The European watched from the doorway of the Gents toilet and smiled to himself.
5 THE AID WORKERS
Amie settled herself on the plastic cafe chair, delved into her bag and flipped through the pages of Animal Farm as she sipped her coffee. It was years since she’d last read it. She was miles away in the land of Napoleon, Major Pig, when a hand tapped her on the shoulder. She was so startled she dropped the book on the floor. A frazzled-looking young man squatted down to retrieve it.
“I’m guessing you’re Felicity. I hope you’re Felicity!” He stared at her.
Dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt advertising a Rolling Stones comeback concert from years before, sweat was coursing down his ruddy face and the young Englishman, probably in his early twenties, was out of breath.
“Yes, that’s right, Felicity Mansell, how do you do?” She extended her hand, accepting the book in the other. “And you must be ... one of the people I’m supposed to meet.”
“Yes, I’m Tony.” He pumped her hand. “I’m late because the truck broke down just outside the city and it took forever to get help.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Amie drained her coffee cup and popped Animal Farm into her backpack along with the water bottles. The last two went into her outside pockets – you could never have too many water bottles!
“Just a faulty battery. They bump started it so I could get here to pick you up, but I’ve had to leave the engine running so please hurry.”
Amie nodded, left some Pula notes on the table and followed him into the heat. The old Land Rover Defender double cab had certainly seen better days: dents and scratches all over it and string holding the front bumper in place. Quite clearly the British Government or the European Union or whoever it was that had commissioned this jaunt, didn’t care too much about their workers. Safety first, huh!
She climbed into the front seat, throwing her backpack on the floor at her feet and noticed there was no air conditioning. She wound down the window on the passenger side to allow the hot air to blow through.
“We’ll be one night in Gaborone, heading north tomorrow.” Tony announced. “We’re supposed to leave immediately, but now we’ll have to get a new battery for this heap of junk before we take off.”
Amie nodded, the last thing they needed was to be stranded in the middle of nowhere in this heat, especially if their water supplies were low. “Only the one truck?”
“No, two. The other’s a Hilux but Kirsty and Nigel took it to the store to stock up on supplies.”
“So, what’s the set up then?” Amie was curious to know what to expect.
“We have a list of villages to visit,” Tony paused as he swerved to avoid a cow ambling across the road. “They got aid money so we need to see what they’ve done with it.”
“How long do you think it will take? Is there a time line? Sorry, to ask so many questions ... erm ... Tony, but my briefing was just that, very brief.” Amie chuckled.
“Who knows, but most of us are scheduled to be out of Europe for six months to a year so we’ll cover as many villages as we can, and if there are problems, then we’ll stay as long as necessary to help fix them. I doubt if there will be problems, but along with the water, maybe we can set up schools, or teach basic health practices – do what we can for them, anyway.”
“How many are there in the party?”
“There are four of us, with you five, and there’s some old geezer joining us in a day or so.”
Amie suppressed a giggle. Old geezer indeed, wait till she told Simon that’s what they called him. By the look of Tony, curly red hair sticking out at right angles from his head, he was fresh out of university and she guessed the rest of the group would also be young. While she was mentally debating whether to lie about her age if she was asked, the truck came to a sudden stop in a garage forecourt.
“I’m going to leave her here. They said they had a new battery they could fit, and it’s not too far to the guest house. Wait here, I’ll go and see if they got one.” Tony hopped out of the truck and disappeared inside a workshop to the rear of the petrol pumps.
Amie checked around. This was so much more Africa than Johannesburg or most of the South African towns. She smiled at the signs over the row of shops on the opposite side of the street. ‘Baboloki cuts your Hair in a flash’ was perched precariously over the front of the barber shop, next to a giant pair of vicious looking scissors. ‘Relax with Topologo good messages.’ Amie chuckled. Even the sign on the beaten earth garage forecourt made her smile ‘Fresh petrol daily.’ I wonder if people travel long distances, or they believe petrol goes stale like bread?
