by Alex Archer
Hesitant, Tanisha entered the hut.
Jaineba waved to an area on the other side of the fire.
Tanisha sat and quietly waited.
That was another quality that Jaineba liked. The young woman knew how to offer respect.
"Are you well?" Jaineba asked.
"I am. And you?"
"The gods watch over me, child. You need not concern yourself over my welfare."
"I know. But I do." Tanisha smiled. "Without you, I could not get the things done that I need to do."
"You are blessed. I have told you that."
Tanisha smiled. "I know. But some days I don't feel so blessed."
"How are your children?"
The woman had two sons, healthy sons, which would make her a wealthy woman in most villages. They were six and eight, and boys in the truest sense because they were unafraid of exploring their new environment. When their mother wasn't around, which wasn't often, the boys talked of hunting lions with the other boys of the villages. Jaineba knew their mother would panic if she only knew.
"They're fine. I didn't bring them with me this morning," Tanisha said.
"That's too bad. I would have enjoyed seeing them." Jaineba fanned the embers of the dream root. They burned quickly, putting another small cloud of smoke into the hut.
"They won't be happy when I tell them that I saw you without them. They enjoy your stories."
"Of course they do. All children enjoy my stories." Jaineba looked at the younger woman. "The stories belong to them, too."
Tanisha didn't respond to the statement.
Jaineba was used to that. The mother doesn't feel the kinship with the land that her children do. She was all right with that, and she understood it. Children's senses were so much more alive than an untrained adult's.
Since they had met, Jaineba had told Tanisha that her home was here, in Africa. Not in England. Despite her own denial, Tanisha Diouf was one of the Hausa people, one of those whose ancestors had been sold on the slave auction block.
"Why did you come here?" Jaineba asked.
"To see you."
"Have you eaten?"
"Yes."
"You can eat again. You are too skinny." Jaineba stood, grabbing hold of her gnarled walking staff and pulling herself to her feet. She shuffled to the door of the hut and looked out.
Tanisha's Land Rover had caused a stir in the village. Children stood around it in fascination, admiring and touching the vehicle with hesitant but curious fingers. Most of them had never seen anything like it up close. The village was normally a place travelers passed by. No one ever stayed there.
Jaineba called to one of the women and told her to bring food. Then she turned back to her guest. "Why did you come to see me?"
Tanisha frowned. "Last night someone tampered with the trucks and the equipment at the camp."
"It was no one at this place." Jaineba settled herself on the pile of furs the village women had given her to rest her bones.
"I didn't think so. But I need to find out who it was, and I need to find a way to get them to stop."
"There are many who don't want to see the white man's machines tear through our lands."
"The refinery that Childress is going to build will provide jobs," Tanisha said.
Jaineba heard the timbre in the other woman's words. Tanisha Diouf believed what she was saying. "Those who oppose you don't feel they need jobs," the old woman said.
"They may say they don't want the jobs, but they'll make a big difference to the people who live here," Tanisha said.
"Working for the outsiders changes everyone's life. Change is not always something people want. Often it's not even good."
"This could be good. It could mean health benefits for families. There would be more food. No one would have to go to bed hungry."
Jaineba looked at the foreign woman for a time. She liked her. Tanisha Diouf was a strong-willed woman who made her way in a man's world. Jaineba understood that. With her magic and her ability to heal, she walked in a man's world, as well, taking up the mantle of leadership. Too few women did that.
"I hear what you are saying, child," Jaineba replied in a calm voice.
"It would help if you would talk to these people."
"Not everyone wants to listen to an old woman."
"You could make them listen," Tanisha implored. "They do listen to you."
"Perhaps," Jaineba said. "But let me ask you a few questions."
Tanisha waited. A sense of urgency burned in her eyes.
"Does everyone in your country get enough to eat? Do all the children have full bellies before they go to bed?"
Uncertainty made Tanisha's face heavy. "No. But the opportunity is there. It's just that not everyone takes advantage of the programs that are available."
"Does everyone have a job?"
"All the people that want one have a job," Tanisha said.
Jaineba felt compassion for the younger woman as she made excuses for her country and her way of life. "Does everyone who has a job have the job they wish?"
Tanisha sighed. "That would be too much to ask."
"Is it?"
"The opportunity is there."
"But the opportunity for servitude at a job or a corporation also exists. Even the men who work for Childress Corporation are not all happy working here. They would rather be somewhere else. Yet they are here. Away from their families and the way of life they're familiar with."
Tanisha fell silent.
"What you offer, what your employer offers, is not a bad thing." Jaineba felt compassion for the younger woman. So young, and so certain she had all the right answers. "But the changes they would make in our land would be permanent."
"It's progress."
"Africa," Jaineba stated quietly, "is familiar with progress. We have had it since the Europeans first began trading with our country. In the north and in the south. Progress is forced on us at every turn. Our people have died as a result of the diseases they have unleashed there. I have seen whole countries abandoned by the Europeans and Americans when it suited them. They took away the jobs and all the money they brought into those countries. But they left their sicknesses, their vendors selling products families could no longer truly afford, and the feeling that nothing Africa had to offer was good enough. Do you know what it's like to live without hope?"
