by Michael Ray
‘I don’t see why not, we don’t have to inherit the political failings of the colonialists. The British Empire and its ideology is dead and belongs to a different age. At present though, thanks to the British, my people have no idea of the workings of a modern democracy, its good or bad points. Our first priority has to be education, both general and political. After that we can slowly and carefully begin to build a modern society, one based on modern ideology.’
‘Best not force it on them too quickly then.’
‘Initially, continuity will be more important than pandering to democracy. You have to understand that most of my countrymen rely on someone, usually their tribal elders, to tell them what to do and how to do it. Give them a free rein and they’ll be lost.’
‘So, none of that boring stuff about limited terms of office.’
‘What we need before anything else is pragmatism, not political niceties.’
‘With you busy pulling the strings; I think you’ll find James a little more independent than the average Pinocchio.’
‘James is a good man, but he’ll need help; a team to advise him and back him up.’
‘Anyone want another banana?’
*****
After the build up of heat during the day and the downpour that dispersed it, the night was cool, too cool to spend it in a thin, damp robe and Graham fell asleep shivering. Instead of beating and being beaten by staring, blood-covered children, he dreamt of T-bones, beer and a cornucopia brimming with papaya.
He was woken the next morning by a scream. Rachel had curled up against him during the night. Occasionally her small, twitching body had woken him but she’d provided much needed warmth. Now, she clung to him, crying. He sat up, put a hand through her hair and smoothed down her torn, filthy, white gown.
‘Any ideas mate?’ He asked Paul who had risen up on one elbow and was watching them.
‘Bring her over.’
Paul talked to her quietly and she stopped crying and responded then dropped her head onto his lap and sobbed.
He put a hand on her shoulder, gently stroking it. ‘We can’t go to her village.’
‘Because?’ Asked Graham, expecting to hear another concoction of superstition and lies.
‘Because after Ngai’s army raided the school, they were all marched home. David made Rachel shoot her parents in front of the rest of the village.’
‘Jesus, poor kid … and you still think the British should negotiate with him?’
Paul absentmindedly continued stroking Rachel’s shoulder.
‘So what do we do?’ Graham asked. ‘We can’t head south and we can’t head north; that leaves west back to the river or east to the road.’
‘The road, we’ll just have to get out of the way if any trucks turn up and hope the kids don’t notice who’s driving.’
The next morning the kids nervously scavenged their way through the wreckage of their old school, sometimes stopping short as memories came back, repainting a past life over scars. Graham watched them curiously, unsure whether they were going through a healing process or heading towards insanity.
Having gleaned as many bananas as they could sensibly carry, but finding nothing else, they left the mission school and headed back to the road. The overnight rain had left the ground steaming in the early morning sun; the air smelt warm and damp. The forest and savannah would soon be welcoming the Rains with fresh leaves and buds. They, in their turn, would be welcomed by the browsers and grazers and the chain of carnivores; everything was in order.
They arrived at the road and stopped. Years before, a surveyor, given a pencil, a ruler and a map had drawn a line across the landscape. Bulldozers had then smashed through the undergrowth, forest, savannah and whatever raw Africa had thrown in the way, opening up the North for farmers, ranchers and missionaries to move in, claiming it for Great Britain and the civilised world. They could clearly see the road for miles in both directions, as straight as the surveyor had intended, disappearing behind forest to the South and hills to the North.
Heading south, the crushed rock underfoot was easier going and Graham began to feel confident about the next stage of their journey. At first he felt exposed but soon realised a truck could be seen or heard by someone walking, from miles away; the reverse wasn’t true. It was midday before they heard the first, distant drone of lorries. The morning sun had dried the road out and to the north a convoy approached under a column of dust. They stumbled a hundred yards into the bush, dropping down behind some scrub and waited.
The whine of gearboxes and farting of poorly muffled exhaust pipes became more distinct as the convoy cleared a shallow rise: four open Bedfords filled with a dusty mixture of women and soldiers lining the edges and hanging onto the back of the cab.
Benjamin was talking frantically in whispers with Rachel.
‘What are they going on about?’ Graham asked.
‘Benjamin appears to think that we should attack the demons,’ Paul replied. ‘Rachel believes that he should shut up and wait for any decisions concerning violence from you.’
‘Good girl, quite right.’ Graham raised his head above the bushes for a peek. ‘Bollocks!’
Paul looked at him quizzically, ‘someone you know?’
‘No, but I think one of the women saw me.’
‘Did she react?’
‘Just stared straight through me.’
‘Something you’re used to I would imagine. Are they still moving?’
Graham rose gingerly above the bush again and felt relieved. ‘They continue on their way.’
Paul passed him a banana. ‘Eat this, it will make you feel better.’
Graham stared at the banana, gave a sigh and bit into it. ‘If it had’t been for the imminent prospect of starvation, I’d never have thought about eating the skin.’
‘Preferable to walking on them. We’ll give Ngai’s finest a few more minutes and start off again.’
‘Shit, we won’t, someone’s heading back down the road; let’s run for it.’
‘No, let’s not run for it.’ Paul grabbed Graham and shouted at the kids, they dropped down behind a bush and waited. ‘You think you can outrun a truck? They only have a vague idea where we are. We wait.’
