The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

  “Can’t we stay somewhere else?” asked Riaz. “A hotel.”

  Steve paused in thought, cursing as he ran different scenarios through his thoughts. “I think it's going to be better for you and Yanif if you return to Kenya. If the police say it’s not safe, it’s not safe. If you stay you're just a target and I can't put Heather at risk over this. There could be someone out there right this minute.” He nodded towards the window.

  “But this is England,” said Riaz. “This doesn't happen here.”

  Steve shrugged. “I’ll arrange for the flights. We'll get you out today if we can. There’s no point in staying. If we play it right, the publicity will work in our favour. Headline news is priceless for sales.”

  Tremus grabbed Yanif by the t-shirt and pulled him close. “Yanif,” he hissed. “This is because of you again. You do not stop creating trouble.”

  Yanif closed his eyes and put his head on the desk. “I told you the Chama must end,” he said. “See what damage it does. I will tell them there is no more Chama.”

  “Oh stop Yanif,” said Riaz. “The Chama is not just you.”

  61. Return to Kenya

  “There he is.” Salina let go of Angelie's hand and climbed under the barrier by the baggage-claim exit. “Yanif, Yanif,” she shouted as she ran dodging past the incoming passengers as they emerged into the arrivals hall of Nairobi Airport.

  Yanif freed himself from Tremus's grip and crouched down.

  Salina jumped into his arms and hugged him. “It is so good to have you back.”

  “It is good to be back among friends.” Yanif rubbed Salina’s back.

  She took his hand and pulled Yanif to the exit where Angelie, Kwasi and Mosi were waiting. As she reached her mother, Salina turned and stared at Riaz and Tremus following behind.

  “Where's Eshe?” she asked. “Didn’t she come with you?”

  Angelie smiled at her daughter. “Eshe’s already home. Didn’t you know? She said England made her ill, so she is going away for a while to recover.”

  “But Yanif can make her better,” said Salina. “Why should she go away?”

  Angelie glanced at Yanif and then Tremus. “She wanted some time to think.”

  Tremus's grip tightened on his case he was pulling but he said nothing.

  “Hey Yanif, you look like you have had a sun bleach,” laughed Mosi nudging Kwasi in the ribs and breaking the uncomfortable silence, “Your face is whiter than it was when you left. You need some proper Nairobi sun to put the colour into those pasty cheeks.”

  Yanif feigned a smile.

  They took the elevator out of the arrivals hall onto the parking level. Ahead of them Joe was standing by the cars.

  “You come and sit next to me in our car,” said Salina tugging at Yanif’s hand.

  “No,” said Tremus. He glared at Salina and directed Yanif towards the other car. “Yanif travels with me and Joe.”

  “That's not fair,” said Salina frowning.

  “It's for safety,” said Riaz interrupting. “Yanif is famous and we have to take care of him. You wouldn't want anything to happen to him would you?”

  Salina shook her head. “We don't want the nasty policemen to get him.”

  “Exactly,” said Riaz. “You can have him all to yourself when we get back to The Retreat.”

  “Change of plan,” said Kwasi. “We didn't have much time to make arrangements but we wanted to get everyone together again, so we're going to Nairobi.”

  “I though we would be going to new Chama Central today?” said Riaz.

  “You weren't supposed to be back so soon,” said Kwasi. “But it'll be ready in a few days. Just the finishing touches to do.”

  “Like a kitchen and bathrooms,” laughed Mosi.

  Kwasi turned to Joe. “You know where you’re going?”

  Joe nodded. “Mr Mosi, told me. The hotel he said helped Yanif once.”

  As the two cars slid out of the airport towards the Nairobi traffic and into the buzz of the city, Yanif closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Yanif awoke to the car door opening. Joe had pulled up on the side of the road by Jeevanjee Gardens. Pockets of people milled around in the late evening sun walking, talking or resting on the grass as the day came to an end. Outside the third floor of the cream and beige hotel a makeshift ‘Welcome Home’ banner fluttered in the breeze. Yanif stepped out of the car and felt the warmth of the Nairobi air on his face and the familiar smells of soil and browning fruit mixing with the car fumes.

