Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  The girls followed closely behind Ben along the dark road. Very few of the street lights were working even this close to the middle of town. A vehicle came hurtling towards them, and Ben put out his arm and waved it up, down and around in circles and it drew to a screeching halt beside the kerb. Someone slid the door open and they squeezed in, wriggling to perch as best they could on seats already overflowing with men, women, a basket containing two chickens, plastic bags of groceries, babies sitting on laps, and even a rather mangy dog that stared up at them soulfully from among all the feet.

  Ben handed money to the man in the front passenger seat, but not one word was exchanged. Amie wondered how the driver would know where they wanted to get off. The taxi stopped several times, suddenly and without warning. Each time the door opened and a few people got out, by Amie’s reckoning, even more got in, until it was almost impossible to breathe. At one point she felt her burqa being pulled sharply to one side and she just grabbed it in time to stop it strangling her.

  It was completely dark by now, and Ben nudged her to indicate they’d be getting off soon. Once again, they came to an abrupt halt. Ben scrambled out first and quickly took the bags so the girls could negotiate the steps without falling flat on their faces. As soon as they were on the pavement, the taxi roared off, even before the door had closed.

  “Well, that was an effing awful ride,” Shalima announced.

  “Oh, shut up!” Amie was fed up with being polite and from under all the black cloth Shalima wouldn’t be aware of the dirty looks. “It was a hell of a lot better than walking. Thank you, Ben.”

  “It is not too far to go now,” said Ben as they set off again.

  “Tell me,” Amie said, “How did you know that taxi was going in this direction?”

  “From the way the driver’s mate moved his arm out of the window.” Ben held one arm up to demonstrate the particular waving patterns for the different destinations around Apatu.

  “Clever,” said Amie. “And you knew how much it would cost? And where the stops are?”

  “Most trips are the same price around the city. It’s only when you go out into the country the prices are higher. There are no official stopping points, only the taxi rank. They stop if they see people waiting and they stop where people want to get off.”

  Similar to taxis in London, Amie thought but also not quite the same. She couldn’t help but grin at the thought of her family trying to cram into a beaten-up old vehicle already jammed side to side with people and livestock.

  “It would be wise not to say too much to my friends,” Ben warned them. “I have told them I want to bring a couple of people to stay for one night, no more than two. They will be surprised to see you and may ask lots of questions and …”

  “We’ll say as little as possible.”

  “Yeah, well I hope they ain’t gonna be too nosey,” Shalima chimed in.

  Amie sighed. If she’d been Ben, she’d have simply refused to help her. Originally Shalima had been amazing during the escape from the camp, though come to think of it, Amie had set her free first hadn’t she? Yet she wasn’t the slightest bit grateful and did nothing but grumble. She’d be glad when this was all over. She hoped they’d pack the brat back to Birmingham and into the tender loving care of her parents. They could deal with her.

  The area Ben had taken them to wasn’t a suburb populated with neat rows of bungalows but something resembling an informal housing area or squatter camp. As they made their way down the narrow dirt road, there were shacks on either side built of wood, packing case materials, mud, stones and anything to hand that could be used to build a shelter. The usual tin roofs, held in place with either boulders or old tyres, were everywhere.

  They met several pedestrians who nodded politely to Ben, but gaped at the burqa-clad women trailing in his wake. Amie thought this might be because the Muslim community didn’t live in this area. Even in countries that never had apartheid, people would still live near others of a similar culture and background.

  Despite being a mishmash of bits and pieces, each shack was surrounded by a patch of bare ground, many of them fenced with chicken wire to designate the garden. There were a few chickens, several half-starved dogs running loose and small children playing in the street.

  After zigzagging through narrow gaps between the rows of dwellings, Ben stopped by one that looked marginally smarter than the others; it even had a gate to the garden. The front door flew open before he had time to knock and a smartly-dressed young man hurried them inside. His initial look of shock was replaced by a warm smile as he remembered his manners, and he ushered them into the living room and pointed to the sofa.

