by Peter Riva
Niamba called Mbuno over and lifted first his trouser legs and then his shirt and ran her hands over his stomach and torso. “Ruba . . .” (Leeches.) Mbuno’s eyebrows went up. She gently slapped his stomach. “Kitu.” (Nothing.) Niamba pointed at Bob, who came over to her. Everyone watched, even Ube, fascinated but not surprised at her authority. She pulled up his trouser legs and then his shirt and ran her hands over his skin as she had done with Mbuno. “Pia hakuna kitu.” (Also nothing.) Bob asked what she was looking for. Someone said, “Leeches,” and Bob flinched.
Niamba looked at Pero, glanced down at his legs, and shook her head. “Ngapi?” (How many?)
Susanna answered, “Heep got them off—over thirty.”
Heep added, “More like forty.”
“La ema . . . la ema . . .” (Not good, not good.) She reached into her medicine bag and pulled out a packet made of banana leaf. She handed it to Susanna. “Rub powder. Good.” Susanna said she would.
Pero had had enough of standing in the hall. “Can we all go inside? I for one am hungry!” Mary explained the food was already in their room, and everyone packed in, including the two askari brothers who had to be encouraged by Tone. People sat where they could in the little sitting room and on the bed, sandwiches were gobbled up, and bottled water and mineral water were handed all around. Everyone ate, smiled, and kept glancing over at Ube, who amused everyone by looking thoroughly perplexed. Every time someone tried to start the conversation on how, where, and what had happened, Pero cut them off. He explained with a big grin on his face, “We need to celebrate; we need to know we’re together and that Ube is back safe. For now the only thing I can tell you is that if Teddy, Keriako, Bob, and I had not helped Mbuno, he would have managed it all alone and then probably smacked us for deserting him.”
“If Mbuno hadn’t, Tone, Mary, and I would have!” Heep chimed in.
Susanna added, “And Wolfie, don’t forget Wolfie!”
Teddy and Keriako had no idea what the conversation was about, but the air of victory, food, and friendship was infectious. The two boys clapped and laughed with everyone else.
The only person not laughing was Mbuno. He glanced at Pero, who gave his head a quick shake, telling Mbuno he had not said anything more about what they had seen. Mbuno knew the information they had to share would change the mood quickly. It was past midnight; everyone needed sleep. Tomorrow, early, would be soon enough. Mbuno walked Pero aside and asked, “The Mara plane, does it wait?”
“No, it leaves at first light for Loiyangalani. I’ll explain. For now, the hotel has a room for you and Niamba. Let’s talk, first light, and decide what to do.”
Mbuno nodded. “Ndiyo.”
A knock on the door and the hall askari presented Mary with two sets of keys, each in a folder with Mbuno’s and Bob’s names written clearly. When he was handed his, Mbuno held up the key folder and simply said, “Ube will sleep here also.”
Pero turned to Tone and asked, “Can you and the boys be here at eight for breakfast, in this room?” Tone nodded. “Good, then we can discuss events past and, if needed, future.”
People drifted out of the room, Nancy and Tom had said almost nothing the entire time. Their roles had been those of onlooker and employee, but they were visibly moved by the bravery and success of rescuing Ube. Dangerous real-life events didn’t cross their paths every day. Once in the corridor, Nancy turned to Tom and said, “You know, this is like being part of the news. Strange feeling. Exhilarating, but somehow I feel like an intruder—and I feel useless.”
Seasoned international traveler that he was, Tom responded quietly, “Careful what you ask for in East Africa. I think they got lucky, and they know it.”
CHAPTER 21
Alfajiri—Early Morning, Interconti Hotel, Nairobi
Pero awoke early in the morning in the arms of his wife. There was no way he could move without waking her, so he whispered her name until she woke, causing her to hug him closer. She mumbled, “Mein dummer Mann,” and snuggled. Pero smiled and tried to squirm out of bed. His head was clear; the solid five hours of sleep had refreshed his thoughts.
He needed to talk to Mbuno before everyone assembled for breakfast. He noticed the cardboard box with the scrambled satellite phone on the table by the television and knew that Lewis would have the intel he desperately wanted to know. If the lumber mill had been evacuated, Mbuno’s and his decision would be, in one way, easier. If it was not, that meant that the danger was still present but also that they had to do something. What, he was not sure.
