Softly Calls the Serengeti (15 page)

‘What time was he supposed to be here?' Mark asked.

‘I said around five.' Charlotte glanced at her watch for about the third time since five o'clock. For some reason she felt responsible for Joshua's behaviour. ‘I'm sure he won't be long.'

She had the impression that Mark didn't really agree they needed a guide. If he were anything like Bradley, he probably thought it reflected poorly upon his masculinity.

‘I hope he's a bit more reliable if we find ourselves treed by a Serengeti lion,' he said.

‘You know quite well he's not that kind of guide. He has my mobile number. I'm sure he'd ring if—oh, there he is.'

Joshua, looking a little apprehensive, stood in the opening to the Panafric's garden. He searched the tables and when he spotted Charlotte his expression brightened. Grinning, he came towards them with a loping, swaying motion. He might have been acting the part of a hip-hop artist on MTV. She was pleased to see he wore a clean pair of jeans and sneakers. His hanging tee-shirt reached halfway down his thighs, and when he arrived at their table he stood loose-kneed with his hands on his hips as Charlotte made the introductions.

Mark shook his hand and then sat back to study him. Charlotte placed an order for a round of soft drinks.

Before they arrived, Mark took charge of the discussion, as Charlotte had hoped he would.

‘Charlotte said you were born in a small village near the Serengeti. What did your father do for a living?'

‘My father was a worker for the Serengeti National Park. A driver.'

‘That's interesting,' Mark said. ‘What was his job?'

‘He drove a Bedford truck. He would take the truck for deliveries.'

‘I see.' Mark tapped his fingers together thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean he was a driver employed by the rangers to bring materials into the park?'

‘Yes.'

Charlotte sensed Mark was testing the boy. She thought that Joshua might have realised this too because he answered carefully without the Nairobi–Kiswahili inflections he had used when he'd spoken to her in the traffic jam on Kenyatta Avenue.

‘Are you familiar with the national park?' Mark asked.

‘Oh, yes. I went often into the park with my father. He would drive his old
rukwama
—sorry, I mean the Bedford truck—into the park. We would stop maybe on a hill and take our lunch. You should have seen the animals there. It was such a beautiful place with so-o-o many animals. We would see gazelle—there were always gazelle. And zebra. And many, many ostriches. And there were—'

‘Charlotte probably told you we want to take a tour of the Serengeti before we go to Kisumu. Do you know Kisumu?'

‘Oh, yes. It's my homeland.' Joshua paused to take a long drink from his creamy soda.

Charlotte intervened. ‘Do we really need Joshua to be our guide in the park, Mark? We have maps. I think what we really need is someone to be our translator. Joshua, tell Mark the languages you speak.'

Joshua recited his impressive credentials.

Mark seemed appeased, but Joshua had warmed to his subject. ‘And do you know, Mr Mark, one day we parked under a tree and a lion jumped out. It was very exciting, you know.'

‘I'm sure it must have been. Now, can we discuss money?'

‘And another time, we saw ma-a-a-ny elephants. Oh, so many.'

‘Great, now about payment.'

After a little haggling, Joshua seemed surprisingly content with the fee Mark suggested. It made her deal for an hour of his time quite preposterous.

Charlotte confirmed she would call Joshua when they had a departure date in mind and he loped off the way he'd come.

‘Not a bad kid,' Mark said. ‘I'm glad we decided to take a guide.'

Charlotte let the comment go. There was something about men and the way they had to lay claim to all the good ideas that she found extremely irritating. Instead, she focused on achieving her objective of travelling up country. So far, all was proceeding well.

 

Joshua was delighted about the upcoming trip. Not only would he be able to visit the Serengeti National Park—a dream he had held since childhood—he would be paid to do so while sitting in a car feeling important.

He told Kwazi about the trip. He told his football team-mates and supporters. He would tell Mayasa when next he saw her. It would have pleased him to tell his father, but he would not lower himself to knock on his door. He thought it most probable that Simon would hear about it eventually anyway.

Koske was furious at the news. He called Joshua a coward for running before the battle had begun. He said he showed great disrespect for Koske himself—a man who had spent so much of his valuable time and money on the football team that Joshua represented. Hadn't he always had Joshua's welfare at heart, even sending one of the leading football scouts to see him in action? Koske said he was hurt to see how little loyalty he received, considering all the good things he'd done for Joshua.

