Sam Harris Adventure Box Set

by P J Skinner

  ***

  Victor Samba and his wife were sitting side by side on their balcony in the moonlight when Sam and Jacques drove up to the house. They were holding hands and Mbala had tears on her cheeks. The Mayor stood up and came downstairs to greet them, ushering them up to sit on the wicker chairs which flanked the settee.

  ‘Sorry about the lack of light,’ he said, ‘there’s a power cut, and I forgot to buy diesel.’

  ‘Everything’s better by moonlight,’ said Jacques. He touched Mbala’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  She bowed her head but did not reply, the suffering etched on her face.

  ‘What’s up Sam?’ said the mayor. ‘You said you had an idea.’

  ‘Two,’ said Sam. ‘I hope you will like them, both of you.’

  ‘Let’s hear it,’ said the mayor. ‘We could do with good news.’

  ‘The workforce of Masaibu has agreed to clean the hospital on Saturday instead of working at site. We bought a large stock of cleaning materials,’ said Sam.

  ‘What about the water supply?’ said the mayor

  ‘Maintenance installed a new water pump yesterday.’

  ‘Are you going too, Sam?’ said Mbala.

  ‘I promised to clean the toilets in a moment of bravado. Ngoma Itoua, the union leader has offered to join me.’

  ‘Then I too will do it. It is a fitting penance for me. I am so desperate to atone for my part in the tragedy,’ said the mayor. He paused. ‘Will there be gloves?’

  Sam laughed. ‘Industrial strength,’ she said, ‘but that’s not the only thing I wanted to discuss. What’s the point cleaning the hospital if they revert to playing cards and drinking coffee instead of disinfecting the floors. We need to make sure they keep it spotless. Someone should supervise the purchase of the cleaning products and the daily routine of the hospital cleaners.’

  ‘That’s a great idea, but who would do this?’ said the Mayor.

  ‘Well, that’s the second part of the plan. Mbala would be perfect for the job,’ said Sam. She glanced at him uncertain of the reaction. There was a long silence. Had she gone too far? The intention was to replace the Mayor’s lost income, but she had not considered the consequences of offering his wife paid work. Would this break any cultural taboos? She should have checked.

  At last, Mbala spoke. ‘I would love to honour my sister this way. She would’ve been so proud.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she tugged at the sleeves of her dress.

  ‘You’ll work with Dr Ntuli, the head of health and safety at Masaibu. He’s not a medical doctor, but he’s a good man and he’s just returned from intensive training courses at Ntezi. You can get good advice from him on the best way to proceed,’ said Sam. ‘You’ll need to register with Philippe in Human Resources on Monday. He’ll find out what salary grade corresponds to the position and make sure it’s okay with you. Don’t let him suggest any discounts.’

  ‘What do you say, my husband?’ said Mbala.

  ‘I’m unable to speak. My pride is too great, wife. Your sister will rest in peace,’ said the mayor.

  They embraced and Victor kissed Mbala with great tenderness on her forehead. Sam experienced a wave of jealousy. What must it be like to be loved like that? Why had Fergus given up on her? She sighed.

  ‘Are you okay?’ said Jacques.

  ‘Yes, just tired. Let’s go home.’

  ***

  Breakfast the next morning was a revelation; bacon, eggs, butter, milk and coffee, even yoghurt. Sam put more on her plate than she could eat. Mama Sonia had the look of a volcano pre-eruption. Metaphorical smoke came out of her ears while Sam scoffed the delicious food. Hans was ecstatic.

  ‘Proper coffee. I can’t believe it,’ he said, smacking his lips and slurping.

  ‘Mood improving,’ said Jacques.

  They had got over their huff and were sitting with her again. Sam glanced around the room. The faces of her management team had approval written across them. An army marches on its stomach. Everyone knows that. She wandered over to the table containing Frik and Bruno and several of the other staff who were in the habit of bullying the latter.

  ‘Good morning gentlemen. Please don’t get up. I hope you are enjoying your breakfasts.’

  Lots of nodding and grunts of agreement from men with their mouths full.

