Harmattan

by Weston, Gavin

  When, eventually, I looked down at the car again, I saw that the coffin had been removed from the roof and placed by the roadside. In the hulking shadow of the slope on which I sat, my brother and Archie, tiny as ants, were busy pushing and rocking the vehicle, with no success. It seemed obvious to me that they might as well not try; the car was stuck fast. Though I was sure that my added strength would make little difference, I decided that I should at least offer to help.

  I was half way down the slope when I heard the rumble of engines approaching. Instinctively I looked north – the direction in which we had been travelling – and then south, but there appeared to be no other vehicles on this stretch of the road. Not even a charred or stripped shell. As the shale fell away beneath my feet, I turned my head to the west and saw a cloud of dust moving towards us across the scrubland at considerable speed.

  By the time I reached the base of the outcrop, three military Land Cruisers had already pulled up near Archie’s car.

  Each was brimful of gun-toting men clad in cheches and tattered combinations of civilian and military clothing. All of them sported dark glasses, and cigarettes hung from most of their lips. They jeered and whistled as they spilled from the back of the Land Cruisers. For a moment I hung back near the rocks, sensing malevolence and a feeling that this was no ordinary military patrol. A slim soldier, who had remained on one of the trucks, yelled at me to halt as I crossed the road and swung a huge, mounted machine gun around so that it was pointing at me. For a moment, I truly thought that he meant to shoot me and a warm trickle of urine ran down my leg and spilled over the heel of my sandal before soaking into the stretched and cracked surface of the ground. There was a huge guffaw and one of the soldiers lobbed a bottle high into the air above my head.

  Another fired a volley of shots from a pistol. I sank to my knees and covered my head with my hands just as the bottle shattered on the rocks behind me.

  ‘Leave her alone, you bastards!’Abdelkrim shouted.

  I remained at the side of the road, huddled in a ball.

  There was the sound of a scuffle, and then another voice, gruff and authoritative, ordered me to get up. I felt rough hands clutching at my pagne. When I opened my eyes I was being dragged across the road towards Archie’s car, which had, effectively, been encircled by the Land Cruisers, despite the fact that it was actually going nowhere just then. Archie and Abdelkrim had been backed up to the bonnet of one of the trucks, where a group of the scruffy soldiers were interrogating them. A man wearing a beret and mirrored glasses was leaning menacingly towards them and brandishing a fat cigar. Rifles and pistols were shaken angrily each time he spoke. As I was led into the circle, he turned to face me and let out a shrill whistle.

  ‘Well, now. What tasty morsel do we have here?’

  ‘She’s my sister. Just a child. Just leave her alone!’ My brother sounded full of both anger and fear.

  The man in the beret patted Abdelkrim on the chest and laughed. ‘Easy brother, easy,’ he said. He leaned closer, so that his reddish face was almost touching my brother’s. ‘That’s a nasty cut. You ought to be more careful.’

  More laughter.

  Abdelkrim put his arm out to catch me as I was pushed roughly towards him. A few of the other renegades had made their way towards Archie’s stricken car and were poking about in the trunk.

  ‘I’d stay away from that car with those cigarettes!’ Archie called. ‘We had a broken fuel pipe. A lot of gasoline has been spilled!’

  The men took a few steps away from the vehicle and turned to face their commander. Several of them were gulping water from our supply of bottles.

  ‘Lose the cigarettes, you idiots!’ the man in the beret shouted. He looked at my brother and then shook his head, as if he were sharing some great joke with him. ‘I am Général Lucien Majila Ag Akotey,’ he said, crushing the end of his cigar on the hood of the Land Cruiser and flicking it into the scrub, ‘and we are the Free People, the Abandoned of God.’ He scratched himself and sighed. ‘And you are a soldier also.

  Are you going to tell me what you and your merry little party are doing here?’

  ‘Chef,’ Abdelkrim said, ‘that box contains the remains of our poor mother.

  My sister and I are taking her to Wadata for burial. My friend here has kindly offered to help us.’

  ‘Uhuh?’ he eyed Abdelkrim up and down. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Boureima. Abdelkrim, Chef.’

  ‘You are Songhai?’

  ‘Oui, Chef.’

  He nodded towards Archie. ‘And the anasara?’

