by Haley Hill
While he drove us to an undisclosed location, Jengo prepped us for our meeting by explaining Dr Menzi’s eccentricities, or at least those beyond seeking counsel from a pet warthog.
‘He doesn’t like to be interrupted when he is speaking,’ Jengo began. ‘He is a man of few words.’ Jengo raised his hands to the sky. ‘But the words he chooses are powerful. They can grant us life, like the rains, we say in Swahili.’
I nodded, relieved that his hands were now back on the wheel.
Victoria rolled her eyes, then shot a sideways glance at Matilda, who was still staring at her. Victoria smoothed down her ponytail.
Jengo leaned back and patted Matilda on the head. Then he glanced at Victoria. ‘She senses your doubt,’ he said.
Victoria sighed. ‘She’s a hog. She probably senses the undigested breakfast in my stomach.’
Jengo chuckled. ‘You have much to learn,’ he said.
Victoria let out an impatient sigh. ‘So what research has this doctor done? How is he an expert on love?’
Jengo chucked again. ‘He is no expert,’ he said. ‘He is a vehicle.’
‘A what?’ she mouthed at me.
‘A vessel, I mean. He is a vessel for wisdom.’ He threw his hands to the sky again. ‘It is passed through him to others.’
Victoria screwed up her face. ‘A vessel for tourist money, more like.’
Soon after, Jengo screeched to a halt by a dusty copse. ‘We are here,’ he said, turning round to face us. ‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘You must remove your shirts. He likes bare breasts. It’s a tribal honour.’
Victoria looked up from her phone with a pained expression. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, then pointed to me. ‘Although this one doesn’t mind getting her kit off.’
I glanced at Victoria and then at Jengo. He grinned, then started to laugh. ‘I am joking,’ he said. ‘Like British humour, yes?’
I smirked. Matilda grunted.
Jengo jumped out of the Jeep, still smiling. ‘Come on,’ he said.
Victoria followed, smoothing the creases out of her safari suit. Matilda and I exited at the same time, almost becoming wedged in the footwell as we did. Matilda grunted and made a beeline for Victoria. Victoria sidestepped her a few times, then looked around for assistance.
Jengo ushered us through the trees and into a small clearing. There was a large tortoise and a cluster of mud huts. I looked around expecting to find an elderly man with a feathery headdress and bones coming out of his nose, but Jengo ushered us further along, past the mud huts to a large building with a high stone wall around the side. He pressed a button on some kind of entryphone system.
There were some exchanged mumblings in Swahili and then the door opened. We followed Jengo into a stunning marble courtyard, at the centre of which was a clear blue pool. Matilda trotted up to a daybed under a shady palm, hoisted herself up and then flopped down onto her side. Jengo walked through an archway and held out his arms.
‘Dr Menzi,’ he said. ‘How are you, my friend?’
I peered around the pillar of the archway to see Jengo high-fiving a man resembling a cross between Snoop Dog and a Roman gladiator. He was wearing furry loincloth, diamond-encrusted hoops in his ears and had a leopard skin draped over his shoulders. At the tail end of his brotherhood greeting, he caught sight of me watching. Victoria tightened her ponytail.
‘Welcome,’ he said, swaggering towards us. I half expected him to launch into a 50 Cent–style rap about his crib:
You can find me in the sun, bottle full of rum. I’m into big pigs. I ain’t into making love.
‘Come give me a hug,’ he said, bypassing me and heading straight towards Matilda. She rolled off the sunlounger and trotted towards him before nuzzling his loincloth.
Victoria screwed up her nose.
Dr Menzi laughed. ‘It’s the fur she likes,’ he said.
Victoria held her hand up as though to halt any further explanation.
He smiled. ‘Can I get you any refreshments?’ he asked.
I stood silent for a moment, wondering if we hadn’t inadvertently wandered onto an Eddie Murphy film set.
‘Diet Coke?’ I asked, realising it was an odd request put to a Swahili witch doctor but at the same time thinking that, given the circumstances, it seemed entirely reasonable.
