Tiers of low hills stretch in front of them, and further on steep mountains rise into the blinding sky. Obulejo glances back once or twice, anxiously, but can see nothing that might betray their presence, except a few areas of flattened grass, a child’s hair bead caught in a thornbush, and bent shrubs and bushes still bearing the faint imprint of the bodies that had crouched in them.
His sturdy legs carry him easily up the first slope. Auntie matches his rapid pace but it is not long before the children begin to tire. The little girls start to drag on Obulejo’s arms, so Obulejo leans down and scoops Kiden onto one hip and Jokudu onto the other. He staggers a moment at their combined weight, then forges on. Auntie Juan flashes him a grin of gratitude, which warms Obulejo’s heart.
It is the way of his people, the way his parents have taught him to follow. Auntie had cared for him, despite having her own children to look after. Now he must help her care for the children. The fighting must not be allowed to break the old ways. He must follow Ma’di ways, to honour his family. That resolve gives Obulejo courage.
5
HOUR AFTER SCORCHING hour, Obulejo and the others hurry onwards, following Lege and the rest of the group down slopes and up hillsides, till at last they reach the edge of the dense forest. Here they halt for a few minutes. Duku and Ladu hurl themselves onto the ground and Obulejo sets Kiden down and prises Jokudu’s fingers from his wrist so he can stretch his cramping limbs. After what seems only a heartbeat, everybody gets to their feet again. Auntie Juan ties her baby on more snugly and Obulejo hoists Kiden onto his back.
‘Hold on tight,’ he tells her. ‘Pretend you’re a baby monkey.’
He takes Jokudu’s sticky little hand in his and off they set again. There is no time to waste.
The forest is dark and tangled with vines and creepers, but Obulejo does not hesitate. He strides swiftly, step-skip-skip-step over tangled roots, and step-slide-slip-slide-step through marshy hollows, step-gasp-climb-gasp-step up and around the contours of steep slopes, carrying one small girl and leading the other. Never stopping. Never looking back. Forging onwards. Outpacing the terror.
Obulejo has never been in thick jungle before. His ears are assaulted by the unnerving din of bustling, invisible life, a constant clamour of shrilling and trilling, swishing and clacking, a cacophony of calls, a rushing prattle of running water, creaks and flusters in the canopies of tall mahogany trees, clicks and whistles, shifts and scatters, startled shrieks and shouted alarms of innumerable hidden creatures. Equally unnerving is the deep and ominous silence that lies underneath the racket, a dense, concealing quiet in which enemies may lurk and stalking predators crouch, ready to spring.
Obulejo lost sight of Lege moments after they entered the jungle, so he keeps his eye on the retreating back of a burly man just ahead of him, and stays close. In one moment he could find himself separated from his companions by a web of dense greenness.
It is slow going in the marshy, mosquito-ridden valleys but Obulejo knows that the risk of being spotted by soldiers or tribesmen is far greater on the upper slopes.
A branch springs back suddenly. Obulejo flinches in alarm. A glint of light ahead dances and dazzles. Is it just sunlight on water or the spying eye of a concealed predator? And does that sudden upward swoop of birds warn of an unwelcome presence close by?
Breathe as quietly as possible. Push on through the terrible jungle.
Startled monkeys send scalding curses down from the treetops; before Obulejo’s startled gaze a lean shadow seems to turn into a waving tree snake before metamorphosing back into a swinging vine. A tumble into a plashy creek drenches him and Jokudu and Kiden and twists his ankle cruelly. Roots and vines snatch at his feet, and thorny bushes gouge furrows in his arms.
His heart thumping with fear, Obulejo keeps watch for the glint of spying eyes and scans the startled upward flights of birds for signals of predators approaching. He must cover the ground as rapidly as possible, before the jungle and its dangers consume him. For the meaning of his name – trouble tomorrow – has come true.
Obulejo recalls how Mama Josephina had laughed, the day she first told him the story of how he came by his name. ‘All your aunties and uncles were saying to each other, “This baby will bring big trouble in the family.” Trouble between myself and Mama Natalina,’ she’d chuckled. ‘They said, “The women will be jealous of each other,” and when you were born, they named you Obulejo – trouble tomorrow. But they were wrong. Mama Natalina and I, we love each other. We help each other. We care for the children together. All one family. No trouble came, my son.’
