by P J Skinner
All the tension disappeared from Moussa’s body and she sympathised.
‘They are ready.’
‘That’s great news. Good work Moussa. I wish everyone was as hard working as you.’
He had the grace to blush.
‘Thank you, Mama Sam.’
‘Will you have the uniforms numbered for the new intake of labourers next week?’
‘They are already on the shelves with the boots and tokens.’
‘Well done. You didn’t let me down. I’m easy to work for…’ she said, pausing and letting a fly buzz through the office. ‘Most of the time.’
A nervous grin creased his features, and she left before it had faded and headed over to the geology office.
***
Alain Folle, the geology manager, was fast becoming a favourite with Sam due to his enthusiasm and pro-active manner. Their friendship had started on the wrong foot as he tended to overreact when things didn’t go his way. He had made an order of plastic moulded core boxes which caught her eye, and she had joshed him about it.
‘That’s made a hole in your budget, Alain. Why don’t you stick to the wooden ones? We can get local artisans to make them. Where’s your community spirit?’
Alain’s reaction was not the one she expected.
‘Those local guys are thieves. They make the boxes out of uncured wood which splinters and twists as it dries, throwing the core on the ground. Do you have any idea what a metre of core costs?’ His eyes were bulging out of his skull in frustration.
‘I do,’ said Sam.
‘They rot in this climate, wooden core boxes. They turn to mush. It wastes hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on drilling because the core falls out and gets mixed up.’
He paused for breath, panting with exertion.
‘You’re right,’ said Sam, trying to sooth his passion. ‘I wasn’t refusing your request. I was testing your rational.’
‘You think I’m stupid because I am black.’
Sam flinched. She put a hand on his shoulder and studied him.
‘Where did that come from? You have added two and two together and made ten. I questioned you on the order because head office have tasked me with reducing expenditure on site. I don’t care what colour you are as long as you save money.’
He flushed. Whether in regret about what he had said, or that he said it out loud, Sam couldn’t tell.
‘Alain, I only care if you are onside or not. Your colour is irrelevant.’
‘What do you know about discrimination? You’re white.’
Sam raised her eyebrows but she stayed calm.
‘I may be white, but I’m a woman in mining. I get treated like a leper at a wedding. At least black guys get to be waiters.’
She smiled right into his eyes and his pupils relaxed.
‘I never considered that,’ he said. ‘We’re not so different.’
‘We should be concentrating on our similarities not our differences. I need to know I can count on you. Geology is the lifeblood of the project which puts you in charge of the most important department in Masaibu. We need mutual trust so I can back you up. If I question your actions, it’s so I can defend them in front of the board.’
She put her hand on his shoulder and shook it gently.
‘Trust is earned.’
But he relaxed under her hand on his shoulder.
‘Let’s work on it then.’
His bad moods only lasted a couple of minutes after which he seemed to forget all about it. But Sam was wary of upsetting him from then on and concentrated on geology.
As they got to know each other better, her daily visits to the geology department became the best part of the day. It was the only time she could relax knowing that she was safe from the constant stress engendered by most of management lying through their teeth to protect their interests. She tried to arrive after he had finished distributing the daily tasks so they could discuss the geology without interruptions. Their shared passion for a job well done bound them together against the rest.
It was not necessary to visit the department every day. To a certain extent, the geology took care of itself. She could not influence the results, nor was there any advantage in trying. Consaf was one of the few major mining companies doing its own exploration. She was enjoying work for a company that didn’t need to get good results to raise money. Her only responsibility was to carry out well executed exploration programmes. No one accused her of being shit if she didn’t find gold where there was none.
‘How’s life in the real world?’ she said.
‘Good. We got the drill rig moved yesterday so we can drill again this morning,’ said Alain
‘That’s excellent. Have you got the map of the proposed drill sites here?’
He sighed.
‘No, I forgot it in my cabin.’
‘Can we fetch it? We can spread it over a table in the canteen and have a nasty coffee.’
‘Sure.’
Sam had not entered any of the other prefabs in her row and was not prepared for the shabby interior of Alain’s dwelling. Bare wires hung from the ceiling and the fridge door had detached and leant against the counter. There was a single log stool pulled up to the old Formica table where the map was lying open.
‘Sorry about the lack of facilities,’ said Alain.
‘How long has it been like this?’
‘Months. I don’t think head office cares how we live as long as they get their results.’
‘Are all the prefabs like this?’
‘Most.’
Sam didn’t comment. Consaf boasted in their publicity about the good treatment of their staff and modern facilities in their camps. No one had bothered to check on the welfare of the people who worked at Masaibu. It had taken her a few weeks to discover the extent of the deterioration in standards there. Managers on flying visits hadn’t flagged up the issues which had become obvious to her.
Dirk had given her a box of leaflets which contained the mission statement of the company where it listed 10 principles that employees had to follow. The first principal was equality. The company expects staff members to treat everyone equally no matter their race, religion or gender. She was supposed to hand them out to the people at Masaibu, but the hypocrisy of it stuck in her craw. If you treat people like shit, they behave like it.