He smiled, then turned to Victoria.
She sat up. ‘Don’t suppose you have a Petit Chablis?’
He nodded. ‘Is 2009 OK?’
She stared at him as he backed away smiling.
When he was out of sight, and after Jengo had made his way outside, or inside, I hadn’t really noticed, Victoria pulled out her phone from one of the many pockets of her safari jacket and began tapping on the screen. After a moment, she stopped to read something and then looked up at me.
‘Dr Menzi,’ she said. ‘YouTube phenomenon, reached over ten-million views in the first week.’
I laughed. ‘Seriously?’
She scrolled down and read on, shaking her head. ‘Self-schooled sensation Dr Menzi Mandla Muti, the only surviving relative of the late Shaman Nkanyezi, Kenya’s most revered witch doctor, has been dubbed the unlikely saviour by a loyal and extensive online community of American college students.’
I sat down next to her and grabbed the phone. Just as I was reading about the college server crashing during millions of Napster-style frenzied downloads of Dr Menzi’s self-improvement videos, I suddenly heard the clinking of ice cubes in a glass behind me. It made me jump so I dropped the phone. Victoria lunged down to grab it but not before Matilda had snuffled it with her snout.
I looked up at Dr Menzi, who was grinning.
‘Drinks, ladies,’ he said, placing the tray on a table and taking a seat on the lounger next to us. I caught Victoria eyeing his six-pack and nudged her in the ribs.
‘So,’ he said rubbing his hands together and looking at the pool. ‘Fancy a dip?’
Victoria pulled down the hem of her jacket. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘We are here for answers.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Now I understand why you’re dressed like a Nazi.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘It’s safari chic,’ she said, then sniffed, ‘which, considering the setting, is infinitely more appropriate than your Flintstone pimp ensemble.’
He laughed. ‘If you say so, Miss Uppity.’ Then he handed her the glass of wine from the tray. ‘Although I doubt you’ll find many of the big five in my landscaped courtyard.’
Victoria snatched the glass and took a sip. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It seems you’re wearing two of them,’ she said, ‘and then there’s that ghastly hog.’ She gestured to Matilda, who was now sprawled at his feet.
Dr Menzi leaned over and scratched behind Matilda’s ear. Matilda glanced up and then rested her head back down with a sigh. ‘She’s telling me you need my help.’
Victoria spluttered her second gulp of wine out of her mouth. ‘Well, her porcine perception is clearly muddled,’ she said. Then she pointed at me. ‘Ellie is the one who needs your help.’
He turned to me and raised an eyebrow. ‘You do?’ he asked.
I nodded.
He glanced back to Victoria. ‘Those who know they need help concern me less than those who don’t.’
Victoria took another sip. ‘You know nothing about me,’ she said.
He looked up at the sky. The sun was slicing through the long leaves of the palm. ‘I know you’re married, recently separated. You have a daughter who you’ve failed to bond with because she is too much like you for you to love her. Your husband is a good man who made a mistake because he felt starved of love. You try to push people away because you think it stops you from getting hurt—’ he looked back down and took Victoria’s hand ‘—and after thirty-five years of life, you’ve failed to realise that letting people love you is the only way you will ever learn to love yourself.’
Victoria tensed. Then blinked. Then she blinked again. She looked at me. I shrugged m
y shoulders. Then she looked back at Dr Menzi.
‘Utter nonsense,’ she said, taking another glug of wine. ‘You could have gleaned all that from my Facebook page.’
Dr Menzi leaned forward and removed the glass from her hand. ‘When you care about yourself as much as you care for your friend,’ he said, glancing at me, and then back at her. ‘Only then will you begin to heal.’
Victoria snatched the glass back, downed the remainder of the wine, and then marched off, claiming she needed the bathroom.
Once she’d gone, I smiled at Dr Menzi. ‘Thank you,’ I said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘She didn’t need me to tell her that, though, did she? You could have said it instead.’
I frowned.
He continued. ‘You are less of a good friend than she.’
I sat up. ‘What?’
