by PJ Skinner
‘Where did you get all this stuff, Tamba?’ said Sam, removing a rusty open-reel tape measure from a rotting cardboard box and tugging the fibreglass tape to release it. ‘Have you been moonlighting in the diamond fields?’
Tamba fiddled with a bottle top, twisting it around in his fingers. She had struck a nerve. They would have a battle of wills, but she would triumph. There must have been mining in the area, legal or otherwise, due to its prime position in the centre of the diamond fields. It was essential to winkle it out of him if she wanted to find an economic terrace. He ignored the question.
‘What shall we do first?’
‘We should measure out a grid and pit the terrace at regular intervals. We can set out one set of the grid lines parallel to the river and another at right angles to them, running from the trees to the river bank.’
‘I’ll get the men to cut branches to use as marker pegs for the pits.’
‘Excellent. Meanwhile, I'll have a look at the geology from river level. Do you want to come with me?’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘There are snakes down there.’
‘Are you afraid of snakes?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Bring a machete. We will need to cut vegetation anyway and you can chop the heads of any snakes that attack us.’
Tamba’s shoulders slumped. He gesticulated at one man to accompany them and they made their way down the slippery bank to the river’s edge. Vegetation covered the edge of the terrace which seemed to have collapsed into a mixture of pebbles and mud. None of the original structures or layering present in the terrace across the river remained. It would not tell them anything about the geology of the ground where they worked and Sam suspected that the terrace was not virgin. But it made little sense. Why would the Chief send her to a terrace they had already exploited? Perhaps they had only worked on that section. She would inspect the terrace across the river so she could relate the geology to the one they had been assigned. She turned to Tamba.
‘Fancy a swim?’ she said.
‘I can’t swim and, anyway, we can’t cross, there is a strong current in the centre. Also, crocodiles live in that river.’ She looked him straight in the eye, but if he was lying, she couldn’t tell.
‘How do we get across?’
‘We must drive around.’
She would have crossed the river without hesitation in most places. It was wide and shallow, except for a channel in the middle. It was darker than the rest and might be too deep. Crocodiles were notorious for taking people in shallow water, but would there be any in this river close to a town, lacking any obvious prey? Tamba waited.
‘Okay, I’ll speak to Fergus about it.’
‘You must get permission from the Chief first.’
‘Understood.’
Tamba’s smug expression returned. She had been played. Round one to Tamba.
‘Okay, let’s get those pits marked out.’
***
By the time that Fergus and Sahr arrived to pick Sam up, they had marked out the positions of the pits on the ground and the team got ready to leave. The sun was low on the horizon and the mosquitos hovered in the warm early evening air.
‘See you tomorrow,’ said Sam.
‘God willing,’ said Tamba.
Sam sank into the back seat of the car and yawned.
‘It’s only day one,’ said Fergus, ‘Are you tired out already?’
‘I’m hungry,’ she said, ‘I’m not tired.’
But she was. The hot sun had sapped all her strength. She marvelled at the energy of the workers who laughed and joked all day in the hot sun and didn’t appear to tire at all. The palm wine had put them all in good spirits.
And Tamba? He sat there all day in the shade of a large black umbrella as inscrutable as a buddha. It amazed her he didn’t burst with all the secrets he kept. He would try her patience to its limit if she were to achieve anything. And she was being sold a pup as far as the terrace was concerned. What motive could the Chief have for making them explore a mined terrace?
They pulled into the compound and descended from the jeep.
‘Same time tomorrow, Sahr.’
‘See you then, sir.’
When he had driven off waving, Sam said, ‘Why did you call him sir?’
‘Sahr, not sir. It means first-born son in Krio, or is it Mende? I can’t remember.’
Fergus pretended to be a heathen, but he was more familiar with Simbako customs than he let on.
‘How come you knew that, but not about libation?’
‘Oh, I knew, I was just chancing it.’
‘How is it you've learned so much about the culture here?’
‘Don’t tell Tamba, but I was born in Simbako.’ He winked at her. ‘My father worked here when it was still a colony. I understand Krio and some Mende, but I pretend to be an ignorant Irishman. It works for me.’
Sam wasn’t sure how to take this revelation. There was more to Fergus than she had imagined.
‘And why are you here now?’
‘I’m on the trail of a diamond, an enormous one – the Star of Simbako.’
‘Alex is funding you?’
‘In a nutshell. I’ll get a cut of the eventual selling price if I find it.’
‘Are you even sure it exists?’
‘My father came across the diamond here in Fona. He told me all about it, but it’s been missing for years.’
‘What makes you believe it’s still here?’
‘It never reached the open market and the government have no record of it. If they had sold the diamond, it would have made headlines. Most people imagine it’s a myth. In a way, that’s ensured it is still missing.’
‘So why am I about to dig holes in a terrace which looks like someone had already mined it?’
‘For good relations. We need the Chief on our side. When you helped him in the airport, I presumed already you knew already. I didn’t realise you were just being nice.’
Sam couldn’t help laughing. ‘What a shocking revelation for you! Someone being kind without being paid for it.’
