Child of Africa

by T. M. Clark

  Peta dropped the clutch and they moved forward. She could hear her heartbeat even above the roar of her diesel engine as the blood rushed through her ears. She watched her tracker on the front and kept herself alert as they checked for danger.

  Slowly they bumped over the rough road, the sweat running down her back and pooling at the waistband of her shorts. She fanned the front of her T-shirt, trying to get a bit of airflow. Despite her open window, the heat inside the cab was stifling.

  Amos tapped on the bonnet. She felt the vibration through every nerve in her body.

  They were at the end of the road, in front of a low koppie. Amos dismounted while she remained in the bakkie, the engine running. He started walking in circles around the vehicle, before moving towards the koppie itself. When he gestured for her to follow him, she shut the vehicle off, took the keys out of the ignition, and started in his direction, keeping her 0.9mm in her hand.

  Amos was pulling dead bushes away from the side of the koppie. When he pulled the last bush away, she stared.

  ‘Oh my God. This is almost the same layout as Kenneth Hunt’s camp, except there is no body and no bakkie.’

  ‘Another spotter’s camp?’

  ‘Looks like it to me,’ she said. The canvases on the floor were covered with leaves that had blown in while it had stood abandoned. The net above her was still in good condition. She took pictures with her phone.

  ‘I was expecting a poacher’s camp or remnants of one at least, not another spotter’s camp,’ she said. ‘Bloody cheeky swine! Right under our noses!’

  ‘What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘I think we should cover it all back up once we’ve had a good look around, and cover our tracks out too. Make it look like we turned around near their road. It’ll take us a while, but if they don’t know we were here, we can come back again, check if they are here or not, and they won’t know we are onto them.’

  Amos looked to the sky. ‘I do not think we will need to worry about our tracks. We cover this back up and close the hole in the road, but Mother Nature is going to take care of the rest with a storm tonight.’

  ‘Let’s not take that chance. I want to poke through his stuff a bit, look in those boxes at the back against the rock, see if there’s anything that can lead us back to who this camp belongs to.’

  She ran her finger along the wood, looking for a way to open the box. The crate was about one-point-five metres by eighty centimetres, and crudely constructed of pine, nails hammered into the soft wood at an angle. The lid was fitted into the structure of the box. She went to her bakkie and brought out her tool box.

  They decided the screwdriver might work. She looked over the lid until she found where it had been previously damaged, and she put the screwdriver in the seam, wiggled it down a little, then levered it.

  The lid popped up and Amos ran his fingers underneath it, to lift it more. Inside was packing material, and it had a horrible smell.

  ‘I have seen this before,’ Peta said. ‘Smugglers and poachers pack tusks in it. The smell of the fibres is supposed to discourage the dogs from sniffing too close and finding the ivory.’

  ‘So why is it out here, in the middle of nowhere?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Peta said, then went and got a stick, which she used to remove the matted fibres.

  ‘You are making a mess,’ Amos protested. ‘Remember we need to cover that we were ever here.’

  ‘We can tidy once we make sure there are no tusks in here,’ she said, but she was relieved when all the packing was out and the crate was empty. She took a photograph of it and of all the packaging on the lid. Now knowing that there was no ivory in the straw, they threw it back in, and carefully picked up all that had spilled. They put the lid back on, and moved to the next box.

  Peta looked inside. She brought her hand up to her mouth. ‘Oh my God.’

  Pre-made white crosses were packed into the box, and it was only half full. She took one out and turned it over. There was no marking on the cross, no name.

  ‘Why?’ Amos asked. ‘What did the spotter want with the white crosses?’

  ‘This is another of Kenneth Hunt’s camps. Remember when we found his last one, Sixpence said that the cross on the top of the koppie was new? It hadn’t been there before. And then you and I checked those others in the park on his maps to names we already had, but none of those had been replaced. Joss and I have a theory that perhaps Hunt was replacing the old crosses with new ones. Perhaps this is the proof we were looking for.’