  Ben introduced their host as Chibale, which he told them meant kinship.

  “You related?” Shalima really couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

  “Most Africans are related.” Chibale smiled. “Members of the same tribe are but, in the tribe, we have totem groups. Ben is also of the elephant totem like me. So that makes us brothers.”

  “Crystal clear,” Shalima mumbled.

  While the outside of the house looked uninhabitable, inside it was like a small palace. Amie gazed about her in wonder. She sank onto the black leather sofa, and rested against the fluorescent pink, fluffy heart-shaped cushions. There was a bright orange carpet on the concrete floor, two coffee tables next to the armchairs that matched the sofa, and on the other side of the room, a huge flat screen TV and video recorder sat beside what she thought were two laptops.

  Meanwhile their host had rushed off to get them some tea, chattering in Togodian to Ben, and they heard the clink of china from the kitchen.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Shalima taking in her surroundings. “It ain’t nothing like the outside.”

  When they came back into the lounge with the tea, Ben politely talked to Chibale in English, so the girls could understand them, but every now and again they would add several phrases in Togodian that Amie sensed upset Shalima. She was further upset when she lifted her burqa slightly to drink her tea and nearly choked on it. Amie grinned. She hadn’t warned the girl that tea meant sugar with a little tea added. It was an acquired taste and took some getting used to, but you never got to put your own sugar in, it was done for you, usually four to five heaped teaspoons per cup.

  After the tea and biscuits, Chibale showed the girls into a bedroom off the lounge and indicated the large double bed. Once again Amie and Shalima were about to get up close and personal.

  “Where’s the bog?” Shalima hissed.

  “The bathroom? I expect they have a long drop of sorts out in the yard or share one with a few other neighbours.” Amie chuckled.

  “All this effing luxury and no indoor bathroom? Great!” Shalima snapped and went to find out. Sure enough when she returned, she pointed Amie in the right direction, and told her how filthy it was. It smelled beyond belief and she was sure she’d seen a rat in there.

  After a quick trip outside it was wonderful to get rid of the burqa and collapse on the bed. Amie didn’t care where she was, it had been another fraught day and nothing was going to keep her awake. She fell asleep in the middle of wondering what the penalty was for leaving your hotel room without paying the bill. Would the police be after them for that too? It felt as if everyone in the world was chasing her for one reason or another. For the moment though, she felt safe.

  Amie had no idea how long she slept, but when she woke and got up, there was no one in the house except for Shalima who was still fast asleep. She dressed and went outside to use the long drop, not forgetting to keep herself well covered from prying eyes. When she returned, Shalima was still in bed, so she drifted into the kitchen and wondered if she could make herself a cup of tea or coffee. There was no note to say where anyone was, but she was reluctant to help herself.

  A few moments later Shalima appeared and she had no such qualms. “Tea or coffee?” she asked, holding the kettle in one hand and looking around for a sink.

  “I think the tap’s out in t
he yard,” Amie told her.

  “Shucks, all this effing luxury in here and they put all the basics outside. Huh, think they’d get their bleedin’ priorities right wouldn’t you?” she sniffed. “Here,” thrusting the kettle at Amie, “you go get the water while I find that stinking outhouse.”

  Amie sighed as she peeped out the front door. All seemed quiet as she rushed outside into the road to the communal tap. Someone had left it running full on, and it reminded her of the advertisements she’d seen on the television in England screaming for donations to provide fresh water for sick babies in Africa. She wondered what the donors would say if they could see so much precious potable water flowing away into the bare earth. Not so likely to dig deeply into their pockets she suspected.

  While the kettle was filling, she glanced around. There were few people about, a couple of half-naked babies playing further up the pathway and the odd chicken pecking in the dirt. A couple of houses away a very skinny goat was tied to a post with a bit of string, and two township dogs of indeterminate breed were sniffing each other. Amie couldn’t decide if they were about to mate or fight.

