by Beth Kean
Beth Kean
Esther's Well
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Table of contents
Esther's Well
Copyright.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
A message from the author.
From the same author.
Esther's Well
A BWWM Short Story
by
Beth Kean
Copyright.
Layout Copyright © 2016 by PMO Publishing. Published 2016 by PMO Publishing. Ebook design by PMO Publishing. Cover art by PMO Publishing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the authors permission.
Chapter 1
Cracked and hard baked red earth crumbled beneath her feet as Esther paused to adjust the water container balanced securely atop her head. An unforgiving sun beat down, the heat rising from the ground almost as strong as the rays that assaulted her face. But the resilient girl didn't bother with such basic hardships, not even hardship she acknowledged, more an inconvenient fact of life. Real hardship was the lack of water, the drought that had burned every blade of grass surrounding her rural village had raged for the better part of a year, the previous season the rains had failed, and as one, her community had dropped to their knees and prayed.
But their prayers had not been answered – Yet! she thought as she continued the daily trek, our Lord works in his own time... not ours, he will bring the rain when he is ready. Every day she made the long journey across the burning plains, her final destination, a tributary that flowed into the Ugandan stretch of the River Nile before it disappeared up into South Sudan on its journey north to the Egyptian city of Alexandria and the Mediterranean Sea.
Of course, even such basic geography would have baffled young Esther if she had ever considered giving such nonsense a seconds thought. Her life revolved around simple survival. Higher education, geography, psychology, philosophy, politics, none of these things mattered to her, and the pursuit of such knowledge she was happy to leave to those fortunate enough to know from where their next meal would come!
“I finished school, what more is there!” a statement that she made with pride, it was her greatest achievement, she had reached her goal, she didn't need to set another... higher! I can add up and take away, I can read and write, I speak English and Luganda... what more could I possibly need!
And in a way... her reasoning was sound. In the village she was considered an oddity, she had reached a level that few had ever dreamed existed, and she discovered her talents in demand as an elderly population found themselves forced into a world that they had never imagined could ever be when they had been Esther's age, they now faced a world of technology and computers, but most confusing and frightening, they faced the pale skinned aid workers who insisted on jabbering away in their strange language, a people who lived comfortably with their electronic gadgets and appeared to pity those who had limited knowledge of what they took for granted. Esther found herself in demand as a translator and general buffer, she could talk to the foreigners, she understood their language, she understood their customs.
“It earns me a few extra shillings,” she defended when accused of having a softer life than most, “But those shillings don't help me to walk to the river, they don't make my land more fertile, they don't make my maize grow any stronger or faster, in every way I face the same hardships as everyone else here.” But regardless of how carefully she explained, she still couldn't shake off the aura of privilege that followed her in the community.
“They are being really unfair,” she would sigh as she looked at the small wad of one thousand shilling notes that she had earned, “I can't eat it... can I!” Money equalled luxuries. “But money can't buy water, and that's what I need most.” Only the long trek satisfied that need, and there was no escape from that fact.
In addition to her alleged wealth Esther also stood out in her community for another eccentricity; at the advanced age of twenty three – she was still single and childless. Most girls in the village of a similar age had been married for as long as ten years, and birthed at least a couple of kids, yet Esther had rebelled. She had no shortage of suitors, so lack of opportunity had never been a factor, in fact, her stubborn resistance had been taken as a personal challenge by several of the villages more senior and important men, all considerably older than herself, one even fifty years her elder, yet Esther had never considered rejection on grounds of age alone. She couldn't explain, even to herself, she didn't know why she delayed, why she waited and retained her purity with such obstinate determination. Maybe God has a plan for me, she would tell herself, but I do know that when I meet the man that I will marry... I will know him instantly, I'm sure of that.
“But that is not something to worry about right now.” she told herself as she began to pass a constant stream of women returning from the river laden with heavy containers, “Right now, just surviving is the goal.”
Chapter 2
Peter Ramsay wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow and looked around the small compound that he was beginning to call home. At the age of thirty eight it was a million miles from where he had expected to be when he graduated with a degree in economics. Manchester born and bred, he shook his head slowly, and not for the last time mumbled. “How the hell did I end up here!”
Brian Cosgrove, the camp manager chuckled behind him. “So it has finally happened... Hey guys, Mr Optimism finally clicked.” he called aloud provoking a sarcastic if slightly muted cheer from the small group of hardened aid workers. “It took longer than most, but I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard that statement.”
Peter grinned, they were a closely knit group, sarcasm was the accepted humour in the camp, dry wit and the occasional double entendre thrown in for good luck. His rose coloured glasses had dimmed to the same hue as the invasive Ugandan red dust, but he had hidden the fact from his co-workers, his love affair with Africa would certainly continue, except now it would be a more worldly love, less coloured by naivety and the romantic fallacies fostered by Hollywood.
