The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

  Mosi saw the dog and hurried back to Riaz’s car parked around the corner of the estate.

  “I’m not doing this any more,” said Mosi to Riaz and Yanif in the car. “All these big houses have dogs and I hate dogs. Me, Kwasi and Eshe have knocked on a hundred doors and no-one is talking to us. It’s your turn Riaz. You said you knew people. It’s three weeks since the reception and we haven’t heard a thing.”

  “I called Mr Eden to see if we could contact people from the party,” said Riaz waving his mobile phone at Mosi, “but he said ‘No Riaz. I forbid it. You must wait. Sometimes it is like planting seeds. You must wait for the seedlings to emerge.’ So we cannot do anything.”

  “Any luck Eshe?” asked Mosi as Eshe returned to the car a few moments later.

  “None at all,” said Eshe getting in the back. “I feel like I am looking for water in a desert. Every door I knocked on no-one was interested. In the last house over there, a woman came out shouting that she was calling the police. When Kwasi gets back we should leave. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  Riaz banged his hand on the steering wheel. “We know that Yanif can do it,” he said. “We just need to find the right people, and the more places we try, the more chance we have of finding a fish that will bite.”

  Kwasi walked back to them shaking his head.

  “I am stopping,” he said, squashing up beside Eshe and Mosi in the back. “That last house… , there was this woman. She let me in. Got me to sit down and have a cup of tea. So I’m drinking tea, and as I am sitting there, all polite and friendly telling her about Yanif, she starts to rub my neck, and then my cheek and then put her hand on my chest. And then I smelt her cup and it was vodka or something. I ran. Look. My hands are still shaking.” Kwasi held out a hand to show the tremor.

  “Can't you see this isn’t the place, Riaz,” said Eshe in frustration. “Half the people I’ve seen aren’t even from Kenya.”

  “So what’s your idea then?” sneered Riaz. “Go down the market and dance around like a mganga?” Riaz waved his arms like a madman.

  “Riaz,” said Eshe. “I thought you had the connections.”

  “I do. But I never said it would be easy,” said Riaz.

  “If you don’t know anyone here Riaz, perhaps we should try somewhere we know, where the people are more friendly,” said Eshe. “Somewhere people need a healer.”

  Riaz tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You've given me an idea. We could go to Nairobi Hospital instead, where the rich folk go. We know the people are sick and they have money. We can find people there. As my mother said, ‘there’s more than one way of peeling potatoes’.”

  “There is no way we can get inside,” said Mosi running back to where the others were waiting opposite The Nairobi Hospital main entrance. “We tried all the doors, but there is a guard at all of them and every guard sent us back to the main entrance.”

  “No-one but staff and patients are allowed in,” said Kwasi catching Mosi up. “They threatened to call the police.”

  “Well what do we do then?” asked Eshe. She looked across the lawns at the tall buildings that gave the hospital an intimidating air of exclusivity from the time when it had been a Europeans-only hospital.

  “We could catch people on their way in,” said Mosi. “Me and Kwasi can go and wait around the entrance and talk to them before they enter.”

  Riaz shook his head. “People will have an appointment time and a doctor to see. They won't stop for strangers.”

  “Then on the way out,” said Kwasi. “If they have no time arriving, they might have time on the way out.”

  Riaz shrugged. “OK. But we will have to be clever. Let’s head up the road. Kwasi and Mosi can follow people as they come out of the hospital. When they pass, I hand them a card and tell them about our wonder healer Yanif.”

  After two long hours the five of them regrouped.

  “This is not working,” said Riaz. “No-one cares. It is taking too long.”

  “It’s like the door knocking but slower,” said Eshe. “And still no-one wants to talk to us. One lady ran away because she thought I was going to rob her.”

  “Why does no-one want to be helped?” said Kwasi. “Is it this just this particular hospital?”

  “We could try a hospice,” said Eshe. “Where the HIV patients go. They have sick people.”

  Riaz shuddered.

  “What’s the matter Riaz. You afraid of seeing HIV patients? You know AIDS took our parents?” said Kwasi exchanging glances with his brother.

