Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  Tony chose a table outside and the others pulled up chairs and sat down. If the owner had decided on a rustic decor he’d certainly succeeded. The table was constructed of planed and unvarnished railway sleepers, while the chairs were the plastic stacking variety that had seen better days. The once shiny white surfaces were mottled and grey with age, the patina long since disappeared making them rough and brittle.

  A smiling Motswana popped out of the restaurant door like a jack in a box waving greasy, laminated menus which he distributed with all the panache of a top-class waiter in a five-star hotel.

  “You are English, yes?” He beamed at the foreigners.

  “I am,” Tony replied, “so are these two.” He pointed to Nigel and Charlie.

  Amie smiled at Kirsty who grinned at the waiter. “I’m from Oklahoma, USA and she’s from South Africa.” She nodded at Amie and laughed good-naturedly, taking the sting out of Tony’s remark.

  Oh, great start! thought Amie, but the restaurant owner didn’t appear to be at all fazed, rather he seemed delighted. He smiled at Amie, showing a mouthful of bright, white teeth. “Ah, yes, I bring many of my foods from South Africa. Good food there, the best. So, I give you all tonight the best food. You see my restaurant is the best in all of Gaborone.”

  “I’ll just have the omelette and a beer.” Tony handed back the menu, his tone curt and condescending.

  As soon as they had all placed their orders, the friendly African disappeared back inside.

  Kirsty grabbed Amie’s arm. “Would y’all look at that!”

  Everyone followed Kirsty’s finger. A truck laden with tyres trundled down the street. Perched precariously on top were at least five adults and a couple of children, along with their bundles of possessions. The body of the truck was so overloaded that only a couple of centimetres showed between the chassis and the road; one pothole would bring it to a grinding halt. The tyres bulged, the engine spluttered and several loud reports escaped from the hole-ridden exhaust pipe. The driver waved in time to the music blaring from his sound system and puffed cheerfully on his pipe as he weaved to avoid the rougher sections of the road.

  “That car, if you can call it that, would never be allowed on the roads in England,” remarked Tony, “totally unroadworthy.”

  “I thought you said you’ve been to other places in Africa?” Amie said.

  Tony turned to her. “So, what’s your point?”

  “Scenes like that are quite common on this continent, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course, but that doesn’t make it right. It’s a hazard! It shouldn’t be allowed!”

  Amie doubted that Tony had ever stepped foot out of England despite what he’d claimed. If he’d spent any time at all on the dark continent, he would know how hard it was for families who had no other form of transport, or truck drivers who desperately needed to earn a few extra Pulas (Botswana currency) offering passengers a ride.

  The food took over an hour to arrive and by this time Nigel had checked his Cartier watch five times, Tony had walked up and down the street peering into doorways and the two girls had run out of conversation. It didn’t bother Amie, she was accustomed to the unhurried African time and she was enjoying people watching: the schoolchildren in their brightly coloured uniforms – the only clothes they possessed besides their Sunday best – the flock of skittering goats urged on by a small barefoot boy that passed by, the two businessmen in smart suits, brilliant white shirts and dark ties carrying briefcases who picked their way along the broken pavement earnestly discussing some important matter, and the more up to date and less dented cars that drove past. A land of contrasts, where rich and poor were easily recognised, and the gulf between them enormous.

  As soon as they finished eating Amie turned to Tony. “So, we leave here tomorrow and go where?”

  “To Francistown. We’ll spend the night there then push on north the following day.”

  “But what about this other guy you said was joining us, won’t we have to wait for him?”

  Tony shrugged. “No idea when he’s coming, we could be wasting our time here when the villages we’re scheduled to visit are in Ruanga, the other side of Zimbabwe. We can’t keep them waiting.”

  Why was Tony in such a hurry? If he hadn’t realised that time wasn’t critical, especially in the rural areas, then he certainly wasn’t familiar with Africa. Amie’s dreams of being with Simon were evaporating fast. Tony didn’t seem keen on having anyone else in the group, least of all another older person, like her.

