“I guess to talk to those men. I don’t feel at all comfortable,” said Nigel.
“I think we’d better keep up with him, it’s getting dark now and I can hardly see a thing,” said Charlie.
“Where’s Felicity?” said Kirsty.
“I think she went behind the trucks for a pee. She’ll follow on though, she’ll find us. Let’s go.” Charlie strode out at a brisk pace, followed by Nigel and Kirsty; wary but not wishing to get separated.
When they reached the hut at the far end of the village, it was clear a meeting was under way. Tony was standing in the middle and as the other three entered, the circle parted to let them in.
“You’re late!” a man with his head covered in a grey hood spoke from the back of the room. “We expected you yesterday.” He glanced at the new arrivals. “And there’s supposed to be five of you. Where’s the other one?”
“She’s been taken care of,” said another man from the shadows. “It’s all under control.”
“We don’t need complications,” the first man spoke up again. “And I hate loose ends. These two are surplus to our requirements – you know what to do. Bloody amateurs. Let’s get on with it.”
It was darker inside the hut than it had been outside, no cracks in the walls to let in air or light. It was hot and stuffy. Amie rolled onto her side and groaned. Her head was pounding, her neck sore and her arms and legs grazed where she’d landed on the rough floor. She levered herself into a sitting position and breathed as deeply as she could, trying to fill her lungs with the stale, stinking air.
Once her eyes had adjusted, she examined her prison. She was alone apart from a few old cooking pots and a pile of scruffy bedding. She heaved herself across the earthen floor and propped herself up against the wall. What was she going to do now? And where were the others?
11 MEETING THE CHILDREN
Unanswered questions swam around Amie’s head as she tried to focus on what had happened and why. Who the hell had knocked her out and locked her up? Would these simple villagers mean them any harm? It was rare for people to disappear in Africa, but not impossible. The people might be easy to dispose of but what of the vehicles, how easy would it be to hide them? Not difficult she decided. So, why would these rural folk be hostile towards a small party of aid workers? Maybe they weren’t aid workers at all and if not, what were they? Were they after guns? Perhaps once they’d searched the trucks and taken everything they wanted, there would be no reason to hold them. Would the villagers want the vehicles as well? Highly unlikely, except to use as chicken coops. It was doubtful that any of them could drive, but then again, not impossible. Were they being kept here as hostages in return for killing the little girl? Even though the accident had happened in a neighbouring country, they might well be the same tribe, have the same ancestors.
Too many questions with no answers to any of them. You’re wasting time Amie she told herself, concentrate on the immediate problem. The people in London would know where she was? Or would they? Had she sent that message to Maddy? Did Maddy get it? She concentrated hard, running back though her actions – cell phone in hand – type in message – press, no, no she didn’t remember pressing the send button before ... Shit! Where was the phone? She patted her pockets but there was nothing in them, no phone, nothing. Her only hope was that it might just continue to send out the GPS signal and they would know where she was, or at least where the phone was. I wonder how often Maddy and Co. check my position – once a day, twice?
It would be so easy for her captors to kill them and they would never be heard of again. What had happened to the rest of the group? How had they missed her being knocked out? She’d only been a few feet away. It had all happened so quickly and quietly. Her attacker was a professional for certain. She’d only got a brief glimpse of him, but there was something about him. What was it? She chewed her lip. She’d seen him before, more than once. Where? If only she could remember. She closed her eyes, ignoring her pounding head and retraced her steps for the last few days: a potted plant, a dark figure and yes, Sandton, the hotel dining room ... and yes in the plane! The same man was on the plane sitting at the back. Had he been following her? Had he stolen her laptop? Why? And Nigel mentioned there were other tracks in the dirt off the main road. She’d never even thought to keep an eye open, no idea she’d been a target. But what did he want? Why had he locked her up?
