‘I am a customer I’m just going for a walk, I will be back.’
The askari stood in front of the gate. ‘If you customer then use that door,’ and he pointed at the back of the building.
Rather than argue Patel took out a hundred shilling note. ‘Cool off buy yourself a soda.’
The guard faltered, glancing around. He snatched the proffered note and opened the gate all in one movement. ‘Don’t be long,’ he cautioned Patel, ‘I could lose my job.’
‘No problem,’ he stepped out onto the street and quickly crossed the road, to the office of an airways agent.
He booked airline tickets, paying for two of them in cash and promised to return with the money for the others. ‘You must pay by check-in time, or you will automatically go onto standby and could lose your seats. The agent told him.
‘No problem,’ smiled Patel as he pocketed the tickets.
*
In the old town, Zainabu waited for Azizza. ‘You look better today.’
‘I feel good, did you get me an appointment?’
‘Yes it’s not far, we can walk.’
‘I want to have clothes made up, do you know a good tailor.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Good, let’s go shopping afterwards.’ Azizza held her cousin’s arm as she was led through the narrow streets towards the old port. Zainabu greeted people she knew. ‘What’s the name of the woman we are going to see?’
‘The Doctor is called Kumanda.’
‘What kind of a name is that?’
Zainabu lowered her voice. ‘The Dr. is not really a woman.’
Azizza frowned. ‘What do you mean, Kumanda is a man?’
‘No, a bit of both, you know,’ she made a cutting movement with her hands as though using a pair of shears.
Azizza stopped walking, as she absorbed this information. She caught up with Zainabu and grabbed her arm again.
‘The Doctor is one of those?’ She copied the cutting motion.
Her cousin nodded and whispered. ‘Yes one of those, a eunuch.’
‘What would someone like that, know about love?’
‘Probably much more than us,’ Zainabu said confidently.
Azizza laughed. ‘You can’t be serious, a eunuch?’
‘Shhhh..,’ hissed Zainabu looking around her.
They walked on in silence, Azizza slowing the pace as she considered this phenomenon. ‘It’s not far now cousin,’ Zainabu urged, ‘the doctor is very busy, if we are late you could lose your appointment.’ She turned down a narrow alleyway to the old harbour - the odour of dried fish filled the air as porters unloaded a Somali dhow. They crossed the square and went down another street passing a perfume shop, the scents mingled producing an indefinable assault on the senses.
Azizza held a scarf to her mouth and nose. ‘Ugh, what a smell.’
Zainabu looked at her. ‘You don’t like dried fish?’ Azizza shook her head, mouth covered.
‘It’s very good for you.’
The air cleared as they drew away. Another few turns and Zainabu stopped in front of an imposing antique Arab door studded with worn brass spikes. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
Azizza grimaced uncertainly and then nodded.
Zainabu reached up and pressed a bell push; a melodious ditty rang inside the house announcing their arrival. She smiled. ‘Don’t worry cousin, it’s all going to be ok.’
They heard a bolt shoot back and a young girl adorned with bracelets, opened the door. She wore a blue satin dress. The child stood back and arm jingling motioned them inside.
They followed her in - it was gloomy in the house, thick walls and a high ceiling, shafts of light filtered through slits in the walls. Partially blinded they stepped carefully waiting for their eyes to adjust, they could smell burning incense. Sandalwood Azizza decided.
She could make out a long steep staircase in front of them, lighter at the top. The child pointed at their shoes and walked partway up the stairs waiting for them. The women slipped off their sandals and followed her. As Azizza went up the staircase, a moment of fear gripped her and she broke out in a light sweat, her cousin’s hand on her back steadied her.
At the top they entered a long tall narrow room, a single closed door in its centre. High port windows let in the light from either end; a bench along one wall and a plastic carpet with a leaping orange tiger embossed on it covered the floor.
Their guide pointed at the bench and waited for them to sit, the only noise was the child’s bracelets. Azizza could feel her heart thudding in her chest, as she sat down.
