The Garden of Burning Sand (11 page)

Lusaka, Zambia
August, 2011

The response team congregated again on Monday morning. Zoe sat across from Joseph, anxious to hear his report. She had left him a voicemail on Sunday asking about his nocturnal adventures at Alpha Bar, but his response had been a cryptic text: “
Good things come to those who wait
.”

She had replied:
“They better be good. I hate waiting.”

When everyone assembled, Mariam looked at Zoe. “I talked to the DPP about Darious’s history with Bella and the incident with Bright. He was guarded, of course, but he’s going to review the case today.” She turned to Joseph. “Zoe tells me you have an update?”

He nodded. “I went to Alpha Bar on Saturday night. I spent time with a couple of girls.”

“I hope you wore protection,” Niza said wryly.

He laughed. “Condoms don’t fit over my ears.” He placed his hands on the table. “The girls go by the street names Candy and Love. They know Darious. He’s a fixture at Alpha. But they don’t go with him anymore. They think he has HIV.”

“Is he on medication?” Zoe inquired.

“They didn’t know, but I don’t think so. I watched him for a while. He has lesions on his skin, and he’s thinner than he should be. He went to the bathroom four times in an hour. He was drinking, but so was everyone else. I’d guess it was diarrhea. If I’m right, he’s pretty far along.”

“How would you know that?” asked Niza.

Joseph was silent for a long moment. “My little sister died of AIDS.”

Even Niza seemed shocked by his admission. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Zoe looked at Joseph with newfound understanding. It explained, in part, why he was so devoted to his work.

Mariam spoke up. “I’m very sorry to hear about your sister, Joseph. But I’m curious about your theory. If Darious has AIDS, why wouldn’t he be on ARVs? This isn’t the 1990s. The drugs are everywhere now, and they’re free.”

“The myths still have power,” Zoe responded.

“As does the stigma,” Sarge agreed.

Zoe nodded. “If a man as enlightened as Thabo Mbeki can question whether HIV causes AIDS, then anyone can question it,” she said, referring to the controversy fueled by Nelson Mandela’s successor in South Africa.

“But Mbeki lost that debate,” Mariam objected.

“You and I know he was wrong,” Sarge said. “But a lot of people still agree with him. The suspicion of Western motives runs deep.”

“Sarge is right,” Joseph said. “Darious may or may not question the science, but I’m certain he’s afraid of what his family will think. My sister was. She didn’t tell me until she was too sick to stand. Even then, she swore me to secrecy. My father thinks she died of pneumonia.”

At that moment, Zoe had an idea. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Kuyeya
is a disabled child. The obvious assumption is that she’s a virgin. What about the old myth that sex with a virgin can cure HIV? Darious knew where she was living. Doris saw him a few weeks ago. What if he was lying in wait?”

“Of all the fanciful scenarios,” Niza rejoined. “Darious is too smart to believe in fairy tales. He might be apprehensive about disclosing his status. But to rape a disabled girl in an attempt to cure himself? It’s hard to believe.”

Zoe looked at Niza in frustration. “Bright is proof that Darious has no concern about raping a child. And desperate men are gullible. The other day on the street I got a flyer from an
nganga
advertising therapy for bad luck, witchcraft, relationship problems, penile enlargement, and AIDS. The flyer was printed in English. It was aimed at the literate. People like Darious.”

“Zoe has a point,” Sarge said.

“It’s frightening, but believable,” Joseph agreed.

“Am I the only level-headed person in the room?” Niza said. “Even if by some vast stretch of the imagination all of you are right, how in the world are we going to prove it?”

The silence descended so quickly it was as if a curtain had been dropped. Everyone stared at Niza until she held up her hands defensively. “It’s a fair question.”

“Granted,” Sarge said. “But we have a way to go before we need to worry about proof.”

“I’ll start asking around,” Joseph offered. “There are a lot of
ngangas
in Lusaka, but there can’t be many that Darious would trust. If he went to one, I should find out about it eventually.”

Mariam looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s nine thirty. Zoe and Niza, help Sarge prepare the paperwork for co-prosecution. Joseph, put your findings in a report. I’ll get Mwila to contact Dr. Chulu. He
should know that Darious may have the virus. I’ll inform you as soon as I hear from the DPP. Let’s hope for a green light.”

