Child of Africa

by T. M. Clark

  Bongani nodded. ‘At the lodge. But I fear you are going to get fat with all the food you seem to eat. You are no longer a growing boy. You will end up lagging behind when we go hunting—’

  ‘I burn more calories with these prosthetics than I ever did with my own legs. Besides, there’s nothing here to hunt.’

  Bongani nodded. ‘There are too many people around these days.’

  ‘I have a plan. How soon is the next community meeting?’

  ‘A few weeks. It is a full district one, not just the villagers’ council for this area.’

  ‘Good, then I will table it as one of the people who live in the area. Am I allowed to put an idea forward that will benefit all the people?’

  ‘Of course. You going to give me any inkling about this idea?’

  ‘We start slowly, beginning with a no bush hunting policy, which would entice the animals to come back this way. We try a bit more for the game-viewing market, and the idea that the villages are living in harmony with the wild animals. Doesn’t have to be the big game. But the idea would be to begin a local experience – the tour-ists could sleep overnight in a traditional village. Traditional furniture in the ikhaya, food cooked the traditional way. Perhaps learn a few of your traditions, like how to make an incelwe for the women or the intale for the men. Use it to your advantage and teach people about your culture. I need to do a bit of research, but I promise it won’t do anything to disrupt your chieftainship.’

  Bongani grinned. ‘Just like the young Joss, planning, plotting, always coming up with good ideas. I trust you, Joss, I know you would never do anything on purpose to harm me, or my people.’

  * * *

  It was early Thursday morning when Bongani stood on the back of his bakkie, an old but reliable Toyota Hilux 4x4. He looked out over the sea of faces in his most northern kraal of Amaluandi, which had now become a village, swelling to over one hundred and fifty people. He realised there were faces here he didn’t recognise.

  ‘My people,’ he called. ‘There is word from the rangers that there is a man-eating lion coming our way; we must be prepared.’

  ‘What are you going to do to protect us?’ a woman asked.

  ‘It is you who must protect yourselves during this time. I can warn you of the dangers, and tell you how to keep safe, but in the end, if you do not do as you are told, the lion could attack you. I cannot be by everyone’s side to shoot this lion. You need to take responsibility and protect yourselves.’

  A restless murmur went up.

  ‘This area of our settlement, it is always having animal conflict, it is nothing new. You are aware what you must do. Make sure that your children are close by and none wanders away from you. A lion is quick to capture his prey.’

  ‘Who will kill the lion?’ another woman asked. He recognised her but not the man standing next to her.

  ‘There are men from ZimParks already tracking it. We are hoping that they get it before it comes to our doorsteps. You need to fortify your doors, make sure that if it is going to try to attack, it cannot get inside your ikhaya.’ He noted that the man next to the woman had now slunk away, but he kept an eye on him, watching which ikhaya he went to.

  ‘Do you know if this one attacks in the day or only at night?’

  ‘They do not know yet. We must get ready, and you must stay vigilant until we know it has gone.’

  Again, a murmur went through the crowd.

  ‘If there is anyone who is too old to fortify their ikhaya themselves, they must tell us so that the other men in the kraal can help you. There is no shame in admitting you need help. The shame will come if the lion can get inside your home and eat you.’

  Bongani turned to the man next to him. ‘This is Julian Seziba; he is an ex-game ranger and knows a lot about lions, and he sits on the villagers’ council. His assistant Ephraim will take down the names of those who need help.’

  Julian took his bush hat from his head and Ephraim grinned and waved.

  ‘I have a second settlement to call on this afternoon, so let us get working quickly. If you see anything, you must report it to your elder. He will telephone me so that ZimParks can get the lion before it kills again.’

  The crowd’s murmur rose to talking as they dispersed, everyone speaking at the top of their voices. The people who needed help began lining up next to the bakkie, and Ephraim recorded their names in a notebook Julian gave him.