The sound of the Bedford got louder and looking above the bush, a cloud of dust approached along the road. It swung into the bush a hundred yards ahead then turned and headed towards them but a small heard of gazelle, a dozen adults that had been lying low, made the mistake of bolting and cutting across its path. The Bedford swung around and headed after them. Several soldiers started firing from the back of the truck at the gazelle, but a bouncing truck and assault rifle designed more for carnage than accuracy, make hitting any target, particularly a moving one, difficult. That didn’t seem to deter the enthusiasm of the Lord’s Resistance Army and they continued to chase after the herd through the bush on the other side of the road, shouting excitedly at each other as they went.
‘You think they’ll be back?’ Graham asked.
‘Hopefully by the time they hit anything they’ll be miles away. The chances of them finding us in this lot will be minimal at best.’ Paul replied. ‘We’ll give them half an hour, and then continue on our way.’
*****
The day wore on, heat and humidity building towards the certainty of another evening storm. Clouds started to form in the West to meet the sun as it made its way to the horizon and they prepared to spend the night in the shelter of a damaged duka by the side of the road. They tipped the old table, once covered with fruit for the passing traveller, onto its side; a partial barrier between them and the road, and then weaved a few extra leaves and grasses into the duka’s roof, hoping for better protection.
‘Banana?’ Paul asked.
‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘I could probably find you a couple of dried leaves flavoured with a scattering of termites.’
Graham munched into his supper. ‘Nice; going off a bit around the edges, give
s it a kick.’
‘Well it’s keeping you alive, unlike some of the locals.’
’How does Ngai manage to get any support? No one should like you if you go around killing people, yet all he has to do is wave his Bible about a bit and they’re falling over themselves.’
‘Don’t let all that religious stuff fool you, Ngai’s core support centres around his tribe. His army are mostly his people fleshed out with brainwashed canon fodder taken from villages like Rachel’s.’
‘So how does the bastard get any support?’
‘By using children, they’re much easier to manipulate. Most of the men he captures end up dead, the women get beaten into subservience. They’re used to it, there’s a tradition of nicking your wife from the neighbours around here.’
‘Then handing them over to your pet scribe.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure your marriage will be stronger for it. And now I’m going to attempt to get some sleep before the storm turns up.’
*****
Graham was awake before the rain arrived. The evening chorus of insects and animals had become silent, replaced by thunder rumbling across the scrub. Lightning flashes, at first diffuse then sharper as they closed in, lit up the duka. Rachel was also awake, hunched up, wide-eyed, her knees pulled up to her body. She stared at him, her eyes lit by lightning then she crawled over to him. He put an arm around her shoulder and let her nestle against him, She was shivering.
‘Don’t worry love, we’ve got this far,’ said Graham to an uncomprehending Rachel. ‘You know six months ago I’d have been terrified by all of this, but I reckon Ngai must have cauterised that part of my brain, or maybe it’s the lack of beer.’
Lightning flashed and he looked down at the top of Rachel’s head. She seemed to have stopped shaking so maybe his chat had calmed her. In the cold, strobed light of the storm she seemed so young, smaller than her twelve years.
Wind started to rattle the trees, and then the rain arrived. At first, large individual drops crashing through the trees and leaves, landing hard on the duka’s roof and throwing up dust in the road. Graham couldn’t see it, but he could smell it; an earthy dampness with overtones of decay; rain mixing with the remains of the dry season.
The rattle turned into a loud hiss and the rain broke easily through the duka’s protective leaves and grass as a steady stream of water drops. They sat in miserable silence, cold and wet and waited for the rain to end and daylight.
Finally, the hissing subsided, replaced by a quieter, more distinct patter and the rain stopped, the stars appeared and soaked and exhausted, with no thoughts of setting up a watch, they fell asleep to the sound of night insects and contented frogs.
Thirteen
‘Get up!’
Graham opened his eyes and saw the end of a revolver pointing straight at him.
‘Get up!’
‘Alright, I’m getting up … you speak English.’ Graham responded dosily. He held his hands in the air and with the revolver tracking his forehead, heaved himself of the ground. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the man the other side of the barrel. He wore a green uniform with the insignia of a Lieutenant but wasn’t East African Rifles. On the other hand, he didn’t appear to be part of Ngai’s army. Behind him was a Land Rover.
‘Greetings brother, Graham Theakston at your service,’ Graham said offering a hand. The Lieutenant ignored it.
‘Who are you?’
‘Refugees from the war,’ replied Graham unsure whether to stake an allegiance
‘You are from Ngai’s army.’
‘We’re not from his army, we’re refugees.’
‘You are wearing one of his robes.’
‘We were in his camp when it was bombed.’ Graham said, hoping for a bit of comradely sympathy.’We were his prisoners.’
‘Ngai is no friend of mine.’ The lieutenant said, lowering the revolver.
‘Ours neither brother, we escaped from him when the camp was hit. Who are you?’
‘We are the People’s Liberation Army. We have broken away from the traitor Ngai.’
Another bloody army, thought Graham, the place is turning into Algeria.
