Softly Calls the Serengeti (29 page)

He felt he had to push the point home. ‘It's very important, Charlie.'

‘Yes, Mark. I hear what you're saying. Thank you.'

 

‘This is Samuel Muthami of SKY FM at the Kenyatta International Conference Centre where the counting of the votes from Thursday's poll continues.

‘There have been some startling developments in the last hour or so. Scrutineers from the Orange Democratic Movement have discovered irregularities in the votes tallied in the constituencies compared to those appearing here at the central tallying centre at KICC.

‘ODM supporters are outraged—you may be able to hear them in the background. They are calling for a halt to the count until the discrepancies are investigated. Mr Samuel Kivuitu, the chairman of the Electoral Commission of Kenya, is refusing to budge, saying there is no reason to doubt the figures. He takes this stance in spite of his own admission that his telephone connections to the constituencies have failed for some strange reason. He's had no contact with the polling stations outside Nairobi since earlier today, yet he still maintains the counting is accurate.

‘The police called for reinforcements and the General Services Unit have now arrived, but even they are struggling to hold back the crowd gathered outside.'

 

In his father's gloomy house, Joshua, who had returned shortly
after sunset, sat in the flickering light of the tiny black and white TV, watching the Odinga victory sink from sight. He was numbed by what he heard. Odinga, the declared winner of the night before, had lost the presidency.

In the TV studio, the lights reflected off Kivuitu's thick spectacles, making his eyes look like those of an alien creature sent to earth with a death sentence for the human race. He smiled, he nodded reassuringly, but the words following his official declaration of the polls were unheard by Joshua. The margins, the percentages, the parliamentary seats, the electorates won and lost—none of it mattered. Only the presidential result mattered. And Odinga had lost. Behind it all was the charade of officialdom. The same officialdom that had ruled his life in Kibera since birth; the officialdom that Raila Odinga had promised to eradicate by making government more accountable. More human. More benevolent.

Joshua looked at Charlotte, her attention on the scenes filmed earlier outside the KICC. Clouds of teargas drifted on the warm afternoon air. Uniformed men charged into the crowd, violently smashing the heads and bodies of anyone unwilling or unable to get out of their way. What could Charlotte know of the real effects of this election on him and his fellow supporters? She was a
mzungu
, a European, able to fly away from whatever consequences might follow this travesty. Could he blame her and her countrymen for this debacle? There were many who thought the source of all Kenya's political woes sprang from the colonists' legacy at independence. Joshua couldn't see the connection. Not after all these years. Certainly not after this election, which had so obviously, so comprehensively, so callously, been stolen from them by some of their fellow Kenyans.

He found his father's sad eyes not on the TV, but on him. Despite the look, he thought it unlikely that his father shared his sense of loss about the presidential election. He wouldn't feel compelled to fight against the injustice of it all.

‘Joshua, we must talk, you and I,' he whispered in Luo.

Joshua wanted to talk. He wanted to find some sense in what was happening; what had already happened. He was fearful for Charlotte, marooned in Kibera with a tsunami of trouble building around her. He was also afraid for Mayasa, who could be somewhere in the jungle of huts and alleys. Kibera required just one small spark to burst into violent flames. Anything might happen now.

From what seemed like a long distance away, but was probably not far at all, came a howling sound, a confusion of angry voices. Joshua felt trapped in the house while every fibre in his body screamed to be out in the night with the others, baying in outrage. The shameful theft of their election victory demanded immediate condemnation or else the government and their Kikuyu conspirators could celebrate a cheap victory.

He stood abruptly, needing to do something to relieve the feelings of guilt about his idleness, and bumped his head on the light globe, sending it spinning and the shadows with it. His father glanced at him but said nothing. Charlotte continued to stare at the TV screen.

Joshua fidgeted with his mobile phone. He checked how much credit he had and, hoping it would be enough, dialled the number. He stepped outside into the alley and felt a wash of relief when she answered.

‘Joshua! Is that you?'

