Softly Calls the Serengeti (30 page)

The man, Nathaniel, replied, shaking hands in the African manner by clasping thumbs. They exchanged news.

Nathaniel was a Kamba, but Simon knew him well enough to enquire how the current election problems affected him.

‘It is bad,
bwana
,' he said. ‘Near my house, two boys beaten to death with sticks. Sixteen or seventeen years only.' He shook his head.

‘
Kwa nini?
' Simon asked.

‘Why? For nothing!' Nathaniel said in outrage. ‘It is just this…this madness.'

‘
Haki ya mungu
,' Simon muttered in sympathy. Then added, ‘How is it with you? Any work?'

Nathaniel looked at the others standing with them at the gate, and drew Simon to one side. ‘Work is difficult,
bwana
. Very difficult. The Kikuyus, ah? These days they are hiring only their brothers.'

Simon nodded.

The gateman arrived, irritable from lack of sleep. Without a word he put his hand out and the four men at the gate with Simon put a grubby fifty-shilling note in it. When he came to Simon, he took his fifty and grunted that it was not enough.

‘More?' Simon said in disbelief. ‘But from them you took fifty only.'

‘A hundred,' the gateman said.

Simon looked at the others. Nathaniel pointedly averted his eyes.

The gateman was unmoved and, after waiting no more than a few seconds, turned his back on Simon while stuffing the notes in his pocket.

‘Wait,' Simon said. ‘Is there work here for us?'

Bribe money didn't guarantee work. That decision came from the foreman.

A shrug and nothing more from the gateman.

Simon fished out his last note and, after a hesitation that threatened to have the gateman turn his back again, he quickly shoved the fifty into his hand.

The gateman took a bundle of keys from his pocket and let himself in, putting a hand up to the others as they crowded close behind him. He snapped the padlock shut on the gate and ambled up to the site shed, scratching his backside. The men presumed they were in for a wait and squatted with their backs against the chain-wire gate.

Simon put his head back against the fence and stared into the clear sky directly above him. Clouds gathered in the distance, but he thought they would amount to nothing.
It's too early for the short rains
, he mused. A faint line of cloud in the middle distance stood in outline against the distant storm.

But it was more than cloud. There was also a line of smoke in the south-west; over Kibera.

Simon prayed he was wrong. Perhaps the smoke was from the more distant Ngong Hills. He stood and studied the line of misty grey, which was now joined by a filament of darker smoke. There could be no doubt. It was coming from Kibera.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knew his unease was because he and Patience had been discussing the crisis only last night. And it had been foremost in his thoughts for days. He was simply more conscious of the matter than previously.

He turned to see if the gateman was returning, but he was nowhere in sight.

Even if the smoke came from Kibera, it could be from the fires set the day before. He tried to convince himself that if it was from new fires in Kibera, they wouldn't be in Kisumu Ndogo, but he failed.

He turned again to see if the gateman and his money were returning, then hurriedly walked away from his chance of work and the certain loss of his hundred bob. Almost an hour later, he entered the maze of alleys, breathless.

No
matatu
driver would agree to bring him from Eastleigh to home. It was popularly rumoured that most of these small minibuses were owned by Kikuyu politicians, and a driver daring to enter Kibera risked a bombardment of missiles. It had therefore taken Simon an hour to reach the city, and a further forty minutes to run the gauntlet of the rioting, pillaging mobs from Uhuru Park.

During this time, the storm he'd first noticed at Eastleigh had gathered its undoubted energy above the city. Simon wished it
onward as it was likely to be the only power able to disperse the crowds and stop the pillage and burning he'd witnessed on his homeward journey.

‘
Haki wa; haki wa
,' a gang of youths shouted as they rushed up the alley towards Simon, who stood aside to let them pass. He'd heard their voices from a distance but felt no need to hide as he'd done on the other side of Kibera when a mob of Kikuyu youths had come rampaging along the road.
Haki wa; haki wa
had been the rallying Dho-Luo call for all Luos since the announcement of the election results.
Our right; our right
.

Simon was disgusted with them. Violence was not the answer. Instead of voting along tribal lines, they should have chosen their candidates on their policies and performance. It was all over, it was too late to cry that the wrong party or candidate had won. But he had more on his mind right now than the ill-mannered louts or short-sighted electorate. He'd been unable to find Joshua at the place he played football with his friends. He prayed he was already at home, safe from the turmoil now clearly in evidence around him.

His anxiety heightened as he neared Kisumu Ndogo. Instead of it being a relatively peaceful island in the middle of a stormy sea, there was a pall of smoke rising from its centre.

