Drugs to Forget

by Martin Granger

  Joseph shouted out of the window. ‘Just making sure that this asphalt won’t crumble into the river. It would be a hell of a job to get your truck out if it slipped in. I think it’s all right but tell Farai to take a run at it, and he should get across okay.’

  The Toyota slowly eased its way out of the gulley rupturing a few pieces of tarmac under its tyres.

  ‘A run at it?’ Farai didn’t seem sure.

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘On your head then,’ said Farai, slipping the clutch.

  The truck wheels spun and it tilted headlong into the wadi. The flatbed with its load was far heavier than the jeep. The concrete and bitumen started to crunch under the weight. Farai hesitated.

  ‘Keep going,’ shouted Nathalie. ‘We’re slipping sideways.’

  Farai put his foot down. The vehicle lurched forward, a rear wheel sliding off the road. Mike turned to look out of the back window.

  ‘The kit’s slipping, more gas Farai!’

  Farai managed to get the truck into a lower gear, the front wheels spun and then gripped the subsiding road. With one last effort they climbed out of the basin and up onto the other side.

  ‘Hope there’s another way back,’ said Tom, looking at the devastation behind them. ‘No vehicle’s going to cross that for a while.’

  ‘We’ll worry about that later,’ said Nathalie, climbing out of the truck again. ‘Meanwhile, we’ve got to repack that equipment, so why don’t Mike and I use the opportunity to film our “jeep repair” scene.’

  ‘Nearly replaced by the “crew-truck repair scene”,’ snorted Chris. ‘I imagine you won’t need any lights here so Tom and I will rejig the gear whilst you lot take your shots.’

  Joseph wasn’t keen on the delay but, when Nathalie explained that their adventure in the ditch had moved the equipment around on the back of their transport, he agreed to take part in the re-enactment. He pulled the jeep onto a nearby verge and propped up the bonnet with a stick. Mike asked him to lean over the engine with a spanner and pretend that he was fixing something. It didn’t look convincing.

  ‘Anyone smoke?’ shouted Nathalie.

  ‘I do,’ shouted Chris, still wrestling with the generator on the back of the truck. ‘Why, have you run out of cigarettes?’

  ‘Not for me, but can you come over here and light one up for a moment?’

  Chris had been long enough around this crazy girl not to ask questions. First, tell a whole village to stop cooking and now, have a smoke on the side of the road. He left Tom with the strapping and walked over to the jeep.

  ‘Right, take your lit cigarette and crouch down behind that wheel.’

  He did as he was asked.

  ‘Head down more so we can’t see you, that’s it. Now blow as much smoke as you can into the engine. Better. Look okay to you Mike?’

  Mike peered through the lens. ‘Looks like a jeep with a blown gasket,’ he said. ‘Now if you can get Joseph to tinker a little I think we’ve cracked it.’

  ‘Old commercials’ trick,’ explained Nathalie to Tom when they were on their way again. ‘You remember those ads when someone lifts the lid on a steaming terrine of peas? Done the same way. A quick puff on a cigarette over some frozen peas, close the top quickly, and you’ve got ready-made steam. Believe me, you don’t want to eat any of that food after it’s been in a TV programme.’

  The rest of the journey was uneventful. Plenty of ruts and potholes to navigate but no more riverbeds. At one point their narrow side-track crossed a large dirt highway. Locals were using the intersection for a makeshift market. Kids were selling papaya on a stall under a battered parasol, and some women were strolling up and down with enamel bowls laden with okra and sweet potato on their heads. This was a bit odd as there didn’t seem to be any customers. The blare of a horn and a cloud of dust announced the answer. A cream and green 1950s single-decker bus drew up at the crossroads. It couldn’t have been more crowded, people on the roof, hanging out of the windows, one even perched on the bonnet. A few people fell out and strolled towards the papaya stall. The women with vegetables walked up and down alongside the bus. Nathalie suddenly twigged the reason why they had the bowls on their heads. Arms thrust out of the bus windows and grabbed the sweet potatoes. Notes, or in some cases fruit, were stuck in the bowls in exchange. The scene was so colourful Nathalie couldn’t resist getting a shot. After the wadi incident Mike had insisted on holding the camera on his lap. It didn’t take long for them to jump out and film the scene. Joseph was getting impatient.

