“I’ll stay in the Hilux then,” Tony grunted.
Amie squeezed Kirsty’s arm. “Sure. I’ll sit beside you and help. It’s easy to get used to. All you have to remember is that the driver is always closest to the middle of the road.”
“Well, I’ll travel in the Hilux too,” Charlie announced and flounced off to climb into the front seat where Nigel had been sitting. He looked at her in amazement, before Tony indicated he should take a spell at the wheel.
It wasn’t as simple as Amie had imagined. What Kirsty had failed to mention was she’d never driven a car with a stick shift before, only automatics. Trying to explain how to use a clutch to change gears was not going to be easy – and it wasn’t. Amie demonstrated time and time again and then let Kirsty try for herself, but at each attempt, there were horrible grating and grinding noises from the gearbox, and after smelling the clutch burning, Amie told her to stop. It looked as if they were down to only four drivers after all.
“I’m so sorry Flea,” Kirsty was crestfallen. “Almost everyone in the States drives an automatic and I thought it would be the same here.”
“No, in Africa most cars have a gearbox.”
“A bit outdated then?”
“Not really, there is one huge advantage about not having an automatic car.”
“And what’s that?”
“You can push start it to get it going. With automatics you can’t. Believe me, when you’re a starving student, spending money on new car batteries comes way down your priority list.”
Kirsty looked puzzled. “Didn’t your folks pay for the upkeep of your car?”
Amie was on the point of saying that in England, youngsters were supposed to stand on their own two feet once they’d left school and moved away to attend college, before she remembered that South African youngsters often attended a university close to home.
“Uh, no. Not in my case,” she replied then abruptly changed the subject. “I’ve never been to America, everywhere is a long way from South Africa so what can you tell me about it?”
It was mid afternoon by the time they hit Francistown. Tony pulled off the road as they approached the first roundabout.
Amie scrambled to get out of the Land Rover. She was stiff from sitting for so long. Everywhere she looked she could see traditional African huts, their thin stick walls plastered over with thick mud, their wooden doors standing open, chickens pecking around in the well-swept yards inside the thin wire fences that separated one from another.
Tony leaned over the bonnet as he unfolded the map and peered at it. “Looks as if the camping ground is up this road and on past the hotel, just before the river.”
“What’s the name of the river?” asked Charlie, peering over his shoulder and rubbing his sweat-soaked shirt with the palm of her hand.
“The Tati. We’ve just driven over it, so it must curve round to meet the road in that direction.” Tony moved away from Charlie and pointed to the road he intended to take.
Hmm, what was that about? wondered Amie.
“Let’s take a drive through town first,” suggested Kirsty. “See what they have on offer.”
“Maybe somewhere cheap to eat,” Charlie added. “I’m starving and this might be our last civilised meal for goodness knows how long.”
Everyone climbed back into the vehicles and followed the road into the centre of town. There was a small shopping mall which even boasted a cinema.
“There sure ain’t much choice of movies,” remarked Kirsty as they drove past the single billboard.
“I’m amazed they have a cinema at all.” Amie smiled. She pointed at the advertisement. “That film is only a couple of years old.”
“I saw it in the States ages ago, it wasn’t very good. Wow, cool, look – they also have a KFC.”
Amie’s heart sank. She knew that the modern world would sooner or later engulf Africa but it would change all the things she loved about the continent. It would alter their way of life, promote materialism and destroy the laid-back living in harmony with nature of both the people and the land. The families would lead more comfortable lives, but at what cost? The need to go to work from nine to five, the pressure to excel in school and beyond, imposition of western ideas that potentially destroyed ancient cultures? She shrugged. It was no good getting depressed about it, there was nothing she could do to halt progress even if she could – and who was she to say what was best for the people? They would have to decide that for themselves.
