by P J Skinner
They waited ten minutes before the first person emerged from the bush, an ancient woman almost bent double with age, with the air of a sacrifice. She examined the women with something approaching dread.
‘Shikamo Mama,’ said Mbala, keeping her eyes on the ground.
Sam did the same, but she remembered not to speak. The old woman did a double take.
‘Marahaba,’ she said, looking surprised.
There was a rustling from the bushes. A small group of women pushed their way out of their hiding place. They came over to Sam and Mbala. One of them approached Mbala and inclined her head. Mbala did the same so that their foreheads touched, almost falling off the bench in her effort to complete the gesture.
‘My name is Habimana Benga. We are from the Mbuti tribe,’ said the woman. ‘What do you want here?’
Mbala nodded at Sam who came forward.
‘This is Mama Sam. She is the new boss of Consaf’s Masaibu project up there on the hill above town.’
‘Shikamo Mama Habimana,’ said Sam.
‘Marahaba.’
‘I am honoured that you welcome us to your village. Consaf consider the Mbuti to be an important part of the community,’ said Sam
Sam waited while Habimana translated this for the rest of the women. She hadn’t anticipated the scornful expressions that followed. One woman spat on the ground. She ploughed on.
‘We are starting the stakeholder meetings again in Masaibu town hall and we would like you to send a representative.’
‘Us?’ said Habimana. ‘Are you serious?’
Sam stammered under her stare.
‘Um, completely. I understand that it is far for you to come, but we can send a car to pick you up if you’re willing. And to return you to your village.’
‘What about the others at the meeting? They don’t respect us and they’ll mistreat us.’
‘No, it won’t be like that. I promise. The meetings are democratic. No one will be allowed to insult you. The Mbuti have a strong tradition in preservation of the forest and deserve their say about what happens in the area,’ said Sam.
‘We will discuss this tonight around the fire. If we agree, my husband, Ota, will attend the meeting.’
‘It is on Monday afternoon,’ said Sam.
‘How many days from now?’ said Habimana.
‘Two days. Not tomorrow. The next day.’
‘Send the car. If we agree, Ota will wait on the road at the end of the path.’
***
Jacques was sound asleep, his car seat tipped so far back that Sam didn’t spot him until she peered into the window. She knocked hard on the glass intending to give him a fright. He sat up in one quick gesture, a gun in his hand which pointed at Sam. She jumped backwards in fright and ended up on her back in the ditch.
Mbala laughed, the first sign of her true character, and stood there giggling as Sam tried to stand up. Jacques stood at her side in an instant. Smiling at her predicament, he offered her his hand. She took it with bad grace.
‘Jesus, you gave me a fright,’ said Sam.
‘And me? How were the pygmies? Did you speak to them?’ said Jacques.
‘We invited them to the stakeholder meeting on Monday,’ said Sam.
‘Will they come?’ he said.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Mbala, serious again. ‘They are afraid.’
They sat in the car for a minute, each absorbed in their own thoughts, listening to the chirping, clicking and buzzing from the forest. Just when Jacques leaned forward to switch on the ignition, there was a trumpeting sound from deep within the trees.
‘Did you hear that?’ said Sam.
‘Elephants,’ said Mbala.
‘Elephants? In the forest?’ said Sam. ‘I thought they lived on the savannah.’
‘They are a sub-species of elephant, smaller than usual, with pink tusks.’
Sam laughed.
‘Now, you’re pulling my leg. It’s not funny,’ she said.
‘It’s true,’ said Mbala.
‘The pink tusks are straighter than usual, and harder. They’re of immense value to poachers, so they are a protected species. The rangers who guard them are paid for by Consaf,’ said Jacques.
‘I’ll need to see them as part of my verification,’ said Sam, eyes shining with excitement.
‘Okay. I’ll take you,’ said Jacques.
‘When?’ said Sam.
Jacques laughed at her impatience.