It was Susanna who opened one eye and, seeing what she called his “thinking face,” said, “Ja, make the call. You look silly wondering.” She smiled at him and released her grip.
Pero sat up and swung his legs off the bed. What he saw was ugly and worrying. His legs were covered in welts and scabs—his stomach, too. At least nothing is leaking, he thought. Standing, he made his way into the bathroom.
Susanna yawned, checked the time, saw it was six-ten, and frowned. Naked, she got out of bed and followed her husband, saying, “Let me see the one between your legs, and the one on the back of your thigh.” He let her examine him. “All fine. That Alcide is good. But we watch, okay?” Pero nodded. She opened Niamba’s packet and dusted his punctures once again, then said, “Make the call now, ja?”
He agreed, put on the towel robe, took out the satellite phone from the box, and went to open the window, lifting the phone’s antenna and pointing it skyward. He pushed the buttons and said, “Baltazar here, awaiting intel from Lewis.”
“Standby.” Pero gave two clicks. He waived Susanna over, who had put on a bathrobe. He pushed the speaker button.
“Lewis here, where have you been?”
“Busy recovering. All the team have been exhausted. Could not think. Sorry.” Pero felt that Lewis deserved an explanation. He had, after all, demanded a report within two hours, not eight.
“Well, seems your inactivity paralleled theirs. Mill is quiet, normal activity, normal truck traffic; logs in, logs and lumber out, all stacked inside rail yard. Small twin-engine plane, likely Avanti type, new model, landed at Moyowosi met by SUV, likely your Mercedes request, cannot confirm how many got on board, then departed. Tracking, landed Dar, refueled, no passengers alighted. Note that.” He paused, “Departed flight plan for Tirana, Albania, estimated arrival twelve hundred Zulu today.”
“Did the Avanti pick up or drop off passengers anywhere?”
“Cannot say for sure, we suspect a pick-up, as the SUV is still at Moyowosi Airport four hours later. Unmoving, no target in proximity.” He meant no one had been seen near the vehicle. “More?”
“Please.”
“Okay. Shipment on eastbound train, six flatcars loaded with cut timber, no passengers seen boarding, no passenger cars.” Pero thought that was in keeping with the schedule he had been told about. “Then ten flatcars arrived and were loaded with great big logs. No passenger cars. Currently heading west toward dock at Kigoma on Lake Tanganyika.”
Pero remembered there was no caboose or guard’s van, either. That must have been the train they had hidden from. Then he remembered that the flatcars’ sides had read, “Siagwa-Bagir.” He interrupted Lewis. “The cars that were loaded going west—we saw that train as we were going to Tabora. They were marked ‘Siagwa-Bagir.’ Can you get me information on that company, if it has any significance? The flatcars were all new, and only one company, too.” Pero knew he was clutching at straws. All train transport was on mixed freight and flatcars, rental being the norm. But there was something too new about those flatcars and unusual about them being from the same company.
Lewis responded, “Siagwa-Bagir. Got it. Chinese shipping and freight company. Logs, not cut lumber, shipped to satisfy Chinese demand for export manufacture of goods. Siagwa-Bagir is the largest shipper in China.” He went silent for a moment. “Our intel is that Siagwa-Bagir is not, repeat, not involved in any illegal activity. We’ll probe further.”
“Advise
you watch train schedules and traffic. Whatever is there at the mill comes out hidden under the lumber or logs by train. If any train has passenger cars, I need to know. Also, keep watch on the mill compound and advise on any bus, truck, or possible transport of multiple people that comes or goes. Track any transport of people. Confirm?”
Lewis replied tersely, “Yes, yes, we know our job. What you have to do is advise us on what you are going to do, where you are going. We’ll monitor any threats at your new location. And as I said, we’ll take matters from here.”
“I’ll tell you when I know what we’re doing, later this morning. And yes, I know you are right, I should not involve them anymore, but Lewis, I don’t think I can handle anything like this on my own.”
As Pero hung up, he heard Lewis ask, “What do you mean handle . . .”
Until Pero had a chance to talk with Mbuno, he was not going to commit to promising Lewis anything.
Hearing the whole exchange, Susanna looked at her husband and stared intently into his eyes. Neither said anything for a moment, and then, sensing it was not yet time to discuss it further, Susanna went over to Pero’s shirt from the day before that had been dumped in the corner of the bathroom, picked it up between two fingers, held it out in front and away from her body lest any part touch the white toweling robe, and said, “And did you not think to remove the Silke Wire before you got so filthy?”