While they were unpacking their tents and equipment at the camping grounds – after a visit to the KFC, much to Kirsty’s delight – it occurred to Amie that it wouldn’t be very easy to decode messages from Maddy; no privacy whatsoever. Before, she’d been alone in her flat, but now she could see there would be little opportunity for a quiet look at her phone, pen and notebook in hand, with the group living so close to each other. She would have to wander off into the bush which may also look a bit odd, anti-social at the very least, if there was coverage and if she could get through. Well, she might not have that problem too often; Maddy had been worryingly silent. And Amie still didn’t have a clue what she was looking for or listening to. Everything she supposed.
8 MPHO'S CELL PHONE SHOP
When Amie walked over to the central water tap, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, as if Maddy, far away in England, could read her mind. She fished it out and squinted at the message on the tiny screen. Missing you, it said, not heard from you in ages. Email me, I’ll be on line at ten tonight if you’re still awake? We’re on the same time zone. Love Maddy.
Amie’s mind changed gears. She needed clarity, needed to find out where Simon was and, much as she resisted the idea of being hijacked by her own government, she felt totally at sea in Botswana with a group of mismatched, disagreeable youngsters who were hell bent on a mission for which they appeared totally unsuited.
She filled her water bottles and strolled back to the tents. “I’m going to pop back into town – something I need to get from the chemist.”
Without giving anyone any time to comment, Amie grabbed her bag and hopped into the nearest truck. When Charlie approached as if she wanted to know why Amie was going into town, or worse, come with her, Amie pretended she hadn’t seen her. She put her foot down hard down on the accelerator and shot off onto the tarred road. She crossed the main Francistown Plumtree Road, made for Haskins Street and parked up by the railway line. It was not the most salubrious part of town but she had no intentions of hanging around for long. She locked herself in the car and whipped out her phone. The disconnected tone screeched in her ear when she tried the recall button. She opened her emails and squinted at the tiny letters.
It was difficult to make out the wording in Animal Farm under the flickering street lights, but she was ready with paper and pen as she peered at the one and only email. She scribbled down the message, expecting it to be another long rambling account of Maddy’s adventures as she backpacked around the world. Huh! This time Maddy was trekking around the Baltic countries, exploring Sweden and Finland. They’ll soon run out of places to send her, Amie thought uncharitably. What cupboard-sized office was she sitting in, in Vauxhall Cross in London?
Frustrated by the flickering light that made deciphering the message impossible, she slipped the phone into her pocket, drove back into Blue Jacket Street and parked up near a little coffee bar. An MTM sign – the major cell phone provider in these parts – hanging above a shop down the road caught her eye. She jumped out and hurried over. Mpho’s Emporium sold just about anything you might want stacked on floor to ceiling shelves behind the strong prison-like bars that stretched from the counter to the roof around the customer area. Mpho is taking no chances, thought Amie entering the shop and gazing around.
A smiling black face popped up from behind the counter. “I can help, yes?”
“I hope so. Do you sell mobile phones?”
“But of course. I have many here.” She dived out of sight below the counter top a
nd reappeared holding several which she laid out on her side of the metal bars.
Amie peered at them. None looked new, some in fact looked downright battered and worn but she guessed that was to be expected.
Mpho began a rapid quick-fire sales spiel extolling the virtues of each make as she held them up one by one to show Amie.
“I just need a simple one for calls and messages only.”
Mpho’s face fell. It was clear that she had expected to make a killing selling to a white woman, everyone knew they had more money than they knew what to do with.
“You no like this one?” She held out a late model Nokia that apparently did everything except the washing up.
“No, no really, I just need a spare phone. I’m going into the bush, so in case I er ... drop mine.”
“Then this one? It has a good alarm and look, it tell you the time in New York and in Moscow too!” Did Mpho really believe these were important features in a phone? Amie doubted she even knew where those cities were.
“How much?”
