Child of Africa

by T. M. Clark

  He smiled. The people under his brother’s care were about to be reminded how a chief should rule – like his father had, with fear and a hard hand. And showing such devotion to this ragtag group of elephants was a weakness he would exploit to his advantage. The large bull that travelled with the herd, which the vet had helped heal, was going to be the crowning glory when he got to stick a bullet through his heart. His head mounted on his wall, with those tusks, would be Tichawana’s reward.

  * * *

  On the morning of Ephraim’s funeral, busloads of youngsters began arriving at the village. Bongani watched as yet another bus arrived to swell the numbers. Youths he did not know, and he was certain did not know Ephraim.

  ‘Look at all these people,’ Peta said as she bent down and replaced the pink-striped sun hat on Sophia’s head for the third time.

  Sophia looked at her and reached up and pulled it off. She began sucking it instead.

  ‘Oh, honey, I know you are getting your two-year-old teeth now, but you will get sunburnt if you don’t wear your hat.’

  ‘Sunburnt? Seriously?’ Joss said. ‘You slathered two tons of cream on her – no UV rays are getting anywhere near her. Just pass her the cold gel ring and hook its string onto the side of the pram so she doesn’t drop it, then she will leave her hat on.’

  Peta did as he suggested, then carefully took the hat and put it back on Sophia’s head. This time she ignored it, happy to be sucking the cool ring instead.

  When Peta straightened, Joss reached for her hand and pulled her close to him.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Amos said next to her. ‘Bongani is asking if you two would go stand with him.’

  Joss pushed the pram towards Bongani. He noticed that there were police everywhere, and the media had also begun to arrive to take pictures of all the mourners for the boy who died during the rescue that Gideon Mthemba had been given credit for. His fast response had effectively stopped Tichawana’s operation in its tracks, but King Gogo wa de Patswa had gone to ground and no one had managed to find any trace of him. Joss and Bongani had told Gideon of the cache of ammo and the tracks, and he had moved a few units of police in for the funeral, ready for unrest.

  Ready for Tichawana’s homecoming.

  ‘Too many of these youths are wearing the same black tracksuit pants and boots,’ Joss whispered.

  ‘You want to bet these youths have been bussed in by my half-brother?’ Bongani said.

  ‘No, thanks. I’d lose. Gideon appears to be onto them too. He’s making them leave all backpacks on the buses, and getting the buses to exit the area once they’re empty. If they’ve got weapons stashed, they’re being driven out of easy reach. Moving the buses away in case Tichawana walks in with something bigger like a rocket is also a good idea.’

  Bongani still frowned. ‘I can only hope he has not managed to get his hands on anything so substantial. I do not want a massacre at this funeral.’

  Joss looked out over the horizon. ‘Mitch is out there. They have set the two squads of anti-poaching guards that Peta called in last night, and Gideon’s trusted men. I bet those buses will be checked when they are parked. Julian, Madala and Timberman are watching the elephants, so they are safe too. It’s as if Ndhlovy gave Torn-Ear a few days to feel better, and now she knows to move. They’re travelling away from the danger.’

  ‘It is good that she began to move them, but it is still hard to greet people, knowing that any moment this could erupt in all-out war.’

  Shifting her sunglasses up her nose, Peta said, ‘Hang in there, Bongani; you concentrate on the funeral. Leave the warmongering to Joss, Mitch and Gideon today.’

  Joss’s cell rang. ‘Mitch?’

  ‘We were right. Every bus had AK-47s in the luggage area underneath and many of the backpacks had little homemade zip guns too. The mourners bussed in are the youths Tichawana called up. Look sharp up there. He brought the fight to us, on the day we expected.’

  ‘Wonder when they’ll find that they have no guns?’ Joss asked.

  ‘One bus driver broke when Gideon told him he was going to prison for driving in trouble. The driver said that when they drive out, they were instructed to only go about one click before they were to stop, unload all the passengers, and then wait for them to return.’

  ‘Did you hang the muti bushels in the buses when you took the guns out?’