The child motioned silence, her finger to her lips, it looked as though she was blowing them a kiss, then she opened the door a crack and slipped out of sight.
Azizza looked at her cousin and whispered. ‘Let’s go,’ but made no attempt to move. Zainabu placed her hand firmly on Azizza’s arm, gently restraining her.
The door opened and the child stepped through followed by a middle-aged man dressed in a white kanzu. He looked neither right nor left and followed her to the head of the stairs in a stiff robotic action, so remote he could have been sleepwalking.
Azizza stared at her cousin; Zainabu only smiled shaking her head and tightening the grip on her arm.
The girl returned, she looked about nine years old, lipstick and eye shadow gave her a doll like appearance. She waved at them to follow. They entered a much larger room without furniture and closed shutters on all sides. An overhead fan stirred the air, fine dust circulating in upward spirals, a strong smell of musk. A heavy red velvet cloth curtained off a section of the room.
The child motioned for Zainabu to sit on the floor, and then lead Azizza by the hand to the curtain. She stopped and made a high chirping bird like noise - a loud rasping falsetto growl answered. Azizza nearly leapt out of her skin, and turned desperately to look at her cousin. Zainabu waved crossly, the child parted the curtain and Azizza followed her through, her heart in her mouth.
A human figure sat on a low wooden throne, backlit by a shuttered window. The child squatted down tugging Azizza to the floor and then sat crossed legged beside her.
Azizza knelt on her haunches and looked upwards at the figure. She could see only a shrouded silhouette.
‘Azizza?’ The voice rasped. ‘You are a woman in love?’
She nodded, her throat completely dry. The doctor leant down, the voice closer, reverberating through her whole being. ‘Hmmm you don’t look like a happy woman.’ The doctor uttered a series of grunting noises. ‘This love of yours, it’s for a man or a woman?’
‘A man,’ she managed to squeak.
The doctor clapped it’s hands twice. The child on the floor rose quickly and disappeared though the curtain and then returned with a glass of water; she handed it to Azizza. Gratefully she took a sip and put the glass on the floor.
‘Did you say a man?’
‘Yes,’ said Azizza, louder this time.
The doctor made the same grunting noises only longer this time, rocking back and forth as it did so.
‘Your love for this man, it is not returned?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want this man to love you, or do you want to kill your love for him?’
‘I want,’ her voice faltered, ‘I want him to love me as I love him,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t hear you.’
‘I want him to love me.’
‘Louder, I don’t hear you.’ The voice grated.
Azizza repeated her request louder.
‘I still don’t hear you.’
‘I want him to love me!’ She shouted getting desperate.
The doctor rocked back and emitted a deep wheezing. ‘Ahh that’s better, I hear you now. Say it loudly three times.’
Azizza embarrassed, did as she was told.
‘Come closer,’ the doctor instructed. Azizza squirmed across the floor, not daring to stand up.
The doctor lent forward, and a gnarled powerful looking hand gripped her shou
lder, she still couldn’t see the face.
‘This is what you must do if you want your love returned.’ Another hand latched on to the top of her head forcing her face downwards. Azizza tried to resist but the hand was too strong. ‘Be still and listen!’ The voice commanded. ‘You must give this man a potion; this will evoke his physical desire. This is not for emotional desire, with men it is physical first and then emotional later, with women it is the opposite.’ The hand on her head patted her three times, but maintained its grip. ‘You understand?’
Azizza said. ‘Yes.’
‘Louder.’
‘Yes,’ repeated Azizza from her head down position.
‘I’m going to give you two potions, one for the physical and one for the emotional. You must not mix them up,’ more hard pats on the head, ‘you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Azizza said loudly, learning fast.
‘Now the first potion, you will put in his food. This potion is powerful but will not take effect for six hours, and then it will produce a strong physical desire. When he has this desire you must make sure that no other woman is present or the potion will be wasted, you understand?’
She braced herself. ‘Yes!’ Her neck began to ache painfully.
