by P J Skinner
The town of Fona wallowed in almost total darkness. The hum of generators filled the air near the few houses with lighting. Small puddles peppered the surface of the damp mud road, the air redolent with wet wood and rotting vegetation. Choruses of frogs and crickets echoed in the dark night.
‘This is it,’ said Ned as they pulled into a walled compound behind a thatched bungalow. They got out of the car and unloaded their bags. The air was thick with insects blundering through their rapid life cycles and being swallowed whole by the bats which swooped down amongst the palm trees surrounding the house.
The front door opened and a tall, prodigiously fat woman came out, stooping to avoid the doorframe and blocking out the light with her hugeness. She wore a traditional wax print dress with swirls of orange on a green background and a turban of the same materials tied around her head. Several plaits escaped from her turban and hung in a fringe over her face.
‘That lady’s our housekeeper. Her name’s Fatimata, but she’s also known as Auntie Fatou,’ said Fergus.
‘Why Auntie?’ said Sam.
‘That’s an expression of respect for older ladies. Fatou’s short for Fatimata, but don’t call her that until you are friends.’
Ned snorted. ‘That’s a bit unlikely to happen.’
Fatimata approached the car and they all got out to greet her.
‘Good evening,’ she said.
‘Good evening, Auntie Fatou. How are you?’ said Ned.
‘I am well. And you?’
‘I am well too.’
‘And Mr Fergus, how are you?’
‘Fine, thanks. Are the rooms ready?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Fatimata fixed Sam with a gimlet stare, looking her up and down with a growing expression of disgust. ‘And where is the lady’s husband?’
Pulling her T-shirt down to make it longer, Sam searched her brain for a suitable response, but couldn’t think of anything polite. Ned came to the rescue.
‘The lady is Sam Harris. She is a widow.’
Fatimata appeared to be in a quandary. Her disapproval of Sam’s outfit fighting with her natural instinct to welcome a stranger. She sighed.
‘I will prepare a room,’ she said.
They climbed a flight of stairs at one side of the house which lead onto a veranda which ran the length of it. A striped hammock swung between the rafters and two wooden benches face out into a backyard containing a large mango tree. They entered the house through doors lined with mosquito screens and found themselves in a room divided into two sections. The part of the room at the front of the house contained a plastic covered two-seater sofa and two arm chairs on either side of a battered rug. A battered gateleg table was pushed against the wall under the window. The back part of the room held the dining table and chairs, modern additions of chrome and plastic. A large electric ceiling fan of uncertain vintage hung over this, wobbling with effort as it dispersed a minimal current of air. Several warped cupboards containing an assortment of crockery and glasses lined the walls.
‘Sit here. I’ll call you when I’m ready,’ said Fatimata.
‘Thank you,’ said Sam, sitting on the sofa and finding it to be lacking both springs and stuffing. She tried to sit back, but found that even more uncomfortable, so she balanced on the edge of the seat, leaning her forearms on her knees. How did people sit on these things?
It seemed like an age before Fatimata came to collect her.
‘I’ll take you to your room now.’
Sam stood up and grabbed her bag. She followed the enormous, coloured batik expanse that was Fatimata’s bottom, unable to prevent herself from wondering how many metres of material would be required to cover the substantial acreage occupied by this woman. Fatimata by name, Fatimata by nature.
‘Here it is.’
They had walked the length of the house, passing four doors on their way. Coming to the end of the corridor, Fatimata threw open a door to a miniscule bedroom that appeared to be converted from a cupboard. Not only was it tiny with no window, but also airless with no fan or air-conditioning. Sam didn’t dare to complain. The men were already in their rooms and she didn’t want to start her stay by whining about her room. Fatimata gave a smug smile at Sam’s look of dismay and waddled off down the passage, swinging her gigantic rear from side to side. She knew I wouldn’t make a fuss.
