Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “Does that make it difficult to work?” asked Jonathon.

  “Oh yes, but you learn to slow down and work at the same pace, though it’s often very frustrating. Don’t make the mistake of planning a week’s work and expecting to meet your deadlines. The general rule is to think of a time frame and then double it or even triple it.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” replied Jonathon.

  “Your first time here?”

  “Yes, first time in Africa. We’ve only travelled in Europe before,” Amie said.

  “Let me give you my card.” Their new friend reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Don’t hesitate to contact me, and I’m sure my wife will be delighted to meet you. She’ll give you lots of advice about where to go, where not to go, and the best shopping places and so on. Where are you staying?”

  “We’re Jonathon and Amie Fish, and we’re booked into the Grand Hotel for the first few weeks, while they get the accommodation sorted out,” replied Jonathon.

  The man laughed, “Grand it aint! You’ll see what I mean when you get there. Ah, the luggage is arriving; that must be a record for here. Be seeing you. I’m Richard Carstens, by the way and the wife’s name is Diana. Take care!” Richard bolted for the carousel.

  “There, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Jonathon whispered as they went to claim their suitcases. “Let me hold the camera, just in case there’s a problem at customs. They appear to have less respect for the women here.”

  “You can say that again,” muttered Amie as she grabbed the handle of her case. Meeting Richard had cheered her up a little. He was even taller than Jonathon, well built, smartly dressed and had an air of confidence about him.

  The line to clear customs moved very slowly. It looked as if all those people who lived locally were simply waved through, but all foreigners were stopped and everyone had to open every case while the officials pawed through the contents.

  When it was Amie’s turn, she unlocked her case and threw back the lid. She watched as the custom’s officer slowly examined everything, and it seemed to her, he was particularly slow as he held up her underwear one piece at a time. Inside, Amie was fuming as he peered at her thongs and lacy bras, but this time she said nothing. She’d already learned one lesson. The customs officer picked up her sponge bag, took out each item and looked at it carefully. He even went so far as to open the toothpaste, squeeze some onto his finger and lick it. Amie shuffled from one foot to another; her feet were aching, and her ankles were swollen after the long flight.

  After an exhaustive search, the customs officer waved his arms to show he’d finished and Amie was left to close the case, not an easy task as it was full to bursting point, and now the contents were unfolded they took up a lot more space. Without Jonathon’s help, she wouldn’t have got it closed at all.

  No one wanted to see beyond the top layer inside his case, ignoring the tripod and camera lights, and they barely glanced at the box containing the camera, nor at his laptop computer.

  Once outside the airport, the heat struck Amie again like a furnace. She noticed everything seemed bigger, brighter and more colourful than it did at home. The sky was the most brilliant blue. She also noticed many of the women wore bright cotton dresses, which would have looked totally garish in London, but here they looked cheerful and blended in well with the surroundings.

  Outside the main airport doors was a row of decrepit looking taxis with a driver beside each one, all shouting to attract the attention of potential customers.

  “We’re not getting in one of those, surely?” gasped Amie. “None of them look roadworthy!”

  “I tend to agree with you,” replied Jonathon as he looked at the dents and scrapes on the paintwork. “Look, that one over there looks a bit better, we’ll take that one.”

  The taxi driver helpfully opened the boot for them but left it to Jonathon to put their luggage inside it. Amie gave him a dirty look, but the driver just shrugged. Both the large suitcases wouldn’t fit in the boot, so they piled one onto the back seat with all the hand luggage on top and Amie squeezed in beside it while Jonathon got into the front. The driver looked at him enquiringly.

  “The Grand Hotel, please,” said Jonathon.

  There was an urgent knock on the window and Jonathon looked up to see Richard Carstens gesticulating. He tried to wind the window down, but it wouldn’t budge, so he opened the door.

  “Forgot to tell you, don’t go anywhere without deciding on the price first,” he said.

  “How much should it be to the Grand?” asked Jonathon.

