by Nora James
As they finally reached the near end of the corridor Ougu came out to greet them. He shook hands a little too enthusiastically with Jack and grinned at Lara, revealing two silver teeth and others that had turned a yellowish-brown, clearly in need of replacing with more of the metal non-decaying kind.
Lara followed Ougu to his office. As she passed the room adjacent to his, she saw a woman lying on a table in the dark. The sight was so unusual it made Lara jump. “Is she all right?” she asked with concern.
“Oh, yes, she is fine. She is having a rest.”
Lara held back a chuckle. Ougu seemed to find it perfectly natural that the woman would sprawl out on a table in her work environment. Ougu suddenly barked at her in Negalese. “Introduce yourself, be polite. These are refined people.”
The woman sat up, sighing, and nodded towards Lara and Jack.
“This is Jamila, my secretary,” Ougu said.
“Hello, Jamila.” Lara held out her hand, but the secretary failed to take it. Lara glanced at Jack and saw from the tightness of his upper lip that he was holding back laughter. She could see why. This was quite a different way of doing business.
Ougu’s office was tiny and as run down as the rest of the building. He sat behind a makeshift desk of planks on trestles. A vinyl couch, torn and shabby, offered lumpy seating to Lara and Jack.
“Would you like a drink? Orange soda, maybe?”
Jack nodded. “Thank you.”
Lara looked around for the source of the smell assaulting her nostrils. It wasn’t just the rubbish outside, this time. It was stronger, richer, a stench she couldn’t define, although it somehow reminded her of a pig farm. She imagined a dead goat, its belly swollen, its hooves turned to the sky, lying beneath Ougu’s window.
Ougu yelled in Negalese. “Jamila. Soda for us.” His voice dropped as he addressed Lara and Jack. “It is a little bit hard to find me here. Maybe next year I move closer to the centre. I hope your families are well, yes?”
Jack and Lara nodded. Lara’s family wasn’t though. Her marriage had fallen apart and her mother might be seriously ill, but you didn’t say that to a stranger, did you? You said it to hardly anyone, barely admitted it to yourself. The secretary who had been sleeping on the table next door brought in three bottles of brightly coloured cool drink and poured them into plastic cups.
As soon as they had all taken a sip Ougu got down to business, his eyes sparkling with eagerness. “How can I help?”
“We may have a need for legal advice in the future.” Lara was cautious, not wanting to promise anything. “We thought we would take this opportunity to meet and perhaps ask a few questions about the Negalese legal system.”
With a nod, Ougu invited them to begin. “Please, go ahead and ask questions. I will help as much as I can.”
“All right.” Lara wondered for a second where to start. “What textbooks do you usually rely on?”
“Any textbooks. Usually we are given from colleagues in France.”
Lara couldn’t see any in the office and there wasn’t the obligatory wall lined with reference books that seemed to be a feature of every other lawyer’s office in which she’d set foot. “Do you have any I could have a look at?” She wanted to flick through, take the reference and see if she could buy a copy. She would still need to rely on local lawyers and international experts, but a textbook would allow her to develop a basic general knowledge of the country’s legal system. It would help her form her own view of any issues reviewed by others. So far she’d only managed to get her hands on isolated pieces of legislation.
Ougu shook his head. “I am hoping to get one soon.”
Lara tried to hide her surprise. How did the poor man work? When she saw Ougu look away, she thought it best to leave it at that and moved on to another question. “What’s your filing system? How would you go about finding a precedent?”
Ougu rushed to the only cupboard in the room. He threw open its flimsy doors to reveal a huge pile of papers, which tumbled onto the floor. “I have many cases here. See.” His proud smile lit up his face now that he could finally show her something and Lara saw the little boy in him. He crouched down without apparent effort and started re-forming the stack.
“Let me help.” Jack picked up some of the papers and placed them back into cupboard.
Lara thought of the rows and rows of books in Global Oil’s library, of all the meticulously organised files of precedents she kept. She had access to numerous computer search engines both at home and at the office to keep her abreast of the ever-changing, ever-developing law. If she needed any other tool or assistance, all she had to do was ask. Global Oil would foot the bill. It was a far cry from Ougu’s working conditions.
But someone, somewhere in Negala, must have had a handle on what was happening in the legal arena in the country, a more global view of the legal system. “And the courts? Do they have a system that can be searched? For example, if I wanted to know if there are any Negalese cases about privity of contract, or unconscionable conduct, or challenging a Minister’s decision, how would I go about it?”
“I can look through my cupboard. Or I can go to the Supreme Court and they have some cases there.” Ougu shrugged. “Sometimes the clerk puts the cases on the file there and sometimes he forgets. The best is to ask around if people remember. Someone usually does. We always share our dinner with others and talk, every night. It is the Negalese way.”
Lara gasped, terrified at the prospect of having to work in a jurisdiction with collective memory as the best support. If they ever got to the bottom of matters here it would be a miracle. Even Jack, who was not easily unnerved, sat there with raised eyebrows and a look of dismay.
