Softly Calls the Serengeti (11 page)

‘People will want the child to be certified as healthy. Once that is done, he is taken to an unregulated border crossing. There, another organisation delivers him to the client.'

‘Why would it be necessary to have the child's health checked?'

‘The new parents would not want a child with AIDS, or some other hideous disease.'

‘I see. So the doctor has all the records?'

Omuga nodded, his eyes darting around the coffee shop.

‘And where is this doctor located?'

Omuga hesitated. ‘I believe it is somewhere in Nakuru. But now I must go.'

‘Where?'

‘I don't know; you should ask the man who owns the orphanage,' Omuga said. ‘But I must warn you to be very careful how you proceed. It could mean your life if he learns of your investigations. And mine if he discovers who gave you your information,' he added.

Riley thought Omuga had been watching too many American movies.

‘Who is he?' he asked.

Omuga pointed to the name on the bottom of the page. ‘He's a businessman and a politician. A very dangerous man. His name is Gideon Koske.'

 

Kazlana was at home when Mark Riley called her mobile phone. ‘I just rang to say thank you,' he told her.

‘Not at all. Did Omuga give you what you were looking for?'

‘Well, I've made some progress, but he raised as many questions as he answered.' He told her that he'd found his sponsored child's name on the department's list but that Omuga knew nothing about his whereabouts. ‘After he gave me the head guy's name, he refused to say any more.'

‘Who is the head guy?'

‘Name's Gideon Koske. Omuga says he's a businessman-cum-politician.'

‘Koske…I can't say I know the name, but if he's in the government you had better be careful. These men can be very difficult if outsiders come asking questions about their business operations. Why don't you let me do some checking before going further?'

When the call ended, she tried to remember where she'd heard the name Koske before. She thought it might have been in connection with a recent newspaper article on the latest government member to jump ship to support the opposition candidate for president. It wasn't an unusual occurrence in Kenyan politics, but Koske's name had another connection and she couldn't quite recall it. She decided to check her father's old business files.

Kazlana drove to her office. The security guard was surprised to see her at such a late hour, and disarmed the security system on her office as she ascended to the tenth floor.

She tugged the light cord in the small room where her father's files were stored. They were arranged in neat stacks on the shelves, exactly as the workmen had left them nearly twelve months earlier. Each time she had decided to sort through them, she had felt bereft and emotional. Seeing her father's signature on correspondence brought him back to mind but sadly not back to life.

She threw herself into the task now, but had trouble making sense of the filing system. She gave up after an hour, sorting the papers into stacks based upon the likelihood of success. In the
maybe
stack she found a file with a list of accounts.

Her father's bookkeeping had been perfunctory at best. At heart he was a true Ramanova—more of a pirate than a businessman—but running her finger down the list, she finally found what she was looking for.

Gideon Koske was signatory to a payment made for supplies flown from Mombasa to Nakuru. The client was the Circularian organisation.

Gideon Koske hardened his resolve. Around him in the antechamber to the parliament were the elected members of President Kibaki's political supporters. They streamed past him, either pointedly ignoring him or giving him hostile glances. It confirmed his suspicions that the party was now fully aware of his defection to the opposition, thereby sealing his fate should Odinga's Orange Democratic Movement not win the forthcoming election.

Political party disloyalty was not unusual in the Kenyan parliament, even for junior ministers like him. There'd been far more celebrated defections than his and, although irritating to his erstwhile colleagues, it was not a matter to warrant more than the mild hostility that they now made no effort to conceal.

In Kibaki's party Koske had felt like an interloper—a neophyte among masters—and he was realistic enough to understand his poor prospects for advancement. He'd been a nobody before scrambling out of a Kibera council position to take up a fortuitous party vacancy in the Kibera electorate. It had cost him a lot to gain preselection and a lot more to buy the support needed to win enough votes to get into parliament. Having gained his seat, he was devastated to discover he was very low on the pecking order. The most he could win was his junior minister's position in an insignificant portfolio. It was then that he had decided to throw his support behind Odinga. If he could win favourable recognition from the ODM party machinery through his efforts to get Odinga elected president, then he felt sure he could secure a higher position in Odinga's new parliament.

Even then he would need funds, and, having invested in the wrong people, he had to do whatever was necessary to build them again. His acquisition of the Circularian orphanage was a wise investment, one that he knew would ultimately repay him in both financial and political capital. It was a bold strategy, but he was not a man to tolerate second-best. He had already sacrificed more than one life in his quest to succeed.

He would continue to do whatever was necessary to achieve his ambition, or die in the effort.

 

The walk to the football ground was longer from the place Kwazi called home, especially as Joshua preferred to bypass Kisumu Ndogo. He was not afraid to meet his father; he simply wanted to avoid the confrontation that would ensue. He had no reason to add anything more to what he'd already said.

He was further delayed by a large gathering of Kibera residents at a mass meeting called to protest against the restrictions on campaigning imposed by the administration police. The mood was volatile and Joshua's inclination was to join in, but he couldn't be late to training. As captain he needed to demonstrate the discipline he tried to instil in his fellow players, although deep down he knew most of them were merely involved for the fun. It sometimes appeared to Joshua that he was the only one training with a purpose.

