One of the men came to stand by her. He looked at the damage and shook his head.
“Mozambique?” Amie asked him, pointing back behind the car.
He nodded.
“South Africa?” Amie pointed beyond the fence.
He nodded again.
She waved her hand at the group and gestured over towards the South African side of the border to ask if that is where the small party were going. His smile told her it was.
By now the other two men had joined them and together they all grabbed hold of the Land Rover and with much grunting and straining, pulled it upwards and forwards until it was well clear of the fence.
Amie walked round to the rear to check it was safe to reverse. Huge brown eyes gazed at her from the windows and she waved for the three men to get back in the car.
The woman in the front seat next to her shrieked when sparks flew as Amie reconnected the wires to restart the car. Terrified the woman clutched the baby tighter than ever. Amie nodded and giving her a reassuring smile engaged the four-wheel drive and cautiously backed it away.
One of the men tapped her on the arm and pointed to the right, urging her to go that way.
“No, we should be going south,” Amie tapped the compass but her new passenger was insistent he wanted her to go in the opposite direction. Amie hesitated, then shook her head. She pointed the way she wanted to go and began to turn the wheel, but the man sitting behind her grabbed her arm and dug his fingers in.
Amie squawked. Although she was reluctant to travel in the wrong direction, one look at her uninvited passenger’s face and the painful pressure on her arm, made up her mind. She only had a vague idea where she was. If they were more familiar with the area, she would follow their instructions and head north.
The going was easy because a wide access road had been cleared for maintenance vehicles on either side of the towering wire mesh. They had covered a fair few miles before the Land Rover began to hiccup. At first Amie wondered if it was choked with dust. Then she noticed the fuel gauge; empty. She had no idea if it was working or not, the whole vehicle was falling apart, but after a few more forward jerks it gave a final splutter and stopped altogether.
Two of the men jumped out motioning to Amie to release the bonnet. They dived underneath muttering to one another for several minutes until, at last, they accepted defeat. With shoulder shrugs, they plodded back and told the women to get out of the car. Everyone piled out and gathered up their belongings.
Amie sat there for a moment wondering what to do. She would have to leave the safety of the vehicle, and she wasn’t sure if they’d accept her tagging along. While she was still dithering, one of the women grabbed her arm, it was an invitation to join them.
Amie packed up as much as she could and stuffed it into a bag: what was left of the water, the remaining food and the compass which she clutched in her hand as she hurried to catch up with them. It had always amazed her how fast the Africans could walk without seeming to make any effort.
At first, the going was easy, the cleared area next to the fence was dusty but smooth, their only dangers were the wild animals they might encounter, and the heat. Already the sun was high in the sky and beating down on them, making them sweat and gasp for breath as the hot air swirled around them.
They walked for hours until the men at the front stopped. One of them gave a small cry of joy and pointed to where a large hole had been made in the fence. One by one they crawled through into South Africa.
Huddled together in the shade of a Natal Mahogany tree, they rested. Amie observed the sleeping children; they hadn’t complained once. Like so many young ones their stoic acceptance of hardship was a characteristic Amie had noticed before. These children were life’s survivors, tough and self-sufficient. She remembered watching some street children once rummaging in a rubbish bin in the mall in Apatu. Already they’d learned to forage and make the best of the appalling cards that life had dealt them.
The little girl looked to be about seven years old and she stared at Amie with her big brown eyes. What was she thinking? Amie couldn’t begin to guess.
One by one they all dozed, on and off, until the tallest of the men got to his feet and indicated it was time to get going. Amie stretched her legs, while the leader took a piece of paper from his pocket. She leaned over to look. It was a crudely drawn map, the writing probably in Portuguese. It appeared to show directions on how to cross the park. She pointed to some symbols that were repeated, and tapped them with her finger.
