by Saul Dobney
A pale pink mass rose above the trees behind the crowd and Yanif stood transfixed as a flock of flamingoes left the waters of the lake in the distance. As he watched the birds, the clouds separated and a ray of sunshine broke through the sky. For a moment Yanif was caught in a bright white shaft of light that cut through the gloom of the day. He stood serene and isolated upon the stage raising his head as the warmth of the sun touched his face.
Among the onlookers, people stood and stared, awed into a breathless silence.
“Yanif. What are you doing?” shouted Riaz from the wings. “You’re not supposed to be on yet.” Riaz beckoned for Yanif to return to the stage edge.
The quiet was broken by a rhythm of claps; one clap; two claps; three claps; a steady thump, thump, thump beat that drew a flow of people towards the stage. Soon each clap was joined by a call of Yanif’s name. “Yanif. Yanif. Yanif.”
Yanif put his hand up to shield the sun from his vision and waved to the audience.
A cheer went up across the field.
He walked to the microphone and tapped it to see if it was working. It echoed across the festival fields.
“We should give thanks,” said Yanif, his voice filling the arena.
The crowd of people came towards the stage and from the back more families came into the field from underneath the trees. Yanif put his hands together and closed his eyes and a hush descended on the people watching.
“God, who is with us, we rejoice in your presence and the life that you give. Touch our hearts so we can teach love. Help us speak of peace where there's anger, and find joy in each moment of the day. We are with you forever. Amen.”
A murmur of 'amens' spread among the people, some crossed themselves, others looked to the sky. Yanif stood immobile watching on the stage. At the back he could see a few blue uniforms of policemen standing arms akimbo, and in the distance at the park entrance a convoy of black cars arriving at the park.
Yanif brought his gaze back to the people in front of him. “We are in the birthplace of man, where north meets south, where we learnt the difference between good and bad, where God taught us to live and how to love. We give thanks.”
A ripple of applause percolated through the audience.
“God is with us and gives us joy. He rejoices in our happiness when we find joy in his world, joy from other people, joy from being alive. The greatest gifts to us are the gifts that God has given us for free. The joy of friendship. The pleasure of silence. The wonder of life. The taste of the fruit. The colour of the flowers. He is in our imagination, in our thoughts, in our emotions and feelings. His joy is freely available and all we need to do is reach out with our spirit to Him.”
Yanif lifted his arms and reached to the sky. And the people in the front of the stage copied Yanif’s action forming a sea of Y’s.
“I tell you do not chase the things you do not need. Seek the delight of children. They have nothing, but give everything to make each other happy.
If you have money give it away; it is not what you need.
If you have possessions; share them with all who ask;
If you fear enemies; embrace them so they may become friends;
He who has nothing, but gives everything, has everything to gain.
Share God and the joy that He gives you with everyone that you find.
Make this your start and promise.
Kenya is the start of the dream.”
“Kenya. Kenya. Free Kenya,” came chants from the back. “Free Kenya. Free Kenya. Free Kenya. Poor first. Poor first. Poor first.” More people joined amplifying the chanting
In the rear the police were circling straining to see who was leading the calls.
In the wings, Riaz threw down his towel in anger and ran on stage. He snatched the microphone from Yanif. He forced a smile to the crowd. “Thank you Yanif.”
Then as he escorted Yanif to the side, under his breath, he hissed “You shouldn't have said that. We've talked about this.”
Behind the audience continued to chant, “No rich. Free Kenya. No rich. Free Kenya.”
Keneth slapped Yanif on the back as he reached the wings. “Well done,” said Keneth. “That is the best speech you have ever made. That speech will be remembered for a long time.”
Eshe grabbed Yanif around the neck and kissed him on the cheek. “You were wonderful,” she said. “I think you've found your voice and what you want to say.”
Riaz pointed to Kwasi and Mosi. “You go back on. Keep them entertained. Me and Tremus need to help Yanif.”
Riaz glared at Tremus and mouthed something.
“Come on Yanif,” said Mosi pulling at Yanif's arm. “You too. They love you.”
