Sam Harris Adventure Box Set

by P J Skinner

  By the time she emerged on Monday, cleaner and braver, she was starving. She walked over to the canteen holding a precious tea bag in her hand. The door swung open and everyone turned to face her as she entered. Embarrassed, she turned to go again, unable to put up with the scrutiny, but Hans jumped up and pulled out a chair.

  ‘Bloody hell, Sam, you’re a celebrity,’ he said, and showed her a copy of the local newspaper. To her chagrin, there was a large photograph of her bottom on the front page taken from behind her as she scrubbed the floor.

  ‘Not my best angle,’ she said, blushing.

  ‘We all watched you on the television. You’re a great leader. Not like the others,’ said Bruno and the other managers nodded and smiled.

  ‘Okay, everyone, go to work. I want to eat breakfast in peace,’ she said.

  They filed out one by one, shaking her hand as they left. Only Jacques and Hans stayed behind, flanking her while she ate, like large grey bodyguards.

  Chapter XVI

  When Alain blanked her at the management meeting, Sam’s feelings were hurt. She had been looking forward to seeing him and having cosy chats about greenstone belts and high-grade vein mineralisation. Perhaps he was cross that she had stayed in her room all day on Sunday? Such thoughts soon evaporated as she dealt with the complications of running a project with limited resources.

  ‘I need the bulldozer today,’ said Alain.

  ‘You said I could have it,’ said Frik, making puppy eyes at her.

  ‘Yes, I did but…’ said Sam.

  ‘But I need it more than you.’ Alain did not look at Sam, avoiding her plea for compromise.

  ‘It’s my turn,’ said Frik, as if that was the clincher.

  Friends had often asked Sam what it was like to run an exploration project, her stock answer being that it was just like a kindergarten with bigger children. Today was no exception. She sighed in a way that suggested tethers were at their end.

  ‘You can have it first because we need to move the drill there later today. Frik, it’s not an emergency, can you please wait until this afternoon?’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’ But his face didn’t agree.

  Give me strength.

  Sam blew out her cheeks in the manner of a Frenchman, and stared down the managers.

  ‘Any more issues that can’t wait? No? Okay. Alain, can you wait here please?’

  The men filed out muttering as usual about the fairness or injustice of her decisions. Sam ignored them. Alain was digging his pen into the surface of the damaged veneer of the meeting table. Sam ignored the implied tantrum.

  ‘Okay, let’s go then,’ she said.

  ‘I’m busy.’ His aggressive tone surprised Sam.

  ‘I need you to come with me anyway.’

  A surly expression fixed itself on his face and he followed her with bad grace. As they passed Philippe’s office, Sam could see him smirking at her. What now? He was a nasty piece of work.

  As they neared Alain’s room, he stopped dead, confusion written on his face. Sam couldn’t read his mood but she noted his hesitation.

  ‘Come on. I want to show you something,’ she said.

  He shuffled two steps behind her. She threw open the door of his prefab.

  ‘Ta dah!’ she said and stood back.

  He stood there looking at the ground unable to witness her happy face.

  ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like it? I had them paint it in geological colours for you. Look, there are even cork boards for your maps.’

  Alain put his hand over his mouth and shut his eyes.

  ‘Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I…’

  But he didn’t elaborate. Instead he stepped into the room and glanced around, his eyes wide. He walked over to the boards and fiddled with one of the coloured drawing pins.

  ‘You did this for me?’ he said.

  ‘My best manager can’t have a shitty cabin. I know which side my bread is buttered,’ said Sam.

  Alain couldn’t speak. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Thank you. I thought…’

  ‘What? Oh, my goodness. Didn’t anyone tell you? You can’t have believed I put you in the junior room.’

  Alain wavered. ‘No, of course not. Um, I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten something important. Thank you so much.’ He ran back towards the office.

  ***

  ‘It’s too late. I already sent it,’ said Philippe, picking his teeth with a paper clip.

  ‘What?’ Alain’s face fell.

  ‘Yesterday, by fax.’

  ‘You must tell them it’s a mistake,’ said Alain.

