Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  Listening to Ben, Amie wasn’t sure if they could trust him. She wondered if he had an alternative agenda. She was sure the Kawas were itching to get back into power again.

  Jumbo made some disparaging remarks under his breath at this point but no one except Amie, Dirk and Ben himself knew why he was being so rude. Amie couldn’t have expected Ben’s welcome to be particularly warm. Was she wise in vouching for him? Introducing him into the camp as a friend? She reminded herself that her brief abduction was a secret she must keep, and never tell anyone else, especially Jonathon. If she changed her mind about Ben, and if he ever became a threat, it was ammunition she could use against him.

  4 LEFT BEHIND

  A few days later Amie and Helen were digging into the sand in the river bed when they heard a distant drone. It got louder and louder. Then a dust cloud on the other side of the valley came closer and closer. For a moment they didn’t move a muscle, and then they looked for somewhere to hide.

  “Relax,” said Helen after a couple of minutes. “I think it’s Jonathon and Charles. I’d recognize that engine anywhere.”

  A few weeks before, Amie would have run off to meet them, but now she was more cautious. What if Helen was wrong? Better to wait and see if it really was Jonathon. They watched as the vehicle approached the camp and with a whoop, she raced over and flung open the door. Jonathon jumped out and gave her a massive hug.

  “You’re back! You’re back and you’re safe!”

  “Of course, I am and we’ve had a good trip. We saw hardly anyone on the road. It was all quiet and peaceful.”

  Dirk slapped Jonathon hard on the shoulder, “Good to see you back, man,” he said

  “What have you brought? Did you get the shampoo and the soap and the blankets and the …?” Amie was bouncing up and down as if it was Christmas and her birthday all rolled into one.

  Charles laughed. “We got everything on the list and a lot more besides.”

  “And how are the Robbins?” asked Amie peering into the back of the vehicle, poking and prodding the packages and plastic bags.

  “They’re fine and send you their good wishes. It’s all so peaceful the other side of the border. It was quite a culture shock seeing everything so normal.”

  The next couple of hours were spent unloading all the new supplies. Spices for Dirk to make more biltong, a comb and mirror for Helen, who’d been sharing with Amie since hers had broken; even some new clothes to replace those that had been washed so often they were falling apart. Everyone admired the plastic bowls and buckets as if they were treasures from some Aladdin’s cave, and grinned when they saw all the tins of corned meat, vegetables and other foodstuffs.

  “I’m amazed the old truck held up under the weight of all this,” Dirk remarked when they’d finished unloading.

  “Well, we got stuck in a lot more sand on the way back than we did on the way in,” said Jonathon. Looking up he saw Ben. “A new person in camp?” he frowned.

  “This is Ben,” Amie explained. “I don’t think you ever met him, Jonathon. He was one of the guys with me on those shoots.”

  “Thought I recognized the name,” said Jonathon, holding out his hand, “and thank you for taking care of her.”

  “My pleasure,” murmured Ben.

  It crossed Amie’s mind that Ben might worry she would tell her husband how they’d met again and how he’d practically kidnapped her and threatened her. He might be feeling a little uncomfortable about what he’d done.

  Jonathon paused. “So, does this mean that things are now back to normal? Is it all quiet? OK to go back to the capital? We didn’t pick up a lot of news about what was going on here in Togodo, but lots about events in the outside world.”

  “Nothing much has changed, sir,” said Ben. “There are a few foreigners in Apatu now. Not many, but I would think it is safe to return.”

  “It might be right for some of us, but not for me,” Amie muttered to herself. She was not convinced there wasn’t a price on her head even now. She’d been working for the Kawa government when all the fighting broke out, and she could only guess that her captors had been M’untus. It would be a lot easier if we, as outsiders, could recognize which tribe people belonged to, she reasoned. She also wondered why Ben had said nothing about the mysterious camp in the bush. She guessed he would choose his moment. Men never liked to rush these things and many Africans could rarely see the need for making a fuss and demanding instant action. She noticed Ben didn’t join in the general chatter that evening, but melted away into the shadows.

