by Dan Fletcher
He crossed the space between the last two rows of parked cars, half of them jeeps painted in khaki green camouflage belonging to members of staff. One vehicle stood out from the others, a black Mercedes saloon with tinted out windows. Although by far the most expensive in the lot it wasn’t the price tag or sleek lines which made the car noticeable. It was the burly gentleman standing next to the bonnet trying to act casual who seemed out of place. He looked like an over-dressed heavyweight prize-fighter with a squashed nose. David could see the bulge of a firearm under the tightly fitting sports jacket and his attention seemed to be fixed on the door to headquarters.
The man suddenly stiffened and became more alert, checking up and down the car park he moved to one of the rear doors of the Mercedes. Must be some bigwig’s minder, it wasn’t uncommon for Ministers to visit the Park. A photograph with a rescued animal and a bunch of school kids equalled good publicity. David joined the pathway that led to the entrance. A man dressed in dark slacks and a white sports shirt heading the other way seemed to be the centre of attention. Another grey suited bodyguard was following him, taller and thinner than his colleague waiting by the car. This one was almost as tall as his employer, who must be approaching seven feet.
Even from a distance he could tell that something was drastically wrong with the boss’s features. They seemed lopsided. As he got closer, David could see that three scars running down the right hand side of his face were the cause of the distortion. The middle one crossed his cheek and pulled up the corner of his mouth into a permanent sneer. They might have been knife wounds. But something in the symmetry of their appearance told him that an animal’s claws had caused them, possibly a large dog’s. The good side of his face seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe David had seen him on television.
The man was staring right back. As they passed each other his eyes narrowed and the damaged side of his face twitched, turning the sneer into a menacing snarl. David almost bumped into his escort, only just sidestepping him at the last moment. The bodyguard looked edgy and had one hand under his suit jacket, no doubt on the handle of a semi-automatic.
David felt relieved when they went by and nothing happened. There was definitely something sinister about the three of them. He paused and glanced back before going inside. The larger of the two was holding the door to the Mercedes open for their boss whilst the other scanned the surrounding area. They were clearly drilled professionals. Maybe they were from the GSU or Secret Service? The GSU were responsible for setting up the KWS and their officers still ran the paramilitary part of training so they had every reason to be there. David shrugged, what did it have to do with him? They were obviously there on official business, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the scar-faced man’s presence was significant.
Deputy Director Tanui was in his office this time when he got there. “I’ll just let him know that you are here Captain,” Sergeant Ngozi reached for the intercom.
David’s curiosity got the better of him. “Sergeant,” Ngozi’s finger hovered over the button, “I saw a man on the way in dressed like he was going to play golf or something. I don’t suppose you know who it was?”
He took his hand away from the device, “Ugly gentleman with scars down one side of his face?” the sergeant dragged three fingers across his cheek to demonstrate.
“That’s the one.”
“Commander Peter Abasi, sir, he’s head of the GSU.”
“Any idea what he was doing here?”
“He came to see the Deputy Director.” Ngozi flicked a nervous glance at Tanui’s door, “It was something to do with that baby elephant you brought in. He had a copy of the newspaper with him and was waving it around.”
David had read the article in the staff canteen whilst eating breakfast. Although it was aimed to tug at the reader’s heartstrings he had to admit that it was well written. Bernstein managed to bring across his outrage in a good balance of fact and fiction.
The sergeant must have realised that he had said too much. His hand went back to the intercom, “What shall I say it’s regarding?”
“On second thoughts don’t bother, there’s no point disturbing him.” David held the file out holding his report. “I only wanted to give him this, could you do that for me?”
Ngozi smiled as if Tanui would appreciate the gesture of being left alone, “No problem sir, I’ll make sure that he gets it.”
“Thank you sergeant,” David turned and walked away down the corridor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Mission, Kisii
August 11th, 1996
The decision to visit them had been made on the spur of the moment. Although it was a two hundred-kilometre detour, he would still be able to see Spencer Scott in the morning on his way back to the Mara. Besides it would have been dark by the time he reached the lodge and it was preferable to get there in daylight. It was easy to get lost on the tracks around the park. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. The truth was he just needed to see them, make sure that they were OK.
By the time he arrived it was late afternoon and a golden hue covered the land, as if he was viewing it through a magical filter. Seen from the front, the Mission appeared to be a small single-storey building with whitewashed walls and a simple steeple above the protruding entrance. David knew that it was in fact built in the shape of a cross, the longest wing extending away from the road and out of sight. The parts he was looking at represented the crossbar and the entrance hall, the top of the upright. The sanctuary, home to around thirty women at any one time, was perched on top of a hill overlooking the town that was nestled down in the valley below.
He took hold of the plate-sized iron ring and knocked twice. By chance it was his Aunty who appeared to open the door a few minutes later.
“David, what are you doing here?” Her face broke into a broad grin and her head shook with excitement. “We weren’t expecting you!”
Although not obese his Aunty was the only fat Maasai he had ever met. She spent most of her time at the Mission cooking and baking for the other nuns and their patients. He guessed that there must be a lot of tasting involved to make sure that the food was just right before it was served up to the others.