‘Mayasa! I've been wanting to call—'

‘Where have you been? I've been—'

‘I had no credit. I've—'

‘…worried to death about you. I love you. I'm at—'

‘…I've been to…What?'

‘I said I'm at my sister's house.'

‘Before that.'

‘I said…I said, I love you.'

‘I love you too.'

‘You do? Oh, Joshua, I'm sorry. I should have told you about my father when we first met.'

‘It's okay.'

‘I know it's a problem for some people.'

‘Mayasa, it's okay.'

‘He's been admitted into the antiretroviral program.'

‘What's that?'

‘A treatment program. He's getting better every week.'

‘Good. That's good. But we can talk about this later. Where are you?'

‘At my sister's house in Langata,' she said. ‘I've been here since the trouble started. Are you safe?'

‘I'm at my father's house. Stay there until tomorrow. Maybe it'll be all calm by then. I'll come for you and bring you home.'

‘The market's safe. Why don't I meet you at Toi Market?'

‘Yes. Toi Market. Tomorrow at nine. I'd better go, not much credit.'

‘Okay. I love you, Josh.'

‘Love you too.
Kwaheri
.'

Inside again, Joshua checked his texts. He had a dozen incoming broadcast messages rallying the faithful for a raid into the Kikuyu stronghold of Laini Saba, and others denouncing the government and the electoral commission in extravagant prose. There were texts from friends and team-mates demanding to know why he was absent.

He flicked through his various news feeds. There was one he'd set up while in the national park at Nakuru. He scanned the Nakuru headlines. An item caught his eye and he opened it:

Thugs Attack Local Driver at Londiani Roadblock.

A roadblock set up by outraged Odinga supporters stopped a local safari operator's car. The lone occupant of the car, Mr Maina Gatoto, a Kikuyu employee of Kenya Allover Tours, was savagely beaten and left for dead. A Good Samaritan stopped to give assistance, but he was also set upon by the gang and luckily escaped.

Mr Gatoto was dead on arrival at Nakuru General. He leaves behind a wife and four children.

Joshua was in Nakuru Park again, watching the dawn bursting through the umbrella trees; the wildlife in numbers unimaginable. He recalled Maina's fascinating stories of the Serengeti and its even greater wonders.

‘The soft sounds of the Serengeti,' he whispered, just to hear Maina's words again.

Charlotte looked up at him. ‘You must miss it,' she said.

He stared at her for a long time before answering. ‘I have never been there.'

‘What?' Charlotte looked confused.

‘I'm sorry. I lied to you. All I know about the Serengeti is what a boy can learn from a poster in a travel agent's window. But I wanted so much to go. I was hoping to find work there so I could take Mayasa to live there.'

‘I see. Mayasa's the girl we saw you with on Ngong Road?'

He nodded.

‘But would you leave Kibera and take that risk?'

‘I have no choice. We must leave Kibera. It will never be safe for us now that Mr Koske is angry. I know it.'

‘Can't you go to the police if you're in danger?' she asked, then added, ‘No, I guess not,' when she saw his expression.

He told her about Mayasa and her father's HIV, and how at first it had been a problem but now was not. He told her about their plans for the future. If they could get away…somewhere.

‘Don't you have family in Luoland, near the lake?' she asked.

Joshua avoided glancing in the direction of his father. ‘Yes. But I don't know them.'

Charlotte nodded thoughtfully. ‘Even if you could get to the Serengeti National Park, or wherever else you might find work, how would you survive until you found a job?'

He said that Mayasa had family in Musoma, which was on Lake Victoria and quite near the Serengeti, but she said they were so poor she didn't think they could help them.

‘Mayasa says there are few jobs in Musoma,' he added. ‘I could try Kisumu. Maybe that's all I can do to feed us.' He smiled and fidgeted with his hands. ‘To get a job in the Serengeti…well, it's just a dream.'

‘It's okay to dream, Joshua,' she said. ‘I might have an idea.'

‘What is it?' he asked with interest.