  There was no more serious talk until after everyone had eaten, and they were sitting beside the heat coming from the underground oven. It was the safest way to cook, allowing no smoke to drift into the air and alert any curious passer-by. As an added bonus, Helen was able to brew up coffee on the small camping stove now she had a new supply of gas canisters.

  “I’ve really missed my coffee,” said Amie, savouring each mouthful from her tin mug.

  “I brought as much back as I could,” said Jonathon, “as a special treat.”

  “So, what news?” asked Dirk.

  “Seems the whole world has gone mad,” replied Charles. “We were appalled at what we saw on the television, and from what Tim Robbins told us.”

  “It’s a gruesome repeat of the Crusades from the Middle Ages,” added Jonathon. “There are Muslim fundamentalist extremist groups operating all over the place.”

  “They’ve launched attacks in twenty-one countries,” Charles continued.

  “Twenty-one?” repeated Helen in amazement.

  “At first most people thought these were only random killings of Christians as the groups don’t co-operate with each other. But it looks as if the problem is spreading,” said Jonathon.

  “There are horrific pictures and videos posted on the Internet showing them beheading hostages, boasting about rapes and training children to fight with guns. They have reintroduced slavery and buy and sell women and children. Fathers have abducted their children and taken them away to fight. Mothers have left their families and converted to fundamental Islam.”

  “We’ve not been aware of any of this,” murmured Helen.

  Jonathon continued. “They go by a variety of names, al-Qaeda, Boko Haram, the Muslim Brotherhood and so on.”

  “When did this all start?” asked Amie. “Why haven’t we heard more about it? Surely all this hasn’t happened in the last three months?”

  “No, it seems to have begun in the late eighties when a fanatic called Zarqawi founded a group called ‘Oneness and Jihad’. Five years later he pledged his fighters to support Osama Bin Laden and changed the name to al-Qaeda.”

  “That we’ve heard of, even in rural Africa,” Dirk remarked. “But as far as we knew, the Americans killed Bin Laden. But you’re saying that wasn’t the end of it?”

  “I suspect it was only the beginning,” replied Jonathon. “The Americans built a huge detention centre in Iraq and threw in hundreds of militants. It kept the so-called terrorists out of circulation, but fermented discontent.”

  “It didn’t help that some of the military were accused of brutality, so the place actually became a ground for training fighters. It’s started a new Jihad or Holy War against the infidels, and the attacks have been getting more frequent, more ferocious and more brutal,” Charles added.

  “They renamed themselves as the Islamic State or IS,” Jonathon continued, “and there could be twenty to thirty thousand strong in one group alone.”

  “At first the western powers weren’t too bothered,” said Charles. “The fighting was in Iraq and Syria, but it seems to be spreading.”

  Jonathon poured himself some more coffee. “But the West is now worried the fundamentalists are recruiting fighters from Europe to join the cause. No one knows how many, but maybe as many as 2,000 westerners have gone to Syria alone.”

  “How bad is it?” asked Helen.

  “Don’t ask me how they worked this out, but with US$2 million a d
ay in revenue, they’ve been able to launch thirty to forty attacks a month.”

  “Where do they find all these new recruits?” asked Amie.

  “Over the Internet and through religious study groups. In the United Kingdom alone, there are two hundred Muslim schools, and some are accused of teaching fundamentalist principles.”

  “Most Muslims aren’t going on the rampage!” exclaimed Helen. “Surely it’s a religion of peace?”

  “Yes, it is, and the Koran states it’s a sin to kill. But in any religion, you’ll always get a few who will interpret holy words for their own purposes,” Jonathon reminded her.

  “A few! You were talking about thousands just now,” said Dirk.

  “From Turkey alone, there are thousands being abducted or lured into Syria to IS controlled areas, but it still breeds distrust against a huge number of peace-loving Muslims,” Charles opened a can of beer as he spoke.

