Even here, in this idyllic setting, there were still dangers: the stinging ants, the mosquitoes and the snakes. The first time a snake slithered into the village, Amie was amazed at how calm the women were. Most of the men were away hunting, and it was Awai who calmly picked up a stick, and purposely guided the creature back into the fringes of the forest. Amie was impressed with their lack of aggression, these people only killed to eat. She tried to remember all the tales she’d read about the Bushmen or San people, but didn’t they live out in the desert areas? She didn’t think this tribe was closely related, but they had a similar culture of living in harmony with nature.
There was great excitement the day the men brought the honey home. They crept out of the surrounding trees carrying large bundles of leaves, inside which were golden yellow honeycombs. The children rushed to poke their fingers into the sticky goo, and were only half-heartedly chastised. That night they all munched and slurped the sweet honey, and dipped a variety of nuts, forest fruits and small red bananas into the sweet stuff. Amie thought she had never tasted anything quite so delicious before.
Amie lost all sense of time as one day followed the next. There was seldom any change to the daily rhythm of life. One week blended into the next until one morning there was a buzz of excitement, but she couldn’t guess what was causing it. The men hadn’t gone hunting, the women were fussing around sweeping, clearing, tidying and checking the levels of beer in the gourds.
Not long after midday, first one, then another and then three more men slipped into the clearing. These were men Amie hadn’t seen before and much to her amazement, they were wearing European clothes, cut-off jeans, faded shirts and two of them wore flip flops. So, they are in contact with the outside world, she thought.
The men had returned with precious parcels of sugar, tea, pieces of metal suitable for honing into arrowheads, bundles of cloth, a stack of cigarettes, packets of different powders, plus crushed stuff Amie couldn’t identify. The prizes that caused the most excitement were the two bright red plastic buckets and a plastic bowl. Amie wondered if the women would come to blows as they pounced on these treasures, but after each had a turn examining the article in minute detail, they were placed back in the middle of the circle. It was obvious they would be happy to share the spoils.
Amie eyed the folded bundles of cloth with acquisitive eyes. She didn’t have the courage to suggest she take one, but she couldn’t take her eyes off them. When she had escaped the rioting and been taken into custody, she’d been wearing a summer skirt, top and a light jacket. In prison, they’d taken everything away from her except her clothes. After her escape, she had taken or rather stolen, new underwear and the clingy blue dress from the abandoned store in town, but she’d been wearing these same things for so long she’d lost count of the time. She had learned to ignore the dirt, and the tears and holes in the fabric, but each time she washed them they disintegrated a little more.
A’ncah’s sharp eyes missed nothing, and leaning over, she whispered in E'lft’s ear. The elderly woman nodded and spoke softly to Marabi who seemed to be the one in charge of the working group. His face lit up and he reached forward and handed Amie one of the bundles of cloth. Amie didn’t know what to say, she’d not learned a word that meant thank you. She looked round the circle and smiled and nodded and mouthed ‘thank you, thank you,’ over and over again. The rest of the tribe thought this was very funny, and they burst into ribald laughter, thumping each other and rolling from side to side. Their generosity and their good humour were too much for Amie, and she burst into tears. There was a sudden silence, as everyone stopped laughing and A’ncah put her hand gently on Amie’s arm.
“No, no. I’m not crying because I’m sad,” she sobbed, “but because you’re all so kind.” No one, of course, understood a word.
Looking worried, E'lft glanced at X’ome and on his nod, handed a second bundle of cloth to Amie, maybe she wanted another one?
“Oh! No!” exclaimed Amie, “I am very happy, look,” and she gave them all a big smile. After a few moment’s hesitation, they seemed to understand from her body language that she was pleased. Everyone relaxed, and then the men clapped and the women ululated.
After the evening meal there was much laughing and talking, while the men told of their time away from the village. Copious amounts of homemade beer were consumed and then most of the elders settled down to smoke. For a moment, Amie thought sadly of Diana and her addiction, but then realised the men weren’t smoking ordinary cigarettes, they were smoking marijuana. She was very reluctant to try one, but they pestered her again and again and persisted, until she agreed to try one puff. It didn’t seem to hurt, so she took several more puffs. It gave her a relaxed feeling, and leaning back against the side of her hut, she drifted off to sleep.
As far as Amie could understand, these five men had travelled quite a distance and found work of some sort, and all the gifts they brought back were rewards for their labours. So, they could not be too far away from civilization, she thought.
Lying in her hut that night, Amie thought about the outside world. Until today, it had seemed a life away, a place on another planet, but now, almost insidiously it had crept back into her world. Seeing the plastic buckets and the bowl had jolted her back into the present. She knew several months ago she had been desperately trying to get back home, but since she’d woken in the village, time had frozen. She’d been aware of the seasons, but had not measured them. It was enough that each day slid peacefully into the next.
Her mind, body and soul had been ravaged by the riots, the horrors she’d witnessed, her imprisonment, her struggles across dangerous terrain, and the loss of everyone near and dear, but here she’d found peace. Did she even want to leave? This was not her world, this way of life belonged to these simple forest people. Not so simple, she reminded herself, they have skills I’ll never possess even if I lived to be a hundred.