  Archie stepped forward and extended his hand. ‘Archie Cargo, technician and lecturer, L’Université Abdou Moumouni de Niamey.’

  Instantly, he was slammed back against the grille of the Land Cruiser by one of Akotey’s henchmen.

  Akotey stepped forward and fixed Archie’s gaze. ‘I didn’t ask you!’ he said.

  There was a brief, awkward silence. Abdelkrim pulled me closer, but by now I was shaking.

  Akotey did not miss this fact. He looked at me and laughed again, then he backed away from us a few paces. He removed his sunglasses, put them in the breast pocket of his jerkin and took a pistol out of the holster on his belt. He pointed it towards the wilderness, looking down its muzzle with one eye closed. There was a click. I recognised the sound of the safety catch being released; Adamou had plagued Sergeant Bouleb to show him how his firearm worked when he had brought Abdelkrim to Wadata, so long ago. Akotey dropped the weapon to his side and let his arm dangle loosely. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I could do anything I want with you three.’ He nodded. ‘I could shoot you, one by one. I could hold the anasara hostage. I could have you all burned alive in your shitty car. Or, I could have you all raped!’ He smiled; a vicious, cruel slit on an evil face. ‘My men haven’t been with a woman for weeks, you know? A goat would do! They’re not fussy!’

  There was a chorus of laughter. The sun had risen rapidly and already its immense power baked down on us, the ground buckling in the heat, yet I felt cold with fear.

  Akotey stood close to my brother again and prodded him gently in the belly with the pistol. ‘What should I do, Boureima, eh?’

  ‘You should let us be on our way, Chef,’ Abdelkrim said.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Oui, Chef.’

  He waved his pistol towards the Mercedes. ‘What, in that? It doesn’t look to me like you’d get very far.’

  ‘Your men could help us… get the car back on to the road… if it pleased you, Chef,’ Abdelkrim stammered.

  ‘Uhuh.’ Akotey stepped back and eyed us all up and down once more. ‘And why would I want to do that? So that you can report us to your superiors and receive commendation for helping track down yet another bunch of scum dissidents?’

  ‘ Chef?’

  ‘You know what we are, Boureima – me and these moutons!’

  Abdelkrim shrugged. ‘I know that many personnel are unhappy with their circumstances at present.’

  Akotey leapt forward and pushed the gun under Abdelkrim’s chin, clutching at his collar with his free hand. ‘We are freedom fighters! We are foes of the oppressors!’ he yelled, threads of spittle spraying my brother’s face. ‘Enemies of the fat cats! You understand, Boureima? We are no mutineers – whatever the media may say.’

  Abdelkrim nodded, his arm still around my shoulders, but his palm open, tense, his fingers pushing, clawing at the air. For a moment I thought that I might piss again.

  Akotey relaxed his grip and looked down at me. He pinched my cheek between his thumb and forefinger and gave me a cold smile. Then he turned his back on us. ‘You’re a soldier, like us, Boureima,’ he continued.

  ‘ Chef.’

  ‘Answer me this.’ He spun around to face my brother again. ‘Are you loyal to the president?’

  Abdelkrim cleared his throat and looked nervously at Archie. ‘I… ah…’

  ‘Let me put the question another way,’ Akotey said. ‘When was the last
time you were paid?’

  ‘Not for some time, Chef.’

  ‘ Toh. Not for some time. Yet still you serve these dogs without question.’

  ‘I am just a humble soldier.’

  ‘Walayi!’ Akotey snapped. ‘Half the country is protesting against Mainassara’s rule, yet people like you do nothing! The military must unite against this corrupt system. Together we can force him to resign. He states that the only thing that can bring Niger out of its present crisis is order, unity and work, but why should we work for nothing?’

  ‘I agree with that,’ my brother said.

  ‘Yet still you serve your president?’

  ‘Mainassara declared himself a democrat when he seized power in ninety six. He promised that power would be placed in the hands of civilians. He promised free elections. It is true that those things have not yet materialised. Yet it is democracy that I wish to serve.’

