Child of Africa

by T. M. Clark

  The youngster had pulled a panga from the back of his pants and was threatening Joss with it. ‘Give me your keys,’ the youth demanded, his voice wavering slightly.

  Joss looked at him. In his peripheral vision, he saw the man in the ditch stand up. He was armed with an AK-47. The man pointed it at Mitch’s stomach. Slowly Joss raised his hands and walked to where Mitch stood. The youth with the panga followed him, still far away enough from him that he wasn’t a real threat.

  ‘Give me your keys,’ the man said.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ Joss asked.

  ‘It does not matter. I am taking your bakkie and all your stuff,’ the man said.

  ‘No, you’re not. I’m Joss, I own Yingwe River Lodge in Binga, and have Chief Bongani’s permission to travel through his lands. This land is in his territory. You’re attempting a hijack on the chief’s land. Do you think there’ll be no retribution from him?’

  ‘I am not scared of him. King Gogo wa de Patswa told me to take your bakkie, so I will take it,’ the man said.

  ‘He did? You sure he said my bakkie? Joss Brennan’s bakkie?’

  ‘He said anyone who comes this way this afternoon, past this point in the road, we must take their bakkie.’

  ‘I see,’ Joss said. ‘That is unfortunate. Did he give you any other instructions?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why? You are not a killer, and your son, he hasn’t done this before either. See, he’s shaking – he’s afraid to hurt another person. He’s a good child.’

  The man’s eyes darted to the boy, and when he was distracted, Joss struck. Lunging forward, he grabbed the barrel of the gun, bringing it and the unsuspecting man towards him. He twisted the weapon from his grip and punched him hard enough in the stomach that he fell to the ground. Joss sat on the man’s back, his arms held up so that he couldn’t move.

  Joss turned his head to the son as Mitch advanced on him. ‘Drop the knife and no harm will come to you, and I won’t break your father’s arm.’

  The boy dropped the panga. Joss could see the urine running down the inside of his leg.

  ‘Step backwards. Five steps away from us.’

  The boy counted aloud to five, then turned and fled into the bush.

  The lightning flashed, and almost immediately a deep roll of thunder was heard. The storm was closing in.

  ‘Mitch, get the panga.’

  Mitch grabbed the huge knife and returned to where Joss was sitting on the man.

  Keeping his metal knee right in the middle of the man’s back, Joss reached for the AK-47. He unloaded the rifle, removing the curved magazine and the round in the chamber and pocketing them, then handed the disabled weapon to Mitch. ‘Put the panga and the gun in the front seat.’

  Lwazi took the butt of the gun and the panga as Mitch handed them to him.

  ‘If I let you up, are you going to try to fight me?’ Joss asked the man.

  ‘No. Please do not hurt me.’

  ‘You and your boy can now drag that tree away from the road, and I’ll drive through. You can tell your Gogo wa de Patswa that he has no control in this area. He won’t even attempt to hijack anyone within Chief Bongani’s territory again or there will be hell to pay.’

  ‘Yes, Baas,’ the man said as Joss slowly released his weight, allowing the man to stand. He stooped and clutched his back, clearly in pain.

  ‘I had to do this. King Gogo wa de Patswa, he will take my son if I don’t give him something of value.’

  Joss looked at him. ‘What is your name and what did you do to get into debt with him?’

  The man looked down. ‘My name is Chipinduka Joseph Nandoro.’

  ‘And what did you do to him, Chipinduka?’ Joss asked, using his Shona name.

  The older man said, ‘I gambled with him. I always win at cards, but I never knew that he cheated. I did not know it was him who was playing cards that day.’

  ‘And you gambled with the life of your boy to ambush a bakkie. You’re not a very good father, putting your own son at risk like that.’

  ‘I had to do this, or he will hurt my family. He told me that today, a new bakkie would be coming, filled with goods from Bulawayo.’

  ‘He did, did he? Where can I find this man? This king of thieves?’ Joss asked.

  ‘He cannot be found. He finds those he wants. But his lieutenant, Danisa Mlilo, he drinks in the shebeen every Friday night at Binga.’

