I can’t say it’s right and I can’t say it’s wrong. I know that’s what she wants but I also know she won’t let anyone else lie around like that.
There’s hardly nothing left of her tough tits but a little mark like a cigarette burn on a crumpled dead leaf.
Perhaps that’s how a tree dies.
She was the most alive person I knew. The only thing alive about her now is the black silk scarf that dances in the wind and the beads in her hair that shine in the sun.
I want to speak my thoughts to Leku but I can’t on account he’ll tell me to be practical and sensible and to pull myself together.
I want to speak my thoughts to Hena but I can’t on account she’ll look at me with sad eyes or angry eyes or strange eyes.
I want to speak my thoughts to Matt but I can’t on account he’ll hold my heart in his hands and squeeze gently till all the pain goes – and I’m not ready for it yet.
I want to speak my thoughts to Golam but I can’t on account he’s not here. Ever since his cow was lost and his Mam’s mind began to wander he has to stay home most of the time looking after her and to stop her body from wandering away with her mind.
Not many days ago we spent a whole day searching before we found her hiding in the big hole in the ground, the big hole that was once the oven in which we used to bake flat bread for village festivals. In fact we didn’t find her. It was the village dogs that did.
They are all bony and mean and angry these days, barking at the least little thing. Even at people they loved before.
It is late in the night. A moonless night. We are all tired from looking all over the place the whole day long. Up to the woods on one side and to the Dry Hill on the other. But no sign of Golam’s Mam.
Then we hear all this barking.
It goes on in an untidy chorus, so loud and on and on that we pay attention to it even though we’ve stopped paying attention to it.
We wonder if something is the matter with the dogs, more than just hunger, for we know when their hunger gets worse they stop barking – except now and then in a tired sort of way – till it’s time for them to go when they whine and cough a bit.
With the wind going round in mad circles it takes us a while to find where all the noise is coming from.
Then we see all these dogs. Hundreds it seems but truly no more than twenty. Maybe twenty-five.
They are gathered round this oven which is more or less all caved in now it’s no longer needed.
Our first thought is maybe there’s still some old bread in it and we wish we’d got there before the dogs. But then we’re ashamed for thinking so for the dogs have to find some food too.
*
When they see us coming the dogs start moving back, baring their teeth and growling. They’re no longer our friends now that we don’t feed them any more.
It is only when their barking turns to a sort of low snarling that we hear another shrill barking noise coming out from inside the hole.
We think maybe one of the dogs has fallen in and that’s why they’re all gathered round making all this rumpus.
Our elders tell us to pick up a few sticks and stones just in case the dogs attack us. Matt don’t but the rest of us do. Those who can find anything, that is.
The dogs move back though not away. They keep going forward in ones and twos, and then going back again.
By now we’ve moved close to the edge of the hole.
Before anyone can be sure what or who it is, Matt puts his hand over Golam’s eyes and pushes him backwards.
This makes me even more curious. I rush up and see that it’s Golam’s Mam.
She’s on all fours, dog-like, barking away, baring her teeth and snarling. She is all naked; her hands and feet cut and bloody – as is the rest of her body – hair covered in sand and dirt, eyes flashing like on fire.
She don’t listen to no one when called. She can hear – we can tell by the way she jerks her head and ears to one side – but she don’t answer. When one or two try to get her out she bites and claws with power known only to the unknown Spirit of the unknown beast.
Everyone stands around wondering what to do.
We’re quiet and silent, not moving much, only thinking. This makes the dogs bolder.
They start barking louder and snarling uglier and begin to close in on us.
Suddenly they are all around us.
One of us throws a stone. Another rushes waving a stick shouting in a screaming cracked voice. A battle starts between folk and dogs. One younger one kicks out at one of the big dogs who snaps at his leg and holds on to it, sinking its teeth in. He screams to scare the night away but the night don’t go that easy. The dog neither. Other dogs want their share of the young man’s body. They fall on him, but cannot get their teeth properly into him like the big dog. Folk start pulling the young man which only makes the dog’s teeth cut deeper into his leg. He screams louder. The dogs bark louder. Everyone is talking and shouting and pulling and kicking. Most people have lost their sticks in the night after throwing them at the dogs. In some cases the dogs have snatched the sticks away from the people.
There aren’t many more sticks or stones in the dry sand and people are getting sort of scared.
The barking and snarling of Golam’s Mam in the hole is becoming more human, more like a hiccuppy laugh. This makes it worse.
This also makes Golam know, for the first time, that it’s his Mam down there.
He cries, struggles and shoots out of Matt’s arms, who’s already having difficulty keeping him back.
I’ve been standing in one place without moving. I’ve been thinking I can’t move if I try.