He hurried on through increasingly familiar neighbourhoods.
Don't think it; don't think it
, he whispered to himself.

He had tried to reassure Patience during their discussion the previous night that although she needed to be vigilant, there was no need for undue concern so long as she and the children stayed near the house. They were in the centre of the safest part of Kibera. Even the most foolhardy and aggressive gang would not dare invade Kisumu Ndogo, the Luo stronghold.

The smoke ahead of him towered higher.
Don't think it; don't think it
. The Ongoros' shack; the Oukos'. He was now in familiar territory. The Ogwan'gs' the Onyangos'.

Still the smoke loomed. He dared not imagine the unthinkable.

The Okellos'.

Radiant heat, hot on his face.

The burning house. His house. Consumed by flames. The roof sagging, then collapsing inwards, sending a cloud of red ash into the air.

A flash of lightning.

He slid down the Okellos' rusted corrugated-iron wall, a hand covering his mouth where a soundless scream had caught in his throat.

The clap of thunder.

Suddenly Joshua was beside him, staring at him through his tears, which streamed down his face. Simon could see his own pain in his son's expression, but in addition he found confusion and loss and incomprehension.

After friends and neighbours had carried away the blackened corpses that had been his wife and daughters, Simon held his sobbing son in his arms.

He knew this tragedy was the result of a tribal war. He didn't want to kill his son's interest in his Luo legacy, but he had witnessed the unspeakable evil of tribal hatred that morning and he took an oath that his son would never be drawn into a similar situation because of a misguided notion of pride in tribe.

Acrid smoke mixed with the morning mist as Charlotte followed Joshua through Kibera to the place on Kibera Road where she was to meet Riley.

When she'd put on the ankle-length
kanga
and modest headscarf that Joshua had borrowed from a neighbour, he'd said she looked very much like a proper Muslim lady off to the mosque in Ngong Road.

‘But I look like a bag of laundry,' she'd protested.

‘That is very good,' he'd said. ‘When we meet Mr Mark, and you are far away in the Panafric Hotel, then you can look beautiful again.'

Before they'd gone more than five minutes from Simon's house, they passed burnt-out
dukas
, the smouldering remains of which were scattered about the bare earth. Other
dukas
, with words like
No Raila—No Peace
crudely painted on them, had been spared.

Even though it was early, Charlotte thought it strange that the streets were almost deserted. When they had arrived the previous day, they had been buzzing with activity. Now, an eerie silence shrouded Kibera's streets, paths and alleys, as if the settlement had been shocked by what had transpired during the night.

Once over the rise near Kamukungi, they heard and then saw a large crowd of youths walking quickly towards them. Joshua led Charlotte into a side alley where they were hidden from the road. The gang passed uneventfully. After this, Joshua kept away from the wider thoroughfares; they picked their way through garbage-strewn alleys, avoiding the putrid water that meandered in rivulets or gathered in broad shallow pools in the eroded paths.

A woman burst from a house ahead of them, screaming as a man lunged at her from the doorway. She struggled with him for a few moments before managing to shake him off. She dashed down the alley, her bare feet splashing slush and filth around her. The man uttered a grunt and caught sight of Charlotte and Joshua watching him. Joshua stepped in front of Charlotte as the man made a threatening move towards them. Two men ran past him and, after a moment's hesitation, he followed. All three disappeared down another alley.

Charlotte's heart pounded and she clung to Joshua's arm. For a moment, she was back in the dark Nakuru night, surrounded by grunts of savage fury and squeals of terror, as unseen creatures fought to establish dominance.

Joshua took her hand, coaxing her forward, but she was reluctant to move. She was distressed by what she'd witnessed, but more than that, she was troubled that neither she nor Joshua had made a move to help the poor woman. It had happened so quickly, but was that her only excuse? And if they had assisted the woman, would they also have become victims of the anarchy that now surrounded them? She wanted to ask why the neighbours had not been alerted by the woman's screams? Where was the sense of community she'd witnessed just the day before? Where were the police?

But there were never any police. And even the support usually given by neighbours in times of trouble was tested when violence and chaos reigned. There was no law and order in Kibera that morning. These were the realities, and Charlotte became acutely aware that she was an outsider in this strange world, with only her disguise and Joshua preventing her from becoming yet another victim.

They quickened their pace. Soon they were scampering between the puddles and leaping the scattered rubble. Charlotte felt ashamed to be running, but she kept going as if her life depended upon it, and with scarce regard for the mud and slime that spattered her colourful
kanga
.

