“That would be fantastic. I have a real love of wildlife and sadly absolutely nothing seems to come anywhere near here. Safe journey.”
Once they were back on the tarmac and away from Prosperity Dam Harry assumed that Ana would start chatting but she sat in silence and as the miles slipped by he began to feel more and more awkward. He searched his mind for something that had brought about such a change.
“I am sorry if I have done something to upset you,” he said at last.
She glanced across at him. “Would you stop at the next lay-by Harry?”
“Sure.”
Some five minutes later he pulled off the road onto a small area with a large sign stating Viewpoint which partly obscured the view if you didn’t park in the right place.
They sat in silence, the vastness of Africa stretching out before them. A few tiny settlements dotted the landscape but they were insignificant. Harry still couldn’t get over the fact that he could see until his eyesight ran out in a haze of far distant hills. No photograph or film could get close to depicting this. He had tried to explain to a couple of friends back in London but words simply weren’t enough. It almost felt as though this was where the world was created.
“Well you certainly know how to choose your spot Harry.”
“We stopped here when I first came out to Uwingoni,” he replied. “Jim told me not to speak but just to sit, think and enjoy what I could see. I cannot really remember ever doing anything in my life like that before. There was a wild sea on a beach in Cornwall once and a rainbow in some hills above Aberdeen but they were pretty insignificant.” He remained silent.
Time slipped by. “You must wonder what kind of nutter you have hitched up with,” said Ana, with a reluctant smile.
He kept his jaw clamped shut, letting the view wash through him. It was almost as though it was speaking, reminding him that time and space were essential gifts in life.
“Do you believe in fate Harry? I used to think it was rubbish but these days I’m not so sure. The fact that you stopped at this spot with a view that most people couldn’t even dream of is no coincidence. Under an hour ago walls of darkness and despair were pressing in on me, suffocating, chilling, equally difficult to imagine, even in your most vivid nightmares. Now I see light, feel hope. It’s a different world.”
A pair of eagles crossed their vision, twisting and turning as though in play.
“One day my knowledge of birds will be enough for me to tell you just what kind of eagles they are. All I see at the moment is their beauty and freedom.”
“I suppose in some ways I feel freedom sitting here and that is a rarity for me, despite what you might think from the outside. I am going to try to tell you something which might help you to understand me. It won’t be easy and if you don’t want the responsibility of listening and need me to stop just say so.”
She sat quietly for a short time, her gaze lost in the distance. “I know Jim will have told you a little of my immediate past, what he knows anyway, but I am going to tell you a part that nobody else really knows.”
Harry turned to look at her but didn’t speak.
“I have always wanted to be a journalist, to tell stories that others might like to hear but also those that they won’t, but crucially are crying out to be told. I suppose that’s why I ended up in Syria. I don’t know what your idea of hell is but believe me it can’t be worse than what I found there. If you can imagine vast areas of the London you know as piles of rubble but with people trying to live by it or in cellars under it with little food, water or medication you wouldn’t be close. Those are facts but that doesn’t tell you just how frightening it was or the despair and hopelessness felt by normal people who were simply trying to survive. It is on the world’s TV screens week in and week out; so much so that I think watchers almost become indifferent about it.”
Ana paused, taking a long gulp of warm water from the bottle by her side.
“I was writing a particular piece about a group of amazing women. The men in their lives had either been killed, forced to serve in the army or joined one of the various rebel groups. I spent days with them really trying to get an understanding of what made them so strong, resourceful and protective. Then one morning soldiers appeared at the top of the steps to the cellar in which everyone was sheltering. We were herded out at gunpoint and then the older women were separated from the younger ones. You cannot imagine what it was like for mothers seeing their daughters being marched away. I have never heard such distress in people’s voices in all my life.”
Harry could see the dreadful anguish written on her face as she relived the story in its telling.
“I was taken with the younger women. I protested that I was a British journalist but I might as well have been shouting at the wind. The streets were deserted except for other groups of soldiers and after half an hour or so of walking we were halted by two rusting shipping containers. A door was opened and we were thrust in like animals, kicked and shoved by gun barrels and then it clanged shut behind us. There was the faintest light from round the rim of the opening but it was oppressively dark and unbelievably hot. There was no food or water. We sat on the metal floor, the older ones doing their best to be strong, trying to console the youngsters, some of whom were only eleven or twelve years old.”
“Oh my God Ana. I have read enough to have an idea of what happened next.” Harry could feel the heartbeat in his ears, sense the anger boiling up inside him.
“Whatever you have read doesn’t touch the surface of what it was really like. Every so often soldiers reappeared, some rotting food and rancid water would be thrown in and two or three of the girls removed, at first fighting and scrabbling, young women against grown men. Then hours later they were dumped back like so much dead meat and others taken in their place. They curled up in the hot metal floor and sobbed or sometimes just lay there unmoving.”