  ‘I have no intention of doing any such thing. That woman is a menace and we have to get rid of her before she ruins our project.’

  ‘I’ll tell her you…’ Alain blustered but trailed off.

  ‘You’ll tell her what? That you called her a racist and reported her to head office. She’ll fire you,’ said Philippe

  ‘But you can’t do this.’

  ‘I already did.’

  ***

  Frik was in his usual spot, smoking a cigarette on the steps of his office.

  ‘Did Alain like his room? He was in a funny mood this morning,’ he said.

  ‘I think so, thanks. He seemed to be in a panic. Perhaps he’s just having a bad day. It’s always crap getting back to work after a long break at home,’ said Sam.

  ‘That’s true. How can I help you?’

  ‘Just wanted to make sure that we are still on schedule to move kitchens on Saturday.’

  ‘Yes, you can inform the ladies that Thunderbirds are go,’ said Frik, looking smug.

  ‘Excellent. I’m off to see Dr Ntuli then.’ She paused. ‘While we’re on the subject, how are the tool box talks going?’

  ‘Much better than I expected. Dr Ntuli is a star, surprising me. The local lads have taken them to heart. Have you seen the workshop?’

  She had not. Sam entered the gloomy space and waited for her eyes to adjust. She gasped in admiration. Rows of tools hung in size-sorted order along new parallel lines of hooks across the back wall. Jars of nails and screws jostled for space on the shelving with neat piles of manuals. The concrete floor had a new coating of thick red sealant which was pristine.

  ‘Wow! Congratulations. You could eat your dinner off the floor in there,’ she said.

  ‘The lads are thrilled about the spare parts you ordered. They had become apathetic and listless because of their inability to keep the fleet running. It’s changed the whole attitude around here,’ said Frik.

  ‘I can’t believe the change. You must be proud.’

  Frik took a long draft of his cigarette.

  ‘You too,’ he said.

  Sam winked and set off for Dr Ntuli’s office. She almost bumped into him coming out with a sheath of paper in his hand.

  ‘I was just coming to see you,’ he said. ‘I’ve elaborated a protocol for the kitchens and I was wondering if you could review it before I started the training. Um, I translated it into English for you.’

  ‘Great. I’ll send it to the guys in head office for their approval. Thank you. I’m sure it’s perfect. I’ll read it now and get back to you with any comments. Frik is pleased with the results of your tool box talks. You’re a natural at this,’ said Sam.

  Dr Ntuli managed a shy smile.

  ‘Thank you. I’m enjoying it much more than I imagined. I was afraid of being inadequate for the position.’

  ‘On the contrary. Ah, and I need your help with something. Mbala Samba, the mayor’s wife, will join us as hospital liaison, making sure it is kept spotless and doing inspections once a month. Can you do some research into the protocols for disinfection for me? You could take a trip to the capital to visit a modern hospital.’

  ‘I’ll speak with her first and we can make a plan,’ said Dr Ntuli.

  ‘Okay, I’ll get back to you with comments later today.’

  Sam walked back to the off
ice building with a spring in her step. Ngoma Itoua relaxed in a chair drinking a cup of coffee with Jacques Amour on the porch.

  ‘Good morning gentlemen,’ said Sam. ‘Can I join you?’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Jacques. ‘But we can talk later if you like.’

  It was disappointing. She liked Jacques, but he was always too busy to talk to her. Maybe it had something to do with the night she drank whisky with Hans. Nothing happened since but Jacques’ behaviour suggested he was jealous or hurt. He was always so quick to leave whenever she turned up. It was awkward.

  ‘Frik’s men have almost finished the new kitchen,’ she said to Ngoma. ‘Dr Ntuli gave me a copy of the new safety protocols he is suggesting for Mama Sonia and the other women. I would like to do something for them to soften the blow of moving to a new regime.’

  ‘Simple. Buy them uniforms,’ said Ngoma.

  ‘That might not go down well,’ said Sam, thinking of her own revulsion when she had to wear a polyester uniform working for a burger joint during her student days. She hated it, and school uniforms, and anything that made her conform. Rebel without a cause.

