Mrs Motswezi sat silently for a moment. “They picked out a few of us, me and Angelina and my sister, two other girls from our village and they had some other women already. They killed everyone else, all of them, no one escaped. They set fire to our huts, they drove out our cattle and goats and chickens and they took the things they wanted. And all the time they were screaming strange words.”
“Allah Akbar?” asked Amie.
Mrs Motswezi thought for a moment. “Yes, that was it, and they often cry it in the camp. I think it is part of their prayers?”
So, Ben was right, thought Amie to herself. “And then they brought you to this camp here?”
“No,” Mrs Motswezi replied after thinking for a while. “There was another camp first, where they forced us to cover our faces and wear these heavy cloaks. They told us we were whores, like street girls, to allow men to see our faces. They said we were to learn to be subse … subsi …”
“Subservient?” suggested Amie.
“Yes, I think that is the word. We must be that to the men, because we are special and precious. They lock us up in a tent for most of the day and stand over us when we clean their dishes, even me, Mrs Nomphsela Motswezi who was trained to be a teacher and ran a school all by myself. Now I must hide away from the world because they tell me their God wants this from me. I do not understand. What is happening? They are not Togodian, where have they come from? What do they want with us?”
Amie didn’t know what to tell the older lady. How could she explain it was a twenty-first century crusade, fundamentalist Muslims against everyone else, and it was springing up in so many countries. The two sat there in silence for a long while, deep in thought when they heard sounds from outside the cave.
There was a loud crack of lightning, thunder rumbled and the heavens opened. The rain came down in torrents, while bright shafts of light illuminated the valley below them. It was during one of these that Amie noticed something coming towards them and nudged Mrs Motswezi who had begun to doze off.
Amie first thought it was some wild beast also looking for shelter, and she searched round for her knife and patted the gun that she’d stuffed in her back pocket. She wasn’t sure the sound of the pouring rain would muffle a gunshot, goodness she didn’t even know how loud the gun would be if she was forced to fire it, but the feel of it in her hand was reassuring – if she ever had the courage to use it.
They both sat silently, leaning back on either side of the walls of the cave almost holding their breath as they watched the creature come closer and closer. It seemed to be making for the cave and it would arrive very soon.
“I think it is a person,” whispered Mrs Motswezi. “It does not walk on all four legs. But it could be a spirit. I have heard they walk out. I am so frightened. The Tokoloshe takes many forms,” and Mrs Motswezi made the sign of the cross over her ample breasts and put her hands together as if in prayer.
“Yes,” breathed Amie. “It is a person.” She tried not to smile, watching her companion whisper prayers under her breath like any good Christian, while worrying about ancient spirits from African folklore.
Like two statues they sat quite still.
Amie glanced behind her to see if there was any way they could hide further back, but the cave, if it was large enough to be called a cave, was shallow and there was no tunnel leading deeper into the hillside. Her hand tightened on the gun and she nursed the knife in the other. Armed to the teeth without the ability or will to use the weapons, she thought. One day Amie, one day you may have to inflict harm on another creature, but please, don’t let it be tonight. I’m not ready yet, please not tonight. Amie had no idea who she was actually talking to. She had long ceased to believe in God, and hadn’t been to church except for weddings and christenings for years, even though she and Jonathon had been married in church. But someone, somewhere out there might hear her, and spare her the agony of killing another human being.
The waiting seemed to go on and on, as the figure walked steadily towards them. He or she must be totally drenched by now, and was bending forward to protect themselves from the driving rain. Reaching their side of the valley, the figure climbed up the slope, a shapeless mass that reminded Amie of the old Hammer horror movies she’d watched as a child.
The creature had almost reached the entrance to the cave when it pitched forwards and collapsed in a heap almost falling on top of Amie and Mrs Motswezi.
“Oh bugger,” said a voice and Amie only just managed to control her giggles.
“Come on in Shalima,” she said. “You’re dripping wet. Take that ridiculous burqa off before it soaks everything.”
Shalima looked up from her prone position on the ground. “Bloody hell!” she exclaimed. “What you two doing here? How did you get in front of me?”
Amie reached over and helped her further in under the overhanging rock. She moved over to make more space and let their new arrival sit down in the dry.
“I don’t think we overtook you,” she said with a smile. “I think you walked round in a circle.”
“Yer kidding ain’t you?”
“No, it’s very easy to do that in the dark, landmarks aren’t easy to follow. At least you’re safe now.” She offered Shalima a bottle of water, but the girl shook her head. “I’ve had quite enough water to last me, ta,” she said.
Amie passed the bottle they’d already opened to Mrs Motswezi, who broke off a couple of leaves from the overhanging bush at the entrance to the cave, and fashioned them into a funnel. She placed the bottle outside the overhang to top it up with rainwater.
“I ain’t staying more than a night,” Shalima was on the defensive. “I’m on me way home and nothing and no one is gonna to stop me.”
“To England?” asked Amie.
“Not if I can bloody help it. There’s lots better places to go,” grumbled the girl.
“What are you doing here in Africa?” Amie asked her, as a flash of lightning lit up the interior of the cave like a searchlight.