  ‘Of course, mate,’ Mitch said. ‘Who am I to mess with what those N’Gomas instructed me to do? They would scare any other marine too!’

  Joss hung up and moved closer to Peta.

  * * *

  Tichawana’s mission had gone to shit. And he knew it.

  He watched through his binoculars. Most of the youths did not have their backpacks on. Where were they hiding their zip guns? Their weapons? He’d watched as the buses were driven away, not all that concerned about it as they had discussed the possibility the buses would be moved on to avoid congestion. He had sat in the hot sun as he watched the youths attend the day of feasting to help the informant’s son to cross over.

  Then he’d seen the traitor.

  Hillary stood next to Francis Kanobvurunga as she handed out food like she belonged at the village.

  ‘It was her! Why did she turn on me?’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’ Adam asked.

  ‘My secretary. At the funeral. She is the one who must have told my brother where the camps were. That is how they knew so fast. That is how the police knew so much about my operations. She is the one who talked!’

  ‘Brought down by a girl, old friend,’ Adam muttered. ‘It is always the ladies that get us in the end.’

  Tichawana smacked him hard across the head. ‘Never say that again. Not if you want to live.’

  Adam looked downwards.

  ‘Look. They are back on the buses,’ Tichawana said. He smiled then, knowing that all his plans were coming together. Despite the betrayal, at the end of the day he would walk into his old village and, as Bongani’s only relative, he would be chief.

  The buses were now at the point where it had been agreed they would stop. But as the youths climbed out, they began running from the buses, down the road towards Bulawayo. One or two of the bus drivers jumped out and started to run too. Other buses were hurrying away, hooting, trying to get the teenagers to move out of the road as they attempted to get as far from the funeral as they could.

  ‘What the fuck is going on? The buses are leaving,’ Adam said. ‘They haven’t removed a single weapon, and the army is leaving with them.’

  ‘My youth army. It has deserted! When I catch those little pricks, I am going to cut their cocks off and make them eat them.’

  Adam took a deep breath. ‘There’s still the four of us. We can sneak into the village and kill him.’

  Tichawana looked at Adam. He nodded. ‘You need to kill the N’Gomas first. Perhaps then I can enter the boundary.’

  ‘My friend,’ Adam said, ‘that muti is not real. It’s a mind game they have played with you all these years. There is no such thing as magic and N’Gomas’ muti keeping you out. It is your mind. Stop believing in it and it will not be true.’

  ‘How can you say that? You have lived all your life in Zimbabwe, been around my people for so long. Your father, he is white, he too believes in the power of the N’Gomas. How is it you are so sure that it is not real?’

  ‘Because it’s just superstition.’

  Tichawana shook his head. ‘I have felt the pain when I crossed over the border before. Many years ago. It was real. I was saved then by a man I have always owed my life to. He reminds me of that price to this day. I have done many things because of the debt I owe him. I was in a heap like a baby. I can never do that again. Take the trackers with you and go into the village. Tonight, when those N’Gomas are sleeping, you and Brighton, you will slit their throats. My tracker will bring my half-brother Bongani to me, then when I get into that village, I will teach Hillary the lesson of her life.’

  Adam nodde
d. ‘Come, Brighton, we’re going hunting.’

  ‘You go, bring me my half-brother,’ Tichawana said to his tracker.

  The tracker nodded.

  The three men left and Tichawana was alone. Waiting. Seething at how his careful planning had gone so wrong.

  He took out his cell. ‘Mlilo, the youths did not perform. Bury them.’

  ‘There are eight busloads of them—’

  ‘I do not care. They let me down. Do not let them get back to Bulawayo.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He settled back into his place on the koppie to watch Adam and his small team’s progress through his binoculars.

  * * *

  Bongani signalled to stop. Joss froze then crouched down.

  ‘Lion,’ Bongani said and he pointed to spoor on the ground.

  ‘Same print as the man-eater Peta warned us about months ago,’ Joss said. ‘He’s dragging his back foot – that’s new.’