  ‘Where were you to take my bakkie?’

  ‘To my house. He will send Danisa Mlilo to fetch it.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Tomorrow, early in the morning.’

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow I need to be there with you, to have words with your King Gogo wa de Patswa’s lieutenant.’

  The man shook his head. ‘I will not be there in the morning. He will take my son to one of his camps and probably kill me now. I must leave, run away. Flee into Botswana or South Africa, where he cannot harm me or my son.’

  ‘Chief Bongani and I will speak with Mlilo in the morning when he comes for the bakkie. Where is your house?’

  The man explained his home in detail, and then he said, ‘Baas, if I had known it was you in that bakkie, I would not have stopped it. Everyone in this area knows that only you can drive that vehicle with its special gears. I feel only shame that a man with no legs could still beat me to the ground.’

  Joss smiled. ‘There is no shame to being taken down by a Royal British Marine Commando, even if he doesn’t have his own legs any more.’

  * * *

  Joss, Bongani and Mitch waited for the sun to rise.

  There was no smoke coming from beneath the thatched roof of Chipinduka’s home, and all around there was an uneasy silence. Chipinduka had left his ikhaya, disappeared into the night, taking his cattle and his son; proof that his fear of King Gogo wa de Patswa went deeper than his belief that his new chief could protect him.

  ‘It looks like Danisa Mlilo is a no-show,’ Bongani said.

  Joss ran his hand over his neck. ‘I’m thinking I’ve been played.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Bongani said.

  ‘You need to find out who that man was, because I have a feeling that last night I met with one of your brother King Gogo wa de Patswa’s lieutenants themselves. Something else bothers me: the boy with him was terrified. I thought it was of me, but he might have feared someone else.’

  ‘Perhaps the boy was terrified of the man in the ditch?’ Mitch said.

  ‘Perhaps. The man said something about the boy being taken to a youth camp. That’s a worry.’

  ‘A few years ago, the government ran youth training camps to train our youth, give them skills for trade, but they were in fact camps, used by the government to indoctrinate a youth army. Everyone referred to the kids trained in those camps as “green bombers”. But those facilities were shut down when they ran out of money,’ Bongani said, looking out over the kraal. ‘Francis, a man I found settled in Amaluandi Village, mentioned that his boy Thomas had been taken to a camp. I do not know him well enough to know if it was a lie or not, but Francis is still there, spying on me and passing misinformation back to Tichawana.’

  ‘Too much of a coincidence that two different men mention youth camps,’ Mitch said.

  Joss frowned. ‘Sounds like someone resurrected them. We should see what we can find out.’

  Bongani nodded, and took one last look around. ‘My homeland is much changed. I have tried to ensure that no one looks at our area too closely, walked a tight rope for so long between what is right for my people and what is right morally, that perhaps I have given too much to people who did not deserve to live here. My people have suffered enough – I am hoping that they do not suffer more because of my allowing others to come here to try to rebuild their lives with us.’

  ‘That might be so, but you’ve always ruled them with your heart and done what’s right, which is more than a lot of other corrupt chiefs in Zimbabwe have done. Your brother’s pushed at your boundaries significantly.
We’re going to need to strike back,’ Joss said.

  ‘I need to find out as much as I can about him after he left here if we are going to do this within the law,’ Bongani said. ‘When he goes down this time, he needs to stay down. It must not look like foul play from my side.’

  Joss smiled. It was time his friend Bongani began exerting the authority of his chieftainship, and the first step was to gain control of all the people living on his land. Bongani had officially been named chief by the N’Gomas and all the thousands of people who were at the chief’s funeral and his burial feast had witnessed that.

  Tichawana was in for a surprise when Bongani exerted that authority.

  * * *

  Christmas morning had dawned bright, with the copper sun in the bright blue sky. The heat was already becoming oppressive as it beat down mercilessly on the people gathered around the table on the lodge deck.

  Joss looked around, and smiled at the gathering of people he would never have expected to see sitting together.

  ‘Can I give Sophia some more duck? She seems to like it,’ Lwazi asked, seated on the other side of Sophia’s high chair.

