Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  It was late afternoon when they saw a battered and faded sign announcing it was ten kilometres to the border.

  “And now?” asked Shalima.

  “We drive off the road and inland a little way until we can find a crossing,” Amie replied.

  “Oh shit,” said the driver and veered suddenly off the road, throwing them all into a heap as the Land Rover’s wheels fought for traction on the loose earth. They were back to bush bashing again, bouncing along dangerously fast, since Shalima showed no signs of slowing down.

  “We stop here and wait for morning?” Ben asked.

  “No, let’s keep going,” Amie thought it best to get to a friendly country as soon as possible, but she had no way of telling if the Ruangans would be friendly. It was possible that if the truck was stopped, they could all be smartly escorted back across the border. And then what would they do?

  Although Amie had driven from Togodo to Ruanga illicitly before, she didn’t recognize any landmarks, except the rising hills between the two countries and she had no idea exactly where the boundary was marked. In most places there was no fencing, so they’d have to trust to luck.

  They crossed the border sometime in the night, but were unaware of it. They’d stopped for a comfort break, put the last drops of fuel from the can into the tank and grabbed some food, while it was still dark. To Amie’s enormous relief, the next day saw them driving into the suburbs of Umeru.

  “I hope you can find this place quick,” remarked Shalima, “we is driving on the smell of an oily rag.”

  While Amie giggled at hearing this old saying, all the others looked very puzzled. She reckoned they must have had long range fuel tanks to get possibly 800 kilometres or more.

  At first all the streets looked the same; neat houses set out American style, with the roads at right angles to each other. Then she spotted a huge flame tree and knew they were in the right place.

  “Here! It’s here! Stop, it’s this one!” she pointed to a high wall topped with barbed wire. She was out of the car and ringing the doorbell before Shalima had manoeuvred the truck into a parking place between two other vehicles.

  Amie waited impatiently by the gate, but there was no response. She rang the bell a second time. There must be someone in, there must be, she thought while she rang the bell again and again. Alice Robbins was in a wheelchair and didn’t often go out. Even if she had, her maid Emily should be there.

  Eventually she accepted defeat, but before getting back in the car, she thought the people next door might know. She pressed their bell and a moment later, a smiling black lady appeared at the gate. “Can I help you?” she asked, looking in horror at the young white woman wearing bush gear, who obviously hadn’t had a bath in weeks nor put a comb through her hair.

  “Good morning, I’m looking for the Robbins, but there was no answer when I rang their bell.”

  “Ah no, they are on their long leave in England I think,” the lady told her.

  “When will they be back? Soon?” Amie was so hoping it might be today or even tomorrow.

  “No, not for many weeks, they go to see their family,” the neighbour told her.

  “All right, thanks.” Depressed, she returned to the truck.

  This was the worst possible news. She didn’t think it would be a good idea to look for the mine where Tim Robbins worked, she didn’t even know the name of it and she’d not thought to ask the neighbour either.

  “And now?” asked Shalima looking out of the window.

  Amie looked sad as she told them the news. “On leave in England.”

  “Oh great!” Shalima exploded. “What effing suggestion do you have now?”

  They sat there for several moments until Shalima started the truck and announced she was going shopping. Still distraught, Amie didn’t think to ask what she was going to use for money.

  Shalima parked on the edge of a large car park in the town. She told everyone they had two hours to wander around and disappeared in the direction of a large supermarket.

  One by one they climbed out of the Land Rover and looked at Hussein in dismay. His feet and hands were still tied together and they could hardly take him out in the streets like that. Mrs Motswezi solved the problem by retying one of his wrists to her own and the other to Amie’s. “Now let him run,” she beamed with satisfaction while Amie was convinced they must look like a freak show as the three of them walked abreast along the crowded pavement. Behind them, Angelina skipped along, keeping pace with Ben, who was still recovering from his snake bite, and unable to walk fast.

  They passed the pavement sellers with their boxes containing pumpkins of all varieties, corn cobs, wilted cabbages, apples and trinkets from far eastern factories. Amie struggled to readjust to the hustle and bustle of the town. She found it overwhelming, as her senses were buffeted from all directions. There was a constant barrage of noise, smells, chattering, clutter all around her and she fought down the panic.

  She noticed the others were taking the town in their stride and wondered what was wrong with her. They didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the cacophony of human life, and Angelina in particular appeared fascinated by the sights and sounds. There was a buzz as people went about their daily lives: shopping, posting letters, greeting friends. As they walked past a coffee shop, Amie’s mouth watered at the sight of the pastries and the smell of the coffee. She got a grip on herself remembering that for over twenty years she’d grown up on the outskirts of one of the largest cities in the world. She had no idea why she felt this way each time she came out of the bush.

  As she turned sideways to avoid a man carrying a large sack of mealie meal on his shoulder, she bumped into a shop doorway and felt the gun in her pocket. She’d be in big trouble if she was caught with that. She suspected carrying guns was illegal in Ruanga. Apart from the clothes she stood up in, she had one gun and one knife to her name, so where did she go from here? And what was going to happen to all the others? What were any of them going to do?