Sadness darkened Tanisha's eyes. "No. Not to that degree."
"Women in this village have buried their children," Jaineba said quietly. "They have seen their husbands and sons lured away to big cities like Dakar. They have seen their friends and daughters taken by the warlords, to be used, then cast aside or killed." She was silent for a moment. "And all of this has come about because of progress."
"It doesn't have to be that way," Tanisha said.
"Africa," Jaineba said, "has its own pace. We are the cradle of life. Most scientists believe humankind began here. We had, until all the genetically modified crops were pushed on our farmers, more plant diversification than any other place in the world. Did you know that?"
"Yes."
The woman whom Jaineba had sent for breakfast stopped in the doorway. She held bowls of uji, a thin gruel made from cassava. Her daughter held pieces of a fresh mango.
Jaineba nodded.
The woman and her daughter entered the hut respectfully and served the breakfast. Tanisha was polite and made certain to thank both, meeting their eyes with her own.
The little girl, no more than six or seven, smiled shyly. Jaineba thought perhaps Tanisha was the first foreigner the little girl had ever seen.
The mother scolded her daughter for staring, then apologized to Tanisha in her own language. Of course, Tanisha didn't understand. That was one reason she'd sought Jaineba. She needed an interpreter.
"What's she saying?" Tanisha asked.
"She wants you to forgive her daughter," Jaineba explained.
"For what?"
"For staring and being impolite."
&n
bsp; Tanisha smiled reassuringly at the mother and daughter. "Please tell them that I took no offense, and that her daughter should be curious."
Jaineba did.
Reaching into her pocket, Tanisha took out a small vial of lip gloss. She applied it to her lips, then offered it to the little girl.
The little girl hesitated, looking up at her mother. The mother looked at Jaineba. The old woman nodded. With her mother's permission, the little girl took the lip gloss and awkwardly put it on her lips, looking pleased with herself.
Tanisha laughed, and the sound within the hut was infectious. "I love my sons," she said as the mother and child departed, "but I would have loved to have a daughter."
"It's not too late," Jaineba pointed out. "You are still young."
"No way." Tanisha used the wooden spoon to eat the uji. "I have a career. I don't have time to have another child."
"So you're trading a dream of yours for your own personal progress?"
"Two boys are almost more than I can keep up with," Tanisha said. She frowned. "In fact, I often feel torn between them and my job. I was fortunate Mr. Childress was generous enough to allow them to come with me."
"If they had not come, where would they be?"
"At my mother's."
Jaineba knew from past conversations that Tanisha's husband had been a soldier and had been killed three years earlier.
Tanisha popped a piece of mango into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. "The problem with the attacks on the equipment remains."
Jaineba finished her uji and set the bowl to one side. "You must be patient."
"I can't afford to be patient. If I don't find some way to stop the attacks, the security teams are going to start taking more punitive action."
"What will they do?"
"Mr. Childress hires mercenaries," Tanisha said. "Not all of them are good men. In fact, I'd say most of them aren't good men." She shook her head. "I don't know what they'll do, but I know they won't sit back quietly. Mr. Childress isn't paying them to do that."
"What are you afraid these men will do?" Jaineba asked.
"Go into the bush after the men who are damaging the equipment."
"That will be dangerous for them."
"They know that. I think several of them are looking forward to it."
Jaineba breathed in deeply. Some of the smoke from the dream root remained. She closed her eyes for a moment and reached for the woman in her dreams. For just a moment, Jaineba sensed the woman. She's close, she told herself. She already has the trail. She will be here soon.
"Did you hear me?" Tanisha asked.
"Yes." Jaineba opened her eyes. "Things will work out, child. You must believe that."
"Someone is going to get hurt if this keeps up. I can't sit by and do nothing."
"There is nothing you can do. These men will clash, and some will be hurt. Possibly even killed. Surely you knew that when you took this job."
"No." Tanisha spoke quietly. "No, I didn't. Or maybe I didn't want to believe it."
"You are coming to a crossroads, and you will have to make a choice. I'm sorry. I wish that your way could be easier, but it isn't. This is the path the gods have put you on."
"I can't accept that there's nothing I can do," Tanisha said.
"You're not responsible for this."
"I'm working as lead on the engineering team. I have to assume some responsibility."
"What about Childress? Shouldn't he share some of the responsibility, as well?"
"Mr. Childress is responsible to the shareholders in the corporation. He has to regard their interests first."
"He will do nothing when fighting breaks out," Jaineba stated.
"I don't know. He's put a lot of his own money into this venture. He wants to see the oil refinery turn a profit."
Jaineba nodded, knowing she shouldn't take any of this on but unwilling to leave Tanisha alone with her distress. "I will see if there is anything that can be done," she said quietly.
"Thank you. I hoped you would say that."
"I can't promise anything."
"I know."
The roars of straining engines sounded outside.
"Was anyone with you?" Jaineba asked.
Tanisha shook her head.