Undressing in the cramped space between the single bed and the wall, she sprayed herself from head to foot with repellent. She pulled back the covers on the bed to find that Fatimata had deposited an old stained sheet on the ancient mattress. Praying that none of the stains had appeared since the last wash, she clambering into bed, hitting her head on the backboard as she misjudged its miniscule length. The wafer-thin mattress did not disguise its lumpy base. She considered moving it to the floor, but that only opened her up to invasion by creepy crawlies and lost reptiles. She stayed put and tried to accommodate herself around the bumps.
Outside, the crickets and frogs were still blasting out their greatest hits, but Sam’s room had one advantage, it was quiet. She tried to drift off in the stultifying heat, throwing off the covers as her temperature rose. Then she heard a rustling sound from the thatch, only separated from her room by a piece of painted plywood. Something scampered across it, followed by another bounding body. Excited squeaks came through the partition. She stared upwards and coughed to alert them of her presence. Silence reigned for a few seconds and then the noises started again. More chasing games followed by a thud on the board right over her head.
She jumped out of bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tried to convince herself that these animals couldn’t fall through the ceiling and onto her face. Then there was another scampering sound above her head. Sleep wouldn't be possible in here. Maybe if she found another bedroom? Fatimata had put her as far from the men as possible without making her sleep outside in the car. Sam would have preferred the car to a room with an animal circus in full swing.
She put on a pair of trousers and a T-shirt and wandered down the corridor, trying the doors, but the first two were locked. Then she noticed that the door to the bedroom nearest the sitting room was open. She peeped inside, hoping to find an empty bed. She looked straight into the eyes of a wide-awake Ned who sat at a table writing in a journal.
‘Sam? Are you okay?’
‘Yes, no, I’m not. There are creatures in my bedroom and I can’t sleep.’
‘What sort of creatures? Are you sure?’
‘Pretty sure. I don’t want to sleep there.’
‘Come on. Let’s investigate.’
They walked along the corridor to Sam’s room and opened the door.
‘Wow! That room is tiny.’
‘It’s fine, but too small to share with these animals.’
Ned put his finger to his lips. They stood in silence for a minute. Sure enough, there was a scrabbling sound and a fat body bounded across the ceiling. Ned laughed.
‘Rats. They are noisy buggers, aren’t they?’
‘Rats? I can’t sleep in a room with rats.’
‘No, fair enough. Have you tried the other bedrooms?’
‘They are all locked. Fatimata didn’t want me in there.’
‘Why don’t you sleep in my bed?’
‘Your bed?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not worried by rats. I’ll sleep in yours.’
‘Really? I’d be so grateful. I don’t mind rats on the ground, but can’t stand the thought of one landing on my head.’
‘Sure. I get it. Hop into bed. I’ll just finish what I’m doing and I’ll go to bed too.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, that’s alright. Just get some sleep.’
‘Please don’t tell Fergus what a wuss I am.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’re allowed secrets.’
Sam got into bed and pulled up the covers. Almost immediately waves of tiredness lulled her to sleep. She sighed. She could sense him smiling as she d
rifted off.
Chapter VI
The next morning, Fatimata opened the door of Ned’s room. She brought a cup of tea and came in without knocking. Her bright yellow wax print dress was so bright that a sleep befuddled Sam imagined that the sun had come into the room. She sat up in bed, greeted by a laser-like stare of disapproval.
‘Where is Mr Ned?’
‘He slept in my room. The rats were keeping me awake, I’m afraid.’
Fatimata snorted and turned on her heel and taking the cup of tea with her, much to Sam’s disappointment. She headed for Sam’s room, almost bumping into Fergus, who had emerged from his room to ask her a question. He backed into the doorway, alarmed by the look on her face as she swept by with the impetus of a cargo ship and opened the door. Ned, who was standing half in and half out of his underwear, lost his balance and fell backwards onto the bed. Sam pretended she hadn’t seen him and turned away.
‘Fatimata, you must learn to knock,’ he said.
‘I found that harlot in your room.’
‘Harlot? You mean Sam? How dare you call her that!’
‘She dresses like one. This is a Christian household.’
