Softly Calls the Serengeti

by Frank Coates

  In the next instant, Joshua heard the grass crush behind him. ‘Don’t move!’ came a rasping whisper at his shoulder.

  Joshua had no intention of moving. His legs had become jelly, but he turned his head without taking his eyes off the buffalo.

  ‘Mr Mark?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes. Now just back up. Very slowly.’

  Joshua did as he was told.

  The buffalo snorted and shook its head irritably.

  ‘Keep moving,’ Mark said, guiding Joshua with a hand on his shoulder.

  From some distance came the low rumble of a diesel motor. Joshua turned towards the sound and stumbled backwards over a clump of grass.

  As he scrambled to his feet, the buffalo gave one flick of its tail and, without a bellow or a murmur, charged directly at them.

  ‘Run!’ Mark yelled, and he and Joshua dashed towards the approaching vehicle, leaping grass tussocks and vaulting stones and mud wallows. Neither dared look behind, but the thundering hooves of the buffalo drew nearer.

  Joshua drew level with Mark as the utility appeared through the scattered scrub and swung around to allow them to vault into the back of the vehicle.

  No sooner were they on board than the driver gunned the motor, spraying dirt into the buffalo’s face as it attempted to gore the tailgate.

  CHAPTER 24

  It was around nine when Charlotte passed the reception desk on her way to the dining room for breakfast. The desk staff chatted idly among themselves. One couple was settling their bill with the cashier. The surrounding gardens were empty, except for an old man shuffling around the courtyard and sweeping leaves into a long-handled dustpan.

  She wondered if most guests were out on a morning game drive. She’d suggested the idea to Mark at dinner, and they’d agreed to defer breakfast until after their morning safari. The plan had been to meet in the car park at dawn—the earliest departure allowed by the park authorities—but when she’d got there, the Land Rover was gone.

  The waiter who’d served them the night before greeted her and escorted her to a table. She was the only one there.

  He asked, ‘Is madam dining alone this morning?’

  ‘Ah, yes, I am.’

  He eased the chair in behind her as she took her seat.

  ‘Has my friend been in this morning for breakfast?’ she asked.

  ‘No, madam.’

  ‘Hmm, perhaps he went on the early morning game drive.’

  ‘No, madam. There was no game drive this morning. Nobody was interested.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe everyone has too much beer for holiday party last night?’

  She returned his smile. ‘Maybe.’

  Curious, Charlotte thought. It seemed out of character for Mark to change his mind about an early start—he was far too organised for that.

  After breakfast, she walked down to the guests’ car park again, wondering why Mark had gone out alone. She thought through all possible explanations without coming up with one that was feasible. They’d been getting along fine last night, and even though the evening had ended on a sombre note, she was sure that wasn’t enough to make Mark want to exclude her from the safari.

  She made her way back to the lodge. As she was about to enter the reception area, a small pickup truck came roaring up the driveway and stopped abruptly at the foot of the reception office steps. An attractive woman dressed in beige slacks and what seemed to be—improbably—a Versace leather jacket over a lemon blouse climbed out from beside the local driver and went to the rear section of the utility.

  Sitting with their backs propped against the front cabin were a deeply suntanned man wearing what appeared to Charlotte to be a Bedouin’s flowing robes and Joshua and Mark, the latter’s face, neck and arms resembling raw steak.

  Mark’s cracked lips parted into a smile. ‘Charlotte,’ he said in a painfully brittle voice. ‘I’d like you to meet Antonio…’

  The man swung down from the utility, his robes swirling around him. He was stunning. ‘Antonio Diconza,’ he said, making it sound like an Italian aria. ‘Delighted to meet you, Ms Charlotte.’ He plucked her hand from her side and kissed it.

  Charlotte wanted to giggle.

  The woman in Versace joined them as Mark and Joshua climbed out from the back of the truck.

  ‘And this is Kazlana Ramanova,’ Mark said. ‘Kaz, I’d like you to meet Charlotte Manning.’

  As soon as the women had exchanged greetings, Kazlana turned and clapped her hands. ‘Wasili tafadali,’ she said, hailing a bellboy. ‘Upesi! Upesi!’ she added impatiently as the boy hesitated. She soon had three staff members at her disposal, to whom she quickly issued a number of orders.

  ‘Now,’ she said, turning to Mark, who looked quite unwell. ‘You are probably dehydrated and have a touch of sunstroke, so I’ve told the staff to set up the daybed on your veranda and to bring cold towels and iced water.’

  She ran her eyes around the group. When there was no comment, she shrugged and added, ‘So…shall we go?’

  Fifteen minutes later, Antonio had excused himself to check in, Joshua was last seen heading towards the staff quarters, and Mark was lounging on the daybed, a wet towel draped over his head and a glass of iced water in his hand.

  ‘Any chance of some whisky and soda to go with the ice?’ he asked.

  Kazlana tut-tutted. ‘Not at this time of day,’ she said, filling his water glass again.

  Charlotte, who had stood back during Kazlana’s whirlwind of organisation, was surprised by the familiarity that existed between her and Mark. She wondered how they knew each other, and found the opportunity to ask when Kazlana enquired about the progress of Mark’s magazine article.