Shalima leaned forwards and peered closely at Amie who shrank back a little at having her personal space so rudely invaded.
“You that woman who was on telly!” exclaimed Shalima. “You was in the war and you got into all kinds of trouble.”
So, Dave had made the programme after all and it had been shown. Amie shrank back even further at the thought she might be recognized anywhere in England. It made going home less than desirable. For the moment she would remain non-committal.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again.
“What you bleedin’ think? Getting outta the rain,” replied Shalima sounding more than a little grumpy. “I guess we’re sleeping here tonight?”
“Well, that is what we’d planned. We didn’t know you were still around.”
“Yeah, well, if I’d had my way I’d be like, miles away by now. Hell knows how I ended up here again.”
Nothing more was said that night as the three of them made themselves as comfortable as possible, wrapping their heavy burqas round them before they settled down to sleep. Amie had wondered if it would be wise to take turns keeping watch, but either they were safe at this distance, probably no one had noticed yet they were missing, or it was best to get a good night’s sleep. The one thing she realised was she was quite exhausted and doubted if she could stay awake much longer. Her last thought before sleep overtook her was the worry they were trespassing in some creature’s home and it might return after the rain had eased off.
There was pandemonium in the camp the following morning when it was discovered all the women had escaped. The commander flew into a terrible rage and ordered everyone to line up in the square so he could get to the truth and find out how it had happened. Which soldiers were untrustworthy? Did they have a spy among them? Had anyone sent messages with the women to alert the outside world and give away their location?
He glared at his men as they shuffled uncomfortably in two untidy rows in front of him. No one even dared suggest they raise the
flag. No one dared say anything at all. They all knew the women had escaped, that piece of news had flown round faster than a cruise missile, but none except two, had any knowledge of what had happened, and they weren’t about to say a word.
Mukhtar and Abubakker remembered little of the previous evening, it was all very hazy in the glare of the early morning sun. They’d been furious to be selected for guard duty the previous night, when the visitors arrived bringing with them news of the outside world and a crate of whiskey. Everyone knew alcohol was forbidden, but last night was the first time Mukhtar had ever let it touch his lips. He had no idea who had stolen the bottle, probably from the higher-ups as they got progressively more inebriated, before crashing out in the commander’s tent. Word had it they were even too plastered to manage it with the girls.
Someone had sneaked the bottle out and they’d all had a few sips. For many of them it was their baptism with hard liquor and it only took a little to make them feel woozy and sleepy. Mukhtar remembered going off into the bushes and bumping into something wearing a burqa, he assumed it was a woman, and he vaguely thought he’d thrown her in with the rest. Could it have been a man and not a woman? And, yes, he hadn’t tied her up, he would not have been in a fit state to tie any knots. Whatever happened, whatever he’d done, he’d keep his mouth shut. He didn’t even remember Abubakker had helped him by untying the tent flaps.
The commander paced up and down, shouting and screaming at his men, going red in the face while trying to ignore the pounding in his head. Still he continued to rant and rave for over an hour until it dawned on him he was getting nowhere.
He pulled one poor unfortunate out of the back row and had him dragged forward, stripped of his uniform and bound to the rather unstable flag pole. Not having any whips to hand, he instructed one of the men to make do with a branch from a nearby acacia tree, complete with thorns.
The soldier who had been ordered to beat the chosen victim tapped him timidly on the back to start with, but under threats of receiving the same treatment, he hit him harder and harder, until his back was a mess of blood and exposed muscle. The screams from the wretched and innocent man resounded across the valley, and put the fear of God into the rest of the men. When the punishment was over, he fell to the ground in a heap, no longer conscious and very close to death.
The commander was not satisfied, he still had no idea who’d helped the women escape, so he ordered all but two of his men to go out and search for them. On hearing this, they set off in twos and threes to scour the surrounding areas. While some were anxious to find the women and bring them back, others were not so keen and had decided before leaving the camp they weren’t going to look too hard. Since most of them were not allowed access to the women, the females were more trouble than they were worth.
The first light of the morning woke Amie and she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Now she could investigate their refuge properly and she was surprised to see the floor of the shallow cave was reasonably clean. She expected to see bat droppings at least, but looking up she saw the surface of the overhang looked quite smooth. She could see right across the valley, the bushes and trees glistening in the sunlight, as the last of the rain was absorbed into the air. It never failed to amaze Amie how fast everything dried once the sun rose high in the sky. Now, the earth was a deep chestnut brown, but in an hour or so it would revert back to its normal sandy colour. She took a deep breath of the fresh, clean, dust-free air, and turned to look at her companions.
Mrs Motswezi was snoring softly, curled up tightly in her burqa blanket, but Shalima was sprawled out, taking up far more than her fair share of the available accommodation. Amie’s movements woke her with a start and she sat bolt upright.
“Where am I?” she looked around her. “What am I doing here?”
“You arrived last night in the storm.”
“Huh?” Shalima took time to remember, then nodded. “Well, guess I’ll be off after breakfast. Sooner I get going the better.”
“Where’s home?” asked Amie, she was more than a little curious as to why a white woman had been in a terrorist Islamic camp in the middle of Africa.
“Birmingham. Well, I grew up there.”