  Bongani walked to the ikhaya the suspicious man had gone into. He knocked on the door. ‘It is Bongani. I would like to talk.’

  The man opened it, his head bowed and his eyes darting from side to side.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Elmon Dudzi.’

  The name was so familiar, but Bongani couldn’t remember where from, as it didn’t match with the face in front of him. The numbers were growing so rapidly and he was losing track – his mind had been so focused on his ailing father in the last few months that he simply wasn’t paying enough attention to the settlers. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘We have not met. I know your brother.’

  Just what he needed.

  The door scraped open further, and Elmon shuffled out. The man looked beaten, as if he knew that he was in the wrong, and had no right to be living where he was.

  ‘When did you come here?’ Bongani asked.

  ‘Two, maybe three months now.’

  ‘Who gave you permission to build here?’

  ‘Your brother. He said that he had got your permission for me, and I could live here. But I did not build this ikhaya; it was here already, waiting for me.’

  ‘I see. So, if you are such good friends with my brother, have you made an effort for a different life, or are you continuing to be a criminal?’

  ‘I am not a criminal, but—’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘It is very-very hard.’ Elmon shook his head. ‘Your brother said that you do not interfere in the people’s business.’

  Bongani laughed. ‘Did he now? For once he speaks the truth. I do not normally interfere, each person is responsible for their own, and their family, but I see that perhaps it is time that I make it clear that this area is not a squatters’ camp. People here work hard, they apply themselves and help the community.’

  ‘I have helped, I am trying to be part of the community in this village,’ Elmon said.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘This and that.’

  Bongani got the impression Elmon was being deliberately vague, a sure sign he was up to no good. ‘What exactly have you been doing?’

  Elmon shuffled his feet. ‘I get meat for the butcher’s store in the market.’

  ‘What type of meat?’

  ‘Bush meat.’ Elmon looked downwards again.

  ‘You poach? In the forest area?’

  ‘No, it is on communal lands. I would not poach in the Chizarira. I am not a criminal. The butcher Benson, he said that your father allows him to kill the game for his butcher store so that the people have nyama for their stews.’

  Bongani shook his head.

  ‘Your brother said you would not do anything to me if you came here, and to tell you that King Gogo wa de Patswa knows that no black partner owns more than fifty per cent of Yingwe River Lodge that you look after for your white friend. He said to tell you that when the war vets hear that there is a white man in charge of that business they will come to take it, and he will have Yingwe River Lodge for himself.’ Elmon seemed to take a breath, as if this had been information he had held close to his heart.

  This was the thing that Tichawana thought he had over Bongani, and he had allowed a nobody to present him the information. Bongani wondered what Tichawana was holding over the man to trust him with that type of knowledge. It must be valuable to Elmon.

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see,’ Bongani said. ‘I want you to pack your bags and come with me. As my father Chief Tigere’s representative, I choose where you settle, not my brother. I
have need of you in a different village rather than make you leave. We can discuss further what you are going to tell my brother.’

  Elmon’s eyes were large, and Bongani had his suspicions confirmed, that this man had a greater fear of his brother than of him.

  ‘I do not know what my brother is holding over your head, but I will not harm you here. I do, however, want to talk to you further about the other people who are living in this village. Perhaps it is time that I do a count again—’

  ‘I only know that I was sent here by your brother, to live at this village. To listen to what is happening in the area, and once a month report to him. But now, if you change my kraal, he will know that I have failed him, and he will kill my son. My real name is Francis Kanobvurunga. I was a man of standing within my community in Bulawayo, I own a second-hand furniture business. I only ever had one wife. I dedicated each moment to my beautiful Rosemary. But God chose to take her from me too soon, and all I have left is our young son. I made sure that he was educated, that he knew many languages outside of Zimbabwe so that he understood there was a world outside our country. My son Thomas is a very-very bright teenager. We were looking at sending him to boarding school in South Africa on a scholarship. They stole him in the night from my house. They grabbed him from his own bed, and I could not protect him.’

