Softly Calls the Serengeti

by Frank Coates

  She returned his smile. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I suppose so. It’s late, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He walked to the door, resisting the urge to rub his throbbing leg.

  ‘Good night, Mark.’

  ‘Yes. Good night, Charlie.’

  She closed the door behind him.

  ‘Shit!’ he muttered as he picked his way through the shadows to his own bungalow.

  Charlotte heard Mark’s muffled curse and sighed. It both pleased and saddened her to know that he felt as awkward as she did about their blundering attempt at romance in the dark.

  The touch of his hand on her shoulder, his lips on the very sensitive skin on her throat, had thrilled her. She’d sensed his shortening breath, could feel his excitement growing. In the darkness there’d been an unmistakeable and mounting energy between them. Why then had she caused it to end? She wasn’t even sure she had wanted it to end. Her suggestion to try the table lamp had been a stalling mechanism. She’d needed time to think. But why?

  If she were quite truthful, she’d have to admit that for some time she’d felt a growing attraction towards Mark. Her need for time, therefore, had nothing to do with wanting to know more about him or to work out if she had any feelings for him.

  Maybe it was that after four years with Bradley, she felt unsure of how to manage a budding relationship. Was that the case? Or was it simply that she couldn’t contemplate a romantic entanglement while attempting to write her thesis?

  Whatever the reason, one thing was clear to her. She liked Mark Riley very much.

  CHAPTER 29

  ‘And now for some late breaking news on the election results, we cross to Samuel Muthami at the Kenyatta International Conference Centre.’

  ‘Thank you, Desmond. I’m with Mr Nicodemus Ogwan’g, who is chief scrutineer for the Orange Democratic Movement here at the central tallying room at KICC. Mr Ogwan’g, are you able to bring our listeners up to date on the current situation regarding the presidential elections?’

  ‘I am, indeed. We believe that most of the polling stations across the country have now completed or are near to completing the counting for the presidential ballot. Our people at those centres have kept us informed of the count and we now believe our candidate has an unbeatable lead.’

  ‘Are you saying, Mr Ogwan’g, that Raila Odinga has won the presidential election?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘But we’ve heard nothing from the chairman of the electoral commission to that effect. How have you come to that conclusion without hearing the official count?’

  ‘Our people at all the polling stations have made it clear to us. Mr Raila Odinga will be our next president.’

  ‘On what basis do you make your claim?’

  ‘The people have spoken. They have voted overwhelmingly in favour of change. They have chosen Raila Odinga to be their champion for change.’

  ‘But, Mr Ogwan’g, aren’t you—’

  ‘It therefore gives me great pleasure to announce that the Orange Democratic Movement declares Mr Raila Odinga winner of the presidential election. Thank you. Thank you.’

  ‘There you have it, Desmond. The Orange Democratic Movement, through its official spokesman, Mr Nicodemus Ogwan’g, has claimed victory for their candidate, Mr Raila Odinga, who is set to become the first Luo president of Kenya.

  ‘This is Samuel Muthami at SKY FM, reporting to you from KICC in Nairobi…’

  The green text on Joshua’s mobile phone glowed in the dark.

  He jabbed awkwardly at the keys with his thumbs. My darling mayasa. No credit. Good news odinga wins. Love you too. Will call soon. Josh.

  Joshua bounced out of bed at the first chime of his mobile phone alarm and went immediately to Maina’s bunk and gave him a rude shove.

  Maina didn’t like being woken so early on his day off, and he hadn’t liked being woken very late the previous night to be told he’d lost his bet and it had to be paid at dawn because Charlotte had sent a note advising Joshua they would depart for Nairobi in the morning. Joshua had guessed it was because of the violence sweeping the country. He’d half expected it, as stories of violence, death and destruction thundered from all news outlets.

  He paced the gravel as he waited beside the Kenya Allover Tours’s safari car. He simply loved the still, cool, liquid air of morning in Nakuru, with the last of the stars winking farewell, and the hush as the night predators gave way to the faintest stirrings from the creatures of the day.