  “But how will this guy know where to find us? What will he use for transport? Maybe we should wait at least one more day,” Amie suggested.

  “That’s his problem I’m afraid, not ours.”

  Amie’s heart sank. Simon had mentioned being delayed for a few days but he was expecting to meet up with them in Gaborone.

  “Look Felicity, if he can’t be bothered to be here on time, it’s not our problem. I’m sure five of us can handle things, and those mosquito nets are taking up a lot more space in the trucks than I’d planned for. So one less person makes life easier.” Tony drained his beer and shouted for the bill.

  Amie had always worked hard to like people, never to judge on impulse, but this man, this self-styled tour leader was getting on her nerves. And the haste didn’t make sense. As soon as she had a chance, she was going to phone Simon, tell him the situation and get his ETA. At least with the tracking device in her phone, London would know where they were, and if the worst came to the worst and they had to leave before Simon got here, he would be able to catch up with them. She wasn’t sure if the little grey men in Whitehall would approve of her contacting him, but frankly she didn’t care. So, what if they’d erased all the numbers in her new phone, she knew Simon’s off by heart and as soon as they left the restaurant she would lag behind and give him a call.

  It was already dark when they set off back to Mon Repos and only a few of the streetlights were flickering, dimly illuminating the road, leaving long patches of dark areas along the broken footpath. They walked carefully, avoiding the damaged concrete slabs lying at different angles and heights.

  Once the rest of the party were out of range, Amie fished her cell phone from her bag and dialled in Simon’s number. Instead of the standard ring tone all she heard was a variety of clicks. She looked at the screen and frowned. She’d put in the 0027 code for South Africa, so what was the problem? She tried again and got the same result. Something was wrong, no voice message, no engaged tone, no disembodied person telling her to try again later.

  A third and fourth attempt were equally fruitless and Amie stared at the phone in dismay. She turned it over in her hand, did it work at all? It looked like a mobile phone, and she had assumed that it worked like one, but what if it was only a tracking device? No, that couldn’t be right. She tapped in a quick email to Simon at his work address and pressed send hoping he’d get it. She hurried to catch up with the group keen to test it out. At least she could send Simon another email from the phone or the posh new mini-laptop he’d given her so one of them should get through.

  The girls were already in their bedroom when she finally walked into the guest house. Kirsty looked up at her and smiled. “Tony suggested we get an early night, gonna start real early tomorrow.”

  “Good idea, but can you spare me a moment? I won’t be long.” Amie rummaged in her rucksack for her new toy. She’d packed it in the inside pocket but it was not there. She tipped the contents on to her bed and shuffled through them, it was not there either. Side pockets, every possible hiding place and still she couldn’t find it. “Has anyone seen my laptop?”

  Charlie’s long locks jiggled like seaweed; Kirsty just shook her head. Amie poked her nose round the door and asked the same question of the boys but all she got was blank looks. She groaned. Had someone taken it on the plane? Had the baggage handlers who’d insisted on carrying the luggage off the plane and dumping it on the stationary carousel stolen it? She’d been in the immigrati
on queue long enough for them to riffle through the bags. Had one of the aid workers taken a liking to it? Damn! Best laid plans and all that, now what?

  Kirsty was stuffing her own backpack with clothes but stopped to give Amie her full attention. “Still not found it?”

  “No.” Amie wanted to scream. The only device she had left didn’t appear to be working properly, but no one else would care that it was vital for her to be able to communicate. And she couldn’t tell them.

  “You have a cell phone, I mean a mobile, right?” Kirsty asked.

  “Of course she does. We all have,” Charlie interrupted.

  “Yes, I do, but I think there’s something wrong with it, it doesn’t seem to be working. I tried to call home earlier but I couldn’t get through. Could I have your number then I’ll try again.”

