Mission

by Philip Spires

  “I shall come again in two weeks,” she said in English. She meant to Thitani.

  Boniface smiled and nodded, having not misunderstood. He was deeply and quietly happy.

  She eyed him curiously for a moment and then said, “Will you buy me some tea? And my bus fare back to Kitui town?”

  After at first being slightly taken aback by the request, Boniface reacted quickly, clearly thinking that it was the least he could do after such a momentously wonderful night. He then took a twenty-shilling note from his pocket and handed it to her. She smiled and, after taking it with thanks, dressed and placed it securely in the left cup of her bra.

  She will have to iron that note back into shape by the time she gets back to Kitui, thought Boniface.

  “Until two weeks then?” she asked as he showed her out of the shop’s back door.

  He nodded. How would he manage to wait that long? Then, with a strange formality, they shook hands and she was gone in an instant. Now safe as well as proud, he went back inside and surprised himself by immediately suffering fears that she might never return. He had hoped to go to Migwani for mass that morning and so, after grooming his hair with a plastic comb taken from an open cardboard box on a near bare shelf, he locked the shop behind him and set off on his walk. His head was high; his stride long, confident and contented.

  When Boniface’s pass in mathematics was confirmed by the expectant congratulations of Father Patrick’s personal visit to the Mutisya household, a number of old and partially suppressed conflicts began to reappear. Communication between father and son immediately diminished to the level of mere greeting and stayed there. Boniface, of course, began to make preparations for the new term at the seminary that was due to begin in September. He formally submitted his notice of resignation to the headmaster of Thitani Primary School and thus set the entire town into a gentle but noticeable turmoil, since everyone knew that as a result their children would probably have no teacher until after Christmas, when the next batch of school leavers and therefore potential untrained teachers would be released by the examination system.

  After all, why should Boniface, who had received a good salary from the school for more than a year simply be able to leave without finding a replacement for himself? - and in the middle of a school year as well, with CPE, Certificate of Primary Education exams only a month away...

  Boniface, however, took no notice of the gossip that filled the town. Neither his heart nor his mind had any time to digress from what was still the sole aim of his life. It was now July, and only a month from his departure for the seminary in Nairobi. And then the bubble finally burst.

  Thitani Primary School, like all other schools in the District, had just begun its holidays, and so Boniface was again regularly helping his father in the shop. That day, however, was a Sunday, and therefore a market day in the town. As a consequence, and unlike other days of the week, a large number of people wandered the hundred-yard length of the town’s main and only street, intent on at least visiting every shop to view its wares. Thus, with morning service over, Boniface bid Father Michael goodbye and, after collecting all his choirboys’ robes together and stowing them away in his classroom cupboard, he made his way toward the market place to fulfil his obligation to his father.

  There was quite a crowd in the Mutisya shop, though clearly from the blank depressed expression on his father’s face, no one was buying anything. It was at that moment that the chirping tones of Sub-Chief Kimanzi Ngao silenced all the chatter and set Boniface at the centre of all attention.

  “Bwana Mutisya!” he shouted. His subsequent pause created both the silence and the drama he needed. “Your son has raped my daughter.” The silence was heavier and more threatening now.

  After casting a condemnatory but frightened glance toward his son, Julius Mutisya, still remarkably placid, eyed Ngao with suspicion. “You say he has raped your daughter?” he said calmly. “When did this happen?”

  “When?” screamed the old man. Several people jumped with fright at the vehemence with which the word was spoken. Sub-Chief Ngao’s face was almost glowing with anger. “When?” he repeated even louder. “He has been raping her every two weeks for the last six months! And he has been doing it right here on the floor of your shop!” Here he pointed defiantly to the spot where he himself stood. A babble of disgusted murmuring rose from the assembled witnesses, who almost in unison stepped aside to examine the nondescript patch of offending concrete indicated by the insistent thin-air prodding of the old man’s cane.

  “Sub-Chief Ngao,” said Julius Mutisya, trying his best to retain all manifestations of overt respect for the other’s position, “please bring your daughter to my house tonight. We will discuss the matter.”

  Then, after offering his thanks, the wiry old man bowed and stalked out of the shop, punctuating his still sturdy stride with neat clicks of his rough walking stick on the bare concrete floor. He was satisfied that the public claim he had made had been dutifully and publicly acknowledged by Julius Mutisya. As for the son, that was neither his concern nor his responsibility now.

  Boniface fixed his gaze on his father, but the other simply went about his business, apparently neither surprised nor ruffled by the incident. It was understandable. A man of dignity like his father ought to react that way. Even if there were recriminations to be made now that their secret was made public, they would surely be done in private in front of the girl’s father and not here, in full public view. So stunned was Boniface initially by the dreamlike events that he did not even notice the smiles and nudges of a couple of his peers on their way out of the shop, as they followed in Sub-Chief Ngao’s wake. Clearly they looked upon Boniface’s position with some envy, since, like all the young men in the town, they regarded the prospect of marrying Josephine Ngao as something very desirable indeed.