She shivered, fighting off waves of despair. She needed to escape; there was no point sitting there just waiting to meet an uncertain fate. She began to examine her surroundings more closely. She searched again in the multiple pockets in her cargoes but all she found was a couple of paper hankies. Even a super sleuth like you Amie, can’t dig your way through the walls of a hut with a tissue.
She sifted through the rags which she guessed were used as bedding, but that was all they were, pieces of material filled with old maize stalks. Next, she turned her sights to the battered and abandoned cooking pots, but they were all round, without handles she may have been able to wrench free. She tried for a while to dig grooves in the mud on the back wall, using the legs that stuck out of the bottom of the pots, but although she made some headway, common sense told her that it would take several hours to break through. After only a few minutes her nails were broken and bleeding. Although the construction looked as if it was made of dried earth and cow dung – the most common ingredients used in the rural areas – this rondavel appeared to have some sort of concrete in the mix. The mud didn’t crumble away as she’d hoped, it had possibly been constructed as a prison, though why here in the middle of nowhere, Amie had no idea. It didn’t make sense.
She persisted in her efforts to dig through, but apart from etching a shallow groove in the wall, all she succeeded in doing was to bruise her hands and numb her fingers. She sat back, pouring with sweat and, for the moment, admitted defeat.
Time passed slowly. Amie reckoned she’d been in the hut for several hours. Thankfully, it became cooler but then she heard the whine of mosquitoes on the hunt for blood and she groaned. She was only wearing a T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants. Normally she would change before dusk into a long-sleeved shirt to protect her from the mosquito bites. Now she was open season for any passing female anopheles.
She’d also noticed that the village was incredibly quiet. In her experience, Africans loved to talk, and most conversations were held at high volume, as if to prove they had nothing to hide and were not gossiping about their neighbours or plotting any mischief. Although she listened very carefully, even crawling across the floor to put her ear to the door, she didn’t hear anything, not even a crying baby. It was the strangest situation she’d ever encountered.
She examined the door carefully, running her fingers round the edges, poking and prodding to find some weakness, but even when she pushed it as hard as she could, it didn’t move at all. Again, as far as she could make out, the door was attached to a stout, wooden frame firmly bonded into the wall possibly with concrete. She sat back and stared at it, there was not so much as a little chink to peer through.
Exhausted, she sat back and put her head between her knees. Along with her throbbing head she now had a raging thirst, and her stomach rumbled reminding her she’d not eaten much since an early breakfast before they’d broken camp that morning. She tried to calculate how long it would take to die if she was given nothing to drink and the heat built up again the following day. When she changed position, her foot bumped against something she hadn’t noticed before. It was only an old piece of wood but maybe she could use that as a chisel on the wall.
She stood up and had just gone back to where she’d been trying to dig through the solid mud when she heard a noise above. Peering up she was surprised to see a bat flitting high up in the roof. It swooped down and circled over her head before disappearing out to begin its evening hunt. It gave her an idea. Feeling around in the dim light she gathered all the cooking pots together. She would build a tower and climb up.
The potjies
were made of solid metal, probably cast iron and each had three legs on the bottom, earlier she’d tried to use one of the legs on the smallest one as a digging tool, but maybe she could use them in another way. She attempted to jam the legs of the smallest pot into the medium one but they splayed out too far. It was not going to work.
Amie searched around in the dark feeling for anything else she could use. She felt round the walls then worked her way into the middle, but there was nothing apart from a couple of dried mealie stalks.
The digging and pot building and the disorientating feeling of being in the dark made her lightheaded. She sat back against the wall, feeling weak, dehydrated and hungry. Her head was still throbbing and her neck was sore. She closed her eyes but all she saw was swirling images of the good looking European who’d attacked her. She dozed on and off, unsure how long she’d been locked up. She was desperate for a drink. She tried to sleep, to pass the time and conserve energy. Maybe when it got light, she would be able to see a way to escape.