  “Sure. No problem,” Kirsty scattered the things she’d piled on her bed. “Ah, here it is, OK. Plus one for the States of course.” She reeled off the list of numbers which Amie punched in. She pressed the call button and seconds later Kirsty’s phone blared out a rap tune and she looked at the screen. “Mmm, no number showing but I guess that’s you?”

  “Can you answer it?” said Amie, but Kirsty just stared at the ringing and vibrating phone.

  Kirsty hesitated and Amie felt a flash of guilt. Was Kirsty a student whose international calls had to be paid for?

  “Don’t worry Kirsty, I’ll ask one of the boys.”

  “No, no, it’s OK Felicity,” said Kirsty answering the call.

  They exchanged a couple of sentences across the room and disconnected.

  “Thank you, Kirsty, appreciate that. Hate being cut off from the family.”

  “Why did you think it was broken?” Kirsty asked.

  “Uh, I dropped it earlier and it didn’t work when I called home, so I just wanted to try it again. Maybe it’s a good idea for us all to exchange numbers, have you done that already?”

  “Uh, no. But I agree, it would be sensible, don’t you think?” Kirsty looked to Charlie for guidance.

  “’S’pose so. I’ll ask Tony.”

  Ask him! Who was he that she needed to ask him something so basic? thought Amie. It was only common sense they had each other’s numbers logged in so they could keep in touch if they got separated. I’ll put their numbers in anyway, and the rest can do as they please.

  She went into the living area but while Nigel was lounging on the couch playing a game on his phone, Tony was nowhere to be seen.

  “Hi Nigel, can we exchange phone numbers, just in case – you never know.”

  Nigel looked annoyed his game was being disturbed. “Not right now,” he frowned at the screen, his thumbs moving like lightning as he tapped way.

  Amie collared Tony as he emerged from the guys’ bedroom. “I was suggesting that we all exchange numbers,” she said brightly. “It could be useful.”

  “Well, of course it would be useful. I’d planned to do that tonight.”

  The tone of Tony’s voice made it clear he thought she’d usurped his authority, just to make a point. But that hadn’t been her intention so she decided to ignore his remark. “OK, here’s mine,” she pulled her number up on the screen and offered him her phone.

  He didn’t take it. Instead he tore out a piece of paper from a notebook lying on the coffee table and after scribbling his own number handed it to her. “It’s more efficient just to have a list and then key them in all at the same time,” he insisted.

  Amie frowned. She peered at the number and logged it into her phone then re-checked her own number from her contacts.

  Charlie poked her nose out of the bedroom and scowled at Amie. “Don’t you know your own number off by heart?”

  “Uh, not yet no. New phone. New SIM. New number. I’ll get there eventually,” she laughed.

  “Interesting, haven’t seen one of those before,” said Charlie peering over Amie’s shoulder.

  “I haven’t either. It was a present. I got it just before I left.”

  “Ah! Rich daddy I guess.” Amie wasn’t sure if Charlie wanted her to hear the mumbled comment, but it simply confirmed that her new roommate didn’t like her. Was it only because she thought Amie had been born and brought up in South Africa with its shameful history?

  Even though it was dark and the mosquitoes would soon be whining round her ankles Amie decided to head outside to cool off. Between an antagonistic Charlie, a bullying Tony as leader, a disinterested public school boy in Nigel and a rather flighty but fun American in Kirsty, the group was already fractured before they even started. Didn’t they realise they all needed to lighten up, to cooperate?

  Amie paced up and down the small yard, keeping a sharp eye open for a night adder or anything else she might step on. It was unlikely in the centre of town, but chickens, or rather their eggs, could prove a tempting treat for many varieties of snake. As usual, she dithered, should she have a show down here and now? Or wait until something arose when they would need to help and support each other? No, let’s not wait until there was a crisis, she would speak out now. If she delayed it might be too late.

  Resolved, she marched back into the lounge where all four, far from having gone to bed as earlier suggested, were now peering at each other’s phones and entering numbers. No time like the present, she thought. “Would you all mind if I said something – please?” she began.