  Just as Joshua was thinking about returning to the dormitory to rouse Maina from his bed, the Kikuyu stumbled out, scratching his behind.

  ‘Harrumph!’ he said in reply to Joshua’s cheery greeting.

  Joshua fidgeted impatiently as Maina stood outside the car to hitch his trousers around his ample girth, tuck in his shirt and rebuckle his belt.

  ‘So, Luo boy—I hear you’re leaving, ah?’

  ‘I am. My…clients are going back to Nairobi.’

  ‘And that means no Serengeti for you this time.’

  ‘No. Not this time. Maybe later.’ He couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ve never seen it, the Serengeti, have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Of course not. That Kisumu–Musoma road is terrible.’

  Joshua could only smile with him. His bravado had been outrageous and Maina had seen through it from the start.

  ‘Ah, the Serengeti,’ Maina said, leaning against the vehicle, arms folded across his chest. ‘That’s the place to go. You think this is nice around here?’ He flung an arm to indicate the lake and its surrounds. ‘It’s nothing, bwana. The Serengeti…that’s the place. The smell of it. The sounds…soft. Quiet like a church.’ He fell silent as his thoughts carried him away.

  Joshua tried to imagine something better than what he’d seen here in Nakuru, and couldn’t. He had so many questions he didn’t know where to begin, or even if he should try—Maina’s ridicule could be ruthless.

  ‘Are there lions?’ he tentatively asked.

  ‘Lions? So many lions. You can get sick of seeing them hunting, I tell you.’ Maina pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and noisily blew his nose. ‘They follow the migration. Wildebeest and zebra and antelope. So many you couldn’t believe.’ He shook his head for emphasis. ‘Haki ya mungu. And so, maybe I’ll do the seeing for both of us this time.’

  ‘You’re going to the Serengeti?’

  ‘Of course. After Kisumu I cross to TZ and into the Serengeti. It’s not the best time, but it’ll be okay.’

  Joshua tried to imagine. Again, he failed.

  ‘Sowa sowa,’ Maina said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Once on the circuit road, Maina began reciting many of the features of the park, as if conducting the usual spiel he gave all his clients. ‘More than four hundred bird species…sixty-two square kilometres…over a million flamingos…the most fabulous bird spectacle in the world…many animal species…’

  Then he nodded to the right. ‘We’re in the acacia forest now. There…under that mopani tree—a bushbuck.’

  Joshua stared into the grey, misty middle distance. ‘Where is it? I can see nothing.’

  ‘Take off your city eyes! At the edge of the clearing. See it?’

  The bushbuck moved. Not in a panic, but by its movement became visible.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Joshua said.

  He could have studied it for an age, but Maina moved on.

  ‘Olive baboons.’

  Joshua gawked. There must have been forty or fifty of them. A large male strutted belligerently along the road not twenty metres away. He stopped to pick daintily a small item from the roadside and tested it by touching it to his lips. He discarded it and moved on.

  ‘That fellow could fight a leopard,’ Maina said.

  ‘There are leopards here?’ Joshua couldn’t keep the awe from his voice.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Can we see one?’ he pleaded.

  ‘
Maybe. This is not a zoo, Luo boy. But we might get lucky.’

  Joshua was unsure about the reference to luck. He ran his eyes around the open vehicle. Apart from a couple of roll bars that served as support for clients wishing to stand for a better view of the surroundings, there was nothing to fend off a pouncing leopard. Or anything else.

  ‘Are there lions here?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  It was an offhand reply that did nothing to calm Joshua’s nerves. He began to examine every possible place a lion or leopard could conceal itself. Maina continued to spot the most obscure creatures at the same time as he avoided potholes. Joshua was immensely impressed. For a fat Kikuyu, Maina was undoubtedly savvy.

  ‘How did you learn such things?’ he asked after Maina had rattled off a number of facts about a bird he pointed out called a red-chested cuckoo.