Amie had no idea how many hours had passed as she floated in and out of consciousness. She was aware it was daylight from the few shafts of light that filtered through the dusty thatch at the top of the wall. Then it grew dark again. Her stomach ached from lack of food, but worst of all was her raging thirst. Her tongue felt three times its normal size, her throat felt rough and raw and she had no saliva left to moisten her mouth. For long periods she felt disoriented, dizzy and weak.
Something bumping against the door startled her. It was followed by furtive whispering. She froze. Voices? Not animal, then. Several seconds passed in silence. Amie crawled over to the door and put her ear against it. Another thump, a shush and more silence. She felt around for the old piece of wood but couldn’t find it. She grabbed one of the mealie stalks in one hand and a cooking pot in the other; hardly weapons of choice, but it felt better to hold onto something. She dragged herself behind the door and shook her head to clear the fog which threatened to descend again.
There were more whispers and then a grating sound. Someone was pushing against the door. There were scuffles and a few grunts and groans.
“’ere, help me lift this end, it’s bloody ‘eavy.”
More grunts and sounds of effort and then something heavy fell onto the ground outside. Amie guessed it was the bar that had been holding the door closed.
It swung open a little and Amie took a deep breath of the fresh air and, weak as she was, prepared herself to attack the moment she could see what she was doing.
“You go in, you’re the eldest.”
“No, I can’t see a thing. Go on, you’re always saying how brave you are.”
“Yeah, well it’s true.”
Several seconds went by and then very slowly a head peeped round the door. From the height it must be a child or a very short adult.
“You got it wrong Fazia, there ain’t no one in here.”
“No, I’m sure this was the one. I saw him throw someone in here and then put the bar across.”
“Is she dead then?” A very young voice.
“How d’you know it was a girl? Might have been a bloke.”
“Look behind the door, maybe she’s hiding,” the younger voice persisted.
“Go back and stay with Winnie. We’ll sort this out. You two stay together.”
Amie heard footsteps run off.
“It’s too bloody dark, can’t see anything much. Here, give me that stick, I’ll poke around.”
Oh no, you don’t, thought Amie. She stepped out from behind the door.
“Told you. I was right, so there.”
In the faint light from the moon, Amie stared in amazement at the two figures that stood in front of her. While she guessed the taller one who’d crept inside was about twelve, the other looked a couple of years older, but still young enough to be at school.
“Thank you, you’ve just saved my life!” she gasped. “Water?”
The shorter girl scampered off and returned a few moments later with a gourd filled to the top.
Amie was still shaking as she clasped it in both hands and began to drink. Her head was still hurting and she felt faint from dehydration and lack of food. The cool liquid flowed down her throat. Don’t drink too much all in one go, she reminded herself. You’ll only make yourself bring it all up again. She leant back against the outside wall and stared again at her liberators.
“You speak English?” she stuttered.
“Yeah, o’course. That’s ‘cos we is English. We wus born there.”
“But ... but what are you doing here?” Amie stopped talking. She looked around fearful someone would hear them.
“They’ve all gone.” It was the taller of the two who replied. “Come on, we’ll find you some food. You must be bloody starving, yeah? We know where they store all the stuff.”
“Yes, I’m very hungry.” There was a cold hard knot at the bottom of her stomach as if she had been kicked hard just below the ribs. Perhaps she had, he might have done more than knock her out. Who knows what else he’d done while she was unconscious. She shuddered. Two pairs of hands grabbed her firmly round the waist and supported her as she tottered over to one of the other huts. Once inside the door, she gasped. There were two other young girls sitting inside, huddled together. Their eyes glinted in their black faces, and a weak shaft of moonlight shone on their curly black hair.
The elder girls helped her sit down and then dished up some cold mealie pap from a pot with their hands, slapping it onto a tin plate and handing it to her. It tasted awful but Amie didn’t mind, by now she was ravenous, prepared to eat anything. She tried not to wolf it down, knowing it would only cause more discomfort in a couple of hours.