He pantomimed drinking. Excellent, she thought. They showed water points set up for the animals. That made perfect sense and the closest one he indicated with his finger didn’t look all that far away. They spread out in single file and continued their journey. Several of the trees in the area were tall and mature and provided some shade, but then Amie spied a windmill through the trees ahead, its blades slowly turning in the light breeze, and she squealed with joy.
When they reached it, the stone trough was surrounded by a field of mud, and thirsty as they were, they approached with caution. Where there was water, there was likely to be animals. For now, it was deserted. They squelched through the damp mud and peered into the trough. It was half full of stagnant water with green scum floating on the top.
“No, we can’t drink that.” Amie watched in horror as one of the women scooped some up in her hand and offered it to the little girl.
“There are so many diseases. No, stop, she could get cholera!” Amie cried, but then what were the choices? They hadn’t understood her anyway. Take your chance with one of the many diseases or die from dehydration?
There was a sudden cry from one of the men. It seemed he’d discovered the pipe leading from the windmill to the covered tank. On one side of it was a rusty metal joint which had corroded, and taking a knife out of his pocket, he’d managed to prise it open and let a dribble of clean water flow out. Everyone crowded round holding out their empty plastic bottles, and even an enamel tin mug; and they patiently waited until each one was filled. It was tempting to have a good long drink and empty them all straight away, but it would take too long to refill the bottles and they had no idea how far or how easy it would be to get to the next watering point marked on the map.
If she interpreted the gestures correctly Amie guessed the men, wanted to push on. By now it was late afternoon, and it wouldn’t be too long before they would need to look for a place to spend the night. Amie had decided she would find a tree to climb; from experience, she was safer off the ground than on it. She wondered what her new friends from Mozambique would do. She would never find out.
18 WELCOME REFUGE
Just as Amie was about to make a big fuss about stopping for the night, they came up against another fence. The leader’s wild gesticulations suggested they should give it a very wide berth. Amie wasn’t so sure. To her it looked like a rest camp and even the thought of it sent her spirits soaring. What wouldn’t she do for a long, cold drink and a comfortable bed under a mosquito net? She swatted another one off her arm, thinking she should sue the company that had promised their spray would deter the blood sucking insects. She’d been bitten all over and the itching was driving her to distraction. Her long-sleeved shirt was spotted with blood where they’d pierced through the material.
While the rest of the party made a wide circle around the camp, Amie had no such qualms and walked right next to it. Only once was she forced to retreat when a troop of Vervet monkeys pranced next to the fence, springing up the barbed wire in search of food. They might look cute and cuddly, but Amie knew they could be aggressive and inflict serious injuries with their long, sharp teeth.
Once the monkeys had scaled the fence, she returned to it, praying there would be a gate soon, and every now and again she lost sight of her new friends when they disappeared behind the trees and low shrubs. She understood that this camp, whatever it was, would not be a refuge for them, so they would have to avoid it completely. They hadn’t made it this far to be
reported to the police and unceremoniously driven back across the border.
At last her patience was rewarded. There was a wide break in the enclosure and a barrier across the road over a cattle grid. She breathed a sigh of relief as she picked her way across the metal bars. She turned to wave goodbye to her travelling companions but they were nowhere to be seen. Mentally, she wished them a safe journey before following the winding path up to the main boma. She’d almost reached it before she realised she didn’t have a clue what to say. How did she get here all by herself and with no vehicle?
She entered the restaurant area where several couples were chatting at tables or perched on stools next to the bar. For several moments, no one noticed her arrival, and then they smiled and beckoned her in.
“Missed dinner I’m afraid,” called one guy with a shock of bright red hair.
The girl behind the bar came out and put an arm round Amie. “You look done in, girl. I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen. What’s your chalet number?”
“You get her sorted out, my love. Brigit’ll see you right, won’t you Brigit?” Raucous laughter followed his remarks; they’d been hitting the bottle hard by the sound of it.
“Uh, I’ve not got one, actually. I’m not booked in … what I mean is … I’ve just arrived ...”