  A few minutes later, however, he was behind the counter, doing the job he always did as if nothing had happened. His father would surely sort out the confusion with Sub-Chief Ngao. The girl was no more than a common prostitute and her father ought to know that.

  Within three months of that day, Boniface and Josephine were married. That evening meeting which Boniface had imagined would settle the matter once and for all in the event did no more than agree a bride price of fifteen thousand shillings; itself a compromise fee which, in Ngao’s eyes reflected both his daughter’s immediate and potential worth and which, in Mutisya’s eyes, would not prove to be too great a burden on his son’s finances and would therefore enable him to contribute also, out of his teacher’s salary, to the school fees for his younger brother. Instalments were worked out there and then and, on payment of the first one, the wedding day was fixed. Though the idea of running away to Nairobi did cross Boniface’s mind, he was eventually far too sensible a young man to give the option much credence. How could he take the vows of a priest seriously with this behind him? This matter would surely have to be settled first, but, contrary to his expectations, the passing of time merely complicated the matter and instead of reaching an agreement with Ngao to pay damages and forget the matter, Boniface found that his father merely accepted the other’s words and played whatever game he demanded.

  “Damages would be the same as the bride price. Who would want a bride such as my daughter now that she is no longer a virgin?”

  “She wasn’t ever a virgin... not even on our first time.”

  “She was certainly no virgin after you had raped her.”

  “I didn’t rape her. If anything she raped me.”

  “Aiee!!”

  “And she asked for money the next morning.”

  “You must have offered it first. We are poor people and it is easy for a salary earner like yourself to buy just what you want. When a person can buy things, he thinks he can buy anything.”

  And so the wrangles continued until, by the time the appointed day arrived, a thousand shillings had changed hands
and, whether spurred by sheer resignation, social pressure, default or still latent desire, Boniface and Josephine stood side by side facing the makeshift altar which Father Michael had erected as usual in the schoolroom which served as Thitani’s parish church. And so they were married, for better or worse.

  Of course, Julius had previously spoken with his son’s headmaster to obtain a reassurance that his job as an untrained teacher was still there for the taking. Obviously there was still no one else in this small place who could possibly do the job, so there was no problem to be envisaged there. In desperation, during the intervening period, Boniface had visited Father Michael and implored him to come to Thitani to speak to both his own and the girl’s father, but the priest had refused, saying that he, Boniface, should settle what he had brought upon himself. There was no help to be found. He was quite alone, and therefore well beaten.

  At the end of the wedding ceremony, Father Michael’s congratulations sounded more like condolences aimed purely at Boniface, almost publicly regretting the demise of what might have been and yet, at the same time, expediently praising the young man’s good fortune to be marrying such a beautiful bride. From within the solitude of his own thoughts, Boniface found that he could only laugh in reply to the priest’s words, since the unreality of the whole affair still prevented his full appreciation of the permanence of the change. This episode of marriage, in his eyes, was still merely another complication and, just as his initial failure in mathematics had delayed his plans by a year, then also this problem would turn out in the long run to be no more than a temporary hitch. In the event, however, his wedding was to turn out to be only the start of his problems.

  ***

  In her final year at secondary school, Josephine Ngao found herself a member of a small group of pupils in whom the nuns invested their complete trust, respect and even, to a small extent, power. It was a position of privilege she would never again in her life enjoy, though at the time she believed this experience was to be but the beginning in miniature of what she might come to expect as she grew older. By virtue of her continuing education, it was surely almost inevitable that one day she would be invested with ever more responsibility and therefore ever increasing personal stature and worth. This particular year was to be the culmination of eleven others of determined effort, not only on her part but also on that of her whole family, who had supported her throughout her time in school. This, then, was to be the final hurdle beyond which the way would be clear for as far as the eye could see.

  “It’s five minutes to nine.”

  Josephine Ngao looked up from her studies of the Saint Lawrence Seaway to see Maria, her friend and fellow prefect propping open the classroom door. “I’m coming.”

  “What are you studying tonight?” asked Maria as she crossed the room to her friend’s desk.

  “Geography. Have you used this book yourself? It is very difficult to understand.” Josephine closed her textbook to display the cover to Maria.

  She shook her head and smiled. “I have not even started my Geography yet. Sister has been giving me extra mathematics all term. It seems to take up all my prep time every night. I have to do it because Sister takes my book every morning after assembly to check it.”

  As Maria spoke, Josephine placed her books carefully inside her desk and then secured the lid with a padlock through its wire hasp. “Right. I’m ready. You go off and do Saint Peter and I’ll do Saint Paul. Did you ask Sister?”

  “Yes. She says it will be all right.”

  “Good. I’ll see you by the main gate in five minutes.”

  Once outside the two girls set off across the school compound in different directions. Knowing that she was already late for her duty, Josephine ran to the open doorway of St. Paul’s dormitory.

