“Wait, wait,” the soldier said. “There’s something that’s not quite right.” He grabbed Yaro’s shirt and tore it down. The shirt, now in shreds, dangled at Yaro’s waist.
“That’s better,” the soldier sneered.
The other soldier joined in. He wrenched Yaro’s thin cloth pants. The young merchant’s rail thin body trembled uncontrollably. The soldiers then unleashed a volley of bullets, forming a dust cloud around Yaro. Yaro hopped in sheer terror, tripping over his pants, which now lay around his ankles. The soldiers cackled.
After firing a few more rounds, the soldiers became bored. They tromped off, but not before taking fruit for themselves. Several onlookers rushed to Yaro. He sat sobbing, scrambling to pull up his pants. He then rose abruptly and ran off.
Narrator: “The woman who shot the video brought it to a news station, hoping the soldiers would be publicly rebuked, if not punished. But the news commentators only weakly condemned the soldiers, while fighting back laughter throughout the clip.
“The following morning, Yaro’s fruit stand remained unattended. A concerned merchant went to his home. He found Yaro’s lifeless body on his bed, an empty bottle of sleeping pills on his nightstand.
“An enraged Shuja community flooded the streets in protest. Yaro’s older brother, Waasi Madaki, arose as the behind-the-scenes leader. Under his command, the uprising quickly spread and swelled bitterly. Then, President Okoye of Nanjier offered to train Madaki and the protesters into a fighting force. This marked the beginning of the Malungan Rebel Front, or MRF.”
Baba added, “When I saw the video of the soldiers terrorizing Yaro, I couldn’t stop my tears from flowing. During medical school, I would buy fruit from Yaro nearly every day. He was just as the people in the documentary described him—a lovely, light-hearted fellow. But I didn’t know that what happened to Yaro sparked the rebel movement. So I’m happy that his death wasn’t in vain.”
Narrator: “Over the next few months, the MRF launched sophisticated strategic attacks, targeting key Malungan infrastructure. It coordinated a series of bombings where it would hurt most: the economy. Simultaneously, a bomb blasted a government building, a second ripped through the main electrical power plant, shutting down power in Yandun, and a third leveled the headquarters of a British mining company.
“The Malungan economy was in shambles after the attacks. Foreign companies began withdrawing from Malunga. The environment had become too perilous and expensive for them to continue operating. Food and gas prices shot through the roof. Poor Borutus in Malunga could no longer afford to feed their children. They started their own protests against the government.
President’s Amani’s son, Taj, recounts what happened next.
Taj Amani: “While my father called for calm, his government and military acted against his plea. One day, as he stewed over the swiftly deteriorating situation, I came to his office. I had recently returned to Malunga after graduating from Oxford University. My father lamented that something had to be done to stop the war. He thought that if he could just speak with Waasi Madaki, he could work out a deal. But his advisors would never let that happen. They were monitoring his every move. He even believed that they were tapping his phone.
“I had an idea that I thought would help my father. But, as it turned out, what I did set in motion events that would eventually lead to my father’s assassination,” Taj’s gaze dropped sullenly to the floor. “Late that night, I slipped out of the Presidential Palace and drove six hours to the Nyumbani to meet with Madaki myself. I didn’t tell my father because I knew he would never allow me to put my life in danger.
Baba exclaimed, “This is so interesting! I didn’t know exactly how the peace agreement was initiated. It was Taj.”
“What peace agreement?” D’Melo said.
“Oh, sorry, that must be coming next.”
“Oh great! Thanks, Baba,” D’Melo jested. “Next time, give us a spoiler alert.”
Taj Amani: “I reached the Nyumbani security checkpoint just before dawn. It was manned by a team of armed rebels. Two rebels approached my car cautiously. One came to the window while the other scanned the area for potential sneak attacks. The rebel shined his flashlight into the car. He asked what my business was in the Nyumbani. I took a deep breath to calm my jitters. I was well aware that capturing the son of the president would be a huge win for the rebels. I told the soldier who I was and that I needed to meet with Madaki.