But now, Mama Josephina’s words seem hollow. Tomorrow, with worse trouble than he could ever have imagined, has him in its clutches.
The walking is interminable. Mind-numbing. Time begins to lose its shape and meaning. Minutes and hours merge.
One moment Obulejo feels that he has been fighting his way through dense thickets and navigating slippery tracks forever, fording endless streams, struggling free of thorny vines and pushing past rough-barked shrubs and trees for an eternity, and the next moment it seems he has not moved forward one inch in all that time. That he is trapped, held tight in the grip of the forest, plodding in blind circles and getting nowhere.
Hunger and thirst barely register with Obulejo. He must not hesitate or pause. He must not let exhaustion or the small girl on his back impede his progress. He pays no heed when a trickle of urine mingles with the sweat that runs down both their legs. He passes his arm across his sweaty brow and clutches Jokudu’s hand more tightly as he drags her onwards. He is possessed by one desire only – to outpace the danger that pursues them.
By early afternoon some of the group are already in trouble. The smaller children are struggling to keep up; parents grow increasingly anxious for their young ones. A brief rest is called. Only the fear of losing sight of the group forces Obulejo to stop. All the while they are sitting, his fingers drum nervously on his thighs; anxious to be away again, he gets up and paces the sodden ground.
Then on again, clambering through the dappled bush with its deep shadows and blinding sun rays stippling the leaf-littered, vine-tangled floor. His mind jumps back and forth between the deep forest and the besieged town, from which, in endless replay, he once again is racing to safety.
His breath labours in his chest. He fancies he hears the sound of the Rebels’ tread, and their panting progress as they gain on him. He turns sharply to catch sight of them. Nothing: just the twitch and swish and crackle and whoop of the jungle; no rifle-jab between his shoulder blades, only the slimy smear of Kiden’s snotty tears on his neck.
Then everything shifts to no-time – to a place outside of time. The edges of things wobble and blur. Everything wavers and loses its shape. Where are they are going? Why? Unsolvable puzzles. The bush disappears; the day recedes into a timeless void. An infinity of indrawn and exhaled breaths. Heat and light. Shadow and shine. Sweat and heartbeat.
The hours draw on. Obulejo notices stronger, more agile people surge ahead of the main group. Soon they disappear among the trees. He wants to rush ahead too, but he cannot leave Auntie Juan and the children behind.
When the next signal comes to stop and rest, Auntie is looking worried. The whites of her baby’s eyes are tinged yellow.
‘Fetch water,’ Auntie Juan tells Obulejo, urgently. ‘We must cool the baby’s skin.’
She gives the kere to Obulejo and tells him where to find a spring. As Obulejo rises to obey, Auntie begins to point out to others edible bushes and foliage. Auntie knows this territory. She speaks the local language and has learned which leaves and roots and fruits are safe to eat.
Obulejo quickly returns with the brimming kere and Auntie bathes her baby’s face. Other people straggle into the clearing. Some are carrying relatives, some are leading children or hobbling on bleeding feet. Many of the older people are shaking and grey-faced. Silent children, streaked with mud and tears, stumble forward and sink to their knees. Obulejo offers them water
.
Soon people are getting ready to move on, but Auntie has other ideas. ‘It is time to search for a place to hide, now,’ she says. ‘When darkness comes we can continue.’
Some nod agreement. Others protest.
‘We are still too close to the town,’ says the man whose broad back Obulejo has kept in sight since they began their trek. ‘We have not come far enough yet to be safe.’
‘That’s right,’ another man breaks in. ‘We must go further if we are not to be captured.’
‘There are many more miles to go,’ Auntie replies, ‘and to run always under the eye of the sun is not wise, if you wish to make it to the border. Besides, what helps you find your way will just as easily help others follow your tracks.’
People grumble and mutter, but most acquiesce. A few push on, mostly single men and older boys.
Obulejo is frantic at the delay. He wants to keep running forever, or until his legs give way. Until he is out of the forest and far away. Until he reaches safety.