  ‘One last shot,’ pleaded Nathalie. ‘That papaya stall is something else. Tom, give one of those kids a dollar and ask him to buy a papaya.’

  The boy, about ten, took the dollar with suspicion but seeing the camera, meekly walked up to the stall and pretended to buy a piece of fruit from his friend.

  ‘Thank you, you can keep the dollar,’ called Nathalie.

  The small boy ran up to her. ‘Have you got HD video playback on that thing?’ he asked eagerly.

  Nathalie shook her head in disbelief; technology gets everywhere.

  Twenty-two

  By the time they had reached the broad river floodplain Nathalie felt like they had driven over most of the African interior. The three guys in the back had fallen asleep but she felt that she should stay awake to keep Farai company. It had been hard going and she could see that he was getting tired.

  ‘Are we there yet?’ she joked.

  ‘You tell me,’ yawned Farai without any hint of humour.

  The jeep in front suddenly pulled up at the edge of the road.

  ‘Perhaps this is it,’ said Nathalie looking around.

  But no, it was a false alarm. Joseph was pointing out of the window towards the shallow meandering river, brown sludge moving slowly across the landscape of endless grass and stubble.

  She followed the directing finger to see three small boys shepherding cattle through the water.

  ‘Sensed you might need a break,’ said Joseph walking up to their truck. ‘Before we have a bite to eat I thought you might be interested in this scene.’

  Nathalie studied the diminutive cattle drivers. Two of them must have been only eleven or twelve and the other, well he looked about six.

  ‘A bit young for that sort of job.’

  ‘Common enough, rural area, not a school within miles. They grow up with it.’

  ‘You didn’t seem keen on me filming those other scenes. What’s so special about this?’

  ‘Bilharzia; we are carrying a vaccine for it. Imagined you would want to show what we’re trying to prevent.’

  Nathalie waited for the explanation.

  Joseph gestured again towards the river. ‘Typical breeding ground for the freshwater snails that harbour the larvae of schistosomes. These rivers are full of these nasty parasitic worms. They burrow into your skin and lay eggs in your gut. Kids like this can have them in their insides for years.’

  Nathalie made a face. ‘What’s it do to them?’

  ‘Diarrhoea, blood in the urine, dermatitis, you name it; in extreme cases, central nervous disease. Only second to malaria in this part of the world. So if you’re looking for a scene of how these kids catch it, there it is in front of you.’

  Nathalie looked shocked. She had got most of the local background shots she wanted for her documentary, but this information made her want to make Geoff’s palliative immunisation video really worth it.

  She called out to Tom, ‘Tom, get those kids to go back over the river with their cattle, tell them we want to film them.’

  The children didn’t seem at all perturbed to guide their cows back across the waterway. Natural little actors.

  Chris unloaded the camera tripod from the truck and set it up along one side of a small bridge. The midday sun was perfect and shards of light caught the movement of water as the cattle ploughed through the brown river. Mike raised his thumb as he took the shot. It was obviously looking pretty good.

  ‘Tom?’ asked Na
thalie. ‘Can you persuade them to do it again? I’d like to do some tight shots.’

  ‘I thought there were snails in that river. Won’t we be putting them at more risk of bilharzia?’

  ‘Tom,’ repeated Nathalie, with a stare.

  Tom did as he was told. The small boys turned their cattle around and drove them back through the river as if they did this roundabout activity every day. This time Mike picked off close-ups of the kids’ faces, feet and the legs of the cattle. Spliced into the wide shot in the edit they would make a vivid story.

  ‘And cut,’ said Nathalie, running up to the boys. ‘Thank you so much, you were great, real stars.’

  The three children looked up at her with beaming faces. Nathalie dug into her shoulder bag. She pulled out two packets of ballpoint pens and a wallet of cheap coloured felt tips.

  ‘Here, prizes for being so brilliant.’ She gave the pens to the two older boys and the felt tips to the youngest. ‘Now you better get going, I hope we haven’t made you late.’

  The cattle were already meandering onto the other side of the bank and the boys didn’t seem in a hurry to catch them up so Nathalie rejoined the crew and helped them repack the gear. Tom broke out the sandwiches and they sat down on the riverbank to have lunch.