  She had no idea how long they wandered around the town; they were all a bit dazed, thought Amie. They made their way back towards the Land Rover.

  It wasn’t there.

  14 SANCTUARY

  A broken down bakkie was in the space where Shalima had parked the truck.

  “I’m sure this is where we left it,” cried Amie.

  “Yes, it was,” Ben nodded.

  “So, Shalima’s gone off and left us! I would never have believed she could be so cruel!” Amie was close to tears. They’d been through so much together and for one of them to take off and leave the rest of them stranded, it was too much. She wanted to scream. “Any bright ideas?” she asked no one in particular.

  The others looked at her blankly, they had nothing to suggest.

  As if by unspoken agreement, they turned and headed south, to where the road left for Atari. It was the only place where they might get help.

  While the centre of town, with its chain stores, markets, pavement sellers and throngs of people was buzzing with life, the outer suburbs were tranquil and almost deserted. Amie, Mrs Motswezi and Hussein were still attached three abreast while Angelina had become very subdued. Amie knew the child had no idea what was going on and sensed the grown-ups were on edge. As the road widened, she came to walk next to Amie, gripped her hand, and smiled up at her. Looking down Amie squeezed the little hand and forced herself to smile back.

  “Is it a long walk?” Angelina asked.

  “Yes, I think we’ll have to walk a very long way,” Amie replied. “Some kind person might give us a lift though. We may be lucky.” Secretly she thought that very unlikely. Who in their right senses would take on board a bedraggled white woman tied to an Arab and an elderly black woman plus a small child and a limping black man? We must look the strangest group on earth, she mused. We could easily have escaped from the nearest mental hospital.

  On the outskirts the houses were set further apart, and the road stretched way ahead of them in a long, grey line
into the far distance until it disappeared over the horizon. Amie remembered driving for at least two if not three hours the last time she’d made the journey. She doubted they’d have the strength to get that far and they were being stupid to even try it. Every few steps she glanced behind her in the hope they might be able to flag down an empty truck, but the few saloon cars that sped past didn’t have room for the five of them even if they had been persuaded to stop.

  Without a water bottle between them, dehydration was making them light-headed, so at first Amie didn’t recognize the voice, which hailed them from a little way off the road.

  “Betcha could do wiv some of this.”

  Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Shalima stood in the entrance to a farm track, sheltering under a tree. Behind her was the Land Rover and in her hand, she was holding out a can of cold fizzy drink.

  “What … but … how … why?” Amie was lost for words, while everyone else’s eyes were riveted on the cold drink can.

  “No need to rush,” chortled Shalima, “I got plenty, for everyone.” One by one she handed each of them a can.

  “OK, so where did you get all this?” Amie collapsed on the stubby grass beside the farm track.

  “Piece o’ cake,” Shalima looked very pleased with herself.

  “So …?” Amie glared at her, but Shalima only smirked.

  “Don’t tell me,” said Amie with a sigh, “you stole it, right?”

  “Might have,” Shalima replied, “think of it as a donation.”

  Amie peered into the back of the truck. It was crammed with all kinds of tins, packets and boxes. “All of this!” she exclaimed. “How, how did you do that? No one could walk out of a shop with all this stuff and not be noticed.”

  Shalima gave her a pitying look. “You don’t walk out the front door, it’s much easier out the back door innit? And don’t look at me like that, yer eating the stuff ain’t you?”

  Amie looked guiltily at the half-eaten energy bar in her hand and hastily put the rest in her mouth. Yes, she was hungry, and no she wasn’t going to insist they take any of it back. For now, she would ignore her conscience completely.

  Everyone rummaged among the goodies Shalima had ‘liberated’ and for a while they sat daydreaming in the sunshine, relaxed and content. Shalima had even managed to get some antiseptic cream for Hussein’s back and Ben was applying it.

  “They hurt you bad,” he murmured, looking at the welts that crisscrossed the skin. Hussein winced but said nothing.

  It was impossible not to feel sorry for him, Amie thought. What was going to happen to him? Would he be arrested as soon as they made contact with the authorities? Which country had he come from? Did he have any family? So many questions she mused and no answers. He’d refused to reply to any of their questions about his past. But they weren’t sure he understood what they asked him and he probably didn’t have the vocabulary to respond.

  Even under the shade of the wattle tree it was hot.

  “Everyone ready to go?” Shalima asked, packing away the remains of their feast into the back of the Land Rover.

  “Let me guess, we have petrol as well?” Amie enquired, doing her best not to sound too sarcastic.

  “Yup, we sure do,” Shalima chuckled. “Though I weren’t able to fill the spare can as well.”

  “Why did you go and leave us?” Mrs Motswezi looked quite put out, though whether it was because Shalima had driven off, or because she had been blatantly stealing, wasn’t obvious.

  “It wouldn’t have been too healthy for me to hang around after me shopping trip now would it?” Shalima replied sarcastically. “Knew you’d be making for Atari, so thought I’d hang out here and wait for you.”

  As everyone climbed into the truck Amie took Shalima to one side. “I don’t want to know the details of how you managed to, uh … acquire all this,” she waved her arm towards the vehicle, “but tell me this, would it be unwise for us to go back into Umeru?”