No wonder people on site were so disaffected they were stealing from the project. Management were raiding their salaries, feeding them terrible food and making them sleep in rat infested, dilapidated housing. It was natural to fight back. If she wanted to turn the project around, she needed to start from the bottom, not the top. The leaflets would stay in her office until she was no longer embarrassed to hand them out.
She headed for the office after coffee, her head full of the things she needed to do. A long list, but not a difficult one to accomplish. Hans had been right. She needed to do things in sections so she could judge the results of one change without it being influenced by another.
She was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost stepped on a rhinoceros beetle which was lying on its back, legs flailing, in a small indentation in the path. Reaching down she flipped it upright with her finger and directed it back onto the grass, where there were several other beetles blundering around. One of the local workers watched her and shouted out, ‘Mama Sam, you can’t save them all, they come out to breed at this time of year.’
‘I can try,’ she said, beaming.
***
With Mama Sonia in Uganda, Sam took advantage of her absence to give the kitchen a spring clean. When the staff had finished washing up after breakfast, she organised them into three groups. One she sent to empty the storeroom and clear out the freezers, before scrubbing the shelves and the floors with bleach. A second group were delegated to clean the back kitchen and the third to disinfect the canteen area.
There was no enthusiasm for the task in the beginning. Some resen
tful glances were directed at Sam, who decided to muck in to gain support. Once the boss was engaged, the atmosphere improved measurably as the women joshed her about her cleaning skills. They made strange clicking noises of approval to each other.
Frik provided a plumber to fix the hot water boiler and soon the sinks were full of hot soapy water as the women warmed to their task. When the job was finished, one of them produced a plastic bottle full of large, bright green grasshoppers which they threw live into a pan of hot oil before Sam could protest. They fried them to golden brown and then scooped the insects out and placed them on some paper napkins spread over a plate to drain the fat.
The women ate them enthusiastically and offered one to Sam. She knew it was a pivotal moment but she dreaded it. She grasped one by the abdomen but was at a loss for what to do next. One woman saw her hesitating and laughed. She took the grasshopper from Sam and removed the hind legs making a face at them and shaking her finger. Who knew? The back legs are nasty.
The woman handed back the grasshopper with a nod. Sam was now the focus of attention in the room. There was no way out. She put the insect in her mouth and forced herself to bite down on it. To her relief, it tasted like a prawn but without any trace of sea. She nodded enthusiastically.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
But she didn’t take another, making gestures of typing and she left them gobbling the fried goodies.
***
‘Hi Dirk. It’s me.’
‘Sam! I was just getting concerned. You need to call me more often.’
‘Sorry. There’s nothing major happening. I spend most of my days firefighting.’
‘How’s it going? Any news on your progress?’ said Dirk.
‘I feel like I’m getting somewhere. A lot of the discontent in camp stems from the terrible food and the state of the senior accommodation on site.’
‘Visitors said good things about the food.’
‘I suspect the cooks change the menu when they have visitors from head office. And also…’ Sam hesitated.
‘Also, what?’
‘Well, it seems the food we order is taking a detour into a local restaurant run by the head of catering here in camp.’
‘Can’t you fire her?’ said Dirk.
‘The employment law really doesn’t cater for firing, only for extracting money from employers. I am going to implement my own solution.’
‘Is it legal?’
Sam guffawed. ‘Of course.’
‘Okay, get on with it. By the way, what’s wrong with the accommodation? Those prefabs aren’t that old.’
‘They are structurally sound as far as I can tell. I’d like to spruce them up and give people satellite television to watch. Working twelve-hour days for thirteen days out of fourteen is tough going when there are no facilities. We don’t even have a volleyball court.’
‘How much would it cost?’ Dirk’s voice had stiffened.
‘No more than thirty thousand dollars, including new fridges and televisions for the prefabs. I’d like to rewire them too. The electrician here hasn’t got the training to wire the houses to the correct safety standards. Could you lend me someone from the other project in Lumbono to train up our guys?’
‘I can arrange that. Have you made any progress with the safety training?’
She hesitated.
‘Not yet. It’s delicate.’ If only he knew.
‘It will be more delicate if someone gets injured. Get on it straight away,’ said Dirk.
‘Do any of the other projects run a training programme? I suspect our health and safety officer is a plant. He didn’t know what a toolbox talk was.’
‘They have organised an intensive course at Ntezi project next week for anyone who needs a refresher. I suggest you send him to that.’
‘That’s brilliant. I’ll see Dr Ntuli tomorrow and send him there.’
Sam punched the air.
‘Send me the bill for the accommodation upgrades. I’ll push it through,’ said Dirk.
‘Oh, and I need to buy safety gear.’
‘What sort of safety gear?’
‘Oh, you know, boots and helmets and so on,’ said Sam.
‘I’ll let you into a secret. Safety gear is the one exception where budgeting is concerned. No one will criticise you for buying safety equipment, no matter what it costs. My advice is to buy now and apologise later.’