  Meanwhile, the driver was trying to start the engine, obviously bent on a rapid departure.

  “Wait,” said Jonathon, putting out his hand. The taxi driver squawked as Jonathon’s hand squeezed his upper leg. Jonathon turned around, horrified at what he’d done, while the taxi driver let loose with a stream of invective and jumped out of the car. He waved his arms and shouted as he walked round to the back of the vehicle, opened the boot, dragged the suitcase out and flung it on the road.

  “How much is the fare?” Jonathon asked Richard again.

  “Not more than twenty Togodo Dollars,” replied Richard. “But it looks as if you’ll have to get another cab, after your assault on the driver.” He laughed. “Sorry I can’t give you a lift, I’m being picked up in a compact, they’re safer to use over here. Tell you what, we’ll come over tonight and have a bite with you at the hotel.”

  “Thanks, we’d really appreciate that,” said Jonathon as he and Amie got out of the taxi. They dragged the rest of the luggage back onto the pavement and looked for another ride, but by now, most of the taxis had departed, and the few left displayed the biggest dents, scratches and bumps.

  “I guess we just take the nearest one,” said Jonathon, and even he sounded less than confident. As he walked towards the next driver, Amie reminded him to agree on a fare first.

  “I want to go to the Grand Hotel,” said Jonathon to the bored-looking driver who was busy picking his teeth with a dirty piece of wire. The driver nodded and smiled as he helped them stow the luggage.

  “I’ll pay twenty dollars, no more,” added Jonathon, as they all climbed in. The driver nodded and smiled again.

  The driver raced the engine, and pulled straight out without so much as a look behind him. Had there been room to move in the back seat, Amie would have been flung from one side to the other. Hastily, Jonathon looked for a safety belt, but there wasn’t one, only a ragged hole in the bodywork where the factory had originally installed it. He clung to both sides of the seat and alternated between screwing his eyes tight, and opening them to see what hazards were ahead.

  In the back, Amie didn’t have a choice. She was wedged in so firmly with the largest suitcase, her greatest fear was the door bursting open and flinging her out onto the road amid the chaotic traffic.

  If his passengers were about to have a nervous breakdown, the taxi driver seemed blissfully unaware of it. He used both hands to light a cigarette as they hurtled down the main road at over a hundred kilometres an hour. There was plenty of hooting and hand waving to other drivers and on one occasion, as they were approaching a backup of traffic ahead, he simply swung over to the side of the road and raced up the inside lane, which in most countries, is reserved for breakdowns and emergency vehicles.

  Neither of the new arrivals had time to look and admire the scenery as they hurtled to their destination. Jonathon did notice there were several traffic lights along the way, but the local highway code seemed to be that whoever got there first went straight across, whether the lights were red, green or amber. Nothing the young couple had ever experienced before had prepared them for this journey. Never, thought Jonathon, will I ever moan about bad British drivers again.

  In the distance, Jonathon could see skyscrapers and other tall buildings as they raced towards the capital. The road widened out, until it became a dual carriageway with a grassy central reservation. Shops began to appear on either si
de, very few with plate glass windows; most were just holes in the wall with half the wares spilling out onto the pavement. The pavements themselves were narrow, so most of the crowds strolled in the roadway. The driver kept up a constant blasting on the horn as he missed the pedestrians by millimetres.

  Amie was amazed to see large hoardings, advertising familiar products such as Omo, Persil and other goods which she could buy in the supermarket at home. Here the difference was the people featured on the adverts were all African, with dark smiling faces, short black curly hair and brilliant white teeth. Although many of the women wore long, brightly coloured, traditional robes, the younger girls wore short mini dresses and sandals and most of the younger men sported jeans or chinos. There was also a sprinkling of women covered head to toe in heavy black burkas.

  The taxi screeched to an abrupt halt outside the hotel, throwing Amie violently against the back of the driver’s seat. The building looked like a million other hotels, except for the man in a leopard skin loincloth who leaped forward and opened the taxi doors. He welcomed them with many smiles, but his hospitality did not extend to helping them with the heavy suitcases.