‘I can't say just now. But maybe…'

 

Simon sat quietly as Joshua and Charlotte talked. It was painful to know his son could reveal his hopes to a
mzungu
woman and not to his own father. He'd had no idea of Joshua's dream about the Serengeti. How could a son of his have such strange and unachievable notions?

Then Simon remembered he'd also had dreams at Joshua's age, and even younger. But he'd also learnt how disastrous it could be to pursue impossible goals. When Joshua started to show an interest in his Luo background, Simon had refused to share Luo customs with his son, afraid he would ultimately be disillusioned. There was no place for traditions and culture in an urban slum.

But Joshua had been a determined boy and when his father refused to indulge him with the stories from the past, he had found others who would. Simon, who had learnt Luo lore at his grandfather's knee—an elder enmeshed in the history and beliefs of the tribe—could see the flaws in Joshua's second-hand knowledge. The stories he heard, largely from disillusioned young Luos in Kibera, were tainted by an overlay of inter-tribal hatred.

Still Simon had remained obstinate, and by the time he'd realised that he and his son had erected barriers within their relationship, it was too late to change. The only chance he had now of breaking down those barriers was to tell his son the truth about 2002.

 

Simon stood at the open door, his steaming mug of tea cupped between his hands, and smelt the air. It was the best time of the day to taste the air in Kibera as the pre-dawn moisture seemed to clean it of the odours of the previous day. But although the stars were faintly present, this morning the air was not good.

Behind him, the kitchen light clicked on and his wife joined him at the door.

‘Still there is smoke,' she said.

He nodded, taking a sip of his tea. ‘You will be careful today,' he said. It was a reminder of their conversation the night before. They'd talked about the present troubles and the need for her to take care.

‘I will,' she said, laying her head against his chest. ‘When will this end?'

‘Soon. When the elections are finished.'

They went inside and Patience closed the door on the acrid air.

The two little ones were curled together like a pair of kittens; Nellie was tucked under Faith's shoulder with a thumb stuck in the corner of her mouth. Charity lay on the fold-down, her head surrounded by long braids. Breathy gasps came from her slightly parted lips. The smoke was not good for her asthma. Simon struggled with feelings of helplessness and anger. Anger at his inability to improve his family's life; the helplessness of a father who had done all he could for an ailing child.

Joshua was asleep face down. At twelve, he had become a beanpole of a boy with long, spindly legs, large knees and broad feet, which he used to considerable effect on the football field. Simon had never been a keen supporter of the game, but he took vicarious pleasure each time his son slammed the ball into the back of an opponent's net.

‘Are they with you today?' he asked, referring to the children.

‘Yes. Except for Joshua, who is at football.'

Simon nodded. ‘I will tell him to stay close to home today,'
he said. ‘He can run your errands and you can be with the girls.'

‘Just let him sleep,' she said softly.

‘The boy has his responsibilities.'

Patience was silent, but when Simon glanced at her, she had those eyes—the ones he simply couldn't disregard.

‘He is a big boy now,' he countered, although his wife had said nothing.

‘It is his only joy, Simon. Let him play football. I have few things that take me outside the house today.'

He rolled his eyes, but let it be. Patience was right. There was little for an energetic boy to do in Kibera. At least dirt football kept Joshua away from those who preferred petty theft and the risk of a beating, or worse, if caught.

Simon drained the dregs of his tea and put the mug on the table with a sigh. Moving quietly among the beds he kissed each of his children on the cheek.

Patience waited for him at the door and slipped her arms around his waist.

To her unasked question he said, ‘Eastleigh today.'

‘So far.'

‘It will mean money for the
matatu
, but they say there is work in the timber yard.'

He kissed the top of her head and, with a final glance at his sleeping children, slipped into the smoke-sodden gloom.

It was a little after dawn when Simon arrived at the timber yard. Four men were at the chain-wire gate ahead of him. Simon recognised one from his days in Mathare.

‘
Habari
,' he said.