A few minutes later Tony was back. He thumped his fist on the bonnet and pointed up the road. Amie climbed out, dragged her backpack off the floor and threw it over her shoulders. If she’d been expecting him to offer to carry it for her, she’d have been disappointed.
She followed him up the road as he strode several steps ahead of her not once looking back to see if she was behind him. All of a sudden, he stopped and turned to face her. “Are you South African? You don’t sound South African.” His brow furrowed his tone not so friendly any more.
“Who said I was?” Amie snapped back.
“They mentioned it in the aid office in London,” he replied. “I’ve been on other trips to backward countries and never come across any volunteers from South Africa. Is this a new thing? Sort of making up for apartheid then?”
Amie’s eyebrows shot up. Stay cool, Felicity Mansell, stay cool. “Well, yes, must be a new thing. I’m sure you’re right!”
Oh dear, he thought of Africa as backward? That’s how he described Africa? Making up for apartheid? She lengthened her stride and pushed past him on the narrow walkway alongside the road.
He shrugged and set off again, easily overtaking her once more until he turned into a small guest house named Mon Repos. How ironic, thought Amie following him across the bare front garden, round the grey, breeze block structure to the back where a flock of chickens were pecking in the dust.
Tony pushed the old, cracked, wooden door open and barged in ahead of her. He boasted that he’d eventually found her at the airport after all the dreadful problems with the truck.
It was dark in the room after the bright sunlight outside and sun spots danced in front of Amie’s eyes as they adjusted to the low light. A girl with long dark hair who looked positively anorexic unwound her spider-like limbs from the sofa and stood up to greet Amie.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte, but everyone calls me Charlie. And you must be Felicity.”
“That’s right, nice to meet you.” Amie took the outstretched hand and shook it.
“Were you waiting for ages at the airport? Bet you were worried no one would come, it must have been terrifying. I mean, a strange place and all.”
“Not really. It wasn’t a problem, these things happen.” Amie grinned and dropped her rucksack on the floor. “I had a book to read and a nice cup of coffee while I was waiting.”
“So, Tony, how long before the truck is fixed?” Charlie flung herself back on the couch after mopping the sweat off her brow with a multi-coloured, tablecloth-sized handkerchief.
“He says he knows where he can get a new battery so we should have it by tomorrow. It’s too late to start out tonight anyway.” Tony wandered over to grab the kettle, then went out to fill it from the standpipe in the yard outside.
“Tony told me there were four of us in the group, well, five with me. Is that right?” Amie sat down in an old arm chair which reminded her of one her grandmother had once possessed, large, chintz covered with sagging cushions and splits in the fabric which allowed the stuffing to escape.
“Yeah, you’ll meet the other two later,” Charlie examined her nails, “damn another one broken!”
“And where are you all from?” Amie wanted to know as much as possible about the people she may be living with for the next six months.
Charlie puckered her brow and counted on her fingers
. “Three of us are from England and one from the States. So, why are you joining the group then?” Did Amie detect a slight edge in Charlie’s voice?
“I guess the same as you. I signed up for voluntary work overseas.”
Amie cursed Maddy and all her wretched little grey men. Why hadn’t she been given background stuff on these people? They hadn’t provided her with any cover story, so she’d have to wing it as best she could without giving too much away. It was always safer to say as little as possible anyway, so she wouldn’t have to remember any lies.
“Tony said you’re from South Africa, right?”
“Uh, yes, further south.”
“So why do you want to help other African countries. Don’t they have a lot of poverty down where you live? I hear lots of people still don’t have drinking water and electricity. Not like we have in Europe, so couldn’t you do stuff in your own country first?”
“Oh, well. It’s not quite the same,” Amie began, hoping she wouldn’t put her foot in it and alienate Charlie who seemed only a fraction friendlier than Tony. “In my country the local councils are installing heaps of infrastructure although it’s taking a long time. If the economy holds up there’ll be enough money to do it all. Overall as a continent, Africa is the richest in the world.”
Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Wow! I didn’t know that!” Maybe she really didn’t but she didn’t sound convinced. “Well, we’re here to do as much for them as we can. Even if people think they’re rich, from what I’ve seen, they most certainly are not!”
Amie groaned. She must learn to keep her mouth shut.
Tony returned with the kettle and just as they were finishing their coffee, the second truck pulled up outside. While Charlie was tall and skinny as a straw, Kirsty was the exact opposite: short and tubby with dirty blonde, shoulder length hair and big blue smiling eyes.
“Hi there! Good ta meetcha!” The twang in her southern American accent bounced round the yard. At least one of them seemed friendly.
The other new arrival was Nigel. He nodded at her, looked her up and down and plonked himself on the old battered chair. His expensive-looking clothes spoke more of an English public school education; wealthy parents perhaps. He muttered a lot, didn’t look anyone in the eye and looked as if he’d rather be on a polo field, or riding to hounds than stuck in the middle of Africa on a fool’s errand.
Nigel didn’t seem to have any passion for voluntary work. He appeared morose, introverted and not the slightest bit interested in Africa or in helping anyone; so why was he here?
Kirsty chattered on about their adventure in the general stores, and it lightened the inexplicably loaded atmosphere as she recounted the problems they’d had buying the supplies. “Everything we asked for they didn’t have,” she laughed. “So, I drew a picture of it and then pantomimed eating or lighting a stove or sleeping and you know, I’m sure they understood me but were just having us on. It was just too funny.”
“Glad you thought so,” muttered Nigel, “lucky we weren’t thrown into prison with your antics. It was most embarrassing.”
Kirsty laughed at him. “Well, you weren’t much help were you, Nigel darling? Don’t be such a bore honey, we got what we needed, didn’t we? In spite of my antics as you call them. If I’d have left it up to you babe, we’d have come back with nothing.” She was trying hard to keep it light but the atmosphere was so charged that she just glared at Nigel. “I’m going to go do my nails,” she huffed and flounced off into the next room.
Amie sighed as she glanced round at the mismatched bunch. They were all so much younger than her, in years and attitude; and so intense. You wouldn’t think they were heading off on a great adventure to help the world’s needy, more like a journey to hell the way they were behaving. She couldn’t wait for Simon to arrive.
“Shall I start supper?” she asked brightly, changing the subject. Shrugs from Tony and Charlotte indicated their lack of interest in the subject and Nigel ignored her altogether. She decided that she needed to eat and didn’t care what they wanted, so she rummaged in the boxes of supplies that had been simply dumped on the table. A couple of cans of beans, some sausages and a tin of potatoes would do the job. A cursory search in the kitchenette produced a tin opener and she was on the verge of putting it all together when Tony’s stentorian voice rang out.
“No! Don’t do that! I’ve decided. We’ll eat out tonight, save the supplies for when we’re in places where we can’t get food.”
“OK, great idea!” Amie replied cheerfully. She put the tin opener back in the drawer, the cans back in the shopping bags and sat back down on the chintzy chair. “So – how long have you all been here?”
Charlie spoke up first. “Tony and I flew in from London a few days ago, he had to source the vehicles and get most of the supplies in. Nigel arrived the day before yesterday, wasn’t it, Nigel?” She looked over to where he was flicking through a tattered old magazine featuring wildlife on the cover.
He just shrugged and didn’t answer.
“And Kirsty?” prompted Amie.
“Kirsty flew in from Oklahoma yesterday and she found her own way here. Only Tony and I were recruited in London and the others over the internet.” Charlie’s tone told Amie she didn’t really approve of hiring people long distance. “So, we’ve only met each other here in Botswana.”