The lawyer then honed in on the last part of Lara’s question. He must have heard of Global Oil’s predicament, the challenge to their title. He would have known the company would want to call into question the Minister’s decision. “It is very difficult to challenge a Minister. The Minister is appointed by the President.”
“But by law, is there a way? An administrative process?” Lara clasped and unclasped her hands.
“I do not know. But it does not matter because the judges of the courts are good friends of the President. So if the President wants the decision to stand, it will stand.”
Lara nodded. “It’s good for business, I’m sure, to be a friend of the President.” She studied Ougu’s face, but it didn’t change, he just kept smiling.
Then his eye twitched, probably as he understood the purpose of her last comment, before he spoke. “I am not so lucky. I have no ties to our honourable President.”
He had couched his answer in terms that showed respect, but he had made clear that he was not aligned with the President. Therefore, Global Oil could expect his unbiased and independent advice and confidentiality would be respected—as much as it could be in Negala. Lara was impressed.
They discussed fees for a while, and billing, and then Lara took a deep breath before turning to Jack. “I can’t think of anything else to talk about at this stage. Can you?”
“No. It’s been good meeting you, Ougu.”
When Ougu asked about future prospects, Lara was sorry she couldn’t offer him anything concrete, for she could see how much he needed it. Still, her parting words, even though they were probably less than he had hoped for, seemed to bring the poor man pleasure. “I do hope to do business with you in the near future,” she said with sincerity.
Lara and Jack left the way they had come, wading through the possibly toxic rubbish a goat was now devouring. They walked in silence for a while. The meeting had been so confronting, so shaming. It was heartbreaking to see how an educated man lived in this part of the world.
Lara finally said what she was feeling. “I think we’ll need the international legal expert after all. Ougu is smart, I don’t doubt that for an instant, but the conditions he’s working in are shocking. It would be so easy to miss something, a relevant piece of legislation, a case.”
; Jack nodded. “It must be so hard.”
“Maybe we can find some work to give him, though”. They both smiled at the suggestion.
On their way back to the car they noticed a set of sticks planted in the sandy footpath. They stopped to examine them. Three about a metre each in height were lined up in the middle, and four shorter ones branched out to each side, forming more or less a cross.
“What is that?” asked Lara.
Jack looked puzzled. “I honestly don’t know. They’ve been put there for a reason. You can see that.” He came close to her, too close as he tried to move one around and Lara’s heart skipped a beat. “Pretty firm,” he continued, thankfully not seeming to notice the effect he had on her.
Lara pursed her lips. It was nothing much, barely a flutter, a purely physical reaction. It meant nothing and she was relieved Jack was ignorant of the way he made her feel this time around—or she’d never have heard the end of it. Still, she chastised herself for it, told herself she was behaving like a teenager. She didn’t need that kind of thing in her life, didn’t need another man she couldn’t trust.
A local in a blue dwana suddenly walked around the corner of the next street, a cloud of dust at his feet as he made his way over to them.
“Hello. I am Oman. You are the Australians?” He was tall and thin, probably in his early thirties. Lara couldn’t help but focus on the white of his teeth and eyes as it contrasted so vividly with his dark skin.
Jack nodded. “We are. I’m Jack and this is Miss, uh, wishful thinking, Mrs Lara.”
Lara closed her eyes briefly as she exhaled. Jack was playing games with her. Wishful thinking? Jack’s lips curled into a smile, but she didn’t reciprocate, didn’t want to encourage him. She wasn’t falling for him and that was that.
Jack wrapped his fingers around one of the roughly cut pieces of wood. “We were wondering what these are for, Oman.”
“Ah! That is easy. Some people do not have a home. They plant these sticks and they keep some material, some cloth. At night time they make a tent here.” He lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. “It is government property, the footpath, but nobody complains about the sticks, so they can stay here for sleeping. We all understand poverty in this country.”
“Your English is very good, Oman.” Lara was a little surprised, but also curious. “Where did you learn it?”
“I studied engineering in France and England, and worked there, too. I learned English at school. I was very lucky. My whole family, all my aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, gave all the money they had so I could become an educated man. Of that, I am proud.”
Oman’s smile faded away. “For seven years I worked very hard. I sent all my pay to them. But I was never promoted. I am not white. And then I missed my people. This is my home.”
Lara’s chest tightened as Oman’s words resonated in her mind. There was too much injustice in the world. Too much depended on where you were born and the colour of your skin.
“Why don’t you come and see my family? I would be honoured.”
Jack turned to Lara. “We need to get back to work, unfortunately.” Lara guessed he’d said the words out of caution, knowing they would be jeopardising their safety if they went along to the man’s house. He seemed so nice, so very genuine, but what if he was acting? They could be putting themselves at serious risk.
“Please! You do not have to stay. Just a talk, a drink of tea if you wish. We have no opportunity to travel from Zakra, or so little. I would like to talk to you about Global Oil. And also about everything else. Your life is so different.”
Jack looked at Lara. “I could go for a little while, couldn’t I? I’d love to find out more about this country. The driver can take you back, Lara.” He leaned closer, whispering in her ear, and once again it sent a jolt down her spine. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
She pulled away, crossing her arms, not just to express displeasure at his suggestion, but to protect herself from his charm. “I don’t think so.” If it was safe enough for Jack to go, she was going, too. She would probably never again get an opportunity like this to see the real Negala. Most of the time she was with government officials, and she often felt watched by them.