‘If you’re such a good Christian, why did you put Sam in the maid’s room?’
‘That woman shouldn’t stay here. It’s against my principles.’
‘Now listen here.’ Ned emerged from the tiny room pulling on a shirt. ‘Sam is a professional woman with two university degrees. Mr Simmonds has hired her to work with us on the technical side.’
‘Why do you defend her? Is she your girlfriend?’
‘She’s no-one’s girlfriend and you’ve no right to judge her. You will open one of the other bedrooms and make it ready for her.’
Fatimata turned around to face Fergus. ‘Do you agree? Do I give that woman a bedroom?’
Fergus snapped at her. ‘Yes, you do, and if you don’t treat her with respect, you’ll be looking for a new position. Is that clear?’
Fatimata sniffed. ‘It’s clear,’ she said and started off down the passageway, wobbling with indignation. As she sailed past on a sea of resentment, Sam knew that there was nothing she could do to improve matters. She would have to hold her tongue and hope that Fatimata didn’t hold a grudge. Fergus came out of his room and passed Sam in the corridor.
‘Ah, Sam, there you are. We have a meeting with the Paramount Chief in about an hour. Come and have breakfast,’ said Fergus.
‘Thank you for sticking up for me.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me. Alex says you hold our key to success out here, so you can thank him. Personally, I think women should be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen, preferably in a French maid’s outfit.’
‘Sorry, I left mine at home. The shorts will have to do.’
Fergus roared with laughter.
‘Hoisted with my own petard. What do you say Ned?’
‘Never argue with a woman who owns a geological hammer.’
‘Fair enough. Let’s eat. I’m starving. Fatou! Where are my eggs?’
***
Paramount Chief Joseph Sesay’s compound sat on the outskirts of Fona. A traditional stockade surrounded a dozen adobe covered huts with palm leaf roofs in different states of repair. Sam, Fergus and Ned got out of the car and stood on a platform of mud pounded flat by thousands of feet over many years, covered in an array of cracked plastic pots, bottles and flip-flops with broken toe straps. The filth disgusted Sam. Why hadn’t someone cleaned up the mess? There were lots of hangers-on living in the compound, as evidenced by clothes drying lines outside every hut, so it would be easy to pick the stuff up and put it in a bin. One pot at her feet was full of rainwater with mosquito larvae swimming in it. She gave it a surreptitious poke with her toe and spilt the contents on the ground. Ned noticed her disgust and shrugged.
The Chief’s house was recognisable by its size. It was ringed by a balcony hung with multicoloured hammocks covered in mosquito nets which rippled in the soft morning breeze. Some shaded ones had occupants, their arms or legs hanging outside the material to catch the cooler air. The sun was gathering strength now, ready to beat down the town.
As they approached the house, a familiar figure appeared at the front door.
‘You are welcome back to Fona, Mr Fergus and Mr Ned,’ said Tamba. ‘And Miss Sam, you’ve made it.’
‘Yes, here I am, thank you.’
‘How do you know Sam?’ said Ned, astonished.
‘I met Tamba at the airport.’
‘While she was assaulting the Paramount Chief,’ added Fergus.
A smug expression flitted across Tamba’s face. Ned turned to Sam who shrugged.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said.
Tamba led them into the central reception room with a plain wooden floor furnished with chairs that screamed discomfort on either side of a square table with short legs. After seating them, he disappeared through a door at the back.
‘It’s nice and cool in here,’ said Sam.
‘That’s due to the lack of windows,’ said Fergus.
The chairs came from the same place as the ones in Auntie Fatou’s house. Sam shifted around on hers, unable to get settled.
‘What's wrong with the chairs? I can't sit on this,’ she said in a whisper.
‘It’s meant to discourage visitors from staying too long,’ said Ned. ‘They’ve a family room in through there with big squashy sofas.’
‘Why don’t they want their visitors to stay?’
‘It depends on whether they have been invited or not. The Chief has a constant stream of people dropping in to discuss minor issues in the Chiefdom. It’s prevents long visits.’