But Auntie has spoken with authority. She has known trouble all her life and has survived it. She knows this jungle and Obulejo’s survival may depend on her knowledge and experience.
‘We must hide now and wait for dark,’ Auntie repeats. ‘Even if the Rebels are following, soldiers too must rest from time to time.’
So Obulejo and the stayers submit to Auntie’s common sense. Anyway, the forest is a mind-numbing and strength-sapping soup of heat and humidity in daylight. At night, even though it is cold, they can easily warm themselves by walking.
‘Come,’ Auntie says. ‘I know a place.’
They follow her along a watercourse and down a steeply wooded incline. The damp red soil is thick with layers of rotting vegetation, and soft underfoot; it muffles their footsteps. They struggle with the clumps of reeds, tangled overhanging branches and viciously thorny vines that grab and clutch at legs and shoulders, but which also may offer secure hiding places.
Obulejo helps Auntie settle her children into the leafy embrace of a spreading bush then searches for a hiding place for himself and the little girl he carries. He is grateful for the company, although Kiden has not uttered a sound since first being hoisted onto Obulejo’s back.
People quickly conceal themselves. The forest swallows them up as though they had never been there at all.
6
OBULEJO HASTILY DIGS a shallow burrow for himself and Kiden, under a large heap of decaying leaves and reeds beside the rushing stream.
It is a good hiding place. Well chosen, he thinks, with a small swell of pride. It will keep them safe. He lowers himself into the hollow he has scooped out. Good, there are no scorpions or spiders. Once installed in the hideout, he pulls reeds and fronds over their heads. There is plenty of room to breathe and they can keep a lookout through the gaps in the undergrowth.
Before he has fully relaxed, a warning flashes in his mind. A memory of his grandfather saying, ‘A wise Ma’di never camps close to a river, for riverbanks are a favourite haunt of snakes.’ How could Obulejo have forgotten? He should have followed Auntie and hidden close to her. Now he has led himself and Auntie’s little daughter into great danger.
Only once has Obulejo witnessed the death throes of a person bitten by a mamba, and he has never forgotten the bloated limbs and contorted face. He must get himself and Kiden out of here! But what if they are spotted leaving and his rash action leads to everyone else being discovered? He sits there sweating. Each slight movement or teasing sound – the shusshing of grass or the rasp of twigs against each other, the tilt and flutter of leaves and branches overhead, even the lilting movement of large butterflies in flight – shouts MAMBA! Obulejo can picture the serpent slithering closer with deadly intent – ready to strike.
Oh, the shame of having a child’s death on his hands! He, who has always been so conscientious about protecting young ones given into his care. The impulse to break cover and rush deeper into the forest, dragging the child with him, is almost irresistible. But just as Obulejo is about to fling off the reed covering, he hears a distant rat-tat-tatting. Gunfire? A bird pecking? He cannot tell. All he knows is that he must stay put, even if a thousand snakes lurk nearby.
He strains his ears and stills his breath a moment, then breathes out carefully as each new alarm proves to be nothing more than the normal busy life of the forest around him. Birds shriek and whistle in the treetops. Unseen creatures rootle in the undergrowth. Leaves swish and crackle and clatter. Glimpses of dancing shadows startle his watchful eyes.
He tries to pray but the words won’t come. ‘Opi Yesu, Opi Yesu,’ he mouths, silently, over and over, ‘Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus,’ and can get no further.
Finally, as the shadows begin to lengthen and the heat of the day starts to abate, Obulejo detects a movement that at first makes his heart race, and then sends his spirits soaring. Little more than the flicker of a dark hand at first, quickly followed by the glimpse of a body partly obscured in the dappled light. It is one of their group, a grizzled man whose muddy trousers with their torn fringes Obulejo instantly recognises. Obulejo watches intently as the man lowers his bleeding calves into the stream and splashes water over them. He pushes the reeds aside and lifts Kiden out of the hollow, then scrambles after her. He greets the man, and follows him along a muddy track to where others are assembling. He and Kiden have survived the first day of the journey, in spite of his foolish mistake in choosing the riverbank as a hideout.
