Sam Harris Adventure Box Set

by P J Skinner

  ‘Oh, no, they're not for me. They're for my mother. It’s hard to get good quality medicine in Fona.’

  ‘Remind me before I go and I’ll give them to you. Can you give me back my things?’

  Sahr handed her the fruit and raisins, the notebook and camera and patted his legs looking for anything that had escaped. He reached between them to the car seat and pulled out a small bag tied with a piece of string which he dropped as if he had burnt his fingers.

  ‘Oh,’ said Sam, ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’

  The look on Sahr’s face, a mixture of fear and horror, was almost comical.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  ‘In my pillowcase. I planned on showing it to Adanna and asking her what it is, but I forgot. Is it something bad?’

  ‘Miss Sam, it is terrible, dangerous juju. Someone is trying to hurt you. That is why you have a headache. We need to purify you. This is an emergency.’

  ‘An emergency? It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘Someone wants to kill you. This is a death fetish.’ Sahr reached into his pocket and leaned over, pushing the bag into an empty cigarette packet with a pencil.

  ‘A death fetish? Are you serious? Who would do this?’

  ‘Well, someone who bought this from the witch doctor. It must have been expensive. They want you dead, big time.’

  Sam laughed. She knew the culprit's identity. Trying not to smile, she rearranged her features into a serious mask. She fancied being treated by a witch doctor. It would be a unique experience. She hadn’t realised that Fatimata hated her so much. Perhaps she should talk to her and straightened things out. If they found common ground, she would ask her about the bondo while Ned and Fergus visited Mano. In her experience, women could always bond over the awfulness of men. For a moment, she regretted her indoctrination of Fatou’s parrot, but then she remembered that even if she didn’t believe in voodoo, Fatimata did, and she had paid a witch doctor for a deadly juju.

  ‘Well, that’s terrible,’ she said. ‘Can you organise a cleaning ceremony?’

  ‘I will, but you must stay here until we can lift the curse. It’s dangerous to be outside. The voodoo can work on a snake or a leopard and they might attack you.’

  Staying with Fatimata might be far more dangerous, she shook her head. ‘No, I’m safe with Tamba and the other men. I’ll go to work. You sort out the cleansing ceremony and pick me up later.’

  ‘I don’t like it. We should tell Mr Fergus.’

  ‘Oh, no, don’t do that. They’ve an important meeting today and won’t be back until tomorrow. We can deal with this by ourselves.’

  ‘Are you sure? We must pay the witch doctor.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘About fifty dollars.’

  ‘Fifty dollars? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps more.’

  ‘Okay, you sort it out. Let me have the bag.’

  ‘The bag. No!’

  ‘Listen. If what you say is true, you might get cursed too. Give it to me.’

  Sahr looked at her with new respect and handed her the cigarette packet which she zipped into an empty side pocket of her khaki trousers.

  ‘You're as brave as a leopard, Miss Sam.’

  ‘Let’s go, Tamba will be waiting.’

  ***

  During the day, they excavated the first pit down to bedrock and panned and recorded the results from the gravel, finding no diamonds, but plenty of bright red garnets and green chromite grains in the bottom of the pans. This indicated their origin from kimberlite, the rock which transports diamonds from earth's mantle. Sam wrote careful notes of the procedures they followed and placed the contents of the concentrate resulting from each cubic metre of gravel into small plastic bags which she knotted and placed in her rucksack.

  Tamba watched her and asked questions about the notes she took as if resigned to his fate and accepting that he was stuck with her. She tried to be gracious despite the thudding in her head. The heat did not help matters. Sweat poured off her in rivers and, no matter how much she drank, her thirst did not diminish. She mixed some dehydration salts into the liquid and stayed in the shade all day so she didn’t suffer from sunstroke.

  One man, observing her distress, stuck four thin posts into the ground and made a shelter with palm leaves. She sat on a log and waited for them to bring her the samples. Tamba asked her if the men could leave early because they had a festival in the village. He suggested that she sit in the shade on the rock chair and wait for Sahr. It was a relief to stop work and she retired to the relative cool of the glade.