Northern Uganda wasn't his first posting in Africa, but it was his first in the bush, or on the Savannah as he preferred to say when calling friends and relatives back home, not that there was a great deal of actual bush left, what hadn't shrivelled to nothing in the unbearable heat had been hacked down for firewood, all that remained was scrubby and stunted shrubs that crackled underfoot as he walked, a billion persistent flies... and dust. Every variety of dust, the gritty kind that found its way into food just like sand in sandwiches on the beach through to the ultra fine particles that drifted almost unseen on the air, filling the eyes, drying the mouth, inducing a dry cough that only whisky seemed to clear.
And so now Peter sat under the cover of a canvas awning and attempted to strip another days accumulation from his throat, a cold bottle of imported Kenyan Tusker sat beside a stiff scotch, the fleeting African sunset had just begun, daylight to utter darkness in less than twenty minutes, another working day had ended... now he could relax. I wo
uld relax better if I didn't feel so bloody guilty, I’m a have in a world of have nots, regardless of how many different ways I can sugar coat the fact. He allowed his mind to wander back to the morning, his job was to monitor, to be the eyes and ears of those above him in the organisation, those that had already served their time in the slums or ghettos, the war zones or sites of natural disasters, those that had become hardened, almost immune to the suffering of others. The bosses who had done enough to have earned a break from hardship. He didn't resent them, now that he had tasted first hand, now that the romance had been peeled away to expose the reality, how nature conspired with corruption to basically dump on the most vulnerable of all people, widening the already massive gap between the haves and have nots, corruption spreading like a festering sore, conscienceless men who stole food from the starving, men who stole hope, men who stole even the lives of many.
Peter shook his head, he had listened to the conversations that took place around the long table where he currently sat, he had heard the tales. At first he had denied, closing his mind in disbelief, he denied that anyone with even the smallest trace of humanity could stoop so low. He travelled around the villages, he saw the people at greatest risk, not quite skeletal stick figures, but bloody close, he secretly admitted, a year of drought had decimated food stores, grains saved for planting had been ground and eaten out of desperation, future security sacrificed for short term survival. “Famine looms,” he had been told... and he believed. Yet food aid destined for the desperate souls that he witnessed every day found its way into the warehouses of unscrupulous merchants, sold on the black market, often sold openly without fear of retribution. Survival donated by a sympathetic First World snatched from the mouths of those who needed it the most.
“But food isn't the biggest issue right now,” Janice Harper held court, Peter listened, he respected the woman, hell, he would even have tried it on with the athletic blonde if she hadn't made it abundantly clear that her tastes were restricted solely to the XX chromosome half of the world’s population. When she spoke, people listened, she had a personality that drew followers to her cause, a natural leader.
“Bloody serious issue!” opinioned Monique, everyone’s favourite Belgian. “Tell me, when was the last time that you ventured out into the field. We are one step away from a disaster to equal Ethiopia in the eighties.”
“Agreed,” Janice nodded, “But you seem to be missing my point here, “Water is the deciding factor. Even if we reach Ethiopian levels here, we can just about get enough food distributed to maintain the population... but if the rains fail again!” She raised an eyebrow and scanned the faces that had all turned to her. “That's the greatest gamble ladies and gents... Nature. Are we going to rely on Mother Nature to relent and let the rains fall, or are we going to assume that she will be a spiteful bitch and make our own plans!” Her rhetoric roused a few quiet chuckles but every mind considered the facts, she spoke a truth that many had attempted to deny, admission would have led to despair, now she had opened the door and invited the unwelcome guest inside.
“So what's the solution?”
Peter had quickly weighted the economics of her statement, clearly she looked for ways to get water to the remote areas, and that would be a logistical impossibility, unless they could lease tanker lorries and transport directly into the worst affected areas. “Everyone here knows that our budget won't stretch to transporting water, think of the cost, shipping, storage, treatment.”
“I agree, we can't ship water, not even over short distances.” Janice replied with a small smile on her full lips.
“Are you talking about evacuation?” Monique gasped, “Because that would be a nightmare scenario, Uganda has enough of the internally displaced in camps already, now you talk of creating more IDP's.”
The smile on Janice's face faded for a moment, before she shook her head slowly. “My dear Monique, which would you say is better? A few months in an IDP camp with shelter, food, water and security... or death! I'm fucking certain that I know which I would choose!” A rare flash of temper surfaced, shocking those listening, but just as quickly as it had appeared it faded away to be replaced by a sad smile. “It is unavoidable, but not strictly necessary for everyone. What many of you here do not know is that for several months now I have been collaborating on a side project, a project that our organisation has officially adopted, in fact, we have pretty much everything in place, we are ready to move, we just need bodies on the ground, guys and girls who can handle the wilds of Africa... people like all of you assembled here!”