They emerged from a winding alley they'd followed for some time and arrived at Kibera Road. It was all but deserted of the frantic traffic that had flowed and jounced and tooted there only a day before. The cars, the buses, the
matatus
, all were gone and the silence that pervaded the near-vacant space seemed somehow sinister.

She and Joshua had a good view of the wreckage-strewn road in both directions. They were almost exactly at the place where Mark was supposed to be waiting, but it was already eight o'clock and he wasn't there.

‘What will we do?' she said, the panic rising in her voice.

Joshua didn't answer. He held up his hand as he stared down the length of Kibera Road. Charlotte followed his eyes, then heard it too. It was muffled, like the distant rumble of thunder, but grew in power as she searched for its source.

A massive crowd, carrying sticks or clubs or other weapons, came swinging into Kibera Road. They fanned out to fill the road, overturning push-carts and the small kiosks along the verges of the normally busy thoroughfare. They swarmed like ants over a single small sedan that had turned into Kibera Road without seeing the oncoming mob. The car tried to make a U-turn out of their path, but was trapped.

The shouting mob began to rock the car, until it finally toppled over. Nothing could be seen or heard of the occupants. A cloth tied to a stick was set alight and in another moment the petrol tank was ablaze—the flames leapt from the rear of the vehicle, sending up billowing clouds of black smoke. The crowd roared as if with one voice, and then continued towards Charlotte and Joshua like a lava flow, unchecked by the temporary diversion.

Charlotte felt trapped. She didn't want to retrace her steps, but nor could they stay where they were. More men joined the mob as it approached, pouring from the alleys. She swallowed a cry of alarm as two young men pushed roughly past her.
Three others hurried in their wake, waving their arms as they ran towards the approaching throng.

‘We have to go,' Joshua said.

‘Where?'

He searched the upper end of Kibera Road, towards the city. ‘He's not here,' he said unnecessarily.

Within a few minutes, the head of the seething monster would be upon them and they would have no more choices. It was either be consumed by the mob or retreat into the Kibera jungle behind them.

 

Riley felt confident about his plan. He'd reconnoitred Kibera Road soon after dawn. It was quiet and the carriageway was relatively clear, except for the shrapnel and stones that littered the tarmac, and the
dukas
and shops that smouldered like memorials to the previous night's turmoil. He had then retired to a siding near the Ngong Hills Hotel to avoid attracting attention.

At seven minutes before eight o'clock he started the car and drove towards Kibera Road. He didn't get far before finding the street blocked by police mobile units. In the middle of the line-up, a heavily built police officer leant against his gleaming sedan, running his sleeve over a blemish on the duco. He ignored Riley when he gave a short beep to attract his attention, continuing his work on the blemish until it was completed to his satisfaction.

He sauntered over to Riley, who asked, ‘What's the problem, Officer?'

The cop regarded him for a moment before replying sardonically, ‘There is no problem, sir. Just turn around and go home.'

‘I can't. I have to pick up a friend down there in Kibera Road in five minutes.'

The policeman frowned at him. ‘I said, go home. There is no access to Kibera today.'

‘Look, Officer, I understand there are some problems in the area, and I relieve you of all responsibility, but I have to go into Kibera. There's a young lady in there who's expecting me.'

‘And what is this young lady of yours doing in Kibera?'

‘She was—What's that got to do with it? I have to get through. Now.'

The officer straightened to his full height and sucked in his belly. ‘This is my last warning to you,' he said, slapping his truncheon into his hand. ‘I told you to get your car back from the barricade.'

‘But you don't understand…My friend is in Kibera. And I need to speak to someone who can let me through.'

Without further comment, the officer stepped to the front of the Land Rover and swung his truncheon hard into the headlight, causing an explosion of glass shards that glistened in the morning sun.

Riley glared at him, his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel to suppress his natural reaction.

The sound of smashing glass brought other policemen from the barricade, who gathered around, chuckling and cracking jokes.

The officer smiled vindictively and walked slowly to the other side of the car where he again smashed his truncheon into the headlight, bringing a roar of approval from his colleagues. He then began to pound the bonnet until it had a series of golf-ball-size dents in it.

Riley slammed the car into reverse, swung into a U-turn and drove as far as the corner, where he stopped out of sight of the roadblock, seething with anger and frustration. He hated corruption, particularly by those in positions of public service, and vividly recalled the situation with the Indonesian police when he'd tried to access details of his wife's death. It was common for them to use bluster to cover incompetence. There was the usual hint that if a small consideration were offered, matters could be different. They destroyed whatever self-respect
they had; abused the power given them by the people's representatives. But if he'd allowed his anger to show, there was always the implied threat of the gun at the hip.