David smiled, “The opportunity just came up so I thought that I’d surprise you. Where are mum and Kiira?”
“Not until you give me a cuddle.” She laughed, a deep and hearty chuckle, and squeezed her ample frame into the doorjamb. His Aunty dusted her hands on the white apron she was wearing over her navy blue habit and held them out to him.
David didn’t argue, it was good to see a friendly face, she felt great and smelled of lavender.
“Are you here for long,” she asked, holding him at arm’s length and giving him the once over.
He shook his head. “I’m only in town for the night. I’m afraid it will be a while before I get any real time off.”
She looked crestfallen, “And when will that be?”
“Probably end up being Christmas the way that things are going.” Considering recent developments it might be even longer.
“Oh, that’s months away.”
David knew that there was nothing wrong with her memory. She knew that he didn’t have any time off until then. Aunty Farisi just kept asking the same question until she got the answer that she wanted. She treated God in the same way, repeating her prayers until he gave up. Or so David imagined.
“Well?” He raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Are you going to let me in?”
She covered her mouth and giggled, bosom wobbling with mirth. When she pulled her hand away it left a floury imprint that covered her cheek and chin.
“You only had to ask,” she stepped back to let him in, chuckling at her own humour.
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” David rolled his eyes dramatically. “Where’s Kiira?”
“She’s with one of the patients.”
It was cool and dark inside and smelt heavily of disinfectant.
The double doors leading to the ward were straight ahead, the left wing housed the sanatorium and operating room, the right the toilets, shower and kitchen.
Men weren’t allowed onto the ward due to the trauma the residents had suffered at the hands of the opposite sex. Like his mother most were victims of rape and had suffered severe sexual abuse, including genital mutilation. The sisters patched them up, both physically and mentally, but some of the scars would never heal.
The youngest girl there was only nine and hadn’t spoken since she arrived almost a year ago. The sisters had taken to calling her Mary. Another unfortunate girl brought her in from a neighbouring village when she was found wandering aimlessly down the road. The girls had both been raped repeatedly by the same gang of Kalenjin youths until their genitalia became bloody pulps and they were left to die. The elder girl, who had since been found a place at the local orphanage, said that she overheard a couple of the Kalenjin warriors laughing. Boasting that they should thank President Moi for paying them to have so much fun.
David had seen Mary a few times in the garden behind the mission, tending to the vegetable patch. She was a waif of a thing with a permanent distant stare. David felt bad thinking it but she seemed vacant, as if her soul had left her body to seek solace from the world.
“You wait here. I’ll get Kiira and your mother.” She started to turn and then stopped, “Would you like something to eat? I’ve got some lovely stew on the stove.”
Now that she mentioned it David caught a whiff of something delicious.
She saw the hesitation in his face. David had never felt comfortable being in the Mission, “Go on, get yourself in the kitchen, we’ll be there in a minute.”
She turned and went through the door. David caught a brief glimpse of the ward. Kiira’s back was to him, she was sitting on the lap of a girl of about sixteen and being fussed over by a couple of the other women. The door swung shut and the snapshot was gone so he followed the smell through into the kitchen. Aunty Farisi once said that Kiira’s visits to the ward were therapeutic for the residents, gave them hope for the future. He wished that she had the same effect on his mother.
David walked over to the stove and lifted the lid of the steaming pot. His mouth watered as he sucked in the vapours, he picked up the wooden spoon and gave it a stir. He couldn’t resist trying it and spooned out some of the collards and onions. He blew on it but not enough. The stew tasted great but burnt the roof of his mouth.
“David!” Kiira squealed with joy when they came in the room.
“I told you to wait in the kitchen, not start without us!” Aunty Farisi’s grin didn’t match her words. “You take Kiira and sit down. I’ll fetch your mother she’s out in the garden.” Kiira let go of his Aunt’s hand and ran towards him with her arms open wide. The olive dress flapped behind her, held to her wiry frame by a thin black belt.
Her smile could brighten the darkest room, “I didn’t know that you were coming! I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” David replied, wrapping her in his arms and lifting her off her feet until their faces met. Her teardrop eyes and prominent cheekbones made Kiira the spitting image of their mother in her younger days. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that I was coming myself until today.”
David pulled Kiira closer and nuzzled his chin into her neck. He heard a noise and looked over her shoulder to see Waseme coming in the back door.
“And how are you mother?” he raised his voice so that she could hear him.
The attack had left Waseme deaf in one ear, as well as mentally scarred and pregnant with Kiira. She didn’t speak for months afterwards and David chose his sister’s name, hoping that its’ meaning, Dawn, would help his mother to begin her life again. Waseme never talked about that night, not once, but he knew it affected her in ways that not even her devout faith could resolve. She hadn’t touched David or shown affection to anyone since.
“I’m fine, how else would I be?” Waseme took a seat at the table and started rocking as if in a trance, staring blankly ahead.