‘Don’t be cheeky or I’ll make you wear those shorts again.’
They both roared with laughter just as Fatima came out to call them in for supper. On hearing their merriment, she deflated on the spot as if she had been slapped. Sam wondered if she had a crush on Fergus.
‘Thank you. Just give us a minute to wash our hands,’ he said.
***
Fatimata stood in the kitchen, gripping the sideboard in fury and gulping back tears of jealousy. White slut! First, she found Sam in Mr Ned’s bedroom and now she was trying to seduce Mr Fergus, her Fergus. Fatimata had imagined it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to her. He must have noticed that he always got the best cuts of meat, the most carefully ironed shirts, the most ardent glances. But now her plans were in tatters. That woman in her tarty shorts had ruined everything. How could he find such a skinny woman attractive?
But Fatimata fought dirty. She bought a powerful juju from the witch doctor and he had promised her Sam would die. It had been expensive, but it would be worth it. The witchdoctor told her to have patience. Sam would pay and soon. She took a deep breath and rearranged her facial expression to neutral before putting the supper on the table.
Chapter VIII
After a hearty breakfast, Sam circled the porch to the back of the house in search of Dembo, the grumpy parrot. Cashews nestled in her pocket, taken from the Tupperware box in her suitcase where she kept her emergency rations. On a table beside the back steps sat a large, ornate and rusty cage. Inside it, the African Grey used a clawed foot to clean his head feathers. On hearing Sam approach, he fixed her with a beady eye, his toes suspended in mid-air between brush strokes. She made sure he was watching as she pulled a cashew out of her pocket, placing it carefully through the bars of the cage so it fell
into a white ceramic bowl at the bottom.
The cashew sat in the centre of the bowl in plain sight. The parrot took a moment to register its presence and then moved down from the perch by using its claws and beak to navigate the bars. It picked up the nut with a claw and examined it with the air of a connoisseur before popping it into its mouth, the purple tongue wrapping over it. Sam let out the breath she had been holding and dropped another nut into the bowl.
As she did, she said, ‘Sam’s the boss.’ The parrot fixed her with a beady stare, cocking his head on one side. ‘Sam’s the boss,’ she said again and dropped a second cashew into the cage.
She waited on the veranda for Sahr to arrive and take her to the terrace. A big smile lit up her face as he drove into the compound. Working in Africa had infected her with joy.
‘Why are you smiling?’ he asked her. ‘Are you happy, madam?’
‘Yes, I am.’
Sahr drove to the terrace, smiling in unison with Sam, his sunny good humour improved by having someone happy to drive about. Instead of going straight there, they stopped in town to buy two large sieves for washing the gravel from the pits. That they were on open sale and relatively cheap confirmed Sam's suspicions about the abundance of diamonds in the area. In her experience, artisanal mining signified good news for the grade of minerals in alluvial deposits. A classic sign of rich pickings was local people who could afford to mine small amounts by hand.
Tamba was waiting when they pulled up beside the river, hopping from foot to foot in agitation. She had not told him about buying the sieves.
‘Sorry, I’m late, Tamba. I bought some nice new sieves for us to use.’
‘We are all late. Someone has been here before us.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come with me,’ he said and headed towards the terrace.
Sahr followed them through the trees to where the workers stood. They stared at the ground as if afraid to catch Sam’s eye.
‘Good morning,’ she said and received a subdued reply from the men so enthusiastic the day before. She was about to question Tamba, but a glance at the terrace told her the whole story.
Broken stakes littered the ground and the grid, so carefully laid down the day before, had been destroyed. The perpetrators had also damaged the tapes, pulling them out from the reels and cutting them to pieces.
‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ said Tamba, who did not sound at all contrite. ‘Someone has destroyed our work. Maybe we should try somewhere else?’
His tone sounded wrong. He did not seem that concerned about the situation and there was something smug about the way he waited her answer. She refused to admit defeat. If the person who had done this formed part of their group, she wanted him to feel impotent against her will.
‘Don’t worry, Tamba. It’s not your fault. Perhaps some cattle got onto the terrace. It won’t take us long to redo it. Can you organise a guard for tonight to prevent it happening again?’
Irritation flashed across Tamba’s features. It should have been obvious to everyone that cows could not cut measuring tapes into pieces, but the rest of the crew seized on her explanation with relief and they all nodded and repeated it to each other.
‘You’re right. We’ll leave someone tonight. Let’s cut more stakes and start again.’
‘Sahr, can you take me back into town?’ said Sam, ignoring Tamba. ‘We need to buy a thirty-metre tape.’
***
By the time she returned, the workers had cut new stakes for the grid. They laid them out on the grass. She handed the tape to Tamba and sat in the shade while they set out the grid again. A pile of rocks rested under a big mango tree and she chose one that the abrasion of the river had smoothed into the shape of a lopsided armchair. She took out her notebook, but what could she write? The morning’s events preyed on her mind.