  The warm rock comforted her and her eyelids grew heavy. Soon she slept, tossing and turning with fever in the late afternoon. The next thing she knew, twilight was approaching. But where was Sahr? She stood up, soaked with sweat and stumbled to the river. It looked very inviting and she needed to cool down.

  What about the crocodiles? There were no prints on the bank and Tamba had his reasons for stopping her from crossing the river. She took off her boots and waded into the river. The cool water almost made her cry with relief.

  When the water reached her thighs, she lowered herself into the water and floated out to the central channel. To her horror, the strong current ran through it which grabbed her like a vice and pulled her across and along the river. Panicking, she tried to fight it, but not being a strong swimmer, it was all she could do to stay afloat. She knew if she was swept away by a current, she should try to swim with it, so she did breaststroke in a diagonal line to the other bank. Her wet clothes wrapped themselves around her like mermaids trying to drag her under. She reached the other bank as exhaustion set in.

  Recovering on the sandy shore, she realised she couldn't swim back across the river. Her boots sat on the bank far away in the gloom, a testament to her bad decision. She shivered. Now what? There had to be a way out.

  Sam claimed to be a glass-half-full sort of girl and she never accepted defeat. She checked her pockets and found only her penknife and Sahr’s cigarette packet with its deadly cargo. No wonder she almost drowned! Bloody voodoo. Could there be something to it?

  Behind her in the forest she heard a twig crack. She spun in trepidation. Had the leopard sent by the juju crept up on her? But there was nothing there.

  Then she remembered. The bondo! The women practiced their ceremonies there. They would help her get back to the village. With darkness falling like a sledgehammer, it was her only hope. She walked a few steps into the trees and realised that her socks didn't provide protection against the mixture of stones and thorns and twigs lining the forest floor.

  Taking her penknife out of her trouser pocket and saying a prayer of thanks for the person who invented zips, she searched for a rotting log. There were many lying around in various stages of deterioration. Some had large growths of white fungi like fallen clouds on them. Others were hollow. She stayed well away from them. Hollow logs often contained nasty surprises.

  Not long after, she found a log with some loose bark. Using the short blade, she cut off two pieces of bark and shaped them so they resembled shoe liners. Then she rolled her socks back over themselves forming a tube over her feet into which she inserted the bark.

  She tried out her invention. The solution was not ideal with her balance affected by the fever that coursed through her, but it was better than shredding her feet. The bondo must be near the river. They would need water for the ceremonies they performed and for the cooking and washing of plates and bodies.

  Heading along the shore back in the direction the current had pulled her, she searched the sand for foot prints. She had seen the white painted girls a few times in this area and they would leave a trail.

  Just when she doubted herself, she saw it. A faint indentation in the bank left by bare feet, the traces of which led into the trees. The light was fading fast, so she picked up speed as she followed the trail into the forest. It was difficult to stay upright in
her improvised shoes, but she could not afford to slow down. Several times, she fell flat on her face and her foot slid out of the bark slippers. Her khaki pants ripped at the knee and blood ran down her leg. Panting with exertion, she stopped to wipe herself down and catch her breath. Her vision blurred. Was it the light or her eyes?

  A shriek reached her ears. Pure fear mixed with what? Excitement or anticipation. She couldn't tell.

  She headed towards it.

  ***

  Sahr reached the terrace about ten minutes after Sam walked into the forest. He had waited for hours to see the witch doctor who had at first refused to reverse the voodoo. Sahr begged and pleaded with him to change his mind. The man demanded one hundred dollars and a large chicken, to placate the gods and cover his services. This large amount scandalised Sahr, but, like most people in Simbako, he was only a Christian on Sundays and the fear of bad juju, witches and malevolent spirits ruled his whole life. You could not argue with the gods. He wondered how anyone would want to harm Sam and his imagination did not stretch to the lovelorn Fatimata protecting her intended from the clutches of the white whore.