She sat, her chest heaving deeply, staring out of the window but seeing nothing. Her hands grasped the coarseness of Bluebird’s ancient canvas seat as if to reassure her of the reality of the present.
“They took me out on several occasions but obviously didn’t quite know what to do with me. My ID cards were taken away and I was roughly handled. Lewd remarks were made about me, that was obvious though I couldn’t understand what they said, just the nature of it. I waited my turn but despite being shouted at, kicked and knocked about by rifle butts, nothing else happened to me. After each session I was returned to the container. Some of the original women never reappeared but others took their place. What staggers me is that these men had wives, girlfriends and daughters and yet their behaviour was totally inhuman. They didn’t behave like animals; that would be a real insult to the animal world. They hid behind religion or custom as it gave them a convenient excuse to behave in ways that, in any civilised society, would see them sent to prison for years.”
Silence descended on Bluebird. Harry knew that to speak of these horrors and relive them as the words spilt out must have been painful beyond belief but he realised too that it was not his place to comment or offer sympathy. He sensed he simply needed to be still and listen.
The eagles were riding the thermals in front of them now their wings barely moving, just the smallest adjustment at their tips as they glided with complete grace, one way and then the other.
“You know,” continued Ana, staring up at the sky, “it’s almost as though they contain the souls of those young women who never returned, somehow freed from their pain and torment. On the morning of the fifth day we could clearly hear gunfire getting closer and closer. Mortars fell near to where we were, leaving our ears ringing. Although still in darkness I was conscious that many of the girls didn’t move or even cry out. It was as though a direct hit from a shell would be a release. In just those few days death seemed preferable to the lives they were living. The noise of battle faded but nobody came. Hours passed; the heat inside the container and lack of anything to drink was unbearable.”
; Ana paused, once again reaching for her own water almost as though to reassure herself that she could.
“Then we heard voices, but they were the voices of women. Those who could banged on the side of the container, shouting. Anything had to be better than this prison and whoever was out there, it wasn’t those who had locked us in. The bolts scraped back and the doors opened, not partly but fully. And standing in that square of light were half a dozen women, guns sitting confidently in their hands as they peered in. They realised instantly that we were no threat and suspicion became concern and sympathy. We were led out blinking into the light and gratefully accepted some of their rations. The captives silently clung to one another. I realised that our rescuers were women from the YPJ, a Kurdish Women’s Protection Unit. Strong, principled, determined but above all decent human beings, on a totally different level to everyone else fighting in this dreadful conflict. Nevertheless, they were at war and had no time for small talk. Leaving us with two of their number they joined the rest of their troop and moved off into the ruins. We never saw them again.”
Harry reached across and took Ana’s hand, squeezing it gently. For the first time in the story the tears were rolling down her cheeks. It was as though by its telling she had somehow laid bare some of those emotions that she had been suppressing.
“It turned out that I wasn’t spared the fate of the others because I was a journalist, far from it. As an English woman I was being kept for the commander to enjoy first before the others had their turn. Fate Harry, the Kurds came before him!”
She roughly wiped away the tears. “I think I would like to go back to camp now. Thank you, not just for listening but for being the person you are. I have been unable to tell anyone else what I have just told you.”
Harry eased Bluebird into gear. As he took one last glance in front of him, he saw that the eagles had gone.
He drove at an easy pace; at one spot he stopped completely and they watched a dung beetle roll a ball of dung far bigger than itself across the road, its head facing down, front legs on the tarmac as the back ones controlled the prize with remarkable skill until it reached the far side, when both toppled away dramatically into the drainage ditch. Having time to notice the smallest of things somehow made him more aware than ever of just how precious life was.
Chapter Eight
The next two weeks proved rather uneventful in that there was no evidence of poachers entering Uwingoni. Those who worked there and the small groups of tourists who came enjoyed the often simple pleasures that being in such a unique part of Africa bought.
Harry spent much of his time with the visitors. In many ways he had a foot in both camps. It wasn’t so many months ago that he had been living in London so he was comfortably in touch with the positives and negatives of life in a large Western city. Despite his youth, that made him uniquely able to have an understanding of those who came, that the others in the reserve didn’t necessarily have.
He saw the businessmen change in the shortest of times, without the daily responsibilities of their companies thousands of miles away; it was almost as though they found themselves and their youth again. Their wives laughed more and nagged their children far less and the children themselves were endlessly out swimming in the camp pool or inventing and playing games that their parents recognised from their own childhood. There wasn’t an electronic device in sight. And of course highlights of the day were the game drives.
Harry would often accompany a group but always with an experienced guide. He recognised that he had learnt a great deal in a comparatively short time and was quite knowledgeable about certain aspects of Uwingoni, but some in the Reserve had been there for more than twenty years and every time he was out he came back richer in facts he couldn’t have imagined.