‘Yes, Mr Koske,' Joshua replied.

‘Yes, what?' Koske demanded.

‘Yes, I think you have been very good to me.'

‘So what are you going to do about this—what do you call it? This guide's job?'

‘But you see…the Serengeti is my homeland. Everyone has a homeland.'

‘Hah!
Takataka!
Rubbish! You're a Kibera boy. Born here. And you'll die here.'

Under Koske's indignant barrage, Joshua was losing his resolve.

‘It's such a beautiful place, the Serengeti,' he offered lamely.

Koske changed tack. ‘Listen to me, Joshua. The elections are coming. We want Raila to win, don't we?'

Joshua nodded.

‘And when he does, that's the time to take your holiday in the Serengeti.'

Joshua made no response.

‘Look. I myself will see that you go there. I have a friend in Kisumu who can arrange a visit for you. You'll see. And it's better to do that knowing that our man is the president.
Si ndiyo?
'

Joshua nodded again.

‘That's better. And I tell you one more thing. That football scout that came to see you? He wants to see you in the trials.'

Joshua searched Koske's eyes for any sign of truth in his statement. As usual, he was unreadable. But he wanted it to be true.

Koske could read his thoughts. ‘I swear,' he said, putting his hand on his heart. ‘I promise you. It's your big chance.'

Joshua felt he couldn't threaten that chance, even if it were an unlikely one. ‘I'll be here, Mr Koske.'

‘Good boy!' Koske slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good boy.'

Joshua watched Koske walk away before turning towards the railway line and making his way home to Kwazi's partially completed sheet-iron shack in the depths of Kibera. Only an hour ago he had felt euphoric. The Serengeti. A job. Money to spend as he chose, and the prospect of living like a
mzungu
,
even if ever so briefly. Now, the alleys he passed through suddenly seemed more putrid; the houses more ramshackle.

He knew Koske was lying about getting him a trip to the Serengeti after the elections. He wasn't so sure if he was lying about the football scout. If he had to forgo his safari to the Serengeti, he had to cling to the elevating thought of playing football with the Limuru Leopards. It remained strong as he crossed the railway line to Mombasa. It was still there as he jumped over the putrid drain running through Kisumu Ndogo and it almost lasted until he arrived at Kianda. But then it faded.

Even if Koske stood by his promise, Joshua could not relinquish his one and only chance to see the Serengeti. Not for Koske. Not for the football scout. Not even for Raila Odinga himself.

 

They held each other in the darkness at the door to Kwazi's shack. Mayasa could feel his breath hot on her neck, then he pressed his lips there and touched her skin with his tongue. A slight shiver ran through her body. Slowly she ran her hand down the ripple of his ribs to his hip, then inched it across to his groin to feel the heat of him there.

‘Wait until I go inside,' Joshua whispered to her. ‘Let's pretend we are the only people in Kibera and you are trying to find me.'

He slipped through the door of the shack and she waited a few moments before following him.

She felt her way along the inside wall. With her other hand, she searched for the low overhead beam in the one room that Joshua and Kwazi had managed to complete. The unfinished section of the corrugated-iron wall was rough with rust.

The window shutter was propped open, letting the faint glow from the muddied sky fall on the bed. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see Joshua's naked body outlined
against the pale sheet that covered the bed base—the most expensive item in the shack. She could sense his hunger, almost feel his urgency, but she wanted to extend the delicious time until he was on her and in her. Her skin tingled with anticipation. She let her shift fall to the floor, unclipped her bra and stepped out of her panties.

He lifted his hand to her and moved to allow her space on the firm, narrow base. His hands were so gentle on her breast and he placed soft kisses there as he whispered how much he loved her.

From her nipple he moved to her nape and nibbled and kissed her there before moving to cover her mouth with his. She drank in his sweet breath and searched for his tongue with hers.

His long, lean body pressed against her side and she could feel his hardness against her thigh. He softly moaned when she held it in her hand. She pulled him to her and sighed as he pressed his body into her.