  Peta flipped the other crosses in the box to check if any of them had names. All were blank. She placed the white cross back in the box with the others, and took a couple more photos.

  Together they put the lid back on.

  ‘This is interesting, and weird,’ she said. ‘Let’s cover up our presence here.’ She walked a little away from camp and broke a branch off a tree. She began dragging it over where she’d made footprints in the ash and onto the canvas.

  ‘Why not go to the top of the koppie and call Tsessebe so he can relay to your dad?’ Amos said. ‘I will finish covering all the tracks here so if that storm misses this area, no one will know we visited. I will cut some more bushes to cover the tracks of the bakkie as we drive out.’

  She nodded and began the trek up to the top of the koppie, all the time checking for a signal as she went. As she neared the top, she got two bars.

  ‘Thank you, Econet,’ she said as she dialled Tsessebe.

  The phone rang twice before he answered. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Tsessebe, it’s me.’

  ‘Are you at Joss’s already?’

  ‘Not yet. Remember that road Dad used to use that cuts through the bushes across the river, and out to the east? There’s a road towards Gokwe North hunting camp as you cross the Tashinga gravel road?’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Amos and I found another spotter’s camp in the park off that road. The layout is the same as Kenneth Hunt’s camp, so it might have been one of his, or it’s someone else like him, who knows him or trained with him. It’s so similar it’s spooky.’

  ‘Okay, understood.’

  ‘Keep Dad out of this area; there is danger here.’

  ‘More dangerous than your father and his homemade explosives?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is an interesting find.’

  ‘There’s a dead spot here. No radio or cell coverage. I’m halfway up a koppie,’ she said. ‘Please mark that on the map in my office.’

  ‘I will do that. You sure you are alright?’

  She looked out across the bush. There was no tell-tale dust sign of another car anywhere that she could see with her naked eye. ‘This camp hasn’t been active for a while. We’re fine.’

  ‘I would still be on your toes, in case,’ he said. ‘Call when you are out of the area.’

  ‘Promise. Bye, Tsessebe.’

  She hung up and took one last look at the surrounds. She could see elephants moving nearby, and there was movement closer to the road, where some birds flew up as if disturbed by feeding impala, but no dust, and she felt herself relax.

  She’d never been a big adrenaline junkie, and she wondered what had made her believe that being a large animal veterinarian in Zimbabwe was ever going to be an easy profession.

  * * *

  At last the gates of Yingwe River Lodge came into view.

  ‘We’re so late,’ she said.

  ‘Your Joss, he will not mind that you are late, only that you got here,’ Amos said.

  She smiled at that. Her Joss. She didn’t remember when she had started thinking of him as hers, perhaps when he’d finally come to Matusadona and laid a bunch of flame lilies on Courtney’s grave. She had watched as he conversed with her sister, allowing him the space to grieve alone, until finally she couldn’t take it any more, and went and stood with him. She had slipped her arm into his, and he hugged her tightly as they stood together saying farewell to someone they both loved deeply.
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  After that, they had spoken each night, about their days, their dreams and their hopes. Lots about Sophia. About the renovations Joss was planning or what was happening in the community in his area. Her parks, and what was happening there, and the people in both of their lives who were connecting them.

  Somewhere between phone calls and visits, their friendship was blossoming into something more. It scared her, because if she crossed over that invisible line and changed the footing to something else, there would be no going back to friends if it didn’t work. And she didn’t want to lose her friend. This was a mature friendship unlike anything she had experienced before, and she hated to admit it, but she was fast becoming used to having him to talk to. To laugh and scheme with. With Rodger’s mind ailing, and Tsessebe so focused on her father and his needs, it had been a while since she had someone like Joss to talk to.

  She forgot that he was years younger than herself when she was in his company, and no longer saw him as little Joss Brennan. Instead she noticed idiosyncrasies like how he absentmindedly stroked the smooth plastic of his left leg, and never did it to his right one. He would reach forward and tuck a stray hair behind her ear when it got out of her hairband, or straighten her hat when it wasn’t on right. How he never attempted to move out of the way when she had to reach across him, appearing to welcome the contact with a small smile, a laugh or by helping her where she was going by lifting her over himself, as if she weighed nothing, just because he could.