‘What were you doing with Ngai and who are these other people?’ The lieutenant asked waving his revolver at the others.
‘I’m a journalist, he’d taken us prisoner. If you get us out of here, we can tell the world about you.’
‘This other man, he is journalist also?’
Graham nodded, ‘Paul works for several international papers.’
‘And the children?’
‘They were taken by Ngai and being trained; we rescued them. You know about Ngai’s training methods?’
‘Get in the back of the Land Rover.’
They headed South which at least, thought Graham, was in the right direction and they were travelling twenty times the speed they could walk. They sat in the back with a couple of soldiers, three more in the front. The People’s Liberation Army? Who the hell were they? Was this the entire army? For while he kept an eye on the road ahead, expecting to see The Army of Christ’s Inquisition travelling towards them.
‘You know Ngai is using this road?’ Graham shouted at the Lieutenant sitting in the front but the Lieutenant ignored him. Maybe there’d be a fire fight, at least it would give them a chance to escape. For a while he continued to keep a forward lookout but the dust and wind was getting in his eyes, so he changed his tactics and scoured the surrounding countryside instead. No soldiers though occasional herds of antelopes, a few giraffe and zebra. Opposite him, one of the soldiers was leering at Rachel; next to him, Benjamin stared at the soldier like a male lion sizing up new blood hoping to take over the tribe.
‘See if you can get Benjamin to look a little friendlier,’ Graham said quietly to Paul. ‘Tell him we have to fool the demons into thinking we’re their friends.’
The barrel of a rifle tapped him on the shoulder; the soldier opposite was shaking his head. Graham smiled back, gave him a thumbs up and continued looking for armour hiding in the passing scrub.
*****
One of the oddities of a crushed rock road is that the faster you travel, the smoother they become. It works until you arrive at a corner, and then you might as well be travelling on ice, but the British surveyor hadn’t believed in corners; the road could have been built by the Romans. The driver put this technique into practise until in the distance they saw a plume of dust heading towards them. He slowed then headed into the bush, stopping after two hundred yards, out of sight of the road.
‘You will stay here,’ the Lieutenant commanded his prisoners. He gave orders to his men, one remaining to guard them, the others taking position either side of the road.
‘Looks as if he’s trying to catch them in the crossfire,’ Paul said.
‘Probably end up shooting each other then,’ Graham replied.
Their guard shouted at them and they shut up.
The plume of dust got closer and larger but as they approached, from the South two silver dots appeared flying straight above the road. The dust was now half a mile away and although out of sight, they could see the lorries spread out into the bush as the dust cloud widened.
The guard stood up and stared at the planes as the first of the munitions fell. The planes flew over them then turned back for another pass, distracting the grinning guard with their carnage. He paid little attention to Benjamin as he wandered over to a bush for a pee and, as the Hawker Hunters banked round then flew back for a third run, Benjamin grabbed him from behind. The guard was twice his weight but before he could react, Rachel had taken his rifle, twisting the bayonet into his ribs.
‘Bloody hell!,’ muttered Graham under his breath. The soldier wasn’t quite dead but Benjamin had a hand over his mouth. Blood ran through his fingers until the struggling stopped. He wiped his hands on the guard’s shirt and took the rifle from Rachel.
‘Get to the Land Rover, I’ll drive,’ Paul said urgently … ‘No bloody keys.’
The starter motor turned but the ignition failed.
‘Fuck,’ muttered Graham, fiddling under the dashboard.
‘I thought you knew what you were doing?’
‘I do mate but a Ford Anglia’s a bit different.’
The windscreen smashed as a bullet went through it. The PLA were returning through the bush. Graham tried again, still no ignition.
‘It’s no good mate, better throw ourselves at the mercy of the Lieutenant.’ They put their hands up in surrender and left the Land Rover.
‘Where is my soldier?’ Asked the lieutenant approaching them. ‘And where is the other …’
Benjamin stood up from one side and fired.
‘Bloodthirsty little sod isn’t he,’ Graham said moments later, shaking a little as he went over to the bodies.
‘Fortunately he’s our bloodthirsty little sod,’ Paul replied.
‘Well I don’t know what his mother’s going to say when we get him home.’
‘She’s probably dead. Here, you’d better have the Lieutenant’s revolver,’ Paul said. ‘I’m not up to carrying heavy artillery.
Graham returned to the Land Rover, fiddled under the dashboard again and it started first time. ‘Bloody thing.’
*****
They headed east and away from the remains of the PLA. In the back, Benjamin was sitting quietly with his new Kalashnikov. He’d removed the magazine and was methodically going through the shells. Despite the Land Rover pitching and shaking as it made its way through the bush, he was checking and counting each one. On the floor where the remains of the PLA’s arsenal, a couple of Lee Enfields and another AK, Graham began to feel positive again. A few months ago, before meeting Ngai, he’d have been worried by his current predicament, more likely terrified. Now he was almost enjoying their bouncing exodus through the bush. If only he wasn’t so bloody hungry. Still, the PLA had travelled with a couple of canteens and a jerry can of water. Even if the rains changed their minds and went home, they weren’t going to be thirsty.