The call from the Director of Public Prosecution came a few minutes before three in the afternoon. This time Mariam invited Zoe into her office on the condition she remain quiet.

“This case is very troubling,” said the DPP. “Has the child seen a psychiatrist?”

“Not yet,” Mariam said, “but we’re working to schedule an examination.”

“And her family? No one knows when she was born?”

“We have her physical appearance, and we have Doris who she lived with—”

“Yes, yes,” he interjected. “But the woman’s testimony is pure conjecture. I’m not trying to be difficult, but I’m a lawyer. The weakness is obvious enough.”

“We have other leads,” Mariam said. “We’ll find someone who can tell us her age.”

The DPP sighed. “Mariam, I have great respect for your team. Sarge and Niza are two of the best attorneys in Lusaka. But this isn’t some illiterate criminal you’re talking about. This is Darious Nyambo. His father is a former cabinet minister. His mother sits on the High Court.”

“Look, Levy,” Mariam said, “I know it’s a risk for you. I don’t want to be embarrassed by this either. But we’re in a dilemma. Our case isn’t airtight without DNA, but we can’t get a blood sample without a court order. To get a court order you have to let us prosecute.”

The pause that followed was pregnant with the DPP’s unspoken doubts. “Why didn’t Doris report her daughter’s rape? It could have prevented all of this.”

The question was rhetorical, and Mariam didn’t respond.

“You promise me the samples haven’t been tampered with?” he said at last.

Mariam nodded. “Dr. Chulu is preserving them at the hospital.”

The DPP cleared his throat. “The law is ambiguous, but it needs to change. Rape is far too common in this country. The only way we can create a lasting deterrent is to use DNA. Mariam, if you are willing to stake your reputation on the guilt of Darious Nyambo, then I’m going to let you. But if you fail, it could undermine everything you’ve worked for.”

When the DPP granted his consent, Zoe’s heart soared, but her eagerness was not reflected in the faces around the table. Mariam and Sarge were grave, and Niza looked ashen.

“Why don’t you think about it and let me know,” the DPP said, and ended the call.

For a long moment, no one in the room moved or spoke. Zoe held her breath, waiting for someone to break the ice.

“Sarge?” Mariam said at last.

Sarge tented his hands, returning her gaze. “A crime is a crime. I believe the evidence. I’m ready to move forward.”

Mariam turned to Niza. For once the young attorney had nothing to say.

“Niza, look at me,” Sarge said in a quiet voice, waiting until she did before continuing. “This is our chance to do what the politicians only talk about. We can change a life. We can change the system itself. But we need your help. I need your help.”

Finally, Niza spoke. “You know how much my father sacrificed for standing on principle?” she asked in an anguished voice. “He tried to convince Robert Mugabe to end the land-reform program. Mugabe might have had him killed if we hadn’t fled to Zambia.”

“Your father had courage,” Sarge replied. “He couldn’t ignore his conscience.”

As Zoe watched, something changed in Niza’s face. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw tensed with sudden resolve. “Nyambo will treat this as an act of war,” she said, smiling grimly. “If we want to stand any chance of winning, we have to do the same.”

Mariam picked up the phone and held the handset in the air. “Shall I make the call then?”

Niza answered for all of them. “Make the call.”

At six o’clock that evening, Joseph arrested Darious outside his father’s house in Kabulonga. It was an event Zoe wished she could have witnessed, just to see the look on Darious’s face when Joseph put him in handcuffs. But she couldn’t be there; she was an American, a woman, and an attorney. There were protocols to follow. And there was the matter of her safety.

Joseph conducted the interrogation at the police post in Woodlands. Zoe heard from him after he had placed Darious in the lockup.

“He denies all of it, of course,” Joseph said. “He claims he was with his father on the night Kuyeya was raped. We searched the SUV and didn’t find anything. Bella was right in naming him Siluwe. He’s extremely calculating.”

“You sound like you’re enjoying yourself,” she replied, sitting on the couch in her flat.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for a case like this. Listen, I have to write the report. I’m going to deliver the docket to the police prosecutor’s office in the morning. I have a friend who’ll make sure it’s indicted and sent to the Principal Resident Magistrate right away. We should get an initial hearing by the end of the week.”

“I take it Darious will get out on bond?”

“It’s already been arranged.”

“Did he hire Benson Luchembe?”