Why would someone remove the stakes? Who tried to slow the work down? Or perhaps they didn’t want foreigners working in their village? It was not unusual to encounter resistance from the authorities in the area being against the work and organising protests or fomenting resistance in community meetings. It was odd that someone should go against the orders of the Paramount Chief. Who could be that powerful?
The cracking of a twig behind her disturbed her train of thought. Adanna stepped out of the shadows, illuminating the grove in her bright wax-print dress. She had plaited the same material into her hair and drawn it together in a topknot. Not a single hair had the temerity to escape. Was Adanna as controlled as her coiffeur? Sam wanted to penetrate her regal exterior and find out who hid in that shell.
‘Hello,’ she said, ‘what are you doing down here?’
Adanna gasped. Sam realised that Adanna’s eyes had not adjusted to the light and that she had not seen her sitting on the stones.
‘Gosh, I didn’t see you there,’ said Adanna, recovering, but not so fast that Sam missed the real fear that crossed the mask-like calm of her face. ‘I thought you’d have finished for the day.’ A lie and not a great one. Sam decided not to push her.
‘We are only getting started. Some cattle got onto the terrace and knocked over the stakes, but it shouldn’t take us long to reset the grid.’
‘You are sitting in my chair.’
‘I am?’
‘Well, not my chair, it belonged to my husband and now it’s mine.’
‘Your husband? I didn’t realise you’re married.’
‘I’m not. He’s dead, I think.’
Sam frowned.
‘Don’t you know?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
Anger flooded Adanna’s features and she turned to leave. Sam jumped up and grabbed her arm.
‘Don’t go. I’m sorry. I suffer from foot-in-mouth disease. It must be weird not to know something so important.’
‘That’s okay. It’s a long story.’
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ said Sam. ‘And I’ll get you some juice.’
***
Back at the house that evening, Sam lay in the hammock after supper, thinking about the conversation she had with Adanna.
‘Tell me about your husband. You must miss him.’
‘There’s not much to tell. We only married for a short time and we never lived together.’
‘What’s so special about this rock?’
‘Oh, we used to come here so we could be alone together and Pakuteh used to sit alone in the dark when he needed to think. There’s no privacy in the compound. Everyone lives on top of everyone else.’
‘When was this?’
‘About ten years ago.’ She smiled at the look on Sam’s face. ‘We were young. I was sixteen and he was only a year older.’
‘Did your father know?’
‘Oh, no, he wouldn’t have approved of me marrying so young. He got a lot of his ideas from being in the British army. It’s hard for me to fit in here because of it.’
‘What sort of ideas?’
‘Modern ones, not ideas that go down well here, but it led me to marry Pakuteh without telling my father. I don’t think it’s related to his disappearance.’
‘When did he disappear?’
‘The night the rebels came to Fona.’
‘The rebels came here? But …’ Sam remembered the villages they had driven through. Fona appeared intact. There was no outward sign of any looting or burning of houses.
Adanna’s eyes searched for escape, as if in panic. Sam decided that the rebels could wait for another day.
‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ said Sam.
‘No, they must have killed him. He wouldn’t have left me.’
‘I’m so sorry. Are you still single?’
‘Yes, no one will marry me now.’
Sam's ignorance of the customs in Simbako prevented her asking more questions. She guessed that it had something to do with virginity, but she was not indiscreet enough to ask such an intimate question. She stored
the knowledge for further investigation.
‘They must be mad. Most men dream of marrying a princess.’
Adanna changed the subject. ‘Why are they digging here?’
‘Your father gave us this terrace to do exploration.’
‘My father? But …’ An expression of bewilderment crossed her face and she seemed about to speak. But she changed her mind, leaving Sam frustrated. ‘I’ve got to go now.’ She stood up. ‘We’ll talk again,’ she said and walked away.
Sam waved at her departing back. She realised the more she knew the less she understood the world and the weird customs people had. That Adanna had sabotaged the grid seemed unlikely.
Ah! She had forgotten to ask Adanna about the little bag of salt she found hidden in her pillowcase. She would find out what it meant later.
***
The next morning Sam experienced déjà vu. The overall damage was limited, except for a bump on the guard's head, as she had taken the precaution of transporting the tape and other equipment home from the terrace in the jeep. However, the work could not progress if this campaign of disruption continued, so she told Tamba to send the men home. She returned to the compound to ask Fergus to set up a meeting with the Chief.
‘Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?’ said Fergus.
‘You were busy and I thought it might be a one off, so I didn’t bother,’ said Sam.
‘I’m not sure what the craic is. Someone doesn’t want us to dig here.’
‘Maybe the Chief can tell us.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he can, but whether he will is another question all together.’
‘I’ll be ready in a minute. Tell Sahr to wait.’
Sam saw a glimpse of feathers at the corner of the house and realised that Dembo was lurking in hope of getting a cashew.
She obliged and said, ‘Sam’s the boss,’ as she dropped a few on the floor in sight of the bird, before withdrawing to the front of the house.
‘Get a move on.’ Fergus must have been waiting about ten seconds, so patience was certainly not a virtue for him. Sam didn’t mind. He was rude to everyone. She liked to feel included. The Chief might tell them more though if she was the one who asked.