  ‘I joined Kenya Allover Tours after working for some time as a KWS ranger.’ Before Joshua could ask, he added, ‘Kenya Wildlife Service. But the tips are good for a driver. And if you can answer clients’ questions and tell a few jokes, then even better. Now I’ve been doing this driving job for twelve years. Rothschild’s giraffe.’ There were seven among the acacia trees. ‘These fellows came to the park in 1977. They are not so common as the other species. The giraffe can have two, three or five horns.’

  ‘How can anybody know so much about one animal?’ Joshua said, shaking his head in amazement.

  ‘I could tell you a lot about any animal you might find in Kenya, my skinny friend. And a lot more about giraffes too, but I know you Luos are a little slow. For example, the giraffe is what we call a browser—he eats the leaves of trees and shrubs. He can even strip the leaves off a thorn tree without sticking himself on the thorns. And the female, she gives birth standing up. So the baby giraffe falls nearly two metres on his birthday.’

  He turned to Joshua. ‘Maybe that happened to you, Luo boy, ah?’ he laughed. The sound rolled around his generous girth. ‘You think I’m joking? It’s true!’

  He caught Joshua’s expression and laughed again. ‘Look at you! You look like you’ve swallowed a fly.’

  They circumnavigated the lake, stopping at times to study animals in their acts of hunting, feeding or sleeping. Maina was an inexhaustible source of facts.

  ‘Oh-ho,’ he said, drawing the car to a halt. ‘We are very lucky.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shh…’ he hissed. ‘Will you look at that…?’

  Joshua followed Maina’s gaze, through the acacia forest into a sea of grass. Nothing. He couldn’t contain himself.

  ‘Maina! What is it?’

  ‘Can’t you see it? Probably from the forest pride. A year-old cub. We are very, very lucky.’

  He engaged the clutch and edged the safari car off the road into the grass.

  ‘Where is it?’ Joshua pleaded.

  ‘Straight ahead.’

  The car crawled forward, hissing through the thick tussocks.

  ‘Look for the ears—lion’s ears,’ Maina whispered, ‘and you’ll find her.’

  Joshua immediately spotted the young lion, and another.

  ‘Yes! I see two.’

  ‘That’s it! You have it, city boy,’ Maina said, giving Joshua a rush of satisfaction at the unexpected praise.

  The lions—almost fully grown, but still with the gangly appearance of teenagers—were stalking an outcrop of the flamingo flock that had gathered into a tight bay among the grass.

  ‘Ha, ha,’ Maina chuckled. ‘They have no chance. But let’s watch and see.’

  The pair parted, each approaching the flock from almost opposite directions. From their vantage point, he and Maina could see the whole strategy unfolding. At a certain point, both lions halted, as if following an agreed plan. A moment later, the lion on the left raised its head. It was enough to send the flamingos into a paroxysm of panic. They turned and lifted en masse towards the lion concealed in grass on the right-hand side of the inlet. The hidden lion leapt more than two metres from a standing start and snagged a flamingo with its outstretched claw, making a full back-flip as it came to land. The second of the pair galloped through the shallows to reach the prize.

  The flamingo had died instantaneously, giving pause to the young lions’ enthusiasm. It was a thin, pink string of feathers, insignificant in size beside the capturing lion. After a couple of sniffs and a desultory attempt to pluck feathers, the lions yawned and wandered off.

  Maina swung the wheel, returning the safari car to the lakeside road.

  ‘This fellow is a cousin of the giraffe,’ he said when they stopped at the northern end of the lake.

  ‘A giraffe? It’s a hippopotamus, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it’s a hippo! But it’s also an even-toed ungulate.’

  ‘Haki ya mungu,’ Joshua sighed. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Order, family, genus. It’s been too long since I knew all that. But lucky for me, my clients don’t care. If I can just put a name to everything, they’re happy. And I get my nice kitu kidogo—my tip.’

  Maina swung the car onto the lodge’s access road. ‘End of the tour,’ he said. Joshua knew he’d been acting like a schoolboy, hanging on Maina’s every word. He wasn’t so naïve that he couldn’t see that although the Kikuyu had lost the bet, he was enjoying a victory nonetheless. Demonstrating his knowledge to the Luo city boy would be worth a thousand shillings. Joshua didn’t care. If Maina’s safari had been nothing more than a hasty spin around the lake, he could have legitimately claimed to have delivered on his wager. But by taking a more leisurely pace and so unselfishly sharing some of his knowledge with Joshua, he had made what might have been merely an interesting experience into a life-changing one.