“The rebel turned to his comrade. ‘You’ll never guess who I have here, he said. It’s President Amani’s son!’ They laughed skeptically. The soldier told me to stop drinking whatever alcohol I had been consuming, then ordered me to go home.
“I assured him that I was Taj Amani.
“‘Well,’ he joked. ‘If you’re President Amani’s son, then I’m the Queen of England.’
“‘I met the Queen once in Buckingham Palace,’ I said. ‘And I must say, I am seeing a resemblance.’
“I showed him my passport. He studied it, then shined the flashlight in my face.
“‘Please,’ I said. ‘I’m here to meet Madaki on an urgent matter.’
“They ran off to the security booth. When they returned, they ordered me into their jeep and blindfolded me. They drove about thirty minutes, deep into the jungle. The jeep stopped with a screech. They ushered me out of the jeep and into a small tent, at which time they removed the blindfold. After a few anxious minutes, a young man ducked into the tent with a bottle of water for me.
“I told the young man that I was there to deliver a message to Waasi Madaki. He leaned forward in his chair and said, ‘Go ahead. I’m listening.’ It took me a moment to realize that this youthful man was Madaki. He was in his late twenties, but his slim frame and baby face made him appear like he was just out of high school. No one in the Malungan government knew what he looked like. There were no official documents with his photo. He was a well-guarded secret.
“The first thing out of his mouth was praise for my father. He said my father was a good man but was being hamstrung by his advisors. Then Madaki issued a dire warning. ‘The situation will only get more violent if the Shuja people are not provided the same rights as the Borutus.’
“I informed him that my father wanted to negotiate a peace agreement. Madaki scrutinized me suspiciously. He knew that the presidential advisors would never let my father even broach such a discussion with him.
“I explained that the advisors wouldn’t know it was happening. The president would meet him in Nanjier. He would tell his advisors that he was going to Nanjier to meet with President Okoye to shore up their economic agreement. And to assuage any concerns that Madaki may have had regarding his security, I told him that the meeting would be monitored and mediated by the United Nations.
“Madaki agreed, but on one condition: the Nyumbani’s future as a sovereign territory, just like Kipaji, must be on the table for negotiation. This would mean that the Shuja people would be in complete control of the Nyumbani.
“Madaki then put a firm hand on my shoulder and said, ‘It was courageous of you to come here. I’m glad you did.’ I was then whisked off and returned to my car.
“When I arrived back at the Presidential Palace, my father was standing stiffly in the doorway of his office. He suspected where I had been all night. He seemed angry, but proud. He told me to get word to Madaki that the sovereignty of the Nyumbani was negotiable and to set up the meeting.
“My father put his hands on my cheeks, and said, ‘Son, you may have just saved this country.’ He then strode away with the power and confidence he had when he first became president. He strolled into the foyer and disappeared into a cluster of security personnel and soldiers.
“That was the last time I saw my father alive,” Taj said, his voice breaking. “They must have bugged his office. That’s the only way they would have known what he was planning.”
Kyle Sandersen voice-over: “This is where things become unclear as to what happened next. We received information that a top-secret meeting took place that same evening. It was held at a secluded summer cottage deep in the countryside.”
The film went into an interview with the taxi driver who drove one of the participants to the meeting. His faced was blurred on the screen and his voice had been altered.
Taxi driver: “I was instructed by my boss to pick up a client at an abandoned building. The taxi they had me take was set up so that I wouldn’t be able to see who the client was. The windows in the back were covered with dark curtains. And a wooden board was secured between the front and back seats. I backed into a garage, as instructed. The garage door slid closed, making it pitch black inside. Then I heard someone get into the back seat.