There had been times when she’d been deliberately excluded from their simple ceremonies, such as when T’gutu died. They kindly but firmly pushed her away when she went to join the procession carrying the old man’s body into the forest. Amie shared the women’s tasks, she didn’t want to be a burden on them, but deep in her heart she knew she would have to leave one day, but maybe not just yet, ‘give me a little more time to heal,’ she whispered into the darkness.
Amie was not aware that her time with the little people was drawing to a close; but she would have no say in that decision.
16 BACK TO REALITY
The working men had been back in the village less than one full moon, when the attack came in the middle of the night. The village was surrounded by a band of angry youths carrying sticks, spears and pangas. They were hell bent on trouble. Everyone tumbled out of the huts, or buried their way underneath the leaves and melted into the forest. One moment they were there, and the next moment they were gone.
Amie huddled on her leaf mattress in the hut and shook with fear. She looked around wildly for somewhere, anywhere to hide, but before she could even decide what to do, she was face to face with a young African boy. He looked at her in surprise, then yelled out to the others, and two or three more crowded in through the doorway and gaped at Amie. She could tell finding a white woman in a situation like this was a shock to all of them.
The oldest of the group nodded towards the doorway, and when Amie didn’t move, he leaned over grabbing her arm and pulling her out into the clearing. There followed a heated discussion, and she could only guess they were trying to decide what to do with her. A few of the boys rooted through the other huts, and finding the new plastic buckets and bowl retrieved them, along with the remaining bundles of cloth. Amie prayed they wouldn’t confiscate the new dress she’d fashioned from her share of the spoils. It looked as if the workers had taken more than their fair share when they’d returned to the forest. Once the newcomers had retrieved what they wanted, they set off the way they’d come, taking Amie with them.
At first Amie pull
ed back, hoping to run off into the trees, but two of the youths took a firm hold, one on each arm, and once they had moved some distance away from the little village, Amie knew she would never be able to find her way back.
They travelled for most of that night. Walking three abreast, Amie slowed them down considerably as they followed a path through the trees, and it was long after the sun had risen when they finally left the cool of the woodland area, and set off across the savannah. Amie had no idea where they were taking her, but she was fairly sure it would be somewhere much closer to civilization.
As the sun rose higher, they stopped by a small stream to drink and eat some of the marula berries off a nearby tree. One of the boys took a dirty plastic bottle out of his pocket, and offered Amie some water. She accepted gratefully. She was familiar by now with the marula trees, and helped herself. A couple of the boys were also catching Mopani worms and eating them, but as Amie still preferred hers toasted to raw and wriggling, she declined to join them.
As soon as the sun began to lose its heat, they set off again. Amie’s feet were a lot tougher than they had been, her shoes had disintegrated months ago, but the swift pace of the party was beginning to wear her down. They no longer held her, guessing she wouldn’t know which way to run, but she struggled to keep up. She was fearful of where they were leading her, yet even more fearful of being left behind. There was safety in numbers, and at no time could she forget this was the domain of African predators. They met no one on the journey, and just as the first stars began to twinkle in the sky, they arrived back at their own village.
Amie immediately recognized the mixture of first and third world. Here, many of the huts were built of earth blocks and had thatched roofs, but one was covered in corrugated tin. The space in the middle of the houses was littered with pieces of old magazines, empty bottles, and broken plastic jugs, buckets and bowls. The people she saw were all in western dress, with the women wearing colourful turbans. Small, semi-naked children were running around, chasing the chickens, but everyone stopped in amazement, when their boys appeared with Amie in tow.
In different circumstances, it could have been described as Amie’s fifteen minutes of fame. There was much excitement and chatter; they all crowded round and gawped at her. Unlike her pygmy family, they didn’t reach out to touch her blond hair, by now falling way below her shoulders, nor did they poke and prod her. They were obviously accustomed to seeing white people, but not from the forest.
There was a disturbance from the largest hut, and an elderly man appeared and approached her. There was a sharp exchange with Amie’s captors, then he came over to Amie. She guessed he might be the Chief.
“You English?” he asked.
For a moment Amie stood there nonplussed. It seemed such a long, long time since she’d spoken in her native language that for a moment, she was lost for words.
“Yes,” she said at last.
“You are from the trees?” and the man pointed back the way they had come. Amie nodded. She didn’t know what to tell them. Instead of relief at finding someone who spoke her language, she realised she needed to be careful what she said. If she admitted to being from Apatu, they might take her back, and she had no idea who was now in charge. There was no one there to help her, she had no passport, and no means of identifying herself.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“You not know?” the Chief was puzzled.
“I walked a long way.” Amie hoped he wouldn’t pry, but of course he did.
“Where you walk from?”
“It’s not important. What I need to know now, is where this place is.” Amie spoke slowly and carefully, it took a while for her to remember all the words which were once so familiar, and spoken without a thought.
