Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  Arriving home after another shopping trip Amie gazed at the size of her new house and decided she really couldn’t cope with cleaning it by herself. It wasn’t only the large rooms, but the wraparound veranda or stoep to be swept every day. The huge expanse of tiled floors would need mopping, and dust was a constant problem in an area where lawns were a luxury – water was too precious to waste on plants and grass. Amie glanced at the dustbowl that stretched from the house to the outer walls. These were over six feet high, topped with broken glass, and they completely surrounded the property. A few stubborn trees and bushes survived on the bare ground, in particular the large prickly pears whose roots reached deep into the earth searching for water a long way below the surface.

  Amie trundled in and out of the house struggling with packages in both hands, deciding that it was madness to do without help. No sooner had she moved in than once again she’d been bombarded with long queues of eager, young, middle-aged, and old women begging for a job. She’d sent them all away. It was too soon to engage another domestic maid. She still missed Pretty with all her annoying quirks. Yes, she had stolen the sugar and the jam and deliberately burnt clothes with the iron waiting for Amie to hand them over as unusable. But over time they’d come to a mutual understanding and privately, Amie had come to regard her as part of their family. Pretty had adored Angelina and taken as much care of the child as Amie had, she could always be trusted to protect and spoil the little orphan.

  It felt almost disloyal to employ someone in her place. But Pretty was ‘late,’ yet another victim of a senseless African civil war. And Angelina was gone too, and both had left an enormous hole in Amie’s heart.

  Maybe it was time to look for help and of course it was expected. The wives of the expatriate community must also provide a service to the local people and pay for at least one worker in the house and another for the garden and pool.

  When she mentioned it to Jonathon he was delighted. She guessed he saw it as a sign she was settling down to life, completely recovered from the trauma of the past months.

  In the time it took to tell a couple of his workers that his wife wanted a maid, the eager wanna-be domestics were once again lining up outside the house, banging loudly on the gate asking for work. Some were bright and cheerful, listing all their skills and attributes in Togodian, broken English or even sign language. Others were tearful, pleading to be given the position. They had family, sick children, parents and grandparents to support. After Amie had heard one hard luck story after another, she was emotionally drained.

  In the aftermath of a second civil war when the rebels had first overthrown the government and then they themselves been ousted, the local people had suffered the worst. Many had lost family members. Young boys had been forced into the makeshift army and thousands had been killed on both sides.

  There had been years of terror. When someone came to your house and asked what side you were on; it was a fifty-fifty chance you gave the right answer. If the rebels were calling and you said you were ‘with’ them, they would round up all the youths they could find and take them off to fight. If they guessed you were for the opposing side, then the whole family would be mown down in a hail of bullets.

  Most of the local people didn’t really understand what was going on. They knew that President Mtumba from the Kawa tribe had been in charge before being assassinated. Then the Free Togodo forces of the M’untu tribe had taken over in a bloody civil war and installed themselves in the royal palace and government buildings. They in turn were butchered by the Kawa who fought their way back into power.

  By accident of birth all Africans were from one tribe or another, but loyalties were split. Most people simply wanted to be left alone to earn a modest living in peace and quiet, but there were always those for whom that was not enough. Now President Mboyo was the top man, with Ben Mtumba as second in command.

  While they were in control, in theory, Amie and her husband Jonathon would be safe. She’d grown close to Ben after all their adventures, but in Africa you could never be sure how stable any government was. If enough people were dissatisfied, the fighting could begin all over again, and there would be no doubt this time whose side Amie was on, even if she didn’t personally care who sat in the presidential palace in Apatu, Togodo’s capital city. Ben had even visited the house, and assured her that life would go on as before. The new government would pacify the northern tribe who’d revolted mainly because they feared the new wealth from the mining up north would bypass them. They now promised that all Togodians would benefit equally, regardless of tribal origins and once again the country would be a peaceful and safe place to live.

  Despite his reassuring words, Amie had her doubts. Tribalism had been the scourge of Africa from the dawn of time, and she didn’t believe for one moment they would ever be one big happy family. For now, life had settled down into getting her new house in order and helping Mrs Motswezi at the orphanage.

  Yet Amie couldn’t relax completely, there were still too many bad memories. The orphanage was not the same without Angelina with her shy smile, her thumb stuck in her mouth and her little hand clinging firmly to Amie’s trousers or skirt. There were plenty more parentless children to care for, not only victims of AIDS but now there were war orphans as well. Since all the buildings had been burned to the ground, Mrs Motswezi, as indefatigable as ever, had, from somewhere, organized tents which doubled as sleeping quarters and classrooms. She’d begged, borrowed, or purloined supplies from heaven knows where, and Ben had arranged for builders to erect more permanent facilities. To date, there had been no sign of them but African time was a law unto itself.

  Several new expatriate families had arrived in Apatu and the old way of life was slowly getting into its stride. Major repairs had been made to the Club. The swimming pool had been salvaged although the area around the building was still a mud bath, and the tennis courts were still unusable.