Pero apologized. He really had forgotten it was there. He had no doubt it was ruined, between the swim to the mill and back across the lake, not to mention the hours spent deep in mud. “Oh, I am sorry, darling. I really am—”
She cut him off. “Nein, nein, it is a good test, no? Let’s see if it is working still.” She pulled the wire and small cigarette-like tube from the collar slit and went over to her case underneath the coffee table by the couch. She opened it, flicked a switch, and the battery light came on. She read the number on the Silke Wire and changed the receiver to correspond. She spoke into it, and Pero could see the decibel LED lights dance. “Ja, Ja, the signal works. Now let’s test quality.” She tossed a Wi-Fi headset to Pero who put it on. She turned her back to Pero and said, “Mein dummer Mann, I see you have a decision to make. But you are not alone anymore; I am pregnant.”
A dumbfounded Pero ran over, picked up his wife, and kissed her passionately.
Mischievously, Susanna said, “Ach, gut, the microphone, it works.”
For Mbuno and Niamba, having never slept in a soft European bed together before, the night was surprisingly comfortable. The bed covering was too hot for Niamba, but with just the sheet covering them both, they fell asleep holding hands. Ube slept on the couch cushions Mbuno had arranged at the foot of their bed. Niamba wrapped him up in the bed cover and told him to wake her if he felt dizzy or too hot or too cold. Ube slept, soundly, and when he got up in the morning, he asked for permission to shower. Mbuno told him to go ahead. Mbuno then realized that he had no clean clothing, and neither did Ube. Field guides, especially safari guides, travel light, taking only the clothes they travel in. Being in the hotel, especially the one he had stayed in once before with Pero, Mbuno knew his way around, but at six-thirty in the morning he was also acutely aware that he was not dressed properly and certainly not clean enough after their swimming adventures. Then he remembered Mr. Prabir Ranjeet, Nairobi’s oldest and most reputable cloth and clothing merchant. He picked up the phone and asked the operator if she could find a number and call Mr. Prabir Ranjeet at his home. The operator said she would call back. Niamba marveled at her husband commanding the phone operator to do his bidding.
When the phone rang, Prabir clearly sounded like he had been woken up by the operator’s call. “Yes, who is it?”
Mbuno apologized for calling so early and explained that he and his wife, his son, Ube, and Mr. Baltazar were at the Interconti hotel. Mbuno liked Mr. Ranjeet. He was on a first-name basis with him, so he asked, to be polite, “How are you, Mr. Prabir, and your patnee, Acira?” (Wife, Acira.) “And is your son, Amogh, doing well?”
In his singsong Indian accent, Prabir responded, “Ah, Mbuno, thank you, everything is just fine, just fine. Can I help you with any little thing?”
“Do you remember you sold Mr. Pero a safari outfit for me?”
“I do. Let me see . . . a fourteen-collar shirt, a thirty-two-inch waistband, and sandals, say English size ten or nine. Something suitable for Pangani, hot and humid as I remember.” Ranjeet’s emporium was known for excellent service and memory of customer specifications.
“Asante sana, yes. May I ask you to supply the same for me and my son as soon as possible? Here to the hotel Interconti?”
“Of course, my pleasure. And I will add a sweater for each.” All locals always had a sweater for morning or evening. They felt the chill at anything lower than eighty. “May I suggest that I get my cousin, Petam, to send you over two real pairs of sandals?” Petam Bogota’s were world-famous, leather crossover sandals with tire retread for soles. All the rich and famous sported them if they came to Kenya. They were strong, until the glue gave out or the cotton threading rotted, but most important, they were impervious to thorns underfoot.
Mbuno agreed and thanked him again. Prabir promised to send over brown pairs, not black—that was for city folk along with the clothing. “Shall I send the bills to the hotel as before?” Mbuno thanked him once more, and each said their goodbyes.
Mbuno suddenly thought that perhaps Pero would need clothes, and possibly Bob as well. Putting on his spoiled trousers, he left the room and went over to Pero’s room, putting his ear to the door to see if they were awake. The floor daytime askari came over. “It is not allowed.”
