by Dan Fletcher
“Don’t worry they're safe, I locked them in earlier,” David sighed dramatically. He got up and dusted the bits of food from his lap. “Good night then,” he bent down and kissed his mother on the forehead.
“Sleep well,” she moved closer to Sefu.
“Good night,” David nodded to his father, turned and headed for the wooden barn.
David crossed the patch of earth that separated the barn from the bush surrounding it. Every year they burnt back a large area around the farm. Forming a barrier against the natural fires that raged the savannah in the dry season. He pushed the roughly hewn door open and stepped over the piece of timber that both held the frame together and represented the threshold to their home.
Although they were close to the town they were still not connected to the national grid. The electric poles not venturing out from the main road that led into Kisii. A gas lamp flickered on the rickety table that acted as the kitchen surface. The light it produced was unstable and shifting, not quite able to fill the room.
David walked over to the bed and kicked off his sandals before kneeling next to it. He put them underneath the bed and clasped his hands together.
*****
He sat up, wondering what had woken him from his deep slumber, and why the usually dark room was bathed in light. There was another loud blast from the horn of a vehicle outside and David’s brain groggily put two and two together.
He squinted blindly around the room. When his eyes adjusted David could make out his father, crouched next to the door with his rifle held in front of him.
“Who is it?” he peeled back the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the squeaky metal bed.
“Stay still and keep quiet!” Sefu glared at him briefly before turning his attention back to the door.
“Listen to your father,” whispered Waseme, seeing David look towards his rifle. It was propped up in the corner opposite his bed. David stayed where he was, trembling as the adrenalin pumped through his veins. The silence was broken by another long blast on the horn.
“Come out now and you won’t be hurt,” was the loud cry that followed.
“How do I know that?” Sefu shouted through the door. He beckoned them to move onto the floor at the foot of his parents’ bed. David crawled across the room as instructed and joined his mother. He could feel her arm trembling as she pulled him close to her. They crouched together, arms looped around one another’s back. David pulled back the hessian bag covering the window and peeked outside.
“You have my word,” replied the man wearing a red and white chequered shemagh. The scarf was wrapped around his head so just a slit was left for his eyes. He nodded to the man holding an AK47 machine gun standing beside him. The man smiled and nodded back, but kept his finger on the trigger.
David swallowed. Something wasn’t right about the way the man smiled. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, the way they did just before a kill shot. Behind the group of six men, including the one who appeared to be their leader, there were two more men in the cab of an old Bedford truck. He could hear another three or four of them stumbling around in the maize patch behind the barn. David guessed that there were twelve of them altogether, dressed in un-matching t-shirts, combat trousers and black leather boots. The men that he could see were tall, probably Maasai, and despite the t-shirts they moved with military precision.
“We have the building surrounded, if you don’t come out in sixty seconds then we’ll burn the place down. With you in it.”
The movement behind the house confirmed that the unseen intruder was telling the truth. His father stood and leant his Lee Enfield against the wall next to the door.
“Hold on, I’m coming out,” said Sefu.
“No,” David shook his head, “I don’t trust them.”
“Quiet!” Sefu put his finger to his mouth.
His father opened the door and stepped out into the glare of the headlights, keeping a hand on the doorframe next to his rifle.
“Step forward, away from the door.”
Sefu must have realised that to disobey would result in a barrage of bullets. He let his hand slip from the door and moved a pace towards them.
“What do you want?” David’s father was shielding his eyes with his hand.
“Somewhere to stay for the night, that’s all. Who else is in there with you?” the man lowered his machine gun so it pointed at the ground.
Sefu hesitated for a second before replying, “Just my wife and son...you’re welcome to stay the night if you want. We don’t have much, but I can offer you some food and shelter.”
“See, I told you they were hospitable in these parts.” The leader turned to his entourage, “You can relax. We won’t find any trouble here.”
David watched his father walk over to the group with his hand outstretched, “I’m Sefu...”
The man standing next to the one doing the talking cut his greeting short. He struck David's father viciously on the temple with the stock of his gun, dropping him to the ground. Sefu lifted his hands to protect himself from further blows and was thrust face down in the dirt.
The leader and three of his men rushed into the building. David stood up to confront them, putting himself between Waseme and the gang of men.
“Leave us alone!” spittle flew from his mouth.
The man wearing the headscarf lunged forward and grabbed him by the throat. He squeezed hard and David could feel his windpipe being crushed.
He grabbed hold of the hand on his throat and tried feebly to prise it off. The man’s grip was like a vice. David spluttered in protest as he was dragged into the middle of the room.
“Shut up,” the man let go and struck him across the face with the back of his hand, his maniacal eyes gleaming behind the shemagh.
He caught hold of David’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and pushed his hand up between his shoulder blades. The pain shot through his arm. David bit his lip to stop himself crying out. He was thrust towards the doorway and felt a heavy boot connect. It sent him sprawling in the dirt beside his father.
“Bring her outside!” the madman shouted.
Two of the men shouldered their weapons and moved to the corner. They picked Waseme up by her elbows and carried her outside to join the others.