  ‘Nor will they ever materialise under Mainassara!’ Akotey said. He stared hard at my brother, but some of the menace seemed to have gone from his face. He slid his pistol back into its holster and folded his arms. ‘If you and your kind are waiting for that to happen, you’ll wait a long time.’ He nodded. ‘I like you, Boureima. You should join us, my friend. You know, there is only one language that that bastard will understand!’ He touched the end of his shiny nose. ‘There are many of us ready to take action.’

  ‘How do you mean, Chef? You think Tandja will restore democracy, perhaps?’

  Abdelkrim’s voice sounded more assured. ‘Another bloodless coup? My dream is to serve under a truly democratically elected government.’

  Akotey took his glasses from his pocket and put them back on his face. ‘My uncle served under Kountche,’ he said. ‘Believe me, there’s no such thing as a bloodless coup!’

  While this discussion had continued, the other mutineers were plundering the Mercedes and our few possessions. One of them, a big, ugly fellow, now offered his findings to his leader. He emptied Abdelkrim’s belt pouch onto the ground and stooped down to pick up the little radio which had been a gift from Katie and Hope. He held it out to Akotey now, a stupid grin spread across his broad face.

  ‘Hey! That’s my radio!’ Abdelkrim put his hand out to retrieve it, but another mutineer’s rifle butt caught him on the wrist.

  ‘Get your hand down, you dog!’ the soldier snarled.

  Akotey stepped forward, one hand up, to pacify the situation. He took the radio from the ugly soldier and looked at it closely, before inserting one of the earpieces into an ear and switching the device on. A great grin came over his face then. ‘Ca, c’est pour moi!’ he said, with a look that seemed to dare contradiction. ‘ Ça va?’

  My brother shuffled where he stood. He stared hard at the soldier who had struck him and then nodded at the renegade leader. ‘ D’accord.’

  The ugly soldier stepped forward and grabbed Archie’s wrist. He lifted his hand up and flicked a fingernail against the face of his watch.

  Akotey nodded his approval and the watch was removed, roughly, from Archie’s wrist.

  The men who had been rummaging through the trunk appeared beside us, carrying a toolbox and a spare battery. They set their finds at Akotey’s feet and stepped back.

  ‘Not my battery! You can’t leave us without a spare battery, man! I’ve only just replaced it after the last time!’ Archie said, appealing directly to the leader. ‘And I need those tools! They’re my tools, for Christ’s sake! I help your own people learn how to create things they can sell.’ He took a step forward in protest and was struck instantly in the face by the butt of a rifle, the dulled crack of flesh-cushioned bone connecting with timber causing me to jolt and making my blood run cold with fear. Archie stumbled back, cradling his chin, and leaned on the fender of the Land Cruiser. Abdelkrim took his arm from my shoulder and steadied his friend.

  They are going to kill us! I thought.

  Akotey shook his head again. ‘Don’t question my decisions, my friends.’

  ‘This is your idea of a new democracy, is it?’ Archie said, spitting bloodied saliva on to the sand.

  The leader did not hesitate. In a flash he had grabbed Archie by the neck. He brought the flat of his hand hard across Archie’s cheek, then he slammed his head down on the hood of the Land Cruiser and held it there. His face hovered just a few centimetres above Archie’s ear. ‘You’d do well to keep your mouth shut, anasara,’ he whispered. He stood up and straightened his jerkin and beret. He stared hard at Abdelkrim and for a moment I thought that he was going to strike him too. Instead, he resumed his position between his henchmen.

  I had shuffled in behind my brother and was clutching my bundle, fearful that they would take it from me. Now, as I emerged and Archie stood upright, I saw the imprint of Akotey’s hand, like some giant spider on Archie’s reddened face.

  ‘Let us go, please, Chef,’ Abdelkrim said. ‘We are not a threat to you. We only want to bury my mother. You’ve got what you want from us.’

  There was a long silence before Akotey spoke. ‘You have money?’

  Abdelkrim shook his head.

  ‘I have some,’ Archie said, croakily. He pulled a fold of notes from his shirt pocket and held it out.

  ‘But you’ll have to give us some fuel in return,’ Abdelkrim said. ‘We’ve made a temporary repair to the fuel pipe, but we’ve lost at least half a tank.’