 

Joshua lay in the darkness with Mayasa's head resting in the crook of his shoulder and her hand on his bare chest. They were both breathing heavily. He stared into the sky through the unshuttered window. The quarter-moon was a smudge behind the smog and smoke from Kibera's thousands of smouldering rubbish dumps and cooking fires. Stars were seldom visible, and there were nights when even the moon was hidden.

‘When will Kwazi be home?' Mayasa asked softly.

Joshua fumbled for his mobile phone in the dark. It was ten thirty. ‘Soon,' he said.

‘I'd better go.'

‘In a moment. Lie with me for a little longer.'

Mayasa was not his first girlfriend but there was something special about her. Unlike any of the previous ones, he wanted to keep her close to him after they'd made love.

‘When I come back from the Serengeti,' he whispered, ‘I will have money, and the
wazungu
will give me a reference so I can get real work. Maybe in a factory or where they are building something. And we can find a place together.'

‘I'd like that, Joshua, but are you sure you should leave Nairobi? Koske is not a man to anger.'

‘He will be angry for a time, but I can keep out of his way until he cools.'

‘But in Kibera…he owns so much. He will make it difficult for us.'

‘Maybe instead of coming back here, we can both return to the Serengeti. We could live there together. I might get a job as a tour guide. Maybe I can even buy a Land Rover. A very, very old one, but it will be enough to start.'

She remained quiet.

‘Mayasa? Would you come with me?'

‘I would…but my father…'

‘I will speak with your father. Tonight.'

‘No.'

‘Why not? I must meet him. It's not right that we are together and I haven't met your father.'

‘But I haven't met yours.'

Joshua had not seen his father since leaving home. He felt bad, but couldn't weaken. ‘You know I am not speaking with my father.'

‘Yes, but why?'

‘He has no…qualities.'

‘What do you mean? Of course he has qualities. He's your father.'

‘Yes, but…Anyway, I will meet your father tonight. We will talk like men together.'

‘No…He…he will already be asleep. He must be up very early to look for work.'

‘Then when?'

‘Soon.'

 

Armed with Koske's megaphone, Joshua worked the roads and alleys of Kibera, cajoling, harassing and encouraging people to vote for Raila Odinga on election day. Accompanying him were more than a score of his football team's supporters and players, who blew whistles, beat metal cans and waved flags. As they moved around Kibera, their numbers swelled with other Odinga supporters. Many of the marchers used their mobile phones to send messages to their network of friends. Soon there were hundreds—mainly unemployed men and youths—in the crowd. As their numbers grew, they were forced onto the wider roads.

Joshua was elated by the demonstration of support for Odinga and excited at his success in rallying such a crowd. He saw Kwazi standing on a corner watching the parade. Kwazi's opinion of such political demonstrations was well known to Joshua. He called them ‘tribal gatherings', and thought them divisive, and his current expression of derision told Joshua his opinion hadn't changed. Still, Joshua was euphoric and signalled to Kwazi to join them. Kwazi gave him a disparaging gesture with his finger.

A dozen or more young men at the head of the procession, the most vociferous and fervent among the throng, saw what they thought to be an insult directed at them. They flew into a rage and, before Joshua could react, descended on Kwazi, whooping and yowling like wild animals. They knocked him to the ground and rained blows and kicks on him.

Joshua was momentarily stunned by the sudden violent turn in events. Recovering, he raced to where Kwazi was pinned to the ground and, roaring at the top of his lungs, threw himself into the mêlée, pulling at the bodies piled on Kwazi. His efforts were useless. The pack had become possessed by blind, mindless vengeance.

Eventually, at some invisible and unheard signal, Kwazi's assailants fell away, leaving his battered and bloody body on the hard, dead earth of Kibera.

 

Kenyatta National Hospital sat on the hill above Nairobi, a bleak, grey, high-rise concrete monolith on the border of the Kibera slums. In the early days of the settlement, the hill had been the most desirable location in town, housing the governor's residence and the prestigious Nairobi Club. A collection of fashionable stone dwellings had risen in the club's vicinity, but many years later fashion had moved on and the stone houses on the hill had fallen into disrepair. Those that weren't demolished became low-cost lodgings or communal housing.