  Mosi nodded. “There’s no shame Riaz. It’s not like their skin falls off. If Yanif can help he should.”

  “But there's no money in a hospice,” said Riaz. “In the hospices people are poor and poor people cannot pay. You can’t sell to people who can’t afford to buy. And what if Yanif doesn't heal them? They will say he has no healing power and no-one will ask for his help again. It makes no sense. What is the point of working if there is no reward. I feel like I am wasting my time. You're not listening and none of you know how to sell or do business.”

  “Riaz cool off a little,” said Mosi. “Let’s talk to Tremus. Maybe he has a better idea. A hospice could work better than you think. We should at least investigate it.”

  27. The hospice

  Yanif sat on the side of Mr Nyumba’s bed, the window open to the gardens outside, allowing the gentle breeze to bring bird song and the scent of roses into the hospice room. The hospice’s low buildings with white painted brick walls and a corrugated roof resembled the dormitories of St Peter’s.

  “Let me hold your hand,” said Yanif.

  Mr Nyumba put out his hand from under the bed-covers and looked into Yanif’s face. The man was gaunt almost wasting away. His eyes seemed to have sunk into their sockets, his arms all bone and tendons where muscle used to be; dark skin clinging to a fleshless bony frame. Yanif stroked the back of Mr Nyumba's long bony fingers and turned the hand over to examine the palm.

  “I used to be a goalkeeper when I was younger,” said Mr Nyumba as he watched Yanif trace the fate-lines with his fingers. “You wouldn’t believe it now would you?”

  Yanif smiled and Mr Nyumba grinned, showing gaps from his missing teeth.

  “Oh I would dive all over the pitch to make my saves,” continued Mr Nyumba his eyes sparkling. “We would spend hours kicking the ball. Playing football was all that I wanted. You know I could have been a professional for Mathare team but my father said I should not. Now look at me, wasting away in this bed all day.”

  He started to cough and Yanif brushed away a fly that had landed on Mr Nyumba’s forehead. From the doorway behind, Eshe came in with a jug of water. Merry, the hospice nurse, a large lady with her head wrapped in a scarf, and an apron around her middle, followed Eshe into the room.

  “Girls,” said Mr Nyumba seeing the women enter. “Girls always cause all the problems.” He nudged Yanif with his elbow. “There were always girls you know, and after all a young man likes to dance. But you be careful with them. Girls are dangerous. They take away your life.”

  Merry scoffed at Mr Nyumba. “Always blaming women you are. And yet where would you be without a woman to take care of you?” she scolded.

  “You need to have the right girl,” said Eshe smiling at him as if he were a child. “Just one. Like we need to have the right man.” Eshe looked at Yanif.

  “I had the right girl,” said Mr Nyumba wagging his finger at Eshe. “We came here together. Merry knows. She was in my arms when she died. Love is such a dangerous drug. It can hurt so much. Much more than any little disease like this.”

  “Oh be quiet,” said Merry. “Why don’t you let Yanif look at you.”

  Yanif wet his hands in the water and got Mr Nyumba to turn over. He ran his hands over Mr Nyumba’s back, a xylophone of rib bones encased in a paper skin. Mr Nyumba sighed in contentment. Yanif rubbed and soothed and, in a few moments, Mr Nyumba had fallen asleep.

  Yanif rubbed the nape of Mr Nyu
mba’s neck, then got up and led Eshe and Merry out of the room on tiptoe.

  In the corridor, Merry shook her head. “It is no good. He will not last long,” she whispered. “His wife passed away two months ago and now he has given up hope. Some people would just lie and waste away if you let them.”

  In the day-room other patients were sitting around on plastic chairs reading or playing dominoes.

  Yanif sat at the table and joined in.

  “Not many people come to visit the hospice. It’s like they treat our people like lepers not wanting to touch them, afraid to breath the same air,” said Merry, “And now look at the smiles. Yanif seems so contented here. I could feel the air change when he arrived. It would be so good if he could come back and visit.”

  “I think he’s found his purpose,” said Eshe. “People feel at peace when they are near him.”

