by Beth Kean
She was ready, and her uninvited guest was about to arrive.
The chatter grew louder, giggling and laughing, she had heard it all before, yet she began to catch an occasional coherent word in the hubbub, she heard girls voices more clearly that the neighbourhood boys, for once they were subdued. Her heart began to race and a knot quickly formed in the pit of her stomach. “It's not a woman,” she gasped with sudden certainty and a fair degree of nausea. “Oh Lord, it's not a woman!”
With heavy feet and a feeling of dread she stepped through her roughly formed wooden front door and peered in the direction of the voices, they were close now, very close. Silently she cursed the stand of matoke bananas that formed a barrier between her home and the path, privacy was advantageous, infrequent passers-by couldn't see into her small compound, but the oar-shaped green leaves also prevented her from looking out, she would be effectively blind until her guest arrived... and the seconds passed agonisingly slowly.
Skipping and scantily clad children announced the Muzungu’s actual arrival, children dashing ahead. Esther opened her mouth to ask the burning question, but she had delayed for too long, a second later the Chief appeared, a bent and wizen old man of indeterminate age leaning heavily on his stick, dressed in his Sunday best he had made considerable effort before welcoming such an important guest to the village.
Esther knew that old Joshua hated all muzungu with a passion, but as an actor he could not be faulted, he could mask his true feelings and smile sweetly, his calculating and mercenary mind always seeking any advantage. And advantage he had found, grain he had stored, more than he could use, but it all added to his wealth, multi-vitamins by the thousand also sat in his personal store, not that he was particularly depriving the village of their benefits, the locals had refused the supplements, Joshua knew that he would find a market for them... eventually. But now he understood that he sat on a gold mine so to speak, except the riches would not come from precious metals, what he had was far more valuable. He had water on the very edge of a desert. The whites were digging a well, and canny Joshua made sure that they would be digging on his own ancestral land. When the water flowed, he would be in control. And when the muzungu had finally left... then he could begin to demand some modest contributions... only fair he had told himself, the water is mine after all, it's on my land!
Joshua stared ahead with rheumy eyes, Esther saw his stern expression, in an instant she understood that he would brook no arguments, he expected traditional respect. Conditioned since childhood Esther dropped to her knees and bowed her head, casting her eyes down to the ground.
“It is good that you show the proper respect.” the old man said quietly, “You are a clever girl Esther, so I know that you will understand me well, this muzungu is important to the village.”
“I understand.” she replied, her gaze still lowered.
Moments later a pale hand appeared before her eyes. She glanced up and saw his face, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and dismay.
“Hello Esther.” he said, his voice deep and resonant, “Please don't kneel, not for me.”
Speechless she simply nodded and stared at the offered hand. “Let me help you up.” he added as a warm smile spread across his face.
In a dream Esther took the offered hand, and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Her eyes locked on his, she nervously returned the smile, and her mind raced:
Maybe God has a plan for me, the words forced themselves to the front of her mind, but I do know that when I meet the man that I will marry... I will know him instantly, I'm sure of that.
“My name is Peter.” he added, and Esther felt her heart melt.
***
“You must not refuse!” The Chief took her silence as defiance. When the white man had arrived he had sensed that Esther would create problems, but she had to look after the tall European. Personally, he spoke not one word of the white man's language beyond hello, goodbye and how are you? the standard greeting across eastern and central Africa. But past that point he would be lost, as would everyone else in the small village, only Esther spoke the language with sufficient fluency... but Esther was headstrong and wilful, she had created problems before, and deep in his heart he understood that although she respected him as any good Ugandan girl respects her elders, that respect masked a strong disliking. He never imagined that she could hate him, but he knew without any doubt that she disliked him intensely. He had attempted to marry her offering her parents a generous dowry as she had reached the age of fifteen. Schooling had defeated him, she had refused to return to the village from her boarding school on the outskirts of Kampala. Education had given her ideas above her station, he had been rejected, and she resented him for trying. Was she respectful – yes, defiant – definitely... but foolish – absolutely not.
“This is not what I expected... but I do not refuse, the well is important to the people, it will benefit everyone... how can I create problems!”
“This is good,” the old man nodded, “Treat him with respect, cook well for him, clean for him... be as a wife to him while he is here in our village. Your mother should have explained your duties to a man, even if you have always been too good for any man here, set aside your arrogance, kneel for him... keep him satisfied until the water flows.”
“Satisfied?” Esther looked up quickly, she had allowed Peter to help her to her feet, but her eyes remained downcast in respect until Chief Joshua had offended her with his innuendo. Now she glared, questioning, seeking another explanation for his pointed comment but finding none other than the obvious.
“You know exactly what I mean,” the old man growled, “You do whatever is needed to keep him happy. I cannot believe that you would be so selfish as to damage the future of our village because of your oh so precious morals... just do as you are told, or I guarantee that your problems have only just begun.”