  “Don’t those who want to live in peace have any authority over the rest?” Amie couldn’t imagine sitting by and saying nothing if she saw her own people beheading and raping innocent victims.

  “In some parts of Turkey people are now flying the IS flag in their windows and on their cars, despite the fact that IS have dozens of Turkish prisoners and even beheaded two American journalists,” her husband replied. “There have been incidents in Kenya, including an attack on a shopping mall killing innocent people, and the fundamentalist movement has been active in West Africa too.”

  “I seem to remember a group called Boko Haram killing people in Nigeria,” said Amie thoughtfully. “It was on the news in England. They kidnapped over two hundred schoolgirls.”

  “At least one and a half million have fled the area since,” Charles added. “The refugee problem is another aspect of this whole disaster. Men, women and children are flooding out of the towns trying to escape the fighting. Yes, people are horrified but nothing much is being done about it.”

  “It looks as if people are too scared to stand up to them,” Jonathon said. “Possibly worried it might escalate and get out of control.”

  Amie wondered if it would be wise to talk about what Ben had seen here in Togodo, not so very far away. Was the camp he’d seen one of these fundamentalist groups? She wondered how safe they were.

  “I had some really good Muslim friends before coming to live in Africa,” Helen said sadly. “I can’t believe they would want to harm anyone because they’re Christian. As a woman I think the most worrying thing is the introduction of Sharia Law. I guess many Muslims might be in favour of that.”

  “I don’t know anything about Sharia Law,” said Amie. “Does anyone?”

  “Basically, it’s the law as interpreted in the Koran,” replied Charles. “Cases are brought before a council of men who listen to both sides of a dispute, and make a binding decision.”

  “I know from my friends, that women are highly regarded and protected,” Helen said, “and if you’ve been brought up in that faith you can accept their rules. But it wouldn’t be for me. I couldn’t adapt to keeping separate company from men, and covering up whenever I left the house, or only being allowed out if I was accompanied by a male relative. To me, that’s taking away my freedom, especially my freedom to drive.”

  “From what little I know,” Dirk broke in, “it’s relatively easy for a man to divorce a woman but not so simple the other way around. And if I remember correctly the Sunni and Shia Muslims have some differences that go way back in history. That complicates things.”

  Amie remembered her one excursion back to her old home in Apatu when she’d been swathed in a suffocating, black burqa. Goodness, it was still packed away at the back of the tent somewhere. She’d been meaning to cut it up and fashion a mini skirt out of it, but the material was thick and heavy and not really suitable. She had a brief premonition, almost a déjà vu in reverse, that she might need it again one day.

  It was late by the time they went to bed and Amie had not had a chance to tell Jonathon how Ben had suddenly turned up out of nowhere and the story he’d brought with him. She was still trying to decide if she should mention it to him while they were alone, or if she should invite Ben to tell it in his own words. While her maternal instincts towards Angelina made her want to rush off and rescue her, she was aware Jonathon might flatly refuse to help, insisting it was none of their business. Angelina was a child of Africa and her life and fate were inextricably bound to this continent. Thoughts of daring rescues which would amount to kidnap, or whatever they called taking someone illegally across an international border, would not sit well with Jonathon. Amie wasn’t sure she would have the courage to sneak off without him, even if she had Ben beside her. The moment they entered their tent, Jonathon had flung himself down on the camp cot and went out like a light. Amie had no chance to discuss anything with him.

  The following morning, while she did her daily chores around the camp, Amie could feel Ben’s eyes on her, and she tried to avoid him as much as possible. It had been impossible to get Jonathon’s attention, as he’d been crawling under the Land Rover, helping Dirk fix some problem that had developed on the journey back. Although she’d deliberately found reasons to walk as close to the vehicle as she could, at no time did she hear them talking about any camp, or about possible militants not too far away. Had Dirk said anything to the others about what Ben had seen? Surely this was a threat to them all? Did they think he was making it all up? She wondered why she herself had not mentioned it last night around the camp fire. She was desperate to tell Jonathon.