‘We’ll drop Mbala back at her house, and then we can come back if you like?’
***
Why had she agreed to this wild goose chase through the jungle? Thick mud crept up over the top of her boots and her face was bright red with exertion. Ahead of her, Jacque glided over the surface as if he had a mini-hovercraft. It was so galling. Sam sighed and pulled her boot free of a sticky patch that threatened to swallow it.
They followed the trail for almost an hour, Sam’s patience wearing thinner than a favourite T-shirt. Why had she forced Jacques to show her the herd? Maybe it was because he resembled Tintin, despite being an ex-officer in the French Foreign Legion, his thinning blond hair framing his ridiculously youthful face. Could someone who looked like a choirboy kill in cold blood?
They reached a clearing that contained a clear pool of shallow water. Millions of small insects danced in the last rays of sunlight which filtered through the trees onto the water. Small bats swooped among them filling their mouths with crunchy prey. Sam crouched behind a tree and peered through the approaching gloom of the African dusk.
After twenty minutes, her knees ached with the effort. She needed to stand up and shake out her legs.
‘I can’t see anything,’ she said, her voice betraying the exhaustion threatening to overcome her anticipation.
‘Shush,’ said Jacques. ‘Not long now. Ah, here they come.’
How did he know? He must have radar. Then a slight judder ran up her legs and into her back caused by massive footfall on the bush floor. The faint sound of leaves being brushed aside by large bodies. She shut her eyes and tried to work out which direction it was coming from.
Her hand slipped on the smooth bark of the tree trunk and snapped off a small twig. The sound reverberated around the clearing like a gunshot just when a massive shape glided from the shadows out onto the grass. The elephant lifted its trunk in the air to check for danger but the wind was carrying their scent away into the trees. It turned to face her, huge ears flapping in warning, its pink tusks catching the light. It was like Barbie’s version of an elephant but the tusks were sharp.
‘Don’t move a muscle,’ said Jacques in a hoarse voice.
He pulled her upright and pinned her to the trunk of a tree, keeping her out of sight of the elephant. She could feel his breath on her neck, the warmth of his body pressed against her. They breathed in harmony as they watched. Her temperature rose with excitement but he did not show any reaction to being in such close contact with her. It was thrilling and confusing at the same time.
The bushes across the water parted and a small elephant emerged shaking its head and gambolling in the grass, followed by another larger animal with shorter tusks. They played together under the supervision of the adult elephant, the smaller one weaving in and out of its massive legs, entrancing Sam who forgot about her embarrassment and gazed in wonder.
‘Do you believe me now?’ said Jacques.
***
Sam lay in bed that night, her whole being tingling with excitement. It was patently absurd to imagine Jacques having any other reason for what he did than the obvious one of removing her from the elephant’s line of sight. But he was slow to move away when the elephants left, and she couldn’t help wondering if she was the only one who felt excited. Maybe this was a one off. Maybe.
Chapter X
They held the stakeholder meeting in the community hall in Masaibu. Representatives of thirty different groups who lived in the Masaibu
area turned up despite Sam’s misgivings. Even the ex-rebel leader, Joseph Kaba, swept in, his Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder. He placed himself opposite Sam, who sat between the mayor, Victor Samba, and an empty seat they had designated for Ota Benga, should he turn up. The chair had been raised by putting it on a bed of bricks but Sam was uncertain how Ota could reach it.
‘Welcome everybody,’ said the mayor. ‘This is Mama Sam. She is the general manager of the Masaibu project and she’ll listen to your requests for help with your projects or issues. Please do not interrupt when someone else is speaking. You’ll get your turn. Understood?’
A general murmur of assent rippled around the hall.
‘Okay, I’ll decide who speaks. If I point at you, you must name your group before you speak,’ said the mayor.
He pointed to a man Sam recognised as a shopkeeper from the main street and the meeting got under way.