  Four pairs of eyes glared at her.

  “Sorry to disturb you all but I think this needs to be said. I may not have had as much experience as you in aid working – this is my first time after all ...”

  “Mine too,” said Kirsty. “Nigel, it’s your first trip too, isn’t it?”

  Nigel nodded. His eyes bored into her like a deer caught in the headlights.

  “But this was not quite what I was expecting …”

  Tony barked, “You might not have noticed Felicity, but we’ve not even started out yet!”

  “Yes, Tony, thank you. That’s exactly my point. Now maybe I’m the only one who feels the tension in this group, but we’re hardly a happy bunch of people all ready to pull together and enjoy the next few months.” No one said anything, no one moved. Amie was setting the elephant in the room loose and bringing it right out into the open.

  “Charlie, you appear to have a problem with me simply because you were told I was born and raised in South Africa, and you don’t agree with their politics in the past. I’m not sure how long you’ve spent further south, but I can assure you that some of the apartheid rules were relaxed in the 1980s and we’re now in the second decade of 2000. I don’t remember those ‘Whites Only’ signs, I’ve only ever seen them in the Kwa’ Muhle Museum in Durban. The country has moved on a long way since then and if anything, the new government is still busy practicing apartheid, only in reverse this time. So perhaps you could put your prejudices aside and learn about Africa as it is now!”

  She turned to Tony. “I am happy to follow your lead Tony as you’ve had so much more experience than the rest of us, but I’m not happy to be bossed around and treated as if I was in kindergarten. It wouldn’t hurt to be more friendly. We will all need to cooperate. We have no idea what we’re going to face out there and we need to stick together. How about fostering a team spirit instead of a military approach?”

  Tony glared at her but said nothing.

  “Nigel, I suspect you might be a quiet, private person,” Amie continued, “but it’s not exactly inclusive when you have your head stuck in a game on your phone all the time and hardly communicate at all. Aren’t you looking forward to a great adventure?”

  Amie opened her mouth to continue her speech but all of a sudden Nigel leapt to his feet, his cheeks red, his arms waving around. “What do you know?” he howled. “You all volunteered for this, you all wanted to come to this Godforsaken place and work with the poor and underprivileged, but I’m here under sufferance. If you had bloody awful parents like mine who freaked when I, the eldest and only son didn’t get into university, then refuse
d to follow father into the army, and ... and then shamed the family by wanting to become a chef – a job they see as no better than a servant – you might just understand why I seem a bit reluctant. I am reluctant. I don’t bloody well want to be here at all!”

  “Ah, that’s sad,” Kirsty put her arm round Nigel’s shoulders. He shrugged her off and flopped back down on to the couch and to everyone’s amazement burst into tears.

  “They were so incensed they threatened to disown me,” he burbled between sobs, “they were going to cut me off entirely, until mother came up with the idea of packing me off on this bloody awful trip to Africa.” He wiped his nose on a crisp, white handkerchief. “‘Make a man of you’ they said. So, that’s why I’m here and I’m not bloody happy about it and I’m not going to bloody enjoy myself and I’m not bloody well going to have a good time, so you can all sod off and just leave me alone.”

  There was absolute silence in the room. Charlie and Tony glanced at each other, eyebrows through the roof, and Kirsty took Nigel gently in her arms.

  “I’m sorry to hear that Nigel. That’s awful, and I really do sympathise with you.”

  So could Amie, she knew exactly what it was like to have your life decided for you, only in her case it was not family but the secret service of her own country.

  “I know who you are!” Charlie jumped to her feet. “You’re that chick who was on television, in that series – walking across the desert, for days on your own. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.”

  7 GABORONE TO FRANCISTOWN

  Amie gulped and forced herself to laugh. “Wow! Really! Sorry, but no! You’re not the only one to say I look like her but no it wasn’t me. Hah! Can you imagine? Sorry to disappoint you.”