When he arrived at the bare earthen ground used by his team as a playing field, he saw Koske, who signalled to him that he wanted to talk. Joshua trotted over.

Koske was more than usually smug. ‘You see that man over there—at the rear of the goal?' he said.

Joshua nodded.

‘I've asked him to come to see your team's practice game.' The smug smile widened. ‘But really, it's you he has come to see.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he owes me a little favour. You see, he's from the Limuru Leopards.'

Joshua gaped. He looked from Koske to the man in the goalmouth and back again. The Limuru Leopards were one of Nairobi's premier football clubs.

‘Yes, it's a very important team,' said Koske. ‘And, as I said, if I do something for a friend, I expect that friend to do something for me. That's how I work.'

Joshua could hardly conceal his excitement.

‘I've asked him to look at you and see if you are good enough to play in a trial match later this month.'

‘Yes!' Joshua's heart leapt in his chest. ‘I'm ready!'

Koske put his head back and laughed, but as quickly as the laughter had begun, it stopped. He grasped Joshua's shoulder. ‘This I do for you, my friend.'

‘Thank you, Mr Koske. Thank you.'

Koske nodded and smiled, appearing satisfied with Joshua's response.

‘Now, go,' he said. ‘Play your best!'

Joshua quickly stripped to his shorts and tee-shirt and bolted onto the field to join the practice game. Almost immediately, he was among the action, but it wasn't until some time later that the ball came to him on the wing. He dribbled down the flank, defeating two opponents' tackles, then lost and won the ball twice in the box before slotting it past the goalie into the top corner of the net.

After the game, Joshua searched the scattered figures around the ground but could only see Koske's broad figure on the sideline. He tried to hide his disappointment as he joined Koske. The big man made small talk until Joshua could bear it no longer.

‘Did you speak to the man from the Leopards, Mr Koske?'

Koske's expression expanded into his all-knowing smirk. ‘Wasn't I the one who arranged for him to be here?'

‘And did he ask about me?'

The pause was excruciating.

‘He remarked upon a few of the players.'

Joshua knew this was a lie as none on the pitch could match his ball control and agility, but he let Koske have his moment of control. ‘And me?' he asked, hating himself for his pleading tone.

Koske nodded thoughtfully. ‘He said you played well.'

‘And…?'

‘And I'm to keep an eye on you. He's relying on me to advise him when you are ready to test yourself against his boys in Limuru. Maybe even to play in a trial game.'

‘To test myself? Did he see my goal in the first half?'

‘I don't know.' Koske sucked at his teeth, then inserted a finger into his mouth to dislodge something stuck between them. ‘Perhaps he did.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Hmm…What did he say? Oh, yes. He said he thought you had played well, particularly since you were not properly dressed.'

‘Properly dressed?' Joshua repeated, searching his mind for an explanation. He dropped his eyes to his shirt and shorts before it dawned. In his haste, he'd forgotten to put on his new boots.

 

Mayasa had found some free time after work and headed to the football ground where Joshua and his team-mates were playing. This time she searched for Joshua's sandals and found them under one of the benches. She guessed they were his as he was on the pitch playing in football boots.

He cut an athletic figure, darting through the packs, sprinting down a wing with the ball almost on a string. His team distinguished itself by playing without shirts. She
admired the long lean muscles on his back and thighs, shining with sweat.

At the end of the game she remained guarding his footwear as he had a conversation with a man on the sidelines. He seemed pleased as he headed her way.

‘You are a good
askari
,' Joshua said. ‘I hope you're not looking for bribe money?'

‘Why not?' she said, smiling in return. ‘This is the second time I have guarded your precious sandals, and look! They're still here.'

‘More than that. You don't know it, but you've also been guarding something worth even more than my sandals,' he said with a conspiratorial grin. ‘Look!'

He reached under the bench and from a hidden ledge produced a shiny black mobile phone.

‘It's the latest-model Motorola!' she said.

‘It is.'

‘But you can't get them on a pre-paid plan. How did you pay for it?'

Having asked, she immediately regretted it. It was none of her business if he'd stolen it, in which case she didn't want to know.

‘Mr Koske gave it to me,' he said as he pushed buttons on the new phone. ‘See? I can get the internet on it…somehow. I'll have to ask someone, but I have it.'

‘Koske? Gideon Koske?'

‘Yes. Do you know him?'

‘No…but I've heard of him. Isn't he, like…a thug?'

‘He's a businessman,' he said. ‘And one of us—a Raila supporter.' He peered at her intensely. ‘You are a Raila supporter, aren't you?'

‘Um…yes. I suppose so.'

‘Good.'

‘But I've heard Koske has people going around taking money.'

‘He's a businessman. Of course he takes money.'

She was about to add that her father said that Gideon Koske took money for keeping people's houses safe when it was he who made them unsafe in the first place. But she didn't want to argue. Joshua was not listening anyway, engrossed by his new mobile phone.