  A car honked from behind them and the driver shouted at Joe through his open window, calling out in colourful language for Joe to move the car. Across in the Gardens a few heads turned to see what the commotion was and two or three stared and pointed.

  “Let’s get inside before we cause a road block,” said Kwasi. “We don’t want our escort to take offence.”

  “Escort?” said Tremus. He turned to look where Kwasi was pointing.

  “Over there.” Kwasi nodded toward a group of three men in a dark suits and sunglasses hovering by a black car on the other side of the road. “Since we got out of prison the police have been following us everywhere we go. Here, The Retreat when we're working. But we don’t do nothing wrong and they let it go.”

  Kwasi took the last of the bags and Tremus shepherded Yanif inside and through to the private room at the back. A long table was set for a meal with pastel pink carnations decorating the place settings.

  Inside Riaz was already deep in conversation with Keneth and Pamela. He had his suitcase open and was taking out t-shirts adorned with Yanif's picture and showing off the book Steve had arranged in London.

  “Yanif,” said Pamela breaking off from the conversation. She hugged Yanif. “You had a good trip?”

  “Riaz was just saying how fruitful your voyage was,” said Keneth. He shook Yanif by the hand. “You have become an international superstar Yanif. The Chama is a great success.”

  Yanif opened his mouth to say something, but Tremus squeezed his shoulder and tut-tutted in his ear.

  “You look tired Yanif,” A voice came from behind him.

  Yanif turned around to see Mr Nyumba grinning through his remaining teeth.

  “We have a present,” said Mr Nyumba. “Show him Merry.”

  “A treat for you,” said Merry. From her bag she took out a little bottle of scented oils. “This'll ease the flight out of you.”

  “I don't need anything,” said Yanif. “I don't need a gift.”

  “Sheez, Yanif,” said Riaz through gritted teeth. “We've talked about this. People want to help. How can we get Yanif to understand, Tremus? We help them, they help us back.”

  “Riaz is right,” said Merry as she sat Yanif down. “Mr Nyumba has been saving it for you. He made it in from the flowers and bushes in the garden. Because you are always thinking of everyone else. You deserve something special too.”

  Yanif relaxed and closed his eyes and let Merry rub the ointment into his skin, her fingers massaging out the tension in his neck, the scent of wood-saps and flowers filling the room.

  When he re-opened his eyes, Eshe was standing at the door, biting her lip, unsure if she would be welcomed.

  Yanif smiled and relief crossed her face.

  She slipped across the room and knelt in front of Yanif and kissed his hands. “I didn't mean to scare you Yanif. I just thought…”

  “Get up Eshe. You don't need to kneel for Yanif.” Tremus hovered behind Yanif, overshadowing her. He yanked Eshe to her feet.

  “I'm sorry Tremus,” she said. She lifted her eyes to him. “It wasn't my fault. Please. It just wasn't to be.”

  “It's too late Eshe,” said Tremus. There was a rawness in his voice. Bitterness. “You don't deserve to be here.” He stepped between Yanif and Eshe crossing his arms to block her way.

  Angelie touched Eshe's arm. “Leave them Eshe. Come and sit with Salina. You need to give them a bit of time and space.”

  “We should eat,” said Keneth feeling the te
nsion in the room. “You still have the journey in your bones.” He tapped a glass with his pen to call the others to the table. When everyone was settled he turned to Yanif. “Would you like to say grace? We have not had grace from you for such a long time.”

  Yanif looked at Riaz on his right and Tremus on his left. Tremus nodded, but lifted his finger in warning. Around the table hands drew together in prayer.

  “There is nothing more that words can say.” Yanif paused. Collecting his words. “The love here is such a deep love and our time ends so soon. Our love will go on, even when all other things are no more. What is started will finish. What is lost will be found. What is forgotten will be remembered.” Yanif caught Eshe's eye and sighed. “Live off these memories as we live off this food. Drink in these times for these are good times. And when it is at an end, love one another and forgive all things. Such times will not come again.”

  He winced as he felt Tremus's foot on his ankle.