‘Thanks Dirk. I will.’
‘Anything else to report?’
‘I haven’t spotted anything major down here, you know. Small tweaks should fix most of it.’
Dirk let out a big sigh of relief. Sam imagined he had been expecting worse news.
‘I found a few great beetles too,’ she said.
‘I don’t need beetle news.’
‘Not even amazing ones?’
‘No beetles. Have a nice weekend.’
Chapter IX
Dr Ntuli’s face fell when Sam entered his office. His pince-nez glasses were cloudy with oily residue, and so tight that they had raised a red ridge on his nose where they struggled to grab enough flesh to stay on. His bushy eyebrows were going grey, matching his close-cut hair. He frowned and shuffled a pile of papers with the air of a man who was far too busy to chat.
‘I’m not ready yet,’ he said.
He couldn’t meet her eyes and Sam could feel his panic through her pores. Who was he related to that had got him this plumb job in charge of a department for which he didn’t seem to be qualified? Was he even a doctor?
‘That’s okay,’ she said, in her most soothing tone of voice. ‘We can review your progress together. Where did you study?’
To her chagrin, Dr Ntuli started to cry. The anticipation of his turn to face the terrible Mama Sam had been too much for him. She let him weep for a good couple of minutes, handing him a tissue and waiting for calm. Finally, he sniffed loudly and looked up at her.
‘I studied in the capital,’ he said.
‘Did you work in a hospital there?’ said Sam.
He froze in horror but she waited.
‘I’m a doctor of philosophy,’ he said, cringing.
‘Do you have any training in health and safety?’
‘Not-as-such.’ The blood drained from his face in anticipation.
‘You poor man,’ said Sam. ‘How dreadful for you.’
She was not pretending. His demeanour had touched her empathetic side. Poor bastard, no wonder he’s terrified. ‘We must do something straight away.’
‘My rotation is over next week.’
‘That’s perfect.’
A look of horror crossed his face.
‘I have a family,’ he said.
A wave of sympathy hit Sam. He had imagined she would fire him.
‘I was thinking of sending you for some training. How would you like to spend a couple of weeks in Ntezi project? Dirk Goosen told me that they are holding a course there and you could tag along.’
‘Really?’
‘You can’t carry on like this. Can anyone fill in for you while you are away?’
‘No-one on site is qualified.’
‘Okay, I’ll sort it out and don’t worry. The course is intensive and may be totally new to you, so you will have to put all your effort into it. Someone at Ntezi should give you a large supply of leaflets and materials to help you get started.’
Dr Ntuli scrutinised her face. Whatever he read there seemed to placate him.
‘You could fire me and get someone more qualified,’ he said.
‘Why would I want to do that? You have lots of important experience gained in this project. Who would be better suited than you to change the regime without upsetting anyone?’
Dr Ntuli beamed.
‘I am well liked,’ he said.
‘That’s a great start.’
***
Mbala Ngoma, the mayor’s wife, stood outside the gates of the community hall in t
he shade of a large umbrella attached to a stall selling roasted sweet corn stalks. Sam and Jacques, who had settled on ten o’clock as a happy medium, drove up beside her and she got into the back of the car. Several people pointed and hissed at the vehicle but there was also frank interest in the contents of the car. Sam was due to attend the first community meeting soon and word had got around.
‘Good morning Mama Mbala,’ said Sam.
‘Good morning Mama Sam,’ she said, ignoring Jacques who had not merited more than a sharp nod of her head.
‘I trust you are well.’
‘I am well but my sister will have to visit the hospital soon to have a baby.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Jacques.
But Mbala only gave another stiff nod of her head. It was unusual for local women to have babies in hospital but Sam was unaware of the significance and made no comment, feeling out of her depth with Mbala’s reaction.
They drove out of town along dry, uneven roads which got narrower and bumpier the further away they got. After about twenty minutes, Jacques pulled into the side of the road beside a path leading into the scrub.
‘The village is a kilometre away. Just follow the path. I can’t come any further or your visit will be a waste of time. The pygmies are afraid of soldiers,’ said Jacques.
‘I would be too,’ said Sam.
‘You must not speak until I tell you. Keep your gaze on the ground until they ask you a question,’ said Mbala whose tone was business-like.
Sam got out of the car with Mbala and they headed towards the village. It seemed to Sam that it was further than a single kilometre, but it could have been due to the heat and the fact she was unfamiliar with the path. As they neared the village, she could feel her heart rate increasing with anticipation but they arrived to an empty clearing.
The houses were so small that Sam checked around for Candid Camera. They were about shoulder height on her with round bases, no windows, and wattle and daub walls with palm leaf roofs. Smoke was pouring out at the top of one house. It appeared to be on fire but there were no flames.
Mbala held her hand up to stop Sam from asking questions. She indicated a tiny bench under a large mango tree and they both sat in the shade which was almost as stifling as the open clearing. Sweat ran down Sam’s back and her legs were stiff from squatting on the miniscule bench. There was a putrid smell in the air as if a rotting body lay in the undergrowth.