  ‘Hey, look at those kids,’ laughed Farai.

  Nathalie peered across the river. The two older boys were setting upon the little six-year-old and grabbing what she could only imagine were his coloured felt tips.

  ‘Poor mite,’ she said. ‘Talk about law of the jungle.’

  Farai was still laughing ‘I wouldn’t worry, I expect they’ll get their due deserts when they get home. Imagine what their mother will say when she hears their story. I can see it all now. “Yeah yeah, some strange white people in the middle of the bush, now where did you really steal them from?”’

  Nathalie looked crestfallen. ‘You don’t think really… I was only trying to…’

  ‘I wouldn’t give it another thought Nathalie. They had a great time and if you’re still worrying about the snails in the river, they use that crossing every day. If they were going to catch bilharzia they’ll have got it by now.’

  They were interrupted by a roar from Mike. ‘What in the hell is in these sandwiches?’

  Nathalie stared down at the sandwich in her hand and peeled the two thin pieces of white bread apart. One single leaf of wilted lettuce. She saw Tom sloping off towards the truck.

  ‘Tom! Next time you choose the bloody vegetarian option you can opt us out.’

  The immunisation station was a riot of colour. Women in bandanna headdresses, children in bright clothes that looked like they had just been purchased from Mothercare. White bonnets, little floral frocks, multi-coloured shorts. The families were crouched patiently under the shade of an enormous Musasa tree. As the outreach jeep arrived they rose to their feet, clapped their hands and began to sing. An amazing unaccompanied song. In unison, harmonised and punctuated by warbling trills. It was electrifying. Shivers ran down Nathalie’s spine.

  ‘Mike and Farai, grab your gear and record everything that moves,’ she shouted. As the two men rushed to their equipment Nathalie turned to Joseph.

  ‘Why and what are they singing?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s what they do. It’s a health song. They are singing in Shona, “Be Zimbabwean, keep healthy, keep happy.”’

  ‘It’s extraordinary,’ said Nathalie. ‘Here in the bush, miles from anywhere, a complete Zimbabwean choir.’

  ‘We get it everywhere we go,’ explained Joseph. ‘A cultural thing, you know.’

  Nathalie didn’t know, it was a new experience for her. She crouched down under the tree behind her crew and took in the melody of the swaying crowd.

  ‘Miss Thompson,’ a voice came from behind her. ‘Miss Thompson, welcome to Masbela. We were afraid that you might not make it.’

  Nathalie turned to see Nurse Sue Jones in a starched white uniform. She held out her hand and Nathalie shook it warmly.

  ‘Can’t say the journey was without incident but with Joseph’s good guidance we made it.’ She turned to the singing masses. ‘Isn’t this wonderful.’

  ‘I suppose for you it must be quite a sight, but we must press on. If you follow me I’ll show you where we have set up our medical centre.’

  The so-called medical centre was a trestle table covered with a tarpaulin cloth and a macabre butcher’s hook-looking thing strung up from a large branch of the tree.

  ‘Weighing scales,’ explained Joseph seeing Nathalie’s concerned face. ‘The kids hold on to the hook and we take the measurement off the dial.’

  He instantly demonstrated this by picking up a small child and held her so that she could reach the instrument. She grabbed on to the hook with both hands and dangled there whilst Joseph peered at the swinging needle and when it had stopped jotted down her weight.

  ‘We weigh them all, check their health cards and then give them their jabs. Any children with particular problems will be looked over by Nurse Jones. I’ve explained to everyone what you’re doing here so if you’d like to set up we’ll begin.’

  The clinic, if that’s what you could call it, was very efficient. Queues of vibrantly dressed women, babes in arms, lined up before the table. Each child clung on to the hook and was weighed by Joseph before being immunised by Nurse Jones. Many of the children were bemused by this activity but others, not expecting the sharp needle in their arm, burst into tears. One little boy, with huge teardrops in his eyes suddenly caught the camera lens. It worked like a magic spell; the tears were arrested and his eyes widened with curiosity. Mike captured the whole scene in close-up.

  ‘One for the final cut,’ he mouthed quietly.