The first hour was uneventful. Sam wrote every comment into a spiral-bound pad she had allocated for the purpose. The inputs from the local people consisted of a list of complaints about their share of the pie, Consaf’s obtuse attitude and life in general. The shopkeepers complained about the lack of local purchasing, the artisanal miners about their working conditions, a doctor about the hospital, lorry drivers about the state of the local roads, and the ex-rebels about a lack of jobs.
‘You might need a bigger notebook,’ said the mayor, elbowing Sam in the arm and smiling in a conspiratorial manner.
She winked at him and kept writing. The door to the hall opened, and Ota Benga entered to a chorus of gasps and sniggers. Diminutive in stature, he almost disappeared from view as he walked behind the chair backs, dressed in rags with a spear strapped to his back.
Sam stood up and beckoned to him. He walked towards her through the astonished comments that had accompanied his entrance. She stood up and offered him her hand in greeting.
He inclined his head to her in the gesture she had seen at their village. She went down on one knee to give them equal stature and did the same. Their foreheads touched. His skin was warm and slightly sticky. He raised his eyes to hers and was gazing into her soul. She tried not to blink and returned the look for as long as she could.
Whatever he had seen in her appeared to please him. He leaned his spear against the chair beside her and sprang up onto the seat with surprising agility. Settling himself with legs crossed, he peered out into the room.
‘Who ordered the hors-d’oeuvre?’ said Joseph Kaba, his hand on his gun.
Sam went rigid with fury, but the mayor put his hand on her arm and shook his head.
‘Live to fight another day,’ he whispered, and then said out loud, ‘honestly Joseph, this is a public forum. Please keep your insults to yourself. Thank you. Okay, where were we? Yes? Mama Lena?’
Ota did not react to the insult, staring straight ahead. Neither did he speak at the meeting but listened to the proceedings, rubbing his chin between his thumb and index finger, pulling at the straggly hairs which populated it. When the session was over, he shook Sam’s hand and turned to leave. Jacques was waiting to drive him home.
‘Will you come again?’ said Sam, to his retreating back.
‘I will,’ said Ota.
After the meeting, a tall, bald, white man approached Sam and introduced himself.
‘Jean Delacroix. I run the local office of the Wildlife Conservation Organisation, the WCO. They call us wackos.’
He winked, handsome in a gangly way. She smiled.
‘I’m so glad you came. I need your advice,’ she said.
‘You do? Can I call the Pope? I don’t think a mining company has ever asked for my help. I may have to declare a miracle.’
Sam laughed.
‘Oh dear, and I hoped being a woman was my only failing,’ she said. ‘Could you come and see me at my office tomorrow? I want to get started straight away.’
‘Wow! Um, okay, I’ll see what I can do. Shall we say midday? Why don’t we have lunch? There’s a half-decent restaurant on the main square.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘Le Bistrot du Parc.’
‘I’ll see you there at midday then.’
***
Sam was careful not to make an obvious effort on her appearance for lunch the next day. So careful, that a small child in the street asked her if she was a nun, causing Jacques to crouch over in hilarity. Sam shrugged at him, opening her hands in question.
‘It’s your clothes,’ he said, tears running down his cheeks. ‘The nuns wear something almost identical. He’s hoping you have sweets to give him, or a holy medal.’
‘I’m trying to blend in,’ she said, hurt.
‘You’re camouflaged,’ said Jacques. ‘If you go into the jungle, you’ll be lost forever.’
Sam reviewed her uniform of khaki shirt and trousers, and Doc Martens boots and sighed. She had never affected glamour, and being a geologist made it easy for her to hide behind utility clothing. She was an attractive woman and aware of it, just not capable of taking advantage of her looks without feeling stupid or awkward.
‘Safety first,’ she said.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ said Jacques. Was he flirting?
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Quite sure.’
‘Enjoy your lunch. Radio me if you need a lift back,’ he said.