  Jonathon and Amie began to drag them up the ramp after giving the taxi driver twenty dollars and a ten percent tip. The driver looked disgusted and began shouting and waving his arms around.

  “We agreed twenty dollars,” said Jonathon, feeling less than confident inside.

  “You steal from me!” screamed the driver. “Fare is fifty dollars.”

  “No, twenty dollars is what we agreed, and I don’t have any more Togodo money,” said Jonathon uneasily, as an interested crowd began to gather round them.

  “You give me more money!” screeched the man. “I have wife and six children! I poor man, you cheat me!”

  “I told you, I’ve no more money,” Jonathon said again.

  “Then I demand American dollars, or pounds, English pounds! You English, yes?”

  “Sorry, but no,” and Jonathon turned to walk into the hotel. The taxi driver wasn’t going to give up that easily, and he grabbed Jonathon’s arm and tried to pull him back out onto the pavement.

  A member of the hotel staff came to the door and shouted at the driver, who reluctantly let go and walked off, shouting loudly how he had been robbed by these foreigners.

  By now, Amie was shaking. This was another new experience and it had given her quite a fright. Just how violent were the people in Togodo?

  Inside, the hotel foyer was full to bursting point with crowds gathered at the reception desk, and it was ages before Amie and Jonathon finally reached the counter and gave their names to the receptionist. Amie was surprised to see that everything appeared to be computerised. The girl, whose name tag announced she was called Betsy, tapped the keys and gazed at the screen for several seconds before informing them there were no reservations for a Mr and Mrs Fish.

  “But there must be!” exclaimed Jonathon. “My company made the reservations from London. We’re booked in for at least three weeks!”

  “Not here,” replied Betsy with obvious satisfaction. “No reservations.” She looked at the man standing next to them at the counter and smiled at him. “Can I help you?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Jonathon angrily. “Please look again. Maybe it’s under the company name.”

  Betsy sighed. “What is the company name?” she asked.

  “Drenton Desalination,” replied Jonathon.

  The receptionist punched in several more keys and stared at the screen. “No,” she said triumphantly, “no booking for them. Sorry.” They could see from her face she wasn’t the slightest bit sorry.

  “Name?” Betsy turned to the next man.

  “Name’s Connaught, I’ve a room booked,” and Amie and Jonathon watched in amazement as the man slid a note across the counter.

  Without even looking at the computer, Betsy smiled, swept the note up and stuffed it inside the front of her shirt.

  “Of course, Mr Connaught, room 504, here is your key and please to have a nice stay.”

  “It seems that’s the way to get a room,” Amie whispered to Jonathon. “Try it.”

  “I don’t have much local money on me and I think that was a hundred dollar note,” he replied.

  “Then try twenty quid, the taxi driver didn’t seem to mind what currency you gave him. Perhaps they would even prefer having English pounds,” said Amie. “Go on. We must have somewhere to stay!” She was not only hot and bothered, angry over her treatment at the airport, scared out of her wits during the taxi ride, now she was hungry as well.

  “Please look again,” said Jonathon to the girl on the other side of the counter, and he slid a twenty pound note forward. It disappeared rapidly into Betsy’s bra joining the hundred dollar bill, and she smiled brightly as the names came up on the screen.

  “Oh, so sorry I not see it before!” she exclaimed in amazement. “You are on the fourth floor in 409, and these are your keys. Please to have a nice stay.”

  Amie picked up the keys and they made their way over to the lift.

  “Whoever designed this building should be shot,” muttered Jonathon as they waited outside the one and only lift. “This place is at least five floors and they only have one lift?”

  When it eventually arrived, the lift was quite small, which meant Amie and Jonathon could not fit themselves and the suitcases in all at once. It took two trips before they were finally able to unlock the door to 409 and fall into their room.

  “At least the room is comfortable,” said Amie, bouncing up and down on the bed. “And they’ve provided us with everything.”