Mbuno stared at the man, who was many inches taller. The facial features told him the tribe. “Kikuyu?”
“Ndiyo.”
“Jina langu ni Mbuno Waliangulu.” My name is Mbuno of the Liangulu.
The askari took a step back, bowed his head, and said, “Sikitika, Mzee. Sikujua.” (Sorry, Mzee, I did not know.) Then he knocked on the door, much to Mbuno’s annoyance. Susanna opened the door, dressed in a towel robe. Mbuno explained why he was knocking, that Mr. Ranjeet was sending over new clothing and was there anything Miss Susanna wanted for Pero and, perhaps, Bob?
Susanna smiled and gave Mbuno a lingering bear hug, which greatly surprised him. “In case I forget to thank you, every day, for keeping mein dummer Mann safe.” She called back over her shoulder to Pero, asking if he needed anything in the way of clothing from a Mr. Ranjeet. He answered in the affirmative, and Mbuno nodded. Susanna added, “Can you take care of this for him and Bob?” Mbuno nodded again. His silence came as a direct result of the embarrassment he felt in such close physical contact with a woman in a bathrobe who was not his wife or child. Susanna was having none of it. “Mbuno, I consider myself your sister after all we have been through. Can you not think of me that way, too?”
Mbuno’s eyes crinkled. This was an honor he had not expected. He and Pero had a pact as brothers, and here was a woman openly professing the same attachment. He wondered if she understood the real implication of sisterhood in his culture and tribal custom. This was serious, and he needed to be sure. “You make a great gift. It means my life is yours, and yours mine to protect. There can be no wall between us.” He watched her face.
A tear formed and rolled down her cheek. She knew emotions were running high, and yet she also knew that this man, this wonderful man whom her husband loved as family, was, for her, the embodiment of honor and trust that she needed in her life. She needed it now more than ever because she felt more danger was to come. “Mbuno, I ask you, please, allow me to have you as my brother, too.”
And so Mbuno hugged a European woman for the second time that day, calling her Dada Susanna. (Sister Susanna.) Then turned her around and, as an older brother would, pushed her gently into her room and told her to please get dressed, before walking back to his room to call Mr. Ranjeet again.
Susanna skipped over to Pero and told him wh
at Mbuno had called her. Pero hugged her, happy for her and for them all as a family.
When Niamba heard what Susanna had asked, which would make Niamba her sister as well, she clapped her hands. “Ajabu! Nami nitakuwa na mpwa!” (Wonderful! I will have a niece!)
Mbuno knew better than to doubt his wife, but still he had to ask, “Una uhakika? Mpwa?” (Are you sure? A niece?) In response, Niamba put her hand on his cheek and patted it. Then Mbuno was sure. Pero and Susanna were going to have a daughter.
Smiling, for even he was always amazed at Niamba’s powers, he called the operator again and, when put through once more to Mr. Ranjeet, placed the order for Pero and Bob. As an afterthought, he asked Mr. Ranjeet to send over one of his finest kangas, with knotted ends so he could present them to Susanna as a gift, from her new brother and her new sister. “Please, Mr. Prabir, may I ask if you have the kanga with silk thread?”
“I do, woven into cotton thread so the kanga will glisten in the moonlight.”
“May I have one, please? It is for a pregnant lady.”
“Ah, then I will make sure the silk is a color . . .”
Mbuno asked Niamba if she had a preference for the color of the silk thread.
Niamba smiled. “Ni msichana, wanawake European kama pink.” (It is a girl; European women like pink.)
“Pink it is, Mr. Prabir. Do you have one with pink?”
“I do; it is the finest in the store, even with real gold thread. It will be my honor to send it to you, and we will wrap the kanga as a most beautiful gift. The pink one is very expensive. Would you allow me to offer a discount?”
Mbuno thought hard. A discount would mean the kanga was also from Prabir Ranjeet, at least a little. He felt that was fair. “I accept if you will allow. I want to share the gift so it will be from Niamba and me, as well as you and Bibie Acira.” (Lady Acira.) “It is for Mr. Baltazar’s wife, Susanna, who is with child.”
Prabir was clapping, the phone on speaker. Mbuno could hear him telling his wife the good news. He replied, “I am most honored, Mzee Mbuno, most honored. It will be an equal sharing gift, most welcome, most welcome. I will bring it personally within the morning.”