“As directed, I drove a couple hours out of town to a cottage. When the passenger got out, I glanced at the side mirror. I was just too curious. But the passenger used a long black cloak to completely cover himself. As he passed my mirror, I noticed a glint about a hundred feet behind my taxi. It appeared to be the insignia of a Mercedes Benz. Not too many people in Malunga could afford such an expensive car. Usually, only the highest government officials drove a Mercedes Benz.
“Over the years, I’ve never forgotten about that night. It was just so peculiar. And when President Amani was killed shortly thereafter, I wondered if the events were connected.”
Kyle Sandersen voice-over: “Two days after that secret meeting, President Amani left the Presidential Palace for the airport. He would never make it. Just twenty minutes from the airport, on a barren stretch of road, his motorcade of five cars came under attack. A missile whistled out of the jungle through the foggy morning air. It struck the fourth vehicle. The explosion sent the car high into the air and crashing back down onto the road. A second missile was then fired at the same car, shredding it to pieces. If President Amani was still alive after the first missile strike, it was certain he was killed instantly by the second.
“Not even fifteen minutes after the attack, Vice President Dimka went on national radio. He announced the assassination of President Amani. Dimka said the military had determined that the missiles that killed the president were the same type the rebels used. Borutus in Malunga flew into a murderous rage. Those who may have previously supported the rights of the Shujas now wanted revenge against them. Radio personalities fanned the flames. They dehumanized the Shujas, calling them murdering cockroaches. By nightfall, common Borutus were prowling the streets wielding machetes. They hunted down Shujas and hacked their pleading victims to death.
“Over the course of the next ten weeks, over five hundred thousand Shujas were slaughtered. That’s nearly thirty percent of the Shuja population in Malunga. This cleansing became known among Shujas as the ‘Majira ya Ugaidi,’ the ‘Summer of Terror.’
“In 2004, the International Criminal Court initiated an investigation of now President Dimka and his military head, General Nyoko, for the genocide of the Shuja people. If anyone had slowed down and thought for one minute, the ethnic cleansing of the Shuja people could have been prevented. There were basic things that no one seemed to think about.
“First, the position of the president’s car in the motorcade was top secret. It was decided only minutes before the motorcade left the Presidential Palace. Whoever was behind the firing of those missiles clearly had knowledge as to which car President Amani would be in; they used both of their missiles on the fourth vehicle. There was only a handful of people privy to this information—the president’s driver, the security personnel in his car, and the head of the president’s security detail, General Nyoko.”
Baba shifted anxiously in his chair. He dabbed a handkerchief to the sweat beading his forehead.
Kyle Sandersen voice-over: “We had the taxi driver take us to the location where he had dropped the passenger that evening. It’s now an overgrown empty lot. I went to the National Land Office to find out who the owner of that plot was in June 2001. An employee told me that searching the records would take some time. She said she’d have the information for me the next day. When I returned in the morning, she wasn’t there. I was told that she had quit. I was then referred to the manager, who informed me that the office had only started keeping records for that village in 2006. By that time, the cottage had long been destroyed. And since 2006, the owner of the land was recorded as ‘The Government of Malunga.’
“This obvious cover-up stoked my curiosity further. I knew then I was onto something. But unless I could find out who had owned that land when the secret meeting took place, I didn’t have anything more than flimsy circumstantial evidence. But every angle to the information led to dead ends.
“A week later, in the middle of the night, there was a knock on my hotel door. A tattered envelope was flung under the door. All it said was, ‘Ms. Wambuzi.’ I didn’t recognize the name immediately. But with a little research, my team discovered that Wambuzi was the maiden name of General Nyoko’s wife. Now I had something.
“General Nyoko was always very vocal about never allowing the Nyumbani to be a sovereign territory. He said that Malunga had made that mistake once before when it granted sovereignty to Kipaji.”
Baba nearly jumped out of his seat. “Granted? You didn’t grant us anything! You attacked us and we kicked your—”
“Whoa, Baba!” D’Melo interrupted. “Why are you getting so upset?”
Baba settled back into the sofa. “Sorry. This stuff is very . . . personal to me.”