‘It hurts?’ Forcing her head lower. ‘Good. The second potion, you will give your man after he has consumed you. Within six hours, you put it in his food. The cure will then be completed.’
The hand came off her shoulder, but the one holding her head remained. She could hear rustling paper noises, the hand reappeared under her nose holding a twist of silver paper. ‘This is the first potion, smell it.’ Azizza sniffed a musty acrid smell. ‘Take it.’ Azizza reached up and was shocked to feel an ice-cold hand as she took the small packet.
The hand returned with another twist of paper. ‘This is the second potion,’ Azizza sniffed a faint smell of jasmine flowers.
‘Do not mix them up,’ the voice instructed and the hand came off her head. ‘You may go, do not look at me. Go and get your love. Pay my assistant on your way out.’
Azizza muttered her thanks and got to her feet - head bowed she stepped back though the curtain. Her neck ached painfully and her hands shook from the encounter.
Zainabu rose from the floor and embraced her.
The girl stood by the door rubbing her fingers to indicate money, and then held up all ten fingers.
Azizza whispered. ‘How much?’
The girl hissed and held one finger to her lips and repeated the ten finger gesture.
Azizza took out ten thousand shillings from her bag and handed it to the child. The girl went back around the red curtain; and returned after a moment to open the door for them.
A woman dressed in traditional Swahili bui-bui was sitting waiting, a child with an enormous head sat beside her. Azizza and her cousin walked after the girl to the head of the stairs and then down. They slipped on their sandals and stepped out into the light.
The door closed behind them. Azizza stood squinting in the harsh sunlight; she felt faint and gripped the two packets in her fist. Zainabu was talking to her excitedly but Azizza could hear nothing. She leaned back against the wall to steady herself, looking at her cousin’s mouth. Zainabu noticed and a look of concern crossed her face and she put her hand on Azizza’s arm. ‘My dear, are you ok?’
She nodded weakly. ‘Yes, I just felt dizzy for a moment.’
‘Do you want to sit down?’ she pointed at a nearby stone bench.
Azizza came away from the wall. ‘No let’s walk, I just felt a little dizzy that’s all, but I’m not ready to talk yet.’
Zainabu took her arm and gently guided her. Azizza stopped and retched a little at the smell of dried fish.
‘Let’s go this way,’ Zainabu urged steering her cousin away.
A few hundred yards later Azizza stopped and massaged her neck. ‘Wow that was scary,’ she opened her fist to examine the small twists of silver paper. She sniffed each one in turn as Zainabu watched in fascination.
‘Is that what you were given by the doctor?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Azizza seeing her cousin’s excitement. ‘It’s a potion, sniff,’ she said holding one up to Zainabu’s nose.
She hesitated and then bravely took a sniff. ‘What is it?’
‘That’s the excitement potion.’
Before Zainabu could ask, Azizza held up the other one.
‘Flowers,’ she sniffed.
‘Yes, jasmine the love potion,’ said Azizza knowingly.
‘Tell me all,’ Zainabu invited.
‘It was sooo scary.’
‘Ohhh, tell me,’ she repeated.
‘It was a giant, with big claws like a lion. Oooh!’
Zainabu’s eyes were huge. Did you see it’s face?’
‘Only for a moment, then these great claws held my head down, I would not have looked anyway what I saw was …it’s so hard to explain. Half man, half beast.’
‘Beast ! Oooohhh.’
‘I heard it growling,’ Zainabu confirmed encouraging her to go on. ‘What did it say?’
Azizza then relayed word for word what Dr. Kumanda had said - Zainabu breathlessly drank in every word.
A hawker pushing his wares up the street in a hamali cart shouting, interrupted the two women. ‘Underwares, pretty panties for the ladies,’ he stopped next to them, ‘ladies for love, look, not expensive,’ the cart was adorned with rows and rows of bras and colourful panties.
The two women exchanged looks and giggled like schoolgirls, laughter rising as they set one another off. Azizza saucily picked up a lacy pair and held them up for Zainabu to see.