  In the end it was her husband who took her by the arm and pulled her over.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  Amie breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes,” she agreed, “and I think Ben …”

  “I’ve already asked him to meet us over by the baobab tree.”

  The baobab tree was about seventy metres from the camp. Fully twenty metres in circumference it thrust its branches to the sky, looking as if it had been planted upside down. Amie had remembered sheltering in one on her first night alone. Helen had told her it was known as the ‘tree of life’, providing shelter, clothing, food, and water for animals and humans. The bark could be used for making cloth and rope, the leaves for condiments and medicines and the ‘monkey bread’ fruit, full of vitamin C, tasted like a cross between grapefruit, pear and vanilla. Best of all, the tree was fire resistant, and so escaped the fierce fires which raced across the savannah every few years, devouring all the dry vegetation in their path. Huge swathes of veldt could be engulfed in a matter of moments.

  A few feet from the tree Amie paused. “Oh! Look Jonathon, zebra. They’re so beautiful!”

  “From a distance yes,” smiled Jonathon. “But they can be vicious little buggers if you get too close. They’re very handy with their hooves.”

  “And the stripes on each one of them is different, I still find that hard to believe,” added Amie. “I wonder if they recognize each other by their stripes or by their smell.”

  Jonathon chuckled, “We’ll never know for sure.”

  She stopped to admire the small herd, as they gracefully nibbled and tore at the sparse clumps of stubbly grass. She remembered a long-forgotten word. A ‘zeal’ of zebras, not a herd. Now whoever had taught her that at school? Not a particularly useful thing to know, she mused. Their tails flicked from side to side, whisking away the troublesome flies, moving steadily across the landscape, yet every now and again they turned their heads, swivelling their ears for sounds of predators and any signs of danger.

  “I can only see zebra, there are no other animals with them. Isn’t that unusual?” Jonathon asked. “Don’t they often graze with other species?”

  “Yes,” replied Amie. She remembered sitting in the kitchen in Spring Glen showing Pretty, her new maid, how to cook a particular dish she liked, and Pretty telling her the zebra had got its stripes after fighting with a baboon over a water hole. The zebra kicked so hard it fell over backwards and into the nearby fire and the stick
s left scorch marks on its white skin. She still wasn’t quite sure if Pretty really believed such a tale, but at the time she seemed quite serious, assuring her madam it was true.

  Thoughts of Pretty brought her back to the present and the story Jonathon was about to hear. For a brief moment Amie couldn’t see Ben, but as they walked around the tree he was there on the other side, watching the zebra. He stood up as Jonathon came into view.

  Jonathon nodded briefly and sat on the ground next to the massive tree and rested his arms on his knees. Amie slithered down beside him, still watching the animals in the dip between the hills.

  “Amie says you have information,” said Jonathon.

  “Yes. I saw a camp, by a river. It is a very large camp and there are many soldiers and several women and children too.”

  Amie was trying hard to gauge Jonathon’s reactions, but he was not even looking at Ben. He was busy using a couple of stones to crack open a wild marula nut before scooping out the kernels inside. He chewed the pulp slowly and thoughtfully before asking, “How long do you think the camp has been there?”

  “I have no idea, many weeks?”

  “But wait!” exclaimed Amie. “That can’t be right, it must be about two years since you said Pretty took Angelina back to the orphanage, and that was torched right at the beginning of the uprising, so where have they been all this time?”

  Ben said nothing. He just sat there and didn’t respond.

  “There could be a lot of different answers to that one,” Jonathon said.

  “You do believe Ben, don’t you Jonathon?” It suddenly occurred to Amie he would simply ignore the whole thing and insist they not get involved. Then what was she going to do? She glanced sideways at her husband who was nodding, deep in thought.