Amie wasn’t sure if that was a dig at her for having to be fetched from the airport and causing them all so much trouble, but she said nothing. Surely aid worker parties were supposed to be a happy bunch of young people, all eager and willing to help, have fun and get on together, but this crowd, she couldn’t imagine a more miserable lot. Maybe they were not who they were pretending to be – she wasn’t for a start she was playing a part. But they were all so young, could they be qualified professionals, undercover agents or professional assassins? Then Amie remembered Jonathon, he’d spent the first year out of university being trained; maybe they were older than they looked. Or cannier, or even cleverer at disguising their real personae. She decided to wait and keep her eyes open.
She tried again. “Where do you want me to sleep?” So far all she’d seen was the one small sitting room with two sagging sofas, a couple of easy chairs and a coffee table. To one side was the small kitchen area, if you could call one cupboard, a counter with a kettle, a two-ring stove, and a curtain pulled over the front housing a shelf with two saucepans and six plates, cups and a pile of mismatched cutlery, a kitchen.
Two doors led off the main room; one at either end.
“Girls in one room, guys in the other.” Tony pointed in the direction Kirsty had taken.
“And the bathroom?”
“Outside, first door on the left. At least there’s plenty of hot water.”
“That’s because no houses can be built without a solar panel on the roof for heating water,” Amie told him.
“Really?” Tony looked surprised.
“Since 1981, if I remember correctly.” Amie smiled.
“Just goes to show how well people do if they don’t suffer under apartheid.” Charlie burst her bubble. “How was it, growing up in a country where they had ‘Whites Only’ signs plastered all over the place?”
For a moment, Amie was caught off guard. Of course, they thought her South African, while the truth that she’d been born and raised just outside London and had grown up with no knowledge of apartheid was something she had to keep to herself. She considered her answer.
“I guess we didn’t wipe out as large a percentage of the indigenous population as they did in North America, Australia and New Zealand,” Amie shot back.
“Huh! Like that’s an excuse.” Charlie was obviously spoiling for a fight. “Luckily,” she added, “there is total integration in England where I come from. But I guess you wouldn’t know anything about people mixing together, respecting all customs and cultures.”
Amie’s personal opinion was that Britain had gone overboard by sublimating its own customs and cultu
re to accommodate immigrants, but she held her tongue. Now was not the time.
“Kirsty!” bawled Tony, “we’re ready to go out and eat, you coming?”
“Sure thing, Tony, but can y’all just give me a minute? I can’t find my nail polish.”
It was obvious to Amie that Tony was the leader of the group and she wondered what would happen when Simon arrived. She wasn’t looking forward to days of posturing with two alpha males in the group. Simon was polite and easy going, but already Tony was getting under her skin.
Kirsty reappeared pulling her hair up into an Alice band, oblivious to the tension in the living room.
“Y’all making for the Ritz or the Waldorf?” she giggled at her own joke.
Tony raised his eyebrows. “Hardly,” he replied.
No sense of humour, thought Amie. This is not going to be a fun ride.
6 NIGEL BREAKS DOWN
Tony marched out in front while Charlie and Kirsty strolled behind. Nigel brought up the rear, shuffling along like a rebellious teenager. Amie dropped back a bit to walk beside him.
“Where are you from, Nigel?” she asked, giving him a big smile.
He glanced at her. “The UK.”
“Ah, England, I guess. Whereabouts?”
He shrugged, peering at a battered road sign across the way – anywhere but at her. “Surrey.”
“Nice part of the country.” She nodded. This was like pulling teeth from a chicken.
“How would you know?”
“I’ve been to England, spent quite a bit of time over there, actually. We South Africans travel quite a lot you know. That’s probably why my accent is barely discernible.” It was best to cover these traces now; she was bound to slip up at some point, divulging information she shouldn’t have if she’d always lived six thousand miles away.
“Oh,” he muttered, scratching his ear and stopping to peer at the hands of his Cartier watch. Amie paused to wait for him, but he showed no signs of wanting to walk with her or ask her about her experiences in England. She shrugged and continued on to the small restaurant situated down a side street off one of the concentric circles that formed part of the design layout of Gaborone.
Cut for Life Page 5