  ‘I take it that you and Mark are collaborating on the article about the UNICEF inquiry?’ she said to Kazlana.

  Kazlana took a sip of her Coke. ‘You could say it’s something like that.’

  She looked pointedly at Mark, who nodded, but said nothing for some moments. Then: ‘Kazlana has a number of contacts within the various NGOs—non-government organisations—and has been kind enough to arrange interviews with…some key people.’

  ‘I see.’

  Again, there was a gap in the conversation, as if neither wanted to further explain their relationship. Charlotte felt as if she were intruding.

  ‘Well, I think I’ll go for a swim,’ she said, standing. ‘Mark, I’ll call in later to see how you are.’

  She said good day to Kazlana and headed towards her banda, more than a little miffed. As she changed into her swimsuit, she wondered about her annoyance. It wasn’t as if Kazlana and Mark had been secretive, but there was something between them that indicated they had more than a passing relationship. Why she cared was another puzzle. Perhaps it was because she had been touched by Mark’s admission of his love for his wife. Now, the connection she had felt with him last night seemed illusory.

  By the time she reached the pool and sank into its tepid water, she’d decided it was none of her business how they knew each other. Perhaps they were lovers. Perhaps not. It really didn’t matter to her at all.

  Kazlana sat back in the cane chair on the veranda of her banda and took a sip of her gin and tonic. Below her, the Lion Hill Lodge bungalows spread down the slope to the main building and pool. It had been many years since she last stayed here. Fortunately, it had changed little.

  Antonio came out the door, the bottles and glasses he carried clinking. He had showered and changed from his Arab attire and was now looking magnificent in white cotton drawstring slacks and a striped Italian sailor’s shirt. He was one of that rare breed of men who always looked good in whatever he chose to wear.

  She often teased him with the name chameleon because of his ability to change his persona to suit his situation. In Wajir, and across the border, he was a Somali in dress, religion and language, but on his home visits he reverted to Western clothes, Catholicism and English. It was his Muslim side that had been most useful to the family business. He was their contact in Wajir and beyo
nd to Somalia. He was an entrepreneur, operating—as she did—with a wink and a nod at the letter of the law. They had worked together on various projects over recent years.

  Antonio Diconza had been a friend of the Ramanova family for as long as Kazlana could remember. At age forty-three, he was twelve years older than she, and had joined the family business when Kazlana was just five. Her father had treated Antonio as a son, and Antonio, who had lost his own father at an early age, loved Dieter Ramanova almost as much as Kazlana did. Although he later developed business interests of his own, he and the Ramanovas had remained close associates; and in 2006, with the death of Dieter, it became an association strengthened by tragedy.

  Kazlana had always adored Antonio. As a child, she had followed him about like a puppy, employing all her spoiled-child antics to get his attention. When she was unsuccessful, she’d sulk, but he would tease her by mimicking her long, sad face until she laughed.

  As Kazlana matured, the many boys who filled her orbit tried to seduce her, but it was the handsome, manly Antonio who had captured her heart. To her great chagrin, he ignored all her best efforts to attract his attention, even though it was he who shepherded her through those troublesome teen years. Even her father couldn’t control her wild nature, but Antonio could.

  She had become increasingly bold in her pursuit of him, and one night watched him undress from outside his bedroom window. She was determined to catch him at his most vulnerable moment, and, when she guessed he had fallen into the first stages of sleep, she had slid open his window and slipped into bed beside him. Her fingers had trembled as she reached under the sheet and ran her hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his flesh and the tautness of his muscles. She felt him responding to her caresses and, for one delicious moment, imagined he was aware it was she. Then he awoke with a start and pushed her from him.

  He must have decided it was time to set matters right, for he turned on the light, pulled a sheet around his nakedness, sat beside her on the bed and told her he was gay. Kazlana, at age sixteen, had no idea what he meant; had never heard the word. Even after he had explained that he preferred males to females, she had thought he was making a sick joke at her expense. Concealing her tears, she’d rushed from his room and wouldn’t speak to him for days.

  Her father, while unable to control her behaviour as he might like, was close enough to his daughter to see what was happening and guessed that the besieged Antonio had at last explained his situation to her. It was her father’s patient and kind words that helped Kazlana to understand. Antonio continued to treat her as his little sister, and she transferred her affections to others, although the night she had almost had his body remained among her most secret fantasies.

  Antonio took his seat across the table from her now, facing the lake and the distant hills, and sighed. ‘I sometimes forget what it is to enjoy the comforts of our beautiful country.’

  ‘You’re away far too often, but welcome home,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, cara mia.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘To the success of your next conquest.’

  ‘Conquest?’

  ‘Or should I say, your next love adventure?’

  ‘What are you talking about? Mark’s a journalist and I’m helping him with his story.’

  ‘You forget, my dear Kaz, I used to chaperone you when you were flinging yourself at those callow idiots who thought they would steal your little cherry.’

  Kazlana remembered how she had so wanted to please Antonio that she would reject any prospective boyfriend whom he thought unworthy of her.

  ‘I don’t forget that you chased away more than one by threatening to cut off their cojones,’ she said.