  Amie missed Kate terribly, and every time she went into town and saw the empty space where the Indian dress shop had been, a shudder went down her spine and her legs felt shaky. Nothing had been done to clear away the rubble, it was still a jumbled pile of stones, broken rafters and shards of corrugated steel.

  To Amie’s amazement, as the new expatriate wives arrived, she was now regarded as an old hand. They came to her for help and she remembered Diana handing out advice in the restaurant of the Grand Hotel when she’d first arrived. It was not all that long ago. Now she had no idea where Diana was, only that she’d been on the last plane out in the evacuation.

  She’d been especially helpful in suggesting which maid to choose, and Amie sighed as she ran her fingers through her short, fair hair framing her lightly tanned oval face and large grey eyes. What were the main points to bear in mind? Some English was necessary, or it took forever to make herself understood even if Africans had a brilliant aptitude for languages. Pointless to ask for references, most locals did not understand the need for these, and it would be too easy to say papers had been lost during the war. Try at least to get some sort of official documentation, Diana had said. The new government was introducing an identity card system, but people were reluctant to apply, not trusting the reasons for having one. Even in the past many had hidden when the census people came around to count up the family members. They did not trust the explanation that the authorities needed to plan ahead for schools and hospitals in the future. The less those in charge knew the better, was the general feeling. Areas governed by the more enlightened chiefs provided more accurate results, but these were few and far between.

  Amie was reluctant to ask the candidates which tribe they came from. Usually other Africans could tell, but that was beyond her. For now, she would have to rely on her gut instinct.

  Eventually she chose a woman who told her she was twenty-one. She had a broad smile, spoke a modicum of English and assured her new Madam that she had no children and was not planning on getting pregnant any time soon. Her young man had been killed in the war, s
he was still mourning him, and her family would demand a high bride price for her when the next offer of marriage came along.

  Amie believed her and decided to take a chance on Lulu, reminding herself not to be too soft. She was going to be firm right from the start, she was not an ignorant Madam who was easy to fool. She gave her new employee dire warnings should she attempt to steal anything, or deliberately burn the clothes while ironing, or stop working the moment her back was turned.

  The watchers were pleased Amie had chosen Lulu, she was young, vulnerable and would be easy to scare. Now all they had to do was make sure she followed their orders.

  In no time Lulu was proving extremely efficient around the house. She quickly learned to cook the dishes that Amie showed her how to make, remembered to pull the furniture out to clean behind it and she spent hours ironing the clothes better than Amie ever could. She moved quickly and efficiently, unlike many Africans who paced their movements to match the lazy life style dictated by the boiling hot sun, and she was quiet and unobtrusive.

  No, her employer simply couldn’t fault her, but ever since she’d moved into the kaya (maids’ quarters) in the garden, for some weird reason Amie had felt uncomfortable. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but often she would sense that someone was watching her. She thought she saw shadows just out of sight, another presence not always in the same room but nearby. She began to wonder if the house was haunted, then gave herself a mental shake. She simply didn’t believe in ghosts, spirits, voices from the grave and all that kind of claptrap. Life was here and now, and when you were dead, you were just that, dead.

  Briefly she remembered the witchdoctor’s prediction that she would lose someone she loved and that had come true. But goodness, that’s something that would happen to everyone at some time or another. She’d also been warned not to take a child of Africa away, and they had taken Angelina to England ... Amie gave herself a good shake. She’d been living on her nerves at the time, on the run, scared, in survival mode. Now, everything was back to normal and she could look at things more sensibly. The Africans might fear the witchdoctors or sangomas, but if she rationalized it in the cold light of day, a girl brought up in a western culture did not easily believe such nonsense. True, the old lady had impressed her and Amie did respect her as a person, but forecasting the future with messages from the ancestors? No.

  Still the feelings of unease did not go away. Apart from her disquiet, everything went well for several weeks. Amie was telling herself that her imagination was running riot and she needed to get her thoughts under control, until one day, sitting by the front window with her laptop on her knees, she definitely saw something. It was only for a brief moment, but she was convinced she’d seen a young man in the garden. She got up, and walked quickly to the front door and went outside. There was no one there. She walked right round the house and even Lulu was nowhere to be seen. I must have imagined it, she thought, as she went back indoors.

  A few days later it happened again. Another wraith-like figure appeared briefly in her peripheral vision and just as quickly vanished. This time Amie was sure she hadn’t imagined it. Grabbing a broom, it was the closest weapon she could lay her hands on, she raced out into the garden peering round the bushes, her feet slipping and sliding in the dusty soil. Still there was no sign of anyone.

  “Lulu,” she called. “Lulu, where are you?”

  The maid appeared at the door of her kaya, rubbing her eyes and Amie felt guilty for disturbing her.

  “Yes, Madam.”