  Around the table, a sea of quizzical faces met him looking up from their prayer.

  “Yanif?” said Eshe. “Are you all right?”

  Yanif moved his chair back from the table. “I owe each of you thanks.”

  He walked around the table to each person in turn and placed a kiss on their head. To Merry. To Mr Nyumba. To Salina. To Angelie. To Eshe. To Pamela. To Keneth. To Kwasi. To Mosi. To Riaz. To Tremus. To Joe.

  He brushed Joe's cheek. “I forgive you Joe.”

  He returned to his place and placed a hand on a shoulder each of Riaz and Tremus. “It is time to do what is right. Even if what is right causes great pain. The end has just begun.”

  Tremus hissed under his breath at Yanif, his upper lip curled, squeezing the beer bottle so the knuckles on his hands turned white. “We have warned you…”

  Yanif lifted his glass from the table. “God be with you always.”

  The Chama raised their glasses in salute and Yanif sat down.

  Around him the room filled with voices, laughter and the noise of cutlery and china, but Yanif did not eat.

  Tremus sat brooding next to Yanif staring out of the windows to the orange-lit city buildings outside. He took a slug of beer and a thought crossed his face. He lent behind Yanif and whispered with Riaz. Riaz nodded and smiled.

  “Riaz, look after Yanif,” said Tremus.

  Tremus stood up and walked to the far end of the table where he talked to Joe in hushed tones, waving his hand towards the outside. When Tremus finished, Joe left the room, a phone pressed to his ear.

  Tremus returned to his place and grinned. He put his hand on the back of Yanif's neck and whispered, “I told you Yanif. But you didn't listen. You need to remember what it means to have nothing.”

  Joe returned and nodded from the doorway.

  “Let's take a walk Yanif,” said Tremus. He tapped Riaz on the shoulder and lifted Yanif to his feet.

  “Are you OK Yanif?” called Eshe.

  “He's fine,” said Tremus. “It's just been a long day. He needs to get some air.”

  “I’ll come too,” said Eshe.

  Tremus scowled at her. “This is for us. Not for you. We’ll take care of him.”

  Yanif stood up and accompanied Tremus and Riaz meekly out of the hotel. Joe joined them and they walked out into lamp-lit Jeevanjee Gardens. The groups from earlier had left and the gardens were empty except for homeless sleeping on the grass.

  Kwasi and Mosi’s plain-clothes police escort was still around standing by their car. Joe walked over to them, said something and pointed to Yanif.

  As Joe was returning, Kwasi and Mosi came out of the hotel.

  The policemen had left their car and were walking along the path towards them.

  “What do they want?” hissed Kwasi. “We should go back inside before they get here.”

  Mosi pulled at Tremus, but Tremus stood still. “Let us hear what they have to say.”

  “You are Yanif?” said the taller of the policemen. He flashed his warrant card.

  Yanif nodded.

  “You need to come with us.”

  “What has Yanif ever done wrong?” shouted Mosi.

  “Some things are missing,” said the smaller policeman. “Things from the airport. We need to speak to him.”

  “Leave him alone,” said Kwasi. He hustled towards the policeman like a footballer disputing a foul.

  “Leave it,” said Tremus. He hauled Kwasi back, but Riaz stepped forwards instead and swung a right hook that punched into the air a distance from the policeman's face.

  Yanif caught Riaz by the arm. “Do not make it worse.”

  “I was trying to help,” said Riaz. “That’s all.” He winked at the policeman.

  “Do not play games Riaz,” said Yanif. “There will be a next time, and a next time and a next time before the night is out.”

  Yanif stepped forwards and put his hands out. The policeman took Yanif's arms and turned them behind his back, cuffing the wrists, then led Yanif to the waiting car.

  62. Into custody

  “Sit still and don’t talk.”

  Yanif looked up at the police officer standing over him. As he caught the officer’s eye, the man lashed out with his foot, catching Yanif in the back of the ribs.

  “And don’t look at me like that.”