  He tooted the horn and sat in the car singing along to the radio and waiting for her to emerge from the trees. When she did not come out after five minutes, he realised that something was wrong. On most days, she came out with a big smile, half-walking, half-running, giving him genuine pleasure to see her again.

  He switched off the ignition and jumped out of the ancient jeep.

  When he got to the terrace, the horizontal sunlight picked out the individual twigs and palm leaves strewn on the ground in a golden silhouette. There was no sign of Sam. He searched the glade and found her rucksack beside the rock armchair and this gave him momentary hope. He called her name, but only birds replied.

  Coming back out onto the flat terrace, he walked to the pit they had dug during the day, his heart in his mouth in case she had fallen in and broken her neck in the gloom. There was no sign of her, just tools stored under a tarpaulin.

  Then he saw them – a pair of walking boots sitting on the bank above the river. Running towards them, he shouted for her again. ‘Sam, where are you?’

  The boots sat alone with no clues as to the whereabouts of their owner. He couldn't see any other clothes, but her footprints led into the river. His heart was in his throat. He knew all about the currents in the central channel which had swept unwary children to their deaths in the past. Could Miss Sam have drowned? Was it the voodoo? Perhaps a wild animal had taken her? She had insisted on taking the juju with her and he cursed himself for his cowardice in not keeping it.

  He screwed up his eyes and gazed at the opposite shore. The last vestiges of the sunlight crept through the trees and a golden shaft showed up some footprints in relief on the sand. They must be hers. There was hope at least. She had survived, but, where was she? Why had she crossed the river? He could not follow her. The sowei had filled the bondo with young women and men could not approach it, no matter what disaster had befallen. He felt frantic, but he knew what to do.

  Running at top speed through the trees in the half-light, he reached the jeep and wrenched open the door.

  Chapter XII

  The jeep screeched to a halt outside the Chief’s house just as the servants closed the wooden shutters to keep out the insects. Sahr ran up the stairs and banged on the door. A flustered Tamba came to see who had arrived, walking erratically to the door and fumbling with the catch.

  ‘For God’s sake, man. How dare you disturb the Chief so late? Can’t it wait until the morning?’

  ‘It’s Sam. Miss Sam. She’s crossed the river into the forest and disappeared.’

  ‘What? Disappeared? Why didn’t you pick her up?’

  ‘I had to wait at the witch doctor’s house because of the juju.’

  ‘What juju? Explain yourself, man.’

  ‘I must speak to the Chief. It’s urgent. She may die.’

  Adanna appeared behind Tamba, a concerned expression on her face.

  ‘Did you say Sam was missing? What’s going on?’

  ‘Madam, please help me.’ Sahr put his hands over his face, his shoulders heaving and tears dropping on the floor.

  Adanna’s eye widened with empathy. She put a gentle arm around his shoulders and led Sahr into the house and through into the sitting room where her father sat holding a large glass of palm wine.

  Sahr strangled a sob and stood waiting to be greeted.

  ‘Sahr, you are welcome,’ said Chief Sesay, regarding the sobbing youth with his head hanging low between the shoulders. ‘Whatever is wrong, young man? Is Mr Fergus treating you badly?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Mr Fergus is a good boss. It’s Sam sir. She’s disappeared and it’s my fault.’

  ‘Sam missing? How is it your fault? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Tell us what happened,’ said Tamba. Noticing the distressed look that Sahr flashed him, he added, ‘Say exactly what happened and leave nothing out.’

  ‘Someone wishes evil to Sam. They left a powerful juju inside her pillowcase to make her die. I told her we should ask the witch doctor to get rid of it. She wouldn’t let me take the juju. She kept it with her and now she has disappeared. It’s my fault.’

  At the mention of juju, Chief Sesay gritted his teeth and the muscle in his jaw flickered. Tamba, aware of the British-educated soldier’s low opinion of all things voodoo, tried to steer the conversation away from the subject.

  ‘But where is she now?’

  ‘I saw footprints going into the forest, near the bondo. She swam across the river. She had a bad headache this morning caused by the juju, she could die in there.’