  Her stomach clenched as she drove the familiar track up to his house. She was already climbing out when Joss appeared at the kitchen door. He hugged her, and she hugged him back. Once their hugs were stilted, awkward. Now they were full body contact, and she was sure that he held her against his chest just a little longer than normal as his hands ran up and down her back, keeping her in the embrace.

  ‘Glad you made it without more delays. I was worried about that river crossing.’

  ‘It’s high, but not over the causeway yet; we were good.’

  ‘You want to freshen up before dinner?’

  ‘Actually, we want to talk to you and Bongani first.’

  ‘Intriguing. We’ll do it at my place. Come on in and I’ll call everyone together. Sophia is almost ready to go down for the night. Lwazi and Ephraim have gone to Bishu Village to learn about bees and chilli plants and how to use them to keep the elephants out of the crops.’

  ‘Lead the way. At least I get to say goodnight to Sophia.’

  * * *

  Peta got her phone out and called Tsessebe.

  ‘Hey, is Dad with you?’ she said, putting him on speaker. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ Tsessebe said.

  ‘Mostly,’ Rodger’s voice came over the line.

  ‘Joss, Bongani and Mitch are on the line with us.’

  ‘What mischief did you get into this time?’ Rodger asked.

  ‘Amos and I were travelling on the Gokwe North road, and he noticed these large log arrows on the curb.’

  ‘Arrows? Did you say arrows? What type of arrows?’ Rodger asked.

  ‘Yes, arrows, like pointing in a direction. We followed them and they led us to another spotter’s camp.’

  ‘You shitting me?’

  ‘No, Dad. I’ve got photos, and there was more. I found a huge crate of white crosses. The crate wasn’t full either, as if some had been used already. I think this is proof that Kenneth Hunt was putting these crosses in our park.’

  ‘You sure it’s a spotter’s camp?’ Rodger asked.

  ‘It was similar to the camp we found Hunt’s body in.’

  ‘This is bad news,’ Bongani said.

  ‘Remember the map I found at Hunt’s first camp? It has references to people who died all across the area, and names and dates. Amos and I have been checking those sites, and a few of the names match his map, but so far we haven’t found another cross that had been replaced, other than Casper’s. A few of those old crosses are real graves from pioneers passing through the Zambezi Valley – they match names I’ve already collected – and they cross reference with the map. This new spotter’s camp adds more to the mystery as it doesn’t tell us much about the man himself.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’m sure you won’t find all your answers in one day,’ Rodger said.

  ‘Mitch, how’s the hacking of those other files on his laptop going?’ Peta asked.

  ‘I’ve got a friend working on breaking the codes on those we couldn’t open,’ Mitch said. ‘I’m hoping to hear from him soon.’

  ‘Bongani and I looked through those spotter files you printed for us,’ Joss said. ‘There’re definitely two sets of files with similar data. One file excludes all the big tuskers. It’s as if he’s either making up that there are big tuskers there, or they’re there and he’s excluding them from the reports he’s passing on. We looked at the police report that Amos got from his cousin for us. There wasn’t even a trace of dead animal in his camp, so we don’t think Hunt poached in the parks himself. Even looks like he was living on food that he brought into the area.’

  ‘A spotter with a conscience? Now I’ve heard everything,’ Tsessebe said. ‘Have you found out anything about him yet? Anything at all?’

  Peta looked at Mitch.

  ‘A little. I’ve done an internet search and also tried to ask questions around, discreetly. His family were Zimbabwean pioneers. Their farm was taken in 2000. He wasn’t married, and had no siblings. According to his social media page, he completed his schooling and then studied African history as a major at Wits University; after that he returned to Zimbabwe and started an overland hunting safari business,’ Mitch said.