The price was outrageous, but money was not something Amie had to worry about right now. However on principle, she offered half the amount of Pulas Mpho was demanding, and the transaction went back and forth until both parties were satisfied. It flashed through Amie’s head that a few years ago she would never have considered bargaining to get the best price on stolen property. “And I’ll need a SIM card as well,” she added.
Busy wrapping Amie’s new phone in a sheet of old newspaper, Mpho’s face fell. “Ah! That is a problem. There are papers, forms to write on. Yes, that is difficult.” She paused and then her face lit up again. “But you can use the SIM card from your old phone, no?”
“No, not if I lose it,” Amie replied. “Surely you have a spare one somewhere that doesn’t need forms and maybe costs a little more ...?” She let the last few words hang in the air.
Mpho’s face registered a mixture of emotions. Amie had guessed correctly, the shop could supply them but while Mpho could deny any knowledge of selling a stolen phone, selling a SIM card was something else.
Her face lit up and disappearing from view once more she rummaged out of sight and produced an old phone too battered and bent even for her to try and sell, and with a dexterity that amazed Amie she extracted the SIM card, ripped open the newspaper and inserted it into Amie’s new phone.
“Do you have the number for the phone?”
“Ah,” that was obviously something that Mpho had not considered. “You wait, no go away. I come just now.” This time she disappeared through an archway to one side and was gone for several seconds. Amie heard raised voices from behind the curtain then Mpho reappeared a few minutes later wearing a broad smile. “It is all good now. I write for you the number.”
She removed a pen from where she had stuck it safely between the black curls on her head, tore off a corner of the newspaper and laboriously wrote down the number. Just as Amie thought she was about to finally get her hands on her new purchase Mpho stopped midstream. She peered at Amie as if she was having second thoughts. What if this white woman was a plant sent by the police to get her into trouble?
Amie leaned forward, placed her elbows on the counter and pushed her nose up against the bars. “See, I need this other phone so my boyfriend, you know he reads my messages and I don’t want him to ... he is not kind, and I have met a new guy who is ...”
Mpho smiled and nodded. “Ah, yes I understand, so you want ...?”
Amie leaned in even closer and then peered over her shoulder as if fearful her boyfriend would appear at any moment. “Yes, we need to arrange to leave together tomorrow night for Johannesburg. This is a big secret.”
Mpho hesitated again. “There are big problems if you sell without the forms.”
Amie dug into her bag and pulled out a bundle of Rand notes. Mpho’s eyes lit up like candles.
“I can pay you well. And maybe you can give me a few Pulas in change to buy a cup of coffee?”
Mpho’s hand snaked out between the bars and grabbed the cash. Her smile returned and after re-wrapping Amie’s purchase in the newspaper she slid the scribbled number across the counter. Deal completed to her satisfaction she added several prepaid phone cards which Amie had forgotten to ask for. The final cost was extortionate, but it was worth every thebe.
Amie walked out of the shop with a huge sigh of relief. Mission accomplished, now for a coffee and to find out what Maddy had to say.
The moment she was seated at a table in the corner as far from the door as possible, she unwrapped the phone and punched in the number from the torn newspaper under ‘my phone’ in the contacts list. She wasn’t too surprised to see that there were lots more contacts already listed on the old SIM, all African names from the dispossessed, previous owner. She deleted them. She really didn’t need to be reminded that whoever had owned the phone before had most likely not given it up voluntarily. The amount she had just paid for it was not even the price of a basic mobile phone in Europe.
She dialled Simon’s number. Her heart sank as his pre-recorded message came through telling her to leave a message. She briefly told him they were already in Francistown and heading north in the morning. How long was he going to be? She needed someone sane to talk to, missed him and she would switch her phone on twice a day, at 10 am and 6 pm to take calls. She mentioned she had a new number as the phone she’d received as a present couldn’t connect with him for some weird reason. Reluctantly, she switched the phone off. Even with a dozen prepaid cards she would have to be careful how she used them, who knows how long it would be before she could buy more?