  Joss nodded. Madala White had put on an old suit for the occasion and sat next to his grandson, wearing a paper crown on his head that absorbed the sweat.

  ‘Who hides in the bakery at Christmas?’ Mitch asked, reading out yet another of the jokes from the crackers.

  ‘A cat,’ answered Mary.

  ‘No, a mouse,’ Ephraim said.

  Mitch shook his head. ‘A mince spy.’

  Scraps were all that remained of a Christmas dinner fit for any Michelin star restaurant, but better for having been contributed to by everyone gathered at the table. With the only two safari guests over Christmas included in the main festivities, the German visitors had wanted to add their tradition into the meal. Yedwa had allowed Hansie and Cyndine Hoffman into his kitchen to cook, and even had Peta in there too.

  The roast duck with sauerkraut had sat perfectly next to the roast lamb and ham already on the menu. Joss knew that the German butter cookies that were to be served with the dessert of flaming brandy over Christmas pudding would be a hit – he’d stolen one from the kitchen already.

  Bongani laughed. It was good to hear, especially after losing his father so close to Christmas.

  Rodger was having one of his good days and was in the Christmas spirit, sitting next to Peta and joining in the conversation. Tsessebe had been constantly by his side, ensuring that he didn’t get lost or disorientated.

  Sophia smacked her food-covered hand into Joss’s face, smearing fat across his cheek, and his attention was snapped back to his daughter sitting on his lap.

  ‘Miss Sophia, that’s just rude. Don’t you know that this Christmas celebration has all been because of you? You are a guest of honour and this is how you repay me? With fat make-up?’

  Sophia giggled. Joss took his serviette and wiped her hand. Then his face. Peta laughed.

  ‘It’s only funny because it’s not your face getting coated,’ he said.

  ‘You do realise she won’t remember today? This big celebration might have been because of her, but for everyone around this table it had been worth it. Look at them; they all look so happy. Even my dad.’

  ‘Your dad? I hear my name. What about me?’ Rodger asked.

  ‘Nothing, Dad, I was just saying what a nice lunch this has been.’

  ‘Here’s to many more,’ Rodger raised his beer.

  Mitch raised his glass too, and everyone joined in the toast. Sophia leant over and tried to grab at Peta’s glass, and the contents spilled all over Peta.

  ‘That’s cold,’ she said, shaking the ice blocks off her lap. Joss stood up and thrust Sophia into Rodger’s lap. ‘Here, hold her. I need to help Peta.’

  ‘I’m good. I’m cooled down. Did Sophia get any on her?’

  ‘She’s fine – she was just trying to get a drink from you. She—’ Joss turned to where he’d dumped Sophia, and realised where she was sitting.

  He stopped talking.

  Sophia was facing Rodger. Her small hands tracing the scars on his face. And he seemed completely at ease with it.

  ‘Dad? You okay?’ Peta asked.

  ‘She’s so happy. Despite the fact that she probably won’t walk, she still looks at everything in awe. Just like you did when you were a baby. I remember you at this age, and Courtney.’

  Sophia tugged at his grey hair, scrunching her fingers into it.

  Rodger didn’t attempt to move her hand, and let her continue exploring.

  ‘She’s a beautiful child. A beautiful soul,’ Rodger said.

  Sophia giggled again as she put her forehead against his, then wrapped her hands around his neck and hugged him, laying her little head on his shoulder.

  Tsessebe was staring at Rodger, tears running down his face.

  Peta was shaking her head slowly from side to side.

  Joss watched the interaction between the two. His instinct was to get his child back, to correct his mistake in giving her to Rodger, but now he hesitated. The moment was too precious to break up.

  Joss heard Peta’s intake of breath. He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Dad, you want me to take Sophia?’

  ‘No, she’s fine just where she is,’ Rodger said.

  Mitch started on another joke. ‘Why are Christmas trees so bad at knitting?’

  ‘No clue,’ said Lwazi.

  ‘Because they do not have hands to hold the knitting needles?’ Ephraim called out.

  ‘Close. Because they always drop their needles.’

  ‘Eish, that one is even worse than the last one,’ Lwazi said.