“Maybe I will be so good to him that he will decide to dig the well on my land.” she threatened, and with a sweet, victorious smile she turned to Peter. “I must apologise, we were just discussing the arrangements, I did not intend to ignore you.”
“If it's a problem,” Peter glanced involuntarily toward the small hut, “I can always stay somewhere else.”
Esther shook her head and smiled, “It is no problem at all Mr Peter... Welcome to my home.”
Chapter 4
To Peter, the name and location of village that he had been assigned mattered very little. “They are all in the back of beyond,” he had admitted to Brian when he was informed that his destination had changed. Tina, who had drawn the most remote location had received distressing news from home, compassionate leave granted she had flown out of Entebbe the day before. Peter had drawn the short straw, but simply shrugged.
For hours he had bumped and rocked in the passenger seat of a Toyota twin-cab, the scenery around him growing ever more desolate, twisted and stunted acacias dotted the open grasslands, plains devoid of life, not even birds were in evidence.
“It's pretty bad out here.” he had commented, and received a look from the local driver that clearly hinted that he didn't see even half of the true picture.
“This region is always dry, always balanced right on a razors edge. These people live constantly with the threat of famine. Put it this way, if the rains fail again, and your well turns up dry, they are pretty much screwed.
“Well how are they managing now?” Peter peered out of the window, even the acacias had disappeared, hacked down for fuel he later learned.
“There is a stream, about three hours walk from the village. That's where they get water. But it's virtually dry now, maybe another two or three months only before it dries completely.”
“The village doesn't have any other water source?” Peter wondered what possessed people to live under such unstable conditions.
“A couple of wells,” the driver nodded, “But no-where deep enough to tap into the aquifer, they can't get down far enough by hand... so when they dri
ed up, it left a trek to the river, or go thirsty.”
“So if it's that bad... why do they stay?” A simple question Peter knew, but probably without any simple answer.
The driver shook his head, maybe at Peter's simplified view of the world and even simpler solution, if the area isn't suitable... move. “Many reasons.” he began, “Tribal claims on the land, family inheritance... the fact that it isn't always this bad, when it rains this is a very fertile region. But by far the most significant factor. They simply cannot afford to leave. Here they own land, they can grow food to support their families, they can earn some income from their crops... and most years the system works. But if they wanted to leave! They cannot sell the land, or at least they can't sell it for realistic figures. Where would they go if they did sell, the city? Kampala, Jinja, Mbale? And when they got there, where would they live... where could they afford to live? The slums... that's where. No home, no work, no money. That's why they stay. They stay and pray that God will open the heavens and save them... because seriously, they have no other option!”
Sorry I asked! Peter cast a quick glance at his driver wondering if he had stepped down from his soapbox or if he had merely paused for breath.
“Maybe after a week or so living in the village you will understand better,” he added, “I think that it will open your eyes, and maybe give you answers to your question.”
***
The sun stood directly overhead by the time he reached the first hints of habitation. A small herd of emaciated goats scattered as the Toyota approached followed by a young boy of no more than seven or eight, dressed in torn and tattered shorts his wide smile to see a muzungu spoke volumes to Peter. A young boy content with little, the smallest of events bringing genuine happiness. True innocence.
“We are close now.” the driver added, confirming Peter's assumption. “Maybe ten minutes more.”
The village itself comprised little more than a collection of scattered huts, some sat in dusty compounds, fenced with thin and thorny branches, others appeared more lush, tough grasses clung tenaciously adding a hint of green, fruit trees survived, paw-paw and mango, the Ugandan staple matoke, a large green variety of plantain. It was then that Peter understood that every tree and bush had a purpose. Forget ornament and decoration, nothing grew because of its aesthetic values, vegetation survived because it served a practical purpose... nothing more. Food or shelter. A practical lifestyle devoid of frivolity... and no bar I would guess! Peter resisted the urge to sigh. It's just for a week... ten days at the most, but I have to admit, this place makes base camp feel like the most civilized place on earth.
***
“We thought you were sending a woman!” the driver translated the old chiefs words.
Peter hadn't needed to respond, the driver knew the story and proceeded to explain. The old man failed to hide a clear look of concern that set alarm bells ringing in Peter's head.
“There is nothing to worry about, the Chief assures me that everything is prepared, he has arranged for you to lodge with the villages translator, the only person here that speaks any English by all accounts. Frankly I'm surprised there's anyone here that you can talk to.” he added with a grin. “But I cannot hang around now, I have to be back in Kampala by tonight, and even leaving right now it's not looking very likely... so Peter, I'm afraid that you are on your own from here, just follow the Chief, he's going to guide you to Esther's house... she is the translator.”
And so it begins, he told himself as he hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and following the Chief cut through the throng of dusty semi naked children that had gathered since his arrival. Some minutes later he spied a thick stand of greenery, the tall broad leaved plants heaving with green bananas, the Chief turned and pointed, his lips curling into a toothless grin.