But I move like the Spirit of the Wind and put my arms round Golam and hold him down. I haven’t grown as big and strong as Mam said. In fact my arms and legs are thinner than they were a year ago when the outsiders came and Kabir was killed. But I’m still bigger than Golam on account he’s shrivelled more than me. And he weren’t as big as me to start off, as you well know. So I am able to hold Golam down.
As I do so Matt pulls off his shawl and with the lighter he got off Hena he sets it on fire. Using a stick he waves it about.
The dog who has got his teeth into the young man’s leg lets go and runs back. So do the other dogs.
The men and women try to chase them but Matt stands in front of them. They sort of calm down and stay back.
Now Matt turns towards the dogs and starts talking to them.
He tells them we are sorry we can’t feed them on account we have no food for ourselves. He asks them to forgive us and tells them how truly grateful we are to them for having looked after our fields when we had fields to look after.
He tells them our Spirit shares the pain of their Spirit as our body shares the hunger of their body.
The dogs stop barking and they stop growling and they stop snarling. They whimper a little but that’s the only sound they make. They sit on their backsides with their front legs straight and listen to Matt.
All the village folk also listen to Matt even though he is talking to the dogs.
Now the only barking we hear is Golam’s Mam barking away in the hole.
Her throat is sore now and the cold has got to her naked body so her bark is gruff and sniffly. It’s not much human any more.
Matt stops his talk to the dogs and looks round straight at Hena. He stands silent for a while, then says, ‘Go to Golam’s Mam and bring her up. She’ll be all right.’
Hena looks back at him, saying nothing doing nothing. She’s not used to being told what to do. By Matt or no one.
Matt says, ‘Please.’
Quietly Hena moves out of the crowd and goes to the mouth of the hole and jumps in.
Matt turns to the dogs again and starts talking again.
People forget about him and turn to see what happens to Hena.
They think Golam’s Mam will tear her to bits.
But when they get to the hole they see Hena holding Mino in her arms l
ike she is a little baby.
Hena is running her fingers through Mino’s gritty bloody hair and singing a baby song.
I let go of Golam. He falls on the ground, sobbing, without bothering to hide his face.
I am happy the white folk aren’t here to make a picture of us.
Matt is so long talking to the dogs and they seem so interested in what he’s saying we don’t want to disturb any of them. We all decide to take Golam’s Mam home. She is all shivering and helpless. I take Golam’s hand in mine. Hena and her Mam carry Mino. The rest of the folk follow.
I turn to look back at Matt. He’s still talking to the dogs. I hear a strange voice in his voice.
The wind is stronger and madder. We hear it scream and feel it whirl. Round and round in angry tightening circles, coiling upwards but going nowhere, like the spreading desert and scatters it in our eyes and down our throats. We choke on our way home, half blind half dead.
Mino’s mind is better since. We’d expected her to lose it. Her wounds are healed. But Golam don’t leave her alone any more and stays home all the time. Except when we go round so he can go out, like for a shit, or to look for some grain or grass or water. So we sit by Grandma Pearl and the old man on our own, without Golam.
We don’t see the dogs in the village any more.
The air don’t seem as clear or as bright any more.
The sun don’t seem as sharp.
We think it’s just the heat haze.
But it keeps getting less bright till it is downright dull.
It is then we look up and see the soft silvery clouds.
The wind starts dropping.
Soon it is still as a dead man’s heart.
It gets darker and darker. Now it is night during the day. A strange shiny sort of night.
Everyone has stopped doing what they are doing and left their homes or wherever and are coming out to look up at the sky in fear and wonder and hope.
Suddenly the silver-black sky splits in a zig-zaggy crack of sharp light. Splits, cracks, and falls with the loudest rolls that living ears ever heard.
Falls in solid drops of mucky white ice.
Lightning and thunder and hail.
And after that, rain.
It rains for three days and three nights.
When it is over every little bit of crop or grain in our fields is washed away.
Even the good earth is gone, leaving rocks or sand underneath.
Golam’s Mam is missing and big sister is showing signs such as little brother showed before he went.
We bury Grandma Pearl by the bank of the river near the spot where Grandpa was eaten by a crocodile.
We don’t know whether to put the old man by her side or not, on account we’re not sure what is right.
In the end we make a half-way arrangement. We bury the old man near Grandma, but not too close.
We can’t find Mino this time.
We think she’s fallen into the river and got carried away by the fast shallow waters.
We’ve enough water now.
*
We’re lying in our homes. It is the middle of the day but we’re in our homes trying to sleep on account we haven’t slept much during the last four days.
We hear this roar above our heads.
Mam and Dada wonder what it is. I know at once what it is.
It is planes coming our way.
I tell Mam and Dada.
We go outside.
The rest of the village is out too.
The planes draw nearer.
They swoop low to drop their bombs.
Some of us run, some lie down.
Some hold on to their children, some crouch over them.
Some stay standing, silent. So do their children.