Sitting behind the wheel of the Land Rover, glaring down the road to the police blockade, his eyes stinging with tears of rage, Riley slowly reined in his anger. He should have planned for this outcome. Now there was no time to take another approach. Once again he had failed to intervene in a dangerous situation that affected someone he cared for. He felt a stab of recognition in his anger. He realised now that only part of it had been directed towards the terrorists responsible for Melissa's death. He had been angry with himself for failing his wife. Maddeningly, furiously angry that he had failed to avert the disaster. If he'd insisted they leave the silly cowboy hat in the restaurant, she would still be alive. If he'd said,
No, honey, I want to take you home and make love to you
, she would not have been blown apart. Since then, he'd allowed that anger to grow and distort his judgement. It explained a lot about the many poor decisions he'd made over the last five years.

The insight spurred him into action. He started the motor and revved it before dropping the clutch. The Land Rover almost gagged on the power burst, but responded with a leap. Riley let the counter soar into the red.

The roar of the approaching vehicle had the desired effect. The police manning the barricade scattered in all directions.

He kept the power up to the diesel, and aimed the Land Rover's heavy-duty bull-bars at the police officer's gleaming car. The windows imploded as he rammed it in a full broadside, moving it a metre or two past the line of other vehicles.

Riley reversed, sending a squad of policemen who were about to pile all over him into retreat. He then revved and accelerated into the police car again, spinning it around and almost clearing the path. Again he reversed, again he smashed into the now twisted car wreck, and this time he was able to complete the breakthrough and dash between the line of trucks and buses.

Beyond the barricade was the barrow of an enterprising ice-cream vendor, who saw him coming and flung himself out of his path. The Land Rover hit the roadside kerb, which launched it, airborne, into the ice-cream cart, sending buckets of ice-cream and pieces of the cart in all directions.

Riley roared with delight and swung into Kibera Road.

His elation was short-lived. Coming towards him was a wall of people, and he could not see Charlotte at the place they'd agreed for the pick-up. He drove past, unsure if he had the right spot, but was soon almost up to the rioters' front ranks.

He made a swinging one-eighty in front of the marchers, which incensed them. The leading group charged after him, and in the rear-view mirror he could see that the remainder were quick to join them. A barrage of rocks flew past, some crashing onto the roof and hood.

He screeched to a stop at the alley he was sure was the meeting point and jumped out of the car. ‘Charlotte!' he shouted.

The roar of the oncoming mob, now less than two hundred metres away, was deafening. He yelled again.

‘Mark!' Charlotte ran to him and grabbed his outstretched hand like a drowning woman.

‘Charlie! Thank God. Come on.'

She turned back to Joshua, who waved them away.

Riley pushed her into the car and scrambled in behind her. A rock hit the roof with a heart-stopping thud. Charlotte stifled a cry of panic.

Another rock hit the back window, shattering it, as Riley gunned the Land Rover down Kibera Road.

 

Immediately after Charlotte fled with Mark, Joshua felt safe. He was free of responsibility and once again in his element—a Kiberan among Kiberans.

The mob surged past him. One or two shouted a greeting,
others urged him to join them. But Joshua felt quite exhausted. His only wish was to find Mayasa and to make sure she would be safely in his care until the trouble had passed.

The rioters left devastation in their wake. There was barely a structure untouched. Every vehicle was burning or destroyed. It appeared that even supporters' homes and businesses had been looted and in many cases burnt.

Someone shouted to a friend standing near Joshua, ‘Hey, bro! Come to Toi. It's our time to eat.'

‘To eat' was code for the rewards—the corrupt spoils of office—that supporters of the political party holding government could expect for their support, or for merely being a member of that tribal group, since the major parties were mainly formed along tribal lines and allegiances. The man in the crowd who invited his friend to join him at Toi Market was saying it was their time to take what they considered was owed them by the predominantly Kikuyu stall-owners. In this case, it meant looting and probably burning Toi Market.

Joshua's heart thumped as he realised Mayasa was waiting for him at Toi Market. He sprinted down Kibera Road, darting through alleys and taking all the short cuts he knew, but he was too late. A dozen spear-carrying Maasai
askaris
were already in unruly retreat from the market, abandoning their clients and their goods in the face of a far superior and determined force.