  The man left and the cell door slammed shut. Yanif sat huddled on a grey, stained mattress that smelled of old urine and sweat, too strong to be masked by the artificial scent of industrial cleaner that came from the floor and walls. Above his head a single electric light bulb swung in the breeze that blew through the small barred window of the cell.

  The door opened again and the two men came back in.

  “Stand up,” barked the older of the two.

  Yanif lifted himself to his feet. His shoes had been taken from him and the cold concrete ached against his soles. As he stood he felt the bruises on his back and legs from the beating he had be given in the police van.

  The older man stepped into Yanif’s space and held Yanif by the shirt. “You mix with bad company preacher?”

  Yanif stared at him, confused.

  “Your friends at the Rift Valley Festival,” sneered the older officer.

  Yanif shook his head. “They are good—”

  The man’s fist caught him in the solar plexus and Yanif doubled up in pain.

  “Don’t make games. The KPF put my brother in hospital.”

  “I don't know about your brother.” Yanif squeezed to the side, anticipating the punch, but no blow came. “Or the KPF.”

  “We saw you. You, The Kenyan Prophet. Saviour of the Kenyan Nation, talking to people in the Popular Front. You can't deny it.” The man’s fist hit Yanif’s face and a trickle of blood came out of Yanif’s nose.

  Yanif’s blood dripped onto the back of the older man’s hand. He let Yanif go and wiped his hand on Yanif’s shirt.

  “Enough of this.” The older man turned to his partner. “Time for some payback.”

  The older man stepped aside and his colleague took over, laying punches and kicks into Yanif like a punch-bag. Yanif dropped to his knees under the barrage and as he knelt, he heard the brittle crack of bone as the man’s fist connected with his jaw. Then the room went black.

  Yanif awoke to a shower of warm acrid yellow water. The two men were standing over him, taunting him, debasing him.

  “Get up Prophet. Someone wants to see you.”

  Yanif pressed his hands against the wall and forced himself to stand. In the doorway stood Mr Chiumbo.

  “You are a man who makes bad enemies Yanif,” said Mr Chiumbo. “Your little friends at the Rift Valley Festival got three of my men injured.”

  Mr Chiumbo nodded at the older policeman and he drove his boot into the back of Yanif's thigh. Yanif crashed to the floor, gasping in pain.

  “I said I can be helpful to you Yanif,” said Mr Chiumbo. “Your Chama is making a lot of money. And you are dating pop stars. So now you owe me. Remember.”

  Yanif shied awa
y from Mr Chiumbo, incomprehension in his eyes. “I have no money. God wants me to be poor and to help others.”

  “Are you that stupid?” taunted Mr Chiumbo. “I hear about the donations to your Chama. And someone has told me you have bought a great ranch in the country.”

  Yanif shook his head and repeated, “God wants me to be poor and to help others.”

  The policeman brought his boot down hard on Yanif’s foot and Yanif screamed.

  “No one can hear you here,” said Mr Chiumbo. “You can tell me. These walls will not talk. You arrange for me to come in and it will be our little secret.”

  “But the Chama is finished,” said Yanif. “I will not help it any more.”

  Mr Chiumbo grabbed Yanif by the chin. “And I thought you could be useful. You’re just a snivelling dolt who knows nothing about anything.”

  Mr Chiumbo gestured to the older police officer. The man kicked Yanif behind the kneecap and Yanif folded to the floor.

  “Where are your crowds of supporters now?” Mr Chiumbo jeered.

  He turned to the police officers. “You’ve got a day. If you can’t get him to agree in twenty-four hours we’ll have to sort it out another way.”

  He pressed some notes into the officers' hands and departed leaving them to administer a final flurry of blows.

  “Give him some time to think about it,” said the older man.

  The officers left and slammed the door shut. Yanif curled into the corner of the cell trying to rub away the pain in his legs and jaw.

  63. Television report

  “Jill, have you seen this about Yanif?” Dr Hill asked his wife through the bedroom door.

  Jill was sitting in bed, a tinge of yellow in her thinning, sallow face. The sunlight filled the room with light and warmth, but Jill lay nestled in the bed, the duvet pulled tight around her. She shook her head.