Tremus stepped forwards, blocking Yanif's way. “Not now Mosi. Riaz and I need to help Yanif with what he must say next. You and Kwasi go on.”
Kwasi and Mosi ran onto stage and the chant, “Yanif. Kenya. Yanif. Kenya,” came from the crowd.
“Why did you say that Yanif?” asked Tremus. “Every time you speak you say we should be poor.”
Riaz placed his phone to his head and put his finger in the other ear, mumbling into the phone, then banging his head with the heel of his hand in a theatrical gesture of annoyance.
“It's too bad,” shouted Riaz over the sound of the twins singing. “We have to go.”
“Go?” said Eshe. “But Yanif's only just started.”
“They've brought the flight forwards. We need to leave now. Eshe, you too. Kwasi and Mosi can sing without you.”
“But Tremus, you said there would be time to enjoy the concert,” said Eshe.
Tremus shook his head. “The airport. Now. Yanif has said his piece we need to go.” He caught Yanif by the arm and led him to Riaz's car.
56. London and St Paul's
Yanif stretched as they left the plane and made their way onto the airbridge and into the early morning bustle of Heathrow Airport. Ahead of him Eshe, Tremus and Riaz shuffled down the gangway, half asleep and creased like their clothes, out through the ponderous queues of passport control and through to baggage reclaim. By the exit stood a man with a board with 'Riaz' and 'Tremus' written on it. He took them to a car and they headed into the morning traffic.
As they drove out of the airport Eshe bounced in her seat and pointed at a billboard ahead of them. “Look Yanif. That's you.”
A giant poster filled one of the advertising hoardings with a picture of Yanif flanked by Tremus with the words “Joy is in your heart. The story of Kenya's Healer”.
“Look, there are more,” said Tremus. “There's one on the side of that bus. Yanif, we're famous here already.” He shook Yanif by the shoulder in congratulations.
Riaz smiled. “Steve said he had arranged something. He wants to make you a star Yanif.”
Yanif sank into his seat, hiding his face from the window.
They sat in silence as the car picked its way past the grand Georgian terraces of Kensington, buzzed by motorbikes and bicycles and red London buses, past gold coated statues and grand flagged buildings, catching glimpses of landmarks they’d only seen in picture books and photographs.
As the drove by Trafalgar Square, Riaz remembered to turn his phone on. The phone beeped with messages and Riaz read the screen, his mouth open in shock. He flicked through the contacts and dialled.
“Angelie. Angelie,” said Riaz getting through. “What happened?”
“Thank God you called,” said Angelie over the speakerphone, tears in her voice. “It was terrible. Terrible. Kwasi and Mosi have been arrested. They destroyed everything.”
“They? Who’s they?” asked Tremus shouting at the phone to be heard over the noise of the car.
“Chiumbo's people,” said Angelie. “Chiumbo's men starting fighting with the KPF. They cut the power and the ripped apart the stage and charged at us with scaffold poles. Families were running with children to get away. We tried to escape, but the police stopped us. They wouldn't let us pass, and then they took Kwasi and Mosi away.�
�� Angelie started to cry.
“It’s OK Angelie,” said Eshe. “Everything will be OK. We'll find some way to help. Riaz will know someone.”
As Eshe spoke, the car pulled up at the Savoy, and a doorman in green livery stepped out and opened the car door.
“Angelie,” said Riaz. “We have just arrived. We'll call you later, when we're checked in.”
Above them the hotel's polished nameplate and strident stainless steel knight glinted as a burst of sunlight came and passed.
“Why here?” Yanif hissed to Riaz and Tremus. “Why such a place?”
“You saw the posters,” said Riaz. “You're famous Yanif.” He puffed out his chest and led them into the hotel's Art Deco atrium festooned with grand chandeliers. “The people here expect it. This is the Savoy. The place for kings and queens and Hollywood stars.”
“Stars and Kings,” Yanif stopped following the others. “Kwasi and Mosi are in jail and we are in this, this … palace.” He turned and started to leave.