  ‘They’d be ecstatic. The men get overalls and boots and safety helmets but the women have to wear their own clothes. They have complained many times but no-one listens to them,’ said Ngoma.

  That was a revelation. Sam changed her mind in an instant.

  ‘What a great suggestion. Uniforms are cheap and safer than the clothes they wear now which can dangle in the flames or trip them up. I’ll let them choose their own from the catalogue that Rahul Singh of Stoddard’s sent me,’ she said.

  ‘That’ll gain you support for your changes. Everyone needs to feel like part of the team.’

  ‘I’ll get right on it. Ah, Frik wants to do the kitchen swap on Saturday but that will mean we can’t feed the local workers like we usually do. Will you explain to them please? I don’t want to disappoint them but it’s the only way to do this with minimum disruption.’

  ‘After what you did with the hospital, you’ve a licence to do whatever you like around here,’ said Ngoma.

  ‘You did it too, remember. We are shit royalty in this project.’

  Ngoma roared with laughter.

  ‘And proud of it,’ he said.

  ‘Can you ask the kitchen staff to assemble in the board room after the morning meeting tomorrow please? If you’d like to be there, you can, but I fear it might be too girly for you,’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh Lord no. I’ll okay the results if the women are happy.’

  When Sam sat down at her desk, she focused her attention on the protocol given to her by Dr Ntuli. Taking a deep breath, she read it through once in French making a couple of minor adjustments in the margin in pen. Then she turned her attention to the English version. The words swam in front of her eyes as her boredom threatened to overwhelm her.

  Then she noticed it. The headline on the document was ‘Chicken Inspection Protocol’. She stifled a giggle, but it erupted again, so she sat there snorting with mirth. The door opened and Jacques came in. He seemed perturbed to find her laughing and checked behind the door as if checking for somebody hidden from him.

  ‘What on earth are you laughing about? Has the job got to you?’ said Jacques.

  Sam tried to tell him but no words would come out. She passed the document to him. He read it with total concentration but his air of puzzlement only increased. Mystified, he shook his head and tried to hand the paper back to her.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘The heading,’ said Sam. ‘read the heading.’

  He threw his eyes to heaven.

  ‘For God’s sake, what the…’ He stopped and his face creased into a smile. He fixed Sam with a look of merriment in his blue eyes. ‘But this is very serious. We must organise the chicken inspection right away.’

  ‘Yes, we must,’ she got out, giggling. ‘Um, how do you inspect a chicken?’

  Jacque burst out laughing, matched in intensity by Sam. The more he laughed the more she joined in and vice versa. Tears ran down their cheeks.

  ‘Do you get it to open its beak? Or measure its eggs?’ said Jacques, struggling to get the words out.

  ‘I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wing it.’

  ‘Eggs-actly.’

  The puns flew back and forwards. Sam hadn’t laughed since she had arrived at Masaibu. Her ribs hurt with effort and her cheeks ached by the time they stuttered to a halt.

  ‘What did you want anyway?’ said Sam as Jacques staggered out again.

  ‘Oh, I got what I wanted,’ he said, leaving her wondering.

  When she had stopped giggling, she forced herself to write an email to Dirk detailing the death of Mbala’s sister, the hospital clean-up, the progress of the corruption prevention programme, and the heavy machinery rebuild. As an addendum, she attached a scan of the chicken protocol and added a bullet point to her email where she asked for someone to check it and querying how a chicken inspection should be carried out. She was still chuckling as she pressed send.

  Chapter XVII

  There were shouts of glee the next day as the kitchen staff reviewed the brochures that Sam handed out in their meeting. Choosing the correct uniform was not a quick process. Mama Sonia would not agree to anything and sat slumped in her chair looking as if the sky had fallen on her head. Sam guessed that Ngoma had insisted on her attendance because every fibre of her being indicated that she would rather have been anywhere on earth.

  None of Mama Sonia’s workforce feigned solidarity with her. Hilarity reigned as they filled out the columns on the whiteboard, relating to colour, style number, skirt or trousers, type of hat and materials.

