My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore

by Adam Zameenzad

  I’ve never seen that look on anyone’s face before.

  I have seen it since.

  The people Matt saw last night and who came to our village by the morning light come from two or three villages about twenty kilometres to our east. They are aiming for Gonta but make a stop at our village before carrying on.

  They’re going to Gonta for they’ve heard white men have set up a camp there, a camp where the white men give medicine and food to anyone who is sick or wounded or without food. As most of these people are wounded or sick, and none of them has any food, they’re all headed for Gonta.

  Their villages were attacked by soldiers last week. Some people were wounded, some killed and some taken away – mostly men but a few women and children as well. The soldiers also set fire to the crops. They were poor crops of a dry season but would’ve kept life going in many bodies.

  They were fifty-two grown-ups and more than twice as many children when they started. Now they are less. Some turned back, some sat down and never got up to move forward or backward, some died.

  The spotted green soldiers led by General Tako have now taken over our country. They keep raiding villages and sometimes take people away. I don’t know why for they’ve got what they wanted. General Tako says it’s because some people don’t like them so it’s natural they don’t like them back in return; and I suppose there is reason in it.

  He also says these people are ‘enemies of real people’. He says they are no good for the country and will ‘tear it apart unless stopped’. I don’t understand the difference between people and real people, but then I’ve other things on my mind, what with school work and Grandma Toughtits being poorly and the question of white men’s balls.

  While on the subject of white men, my school Master says white men are behind General Tako and the spotted green soldiers, paying them money and giving them guns and planes and bombs. But then again, white men are helping the villagers attacked by the soldiers. I don’t understand this either.

  I do understand why Grandma Toughtits was acting so peculiar this morning. I understand this when I see the people who’ve come to our village.

  None of the children have gone to school today and the Master’s running about trying to round them up and take them with him. He keeps saying it is ‘not polite to stand around staring’.

  Most of our grown-ups are collecting food and milk and water and shawls for everybody. My Dada and Mam are trying to sort out the sick and the wounded from the tired and the hungry.

  We can’t take our eyes off them nor can we look properly at them. I know it’s not a nice thing to say, but they are not nice to look at. Some of them look real sick, some look like they’ve never eaten in their entire life.

  One mother is carrying her dead child in a sort of a hammock thingie made out of a shawl, on her back, on account she’s heard white men have a machine which brings the dead back to life.

  One of their men, who’s been around and seen television and such magic, swears he has seen dead people shook by this machine till they live again.

  I don’t believe it but Matt says it is possible.

  Matt says everything is possible.

  Some elders are saying they’ll have to steal the child’s body in the new night and put it away in peace.

  By the afternoon all the people are settled in the schoolhouse to rest for a day or two before starting for Gonta. All except the very sick who are kept by some families to look after.

  One very sick mother with two very sick children – one a baby – come to stay with us.

  Talk of old Grandma Toughtits’ leather tits… You should’ve seen this woman’s. Like rats that’ve been dead for days and shrivelled under the sun. Her funny shaped baby is biting at them with its toothless gums and then making real ugly faces when it gets nothing out.

  Too tired from crying to cry it looks at its mother with eyes larger than the world.

  Like me, he don’t seem to know what’s truly going on.

  All he can tell is that things are not quite what they ought to be.

  Leastwise, that’s what I think.

  Seven sunsets have gone, the outsiders are still there.

  All our people are doing their best for them. But there are some – Hena’s Dada for one – who are beginning to worry about our own food. They are beginning to wish the outsiders would go away now. This is making the others angry.

  All this is making the air around a bit thick to walk through and you’ve to breathe quiet. Someone is likely to snap at you if you’re not careful.

  The missionary bloke is going around spreading the good word to all the outsiders, telling them their suffering will end if they give their Spirit to Jesus. He says they’ll never die and will live forever in the kingdom of Heaven. The trouble is most of them are quite happy to live on where they were born. The missionary bloke tells them they will be born again but I’m not sure they like the idea. At least not much so far.

  Even his miserable wife is bringing food and water for the children. She don’t speak the language and she don’t know how to smile and her eyes don’t say much, but she does her best.

  One good thing is we haven’t had school for the last seven days. Not properly. We just have some lessons under the tree and some work to do at home but it’s much better than being inside for half the day, regular.

  One strange thing has happened. The dead child has come to life. Of course their elders say he wasn’t really dead, just fainted from pain and hunger.

  It happened when these elders went to steal its body after the mother at last goes to sleep. She’s been sitting the whole evening telling Matt about her husband who’s been taken away by the soldiers. When she sleeps Matt just sits there looking at nothing at all. I know for I keep going to him every little while asking for help as I run around doing little jobs for everybody: carrying water to this one and food for that one and holding this one’s baby and wiping that one’s face. Matt just sits there having a chat with this woman with the dead child and the stolen husband.