She called up Maddy’s email on her other phone and between sips of coffee she referred to Animal Farm as she began to decode her message.
“Hey!” A voice in her ear made Amie jump and she swiftly covered up her notes. It was only a young girl in school uniform.
“Uh ... hi,” she replied. “Can I help you?”
“I’ve got that one at home too.” The girl’s finger landed on the book. “Are you studying for your A level exams as well?”
“No,” Amie was puzzled.
“Ah, thought you might be.” The girl slid into the chair opposite Amie and grabbed the book flicking through the pages. “It’s one of our set books for English Literature. We read it in class, and then we answer questions about the meaning. It’s really interesting don’t you think? A farm run by animals?”
“Uh ... yes.” Inwardly Amie groaned and glanced at her watch. If she’d only had a few things to buy in town, she’d been away too long already. The others would be wondering where she was and what she was up to.
But the young schoolgirl across the table was in no hurry and appeared settled for the night. “I’m Emily,” she said as she shook Amie’s hand. “Very pleased to meet you. Are you here on holiday?”
“No, just passing through on our way north,” Amie replied.
“Ah! There are more of you, then?” Emily looked round as if expecting the rest of the party to jump out of the woodwork.
“Yes, but I really must be off, they’ll be wondering where I am.” Amie drained the last of her coffee and began to tidy away her papers wondering when she would get a chance to decipher the rest of Maddy’s offerings.
“Hey Emily! Come,” a voice called from the doorway of the cafe. He added several sentences in what Amie guessed was Setswana, and Emily rose reluctantly to her feet.
“It’s been nice chatting to you. Maybe we will meet again?”
“Yes, that would be nice.” Amie smiled, politely sincere.
The moment Emily was gone, Amie quickly scribbled down the last of the message, and read it through several times before tearing it into tiny shreds and dropping them into a nearby bin.
Maddy’s message was both puzzling and unsettling. Keep eyes open, not all are who they seem to be. Don’t know which of the five are on opposing team. Report back who they speak to. Keep eyes open.
Amie gathered her things up, left the c
afe and made for the truck. She was thinking so hard that she reached the end of the street before realising that she must have walked past it. She turned and walked back, but couldn’t see the Land Rover anywhere. She looked up and down the road. She was certain she’d left it outside the feedstock store. A bolt of fear washed over her, she could only imagine what the rest of them, especially Tony, would say when she phoned to tell him the vehicle had been stolen. She was sure she’d locked it securely, but maybe she’d forgotten. With only one truck the venture was already doomed and they’d not even reached Ruanga.
Her fingers trembled while she searched the contact list on her SIS phone. Thank God we exchanged numbers, she thought, but before she could press the relevant button she heard her name called.
“Felicity!”
She looked up to see Tony sitting in the Hilux on the other side of the road. She looked both ways along the street before crossing, although there was no traffic in sight.
“Where the bloody hell is the Land Rover?” she shouted at him. “I left it parked right there and I know I bloody well locked it.”
“Charlie and I wondered what you were up to so we came to look for you. She’s driven it back.” Amie was sure that Tony was smirking in the gloom.
As she climbed in beside him Amie decided that attack was the best form of defence. “I’m old enough to go shopping on my own, you know!” She wondered how long he’d been there and how much he’d seen. Was he right behind her when she drove into town? It hadn’t occurred to her to check and see if anyone had followed her. Another brilliant piece of spy craft Amie she thought. And how often did people have spare sets of keys on them for one vehicle?
Nothing more was said on the drive back to their camp. Amie was furious with herself for forgetting the time, getting caught up with Mpho and Emily, and to make matters worse Tony seemed to be enjoying her discomfort. Maddy’s message had unsettled her. What did she mean by the other five of them? Did she think Simon was already here with her and if so, why wasn’t he? And was she suggesting that one of the aid workers was something other than an aid worker? On the other team? What team?
Cut for Life Page 8