  ‘Frik, I’d like a tour of the kitchen installation after the morning meeting if that’s okay with you?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Bruno, your technical drawings have been fantastic. Congratulations on doing such a good job. I need more men like you around here.’

  Bruno almost choked on his food. He blushed so deeply that he turned purple. The other men at the table appraised him with surprise and a new appreciation.

  ‘You designed the new kitchen?’ said one.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said another.

  ‘He’s an architect,’ said Sam, ‘and an excellent one.’

  She left Bruno basking in the glow of her compliment. That should do it. I hate bullies.

  As she had expected, the morning meeting was a bad-tempered affair. Philippe was out to get her.

  ‘Mama Sonia has been to see me. She says you insulted her by ordering the supplies delivered to site. I consider you to have demoted her, which, under the labour law, is illegal and racist,’ said Philippe quivering with resentment.

  ‘Mama Sonia is not being demoted. She is too senior to waste her time driving around buying vegetables in Uganda. Dr Ntuli is implementing a new health and safety regime to operate in the new kitchens. I need her to train the staff and make sure everyone understands how the new equipment works. They are not used to electrical ovens or rings, and without the proper training could have nasty accidents. Mama Sonia is responsible for the wellbeing of her staff and looking after health and safety should be a large part of her duties as manager of catering. I am making sure the staff who work under her can do so without fear of injury,’ said Sam.

  ‘The unions will not agree to this,’ said Philippe. He turned to Ngoma Itoua, who had been listening with attention. ‘You must stop this racist woman mistreating the local staff.’

  Itoua raised an eyebrow and sat up straighter in his chair.

  ‘Are you telling me that the safety of our junior staff is of no importance to you? Mama Sam is correct. The company has a comprehensive safety policy which has been ignored or minimised for years to save money. It’s a great improvement. Why should it be necessary to go to Uganda for supplies when they can be delivered to the door? I can’t agree with you. I’ve seen no evidence of racism, and I can assure you I’d be the first to act.’

  Philippe wasn’t finished. He refocused his attention on Sam, sweat beading on his lip.

  ‘You didn’t inform me that you’ve ordered the workforce to clean the hospital on Saturday instead of working. This is a blatant exploitation and I won’t allow it.’

  ‘I gave no such order. I asked for help and the workforce agreed.’

  ‘As if they have any choice. I don’t suppose we’ll see you down there.’

  ‘Actually…’ said Sam.

  ‘Sam and I have volunteered to clean the toilets,’ said Itoua, before Sam defended herself. ‘Are you coming?’

  The stunned expression on Philippe’s face reminded Sam of a haddock on the fish counter at the supermarket. His mouth gaped open showing his bright yellow teeth and gold fillings. He recovered enough to blurt out ‘no way’.

  The faces around the table showed a mixture of emotions. Doubt, fear, rebellion and stubborn expressions radiated from her team.

  ‘It isn’t compulsory. Anyone who feels unable to join in with the clean-up, may work as normal. However, your teams may expect you to set an example so you need to discuss it with them please,’ said Sam.

  The managers left the meeting muttering but Sam refused to be intimidated. By the time she finished, they would eat out of her hand. Too many years of
easy choices had made them forget about their responsibility to their staff and the local community. If the project was to succeed, this had to change. And now she had an unlikely ally, Ngoma Itoua. Who would have believed it?

  Frik knocked on her office door.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yup, just give me a second,’ said Sam.

  Sam skimmed the email she was sending to Dirk updating him on the hospital saga and the kitchen palaver but she left out the stuff about the elephants on the grounds that he would categorise that as ‘more beetle news’. She pressed send and skipped around the desk to join Frik.

  The new kitchen was taking shape. The concrete floor was in, and they had erected the breeze block walls with large holes for window frames and extractor units. There were gaps in the roof intended for skylights. Wires and pipes emerged from the floor beside the walls, waiting to be connected to ovens and fridges.

  ‘How long?’ said Sam.

