by Frank Coates
But there were never any police. And even the support usually given by neighbours in times of trouble was tested when violence and chaos reigned. There was no law and order in Kibera that morning. These were the realities, and Charlotte became acutely aware that she was an outsider in this strange world, with only her disguise and Joshua preventing her from becoming yet another victim.
They quickened their pace. Soon they were scampering between the puddles and leaping the scattered rubble. Charlotte felt ashamed to be running, but she kept going as if her life depended upon it, and with scarce regard for the mud and slime that spattered her colourful kanga.
They emerged from a winding alley they’d followed for some time and arrived at Kibera Road. It was all but deserted of the frantic traffic that had flowed and jounced and tooted there only a day before. The cars, the buses, the matatus, all were gone and the silence that pervaded the near-vacant space seemed somehow sinister.
She and Joshua had a good view of the wreckage-strewn road in both directions. They were almost exactly at the place where Mark was supposed to be waiting, but it was already eight o’clock and he wasn’t there.
‘What will we do?’ she said, the panic rising in her voice.
Joshua didn’t answer. He held up his hand as he stared down the length of Kibera Road. Charlotte followed his eyes, then heard it too. It was muffled, like the distant rumble of thunder, but grew in power as she searched for its source.
A massive crowd, carrying sticks or clubs or other weapons, came swinging into Kibera Road. They fanned out to fill the road, overturning push-carts and the small kiosks along the verges of the normally busy thoroughfare. They swarmed like ants over a single small sedan that had turned into Kibera Road without seeing the oncoming mob. The car tried to make a U-turn out of their path, but was trapped.
The shouting mob began to rock the car, until it finally toppled over. Nothing could be seen or heard of the occupants. A cloth tied to a stick was set alight and in another moment the petrol tank was ablaze—the flames leapt from the rear of the vehicle, sending up billowing clouds of black smoke. The crowd roared as if with one voice, and then continued towards Charlotte and Joshua like a lava flow, unchecked by the temporary diversion.
Charlotte felt trapped. She didn’t want to retrace her steps, but nor could they stay where they were. More men joined the mob as it approached, pouring from the alleys. She swallowed a cry of alarm as two young men pushed roughly past her. Three others hurried in their wake, waving their arms as they ran towards the approaching throng.
‘We have to go,’ Joshua said.
‘Where?’
He searched the upper end of Kibera Road, towards the city. ‘He’s not here,’ he said unnecessarily.
Within a few minutes, the head of the seething monster would be upon them and they would have no more choices. It was either be consumed by the mob or retreat into the Kibera jungle behind them.
Riley felt confident about his plan. He’d reconnoitred Kibera Road soon after dawn. It was quiet and the carriageway was relatively clear, except for the shrapnel and stones that littered the tarmac, and the dukas and shops that smouldered like memorials to the previous night’s turmoil. He had then retired to a siding near the Ngong Hills Hotel to avoid attracting attention.
At seven minutes before eight o’clock he started the car and drove towards Kibera Road. He didn’t get far before finding the street blocked by police mobile units. In the middle of the line-up, a heavily built police officer leant against his gleaming sedan, running his sleeve over a blemish on the duco. He ignored Riley when he gave a short beep to attract his attention, continuing his work on the blemish until it was completed to his satisfaction.
He sauntered over to Riley, who asked, ‘What’s the problem, Officer?’
The cop regarded him for a moment before replying sardonically, ‘There is no problem, sir. Just turn around and go home.’
‘I can’t. I have to pick up a friend down there in Kibera Road in five minutes.’
The policeman frowned at him. ‘I said, go home. There is no access to Kibera today.’
‘Look, Officer, I understand there are some problems in the area, and I relieve you of all responsibility, but I have to go into Kibera. There’s a young lady in there who’s expecting me.’
‘And what is this young lady of yours doing in Kibera?’
‘She was—What’s that got to do with it? I have to get through. Now.’
The officer straightened to his full height and sucked in his belly. ‘This is my last warning to you,’ he said, slapping his truncheon into his hand. ‘I told you to get your car back from the barricade.’
‘But you don’t understand…My friend is in Kibera. And I need to speak to someone who can let me through.’
Without further comment, the officer stepped to the front of the Land Rover and swung his truncheon hard into the headlight, causing an explosion of glass shards that glistened in the morning sun.
Riley glared at him, his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel to suppress his natural reaction.
The sound of smashing glass brought other policemen from the barricade, who gathered around, chuckling and cracking jokes.
The officer smiled vindictively and walked slowly to the other side of the car where he again smashed his truncheon into the headlight, bringing a roar of approval from his colleagues. He then began to pound the bonnet until it had a series of golf-ball-size dents in it.
Riley slammed the car into reverse, swung into a U-turn and drove as far as the corner, where he stopped out of sight of the roadblock, seething with anger and frustration. He hated corruption, particularly by those in positions of public service, and vividly recalled the situation with the Indonesian police when he’d tried to access details of his wife’s death. It was common for them to use bluster to cover incompetence. There was the usual hint that if a small consideration were offered, matters could be different. They destroyed whatever self-respect they had; abused the power given them by the people’s representatives. But if he’d allowed his anger to show, there was always the implied threat of the gun at the hip.