His mother had refused to go anywhere near Kiira at first, acting as if the child didn’t exist. Ignoring the baby’s cries in the night and leaving David to change the nappies and feed her. Kiira rejected the formula milk and after nearly a week David began to accept the fact that she might not make it. But Kiira was a fighter and gained the weight rapidly when she finally did take to the bottle.
After the fire they were evicted and the land was taken over by a Kalenjin family. David and his mother moved into the house behind the Mission that served as the nuns’ accommodation. His Aunt nursed them both until they were well enough to look after themselves.
Thankfully his Aunt carried the conversation forward, “Get the bowls David and whilst you’re doing it you can tell us all what you’ve been up to. We read about the baby elephant in the ‘Daily Nation’. Were you involved in that?”
It seemed that everybody had read today’s paper. Thankfully Bernstein had kept his name out of the article.
David nodded, “We found her and took her to the orphanage in Nairobi. She’s doing well...” David told them briefly what had happened, leaving out the gory details for Kiira’s sake.
“Is she going to be OK?” Kiira’s sad face looked up at him, her eyes were misted over.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” What else could he say to a four year old? “She’s in the best possible hands. The people working there really know what they’re doing.” Caitlyn’s cat-like eyes popped into his head for a second and then disappeared.
Farisi but the pot of stew and a plate of Ugali onto the table, David reached for one of the doughy balls.
Waseme stopped him mid act, “Are you forgetting your manners? Put your hands together and let us say grace. Dear lord...”
David’s mind wandered as his mother recited the familiar blessing, guilt troubling him as he thought about leaving them alone again in the morning.
“Amen,” he repeated, hearing the prayer come to an end. Picking up a ball of Ugali he used it to scoop up some of the stew and stuffed the dumpling into his mouth.
“This really is delicious,” he said, using the back of his hand to wipe away the gravy that escaped his mouth and dribbled down his chin.
“Hey, leave me some,” cried Kiira in feigned protest, pushing David’s hand out of the way as he reached for a second. “No need to be a pig about it!”
“Look who’s talking,” replied David, laughing as she tried unsuccessfully to push a whole piece into her mouth as he’d done. Eventually she gave up and bit through the ball, catching the half that fell with her hand. Kiira’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Waseme didn’t join in and remained silent as Farisi and his sister talked about what had been going on at the Mission. She picked at the meal with little interest, pushing the food around on her plate. His mother’s face seemed even gaunter to David than the last time he had seen her. Emphasised by her tight curls of prematurely white hair.
After they had done the stew justice Kiira leaned back in the chair and stretched her arms out. “I’m ready for bed,” she yawned.
“Come on then.” David stood up, “I’ll tuck you in.”
He scooped Kiira out of the chair, she seemed to weigh nothing, and carried her out of the kitchen door, across the yard to the nun’s accommodation. It was a basic bungalow comprised of six bedrooms, a toilet and a shower block. He took her to the room that she shared with their mother and held her over his shoulder as he pulled back the blanket on one of the twin beds. She looked up at him adoringly as he placed her onto the mattress and pulled the covers up to her chin. Suddenly her face turned serious.
“Mummy does love me doesn’t she?”
“Off course she does...she’s just...” David struggled to find the right words.
“Sad?”
“I...guess...so,” David choked back his emotions.
“Because Daddy died,” Kiira’s innocent question almost broke him down.
&
nbsp; “That’s right, you know we’ve got to be strong for her and stick together.” David lay on the bed next to Kiira, pulled her head to his chest and stroked her hair.
“I know but she’s so mean sometimes, I think she hates me,” Kiira’s voice trembled as she whispered the words.
“Don’t be silly, she doesn’t hate you, she’s just a bit grumpy. Now come on, it’s time to go to sleep. You’ve got lots to do in the morning. Goodnight,” David kissed her on the cheek before pushing himself off the bed.
“Goodnight, I love you,” Kiira said, as she rolled onto her side.
“Love you too,” David replied softly. Glad that she turned away from him and couldn’t see the tear that ran down his cheek.
CHAPTER NINE
GSU Headquarters, Nairobi
August 12th, 1996
Maliki should have been concentrating on the task in hand but he wasn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about Gupta and the baby elephant. He’d left a message for the idiot to call him the day before, but so far nothing. Gupta was already out collecting rhino horn according to the man who answered, no doubt prompted to say so by his Indian master. He was taking all of his frustration out on the prisoner. Maliki’s knuckles were bleeding and his shoulders ached with the effort.
The naked man strapped to the chair in front of him was nobody as far as Maliki was concerned, worse than that he was Kikuyu. Patrick Konde had been caught red-handed in the workshop behind the store he owned, printing anti-government leaflets that he was about to distribute. Mostly it contained the usual speculative crap about oppression and ethnic cleansing in the run-up to next year’s election, although Moi still hadn’t set the date. But it wasn’t the greengrocer or the propaganda that Maliki was really interested in.
“Why don’t you make this easy on yourself?” He looked down at Konde’s bruised and swollen face, “We know that someone on the Committee has been supplying you with information. All you have to do is give me his name and the pain will stop.”