  Antonio raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Ai-yi-yi! What are you accusing me of?’

  ‘You know very well, big brother. I was seventeen before I was able to get past your security system.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I thought you were still a virgin!’

  They laughed together.

  ‘But my toast remains. Good luck on your next conquest.’ He raised his glass to her again and this time she met it with hers. ‘You do have eyes for the fellow Mark, no?’

  ‘I notice you’re still on security duties. Can’t you see he has a girlfriend?’

  ‘That fragile English rose? She is no match for you, cara mia.’

  Kazlana laughed. ‘I have a toast,’ she said. ‘To our success.’

  ‘Si. Our success. Ah, we need ice,’ he said, and took both glasses inside.

  She heard him in the bungalow, rattling ice in the bucket, and began to mull over the details of their plans. She had some lingering concerns.

  When he returned with their drinks, she asked, ‘How am I going to find this place where Papa delivered the medical supplies?’

  ‘I know he used the landing strip inside the park, so the house must be close.’ He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘I remember when I was a boy, before the park was created, my brothers and I would ride our horses right around it. There was a house somewhere on the west side of the lake, I think. I’m not sure, but maybe you could make a flight around the perimeter and see what you can find.’

  She sighed, wondering if this were yet another tenuous clue that would come to nothing. There had been many of them in the previous year and she’d devoted her energy to each one, often to the detriment of the business and certainly of her personal life.

  ‘I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever get to the bottom of this matter,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve always been a very determined lady,’ he said. ‘I love that about you. I believe we have the best chance of finding the facts here in Nakuru. All the events seem to point to it. But if this turns out to be another, how you say, wild-goose chase, I believe it is time we put the whole matter to rest.’

  He noticed her frown of annoyance. ‘Before you cut my head off, let me say I believe we will find the truth here, if for no other reason than because you have set your mind to it. You know, there’s never been a time when you’ve not got exactly what you want.’

  ‘You know very well that’s not true,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘You, of all people.’

  ‘Well, that’s another issue,’ he said, smiling broadly before again becoming serious. ‘But you must be very careful, Kaz. If this is connected to your father’s ivory trading, it will be very dangerous. The Somalis are something to worry about, yes? But if there are also people in Nairobi involved, I am sure they will want to keep their operation a secret. Dealing in ivory is now forbidden. So we must remember they are dangerous. Maybe also very powerful.’

  She nodded, the steel returning to her voice. ‘That will not save them, my darling.’

  CHAPTER 25

  Koske waited for his call in the courtyard outside the Kenyatta International Conference Centre. A large crowd was gathered in the car park and surrounding streets, hoping to hear news of the election. Inside, the Electoral Commission of Kenya was counting votes in the ground-floor auditorium.

  Koske thought it ironic that in the neighbouring conference room, the Austrian judge was hearing matters to do with the so-called Rights of the Child. Koske had been concerned that he might be called to testify to the committee, but now that Omuga had been silenced, he felt at ease. Even if he were called to make a statement, he could do so with complete confidence that he could not be challenged.

  His mobile phone rang. He pressed it hard against one ear and jammed a finger into his other ear. Still he had difficulty hearing above the noise.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘I can hardly hear you. Too much noise.’

  ‘I said, how is it at KICC?’

  Koske moved further away from those around him before replying. ‘Our people are doing their best, but everything is going bad here.’

  ‘What about the loading dock where they bring in the boxes? Are our people there?’

  ‘Yes. We know the ballots are going straight to the counting room. So there is nothing going on i
n the KICC. They must be doing their work at the polling stations.’

  ‘That’s exactly what we see out there.’

  ‘And Langata, ah? The ODM people are saying the boxes haven’t come in. The counting is going slowly, slowly. You know what this means?’ Koske asked.

  There was a delay at the other end of the line. ‘So Odinga could win the presidential election, but lose his own seat?’

  ‘Exactly. In which case, it is impossible for him to be president.’

  Silence again, then, ‘I’ll call the executive together immediately. You stay there and call me as soon as the Langata results are known. I hope your Kibera plans are in place. Maybe we need them sooner than we thought.’

  Join us at kicc. The text message, marked Siafu, meant it was a mobile broadcast to Joshua’s football team and other Odinga supporters.

  Joshua’s thumbs flew deftly over the keypad: Wot happening kicc.

  The reply, a few minutes later, came from his team-mate David. Trouble. Raila result not in. Can u come.

  No but go kicc. Fight strong.

  Joshua walked into the drivers’ dormitory while sending off another text message. His contacts in Kibera, many of whom had gone to the KICC, had kept him busy for hours with the facts, figures and rumours on the progress of counting. As far as the poll results were concerned, the reports from his many sources were mixed. The consensus appeared to be that the ODM was doing very well. The main concern was the situation regarding Odinga’s own seat. Under the Kenyan constitution, a presidential candidate must stand for and win a parliamentary seat before becoming eligible for the presidency.

  ‘Oh-ho,’ one of the Kikuyu drivers said. ‘Look at this boy now. Is he a reporter from KTN? Busy sending messages every time you see him. My, my.’

  ‘No,’ said Maina. ‘He’s just a spy for Raila Odinga.’