‘Stop, stop,’ her cousin pleaded, ‘you will make me pee!’
The hawker waited. ‘So you buy?’ he smiled.
Azizza put the panties back and shook her head. ‘Not today,’ she managed to splutter. The hawker moved on shouting his chant. ‘Underwares, pretty panties, not expensive.’
Azizza wiped her eyes, the mirth just below the surface.
‘Tell me more,’ Zainabu urged as they resumed their conversation. ‘How will you get him to take the first potion?’
‘We are meeting at lunch, I will try then.’
Zainabu looked dubious. ‘Does he like cakes, sweet things? You could feed him one of those.’
‘No - curries, but not cakes. I don’t think he has a sweet tooth. Anyhow let’s go shopping I need new clothes and something sexy eh?’ Rocking her hips suggestively.
Zainabu giggled in delight. ‘Come with me I know just the place,’ she said enthusiastically and linking her arm in Azizza’s led her cousin further along the streets of the old town.
*
After half an hour on the street, Patel walked back to the bank and rapped on the metal gates. The askari peered at him through the spy hole. ‘Oh it’s you,’ and opened the gate.
Patel took the suitcases out of the car, walked to the back door and pressed the bell. A moment later the door opened and he went into the bank going straight to the manager’s office. Later, the transaction concluded, Patel picked up his suitcases.
‘Will you require an escort Sir?’ The manager enquired.
‘No thank you, I have made my own arrangements.’
At the back door, the guard smiled and offered to help. Patel ignored him and walked as fast as he could to the rear of the car, his heart pounding. He opened the rear door and one by one heaved the heavy suitcases in. He then shut and locked it and paused to get his excitement under control.
He took the road that led through the centre of town to the seafront, driving slowly to the end and turning back again checking his rear view mirror. Satisfied there were no followers, he drove into the golf club car park, knowing it would be empty at this time of day. He selected a parking space concealed from the main road.
Patel looked about to check he was alone. He took out a tool bag from the glove box and soon had the front seat off its mountings exposing the cover on the fuel tank. Undoing the plate and setting
it to one side he retrieved one of the bags from the suitcases. He pushed the canvas bag through the opening, juggling the wads of cash to make them fit, then replaced the lid and carpet and did up the bolts on the front seat. The whole operation could not have taken more than three minutes.
He moved to the back of the car and undid the plate over the rear tank, relieved to see it was bigger than he had remembered but it would not be possible to push the full bag through the opening, he would have to decant it first. He took out wads of notes until he could manoeuvre the bag into the hole, sweating with effort; he straightened up to ease his aching back.
There was an African wearing a chef’s hat outside the back of the golf club kitchen smoking a cigarette, keenly watching Patel’s antics. Patel glanced up and ignored him, knowing any acknowledgement would be an invitation. He put his arm inside the hole and moved the wads from the centre to the side of the compartment, quickly filling up the space.
He looked up and saw the chef walking towards him, money lay all over the boot. Patel stood back ‘Hello,’ he called out to the approaching man, ‘please can I have a glass of water?’ Holding his hand up to his sweating forehead. ‘I think I might have malaria.’
The chef stopped. ‘Ok,’ he replied, ‘I get you water,’ and turned back towards the kitchen. Patel quickly went back to his task. He managed to get all the wads into the compartment, and then put the carpet over the hole concealing it.
The chef walked up with the glass of water. ‘Thanks,’ said Patel gratefully drinking the water. He was thirsty and drained the glass.
The cook tried to see what was in the back of the car, but Patel turned to him blocking the view and handed back the glass. ‘Thanks, can I have some more?’
The chef studied him; saw the sweat on his forehead. ‘Malaria,’ he sympathised and taking the glass, ‘water good for malaria,’ and sauntered back towards the kitchen.
Patel then put the plate back over the hole and tightened up the bolts, pulling the carpet back in position; he picked up the tools and shut the back door just as the chef returned.
Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) Page 39