“This place, Bubezi,” the Chief replied. He beckoned her to follow him, and pointed to a chair outside his house. He sat down facing her, and one of the women brought over two enamel mugs. At the first sip, Amie recognized the ubiquitous tea with at least three, if not four spoons of sugar.
The Chief stared at her for several minutes, he sipped his tea slowly, before he asked, “You run from rioting, yes?”
“Yes,” admitted Amie, it seemed pointless to deny it, why else would a white girl be wandering around in the African veld on her own?
“What has happened there? Who is in charge of the government now?”
The Chief shrugged. He was obviously not interested.
“President Zanda, he is boss,” said a voice behind her.
It took a moment for this to register and then Amie exclaimed. “Then we are in Ruanga!” Several of the onlookers nodded vigorously. “How far to city?” Amie waved her arms around trying to indicate distance.
“Two, three days,” said the Chief. “Your name?”
“Amie, and yours?”
He didn’t give his name but replied, “Themboniso will take you to city tomorrow.”
“But, but how?” Amie was trying to sort out her feelings about going back to a city, and at the same time, she couldn’t see any means of transport in this small village.
“We go,” and the Chief stood up abruptly and walked into his hut.
Themboniso it seemed was one of the young men who had brought Amie out of the forest. He suddenly appeared by her side and repeated the word. “Tomorrow.”
Amie stayed where she was, while everyone else was disappearing through doorways, or chasing the children off to bed. Just as Amie was trying to decide where to try and curl up for the night, one of the younger girls approached with a smile, and took her to a hut at the far end of the village.
Once she had ushered Amie inside, she nodded and disappeared from view. Amie looked around, this one hut was three times the size of the one she’d been sleeping in in the forest, and it looked as if she had it all to herself. This was now a strange feeling, not to be cuddling up to other bodies to keep warm, although her recent family was not known for its high standards of personal hygiene. Funny what you can get used to she thought, as she shook out the foam mattress and the blanket before lying down.
For some reason an old television programme flashed into her head. They had sent a famous personality to stay in an African township with a family for a week. He had lasted one night, and after that, with tears in his eyes, relocated with his host family to a hotel in town. People can be so resilient if they have to cope, was Amie’s last thought before she fell asleep.
The following morning, the village, like all those in Africa, was up with the dawn. As she stretched and put on her dress, Amie wondered if she would ever sleep late again; being active with the sun, and sleeping after dark had become second nature to her.
She opened the door of her hut and peered outside. Already the children, refreshed after a long sleep, were racing around, and the women were lighting the fires to boil water for the morning tea. Amie noticed with wry amusement that all but one were using matches, and the exception had a gas lighter just like the one she’d bought for Pretty to light the stove in the kitchen.
After using a water barrel to rinse her face, hands and feet, she dithered in the hut doorway, until the woman who had served her tea the night before, waved her over for breakfast. It was another cup of over-sweet tea in a none too clean mug, and a huge jam sandwich the size of a door step. Amie found she was hungry and ate the lot.
Although Themboniso had said he would take Amie to the city ‘tomorrow,’ she was aware he might not mean that quite literally. Tomorrow could be the next day or even a few days later, but to her surprise, immediately after breakfast he indicated she was to follow him. He set off in such a hurry, Amie barely had time to thank her hostess for the food and drink. She had to run to keep up with him as he strode out across the veld. While he appeared to be making no effort to walk fast, he covered the ground at an alarming rate.
At last, exhausted, with sweat pouring down her face and under her arms, much to Amie’s relief they reached a gravel road. Themboniso didn’t stop, but turned l
eft and continued at the same reckless pace along the ungraded road. Amie struggled not to lose him, the bare stones hurting her feet, which were used to the gentle, cool, forest floor.
It wasn’t too long before the sound of an engine came roaring up behind them, and Amie was amused to see that Themboniso imperiously waved it down, like a policeman on point duty. The battered pickup truck skidded to a halt and protracted negotiations went on, which gave Amie time to catch up. She arrived at the truck, panting with exhaustion, just in time for Themboniso to indicate she was to climb up among the sacks of pumpkins, maize and other bulky packages, which provided no comfort whatsoever on the bumpy ride. Themboniso sat in the front cab with the driver, reminding Amie of her second-class citizenship.
A few kilometres further on, they turned abruptly onto a tarred road, narrowly missing a speeding Mercedes by millimetres. The Mercedes owner blasted his horn, but it didn’t faze their driver, who gaily waved two fingers in the air when the car swerved to avoid them.
The trip into the city would take three days on foot, but in the truck, they’d be there in a few hours. As the towering buildings came closer and closer, Amie noticed her appearance. Her hair was tangled, she’d not combed it for months, and even her new dress looked exactly what it was, a piece of faded cloth wrapped around her like a tired, old sari. Her feet were bare, she had no possessions, and she was not at all sure what she was going to do once she arrived, was it the capital city even? Finding the British Embassy seemed like a good idea, but if this was just a small town, then how much farther was it to the capital, and how would she get there?
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