  The water spilled over her hand from the full kettle, but when she went to turn the tap off, she saw someone had wired it full on and the water continued to pour out and drain away. A wave of anger ran through her. Water was one of Africa’s most precious resources and here they were deliberately wasting it.

  Back in the house, Shalima was lounging on the sofa reading a magazine. “Took you long enough,” she remarked waving as if she expected Amie to make her a cup of tea.

  Amie bit her tongue. Once she’d found matches to light the single gas ring that stood on the kitchen cabinet, she checked out the cupboards, but there was no food in any of them. The gas fridge was almost empty; its sole contents were two bottles of beer and a piece of stale cheese. She did find tea bags and sugar in a couple of canisters on the side and shared one bag between two none-too-clean mugs hanging off hooks on the wall. She failed to find any milk.

  By the time Amie and Shalima had finished their milk-less tea, Ben arrived with groceries and a big smile on his face. “I have brought food,” he said, “and, I have arranged transport for us as well.”

  “So we don’t have to tramp on foot to the drop zone?” Shalima smiled for the first time that day.

  “We will travel in style. Well, not too much style, but it does have aircon of sorts,” Ben replied.

  The girls pounced on the bags. It felt like weeks since they’d had their last meal in the hotel, and they welcomed the fresh fruit and crackers with jam that Ben had brought.

  “Are we safe here, Ben?” asked Amie.

  “Not for too long. Chibale has already been questioned about his visitors. People are always curious about newcomers, and want to know why there are Muslim women in the house.”

  Amie had forgotten how jealous and suspicious people could be. “Is this a Kawa area?”

  “Most people are Kawa in this township,” Ben waved his arm to indicate the surrounding houses. “For now, we are quiet, but the M’untu do not trust us. They do not want to lose their new power.”

  “Will the Kawa fight to get back into government and control Togodo again?”

  Ben peered at her. “Of course. We are the majority tribe. The biggest, the bravest and the most intelligent. We will wait, and when the time is right, we will take back what is ours.”

  Amie sighed. This was the way in Africa, one tribe against another, one war after another, there was no way opposing tribes could live in peace. She daren’t think of all the killing, shooting and destruction that was inevitable. No one could predict when it was going to happen. No wonder people lived only from day-to-day. How could you plan for the future when you didn’t know when everything was going to erupt again?

  Even Ben appeared eager for the war to restart. Despite the fact he was an educated young man with certificates from college, he still wanted to fight, rather than sit and discuss. There was no such thing as a graceful acceptance of defeat.

  A loud banging on the front door startled them. Ben peeped though the lace curtains and gasped. “It is Ouma Adede!” he exclaimed. “I must let her in.”

  “Who the eff is he or she? Tell them to go away.” Shalima ordered, but Ben ignored her and opened the door.

  Shalima had never seen a witch doctor or sangoma before. She gawped and her mouth dropped open. Amie thought she looked quite scared.

  Ben bowed deferentially to the elderly, wizened lady who stood just inside the door. Her head was adorned with a variety of objects, bones, chicken bladders and dozens of beads in long strings that cascaded down her shoulders. She wore a long flowing, brightly-coloured skirt with a rather grubby white t-shirt advertising a local beer. Her bare arms and ankles were encircled with more beads and Coco Cola bottle tops strung together, that rattled and jingled when she moved. Around her neck she wore a scarf made of some animal skin and in her hand, she carried a small bag made of uncured leather.

  “We are honoured by your visit,” Ben murmured softly, bowing yet again. “May I introduce you ...?” But she interrupted him.

  “I know who they are, and why they are here. You do not need to tell me my brother.” She patted Ben on the head as if he was a pet dog. “The spirits have sent me. I have words for you from them. I am their messenger.”

  Nobody moved. Ben indicated the sofa but the witch doctor ignored him and settled herself on the carpet. From somewhere among her clothing she pulled out a small raffia mat and placed it in front of her. She pointed to Amie and motioned for her to sit on the other side of the mat.