Oman’s face was kind, his big eyes soft as he smiled like a little boy. “It is only a little further up this road, not much after where your car is parked. We can walk. I would be very grateful to find out a little about Global Oil. Most grateful in return. You do understand?”
Jack now crossed his arms and looked straight into Lara’s eyes. “We would have to take our driver, and call the office to tell them where we are going. The driver can then drop Lara off at the house and come back for me.” He wanted to go, Lara knew that, and she wondered whether it was his sense of adventure that made the invitation irresistible to him. Or did he honestly believe it would somehow pay off? But if it was safe, why did he insist on going alone?
Jack kept pleading with his gaze, his expression reminding her of a puppy. Oh, he was painful! She laughed. “Oman, would you mind me having a word with my colleague?”
“Of course.” Oman stepped away.
“If you’re going in there, so am I. Why should you have all the fun?”
Jack lowered his head. “If you insist on staying with me, then I won’t go. I can’t put you in danger, Lara. But I think it’s important for me to accept the invitation. You heard Oman. He’ll be most grateful in return. That’s code over here for him having information for us.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know, Jack. If it’s not safe, you go in there and never come out, I’d never forgive myself.” It was true, she wouldn’t, and for so many reasons, one of which was that Jack made her melt. He made her melt and made her heart beat faster, made her want to smile and sing. Yes, despite all the barriers, the walls she’d been building around her, Jack knew how to make her feel alive.
“Thing is, I’ve had plenty of training in the army. I can get out of a lot of tricky situations if I only have myself to look after. With someone else to look out for, it isn’t always that easy. Tell you what, if it’s safe we can come back for a visit. I’ll take you myself. I promise.”
He put his hand on her arm and, no matter how hard she tried to ignore her bodily reactions, she couldn’t suppress her slight trembling. She liked his touch, liked how it made her vibrate. “Please,” he whispered.
She didn’t want to give in, though. She wished she felt less vulnerable and able to defend herself without help if the situation did turn nasty. She was still young and fit enough, but the reality was she wasn’t Wonder Woman. She couldn’t be a burden to Jack. She shrugged. “All right, then.”
Jack pressed her hand. “Thank you. It could turn out to be important.” He waved Oman back. “I am honoured to visit your home, Oman. Mrs Lara has other obligations and will return to the house. Perhaps another time.”
Oman’s smile turned into a grin as he led them up the street. “I am so pleased. This is God’s will. Your kindness will be repaid.”
They arrived at the car. Jack poked his head through the open window and talked to the driver. “Mrs Lara will be going back to the house. I am staying here for a little while, at number 132.”
Oman pointed to the house. “Just there. Up that alley.”
The men left and Lara climbed into the four wheel drive. It was what she’d agreed, yet it was hard for her to do. What if something happened to Jack? If she were with him she might be able to fight back, or at least run for help.
It made sense for her to go back to Global Oil’s house, and she’d agreed to it a few minutes ago, but now, seeing Jack disappear into that alley, her heart raced.
She held her face in her hands and closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to leave without Jack Norton. She just couldn’t do it.
XX
Jack lowered his head and entered Oman’s house, pushing aside the curtain that served as a front door. Chickens ran around the living room clucking frantically and flappi
ng their wings as he stepped inside, until they finally found the way out and escaped to the dusty yard.
The single living area was as small as the bedroom Jack had had as a kid—and he hadn’t grown up in luxury. He guessed from the mattresses that lined every wall that it also served as a sleeping area.
He was pleased Lara had trusted him enough to let him come to Oman’s place. Most women he knew would have told him he was crazy and dragged him away. Lara had realised how much he’d wanted to come and had given him that freedom.
Besides, crazy was the one thing he wasn’t. He knew how things worked over here. If he could get some insider information on what was going on in Zakra he’d be one up on any threats and better able to avoid danger. Better able to keep Lara safe.
He’d always been a good judge of character and Oman struck him as a genuine, innocent man just trying to survive in barren Negala. Still, Jack was no fool and he certainly wasn’t going to put himself at greater risk than necessary.
He took in the layout of the room. There was access from two windows, the front door and another opening. A quick glance upwards and he saw there was no manhole, so no way in from above. He sat with his back against the wall, facing the windows and across from the door. He had the best view of the room from there.
He saw a broom made from rush in the corner—a long wooden handle he could use as a weapon if needed. In his mind he counted the steps he would have to take to get to it: three, possibly four. Or one long jump.
“Kojo!” cried Oman.
A young man with the same eyes as Oman entered from the adjoining room, half bowing to the visitor. “This is my brother Kojo,” explained Oman. “He does not speak English. I try to teach him but he has not learned much.”
Suddenly, light flooded the room as the curtain across the front entrance was drawn. Instantly, Jack jumped to his feet, ready to leap over to the broom. He sighed as he recognised the familiar silhouette. “You were supposed to go back to the house!”