  ‘What has he been eating if he has turned out of the reserve and come back here, because no people have been taken? No one complained about goats or cattle being taken either.’ Bongani’s hand went up again and he signalled to his ears. Joss strained to hear.

  A branch broke nearby.

  Then he heard another, and the smell of a dagga cigarette came to them on the wind.

  Three men broke out of the bush in front of them and turned south, their backs to the men crouched low.

  Joss studied them. There was a tracker at the back of the group who looked like a Matabele, but he was very short, and one shoulder was dropped slightly, as if he had suffered from polio as a child, or a bad beating, where a bone had broken and not healed right. He carried two rifles on his right shoulder. The man was strong, despite his disability. The white man in front of the tracker was in a camo uniform of sorts. He didn’t walk as if military trained, but with an excited gait. On his shoulder he carried a .303 and an elephant gun, a Ruger 402. The tracker in front of him had a large hunting knife strapped to his leg, but no other weapon that Joss could see. The cigarette hung from the front tracker’s mouth.

  They had seen photos of the front two men: Adam and Brighton, as Hillary had identified them. Tichawana’s people.

  Bongani signalled to move off the path. They melted into the bush and remained stationary, keeping their breath muffled. Staying almost silent took energy, and Joss wiped the sweat from his forehead. Although the sun had begun to sink towards the horizon, the Kariba heat was still relentless.

  ‘They are heading towards the moringa grove where the elephants were yesterday afternoon,’ Bongani said.

  ‘Good thing they went north this morning,’ Joss said.

  Bongani shook his head. ‘I do not think it is the elephants they are after anyway. They are coming for me.’

  Joss frowned. ‘There are only three—’

  ‘My brother is not with them. He is the one up on the koppie.’

  Joss nodded. ‘They obviously didn’t expect the elephants to move away. Now they are between our two forces. The anti-poaching guards are somewhere out there, and some are waiting just before the safari lodge. With only three men on foot, they should be easy enough to stop,’ Joss said as he took out his cell and called Mitch. ‘Three coming your way. Stop them before they get to the lodge. They have a .303 and a Ruger 402.’

  ‘Consider it done, mate,’ Mitch said and hung up.

  Bongani grinned. ‘Hunting time.’

  * * *

  Mitch looked at the three men as they approached, totally oblivious to the fact that they were walking into an ambush.

  Gideon stepped out from a large tree in front of them, but with enough distance that the front tracker couldn’t reach him with his knife. ‘We are the Binga Police. Surrender your weapons. You are surrounded.’

  Mitch wanted to laugh, as the man sounded like an old 1950s cowboy movie. But he had not expected the tracker at the back to be so fast in raising the .303 from his shoulder.

  Mitch shouted a warning to Gideon, at the same time as he shot the tracker.

  The tracker fell forward, his rifle discharging.

  The hunter and the unarmed tracker at the front hit the dirt. The man who was shot attempted to pull his rifle back to himself. Mitch shot his hand.

  The white hunter and the front tracker put their hands in the air, but as one of Gideon’s policemen stepped forward, the white man threw a grenade.

  ‘Basop, grenade,’ the policeman called as he hit the ground, and everyone flattened themselves as best they could as the explosion rocked the bush and echoed across the lake.

  Mitch rubbed his ears, trying to stop the sound of church bells ringing in them. He looked around. The fallout from the blast was large. Trees were blown apart for metres. Some of the policemen were injured. They began to groan. So was the idiot poacher who hadn’t thrown the explosive far enough from himself and hadn’t even bothered to try and get low below the blast, simply turned away and continued to run. Shrapnel had peppered his body and his back was shredded where he hadn’t attempted to lay flat.

  The tracker, now with his knife unsheathed, was already up and running into the bush, towards the safari camp, leaving the white man behind.

  Mitch took aim and brought him down with a single shot.

  * * *

  Tichawana watched through his binoculars as his small team was massacred. They were out of range of his weapons, so he could do nothing to help them or even warn them when he saw that they were walking into a trap.