“So, what are you doing here?” Amie asked yet again.
Shalima eyed her suspiciously. “I could ask you the same question. Yer not African, are yer?”
“No, there are a lot of white Africans, their families emigrated generations ago. But no, I came out here with my husband’s work.”
“Oh yeah, I remember now yer that chick on telly who was … ah yes, of course, but I thought you were home now, all back to normal.”
To me, Africa is home, Amie thought. Once it gets a grip it won’t let you go, except she didn’t think the open skies, the wild animals and the majesty of the landscape had gripped Shalima in quite the same way. The magic had bypassed her completely.
Shalima changed the subject. “Got sommat to eat? I’m starving.”
Amie was trying to like Shalima but it was difficult. The girl was demanding, rude and full of herself. Considering Amie had helped her escape, she didn’t seem particularly grateful and hadn’t even said thank you. She pointed to some bushes outside the cave. “Some of those leaves are edible and nutritious, but you have to be careful which ones you eat. While some are OK, others are poisonous.”
Shalima blinked several times. “So how d’you tell the effing difference?”
“By learning about them one at a time, and if you’re not sure, you try each one, chew a very small piece and wait to see if it has a bad effect on you.” Even as she was talking, Amie felt a bit mean, as there were a few biscuits in her backpack and some survival rations she was saving for an emergency. While she was happy to share with Mrs Motswezi, she wasn’t so keen to share with Shalima. The girl was rubbing her up the wrong way with her attitude.
Their chatter had woken Mrs Motswezi who stretched, unwound her burqa and went to crouch by the entrance scanning the surrounding countryside.
“Anything moving?” asked Amie. She had great respect for the sharp eyesight of many of the Africans she had known.
“No, nothing. Ah twiga.”
“What the ef’s a twiga?”
“A giraffe,” Amie whispered, her arms tightening around her backpack.
“Oh, they don’t attack do they? They dangerous?”
“No, not unless they feel threatened. If you get too close, they might attack.”
“So you run away huh?”
“Not unless you can top forty miles an hour,” Amie replied with a smile.
“What are we going to do?” Mrs Motswezi asked after taking a drink from the water bottle Amie handed to her.
“I think we should stay here for the day, and let the camp settle.” Amie thought that the best idea.
“Yes. They will be out searching, so we stay hidden,” Mrs Motswezi agreed nodding vigorously.
“You gonna stay here all day! You could get miles away, we should leave now!” Shalima obviously did not agree.
“We’re going back, Shalima.”
“Back? Back where?”
“To the camp.”
“You gotta be crazy in yer head. They’ll go ape if they see you.”
“I can’t leave. My husband and close friends are still there, and a child I am very fond of …”
“And my sister too,” added Mrs Motswezi sadly.
“You said your sister is one of the young girls?” asked Amie putting her arm around the teacher.
“Yes, we have the same father but a different mother. There are many years between us. We were both taken from my village. Everyone else they killed, I have no one else. I cannot leave her.”
“Well, I think yer both nuts,” Shalima was disgusted. “I ain’t staying around for no one.”
“You still haven’t told us what you were doing there in the first place,” Amie spoke more sharply than she intended.
“Came out to fight, didn’t I?” Shalima seemed proud of i
t, but Amie was beginning to suspect it was all bravado.
“To fight? For IS or ISIS or whatever they’re called?”
“Yeah, there was a whole bunch of us, seen it on the Internet. Fight for the cause, the next Jihad.”
“Do your parents know where you are?”
“Course not. Heck they would’ve tried to stop us. But it was gonna be a great adventure. Learn how to shoot, blow things up, become a hero!”
“But I guess it didn’t quite work out that way did it?” Amie asked quietly.
“Yeah well, you know.” All of a sudden Shalima’s eyes filled with tears and she bent forwards and started to sob.
10 SHALIMA’S STORY
Mrs Motswezi took Shalima in her arms, rocking her backwards and forwards like a small child, murmuring softly in Togodian.
“You must have been through a lot,” Amie said softly.
“It was all gonna be such fun, different to the boring life at home. My dad never let me do nuffing. He was always going on about how a good Muslim girl should behave and how he would choose a good husband for me and how I could set up a good home for this great man of his choice and cook wonderful meals and bear him lots’a children and …”
“You’re Muslim?” asked Amie in surprise, “and your father was going to choose a husband for you?”
“Yeah, like they do in Pakistan, that’s where he comes from. Me mum’s English and she didn’t agree neither, but she has no say at home. She has to do as he says.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Yeah, three brothers and two sisters, but they’re all as good as gold, never do nuffing wrong. It’s always me what’s in trouble. Like the day I took me hijab off to go to the mall with friends. When me dad found out he hit the roof, and had his brother take me to and from school. They locked me up in the house for a month to teach me a lesson.”
Amie was lost for words. She had read stories in the newspapers about children from cross-cultural marriages, or newly arrived immigrants whose children had grown up in England. They mixed with British children, went to the same schools, played the same games, but they weren’t free, many were still bound by the old customs from their parents’ home countries. She could understand how this could cause major conflict.
Amie in Africa Box Set 1 Page 48