“Good, I want this bitch to see what happens to Kikuyu bastards, especially ones that steal our women and land. Get them to their knees!” he snarled. “And make sure that she watches.”
One of the men pushed his mother to the floor and used both hands to hold her head fixed towards David and his father. She closed her eyes, tears running down her cheeks. The man in the headscarf stepped in front of Sefu and aimed the machine gun at his kneeling father’s head.
“No!” David screamed as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet burst through Sefu’s head, spraying bits of bone and flesh over David’s face. His father fell backwards, legs trapped underneath him.
Waseme broke free from her captor and scrambled to her feet. She launched herself forward and attacked the masked man with her nails, scratching at the scarf, trying to get at his eyes. The neck of his t-shirt was torn open and revealed a gold medallion surrounded by an ivory lattice. It glowed like a small fiery sun in the truck’s headlights. Etched in the centre was the figure of a man with two heads, it was an image that David would never forget.
The murderer grabbed hold of her hands and laughed, his face only inches from his mother's, “I think we’ll have some fun with this one before we kill her. Keep the boy alive until I’ve finished with her. I want him to hear how she screams with pleasure.”
“You bastard!” David struggled to his feet, hoping the man could feel the hatred in his eyes. Wanting to strangle him with his bare hands.
It was the last thing he remembered before the butt of the AK47 smashed into the back of his head and the lights went out.
CHAPTER TWO
Maasai Mara, Near the Tanzanian Border
Augu
st 9th, 1996
David woke with a start and the soaked sleeping bag fell away from him as he sat up. His chest glistened with sweat and he stared blankly at the canvas, struggling to come out of his recurring nightmare. It always seemed so real, like the five years that had passed since didn’t exist.
He waited for his eyes to adjust to the light filtering through the olive green material. He glanced over at Damo, worried that he might have screamed and woken him up. Thankfully his friend seemed to be asleep, Damo’s back was to him but he could hear his slow rhythmical breathing.
David lay back down on the bedroll and stared up at the point where the sides of the Government Issue two-man tent met in the middle. The canvas started to blur and then melted away, he found himself being transported back through time to that night. The rumbling bellows of a lion down in the valley snapped him back to the present. David shook his head, dream or daydream? He wasn’t sure. At times his conscious and subconscious overlapped, and reality and fiction became blurred. In some of his dreams he managed to save his father. Only to awake and have to undergo the painful realisation that Sefu was really dead and never coming back.
David sighed, sat up and swung his legs out of the sleeping bag. He scratched his itchy scalp, feeling along the ragged line where the bone had grown back together to form a pronounced ridge. The doctor in Kisii had told him that he was lucky to survive the blow that fractured his skull, David wasn’t so sure. Death would have at least meant an end to witnessing the daily torment and suffering that his mother went through.
The raid on their farm and his father’s murder was not an isolated incident. It was part of a widespread campaign of terror and ethnic cleansing, designed to keep the Kikuyu away from the ballot polls and Moi in power. Reports emerged over the years that tens of thousands of Kikuyu lucky enough not to be slaughtered were held in detention centres to prevent them from voting.
Most of the land returned to Kikuyu ownership by President Kenyatta after the British withdrew was now being contested by Moi’s regime. The Kikuyu farmers were being driven out and the title deeds signed over to people from Moi’s tribe, the Kalenjin. Their farm was just one of thousands taken from its owners by force.
“Are you OK David?”
Damo’s voice startled him for a second. He had forgotten where he was again. “Just tired, I didn’t sleep very well with all the commotion that the pride was making down by the river.”
Damo nodded, as if accepting his excuse, but after camping together hundreds of times he knew David as well as any man ever would. One drunken night in Narok he had told Damo about his father’s murder and the all too real nightmares. That was when any lingering reservations he had about working with a Maasai were extinguished. Damo had tears in his eyes when he hugged him and apologised for what another member of his tribe had done. A bond was formed between them that day, made stronger by their experiences in the bush. They had become like brothers, relying on each other for survival on a daily basis in their campaign against the poachers.
What David hadn’t told Damo was that joining the Kenyan Wildlife Service gave him the opportunity to travel and explore different parts of the country. Improve his chances of finding the monster responsible for destroying his family.
He looked over at Damo, “Go and wake the others. I’ll get the fire going and the water on.”
“OK boss!” joked Damo. “Right away!” He gave a mock salute before pulling on his combat trousers. Although Damo always followed his orders without question David occasionally wondered whether he resented taking them from someone almost half his age.
At forty-six Damo was as a fit as any member of the squad and could outrun him easily, his extra height and longer limbs giving him a distinct advantage. David noticed that he too had lost a lot of weight, his sinewy muscles more defined. The whole squad were leaner and harder after three weeks of trekking through the bush. They were covering up to thirty miles a day through unforgiving landscape just to keep up with the herd.
They got dressed into their camouflage fatigues and packed away their equipment in silence. A two-minute routine they had completed together countless times before, never leaving the tent until they were fully kitted out. When they were done David picked up his rifle and binoculars before following Damo outside.