  Was it Amie’s imagination, or did the woman look uneasy?

  “Lulu, have you seen anyone in the garden?”

  “Here? In this garden?”

  “Yes, in this garden Lulu. I saw someone.”

  Lulu’s answer was to shrug her shoulders and remain mute.

  “Someone was over there by the carport and then went behind that palm tree. It was a man.”

  Lulu just stared and said nothing.

  Amie looked at her for a few moments then, realising she was not going to get any answers, waved her away and completed her circuit of the house. As she expected, there was no sign of an intruder.

  Those that were keeping a careful eye on Amie were delighted with the opportunity Lulu had offered them. They were able to gain easy access to the property, whenever her mistress was out. Still, they were patient, and they knew it would only be a matter of waiting until the time was right.

  That night Amie brought up the subject at dinner.

  “I’m sure I saw someone lurking in the garden this afternoon,” she announced, passing the vegetables to Jonathon.

  “In our garden?”

  “Yes, of course in our garden, where do you think I mean?”

  Jonathon paused before replying. “I think that highly unlikely. There’s a six-foot wall all around. Are you sure they didn’t walk in the main gate?”

  “No! How could they without a key?”

  “True. The only other way to get in is through the small gate, the one we never use.”

  He was right. The large metal double gates to the front drive were only opened when they drove their cars in and out. Amie couldn’t remember a time when either of them had ever walked anywhere from the house. The little metal gate next to it was just as high as the main one but only wide enough for pedestrians.

  Jonathon continued as he helped himself to more gravy. “I doubt you could even open the small gate. It must be rusted to hell and gone. I’m sure it’s just your imagination, Amie. Even Lulu and the gardener use the main gate and only Lulu, you and I have a key.”

  So much for that, but Amie was not reassured and she was obviously not going to get any help from Jonathon. He sometimes had the habit of making her feel inadequate and helpless, playing the macho man. He seemed to have forgotten that in the eyes of many people she had more than proved her worth in coping, surviving and even rescuing Jonathon himself. All too quickly she’d been returned to her role as a dilettante, expatriate wife whose place was in the home, or decorating some table at the Ex-pat Club.

  Maybe it was her imagination playing up. Maybe it wasn’t so easy to settle back into urban housewife everyday life after all her adventures. Maybe her imagination was still on high alert, her senses honed to see problems that might not be there at all.

  She decided to ignore the whole thing and even if she sensed something or someone, she would simply ignore it.

  But the feeling wouldn’t go away, in fact it got worse. By now Amie was quite convinced the apparitions were taking on a more solid form. They were appearing more frequently and yet she could never see one for long enough to confront any of her visions.

  Plucking up her courage, she broached the subject yet again with Jonathon. It seemed obvious to Amie that he didn’t take her seriously, and she was sure he was trying not to laugh at her unfounded fears. It was not as if she was often alone in the house, Lulu was around most of the time and the gardener was there every day pottering about pretending to care for the few plants or brush the pool.

  A few days later her husband surprised her as he bent to give her a peck on the cheek before he left for work. “I’ll arrange for a day guard as well as a night guard from tomorrow.”

  “Oh, is that really necessary?” Amie followed him out through the front door and onto the stoep. “I can understand we must have an askari at night, but during the day as well?”

  “More than necessary.” Jonathon put his briefcase down. “Things are peaceful now but you never can tell.”

  A shiver ran down Amie’s spine. No, in Africa you never could tell. Maybe Jonathon thought she was just a silly girl imagining things but at least he was doing something about it even if he wasn’t taking her seriously. Had he heard some rumour he wasn’t sharing with her? What did he know?

  Turning back, Jonathon swept Amie into his arms and kissed her. He leaned back and looked deeply into her grey eyes. “I’ve nearly lost you more than once and I’m not going to run the risk of losing y
ou again.”

  Amie nestled into his arms and smiled. There had been times when she wondered if Jonathon noticed her at all, especially when he was stressed at work. But since they’d returned from this last trip, they had somehow clicked, connected, bonded or whatever the right word was, and their relationship was stronger than ever.

  True, there were still niggly doubts about his secondary job. Just how secondary was it? Was her husband an engineer first and a part time spy second? Or was it the other way around?

  3 PROBLEM SOLVED

  Another clue about Amie’s apparitions came to light the following afternoon when Jennifer, one of the recent arrivals in Apatu, came over for coffee.

  The bell outside had never worked, so hearing banging on the gate, Amie hurried over to let her in.

  “Hi, there.” Jennifer hopped back into her car and revved up the engine waiting for Amie and the gardener to open the gates.

  She drove her ancient Volkswagen up the short drive like a Formula 1 car off the grid, then jammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop half way into the carport only millimetres from Amie’s little Fiat. She flung open the door and grabbed her bag. “So, what do you think of it?”

  “The car?” Amie glanced at the bumps, dents and scratches on the bodywork.