“To do what exactly?” a voice came from the back of the small crowd.
“Project manage.” Janice replied quizzically, “Nothing more strenuous than that.”
“With respect Dr Harper,” said Brian, obviously peeved to have been excluded from the loop, “But why don't you stop pissing around and cut to the chase. What are you expecting of my people here.”
My people, Peter caught his derisive snort before it could break loose, he liked being neutral, and wouldn't care to side with either, yet to suddenly feel under Brian's less than protective wing he found decidedly laughable, he isn't exactly uncaring, just a little jaded... but I still maintain he doesn't care enough to merit us being classed as his people.
“Such eloquence!” Janice laughed quietly and maintained her even smile, “But as Brian has so tactfully suggested, I will cut to the chase. We have expanded upon a survey undertaken several years ago, a study of naturally occurring aquifers. Ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, we are standing, right now, above billions of litres of pure, clean, fresh, water! Take a look at what has happened recently in Turkana across the border in Kenya. They are making the desert green, well, if not exactly green, they are irrigating, they are growing crops during a drought, they are surviving, because they have tapped into an identical aquifer!”
“You want us to dig wells?” Peter rejoined the debate.
“Simply put... Yes.” Janice laughed aloud as disbelief mixed with shock in the expressions of her audience. “Relax,” she chuckled, “We only need you to supervise.”
Chapter 3
Esther waited nervously. It was out of the ordinary, the whites never stayed in the village. They would appear from time to time, and on those occasions she would be summoned to the Chief elders compound where she would translate. Sometimes she would then have the task of addressing a general meeting of the other elders, especially when the Muzungu’s planned a free clinic or basic workshop. She didn't mind the extra work, true, the various NGO's and charitable organisations generally gave her some small payment for her services, but she saw the greater value. Some came to talk about contraception, offering free implants or condoms. Others addressed healthcare, eye clinics, even such basics as de-worming the kids. They added value to the villagers lives that far outweighed the small cash payments she received. More recently the whites had been bringing food, sacks of maize and millet. The Chief would then distribute to the needy, Esther took it for granted that he always considered himself the most needy of all, but she could forgive him that small fault, it was a cultural attitude, what was the point of striving to become the Chief only to ignore the perks.
“But this is not normal!” she had spent most of the previous day cleaning, preparing. The white woman would stay in her hut. It was small, but the elders had decided and there was no room for debate, their word was the law. So Esther had attempted to prepare as best she could.
Her home comprised two small rooms, the smallest she used as her bedroom, there she laid her mattress and hung her clothes, in the larger room her prized possessions resided, a broad table, two threadbare armchairs and an overstuffed, mismatched sofa, equally worn and shabby. To the rear of her hut she cooked, a very informal space, two sheets of rusting corrugated metal were tacked to a rough frame to form a basic lean-to, just enough cover to offer a little protection from the rains, (when they did come) but more to give her the feeling that the space was actually a p
art of her small house. Outside she performed her ablutions, her home offered absolute privacy, on the edge of the village with only desert beyond, she bathed without concern, no-one ventured in her direction unless it was to visit.
But now her privacy was set for invasion, and not just her privacy, her culture also, what would this woman expect of her... and what could she expect in return? How could she cater for a person she didn't even begin to comprehend?
Just because I speak her language doesn't mean I know anything about her... what do those people eat? Esther began to panic, the woman was due to stay for at least a week, possibly longer. Fear brought a small tear to her eye and Esther blinked it away, it was unfair, she hadn't asked for the responsibility, she didn't want it... but the Chief had spoken, she was trapped by her own intelligence and education.
“She will eat what I eat,” she declared defiantly, “And if she doesn't like it... well, that's her problem, I'm not changing my routine just because some muzungu woman has decided to dig a hole in the ground.”
She was being unreasonable, and she knew it, fear had led to frustration, which in turn had led to hasty words and unfair criticism. “I just hope she's a nice person.” she sighed, and with another nervous glance toward the village, she returned to sweeping the dung and dirt floor for the fifth time that morning.
***
Esther had just finished hanging a heavy blanket from the eucalyptus branches that formed the supports for her homes metal sheet roof when she heard the voices of excited children. The blanket acted as a dividing wall, splitting her tiny bedroom in half, it would give both herself and the white woman just about to arrive a modicum of privacy. The voices grew clearer and Esther grabbed her small hand mirror and quickly teased her hair, smiling she checked her sparkling white teeth for debris before taking a deep breath, and with eyes turned toward the heavens she said a short prayer asking for strength and patience.