  28. Chaplain calls

  Dr Hill was washing dishes when Jill returned from the doctor’s. As she walked into the kitchen he chucked the dishcloth into the dirty water. “Jill, you’re not going to believe this.”

  Jill raised her eyebrows and undid her coat.

  “Molly just phoned. Nicholas, the college chaplain called the office to speak to me.”

  “What would Nicholas want with you this time?”

  “He’s organising a multi-faith vigil in Cambridge to protest against this Hands of God group and they want me to attend.”

  Jill laughed out loud. “You. No. I can’t ever see you on a multi-faith anything. Something against faith I could see you on easily, but with religious leaders? And what, like linking arms with the Archbishop of Canterbury and Rabbi Goldstein singing ‘We will overcome’.” Jill giggled. “It must be a wind up.”

  “No. It’s serious. Nicholas wants a meeting next week to make the arrangements. And the worst part is I can’t actually refuse. I really can’t.”

  Jill looked at him askance, turning her eyes the ceiling as she considered the options in her mind, then she giggled some more.

  “You know you’re right. You’re absolutely right. You can’t not go. Imagine half of Cambridge bigwigs out on at a demonstration against the Hands of God, and there’s you, target number one, not bothering to turn up. I bet you can’t even say you have a prior appointment.”

  “Nope. Not even a prior appointment. One of the reasons for contacting the office was to check if I was free. They’ll move the whole thing if I’m not.”

  “Oh that’s beautiful. Really beautiful. Will there be some sort of speeches? I can just imagine you having to sit there listening to all these sage religious leaders wittering on? I can just hear Nicholas: ‘And do not be afraid Dr Hill, God is here for you.’ ”

  Jill sat down at the breakfast bar and was biting her bottom lip to stop herself sniggering.

  “To be arranged apparently,” said Dr Hill resignation in his voice.

  “Oh James, they’ve done you like a kipper haven’t they. Filleted, smoked and poached for breakfast. Can you imagine what Tim Spearman will say?”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  Jill got up and kissed her husband. “Don’t worry I’ll make a cup of tea. You’ll get over it.”

  “How was the doctor's?”

  “Oh nothing. Another check up. Just routine.” Jill's cheeks reddened and she forced a smile.

  29. Uhuru Park

  “I told you there was no money in hospices,” said Riaz after Eshe and Yanif returned from Mr Nyumba. He banged his hand on the side of an oil drum inside Tremus's workshop. The clang reverberated around the heads of the others sat on mattresses and sleeping bags that lay on the floor.

  “I bet you didn’t even get money for the bus. I said you were wasting your time. We should have spent more time knocking on doors.”

  “But Riaz,” Eshe spluttered, “we spent two days knocking on doors and got nothing. Absolutely nothing. That was the real waste of time. At least at the hospice, Yanif made people feel better. He helped. Merry has said we can come back and there will be more work.”

  “Work, Eshe, is when you get paid for it, like the work you do at the hotel,” snapped Riaz. “Anyone can do voluntary work, but it doesn't buy food. We are on our way to starving and you want to waste time with these hospices. We can’t even say 'Yanif the healer'.”

  “And what would happen if Yanif did cure someone of AIDS?” said Eshe with force. “What then? Everyone would be talking about him and there would be no end of work for us.”

  “What, great for people with HIV. Who would want to be treated by a man who spends all his time around AIDS patients?”

  “Cool it Riaz. Cool it,” said Tremus. “Eshe found someone who wanted help and Yanif did some good and helped people. That is what he wanted to do. And now we need to find something that pays. I cannot afford to feed all of you every day and have Kwasi and Mosi sleeping here, littering up my workshop.”

  “We're working as hard as we can,” said Mosi.

  “And it's not like it's the most comfortable workshop,” said Kwasi.

  Tremus growled at the twins and a glum silence filled the workshop

  “Try it again,” said Yanif quietly.

  The others looked at him.

  “Try what again Yanif?” asked Eshe.

  “The hospital,” said Yanif. “Close, but different.”

  Riaz raised his eyes. “Sure. And you know what happened last time.”

  “Why not Riaz?” said Kwasi. “One more try is just one more day and then if nothing we can stop.”