  ‘The bondo? We can’t get her back if she’s gone in there, only women may enter. Adanna, can you go?’ said Chief Sesay.

  ‘Father, how can you ask me that?’

  ‘She can’t enter the forest because she is unclean, sir,’ said Tamba. ‘We need someone else.’

  ‘Can no one free me from this superstitious nonsense? What about Fatimata? She used to be a sowei until the rebels came,’ said Sesay.

  ‘If you are looking for a culprit for the voodoo, I doubt you need to look much further than Fatou. She’s jealous of Sam because of Fergus,’ said Adanna.

  ‘What’s Fergus got to do with this?’ said the Chief, exasperated.

  ‘Nothing really. He doesn't notice Fatou is dying of love for him, but I suspect that Fatou is trying to get rid of Sam because she wants Fergus for herself,’ said Adanna.

  ‘Well, in that case she must help us. If she’s responsible for the voodoo, she must rescue Sam. I won’t hear any excuses.’

  ‘She won’t do it,’ said Tamba. ‘She is also unclean now because of what happened with the rebels and she can’t enter the forest. They may kill her.’

  The Chief rose to his feet in fury. ‘I don’t care how bloody unclean she is. She must rescue Sam. And that’s an order.’

  Tamba flinched. Caught between loyalty to his Chief and the fear of breaking all the taboos surrounding the bondo, he vacillated, but not for long. Superstition ruled his life, but the Paramount Chief could not be crossed.

  ‘I’ll talk to her,’ he said.

  ‘Sahr, take Tamba to the compound and tell Fergus to help you with Fatimata.’

  Sahr, who had been mute, lifted his head. ‘Mr Fergus and Mr Ned aren’t here. They left for Mano to speak to the artisanal miners.’

  ‘When will they be back?’

  ‘Tomorrow, sir.’

  ‘Okay, we must do it without them. Take Tamba and go now. Tamba, report back to me if she refuses. We can’t do anything tonight, anyway, as it’s too late and it would be dangerous to go into the forest now. There may be leopards hunting in the dark.’

  ‘Auntie Fatou is a stubborn woman,’ said Adanna, ‘I wish you luck.’

  ***

  The bondo floated in the forest, surrounded by a rim of light created by dozens of candles
merging into one. It resembled a spaceship hovering in the gloom. It was much larger than she had imagined and the cracks in the walls between the dried-out planks spoke of its age. Light and noise leaked out of these cracks like water out of an old gourd. Loud cackling laughter escaped from the bondo too. It sounded as if a coven of witches were partying inside. She staggered and fell as she reached the hut. The door was bolted, but something stopped her from knocking. She sat on a bench under a window, trying to make sense of the sounds coming from within. She shivered and sweated at the same time. A shriek came from inside. Unable to resist, she knelt on the bench and peered through one of the wider cracks in the wood.

  The painted girls sat opposite her on a long bench. They were naked, except for the white paint which covered their bodies and faces. They were enveloped in a cloak of terror which made Sam feel ill. In the middle of the room stood a table with an old woman at each corner. The women had dressed in traditional robes. They sang in Krio, their voices rich and harmonious.

  An older woman took charge, calling a small girl forward. The child whimpered in fear, but, instead of comforting her, the adults laughed and made comments and poked her with their fingers. Nervous laughter floated from the bench. One girl banged on a leather drum with a large well-worn stick and the other girls clapped and stamped in time with the drum. As the noise reached a crescendo, the sowei lifted the girl onto the table. The women took the child by the hands and feet and bore down on her limbs so she could not move. She wept with fear.

  The drumming made Sam feel dizzy. She couldn’t focus her eyes. Was she hallucinating? She rubbed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cracked plank. The woman in charge of the ceremony reached into a hidden pocket and took out a box cutter, its blade catching the light as she raised it high in the air. All the other women cheered. The girl on the table screamed, her voice becoming ever higher and higher pitched as her terror increased. The woman turned her back to Sam and thrust her hands between the girl’s legs. A scream emitted by the child was so piercing Sam's eardrums almost split.