Sitting behind the wheel of the Land Rover, glaring down the road to the police blockade, his eyes stinging with tears of rage, Riley slowly reined in his anger. He should have planned for this outcome. Now there was no time to take another approach. Once again he had failed to intervene in a dangerous situation that affected someone he cared for. He felt a stab of recognition in his anger. He realised now that only part of it had been directed towards the terrorists responsible for Melissa’s death. He had been angry with himself for failing his wife. Maddeningly, furiously angry that he had failed to avert the disaster. If he’d insisted they leave the silly cowboy hat in the restaurant, she would still be alive. If he’d said, No, honey, I want to take you home and make love to you, she would not have been blown apart. Since then, he’d allowed that anger to grow and distort his judgement. It explained a lot about the many poor decisions he’d made over the last five years.
The insight spurred him into action. He started the motor and revved it before dropping the clutch. The Land Rover almost gagged on the power burst, but responded with a leap. Riley let the counter soar into the red.
The roar of the approaching vehicle had the desired effect. The police manning the barricade scattered in all directions.
He kept the power up to the diesel, and aimed the Land Rover’s heavy-duty bull-bars at the police officer’s gleaming car. The windows imploded as he rammed it in a full broadside, moving it a metre or two past the line of other vehicles.
Riley reversed, sending a squad of policemen who were about to pile all over him into retreat. He then revved and accelerated into the police car again, spinning it around and almost clearing the path. Again he reversed, again he smashed into the now twisted car wreck, and this time he was able to complete the breakthrough and dash between the line of trucks and buses.
Beyond the barricade was
the barrow of an enterprising ice-cream vendor, who saw him coming and flung himself out of his path. The Land Rover hit the roadside kerb, which launched it, airborne, into the ice-cream cart, sending buckets of ice-cream and pieces of the cart in all directions.
Riley roared with delight and swung into Kibera Road.
His elation was short-lived. Coming towards him was a wall of people, and he could not see Charlotte at the place they’d agreed for the pick-up. He drove past, unsure if he had the right spot, but was soon almost up to the rioters’ front ranks.
He made a swinging one-eighty in front of the marchers, which incensed them. The leading group charged after him, and in the rear-view mirror he could see that the remainder were quick to join them. A barrage of rocks flew past, some crashing onto the roof and hood.
He screeched to a stop at the alley he was sure was the meeting point and jumped out of the car. ‘Charlotte!’ he shouted.
The roar of the oncoming mob, now less than two hundred metres away, was deafening. He yelled again.
‘Mark!’ Charlotte ran to him and grabbed his outstretched hand like a drowning woman.
‘Charlie! Thank God. Come on.’
She turned back to Joshua, who waved them away.
Riley pushed her into the car and scrambled in behind her. A rock hit the roof with a heart-stopping thud. Charlotte stifled a cry of panic.
Another rock hit the back window, shattering it, as Riley gunned the Land Rover down Kibera Road.
Immediately after Charlotte fled with Mark, Joshua felt safe. He was free of responsibility and once again in his element—a Kiberan among Kiberans.
The mob surged past him. One or two shouted a greeting, others urged him to join them. But Joshua felt quite exhausted. His only wish was to find Mayasa and to make sure she would be safely in his care until the trouble had passed.
The rioters left devastation in their wake. There was barely a structure untouched. Every vehicle was burning or destroyed. It appeared that even supporters’ homes and businesses had been looted and in many cases burnt.
Someone shouted to a friend standing near Joshua, ‘Hey, bro! Come to Toi. It’s our time to eat.’
‘To eat’ was code for the rewards—the corrupt spoils of office—that supporters of the political party holding government could expect for their support, or for merely being a member of that tribal group, since the major parties were mainly formed along tribal lines and allegiances. The man in the crowd who invited his friend to join him at Toi Market was saying it was their time to take what they considered was owed them by the predominantly Kikuyu stall-owners. In this case, it meant looting and probably burning Toi Market.
Joshua’s heart thumped as he realised Mayasa was waiting for him at Toi Market. He sprinted down Kibera Road, darting through alleys and taking all the short cuts he knew, but he was too late. A dozen spear-carrying Maasai askaris were already in unruly retreat from the market, abandoning their clients and their goods in the face of a far superior and determined force.
As Joshua dashed along the narrow aisles, searching among the stalls, he knew he might not find Mayasa. He hoped she had fled at the first sign of the trouble. If she hadn’t, she would be in serious danger.
The vast throng very quickly emptied the stalls of any worthwhile trophies and, as Joshua had feared, the organisers immediately started a fire at the far end of the market. He headed towards it to be sure Mayasa was not in the vicinity, but then he saw smoke rising from the opposite end. And then more at each of the remaining two quadrants. The looters were well organised; they wanted to quickly and comprehensively destroy everything in the market. Retribution on the Kikuyu stall-owners had been a long time coming. They meant to leave nothing for salvage. Anyone left behind would be trapped by the raging fires converging towards the centre.
Joshua dialled Mayasa’s number on his mobile phone. In perfect Swahili, her soft voice thanked him for calling and asked him to please leave a message.