  ‘Why did they target your son?’ Bongani asked.

  ‘I have a good relationship with the people at the Beit Bridge border. One day this man came into my shop and told me that I had to take his shipments with mine into South Africa. I was not to open anything, and I was to make sure that customs did not open them either. Once I had got through the border post, I was to deliver them to an address in Durban. If I did not do this, there would be consequences.’

  ‘You delivered the boxes?’

  ‘I refused. That was when they took my Thomas. The man came back and said that they were training him to be a soldier for the people now. But I know they are brainwashing him, like the kids up in the Congo. I am an educated man, not an idiot. That was when I put the word out on the street that I would do anything to get my son back. Instead of some mercenary coming to me, saying that they would find the camp and save him for a large amount of money, that very same man who had visited me in my store, he came to my house. He told me that King Gogo wa de Patswa owned me now. After a meeting in his office, your brother sent me to this place.’ He took deep breaths, trying to stem his panic, and tears had welled up in his eyes.

  ‘He has my son in one of his training camps. My Thomas. You have to understand, I am not a criminal. All my life I have lived in the city, not in the bush. Living here is hard for me. But if I do not do this for your brother, he will hurt my son. Thomas is a scholar, not athletic like a soldier.’

  Bongani nodded. ‘Pack as if you are visiting someone. We have much to discuss. You will come to the chief’s kraal with me and we will help you sort this out. I have someone I know who will want to hear more of what you were sent here to tell me.’

  Francis nodded, but he looked like a defeated man.

  ‘Do not try to run away; pack quietly and come with me. Julian will collect you later if you are not standing near my bakkie within an hour. He tracks better than any man I know and will hunt you down.’

  Bongani turned away. Dammit, his father wasn’t even dead yet and his brother was already making inroads into the area. Soon Bongani would be chief, but that title was about to cause more trauma and unrest in the area than they had ever known.

  A blood feud.

  He always knew that King Gogo wa de Patswa was Tichawana Ndou, but having it confirmed again by a stranger wasn’t easy. He had to keep his people safe.

  Lost in his own thoughts, he walked back to his vehicle.

  There was someone standing next to the old bakkie. He took in her traditional clothes, her brightly coloured headscarf and long walking sticks. She had a sports bag at her feet that was held shut with safety pins.

  ‘N’Goma Abigale. Nice to see you,’ Bongani said and nodded.

  ‘Bongani, my old friend.’ She nodded. ‘It has been a very long time since I saw you last.’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘Not yet, but his time is close. You and I, we have work to do. I was hoping that you would take me to Chief Tigere’s village while you have your bakkie here, and save my old legs a lot of days’ walk through the bush.’

  ‘We are stopping at Sigara Village before heading home, but you are welcome to come along with us.’

  ‘Perhaps, since you are so close, when we travel we can fetch N’Goma Thoko and Lindiwe too. They live nearby that place.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bongani said.

  ‘Twalumba, it will be more comfortable for me in the front of your bakkiel,’ N’Goma Abigale said as she moved to the passenger door and climbed in.

  Bongani smiled as he picked up her travel bags and sticks and tossed them in the back.

  His day had just got a whole lot better.

  CHAPTER

  11

  The Moringa Grove

  Joss wiped the sweat from his brow. The furrow between the moringa trees had been cleared of the brown weeds that had choked it, and clean, rich dirt could be seen. The trees themselves were in good shape, old, with roots that ran deep, and had survived the neglect of the last few years surprisingly well.

  ‘One down!’ Lwazi grinned.

  Ephraim groaned. ‘Only about nine or ten left to clear.’

  It was amazing that once Joss had begun working on the road with the boys, the villagers had come out to help, and had been happy to continue into the moringa grove with him. Except for Mary, who still seemed to have misgivings about having him home.