  Amie got up from the sofa, knelt down and gazed at the old lady. When their eyes met, Amie felt a bolt or small shockwave run right through her body. A minor electrical shock was the best way she could describe it. She had the uneasy feeling this woman could see right into her soul and read her every thought.

  “You are not afraid, my dear?” Ouma Adede’s voice was soft and low.

  “N-no, not really, but I …” Amie didn’t know what answer to give. She wasn’t afraid, but she was worried what the seer might tell her.

  “But you respect, I can tell that. You were not born here, you come from a land far away across the water, but you are now a child of Africa. Africa flows through your blood. Africa has become part of you.”

  From behind, Amie heard Shalima snort. The girl had obviously regained her equilibrium and was treating this as a travelling circus show.

  Ouma Adede ignored the interruption and continued. “The spirits called to me to see you this morning, to talk to you and tell you that you must take great care. You will suffer a great loss. You will cry many tears. But you must be strong and you must be true.”

  Not sure of the protocol during an exchange like this, Amie blurted, “Who will die? Who will I lose?”

  “Wait!” commanded Ouma Adede as she opened her bag and took out four small bowls filled with wax. She lit each of these in turn. Next, she took out a small leather pouch, shook it vigorously and opening the drawstring she poured out the contents. There were a number of small bones, tiny pieces of dried herbs, bits of twisted metal, sea shells, several pieces of what looked like desiccated animal parts and, much to Amie’s amusement, two dice and more metal bottle tops.

  The witch doctor studied these for several moments, humming tunelessly. She swayed backwards and forwards lost in her trance. The air filled with smoke and the scent of the burning wax cast a surreal aura over the proceedings.

  “It is not for me to tell you of the loss, but the spirits have a warning for you. Do not take what is not yours to take. The child belongs here in the country of her birth and she should die here.”

  “Oh God!” Amie thought in horror. She must mean Angelina. She’s telling me not to take her out of Togodo. But she also wanted to know about Jonathon: was he still alive? Could this wise old woman tell her? Did she know?

  “You will lose many. You will weep many tears for them, but their time has a
lmost come and they cannot escape their fate. The spirits have decreed this.” Ouma Adede clapped her hands which startled them all, shattering the peace in the room. She waved Amie away.

  Amie stood up and sat back down on the sofa. Could she believe anything she’d heard? It was a bit vague and there were many ways to interpret the words. She gave herself a good talking to. She was a child of the West, born and educated in England where life was predictable. Buses ran along the streets, the corner shop opened late at night and youngsters queued to get into the cinemas and nightclubs. Sitting in the gloom in this township shack next to a witch doctor was surrealistic. It wasn’t just another country away, it was another planet away.

  Ouma Adede beckoned to Shalima. “Come,” she commanded but Shalima shook her head, refusing to budge. The old lady stared at her. “You do not believe the spirits, but you cannot escape what they say about you.”

  Shalima remained huddled on the sofa, but Ouma Adede gathered her trinkets, replaced them in the bag, shook it violently and flung them out on the mat once more.

  “You come from many children,” she said, “with parents from different parts. You ran, telling no one. They grieve for you. You made them very unhappy.” She gave Shalima a hard look but only received a defiant stare in return. She continued. “Life will not be as you expect. You are not as beloved as you think. The young man will not love you for long. You will not share a passion as you hope.”

  “I’ve heard quite enough,” Shalima said rudely and stalked off into the bedroom.

  Ouma Adede packed away the small bones, bottle tops and other objects into her little bag. She turned and smiled at Ben. “You? I have told you before what the future is for you. The spirits still see the shining light all around you. But beware, beware of betrayal.”

  Ben nodded. “Thank you Ouma Adede.” He slipped some money into her hand before she rose and walked to the door. She turned once more to address Amie. “Go well my child and may the Ancestors protect you. You have endured much and will endure more but take courage.” She added a few more sentences but they were in Togodian and Amie didn’t have a clue what she said.