  “Lights out in two minutes!” Framed in the doorway, standing completely alone and apart from the rest, she possessed a quite different presence from anyone else there. Not only did she silently seem to demand attention, she also received it and, thus, her words had an immediate effect. Where a moment before there had been complete chaos, there was suddenly a hushed and perfect order. All talking and laughing ceased and the resulting silence which replaced it was punctuated only by the comic slaps of plastic sandals on the concrete floor as each of the thirty girls took up her individually appointed position at the foot of her bed, facing into the room. By the time Josephine had sought and found a green-backed exercise book in the small wooden cabinet by the door, all was quiet.

  Satisfied that she was ready to begin, Josephine took hold of the pen which swung from a string knotted through a hole near the spine of the book and turned to face the forest of two-deck iron bunks which filled St. Paul’s dormitory. Then, walking slowly down the length of the room as she spoke, she called each girl’s name in turn and entered a tick in the book only when the summoned replied.

  With the last name duly called and acknowledged, Josephine retraced her steps and replaced the book in the cabinet, before again turning to face her assembly. “All right. You can go to your beds now.” The words were almost sung, with a change of key towards the end.

  The relative silence was suddenly shattered by the creaking of springs and the scratching of loose bolts in metal frames as members of St. Paul’s took eagerly to their beds for the night. Josephine waited patiently for the commotion to subside, and only when she had re-established total silence did she try to continue. “Now I want you all to listen very carefully. I have an announcement to make and there is not much time. First, I have to visit Mr. O’Brien for extra tuition in Geography this evening...” A few half suppressed sniggers greeted the remark, prompting Josephine to peer accusingly down the row of beds in a vain attempt to identify the culprits. She knew who they were, but elected to say nothing when the minor disturbance quickly waned.

  “Secondly,” said Josephine with calculated vigour, “I shall leave you, Regina, in charge of the dormitory until I get back. I ask everyone to remember that if you make a noise, we will all spend tomorrow on manual. Sister has said that there is a lot of grass to cut in the compound after the rain and she is looking for volunteers. If you make noise in the dormitory, you will be those volunteers and I will have to miss all my lessons to see that you do the work properly. If that happened, I would not be pleased and I would therefore make sure that everyone worked her hardest.”

  Valiantly, Josephine tried to harden the edge of her soft, slow voice with the sternness her authority should warrant, but she knew that if the girls were to follow her advice, they would do so out of their fear of Sister Augustus, not out of any respect for her, their prefect.

  Before delivering what were clearly to be her parting words, she took several steps down the central aisle between the bunks and turned to face one particular girl. “Remember, Regina,” she said, pointing quite rudely at the girl, “that you are in charge tonight.” It was a serious, but also slightly theatrical gesture, carrying undertones of meaning, which clearly many of the other girls were able to interpret.

  And with that curt reminder her job was complete. After bidding everyone goodnight, she closed the door of Saint Paul’s behind her and strode off across the school compound beneath the shining silver of a resplendent full moon. Within a minute the laboured clatter of a single cylinder Diesel engine behind the science laboratory was stilled by an anonymous hand and the sprawling buildings of Mutune Girls’ (note the position of the apostrophe, girls) Secondary School were plunged into immediate and complete darkness.

  Lying in her lower bunk, Regina waited for a respectable time before making her own move. It was about five minutes in all, long enough for most of the simply frivolous after dark comments to have subsided, before she enacted the next part of the deception which by then had become no more than mundane for the residents of St. Paul’s. The various rattles and creaks which accompanied even the most careful of her calculated movements raised half-muted giggles from those
amongst the girls who knew all too well what was happening and wide-eyed interest from those who merely thought they did.

  It was with nothing less than practised efficiency that Regina first vacated her bed and then placed her rolled up dressing gown and clothes and then finally her pillow beneath the single sheet which covered her foam mattress. Then, without either a response to the stirring about her or even a moment’s hesitation, she made her way unerringly in the dark to the head of the dormitory and climbed into the lower bunk on the immediate left of the doorway.

  Regina, like all the other girls, would be sound asleep by the time Sister Augustus came to check that Josephine’s prefect’s privileges had not been misused. Permission to visit Mr. O’Brien was only ever granted on the understanding that the girls in question would be in bed by ten o’clock at the latest. If the agreement were broken by any of the parties, by Mr. O’Brien or any of his permitted visitors, Sister Augustus would see to it that the privilege was withdrawn and would certainly punish all concerned, even Mr. O’Brien, who would probably look upon such a proposition with more trepidation than any of Mutune School’s girls.

  Sister was undoubtedly very strict indeed and furthermore was renowned for her ferocity. But imagination had never been one of her virtues. Thus Regina could sleep soundly knowing that when the door of St. Paul’s inched open at ten to allow the most discreet and least disturbing view of the interior, her body, anonymous in the darkness, would become that of Josephine Ngao in Sister’s eyes. Augustus was certainly as fierce as a lion, but, like that very beast itself, she was always easily fooled.