Kyle Sandersen voice-over: “This could explain why a Mercedes Benz was parked at the cottage. We assume that General Nyoko was at the meeting. But who met him there? Who had the most to gain from President Amani’s assassination? That much was clear: Vice President Dimka. But could he have been the second person at that meeting?”
Abruptly, Baba excused himself and started for his bedroom.
“Baba, where are you going?” D’Melo said. “This is the best part.”
“Continue without me,” Baba replied, clearly trying to sound at peace with it all. “I know what happened. Remember? I lived it.” He paused at Diata’s drawing on the wall and gazed at it intensely. “Haki inakuja kwako,” he muttered, then slowly walked away to his room.
“That was strange,” Zara said to D’Melo. “Think he’s okay?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll check on him in a few.”
Kyle Sandersen voice-over: “We went to the Government Records Office, where public records are kept on the movements of top government officials. On the night of the secret meeting, Vice President Dimka’s whereabouts were not logged into the record. This was quite an irregular omission. Every other evening that month had an entry for him. As for General Nyoko, the records indicated that he was at an official event in Yandun. He was the keynote speaker at an annual charity dinner. His speech was over by 6:45 p.m. The taxi driver said he picked up his passenger in an abandoned building at 7 p.m. The hotel where the event was being held was only a ten-minute walk to that abandoned building. We spoke to several participants at that event. Not one of them remembered seeing the General after his speech.
“So could that top secret meeting in the cottage have been between Vice President Dimka and General Nyoko? In that meeting, did they plot the assassination of President Amani? Did they instigate the ethnic cleansing that followed? Was the genocide part of the plan or did things just spin out of control?”
The film ended. D’Melo and Zara sat speechless, processing what they just saw.
“Whoa,” Zara mused. “The situation was so much worse than I thought. It’s crazy!”
“I know,” D’Melo said. “But I wish it was clearer who killed President Amani.”
“True. But the good thing is, all these years people believed the Shujas did it. Now we know that it probably wasn’t them.”
The wall clock chimed eleven times. �
��Ohhh, I better get home.” Zara hopped to her feet and slid into her coat.
D’Melo offered to walk her home. “I’m okay,” she said. “You need to check on Baba. Call me before you go to sleep.”
As soon as he saw Zara out, D’Melo went to Baba’s bedroom door. It was closed. D’Melo peaked in. Baba appeared to be sound asleep.
As soon as D’Melo was gone, Baba’s eyes sprung open. Sleep would allude him all night. The documentary had stirred up agonizing memories that he had desperately tried to leave behind. And worst of all, the one thing he had hoped would be in the film wasn’t there. Toward the end when the director posed so many unanswered questions about the secret meeting, Baba knew that Sandersen hadn’t found the package containing the evidence of who killed President Amani. And so the ever-present threat to D’Melo and his life would continue.
For the next few days, Zara’s texts were less frequent and had less to say. She stopped going to D’Melo’s house, which had become a regular part of her day. And at school, as much as she tried to act normal with D’Melo, she knew that he realized something was wrong. But by the end of the week, his patience was worn. He asked her why she was distancing herself. She apologized and explained that she was just going through something.
The following morning, Zara finished her run at D’Melo’s house. D’Melo was still asleep. Baba encouraged her to wake him. “The sun is up, so should he be.”
Zara quietly entered D’Melo’s bedroom. Even though she had been in his room several times, she still marveled at how tidy he kept it. Not one thing was out of place. All his schoolbooks were lined by height on his bookshelf. His notebooks were stacked at the left corner of his desk. His pens and pencils stood orderly in an old metal coffee tin. She didn’t even need to look in his dresser to know that his clothes were sharply folded and neatly tucked away.
She parked herself heavily on his bed, intentionally sending a wave through the mattress. He didn’t budge. She bounced. He still didn’t move. Zara’s impatience turned mischievous. She poked her finger in his ear. “Dude, get up!”
Spirit King: Return of the Crown Page 14