Eshe caught him by his arm. “Wait Yanif, wait. We can change. Stay somewhere else. We can ask at the desk.”
“It’s OK Yanif. You can stay with me if you’d like,” said a woman's voice.
Yanif stepped backwards as a woman in sunglasses and denim cap launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
“The Savoy was my idea. I thought you’d like it. All the best people stay here. Isn’t that right Steve?”
Steve appeared from behind her and nodded. “Dead right Heather. The best people in the world. Hello Riaz, Tremus.” He shook Riaz's hand.
Yanif gave Heather a chaste kiss on the cheek and unwrapped himself from her embrace. “It’s not right. This place is not right.”
“Then stay tonight so as to give me some time to get my place together,” said Heather disappointment on her face. “Then you can share with me. I should have space. Oh it’s so good to see you. I’ve been looking forwards to this like forever.” Heather hugged Yanif once more.
“Steve, I've just heard, there's been trouble at home,” said Riaz. “I need to call some people.”
“The riot in Kenya?” said Steve. “I saw it on the Internet.”
Riaz nodded.
“You can use the office. I know some people. But we have to get moving,” said Steve. “I have a few meetings lined up for the guys.”
“Who with?” asked Tremus.
“A couple of publishers. Some TV people. Business contacts. We got the book out this week to coincide with your arrival. I want to strike while the iron is hot. We have a TV interview at the BBC tomorrow morning and the riot will make a great back-story. You couldn't have planned it better if you tried. And your speech was fabulous Yanif. Just perfect.”
“You liked the speech?” said Riaz.
“Pure genius,” said Steve. “Standing up for the hard-pressed and that 'give everything, you have everything to gain,' they love that here. Yanif will be like an icon for the people.”
Riaz raised an eyebrow at Tremus in surprise.
“Guys,” said Steve. “We need to hurry. Let Eshe take care of your cases. We're due in Covent Garden in half an hour.”
“And I have a surprise planned for Yanif,” said Heather. “You don’t mind do you if it’s just me and him?” She flashed her celebrity smile at Eshe.
Eshe stared at Heather and Steve as if to ask, “What about me?”
“It’s just I have such a special place for Yanif,” said Heather. “And I’ve just got to show him.”
Eshe’s mouth opened, but she said nothing.
“You can unpack or something I suppose,” said Heather. “Or go shopping. We'll be back later.”
Heather manoeuvred Yanif out to the waiting taxis, leaving Eshe alone in the lobby.
The taxi drove them towards the City. Ahead of them rose the great dome of St Paul’s, its majesty undiminished by the high-rise buildings nearby. The taxi pulled up by the steps in front of the cathedral’s West Front.
Yanif peered up at the twin white-stoned spires flanking the two storey colonnade of the main entrance, that seemed to glide against the darkness of the clouds passing overhead.
“One second,” said Heather. She shook out her hair, then took a small mirror from her bag and powdered and lipsticked. “Ready?” She smiled and opened the taxi door and held Yanif’s hand. “Come with me. It's going to be fabulous.”
As they crossed the piazza and climbed the steps towards the entrance behind the double columned front a few tourists spotted them and started to take photos, calling Heather by name. Heather turned, linked arms with Yanif and waved, smiling for the cameras.
“You can wave too,” she whispered in Yanif’s ear. “You'll get used to it. It happens all the time when you're a celebrity.”
Yanif meekly raised his hand, but at that moment the building rang with the sound of thunder and the first dolloping drops of rain marked the white marble stone.
Heather hurried Yanif under the terrace and through the ticket booth, past the souvenir shop and inside. They stood under the great copula behind the pews of seats leading to the altar, a low murmur of voices from a tour guide seemed to be eaten up by the silence of the great nave.
“I feel so spiritual here. It so connects with me,” whispered Heather pulling Yanif close to her. “All this. Just to contemplate God and the universe and everything. I can just sense the spirits of the poets and great people of London past watching us. It is just so mystical. It makes my skin tingle.” She ran Yanif's fingers over the goosebumps on her arm.