“Oh, but we weren’t expecting any new people tonight. Where did you drive from? Where’s the car?” Brigit looked over Amie’s shoulder towards the main driveway.
“I – er – walked here.” Amie pulled the girl away from the crowd. She didn’t want this conversation overheard, she could just imagine what they would think and news travels fast. “Look, I don’t want to broadcast this, but, well, my boyfriend and I had this huge fight and I – I was stupid and I walked off and …” she whispered. If she could get a lift back to the nearby town with as little fuss as possible that would suit her just fine.
Brigit gasped and squinted at her as if she was insane. Amie hated to appear so stupid – just another foolish tourist who thought Africa was as safe as walking down the local high street – but she couldn’t think of a better story right then even if it did make her look a total idiot.
Brigit grinned and took Amie’s arm. “Come on, let’s see what we can find in the kitchen and I’ll make a plan for somewhere for you to sleep tonight.” Ignoring the barracking and insistent orders for more drinks from the bar area, she led Amie to the back of the main building.
“Mavis, please find something for this guest to eat and I bet she’d like a drink as well. I’ll come and collect her later.” She gave Amie’s arm a squeeze and headed back into the crowded bar.
Mavis’s black smiling face was welcoming and she helped Amie into a chair as if she was a child. She bustled around her like a mother hen, asking if Amie would like eggs or prefer some meat or …?
“Anything, please,” Amie assured her, seizing the welcome glass of cold water she was offered. She began to relax a little. She still had to get back to Durban somehow, but she would sort that out in the morning.
True to her word, Brigit found her a place to sleep in one of the outbuildings. She apologised that it wasn’t luxurious, but at least it was clean and close to the communal washroom and toilets. Amie thanked her profusely and after seeing to her basic needs, stripped off her clothes, fell onto the cot and went out like a light.
The next morning, nerves jangling, she went to the main dining area for breakfast. She hadn’t brought a lot of money with her, and although the camp wasn’t one of the top-notch luxury ones from what she could see, nowhere was particularly cheap in Kruger. She would need to find a lift out of here as soon as possible.
She was relieved to see Brigit behind the buffet counter cooking up the eggs.
“Good morning,” she greeted Amie with a smile. “Did you sleep OK?”
“Like a log,” Amie replied. “Would it be possible for me to have some breakfast? I can pay.”
“Of course, but let’s not worry about last night, eh?”
“That’s so kind of you, I mean …”
“We girls must stick together, right? Men can be such bastards. Fancy leaving you out there all alone in the bush. Do you think he’s noticed you’ve gone? Serve him bloody right. Tell you what, I’d have nothing to do with him. So, what’ll it be poached, fried or scrambled?”
“Fried please, and you’re right, Brigit, I’ll avoid him like the plague in future, we’re through. But now I’ve got to get back to …” Amie was about to say Durban, but she thought it wiser to change her location, in case Simon and the others turned up. “… Johannesburg.”
“Hmm, I don’t know anyone going to Jo’burg but the Wilsons are heading off this morning for Nelspruit, would that help?”
“Yes, yes, that would be fine, thank you.”
“They do have a small airport there but I’ve no idea of the flight times, or the price.”
“No, Nelspruit would be fine, thanks. If they’re prepared to take me, that is.”
“Don’t you worry. I know them well. They’re regulars, come up here every year. Daphne’s a sweetie and I’ll twist Doug’s arm. So, don’t you worry about a thing.”
Amie thanked her again before carrying her breakfast to a table in the corner.
By midmorning she was on her way. Her heart sank when she realised Doug was the red-headed loudmouth who was at the bar the night before, but this morning he was very hung over and dead quiet. Daphne, a kind soul as Brigit had said, nattered on and on about all kinds of things, commiserating with Amie about her supposed boyfriend and how men couldn’t be trusted an inch. Amie glanced at Doug who was behind the wheel of their rather small Toyota, but he didn’t even blink.