  ‘At least we know a little more about him now,’ Peta said.

  ‘All you know is what he wanted the world to see on those stupid computers,’ Rodger said.

  Peta grinned at Mitch’s frown. ‘We don’t have enough to go to the police with this yet?’

  ‘Not really,’ Bongani said.

  The others shook their heads as Tsessebe and her dad said, ‘No.’

  Mitch’s phone pinged, and he looked at it. ‘We have progress. Damo has cracked the files. Let me go grab my laptop.’ Mitch hopped up and disappeared into the guest bedroom. He came back with the machine already open. There was a Word document on the screen. Peeking out behind it was an image.

  ‘How did he do that?’

  ‘I wasn’t making progress, so I gave Damo remote access. He ran some fancy program he wrote. Cracking passwords is his hobby.’

  ‘What do the files say?’ Tsessebe asked.

  ‘Hang on,’ Peta said as they all gathered around the small screen, reading the document. ‘There’s thirty pages in this file. We’ll call you back once we’ve read it.’

  ‘Speak to you later,’ Rodger said as he ended the call.

  Mitch scrolled through slowly as they read.

  ‘Can you print us off a few copies?’ Peta asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘While we wait for those, does anyone want a drink?’ Bongani asked.

  ‘A cold Coke,’ Peta replied.

  ‘I’ll have a beer,’ Joss said and Mitch agreed.

  ‘I will help you.’ Amos stood and disappeared into the kitchen with Bongani.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask if I could visit your project at Matusadona?’ Mitch said to Peta. ‘Your research into the nocturnal behaviour of rhinos sounds interesting. Joss suggested that I ask to come over and help out for a few days.’

  ‘Sure. If you don’t mind staying in the volunteer accommodation.’

  ‘Perfect, thanks, mate,’ Mitch said.

  ‘Told you she’d be fine,’ Joss taunted Mitch playfully, as if they were still teenage boys.

  Bongani and Amos came back, and Joss went to his room to collect the pages from the printer. He returned and put four neat piles of paper on the coffee table.

  There was silence as they began to read in earnest.

  After a while, Peta dug in her bag and unfol
ded the taped-together duplicate of her map on the table. She took a pencil and transferred the crosses from Kenneth’s new computer file onto her topographical map, making notes of the GPS coordinates of the others that were off the map on the back of one of the pages in the pile.

  There were only twenty-five crosses over the whole of Zimbabwe on the original map, sixteen situated within her parks and the surrounding areas, including Tjolotjo and Nyamandhlovu, seven in the concession area, and two near Masvingo. Kenneth Hunt’s new map had sixty-three crosses in Matusadona, Chizarira and the surrounding areas, including down in the Tjolotjo and Nyamandhlovu areas. In the Masvingo area alone, there were an additional seventeen crosses.

  Peta’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and she sniffed. ‘If Kenneth’s maps and notes on these pages are true, then we are in possession of the location of some of the Gukurahundi massacre graves.’

  ‘We have to be sure,’ Bongani said. ‘We have to substantiate what Hunt said in this file, because this could open many old wounds in the community.’

  ‘I agree,’ Joss said. ‘When they found mass graves in Afghanistan, we had to send personnel to protect them from the villagers digging them up to see if they could find their loved ones to re-bury them with dignity. But the forensic evidence around the graves needed to be preserved, in case the people responsible for killing all those villagers could be prosecuted. I know a few guys who had that detail, and they can probably tell us more about what to do, who to go to.’

  Amos cleared his throat. ‘There are many people who have stories of these atrocities, and who cannot speak about them publicly because our government has not changed. They are still scared. For these villagers to have told a white man, and allowed him to mark these graves, they must have trusted him. If we go there, we will break the trust of these people, even though the man is dead. The bush drums will talk, and all these crosses will disappear.’

  Bongani nodded. ‘Amos is correct. We are going to have to move very slowly and carefully on this information. When does the policeman want Hunt’s computer back?’