went over and over what they planned to do. It had been decided she would make for her hideout opposite the camp and watch for a while, leaving the other two on this side of the last ridge. She would signal them if she thought it safe to cross the river and creep in between the tents. Shalima would make for the tent where she thought the ammunition was kept, while Mrs Motswezi would check out the women’s tent. Amie would attempt to get into the tent where the men were held and, if possible, set them free. Should anything go wrong, or they were discovered, Shalima would set off one of the explosive devices close to the ammunition tent and in the chaos they would have to improvise.