He looked me in the eye. ‘She is worried about you. And you are also worried about you. When did you stop putting other people’s happiness before your own?’
My frown deepened. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, sitting up further. ‘For your information, I’ve made a career out of helping people.’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I wasn’t questioning why you stopped putting other people’s happiness before your own. I was simply asking when?’
I stared at him. ‘When?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. I imagine you’ll find it will be at precisely the same time things started to go wrong for you.’
I looked down. Matilda was sleeping. Then I looked sideways at the pool: the breeze blew gentle ripples across the surface. I looked up at the sky. Instinctively, my eyelids scrunched up together. I took in a lungful of the hot dry air.
Eventually, I opened my eyes and looked at him.
He continued. ‘We don’t exist in isolation,’ he said. ‘Each of us has a responsibility to one another.’ He paused to pat Matilda. ‘It has been said that it takes a village to raise a child.’ He opened his arms. ‘And it takes a community to support a marriage.’
I stared at him. ‘I’ve been trying to help people, I really have. But I don’t know how.’
‘You don’t know how, or it doesn’t suit you to know how?’
‘Of course I want to know how. That’s why I’m here.’
Matilda let out a loud grunt. At least I assumed it was a grunt until I smelled the air wafting around me.
I held my nose but Dr Menzi seemed unfazed.
He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. ‘Have you considered that preoccupying oneself with the search for a cure is an excellent way to avoid treatment?’
And with that he stood up and walked off. Matilda followed.
Soon afterwards Jengo appeared with a film crew and a friendly reminder that our time with Dr Menzi was over. I tried to explain that my questioning was not yet concluded but he simply directed me to Dr Menzi’s YouTube channel and suggested I message him there.
As I stood alone in the courtyard waiting for Victoria, I took another deep breath, wondering if I might inhale some wisdom, along with any lingering emissions from Matilda. I glanced up at the sky. Maybe now, as a sinner, I’d been blacklisted from any spiritual intervention, my mugshot on the karma hit list. I thought about Nick. I could almost see him shaking his head and agreeing with my diagnosis. Then I imagined Jenna, wearing a body-con dress and pouring him a glass of wine on a Manhattan terrace, saying, ‘It’s a shame your wife prioritised her self-interests over your relationship. Oh well, her loss,’ before shaking loose her mermaid-like locks and pouting at Nick.
Soon after, Victoria stumbled out onto the courtyard with Dr Menzi.
‘They have an ’89 Burgundy in there,’ she said with a hiccup. Then steadied herself on a pillar. ‘And a Crozes-Hermitage.’
Just as Jengo was helping a resistant Victoria into the Jeep, Matilda nudged me on the leg with her snout and then looked back at Dr Menzi. He smiled and nodded.
‘Yes, Matilda,’ he said. ‘I know.’
I frowned at him. ‘Know what?’
He smiled, then walked towards me and put both hands on my stomach. ‘You will be blessed,’ he said, ‘with three.’
I stepped back. I could hear Victoria laughing from the Jeep.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said.
Dr Menzi glanced down at Matilda and then back at me and smiled.
‘You’ll see,’ he said.
Back at the lodge, Victoria headed straight to the Jacuzzi pool with a couple of bottles of the Hasina’s faux Chablis.
‘Do you think I’m self-medicating?’ she slurred, pouring a glass up to the rim.
I laughed. ‘Of course,’ I said, topping up my glass. ‘But it’s working nicely, isn’t it?’
She giggled, pulling up the top of her gold Versace swimsuit, and took another glug.
I stared up at the sky. The sun was hovering above the horizon as though it hadn’t made its mind up which way to go. ‘Do you think Dr Menzi was right?’ I asked.
She snorted the wine out of her nose. ‘About you being blessed with three children?’
I laughed. ‘No, that was obviously bullshit. I mean the bit about me forgetting to help others.’
She looked down into the Jacuzzi foam. ‘I didn’t hear that bit. I was in the toilet.’
I laughed. ‘No, you weren’t. You were hiding behind the pillar, quaffing Dr Menzi’s fine wine collection. Matilda was staring at you. She gave you away.’