  “Except towels,” said Jonathon coming out of the bathroom.

  “Perhaps we should ring down and order some,” Amie pointed to the phone on the bedside table. But when Jonathon lifted the receiver, all he got was a clicking noise, and no matter what buttons he pressed it was obvious the phone wasn’t working.

  “I guess we’d better order them from Betsy at the front desk,” he said glumly.

  “Yes, with another twenty pound note to make sure someone is listening,” said Amie. “Jonathon, if you can’t get anything done without paying wads of money, we won’t make a cent here. It’ll all go in bribes!”

  “I’d already thought of that,” said Jonathon. “I’m putting it all down under company expenses! I’m sure Richard and his wife will be able to give us some good advice this evening.”

  “I hope they remember to come,” said Amie. “We’re going to need their help. When did you say the next Drenton personnel arrive?” she added.

  “I hope within a week or so, when I’ve got the new office up and running,” replied Jonathon. “We might have an opportunity to look around before they get here.” He opened his wallet. “Heavens, I’ll need to find a bank soon and draw more cash.”

  “Well, let me have a quick shower and let’s get something to eat,” said Amie, heading for the bathroom. “I’ll manage with the hand towel I brought, it’ll be easy to drip dry in this heat.”

  “I’ll see if I can get the air conditioner to work.” Jonathon had only just noticed it on the wall, and it wasn’t providing any cool air. But although he fiddled with it and even took the front panel off, he had no success at all.

  After putting in a request at the front desk for towels, along with another twenty pound note, they walked across the foyer to the restaurant. There was more chaos in here, with every table occupied and diners who seemed to shout not talk.

  “Goodness, this is so different to any of the places we go to at home,” said Amie.

  “Yes, but the menu looks similar,” said Jonathon. “Burgers, with or without cheese, toasted sandwiches, soup and salad.”

  “Soup! In this weather!” exclaimed Amie.

  “Yes, but they also have steaks and omelettes as well. What do you want?” asked Jonathon as they made a dash for a vacant table just as the previous diners got to their feet.

  “I’ll just have a sandwich for now,” said Amie,
“especially as it’s not too long until dinner.”

  Both were pleasantly surprised when the food arrived. It was hot and tasted good.

  “Well, I don’t think we’ll starve,” said Jonathon as they drank their coffee, “Even the coffee is nice.”

  The combination of the heat, the food and the long flight made Amie very sleepy, so they went back up to their room. Within minutes they were both fast asleep and only an urgent knocking on the door woke them up.

  “It must be the maid with the towels,” said Amie as she walked over to open the door. Outside stood a bellboy, well, that’s what first sprung to mind as Amie looked at his Turkish styled hat and smart blue uniform festooned with gold braid. He was holding a silver salver with a note on it. Amie wanted to laugh. It reminded her of the period pieces she’d seen on television, when the butler approached the lady of the house with a similar tray. The bellboy bowed low as Amie took the note, nodded her thanks and closed the door.

  “Didn’t he expect a tip as well?” enquired Jonathon, sitting up on the bed.

  “Probably,” said Amie, opening the envelope. There was more furious knocking on the door and this time Jonathon went to open it, and sure enough, the bellhop was still standing there. Jonathon put a note into his hand and he bowed low again and walked away.

  “I wonder how long he would have waited?” asked Amie.

  “Probably until we went down to dinner,” replied Jonathon “perhaps forever!”

  “Thank goodness,” exclaimed Amie. “It’s from Richard. They’re waiting for us downstairs in the restaurant. We sure need to talk to someone.”

  “Yes, life is going to be a bit more complicated than I thought,” said Jonathon. “We’d better hurry.”

  Amie took to Diana immediately. She was at least ten or fifteen years older than Amie, but looked confident and capable, everything Amie was not feeling at that moment. Diana had short, dark hair, large brown eyes and was wearing a simple cotton dress and sandals. She wore no make-up, and looked cool and fresh. She was a little taller than Amie, about five foot six, had a slim figure and looked in the best of health.