  They made their choice and the noise level only increased as they measured each other with a piece of string. Sam held it against a metal tape and proclaimed the numbers. Mama Sonia sighed and complained in a loud voice when her measurements were taken but she couldn’t deflate the general mood.

  ‘Right you lot, back to work. I’ll send the order to Uganda today and let you know when the uniforms are due. Moussa will store and distribute them and you will use the same uniforms every time as they have numbers that are assigned to you. Please pay attention to Dr Ntuli today. The safety seminars are for your security. The new ovens are different to the cooking fires you are used to,’ said Sam, affecting a strictness she did not feel.

  ‘Yes Mama Sam.’

  They all trooped out wiggling their large bottoms. Despite the poverty in Masaibu, Sam had not seen many skinny women working for the project. A large posterior was a mark of honour. No wonder hers had appeared in the newspaper photograph. They were probably all commenting about its pathetic size compared to the average.

  Mama Sonia might plot revenge but apart from spitting in her food, Sam wasn’t sure how much power Sonia had to do anything against her. When Sam had tried to initiate a complaint against her, Philippe had baffled her with so much legalese, it was clear he was protecting her. They were in cahoots.

  There was no time to dwell on the vagaries of her staff as she was due at the community hall to chair the stakeholder meeting. Ezekiel had the engine running when she emerged from the office building. Hans was sitting in the front seat. Sam was torn between telling him to sit in the back and just getting in and avoiding unnecessary polemic. She chose the pragmatic approach and spent the short trip hating the back of his Teutonic head.

  The car emerged from the camp and headed down the hill to the community hall. There was a cow blocking the main street, and they had to stop while a small girl tried to pull it to one side. Several people came closer to the car, peering through the window and pointing at Sam. She braced herself for another round of rotten vegetables but none came.

  A loud knock at the window made her jump. Hans leapt out of the car in one movement, his hand on his baton but a man inserted himself between Hans and the car.

  ‘We want to see Mama Sam,’ he said.


  ‘She is busy. The stakeholder meeting starts in ten minutes.’

  Sam cocked her head to one side in askance and examined the delegation. They didn’t look dangerous. She got out of the car.

  ‘Mama Sam,’ said one, ‘can I shake your hand?’

  Sam turned to Hans for reassurance. He nodded, his hand still on his baton. She took the man’s hand and shook it with a warm smile. Soon local people had surrounded her shaking her hand and calling her name with enthusiasm. Hans tried to control them but ended up shaking hands too. He raised his eyebrows at her. It was a strange feeling to have such a change in attitude.

  After a few minutes, Hans got bored and persuaded people to clear the road. Ezekiel gunned the engine and Sam got back into the car. They drove the rest of the way to the hall through streets filled with people who smiled and waved.

  ‘I think they liked the photograph of my bottom,’ said Sam.

  ‘They like large objects,’ said Hans.

  Ezekiel snorted.

  ‘Mama Sam is too thin. She needs to eat more,’ he said.

  ‘I think she needs to eat less,’ said Hans.

  ‘I’m behind you, guys,’ said Sam.

  The meeting was well attended with all the usual suspects. Sam dealt with various requests before holding up her hand for silence.

  ‘I’d like to suggest something,’ she said. ‘There are too few rangers to protect the elephants in the sanctuary. I propose that we hire ten more people with cash from the environmental fund.’

  ‘Elephants? You want to protect the elephants?’ Joseph Kaba jumped up with his hands on his hips spluttering like a fat teapot. ‘What about helping people first?’

  ‘Protection of the elephants would provide employment for local people,’ said Jean Delacroix, leaping to Sam’s defence.

  ‘Don’t we already have rangers? How come they can’t protect them?’ said Kaba.

  ‘Forest elephants are rare, ones with pink tusks even more so. They’re found here in Eastern Lumbono and in Gabon. Their ivory is harder than usual, and more valuable due to the pink colour. It appears someone is encouraging the poachers to target the Masaibu forest reserve and the rangers cannot protect it. We’ve garnered intelligence the elephants are in imminent danger of attack,’ said Jean.