The Bistrot du Parc stuck out like a sore thumb in Masaibu. It had a chic air which would have been more at home in Nice than central Africa. Large picture windows flooded the place with light. Blue and white checked paper tablecloths covered the tables matched by the tiled floor.
Was she hallucinating? She squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them again, Jean was standing in front of her, stooping to avoid imaginary obstacles in the atrium. He swept his hand over the remnants of his hair drawing it over the top of his shiny head.
‘You’re here. Excellent! Shall we sit down?’ said Jean.
They sat at a table for two in the corner of the dining hall. Tropical plants in tubs surrounded them making them almost invisible to anyone coming into the restaurant.
‘Great table,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’m eating in the forest.’
They ordered steak and frites with green beans. Sam was salivating at the idea of tasty food. The canteen in camp only served stews, rice and fried food. She had been living on fried eggs and rice. Where on earth did they source their ingredients? She needed to speak to the owner.
‘So, how can I help Consaf?’ said Jean, leaning towards her and putting his elbows on the table.
Did he think this was a date? Sam put on her business voice and shifted away from him.
‘What do you know about the group of pygmies that live outside the elephant reserve? Their leader, Ota Benga, came to the community meeting.’
‘I know they’re a pain in the arse,’ said Jean, frowning.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Our forest rangers spend most of their time trying to keep them out of the reserve instead of looking for poachers.’
‘What are they doing in there? They can’t be hunting elephants with spears,’ said Sam.
‘Believe it or not, they’ve been known to kill the odd one, but that’s not the problem. Their main prey is blue duiker, an antelope. They’ll travel many miles to raid bee colonies for honey. But neither of those is available outside the reserve anymore.’
‘So where are they supposed to hunt?’ said Sam.
‘That’s just it. The government doesn’t want them to hunt. It considers them to be a stone age tribe who should send their children to school and farm the land like the other people around here,’ said Jean.
‘Is that why your rangers chase them out of the forest?’
‘They are your rangers too. Consaf pay for them through the community budget. We need a licence to operate here. It’s hard enough keeping the townsfolk happy as it is. We have to compromise. Anyway, there
are too few rangers to protect the elephants and control the pygmies at the same time.’ Jean shrugged.
Their food arrived and there was silence while they ate. Sam gobbled her food with her usual enthusiasm and had to wait while Jean picked his way through his food, pushing the fat to one side and only eating the perfect chips. No wonder he was so thin.
‘Are you married?’ said Jean, looking up from his dissections.
‘No, I’m too busy. Are you?’
Annoyance crossed his face for an instant but he recovered.
‘Yes, kind of.’
‘How can you be kind of married?’ said Sam, rolling her eyes.
‘Oh, you know, she doesn’t understand me.’
Sam couldn’t help it. She spluttered and coughed, trying to damp down her guffaw of laughter. That old chestnut. She hadn’t believed men said that but there it was, dangling in the air between them.
Jean couldn’t look her in the face. He had not been expecting this reaction. Sam guessed that like most French men, he expected her knickers to fall off at the possibility of sex with a married man.
‘Well, you’re a complex person,’ she said.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Jean, grateful for the out. ‘I was hoping we could reach some sort of understanding, you know, what with you being alone here.’
‘We already have one,’ said Sam. ‘You are married, that I understand.’
‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I find you attractive. You can’t fault me for trying.’
Sam had the urge to punch him but the self-indulgence of it stopped her. Just because I am single doesn’t mean I’m desperate.
‘I’m sorry, but I have to go back to the office. I have meetings,’ she said.
She didn’t, but encouraging him was the last thing on her mind. She had to get out of there.
Sam stood up to go, giving her an unobstructed view of the entrance. Joseph Kaba, the ex-leader of the local rebel group, who had insulted Ota Benga, the pygmy, at the community meeting, had just arrived with a Chinese man in a shiny suit. They were roaring with laughter and slapping each other on the back as if checking for weapons. The waiter showed them to a table.