Joseph chuckled. “Of course. He’s coming down here in a few minutes.”

“So this is the beginning.”

“Yes,” he said, “but don’t get too excited. We have a long road ahead.”

Joseph was right. The wait for an initial hearing lasted only three days. On Thursday morning, Zoe climbed into Maurice’s Prado for the short trip to the Subordinate Court. Niza joined her in the back seat and Sarge settled in up front.

The magistrate’s court complex, built in 2005 at the behest of President Mwanawasa, a former lawyer, was a thing of uncommon beauty in a city dominated by drab, Soviet-style architecture. The stately brick edifice had a vaulted lobby with glass block windows and a dozen courtrooms that were reached by way of a covered arcade.

They entered the lobby and met David Soso, the police prosecutor assigned to the case. Clad in a chalk-stripe suit and purple tie, he looked more banker than lawyer. “Hi, Sergeant,” he said, shaking Sarge’s hand. “We’re in Courtroom 9. Magistrate Thoko Kaunda.”

“The judge, who is he?” Zoe asked Niza, walking behind Sarge and David.

“He’s young,” Niza replied. “He was hired straight out of school.”

Zoe shook her head. “Excellent. A new member of the bar deciding the fate of Darious Nyambo. Cue the puppet show.”

They strolled down the arcade between patches of grass and open-air skylights. Zoe saw a group of young attorneys waiting outside the courtroom along with two men who looked like elder statesmen. The first was Benson Luchembe. Tall and corpulent with a mane of white
hair, the lawyer carried himself like a village chief at a political rally—a figurehead who persuaded with pageantry. The second was Frederick Nyambo. He was taller than Zoe recalled from their brief interaction at the Intercontinental, but his face was unmistakable. In contrast to Luchembe, he had the aloof look of a monarch who ruled by divine right.

Luchembe tilted his head, and Frederick turned to watch them pass. Zoe met his eyes and smiled wryly.
We remember each other, but you can see I’m not impressed
.

Sarge led the way into the courtroom and set down his briefcase. Niza and David Soso sat next to him at counsel table, and Zoe took a seat in the front row of the gallery. Designed in the British style, the courtroom had high ceilings, wood trim and benches, and a dock cordoned off by a railing. Zoe doodled on a legal pad until the defense team sauntered in. Cocking her head, she saw Frederick Nyambo take a seat at the back of the courtroom alongside a handsome woman in a jade
chitenge. That must be Patricia
, she thought.

Joseph slid in beside her and whispered, “The jackals have gathered.”

“Along with the lion and lioness,” she replied, gesturing with her head toward the Nyambos.

He nodded. “Must be expecting a feast.”

Suddenly, the door to chambers opened and Thoko Kaunda climbed the steps to the elevated bench, lugging a raft of binders. He took a seat and placed the binders in piles like a student arranging pencils at an exam. He was no older than thirty-five, with a high forehead and wireframe glasses. Zoe felt a churning in her stomach.
Unless you are tougher than you look, Luchembe is going to eat you for lunch
.

Kaunda waited until everyone was seated and then read the docket so quietly that Zoe strained to hear. He waved a hand toward the
courtroom deputy who summoned Darious from a holding room. Darious was thinner than Zoe remembered. She looked at him closely and saw the blemishes on his skin. He took his place in the dock, staring at the magistrate with feline eyes. Like his father, he had the insouciant bearing of a superior being.

After dispensing with a preliminary matter, Kaunda called their case. He held up the charge sheet so that it obscured the bottom half of his face and read the statutory description of defilement in a monotone. Then he looked at Darious and raised his eyebrows almost apologetically.

“Do you admit or deny the charges?” he asked.

“I deny them,” said Darious without a flicker of concern.

The magistrate turned to the lawyers seated at counsel table. “In light of the defendant’s plea, we must schedule a trial date.”

Sarge and Luchembe stood at the same time. Kaunda motioned to the defense attorney, giving him the first word.

“Your Worship,” Luchembe began, choosing the honorific usually reserved for appellate judges, “I must apologize to the Court. My trial calendar is booked until December of next year.”

Sarge shook his head. “Your Worship, this case involves the testimony of children. Their memories diminish rapidly over time. We don’t need more than five or six months to complete our preparations. There is no excuse to delay this case beyond April of next year.”