‘Listen! Here's the new one from Beyonce.'

‘How did you get that?'

‘My friend showed me. I can get any new song I want.'

Mayasa watched as he pushed buttons and ran through an impressive list of features, but she remained troubled by his involvement with Gideon Koske. It wasn't only her father who thought him a thug. She'd heard others say the same thing.

‘What did you have to do for Koske to get this new phone?' she asked.

Joshua pushed a few more buttons before answering. ‘Is there something wrong about earning money?' he asked aggressively. ‘Don't you earn money at Adams Arcade?'

She was taken aback, but managed to respond, ‘Yes, of course.' She was about to leave it, but decided she had to say what was on her mind. ‘But I don't earn it by threatening poor people.'

‘He sells plots in Kibera. There's nothing wrong with that.'

‘He sells plots he doesn't own. He pushes people to pay him money to avoid getting beaten by his thugs. But you must already know all this, Joshua. Anybody who lives in Kibera knows it.'

Joshua's expression darkened. ‘Yes, I live in Kibera. And so do you. But you've got a job and maybe your father has a job too, so he doesn't have to go looking, looking every day, and pay a hundred shillings to the gate
askari
even to ask for a job. And another hundred bob to his foreman if he gets work. So he can carry cement bags all day and then take home a hundred if he's lucky. And me. Look at me, selling newspapers and silly toys on Uhuru Highway. What does that buy me? A can of Coke and a Wimpy. Not now. Now I have money.'

‘I know all that. Do you think I don't know about these things? My father…' She abruptly changed tack. ‘I work, and we get help from my sister's husband, but still we have nothing.'

‘Then don't tell me how I should get my money. You and your fancy Kiswahili. Don't tell me who I should know and what I should do. I do what I must.'

Mayasa's inclination was to fight back, but she liked Joshua and knew she was pushing him too hard. ‘All I'm saying is, you should be careful around Koske. My father says he's a dangerous man.'

‘Your father! Who cares about your father? In Kianda you have more than anyone in Kisumu Ndogo. What does your father know about my life? He's like my father—all the time telling me what to do. And questions, questions. All the time: what are you doing? Who are you speaking to? That's why I left home. Now you are sounding just like him. It makes me mad!'

He snatched up his sandals and stormed off.

Mayasa watched him go, wondering why he thought he was the only person suffering in Kibera.

 

Kazlana gunned the red Audi R8, fishtailing it out of the Wilson Airport car park. At the busy Langata Road intersection she dashed through a gap between a truck and a bus, earning a blast from both. She laughed. Then she planted her foot, overtaking everything before she hit the lunchtime traffic jam at Nyayo Stadium and was forced to a crawl along Uhuru Highway.

Her flight to Mombasa had been enjoyable, as flights always were for her, but a waste of time. The odd little administrator of the Circularians, Horácio Domingues, had revealed nothing of interest. The one curious fact she had learnt was that the Circularians didn't have an established meeting place but did their charity work within the local community. In particular,
they provided support for local orphans until they found homes for them.

She'd also found out that her father had flown a number of missions to Nakuru for the Circularians, but never to Wajir. She'd hoped to find a link between her father's death and the mysterious disappearance of the orphanage children, but it had been just another failed hunch.

Driving was so different to the freedom she enjoyed while flying. That morning on her return to Nairobi, and on a whim, she'd changed course and flown over the blue gem of Lake Chala with the great hump of the sleeping elephant, Kilimanjaro, blocking her path. She'd tested the Cessna, climbing the eastern flank at tree-top height until the engine screamed in protest, then circumnavigated the glacial peak three times in memory of her father, who'd introduced her to flying. The glaciers had shrunk from the days she had flown over them with her father, but were nevertheless brilliant, reflecting the sun in long, dancing rays.

She could still recall the ecstasy of that first moment, at age eight, when she'd realised that she had control of the aircraft. She had made it tilt and dip, veer and climb, and felt a blast of power that sent a fire rushing through her veins. It was as though in defying the universal force of gravity, she had accumulated enormous reservoirs of energy that had to be dissipated before she could unwind. As a child she was unmanageable for hours after landing. Her father said it was the pure essence of freedom that flying gifted to some individuals. Whatever it was, the sensation had endured, and Kazlana came to realise in later years that it was closely associated with sexual arousal. She could be a ruthless and demanding lover following a flight. On the rare occasions when she had a man in her life, she would not let him rest until the pent-up sexual energy was spent. Not many men could handle her under those circumstances. Consequently, her relationships were short-lived.

At the next roundabout she veered off the highway, taking the narrow road above the Railways Golf Club. She cursed when she came upon an overloaded
matatu
lumbering up the hill. The washouts along the edges of the winding road made passing difficult, but she dropped the Audi into first, sending the rev counter into the red with the motor screaming. An oncoming sedan swung out of her way and into the ditch. The
matatu
driver trumpeted his anger or delight—it was hard to know with
matatu
drivers.