  A car horn bleated from the other side of the car park as they drove in.

  ‘I have to go,’ Joshua said.

  ‘Sowa sowa. Okay.’

  ‘Maina, when you trained as a game warden…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, is it easy to find a position? I mean, what schooling do you have to have?’

  ‘Nothing special. Just the eight-four-four.’

  Joshua felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He’d only completed the eight primary school years.

  ‘But in TZ I hear you only need to read and write English and Kiswahili,’ he said.

  The horn sounded again; this time, more persistent. Mark’s voice followed it.

  ‘I have to go,’ Joshua said again.

  He extended his hand and Maina shook it African-style, with the alternate gripping of thumb and palm.

  ‘Kwaheri,’ Maina said.

  ‘Kwaheri,’ Joshua replied. ‘Mzuri safari.’

  As he hurried to join Mark and Charlotte in the Land Rover, Joshua struggled with a huge dilemma. From an early age he’d wanted to be a champion footballer, playing in front of thousands. But now a new objective intruded. Now he desperately wanted to become a game warden in the Serengeti National Park.

  CHAPTER 30

  In the morning hours of Sunday, 30 December, the people of Kibera filled the streets and alleys. Those who had not heard the declaration of victory by the ODM soon did. Luos celebrated throughout Kisumu Ndogo, in their homes, in the markets and at the homes of friends and family.

  It was not only the Luos of Kisumu Ndogo who celebrated. Luos all across Kenya knew their time had arrived at last. Over the many decades since independence, they had seen their brightest lights rise only to be struck down by unknown assassins. The deaths of Tom Mboya, Robert Ouko and many others remained a mystery too deep for the police or government to resolve. Conspiracy theories were legion.

  And it was not only the Luo people who celebrated. So did the Luhya, the Kalenjin, the Maasai, the Kisii and many of the Kamba. And on the coast it was the Giriama, the Taita and the Wadigo who danced and sang.

  Most of the Kikuyu and their cousins, the Meru, were disappointed, but there were many among them who had become disillusioned by their man, and were also rea
dy for change.

  Wherever Raila Odinga supporters lived, there was rejoicing. And even greater hope. A new man was about to enter State House and a new order was about to begin. Everyone in Kisumu Ndogo knew that Kenya’s first Luo president would change their lives—would change everything—for the better.

  The years of frustrating lethargy following the last election, when President Mwai Kibaki had promised the world but had changed nothing, were over. Although a Kikuyu, Kibaki’s victory had been universally popular in 2002. His platform was to end the long period of corrupt government that Kenyans had endured for many years. But his promises had amounted to nothing. Over the five years since his election, the excitement had flagged. For most Kenyans, there had been little change. In Kibera, nothing had changed.

  Simon Otieng had seen it all before. The majority of the revellers were youths whom he thought were more interested in a party than in the details of the new president’s platform. He scrutinised every young face in the good-natured crowd, trying to find his son.

  ‘Habari yako?’ a voice asked from his side.

  ‘Mzuri, Mama Hamza.’

  The old woman’s brilliant white teeth illuminated her tar-black face. ‘Why are you not running the streets like these boys, Bwana Simon? Are you not happy that Raila Odinga has won?’

  Simon sighed. ‘I have seen too many leaders come and go to think any one of them will change our lives here. What are your thoughts of these happy days?’

  She shook her head. ‘I am thinking the party is starting too early.’

  ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘I hear that Kivuitu at KICC has been given some interesting numbers. He is wondering how he can release them without causing trouble. Very big trouble.’

  ‘That is not possible. Odinga has won by—’

  ‘There is no winner until the Electoral Commission of Kenya speaks. Kivuitu has yet to open his mouth.’

  Simon thought about the consequences should Odinga not be declared winner after all this celebrating.