  ‘About ten days. I’ll need to shut the kitchen one lunchtime to facilitate the move from one building to another. It will take most of the day.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see what I can arrange. Saturday is the best day for the move. Can you do it next week?

  ‘We should be ready then,’ said Frik.

  ‘I’ll speak to Ngoma Itoua about sending the casual workers home without lunch next week. That way we only need to feed our full-time staff at lunchtime. Let me know if you won’t be ready in time.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘How about Alain’s room? He’s back tomorrow, you know,’ said Sam.

  ‘Tomorrow. Shit. I forgot. It’s only half done. Can you put him somewhere else for the night? I should be ready the day after tomorrow,’ said Frik.

  ‘Okay, I’ll ask the geologists if he can bunk with them for the night.’

  ‘Sorry about that. We are at full stretch with the kitchen.’

  ‘That reminds me. I must get Dr Ntuli on the job. Mama Sonia needs to train her staff before the kitchen opens.’

  Frik shook his head in admiration.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ he said.

  Chapter XV

  At first light on Saturday morning, Sam climbed into an old pair of overalls and wellington boots she had borrowed from the stockroom. Feeling sick with anticipation, she shoved her hair into a tight bun under a bright cotton turban. She made herself a cup of tea and ate a banana in her room, afraid that any additional breakfast would soon decorate the floor of the toilets. You have changed many revolting nappies, this is no different.

  Ezekiel drove Sam and Ngoma Itoua, the union manager, to the hospital and dropped them off. Someone ran up to shout abuse at Sam but Ngoma placed himself in front of her and he glared. Ezekiel leaned out of the window.

  ‘I’m sorry Mama Sam. I want do this but I can’t face it.’

  ‘That’s okay Ezekiel. Come and help Moussa distribute the gloves and cleaning materials instead.’

  ‘Ready?’ said Ngoma.

  ‘The gateway to hell,’ said Sam.

  They set up a trestle table outside the reception bungalow and piled it high with gloves and bleach and scrubbing brushes. Workers trickled in at first, but soon a stream of them queued up for their materials. At eight o’clock, with the vast majority ready to go, Sam and Ngoma headed for the toilets, followed by the entire group. Were they making sure she kept her end of the bargain?

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Ngoma, as the stench of sewage reached him. They had not even opened the door yet. Sam tried not to breathe through her nose and grabbed the handle. The scene that awaited them was so disgusting she almost ran away but she remained rooted to the spot trying to assess the situation and fighting the instinct to flee.

  ‘We should start at the far wall and work our way to the door,’ she said. ‘They have restored the water supply, so we could try flushing the toilets a few times first.’

  But it soon became clear that the toilets were full of dry faeces and paper stuffed to the brim. If she flushed them, it would flood the floor making the situation worse. There was no escape from the smell which penetrated their pores and sat in their nostrils. What have I done?

  Sam stumbled outside to get a plastic rubbish bag and a tire iron from the stunned audience and re-entered before she lost courage. She dug at the excrement and paper with the tire iron, she dislodged lumps of coagulated sewage and forced it into the bag. Ngoma stared at her efforts, aghast. His turn next, poor man. He must regret their joint show of bravado.

  She made good progress before running outside to retch against the wall. Five hundred pairs of astonished eyes saw her wipe her mouth, take a few deep breaths and push her way back into the toilet. ‘Mama Makubwa’ said one.

  As if by magic the crowd broke up and groups of men headed for each unit, singing to give themselves the stomach for the job. They helped bewildered patients onto the grass where they sat shivering or lay flat in the dirt.

  The Mayor turned up and scrubbed the floor with the application of a repentant sinner. He stopped to vomit in one of the now flushable toilets. Sam was scrubbing the edges of another with a rag tied around her mouth and nose. Despite their revulsion, the three of them made good progress and soon all the toilets were unblocked and charged with bleach.

  ‘Why don’t we leave these to soak for a while and have a go at the operating theatre?’ said the Mayor.

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know if I can face it,’ said Ngoma.

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Sam. ‘Get some fresh air and join us when you feel better.’