Reluctantly, dreading what she felt certain she would find, Jaineba pulled herself up along her staff. Her bones felt weak and fragile. She swept a hand over her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. She walked outside as the engines growled a final time and died.
A military-style jeep sat alongside Tanisha's Land Rover, which proudly proclaimed Childress Construction, Inc. on its sides. The English vehicle was a rolling billboard for the corporation.
Several warriors of the village gathered. They stood in pants and shirts, most of them barefoot. Some of them had weapons, mostly machetes they had brought with them from the farms where they worked, but a few of them had pistols and old single-shot Enfield rifles. None of them stepped forward to challenge the intruders.
The women sent the young children to the huts. The village was built on the eastern side of the hill. Most people coming from Dakar along the old trade roads didn't know the village was there unless they were already aware of its existence. As soon as the children were inside the thatched huts, they stuck their faces to doors and windows.
The man in the passenger seat of the jeep climbed down. He was in his late thirties. The sun and elements had weathered and darkened his skin. Tattooing and scars marred his face. Even without the additions, he wasn't a handsome man. He looked brutish, like something only half-made. Gold hoops dangled in his ears. The leather loincloth hung from a leather tie around his hips to a few inches above his knees. A silver headband inlaid with garnets and ivory glinted in the sun.
A long knife, almost a machete, hung in a scabbard at his side. A bandolier containing extra magazines draped his chest. He carried an AK-47 in one hand with the muzzle pointed at the ground.
"Who is he?" Tanisha asked.
"His name is Tafari," Jaineba answered. Too late, she realized that she should have had the Englishwoman remain inside the hut. Already Tafari's hot gaze had locked on to her. "He is a very bad man."
Chapter 8
"My name is Mildred. Mildred Teasdale."
Annja held her hand out to the old woman. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Teasdale."
"Thank you." The woman's grip was solid and sure, but dry and papery. Her palms were lined with calluses, marking her as a woman who had worked hard all her life.
"You said you thought you knew who the men were in the furnace room?"
Mildred nodded. "Because of an ancestor of mine. A man named Franklin Dickerson."
"I'm sorry, but we haven't identified any of the men in that building," Annja admitted.
"Franklin wasn't one of those men, Miss Creed. But his younger brother, Moses, was. My family's been wondering what happened to young Mose ever since he disappeared all those years ago."
Annja was intrigued. "How do you know your ancestor was one of those men?"
"Because we kept a family history." Mildred's hands tightened on the book she held. "Franklin Dickerson was one of the slaves who learned to read and write. He took his life in his hands by doing that. If his masters had found out, they'd probably have killed him. Black men weren't supposed to learn how to read back in those days."
"I know," Annja said.
"Some of them learned anyway," Mildred went on. "In secret. They prepared themselves for the day they could steal away north on the Underground Railroad. They'd heard a black man who could read and write could get himself a good job in the North."
Mildred nodded. "I come from Augusta, Georgia," she said. "None of my family ever really escaped to go north. We thought Mose might have been the only one. But we knew something must have happened to him because he would never have stayed away from Franklin. Those brothers were close in everything but their politics. The rest of the family stayed here through the worst of everything. But Frankl
in Dickerson kept his precious journal. In the beginning, that record wasn't anything more than a collection of tattered papers."
Annja didn't mean to look impatient. In fact, she hoped that she didn't look that way. But she felt it. She searched for the best way to excuse herself.
"I know you have things to do, Miss Creed," Mildred said, "and I know there are a lot of people waiting to hear what you people find out today. I'm just trying to help make it easier. And to get some sense of closure for my family. I think I can help you identify those men."
Annja thought of the crowd of protesters standing out in front of the warehouse. Anything that shows some forward movement is going to win everyone over, she thought.
"Can we sit?" Mildred asked. "So I can show you this book? I promise I won't take any more time than you can give me. If you don't think I have anything useful, I'll just go on my way."
Annja agreed.
Mildred led the way to the chairs and found two side by side. She waved Annja to one of them, then sat in the other. She opened the big book.
Neatly arranged printing filled the first page: "A Slave Dreams of Freedom. By Franklin Dickerson."
"Not exactly the most original title someone could come up with," Mildred said, "but Franklin had poetry in his soul. If you took time to read the book, you'd see that."
"I'm an archaeologist, Mrs. Teasdale. Most of the documents I study aren't perfect. Reading the journals of Lewis and Clark as they explored the Louisiana Purchase taught me that knowledge of the language isn't a prerequisite for intelligence."
"My father was a fisherman," Mildred said. "He always said that a man who tried to make a living wasn't any better than the net he could cast. He wasn't a man of letters, either, but he was a storyteller. He knew his way around a metaphor. In keeping with that, Franklin's net had a lot of holes in it, but it was big. He captured a lot of the slave's experience in his writing."
The television in the lobby was tuned to CNN. A quick update on the situation in Kirktown flashed on. Looking at the screen, Annja realized that more protesters had gathered at the warehouse and that the media had returned.
"Franklin could only print," Mildred said with a note of embarrassment in her voice. "That was one of his regrets. He liked the flowing hand that some journal keepers had."