‘What about important visitors?’
‘Oh, they arrive at lunchtime so the host’s obliged to feed them. It’s traditional.’
‘What does it make us?’
‘Polite.’
The back door opened and Tamba came through it, pushing the Chief’s wheelchair. The Chief wore traditional robes in orange, green and black, with a matching fez on his head which was bowed to his chest. Not without difficulty, Tamba manoeuvred the wheelchair close to the table between the two rows of chairs. He was panting as he sat down beside his boss, his eyebrows battling to hold back the rivulets of sweat massing over his eyes. Sam watched them with baited breath.
‘Thank you for coming to visit me again,’ said Joseph Sesay. ‘And …’ He stopped and raised his head a little higher to examine the visitors. His stare dissolved into a delighted smile.
‘Miss Harris! You came. She came, Tamba. I told you she would.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Tamba, with the air of someone who had lost a bet.
‘Come closer and sit by me, Sam.’
Sam stood up and approached, pulling a chair with her. She reached out her hand in greeting.
‘Don’t touch the Chief,’ said Tamba, growling like a terrier.
Sam blushed. Her hand was still extended in greeting.
‘Sit down,’ hissed Fergus.
‘I’m so sorry. I forgot.’
‘Ha! She forgot,’ said Tamba.
The Chief’s scaly hand slid into hers and gave it a squeeze, making her jump.
‘Sit down, my dear. Now, how can I help you?’
‘Well, as I told you last time sir, we want – ‘
‘I’d rather Sam told me.’ Joseph Sesay cut Fergus off in mid-sentence and turned to Sam again. ‘What have you got in mind?’ A thunderous expression crossed Fergus’ face, like the shadow of a rain cloud in summer. He crossed his arms and his legs and almost fell off his chair. Ned hid a smile by scratching his nose.
‘Um, Alex, Mr Simmonds, he’d like your permission to explore for diamonds in the river terraces in Fona. We have the license from the government for the mining concession covering the Fona area, but we need your agreement before we do any work. I’d like to start exploration work on the river terraces near the town.’
‘Searching for diamond-containing river gravels. After mapping the terraces in the area, we would select the best one where we would dig pits down to the bedrock on a grid system and search for mineral indicators.’
‘What if you find something? Who owns it?’
‘Alex’s company, Njahili Resources. And if we find anything, the government gets 40% of our revenue and first pass at buying the diamonds.’
‘And what do I get?’
‘Um, we’ll use people from Fona and buy local products. Also, the law says the government should spend thirty percent of the tax paid on the revenue in the local area.’
‘You don't understand. What do I get? Me.’
Fergus coughed. ‘Sam is only a geologist, sir, she doesn’t deal with business.’
‘No?’ Sesay glanced at Sam who shook her head.
‘Perhaps we could have a private chat?’ said Fergus. ‘Ned, can you take Sam and wait for me outside please?’
Sam was about to object when a tall young woman entered with a tray.
‘Would you like some lemonade?’ she said.
Sesay gazed at her for an instant and then turned to address the others. ‘This is my daughter, Adanna, the heir to the Fona Chiefdom.’ Ned and Fergus both stood up.
‘Nice to meet you, Adanna,’ said Sam, ‘That’s a pretty name. Is it local?’
‘It means her father’s daughter,’ she said and turned to beam at Joseph Sesay.
‘Sam’s the young woman who helped me in the airport,’ Sesay said to her. ‘Go and sit on the veranda and find out everything about her.’
Sam noticed Tamba was staring at Adanna with undisguised lust, his hand moving to his groin in harmony with his thoughts. A cocktail of feelings passed through her head, revulsion being the most prominent, but she could sympathise with his obsession. Adanna was exquisite. They followed her outside. She led them to a wicker table surrounded by four rickety looking chairs and gestured for them to sit down. After pouring them all a lemonade, Adanna fixed Sam with a stare she recognised. Like father, like daughter.