He spent time with Ana in the evenings but she was very into her writing during the day. Her journal had taken on an additional role. Wonderfully she used it far less as some form of support where she could write her darker thoughts. Instead it became somewhere she recorded the sights and sounds of each day and always there was a special space for the elephants. Whenever she could she took herself off, usually in Bluebird, while Harry was at work, and when she found a small family group she would sit for hours just watching them feed and socialise.
She brought her watercolours with her after a while and rediscovered her love of painting, something that had remained lost since her school days. Of course special to everything was the bond between Meru and Mara.
Sometimes she could go days without seeing them and her mind would start to itch with concern, nothing major but it was always there somewhere in her head. Then she would round a bend in the road and there they would be. They came to accept her presence easily. She never intruded into their space, happy to watch from a comfortable distance, often through her binoculars.
Despite the obvious connection between mother and daughter what surprised Ana was the part that the others played. They really were a family. There were eight of them and Kilifi had told her they were all related. When they did move a reasonable distance they often went in single file with Mara in the lead. It took Ana back to her childhood, watching The Jungle Book; Walt Disney wasn’t far off when he had his elephants behaving in the same way. Sometimes the calves even wrapped their little trunks round their mothers’ tails, almost like children holding their parents’ hands. The older ones also kept the youngsters as protected as possible, putting themselves between them and possible danger.
She returned to camp one afternoon for some late lunch and found a blue police Land Rover in the spot where she usually parked.
There were no tourists there that weekend so she had a pretty good idea where she would find the police. Two officers were sitting at a table with Jim.
They all stood up as she came in. “This is Inspector Mwitu of the Kenyan police. Gentlemen this is Ana the daughter of one of my oldest friends who is staying with us at the moment.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said the Inspector. “Jim was just telling us about recent events in Uwingoni. He had mentioned you and your particular love of elephants.”
Mwitu had a strong, honest face, the kind of policeman you could trust she thought. “Yes,” she replied. “Just being near them seems to bring the most amazing peace and calm.”
“My father is in KWS,” replied Mwitu, “so I was brought up with a love and respect for wildlife and their habitat. He is proud that I am a police inspector but in his heart I know he would rather I had followed in his footsteps. We were passing Uwingoni main gate and I thought I would come in myself to update Jim with the latest news. Unfortunately there is one concerning piece you won’t want to hear. I was just getting to that and of course you are welcome to stay.”
“Thank you,” she smiled.
“I am sure you will have heard about the Somali who was the only survivor of a poaching party that was here last month.”
“Yes, Harry told me the story about the bees’ nest and his capture.”
“Well, we couldn’t get anything out of him and so it was decided he was to be sent to Nairobi but the organisation of the transfer seemed to take forever. Anyway, yesterday morning the order came through and we sent him off in a special vehicle with a prisoner cage in the back, together with another well-known local criminal.
Mwitu’s mood visibly darkened as he continued, “Well when they got to the steep bend on a thickly wooded stretch of road, where you really have to slow down, the vehicle was ambushed by at least half a dozen heavily armed men.”
“I cannot believe anyone would have the nerve to do that to a police Land Rover,” said Jim visibly shocked. “What’s the world coming to?”
“They weren’t ordinary criminals. We have every reason to believe that they were members of the Islamic jihadist group Al-Shabaab,” Mwitu almost spat the final words out. “Everyone has heard of al-Qaeda and this revolting group operating out of Somalia is allied to them. I have had dealings with them before and like all decent peop
le, despise everything they stand for.”
“How do you know they were involved?”
“Fortunately Jim, Sergeant Jackson survived the attack. The driver was killed outright with the first burst of fire and the Land Rover crashed heavily into the barriers on the corner of the road. He smashed his head heavily against the door pillar and was knocked unconscious. As he had also been shot in the shoulder what they found was someone soaked in blood and not moving. I can only assume they were in a hurry to make their getaway and just assumed he was dead.”
Ana felt her pulse quicken. A few weeks ago she knew the same reaction would have been because of concern that danger was so comparatively close, now it was almost a fury at yet another death and what this Somali’s escape might mean.
Mwitu continued, “Although we have no proof I believe this particular individual might be a key player, one of the middle men who doesn’t normally get involved in the poaching himself but gets others to do the killing for him. He then pays them per kilo of ivory, gets young men to transport it across the border to Somalia where it is then sold on at a large profit to others who will ship it to the Far East. That money, hundreds of thousands of dollars a month, is partly used to buy weapons for Al-Shabaab to help them continue their terrorist activities. These people are ruthless. They would be selling their own family members if they thought they would make a profit from it! I cannot imagine what hell it must be for all the decent people living in their country.”
“How can you be sure it was Somalis who carried out this attack?” asked Jim.
“Well, before the police Land Rover actually crashed, Sergeant Jackson got a good look at the attackers and they all looked Somali rather than Kenyan. We also found the local criminal who had been travelling with him a few hundred yards further down the road. They had put a couple of bullets in his head. He was a pretty horrible individual but nobody deserves to die like that, his hands were still handcuffed behind his back, he had no chance.”
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