  His half-brother was still alive.

  His own men were all dead.

  Today had been a failure.

  He shouldered his weapons, walked from the koppie carefully and jogged quickly to his Hummer. Starting the vehicle, he raced towards the lake’s edge.

  There was still a possibility that he could escape, retreat into Zambia. Using his boat was the only logical course, then he could drive up into Tanzania. He would come back to deal with his half-brother another time.

  He parked the Hummer close to the boat and placed the .303 within easy reach on the trailer board that linked the boat with the shore, so that if his brother and the marines, who seemed to know what he was doing before he did, came from the bush and challenged him, he could defend himself.

  He began to remove the net. His mind was focused on the clasps and getting them undone, cursing Adam for tying it down so well, when he heard the animal. The snarl was unmistakable.

  A male lion crouched between him and the Hummer, ready to pounce.

  ‘No. Not you too,’ he said. He turned to the boat and grabbed his .303.

  The lion didn’t seem afraid of him. It challenged him, snarling, and yet it didn’t come closer. As if it was waiting for Tichawana to make the next move.

  ‘Checkmate,’ Tichawana said as he loaded a bullet up the spout. He adjusted his stance so one foot was forward as he took aim at the lion. ‘You think you can eat me like you did my spotter?’

  The lion growled again and shook his large head as if saying no.

  Tichawana watched its tail flick from side to side. He remembered an old campfire story that said when the lion’s tail stopped moving and slammed downwards, you knew it was going to pounce. He had time to make this a clean kill.

  The sweat ran from his head and into his eyes.

  The lion sat there looking at him.

  Tichawana heard a whisper of a noise behind him. Turning his head slightly, he glimpsed one of the biggest crocodiles he had ever seen as it launched itself at him. The pain just beneath his knee was agonising as the monster grabbed him. The crocodile shook its head from side to side, the teeth ripping and tearing skin, muscle, tendons, stopping only when its teeth scraped bone.

  Tichawana fell to the ground, hitting his chest hard. He lost his grip on the rifle. The crocodile began to tug on his legs as it pulled its prey back into the water so it could drown it.

  Screaming, Tichawana reached for his fallen weapon, twisting his body around and putting th
e barrel to the croc’s head. He pulled the trigger.

  But the croc didn’t let go. Its monstrous jaw remained closed.

  Despite the blood oozing from the hole in its head, the crocodile dragged him into the water. He loaded again and fired, but the animal’s jaw remained firmly closed. He emptied the rest of his magazine into its head, but the crocodile hung on to his legs, refusing to give up. He kicked at its head with his free leg.

  The crocodile was deadly still. He let out a breath of relief.

  Then its body weight began to drag it over the small ledge into the deeper water, Tichawana’s leg still locked in its jaws.

  Tichawana screamed once more as he desperately tried to pry the teeth open with the tip of the rifle’s barrel. The crocodile slipped backwards into the lake and pulled him in up to his chest. The water turned red around him.

  He realised that there was a second crocodile in the water as it hit his side. It began its death spin, slowly tumbling over, turning his body against the resistance of the weight of the dead croc holding him. Tichawana knew he was about to be ripped to pieces, if the spinning did not drown him first.

  He reached for the head of the newest croc, beating his fists against it as it flipped him in the water.

  After the pain, only darkness.

  * * *

  Joss and Bongani were almost at the koppie. They had zig-zagged through the clumps of trees, making sure they would not be seen by Tichawana sitting at his higher vantage point. Slowly Bongani lifted his head above the crest of the rocks, to look at where they thought the man in his sniper’s nest would be, to help his team in the attack.

  ‘Shit, he is not there.’

  Joss climbed up and looked around. The summit was abandoned. Tichawana had definitely gone.

  They heard a shot from the direction of the lake.

  ‘Now what?’ Bongani said as they ran.

  They heard another shot. Silence, then eight in quick succession, as if someone was panicked and just squeezing the trigger as fast as they could.