  Bongani was laughing again. Hansie and Cyndine were laughing too.

  Joss smiled. In losing his legs he’d lost much, but in coming home, he had gained a whole lot more. He’d renewed old friendships, made new ones and expanded his family.

  This was a good Christmas.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Grape Vines

  Tichawana could hear his secretary talking through the wall. Not that he would ever tell her.

  ‘Hello, Miss Hillary, is he in?’ a voice he recognised as Denisa Mlilo’s asked, the bell on the outside door still ringing.

  ‘He is, but it is Tuesday. He has a booking at the club for lunch,’ she explained. ‘I can make you an appointment, Mr Mlilo. Perhaps tomorrow?’

  ‘It will only take a minute—’

  Hillary said, ‘One moment. I will ask him if he can see you.’ He heard her stand and walk towards the office, knocking lightly on his door before she entered. ‘Mr Mlilo is here to see you, but he doesn’t have an appointment.’

  Tichawana purposely didn’t look up from where he was studying a topographical map. ‘Send him in.’

  He heard her return and say in her ever efficient tone, ‘Mr Nhou will see you now.’

  Tichawana folded the map and put it in his drawer as she led his visitor into the office.

  After they had shaken hands, Hillary showed Mlilo into the visitor’s chair and asked, ‘Can I bring refreshments?’

  ‘Tea would be nice, Miss Hillary,’ Tichawana said before turning his attention to Mlilo. Denisa Mlilo was a tall man, thin but extremely muscular, his body honed from many years of bush work and fighting. He was also one of the better spies Tichawana paid to keep him abreast of what was happening outside of Bulawayo.

  Hillary walked back into his office and set the tray on his desk. She took her time in pouring the tea, and he noticed that Mr Mlilo sat on the edge of his seat, bouncing his legs. Tichawana smiled at the man’s obvious signs of agitation and anxiety.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Hillary,’ Tichawana dismissed his secretary, who curtseyed to him as he liked, then exited the room, leaving him and Mlilo in peace at last.

  ‘I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting your brother’s friend, the white man Joss Brennan. He is trouble for the Sijinete area and the whole Chete area too.
We had planned an elephant hunt there – there were many large tuskers we could have taken. Now we will have to move further north, perhaps nearer the Matusadona. He will cause us difficulties.’

  ‘How can one crippled man be so much trouble?’

  ‘He is a commando. He is fit. And fast. I still have a bruise on my back from him,’ Mlilo’s voice rose slightly. ‘He knows my face now, and he would have told the new chief.’

  ‘You have not found my half-brother’s weakness then?’

  ‘No. Not yet. But we are going to need to watch his friend the commando carefully, closer than your brother, perhaps.’

  ‘So does Brennan have a weakness you could see?’

  ‘Other than being a cripple? No. He has another white man visiting; he talks with an Australian accent. The visitor is staying in his house, not in the lodge.’

  ‘Did you try to turn Madala White to work for us?’

  Mlilo shook his head. ‘It would be a waste of time. He is loyal to your brother. But he is old.’

  ‘What else does Brennan do?’

  ‘He spends a lot of time with your brother, and with his white friend, who is not a cripple.’

  ‘Always my brother, he finds a way to have security around him.’ ‘

  ‘Your brother and this man, they are acquainted a long time. He knew this man when he was a boy, and that is how he became the manager. Remember after the accident that Stephen Brennan and his wife met when they discovered your boat on Kariba? Your brother suspected nothing then, and he was Stephen’s right-hand man. We have one who is close to him: Mary. Remember her? Some rats sometimes escape the traps and they take a while to come back again.’

  ‘That piece of shit. Yes, I remember her. Is she still alive? I thought by now she would have died from the thinning’s disease.’

  Mlilo laughed. ‘She still lives in your brother’s area. Rumour has it she is the one behind the butcher in Amaluandi, and has built up a small gang of men who work for her business, mostly obtaining bush meat right under Chief Bongani’s nose. It would not be too hard to convince her to watch over the white soldier too.’

  ‘This is a good idea. Get the rat to earn her keep. I want to know about everything they do.’