I guess I'm here, Peter told himself and shook the dust from his jacket as the Chief disappeared through a gap in the matokes. The scene that unveiled itself as he followed proved confusing to say the least, there before him the old man leaned on his stick, and at his feet knelt a young woman, subservient, almost prostrate. The sight shocked and sickened in equal measure. He had witnessed the actions before, a rural practice, outdated yet still observed, a show of masculine dominance and feminine submission. No more than arrogant abuse and a way to keep their women in their place!
“Not on my bloody watch.” he whispered silently as he lowered his backpack and offered his hand.
“Hello Esther.” he said making eye contact with the girl, “Please don't kneel, not for me.”
Pretty girl, he decided, but a bit young for my taste.
Chapter 5
“I have prepared tea.” Esther appeared through the huts rear door, her voice small, her eyes averted.
Peter had said his goodbyes to the Chief, arrangements had been made to meet the following morning, at that time the exact schedule for digging and drilling would be discussed. But for the afternoon he would be given an opportunity to settle in. He had been directed to one of the armchairs, and for long minutes he studied the small room as Esther busied herself outside.
It's like an oven in here, he told himself and glanced up at the metal sheets above, no insulation he noted, hence the heat, and in places the sun shone through, only small holes, but he knew that on the rare occasions that the heavens opened the roof must leak like a sieve. His gaze wandered to the walls, clearly mud with a thin wash of diluted white paint, an unglazed, frame-less window allowed dim illumination, a square of dark red fabric hung to the side, obviously to act as a curtain. So much for security, he stifled a grin, n o security – no crime, that's good to know. Twisting in the chair he peered toward the rear door, Esther could be heard but not seen and he debated for a moment if he should join her. Sit still Peter, he warned himself, the last thing you need to do is go wandering around uninvited. His curiosity curbed he continued his silent inspection of the room.
“I hope that you drink tea!” Esther placed an ancient Thermos flask in the centre of the table, and from a small wooden box below she selected a pair of plastic cups and an antique silver spoon. “Please Mr Peter, help yourself to sugar.”
Peter smiled. The girl was nervous, her body language screamed that fact, self-consciously she wrung her hands, her eyes darted like a small and frightened animal seeking any escape, her voice emerged almost as a whisper.
“Thank you Esther.” he replied quietly, “You have no idea how much I need a cup of tea right now.” She glanced up and he held her eye, he smiled, willing her to relax. “Can I pour for you also?”
As if emerging from a trance Esther shook her head, almost lunging toward the table to grasp the flask. “Mr Peter, I must pour for you.”
Conditioned, he shook his head slightly, catching himself quickly, careful not to offend, but it's a cultural thing... I wish it was different though. He hated the rural attitudes, but perhaps conditioned was the correct word, from an early age Esther had obviously been taught by her mother... and who was he to question her culture?
“As you wish,” he stepped back a pace and watched. Her hands trembled as she unscrewed the top, “But there is something that you should know about me,” he continued, “I'm the sort of person who likes to be involved, cooking, cleaning, washing-up... making tea!” He caught her quick glance and shocked expression, “So please Esther, I would hate to think that you feel that you have to do everything for me while I'm here... I would feel far more comfortable if we shared the chores.”
“Oh that is very impossible.” she whispered, shaking her head.
Peter resisted the urge to chuckle, she was going to be hard work and he needed her to relax, he was to be in her company for at least a week, probably longer, if she insisted on behaving like a slave or servant for all of that time his stay promised to be strained and stressful. And it's not like I can slip out to the pub to escape for a few hours, he squinted against the bright sunlight streaming through the door, and outside, in the village? Well, to put it politely..
. I'm sure that there is bugger all to do, I'm stuck here with her, so I'll just have to make the most of it.
For a minute or so longer Peter sat in silence, he wanted to engage her in conversation and break the ice, but her oh that's very impossible statement had robbed him of inspiration. He didn't know what to say, she was so different from every other African girl he had met on his travels. His mind wandered back to previous assignments, always urban, always slums; Mamelodi in Pretoria, way down in South Africa, Kibera, the notorious ghetto of Nairobi in neighbouring Kenya. The girls in both cities had been so confident... so forward, they made conversation easy. Because they all had an agenda, he admitted, those girls had incredibly thick skins, it was virtually impossible to offend them. Ignore them, they would smile, insult them, they would smile, encourage them! At your peril he chuckled silently, a small grin forming on his lips. Peter glanced across at his shy host and caught her looking, he attempted a smile but embarrassed she looked away.
She is going to be bloody hard work, he sighed, and I have a feeling that time isn't going to exactly fly!
***
Esther watched the Chief depart followed by the bulk of the children, they had witnessed the event, it had proven to be less than exciting, and they could think of better things to do than study the muzungu any longer. Peters curiosity factor had waned.
Esther felt a fresh wave of panic, now she was alone, with the white man... she had never been completely alone with a man before, not for any length of time... now she faced an afternoon with him. Not just afternoon, she quickly thought, all night, alone, with a man! Her stomach flipped. Settle down, she insisted, do the job required, be a good host!