  One of the mutineers snatched the cash from Archie’s hand and presented it to Akotey. He counted it slowly and then slid it into his pocket. Sunlight glinted off his mirrored lenses. ‘I don’t have to give you anything,’ he said. ‘But I’m feeling generous today. Here’s what I’m prepared to do for you, Boureima: we’ll get this piece of junk back on to the road for you. We’ll tow you, en piste, to within a few kilometres of the river. Then you’re on your own. Ça va?’

  ‘And the fuel?’

  ‘Your problem. Get some at the camion post. Whatever. We’re saving you fuel by towing you.’

  46

  There was a flurry of activity, during which I sat on a rock, some distance away from the vehicles, just glad that the mutineers had, it seemed, decided to spare us.

  Archie’s car was manhandled back on to the road and jacked up so that the spare wheel could be fitted. Two of the mutineers attached a metal cable to the Mercedes and then shackled it to the tow bar of one of the Land Cruisers. The coffin was tacked back together and lashed on to the roof of the Mercedes once more.

  Akotey’s men gathered up their plunder, stowed it in the Land Cruisers and then ordered us back into the car.

  It was obvious that Archie was still in some discomfort, so Abdelkrim had opted for the driver’s seat again.

  ‘Just select neutral and release the handbrake,’ the ugly soldier said, leaning in towards Abdelkrim.

  ‘I know.’

  Another soldier set a plastic bucket, half filled with dried dates, beside me on the back seat. ‘That’s your breakfast!’ he grinned, and then joined his companions on one of the Land Cruisers.

  With the sun still rising, our convoy set off. Akotey saluted us from the first of the Land Cruisers as it pulled away in a flurry of dust and grit.

  Then it was our turn; the Mercedes creaked and then moved off behind the second vehicle, eerily silent but for the strain of metal, the scuff of a rubbing tyre and the squeak of the axles. I looked out of the back window and saw the third of the trucks take up the rear, sandwiching us in this dangerous cavalcade.

  A few kilometres north, the lead truck drew almost to a halt and then edged off the road, slowly. The other vehicles followed it closely, the underside of Archie’s car scraping over the loose rubble as we were dragged down the slope and onto the heat-softened piste. Gathering speed quickly, we headed northwest across a vast, flat, barren plain.

  ‘Where are they taking us?’ I said.

  ‘They’re trying to avoid contact with authorised patrols,’ Abdelkrim said.

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  Th
e fat tyres of the Land Cruisers churned up a great wake of sand, which ricocheted off the Mercedes’ windshield and spilled in through the open roof and windows, quickly coating us in a thick layer of reddish dust. We tried closing the roof over, but the trapped air became stiflingly hot. Not only had the mutineers taken Abdelkrim’s tea, but they had left only two bottles of water – now hot – lying on the back seat beside me.

  ‘Fuckers!’ Archie said, as he reached back for one of the bottles. He splashed a little of the water on to his palm and then flicked it into his face, a series of rivulets cutting through his dusty mask like threads of gossamer.

  I offered him the bucket of dates but he shook his head. ‘No, thank you. I think I’ve got a cracked tooth! It hurts like hell! I’m going to need to get to a dentist as soon as we get back to the capital.’

  ‘ Merde!’ Abdelkrim said.

  ‘Our marabout in Wadata can pull teeth,’ I said, eager to help.

  ‘I think I’ll check out one of the French guys in town, thanks, Haoua.’

  ‘These are pretty tough,’ Abdelkrim said, chomping down on one of the dates.

  ‘Like stones,’ I agreed, clattering one of the fruits around in my mouth.

  ‘They took all of your money, I suppose?’ Abdelkrim said.

  Archie shook his head and winced. ‘No. I keep some inside the lining of my boot – for emergencies, you know. I’m more annoyed about my tools.’

  Abdelkrim checked the rear view mirror. ‘Hmm. And my radio!’ He sucked air in through his teeth. ‘At least we can buy some more fuel later.’

  ‘You can borrow my radio, if you want to, Abdel,’ I said.

  We travelled in this manner for the best part of two hours. About thirty kilometres from the river crossing, we drew to a halt. The mutineers jumped down from their Land Cruisers and unhitched the Mercedes. We watched Akoteye step out of the cab of the lead truck and pad his way across the sand to the driver’s window of Archie’s car, flanked, as always, by two of his followers.