Yanif gazed down the length of the cathedral along the checkerboard tiles towards the altar and up towards the towering ceiling, drifting and turning to grasp the enormity of the space.
“There's even more,” said Heather taking Yanif’s hand again. “I have a secret to share with you.”
Heather led Yanif up the stairs beneath the great dome. At the top they reached a circular gallery. Heather lent over the edge and they peered down into the nave and the tourists and few worshippers kneeling below.
“It gets better. Wait here,” she said.
She sat Yanif down by the wall and left him to study the statues of saints and frescos on the ceiling, then slipped around the balustrade to the other side of the gallery and waved to Yanif across the diameter. She turned to the wall.
“Yanif,” said her voice. “Yanif.”
Yanif jumped up. Heather’s voice came from next to him, but Heather was sitting on the other side of the circle. He stared in her direction, catching her eye.
She blew him a kiss across the diameter. “Isn’t it just magical?” her voice asked.
Yanif stepped away from the wall and around the balustrade to where Heather was seated. She tugged at his arm to get him to sit down, but Yanif resisted.
“We must go,” he said, leaning towards the stairs.
“But it’s like magic,” said Heather. “Don’t you like it?”
“Why would God want grand buildings, or such luxury? A simple flower is more beautiful.”
Heather sighed. “I thought you'd like it,” she said, her feet trudging against the stairs as they headed back to the exit.
Outside the piazza was deserted apart from a group of Japanese tourists huddled under umbrellas and waterproof smocks. Heather hailed another taxi and asked the driver for a guided tour.
As they crossed London Bridge, Heather lent across Yanif, “Look there’s the Tower of London and Tower Bridge downstream.”
Yanif did not care. He was brooding at the brown water and barges and the passing flotsam of the river Thames below, watching the rings made by the raindrops on the surface.
Heather gave up and propped herself against the window and told the taxi driver to head back to the Savoy.
As the taxi hit traffic on Waterloo Bridge, Yanif tapped on the glass separating the driver from the passengers. He pulled at the door handle, but the door would not open. He pointed at the door. “Please…”
The dr
iver released the door and Yanif opened it and called across the road, “Eshe. Eshe.”
Eshe stood at the side of the road bedraggled, shivering and miserable. Hearing Yanif’s voice, she looked up. “Yanif.” Her face brightened and she dodged across the road and huddled into the cab, water dripping from her hair onto the seat.
Yanif rubbed Eshe's arms trying to get her warm and she snuggled up to him, leaving Heather staring out of the window, drumming her fingers on the upholstery.
“I thought I’d never find my way back,” said Eshe. “I crossed the river, and I walked. And I walked. I couldn’t find my way. It’s not like Nairobi. The streets all twist and turn. And the rain came and it is such a cold rain and the wind is so bitter it hurt my head. I thought I’d never get back to the hotel.”
“We're here,” said Heather through pursed lips as the taxi arrived at the Savoy. She grabbed Yanif's hand as he left the cab and kissed his fingers. “You'll stay with me tomorrow,” she said. “I'll get everything prepared. We can try again. Without interruptions.” She scowled at Eshe.
“We should call Angelie,” said Eshe to Yanif as they returned to her hotel room. She dried her hair with the hair-dryer and wrapped herself in a blanket to get warm, then picked up the hotel phone and dialled.
The phone rang and rang without response.
“There’s no answer,” said Eshe. She dialled again, but still no reply. “I’m scared,” she said. “I think something terrible is going to happen. Hold me Yanif.”
Yanif held Eshe in his arms and Eshe began to cry.
He massaged her back and shoulders in slow swirling circles. Eshe relaxed and closed her eyes. After a few minutes Eshe’s breathing became steady, and soon she was lost in thought, rubbing Yanif's back as he rubbed hers.
“It is time for me to go,” said Yanif. He stood up.
Eshe tried to grab Yanif’s hand. “Stay. Please. I am afraid here on my own.”
Yanif took her by the hands then kissed her on the forehead. “It is time to go,” he said again.