The planes slow down.
We see bombs falling out.
They are bigger than I ever imagined. And slower.
They float through the air.
They dangle above our heads.
There are many of them.
I wonder why there are so many of them.
They dropped only three for the guerrillas.
Why should they waste so many for a group of useless people?
One of the bombs falls not far from where we stand. It don’t go boom. It don’t go red. It don’t turn to fire. It don’t kill.
It just lies there like a large hessian sack.
It is a large hessian sack.
Another one falls with a dull heavy thud. Then another.
They are all large hessian sacks.
They are followed by two men falling out of the skies with a little sky of their own.
Leku tells us it is a parachute.
The men explain to us they know the rains have washed away the crops of many villages. They have some food and some medicines and some blankets given by some helping agencies. As the roads are flooded they are throwing ‘supplies’ from the air to as many villages as they can.
They also send one nurse down to see if there are any sick. They also send a reporter from the white world. Although he is from the white world he is black, which confuses us.
*
We all gather in the schoolhouse to store the food and to share some of it out. More important, we gather to make some plan for the future.
We are very happy now but we also wonder what will happen when the food runs out.
‘If we don’t have enough coming out of the land through the Spirit of the Earth, what falls on land through flesh and steel cannot last for ever,’ says Ebono in his sad slow voice.
Ebono is the village poet. He sings songs and tells stories. He has taken over the running of the school now that our Master has gone. Everyone don’t often agree with him on account everyone don’t often understand what he says. But everyone agrees with him this time.
It is decided to put some grain away for seeds and to look for places near the river bed, or by the old graveyard, or some low areas where the good soil might’ve gathered, to make new fields.
It is also said that we might let some of the younger ones go to the city to look for food or work. Like Joti and the school Master did.
Most people are sad at this new idea but they also agree it is better that some of us leave now than for all to be forced out later in search of camps where the hungry gather.
Golam says he’ll go on account there’s no one to worry for him.
My Dada tells him we all worry for him, and he’s too young anyway.
I say I’ll go on account Joti’s my cousin and he promised he’ll help me out if ever I get to Bader.
Some people say it makes sense, some say I am too young.
‘But I’m only a little younger than Joti when he went; and look how well he did for himself,’ I say.
Matt says Golam, me and him should all go together as we’ve been out before and know how to look after ourselves. Which is true enough and everyone knows it.
Leku don’t want to go as he and his family have other plans.
Oteng wants to go.
Mustapha wants to go.
Tony wants to go.
There are others who want time to think.
Many more don’t want to leave their homes and their families.
Mam cries and Dada sighs but they decide to let me go and look for Joti. They tell me only to look for Joti and then do as he tells me to.
And to come straight back if I can’t find him.
Golam is allowed to come with me.
Matt says he will come too and very glad I am of that. Matt’s Dada lets him do what he wants.
Since we are going to Bader to look for Joti some others decide to go south to Bandugo. They say it’s best not to depend too much on one place or to put too much burden on Joti.
The black reporter from the white man’s world says as soon as the roads are dry he’ll radio for a jeep to come and pick them up. Him and the black nurse from Gonta. He says some of us can go up to Gonta with them, and then travel to wherever we want to
go, however we can manage.
Just as we are about to leave, taking our share of food with us, Hena stands up and says she too will go to the big city. She says she is going to make up for all her Dada lost. She says she wants to make enough not just for herself and her Mam but for all the folk in the village.
She looks at Matt and me and Golam. She says she’s happy to go along with us, but if we don’t want to take her she’ll go on her own.
She looks so thin and brittle that no one dares to argue with her. It is difficult to argue with bones.
She looks so strong and intense that no one dares to argue with her. It is difficult to argue with eyes.
Matt says we’ll be pleased to have her come with us if her Mam don’t object.
Her Mam says nothing, just hides her face in her shawl.
The black reporter from the white world makes another picture.
Three
Stealing the City
Our farewells are still in our hearts, our village is still in our eyes, our little food bags are under our arms.
Joti’s photo and address is in my pocket.
Our dreams are in our minds. Our fears are all around us.
We stand in Gonta.
It is strange. It is like we’ve never been here before.
It is no longer like a big village; it is more like a big town.
The village centre – where the fair was held – is now full of little brick buildings, like shoe boxes. This is where the sick are kept and given medicine. The outside of the village – where the Spirit Dance was danced – is full of tent-like huts. This is where the hungry live. When they are not spread out in the open like mouldy logs of wood.
This is where the hungry lie. To die.
Little and not so little children are sitting or standing or limping about everywhere. Their arms and legs are made of bent and dried twigs of dead trees. Their hands and feet are crow claws. Their chest and bellies are not quite joined together. Their faces are the faces of old men and women long dead. Their lips hang loose, their eyes bulge.
My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore Page 12