She smirked. ‘I was intrigued,’ she said.
‘So, do you think he was right?’
She scrunched up her nose. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You helped me.’
I stared at her for a moment. ‘Yes, I might have helped you five years ago. But what have I done since then? Ignore you because you had a bigger house than me and a perfect child and a perfect bottom. Because you had the life I wanted.’
She shook her head. ‘Ellie, you had that life too.’
I laughed. ‘What, a dilapidated house, a barren womb and a husband who would rather stay out every night than be with me?’
Victoria topped up my glass. ‘Well, at least your husband could hold a conversation with you without sneering or making little digs about your imperfect personality. It was like Mike hated me by the end. My daughter doesn’t think much of me either. It was only that scrap of a hound that showed me any affection.’
I saw a tear edging out the corner of her eye. She blinked it away proficiently.
‘And you gave him away,’ I said.
She sniffed. ‘No point getting attached,’ she said, taking another gulp.
I watched her, waiting for the realisation.
She tutted. ‘Yes, Dr Dolittle Dre is probably right. But how am I supposed to change the habit of a lifetime?’
I leaned forward and pressed the button to start the Jacuzzi bubbles again. ‘Dr Phil says you only have to do something twenty-one times for it to become a new habit.’
Victoria rolled her eyes. ‘So Mike must have shagged that trollop twenty-one times then before he decided to leave me?’
I glanced up. ‘He didn’t leave you. You left him.’
‘Yes, because he was shagging her.’
‘Shagging? I thought he said they only had sex once. That’s what you told me.’
‘Only?’ she said. ‘Only? Am I supposed to be grateful?’ She forced a laugh. ‘Besides, it was more than that. I’ve yet to prove it, but I know it. They only ever admit to what they can’t deny, don’t they?’
I sighed. ‘Men don’t behave as a collective species,’ I said.
‘So you think it’s OK? You think I should put up with that?’
I looked down at the bubbles. ‘Of course not. But it’s never black and white, is it?’
She tutted. ‘Yes, it is. “Do not put your penis in another woman” is quite a clearly defined expectation in a marriage.’
I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But what do you think Mike’s expectations were of you?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Yours,’ I said. ‘I want you to be happy.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, let me hate him then. That’s what I need to do right now.’
I stared at her for a moment, then topped up her glass. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Mike is an arsehole.’
She shook her head. ‘No, he’s not an arsehole,’ she said, chinking her glass with mine. ‘He’s worse than that. He’s a…’
I laughed, before I realised she was serious, then I stopped and stared at her. Her expression had the hollowness of a psychopath. I lifted her glass to her mouth. She swallowed and then seemingly regained her composure.
‘Do you think Nick is one too?’ I asked.
She smirked and then her mouth spread into a full smile. She began to laugh, a wild, untempered, hyena-like yowl. It echoed into the blackness around us. She laughed and laughed as though exorcising a resistant demon. When she’d finished, she paused, took a long deep breath and then downed her wine.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t.’
We sat silently, listening to the water bubble and foam. I imagined tiny ships bobbing up and down, desperate for the storm to pass.
‘So when are you going to admit you had sex with Dominic?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t.’
She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. ‘But you wanted to?’
I tried to look resolute, but all I could think about was Dominic’s arms around me, his chest pressing against mine, his soft deep voice.
She stared at me some more. ‘You know he’s engaged, don’t you?’
I turned to her, eyebrow raised.
‘I did some research.’
I raised the other eyebrow as well.
‘According to government records, he’s been engaged to a Connie Bragwell for seven years. He tells people she’s dead but she’s not.’
I swallowed. ‘You’re serious?’
She waved her hand dismissively. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ she said, taking another sip of champagne. ‘According to NHS records, Connie’s been in a vegetative state for six of those years, with no chance of recovery. So you can’t really blame him.’
‘Blame him for what?’
‘Falling for you,’ she said, topping up her champagne. ‘Apparently he was driving the car when they crashed, so you can understand he has some issues about telling people.’