They had spent the night in a camp not far from their base, the Purungat Outpost on the western edge of the Maasai Mara Reserve. David had thought about going back to the crumbling outpost for the night but there seemed little point. With broken windows, collapsed ceilings and no running water or sanitation they might as well stay closer to the elephants. Lack of funding was crippling their efforts to maintain the Park, half of the time staff weren’t paid and didn’t bother turning up for work. David’s team were one of the few still fully operational.
There was still a General Service Unit base near to Oloolola Gate, the paramilitary wing of the Kenyan police. The place was usually deserted and they didn’t venture out. Crime was on the increase and the roads and Parks facilities had fallen into a state of disrepair, but nobody seemed to care. No matter how many requests he sent through to headquarters for new equipment or staff, they didn’t arrive. David was beating his head against a brick wall and knew that they were fighting a losing battle. These days only one third of the Mara Triangle was safe for tourists. The rest was a no-go zone that most of the rangers avoided. He couldn’t blame them they were outnumbered and outgunned. Most of his time was spent policing the Park, arresting petty criminals and cattle rustlers instead of protecting the wildlife.
The camp they were staying in was one of many dotted along the Tanzanian border. A clearing surrounded by a thick boma of acacia bushes, sat on a rocky escarpment that overlooked the Serengeti and the limit of David’s jurisdiction. He threw some kindling onto the smouldering ashes of the campfire before adding a couple of thinner logs from the stockpile. The seasoned wood was light and crisp after a couple of years drying in the sun. Within seconds the fire burst into life and flames engulfed the branches.
David walked over to the barrier of thorns and pulled the sleeve of his jacket over his hand to protect it. He grabbed hold of one of the branches and dragged out a three-foot wide section not interwoven with the rest of the boma. He walked through the gap that acted as the entrance, his rifle held loosely in front of him as a precaution. It would be unusual for any predators to be this close to the camp with daylight approaching, but not unheard of.
He wandered over the edge of the rocks and looked down. A thin blanket of grey mist shimmered over the veldt below, heaving and rolling between the trees as if the land itself was taking shallow breaths.
David shouldered his Heckler & Koch sniper rifle and lifted his field glasses from his chest. He scanned along the dried up riverbed to the east, hoping that the elephants were heading back into the relative sanctuary of the park. But they weren’t. It took him a while to find them, just their backs poking through the mist. Moving like boats on water, leaving wispy trails in their wake. They must have gone left at the fork in the river during the night and were heading southwest in the worst possible direction. Along the meandering Mara River that loosely marked the border and the edge of the National Park. Half of the loops in the river belonged to the Kenyan side, the rest to Tanzania.
At points it was difficult even for David to be a hundred percent certain which country he was in. It was a favourite killing ground for the poachers at this time of year. When the waters were low and the riverbed easy to cross. A short dash and they were in the safety of the Serengeti where David and the other Rangers weren’t allowed to follow.
He put down the binoculars. They had better get moving. The herd was already a few miles away and getting further with every minute he wasted. By the time he got back to the fire Damo had already boiled the water and was making the maize meal porridge. He was adding honey from a jar to the pan, sweetening the mixture.
He looked up as David approached and raised an eyebrow, “I tho
ught that you were going to put the water on?”
“I went to check on the herd, they’re moving south along the river.” David sat down next to Chege, the radio operator, and greeted him with a nod. A beast of a man with legs like tree trunks and a ready smile who seemed not to notice the extra weight he carried.
Damo’s expression changed and the men’s chatter died out as the mood turned serious. After wolfing down the porridge they packed away the tents and left the boma.
Dawn came in pastel shades of pink and blue as David led the six-man team along the rim of the escarpment to the track going down to the river. The rest of his squad were carrying AK47s, even Chege who was keeping up the rear. Russian bought machine guns to match the poachers’ firepower. It also meant that they could use most of the ammunition recovered, as the Kalashnikovs were their enemy’s favoured weapon.
A group of rock dassie had emerged to bask in the morning sun. David knew them by their Swahili name ‘pimbi’. Fat rodents the size of a rabbit. Like mongoose they posted a lookout to guard against attacks from eagles, caracals and puff adders. Apparently scientists had proven that their closest living relatives were actually elephants. Something to do with the proportion of their limbs to their body and snout, but looking at them David found it difficult to believe. They looked more like oversized rats. The tawny grey sentry let out a trill whistle as they approached and then started barking to alert the others. In a heartbeat they disappeared under rocks and into crevices.
Once they negotiated the treacherous slope and made it down to the riverbed David increased the pace to a steady trot. What was left of the river, a ribbon of water about twelve feet wide and knee deep, snaked its way through the sand and shingle from one side to the other. He followed the left hand bank, keeping an eye out for crocodiles and hippos. Most of the water was too shallow except in the bends of the river where it collected to form deeper pools. They passed a family of five hippos, just their backs, the pinks of their ears and flaring nostrils showing above the surface. As they got closer a turtle riding the back of one of the adults slipped into the water. The large bull with yellow rotten teeth yawned lazily, snapping its tremendous jaws together like a steel trap and sending a spray of water in their direction.