More people silently emerge in the gathering dusk, and make ready to resume their march.
Obulejo hears a low moan.
‘Mama,’ Kiden whispers.
Obulejo scans the clearing.
The moaning continues. Obulejo rushes to a low bush close by, parts the branches and peers in. The boys and Jokudu are clutching their mother’s skirts, while Auntie rocks her baby in her arms. The baby’s face is grey and still.
A whisper runs through the group. ‘The child is deceased.’
People gather round Auntie and clasp her hand in sympathy. They speak quietly to her, whispering prayers for her and her baby.
‘Baba ama ata bua rii, our Father who art in heaven, gather this child into your arms and comfort her mother.’
‘Always it is the defenceless who must bear the greatest cost of war,’ Auntie whispers, tears spilling down her face.
Three men quietly begin to dig a grave and others gather rocks to place over it, to safeguard Keji’s body against jungle predators and scavengers.
Obulejo watches as Auntie bathes her baby’s body, wraps it in a cloth and places the small bundle in the grave. A few more prayers are whispered before the soil is tamped down and weighted with rocks. Mothers clutch their children close.
Auntie gestures to Obulejo: give me my child. He reluctantly passes Kiden to her. Auntie clutches her daughter to her chest. Duku and Ladu put their arms round their sisters and pat their mother’s bowed shoulders.
Auntie Juan turns to the silent onlookers. ‘I thank you for your kindness to my baby,’ she says, ‘but now you must move on, quickly.’
‘What this woman says is true,’ a short plump woman mutters. ‘We cannot stay here and risk being caught.’
But how can they leave a tiny baby all by herself in the jungle? She should be back home, in the village, close to her family, so they can look after her.
But Auntie Juan and the short woman are right. They must set off again immediately. Why did Auntie say ‘you’, not ‘we’? Obulejo wonders. People start to move off. Obulejo reaches for Kiden, to hoist her onto his back again, but Auntie shakes her head. ‘My children must stay by my side.’
Obulejo’s heart sinks. He has become so used to Kiden’s warm little body plastered to his back. With her to care for he doesn’t feel so alone. But after the loss of her youngest child, Auntie must be desperate to keep her other children with her. He tries not to let his face betray his feelings. It is right for the child to be with her family, and it removes the burden from his back.
He will be able to travel more quickly now, make better time. But he will miss that small, warm, trusting weight, the reassuring beat of another heart close to his.
The ache for his own family intensifies. Their absence presses more sharply in his chest.
But he must keep walking – further and further away from them. Out of reach of what he most longs for. Out of reach of what he fears is pursuing him.
The next minute Obulejo’s world tilts again.
‘I will go back,’ Auntie tells him.
‘No!’
Auntie puts a gentle hand on his forearm. ‘I must,’ she repeats. ‘I have lost my husband already, in this war, and now my baby. My parents I left behind in Torit, and now I must go back and find them. I will throw myself on the mercy of the Rebels. They are countrymen. Surely they will not harm us.’
Obulejo stares dumbly as Auntie turns and gathers her children for the journey back.
‘I cannot lose another of my children,’ she adds quietly.
Four small children and one woman – how will they accomplish such a journey alone? Obulejo must go with them. But the memory of the guns, the screaming, the soldiers’ threats stops him in his tracks. Maybe the Rebels will spare Auntie, but they certainly won’t spare him. He’ll be forced to join the Rebel army, or he may even be shot. He has no choice. He must keep going, and try to get to the border. Yet how can he leave this woman to struggle back through the jungle on her own, when she has cared for him like a mother?
She will not be on her own, it turns out. Others are hurrying to join her. Older people, other women with children. Have they decided to take their chances with the Rebels, too, Obulejo wonders, or have they just no more strength to push on through the jungle?
The moment of parting comes too soon. Those determined to keep heading east begin to move, and Obulejo reluctantly bids Auntie farewell and hurries after them. He looks back only once before pushing aside clinging vines and tendrils and plunging into the cloying darkness. The jungle soon closes around him. He can no longer hear the footsteps of the retreating group. His new-made little family is lost to him, perhaps forever.
Trouble Tomorrow Page 3