  The others in the village had proven eager to get the road fixed. It was like they had been waiting for the prompt to start working, and now they were in full swing. The small community worked together pulling weeds and clearing silt-filled trenches to protect the moringa grove. With the threat of the man-eating lion still looming, they gathered in groups to work, taking turns to keep watch.

  ‘That might be, but it’s a good start. Tomorrow is another day.’ He trimmed a few branches, then he split them into two bunches. ‘Here, Ephraim, take these home with you.’ Joss passed him a bunch of leaves, keeping the other aside. He put his hands around his mouth and called out, ‘Home time!’ then listened to the men and women talking as they packed up their tools and headed to the bakkie. Two of the female guests from the lodge, Sara and Mel, had volunteered to help clear the grove when they had been talking to Joss the night before.

  ‘You eat the leaves?’ Sara asked.

  ‘This tree’s good for you. You cook it like spinach,’ Joss said. ‘Everything used to eat these leaves. We had to dig these deep trenches around here to try to keep the kudu and impala out, and don’t even mention the elephants. When I was ten, and I found a baby elephant, her herd came and stayed for about three weeks, eating these moringa trees. It helped the mother jumbo get enough milk and make her strong, so that they could leave again, go back into the wild.’

  ‘If they were so good, why did they get so overgrown?’ Mel asked.

  ‘My mother used to keep this grove in order, and make sure that she shared its goodness with the community. I guess after she died, no one took control. I was overseas in Afghanistan, and Bongani had enough on his plate.’

  ‘I thought these trees only made soap,’ Ephraim said. ‘My grandmother talks of a soap your mother and she made from these leaves; she says that she remembers how to make it.’

  ‘Tell your grandmother that if she wants to make that soap again, she should come and speak to me about using the trees and the lodge buying it from her.’

  ‘You would help my grandmother even though she says horrible things about you?’

  ‘She doesn’t mean to be spiteful – she’s worried about the people in the area, and she doesn’t like change. She’ll see that we can be successful when Bongani is chief. We will do our best to pro
tect her from harm. Having her own business will help her with money, and keep her occupied. Busy people have different problems to worry about,’ Joss said. ‘The tourists are keen to learn the traditional ways, and to make soap too. It’s a memento from Africa and a skill for them to take back to their own countries. There is money to be made in creating an opportunity for them, which will create wealth to help the village. And you get their labour too. You should discuss this with your grandmother.’

  ‘I will tell her,’ Ephraim said, ‘but I doubt she will come to you.’

  ‘If she doesn’t want to earn the income from it, I can teach someone else. I used to spend hours with my mother making soap, and I still have her recipe books and cutters. But I would like to help Mary, and you, because you are a hard worker, even though she makes you report to her.’

  Ephraim looked away.

  ‘Are you still spying on Joss?’ Lwazi said. ‘After everything, you still tell your grandmother what’s happening and what we are doing?’

  ‘If I do not tell her she says she will not feed me.’

  ‘Blah, you and I both know she’s not going to let you go hungry. She’ll always feed you, Ephraim,’ Joss said, but he wasn’t smiling. ‘You are the only family she has left. Mary’ll always look after you, until the day she can’t, and then it will be your turn to look after her. Those are just idle threats, because she wants to know what’s happening, and doesn’t want to get involved.’

  ‘I think you are right, but I do not want to go hungry,’ Ephraim admitted. ‘I will tell her what you said, and if she says no, I will learn to make soap from you so that I can have money to help her.’

  Joss smiled at him. ‘You are a good grandchild.’

  ‘Soon I will go back to Matilda at Bishu Village to learn how to keep bees, and then I too will have honey,’ Lwazi said. ‘I will sell honey and beeswax candles to the tourists, and that will make some more money to help my grandfather. Remember you promised you would speak to Bongani about me learning when we visited to warn them of the lion?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Joss said. ‘Bongani is a little occupied at the moment with his father and the lion. If Ephraim makes the soap, you can learn too. He should also learn to help you with the bees, in case you are sick. You are the only two boys your age; you need to stick together.’