It was not a comfortable ride. Amie was squashed on the narrow back seat with a mountain of luggage, and while she couldn’t wait to get home, her travelling companions were in no hurry at all. They stopped to look at everything from birds in the trees to a possible sighting of the rarer black rhino. Amie fidgeted as they oohed and aahed and she wondered how they would cope in the bush if they didn’t have a car.
Despite the bumpy road she dozed off, still exhausted after her panicked flight. So, once she got to Nelspruit what then? Make for Durban? It was the only thing that made any sense; carry on as if nothing had happened. How she would face Simon and what would he say to her when they met? She guessed she would have to play it by ear, but maybe Maddy would put her right. Unless she could find a copy of War and Peace in Nelspruit – she had no idea how big the town was – she would have to wait until she got back to her flat. Although it was possible that the modern spy used internet cafes these days, she had a sneaky feeling that HM Secret Service would not be too pleased if she did.
Her moods swung back and forth in the back of the Toyota. One moment she felt almost euphoric that she was escaping a dangerous situation where she’d imagined herself raped by Kirk or even killed, or set upon by the buyers or sellers involved in the arms deal. The next she was plunged into despair at what she’d left behind, one dead body and a party of very angry men who might track her down and silence her forever.
She wrapped her arms around her body to stop herself from shaking, while images of bloody torture assailed her. She wanted to scream at these kind people who were taking her away from the scene of the crime, but not nearly as fast as Amie would like. It was so frustrating, but they were not to know their passenger was on the run from a mob of gun-wielding arms dealers.
What was she going to do when she reached Nelspruit? She knew no one in the town and after paying for her breakfast and offering to pay something towards petrol for the Toyota, she didn’t think she would have very much left. She could draw cash from the machine, but that would leave a paper trail. But then Brigit, and the couple she was with now, could place her at the camp and her fingerprints were all over the truck she’d stolen. One step at a time, she reminded herself.
When the car stopped with a jerk at traffic lights in Nelspruit, Amie woke with a start.
“Uh, well, in the middle of town? Is there a tourist board here?”
“Yes, there is, along Samora Machel Drive. We can take you to the door.”
“That would be great thanks, and I really appreciate your kindness.”
When Doug and Daphne drove away Amie felt totally lost for a few moments, then she turned and went inside the office.
Fifteen minutes later she was back on the pavement. She’d discovered her options were limited. Flying to Durban was way outside her budget and there wasn’t another flight today. The last coach heading south had also left, and the city bus, which was within her budget, only ran twice a week. Her only choice was to get a local taxi.
When Amie approached the minibus taxi rank she was assailed by the sounds and scents that reminded her of Apatu rather than the smart end of Durban. Throngs of men, women and children pushed and shoved their way along the streets. Most were dressed in brightly coloured, well-washed clothes, some balancing bundles on their heads, others clutching large plastic bags stuffed with canned goods, meat, fruit and vegetables. The cacophony of chattering, screaming and yelling voices made the noise unbearable. Amie yelled her questions to the young men who were standing by their newly-washed minibuses touting for business. She was re-directed to the rank where the long-distance buses were parked. She nodded to the driver and gratefully climbed aboard.
Despite the repeal of the apartheid laws years before, it was still rare to see a white woman riding in a local taxi, and Amie was aware everyone was staring at her. She smiled back self-consciously, but the other passengers who scrambled aboard were friendly and even huddled closer together to make more room for her.
Amie was amazed at how cheap the fare was, a fraction of the price of the more respectable modes of transport, but she soon found out why. The driver did his damnedest to emulate Lewis Hamilton, racing away from the kerb and straight through a set of red traffic lights. Amie gasped but none of the other passengers were bothered, nor did they seem to mind that instead of a steering wheel, the driver was using a wrench clamped to the steering column.
Amie in Africa Box Set 1 Page 86