  Riaz shrugged. “That is fine by me. But one more day only and that’s it. If we don’t make it I quit. Then maybe I’ll buy some new things to sell and head to Mombasa to see if there is business out there. I don't want to chase lost causes.” Riaz stared hard at Eshe.

  “Raiz,” said Eshe, “You were supposed to be the one with all the connections. You do the selling remember.”

  “What happened?” Riaz asked Tremus.

  The group of six were gathered in a side road along from Nairobi Hospital once again. Eshe was picking up the business cards they had made that were scattered across the floor.

  “Why were you arguing with that policeman?”

  “The man was a snake,” said Tremus still fuming from the encounter.

  “What?” asked Riaz. “I left you for five minutes.”

  Mosi waved in the direction of the city. “Kwasi found someone. A man with some problem with his fingers,” said Mosi. “Bad joints or something. So Yanif fixed his fingers.”

  “And then I asked for some money,” said Kwasi. “You said it is only business if someone pays. And he wouldn't pay.”

  “So we argued,” said Mosi. “And Eshe and Tremus came over.”

  “And the man snatched the cards out of my hands and threw them on the floor and said it was all just sorcery,” said Eshe.

  “Then he called Eshe a witch,” said Tremus. “So I told him I did not like what he said.”

  “That was when the policeman came,” said Kwasi. “It did look like you would hit him Tremus.”

  “But why the argument with the policeman?…”

  “The policeman said that if we want to work near the hospital we must pay. A personal licence he called it. Otherwise next time he will arrest us.”

  “But that's bribery Riaz,” said Eshe. “That's wrong. That's why we were arguing.”

  “Why is this feeling like a lost cause?” said Riaz. “Don't you know anything? Sometimes you have to get people on your side to make business. You know last year in the big Nairobi market, two men selling beads got in a fight over a customer. From that day they would do anything to spoil the other person's business. They would tell tales, steal customers and sell at a loss to make the sale.”

  Tremus ticked impatiently. “And…”

  “The next weekend, the men’s wives came to the market to sell instead. They got talking to each other and knew there was no point in competing, so instead they took it in turns to take a customer and let eac
h sell at the highest price possible. They made more money in one day than their husbands had made in a month. You have to learn how to work with people.”

  “And what happened to the business you promised us?” asked Tremus.

  Riaz palmed the air. “If you can't manage one simple sale why should I help? I can find better work. Make some real money Tremus. Buy real food.”

  Eshe glared at Riaz. “We’ve not even started and you’re talking of leaving?”

  “You can’t quit Riaz. You still have the money from Mr Eden and you still owe me for your car. You will pay,” said Tremus, jabbing his finger towards Riaz. “If you do not, then I will find you and break you in half.”

  “You’ll get the money,” said Riaz. “I just need to be doing something more profitable than standing around a hospital for nothing.”

  Tremus cursed and raised his fist but Yanif stepped in front of Riaz and blocked Tremus’s arm. Tremus snarled, but turned instead to help Eshe pick up the last of the cards.

  The six of them walked on in silence towards the city centre and through the gates of Uhuru Park into an open green space dotted with trees with views to the Nairobi cityscape across the artificial lake.

  “Stop,” said Yanif as they came down a gentle slope close to the children's playground. “This is the place.”

  “Yanif, don’t you think enough is enough?” said Riaz. “We tried again and we still had nothing. Now you want us to try here. The hospital is more than a mile away. Who will come past?”

  “Come and sit down Riaz,” said Mosi. “Don’t be such a misery. The sun is shining, there is grass under your feet. Enjoy it.”

  Riaz ignored Mosi. “You see that man, Tremus?” he said pointing to an open area by the lake.

  A man was standing on a chair trying to attract the attention of passers-by.

  “That is Mr Ibrahim. He comes to the park everyday to preach. He says to me it is his destiny. It is what God tells him. But look at the rags he is wearing. He has two wives and ten children. He doesn't have the money to feed them. His wives have to sit and beg by the market cradling the youngest child so they might have enough to eat. Is that what you want to be like if you don't find work?”