A shrill whistle pierced the pervading noise.
A gang of Joshua’s Siafu friends rushed by him, yelling at him to run. ‘Polisi! Polisi!’ they shouted as he stood, immobile.
Through the forest of stall racks and struts he could see a column of the dreaded GSU police—helmeted and with batons drawn. A sound like a shot rang out.
Joshua took flight, dashing after his Siafu team-mates until they were all clear of the market. They ran as a pack, crossing the last of the bitumen and dashing into the almost impenetrable density of Kibera, where they knew the GSU was unlikely to pursue them.
Joshua paused at the entrance to the alley. He could see his friends quickly disappearing into the maze, but he hesitated. Burning Toi Market while people were still about had been reckless, and because everyone in Kibera knew he was a member of the Siafu gang, he was implicated.
Joshua ran on, choosing to take another alley and an escape route of his own.
Mayasa stood among the crowd of onlookers watching Toi Market burn. Around her were stall-holders who had lost all their goods, and residents who had lost access to cheap food, second-hand clothing and household products. The looting was well underway, with many in the mob competing for the best prizes. They ran from the burning market carrying boxes of stolen goods. A boy of around ten emerged from the flames, carrying a puppy.
Joshua was nowhere in sight and Mayasa was pleased. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being involved in an act of such mindless destruction.
With the heat of the flames on her back, she decided to make her way home. Her father would not be happy that she had gone against his wishes, but she needed to call Joshua, which she planned to do as soon as she got there.
Not far from Toi, where the strip of bitumen that had once been a public road petered out into a narrow, muddy path, two men rushed from the burnt-out shell of a duka and grabbed her from behind. She tried to scream, but one had a hand clasped over her mouth, while the other man grabbed her legs. They carried her back to the bitumen where they threw her into the boot of a car.
Her muffled screams barely made it out into the daylight.
CHAPTER 34
It was late afternoon by the time Riley parked the car. It had been a trial to find a way out of Kibera without risking another confrontation with the police manning the barricades. The Land Rover had proved its credentials as Riley forced it over a rocky rampart and onto a playing field along Ngong Road.
He locked the vehicle and examined the new damage to its door skirts and undercarriage. The steering had felt a little heavy and it was likely that the front end had been damaged during their cross-country detour. He would worry about it in the morning.
He took Charlotte’s arm as they climbed the steps to the hotel. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Better.’
‘Care for a drink?’ He motioned towards the bar.
‘Yes, but can we have it upstairs? I’m a wreck, and I just want to freshen up and be comfortable.’
Riley mixed the drinks, listening to the faint patter of water as Charlotte took her shower. It reminded him of his days with Melissa, when she would come in from the gym, sweating a treat. She’d shower and put on her white terry-towelling robe and join him for a sundowner on the deck. He loved her in that robe. His knowledge that she was naked underneath it generally meant they had only one drink before tumbling into bed.
Riley had finished his whisky and soda before the shower stopped. He was making another as Charlotte came from the bathroom, her hair wet, wearing a white terry-towelling robe.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I didn’t take a change of clothes into the bathroom, and anyway…it’s just us.’
‘Yes,’ he said, his drink poised halfway to his mouth. ‘It is. Just us, I mean.’
She accepted the wine he handed her and touched her glass to his.
‘You’re still a little shook up,’ he said.
‘A little, but, oh, this wine is going to help.’
&nb
sp; ‘Cheers.’
She took a sip and smiled at him.
He removed the glass from her hand and placed it on the bench top. He drew her to him and lightly touched his lips to the firm flesh at the nape of her neck. Her hair was wet against his cheek. He moved his mouth up to the line of her jaw, then to her lips.
Charlotte responded slowly, very slowly, to his kiss, but then she pulled back.
He took a moment to study her expression, which he found hard to read, but came forward again, finding her lips more open and inviting. She let his tongue touch hers, but again she backed away.
‘Mark,’ she said, ‘I’m not at all sure about this.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. You’ve had a rough day.’
‘It’s not that, it’s…Well, yes, I have, haven’t I? Perhaps I should just call for a sandwich and have an early night.’
‘You should. Yes, that’s a good idea.’
He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. The silence grew and Charlotte tried to divert attention from her embarrassment by taking a mouthful of wine.
‘Well…I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’
She nodded.
At the door he said, ‘Night, Charlie.’
‘Good night, Mark.’
As Charlotte closed the door, she immediately regretted letting Mark go. She wasn’t sure why she had backed away from the moment, but now, with her dismissive tone still hanging in the air, it was impossible to undo it.
Perhaps it was the overwhelming circumstances of the day, as he’d suggested. It had been frightening, but Mark had been wonderful. She hadn’t realised it at the time, but as soon as she saw him arrive in the Land Rover, she knew she would be safe. He had the ability to invoke confidence. It was a feeling that had been missing in her relationship with Bradley.
She wondered, too, if she was concerned about Mark not having recovered from the death of his wife. And there was Kazlana. She had no idea what existed between Mark and her, but she knew she was in no mood to enter into a contest for Mark’s attention.