At last she put the plate down and turned to look at her angels of mercy. “I really owe you girls – big time. Who are you? What are you doing here?”
For several moments there was silence then the oldest girl spoke up. She didn’t look at Amie but replied in a whisper. “We were sent here, by ... our parents.”
“To have it done, and then, when we’re well again, we can go home,” another voice continued.
Amie shook her head. She heard one of the younger ones whimper softly in the darkness and a sob from the child sitting next to her. After several seconds of silence, Amie said, “My name is Felicity. What are your names? Do you all speak English?”
“Yeah, course we do.” The taller of them spoke up. “Me name’s Linda, and she’s Fazia.” She pointed to the girl Amie guessed was about twelve years old. “Them two little ones is Maisie and Winnie.”
“Pleased to meet you all, but not like this, of course,” Amie responded. “So tell me, I still don’t understand.”
It was Linda who replied. “It wus going to be done in England. They had a woman from Africa come to do it and we wus all gathered in this big house and there wus going to be a large party.”
“There were dozens of us,” Fazia cut in. “Maybe fifty of us. And then the police burst in and they grabbed the woman, but she ran off and no one saw her again.”
“Our mums were so mad,” Linda rushed in, keen to continue the story. “They wus shouting and screaming at the police ladies and one of them wus taken away too for hitting her over the head wiv a stool. There was blood everywhere ...”
One of the younger children crept forward, keen to tell what she had seen. “Then the amb’lance people came and there was a big fight.”
“Everyone was fighting and this huge, big, policemen shouted ‘e would take everyone to jail and lock ‘em up if they didn’t stop,” Linda announced with some satisfaction.
Fazia continued her story. “My mum grabbed me and took me out the back way through the kitchen so they wouldn’t catch us, and we ran down the alley, but the fighting went on ...”
“Hey,” Linda interrupted Fazia, “you can’t tell this bit of the story ‘cause you wasn’t there. I have to tell Felicity this bit. Then, the fuzz went round all the mothers and asked for all their names, only me mum re
fused to give hers and this policeman got real angry. So, then they took everyone outside and we had to get into these big vans.”
“I went in the big van as well,” piped up Maisie. “It was dark and smelly and had metal seats that hurt my bum.”
Linda pushed Maisie to one side, determined to give her version of events. “They kept us in the cop shop for hours and hours and it was real boring. They had all these stupid posters on all the walls telling you what you can and can’t do and telling us that it wus a good thing to snitch on yer neighbours like what they might be doing wrong. And then they said we could all go home after our mums signed some papers.”
“But I still don’t understand,” Amie said. “Why would the police come and break up a party of mothers and children? Did you know the lady they took away?”
“No, she was from Africa,” Fazia replied. “She’d come to do it.”
“Do what?” Amie’s mind raced. What could they possibly be talking about?
Linda sighed and looked at Amie as if she was totally dim. In exasperation she spat out, “She wus gonna cut us, of course, what do you think!”
12 A HORRIFIC DISCOVERY
“Cut you?” For a second Amie’s mind went blank and then it finally dawned on her. “They were going to circumcise you? No, that’s not the right word, female genital mutilation, that’s it. No! Really?”
There was another whimper from the Winnie, a tiny delicate-looking child with enormous eyes who appeared to be the youngest of the group. “It’s gonna hurt,” she sobbed, crawling into Amie’s lap.
“Not if we can get away. But we don’t know how ...” Linda’s voice trailed off.
“To do that to a woman in England is illegal,” Amie explained slowly. “So, I guess your mothers sent you out here so it could be done in Africa?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
There was an uneasy silence for several moments, then Amie asked, “Why are you all here in this one hut in the middle of nowhere? Where have all the villagers gone? When we arrived yesterday – at least I think it was yesterday ...” she rubbed her sore neck, “there were a few people here, but now everyone has gone.”
Cut for Life Page 11