  They walked across to the unit containing the surgery and pushed open the double doors. Sam had already seen the theatre, so she wasn’t as shocked as the Mayor who shouted obscenities and hit the door with his fist. When he had calmed down, he joined Sam in one corner and they scrubbed the floor with bleach working their way through the blood stains and rat droppings on the floor. Sam picked up the rusty instruments and threw them into a cardboard box with the plastic bags of human remnants. She had been sick so often already that she could only manage a dry cough now.

  Sam got back on her knees and scrubbed her heart out. The Mayor blasphemed and shouted his way across the tiles. Suddenly, a bright light illuminated the theatre. A camera crew were filming them. One of the team shoved a microphone under the Mayor’s nose. Sam held her breath, but Victor Samba was a professional. He staggered to his feet and explained what they were doing there and how it would help the town. Gesticulating at Sam, he told them that Consaf were responsible for the clean-up. She did not comment and continued to scrub grimly at the floor as if she could erase all the deaths.

  By the time she stumbled out into the sunlight, they had returned most of the patients to their wards where extra beds had been installed. New mattresses and pillows lay on every bed covered in cheap nylon sheets with numbers corresponding to their unit written on them in indelible ink. Mosquito nets hung from the ceilings and tanks of clean water with taps sat at the end of each ward. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a paradise compared to before.

  The workers were sitting and standing outside the units smoking and talking in low voices. Sam reviewed their tired faces and read pride and horror in equal measure.

  ‘Well, done lads. I’m proud of you. Let’s go home,’ she said.

  ***

  Alain Folle, the Geology Manager, came back from leave full of enthusiasm for the Masaibu project. After passing through the main gate, he walked towards the accommodation hoping to leave his bag in the room. Where was everyone? Saturdays tended to be social with people crowding into site to write up reports and maintain equipment but the place was deserted.

  Then Alain spotted Philippe sitting on the porch outside the office building with his feet up on a plastic chair. He greeted him with a wave.

  ‘Hello. This place is like a graveyard. Where is everyone?’ said Alain.

  ‘That woman has taken them to clean the hospital. I can’t understand why anyone would go with her to t
hat disease-ridden pit,’ said Philippe.

  ‘Really? She’s not that bad. I’ve found her to be straightforward.’

  ‘She’s a racist cow. How can you support her after what she’s done to you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Bernard flushed.

  ‘She’s demoted you to the geologists’ communal bedroom because she wants your room for a white manager.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Come with me then.’

  The two men arrived at Alain’s room to find it under full-scale refurbishment, the door blocked by a bench holding several pots of paint.

  ‘See?’ said Philippe.

  A rising panic gripped Alain by the throat. He pushed past Philippe and strode to the communal room in the next prefab, shoving open the door. To his horror, he recognised his belongings protruding from the tops of cardboard boxes lined up beside a bed at the end of the row.

  ‘She’s fair, is she?’ said Philippe, who couldn’t keep the malicious enjoyment out of his voice. ‘You should report her for racism. Imagine putting a manager in with the juniors.’

  A red mist descended over Alain. That hypocritical bitch! He should have known it was all talk. She must have taken him for such an idiot, sucking up to her like an Uncle Tom. Philippe waited.

  ‘Can we do it now?’ said Alain.

  ‘I have the forms in my office,’ said Philippe.

  ***

  Even though she stood under the shower until the water ran cold, and scrubbed herself until she was pink, Sam couldn’t rid herself of the odour permeating her being. The filth had ingrained itself on her eyeballs. The injustice of it all stuck in her throat.

  Bastards, they were all bastards. But who was at fault? Could you blame people who didn’t receive their salaries? Or the people supposed to pay them? Perhaps, they didn’t get paid either unless they stole salaries belonging to the hospital staff. What a godforsaken country Lumbono was, a genuine hell on earth.

  She stayed in her room all day on Sunday with a ‘do not disturb’ sign on her door, unable to face anyone or talk about what she had seen. Fear that she might rant about the injustices of the system in Lumbono and alienate her management, prevented her from voicing her opinions. She mourned in private for all the people who had died in that hellhole.