  The queues of mothers and babies stretched for tens of metres and when Nathalie had obtained enough material she looked beyond them to the enclosure of conical thatched dwellings in the distance. There was no sign of Lloyd and she wondered if she would have to venture into the village on her own. If she was going to get these terrorists on film now was the time, when Nurse Sue Jones and Joseph were engrossed in weighing and immunising children.

  She was startled by a gravelly voice.

  ‘Are you Miss Nathalie?’

  She spun around to see a diminutive ancient-looking man; wrinkled face, one solitary front tooth. Where he had come from she had no idea, he just seemed to appear from nowhere.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you startled me. Yes, that’s me, why do you ask?’

  ‘Been asked to give you a message.’

  ‘Oh, who by?’

  ‘He tells me you know his name. Newspaperman, you have to tell me his name before I give you the message.’

  Nathalie looked around, this was really weird. Some kind of village elder in the middle of the bush with a mysterious message. Then she twigged; it had to be Lloyd. He wouldn’t want the information landing in the wrong hands.

  ‘It’s Lloyd,’ she said. ‘He’s asked you to give me a message?’

  The man nodded and pointed towards the cluster of huts. ‘My home is in the kraal. The men you have come to see are there.’

  ‘Where’s Lloyd?’

  ‘He can’t come,’ the man gave a wide grin, his single tooth protruding bizarrely. ‘He left me dollars and the message. You can have my house until morning.’

  Nathalie shaded her eyes with her hand and peered towards the kraal. ‘How do I know which hut is yours?’ There was no reply so she turned to ask him again, but he had disappeared as silently as he had arrived.

  Tom was helping Chris load some of the gear back onto the truck when he heard Nathalie shouting and waving her arms.

  ‘No Tom, over here. We need that kit for our village stuff. Remember, some local colour shots and interviews with the residents about the immunisation programme.’

  Tom realised that the announcement was meant for Nurse Jones and Joseph rather than him so he put his thumbs up and made his way towards Nathalie.

  ‘We’re on then?’ he a
sked as he came alongside.

  ‘Yes, I want you to ask the guys to bring the gear to the village. Those huts are windowless, just a small door and a hole in the roof for the fire smoke, so they will be pretty dark inside. The generator and a single redhead should do it.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Tom. ‘You asked me to keep the outreach group out of the way but they look pretty busy, shall I come with you?’

  ‘Sorry Tom, I know you’re keen to watch but I can’t risk someone nosing around. They’re getting through these kids pretty quickly and when they’re finished you need to keep them away from the location. Besides, the less of us in that hut the better. Don’t want them getting stage fright. Just me, Mike and Farai; not even Chris. Once he has set up the generator I’ll ask him to wait outside.’

  Tom tried to hide his disappointment but it was obvious that he was unhappy. ‘Fine, I’ll tell Mike what you want and hang around the immunisation team until you’ve finished’

  ‘Good, and Tom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s important. Keep them away from those huts at any cost.’

  ‘Of course, I get the message.’

  Nathalie waited whilst Tom sloped off to give the crew their instructions. She watched him whisper into Mike’s ear and then walk over to the immunisation table. He sat on the chair besides Nurse Jones and started to ask her questions as she was immunising the children. Whilst everyone was occupied Mike and the crew casually carried the equipment towards Nathalie.

  ‘Okay,’ she said quietly. ‘The location is over there, in the kraal. I’ve no idea which hut it is but just act normal as if we are looking for local volunteers to talk about the vaccination scheme. I’m sure we’ll soon find them.’

  They strolled towards the village. Looking back Nathalie saw that Sue Jones and Joseph were so engrossed in their tasks that they didn’t even notice them go. The kraal was a cluster of about a dozen mud-daubed shelters contained within a palisade of roughly hewn branches. There was a newly constructed Blair latrine on the fringe of the gathering of huts, a grey concrete circle with an opening like the old Parisian pissoirs. Elsewhere there were scatterings of spindly cacti and brown-tinged crops. The crew stood at the entrance and waited for Nathalie’s instructions. The nearest hut was set upon an area of bare earth. A portly man, a yellow shirt hanging over his trousers, was leaning against a rusty makeshift table tinkering with something. He turned away as Nathalie approached. Beckoning the crew to follow her she moved further into the village. Outside the next hut she found a woman carrying a child on her back filling a hessian sack with grain. Nathalie walked up to her and took a guess.