  “Um. Possibly,” Shalima replied. “And don’t give me that prissy look Amie. Bet you grew up in a ‘nice’ suburb with friendly parents who didn’t fight all the time. And you was at a nice school where you had everything you needed and I bet you even had ballet lessons didn’t you?” She put her face so close to Amie’s she was forced to back off.

  She couldn’t deny Shalima’s supposition, but she wasn’t going to mention the riding lessons and the annual overseas holidays as well.

  “Well, we had to fight for what we wanted, and yes the more they tried to make me into a good, little Muslim girl the more I rebelled. Saturdays round the shops with no money what would you have done? You try living in the Sparkhill part o’ Birmingham and see how you’d have been. So, don’t you go judging me, right?” Shalima spat out the words, flounced off and climbed into the driving seat. “You comin’ or what? And while yer at it, no I ain’t got no driving licence neither.” She turned the key and the engine started. Amie climbed into the back seat without another word.

  The road to Atari was tarred for most of the way and they made good time, though Amie secretly thought they were going much too fast. Her fears were realised when they heard police sirens from behind and, looking back, she saw a police car bearing down on them. Everyone held their breath as it got closer and closer and Amie wished Shalima would at least slow down a little, but she was afraid to suggest it. It might encourage the girl to put her foot down.

  The screech of the sirens got louder and louder as the black and white car, lights flashing and liberally plastered with Polisi signs, shot past them. When it raced away everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Time for a pee break,” Shalima shrieked and Amie could have cheerfully strangled her. It wasn’t that she disliked the girl, and she had to admit that without her they would not have got this far, but she had the knack of getting right under your skin and irritating the hell out of you. She was hardly a role model for Angelina either, and Amie was slightly alarmed to see how the child seemed to enjoy the colourful language and how not to behave.

  After the ‘pee break’, the rest of the trip went without incident, even though Shalima was not particularly adept at avoiding potholes, any more than she’d avoided obstacles in the bush. By the time they approached the suburbs of Atari her passengers were battered and bruised from all the bumping and thumping.

  “Oh shit!” Shalima shrieked. “An effing roadblock!” Without waiting for a response, she careened off the road into the bush, catapulting Angelina onto the floor and banging Mrs Motswezi’s head against the dashboard. Not that Shalima seemed to notice, and she wasn’t about to apologize. Amie knew their driver was running on sheer adrenaline.

  They jolted through the bush until they screeched to a stop in front of a fence, beyond which were fields of mealies and other vegetables.

  “Oh! No, no, no! You are not going to drive over those!” Amie yelled and Shalima hesitated. “You do and we’ll have every villager for miles gunning for us.”

  For a few awful moments Amie thought Shalima was going to ignore her, but then she backed the truck away from the fence and went around it until the narrow farm track brought them up behind an ancient smoke-belching tractor. The track was narrow and, on either side, lay the detritus of semi-rural Africa: old cans, broken bottles and general rubbish. It would be impossible to get past it. Shalima was forced to control her impatience. Even she knew it would be too easy to burst a tyre.

  The tractor driver waved cheerily at them, turning around and grinning, while Shalima muttered expletives under her breath. Ben remained impervious, gazing out of the window, while Hussein, wedged in the middle of the back seat, was sweating and obviously in pain. In the front, Mrs Motswezi was rubbing Angelina’s head where she’d bumped it and rubbing her own at the same time.

  Amie concentrated on what she was going to say to the Mathesons when they arrived on their doorstep. They were a friendly couple and had been incredibly helpful to her in the past, but she’d not felt the same warm, fuzzy feeling she�
��d had with Alice Robbins. But they were the only people she knew in Atari, so there was no alternative.

  At last the tractor turned and trundled off to the right and Shalima put her foot down. The track soon turned into a tarred road in the suburbs, with bungalows lining either side.

  “So, which way? This Atari?” Shalima barked.

  “Yes, yes, it is. But I’m not sure which way to turn.” Amie said. “So many of these roads look the same. I think they were in one called Poinsettia Drive.”

  “Great help,” complained Shalima and Amie saw they were back in civilization the teenager’s aggressive attitude showed she was nervous.

  “I remember it was off a wide road that ran past a shopping mall. If we see the mall, I’m pretty sure I can find it. And Shalima when we come to a four way stop, you stop, right? Then each driver takes it in turns to go. If you arrive last, you go last. We don’t want to be picked up by the local police, do we? Not with all those extra goodies in the back. They do have telephones here.” Amie knew she was sounding prissy, but she had a sinking feeling Shalima was getting a little out of control.

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t nag,” was the only reply she got.

  They had a bit of luck when the car stopped at a crossroad and Mrs Motswezi leaned out the window and asked a passer-by where the local mall was. The fact she spoke in Togodian which did not elicit any surprise, was reassuring and after a lot of arm waving and what sounded like high speed gibberish, Mrs Motswezi seemed satisfied she could direct them to the mall. She hardly had time, in the polite African tradition, to say thank you, before Shalima slammed her foot on the accelerator and the car shot forwards.