  Anyway, when these elders come to steal the body away to bury it in a little hole they’ve dug by the river, Matt tells them not to bother for the child lives.

  They don’t believe it till they see it; but they believe it when they see it.

  Those who hear of it don’t believe it even when they see it.

  Matt finally gets up and brings some food and water for this child, who don’t look too happy at being alive. Its mother don’t know yet but she will when she wakes up.

  When she does, she is not in the least surprised.

  The tired and hungry are now well rested and feeling good. Some of the sick and wounded are getting better too. But some of the sick and wounded are worse.

  Leku’s older brother, Deku, usually has a stock of white man’s medicines and pills which he gives to us when we are poorly. Then there is Rona who helps babies to be born. She also cures other ‘women’s troubles’. John the village barber cuts off bits of boys’ thingies – if the boys are Muslims or Children of Moses. He looks after our wounds and sets broken bones. He treats snake bites and helps men with their special problems – whatever they may be. We also have some elders who give out folk medicine, but Grandma Toughtits says she can do better than them.

  All these people have seen to the outsiders but some of them aren’t getting any better.

  We feel it’ll be best for them if they go to Gonta but don’t say it in case they think we want to get shot of them.

  Out in the open, before the day’s work, by the fire cooking the community pot, wrapped in their clean shawls, our grown-ups meet to make up their minds what to do.

  They think of sending two of our wiser people to go and have a talk with their wiser people.

  Leku’s Dada, my Mam, Grandma Toughtits, the school Master, the missionary bloke and John our barber are named. Hena’s Dada wants to go along but everyone thinks he’ll make things difficult, not having enough kindness in his heart.

/>   The missionary bloke don’t want to go as he don’t want to get mixed up in something that can cause trouble or bad feeling.

  The barber don’t want to be the one for he is treating the wounded and he thinks it don’t seem right for him to send them away. But he is willing to go along and say it’s difficult for him to do the best for them on account he hasn’t the proper facilities.

  At long last Leku’s Dada and my Mam are both chosen.

  Having decided who is going they start thinking what they’ll say. They think they can ask the people who’re well to stay as long as they like but the others must go in search of better medicine. In their hearts they know it’s not possible for the sick will not be able to make it on their own.

  Leku’s Dada being an experienced traveller thinks of suggesting the bus, but there are two problems with that. First: the bus went two days ago. This means it’s five days more to come, if it’s regular, which it often isn’t. It could be another twelve days wait – much too long for the wounded. If it breaks down on the way, which it often does, it can be worse than careful walking. Second, and more important, the bus is run by the Government and people attacked by soldiers fear to travel on it.

  They end up by deciding they’ll simply go and tell them what everyone here feels and let them make up their own mind.

  While the grown-ups are busy with all this the younger folk are hanging about listening or talking in their own little groups. Hena and I are by ourselves for Golam is doing something for his Mam, Leku’s home reading his holy books or similar and Matt is not to be seen. We’ve looked for him at all our places, starting with our little hill, but not a sign.

  Leku’s Dada and my Mam get up to go and Hena tells me to tag along and see what goes on.

  ‘After all, your Mam is going,’ says she.

  Sounds reasonable but not right.

  Luckily I don’t have to make up my mind. Before Leku’s Dada and my Mam have finished collecting everyone’s best wishes and thank yous, we see two of the outsiders coming towards us from the schoolhouse.

  Everybody waits to hear what they’ve to say.

  They say they’ve decided to start walking to Gonta by noon today. They thank us greatly for our food and medicine and kindness and say they would’ve been happy to stay here forever but it wouldn’t be fair on our food. Also their wounded need attention by the doctor in Gonta.

  We’re all pleased they’ve been thinking what we’ve been thinking and everyone’s happy, though sad as well.

  We all decide to put something extra in the cooking pot and to hold a dance.

  Some of us go to bring over the outsiders to join in the dance or to settle round the fire and the food. The others go to their own houses to bring mattings and shawls to make the sick and the wounded as comfortable as possible.

  While everyone is being settled we hear this big shouting and screaming and running. The outsiders get all worried but I roll my eyes and sigh and so does Hena and so do all children and most grown-ups of our village. For we know what it’s about.

  One of the children has pulled Grandma Toughtits’ tits. She is running after him full speed and in full voice.

  Just shows that after the last few days’ worry, things are getting easy again, and back to normal.

  Soon we hear more shouting and running. This time the outsiders don’t bother, thinking it’s more of our silliness. But we do. It is Matt running towards us, shouting and waving his arms about.

  Now Matt is cool as a cat’s nose. Especially in front of other people. For him to be shouting and running before a village full of outsiders means something is not quite what it ought to be.

  He comes over, all gasping for air, and says, ‘There’s jeeps looking for the village.’

  We wait for more but he’s silent.

  I think he’s realised he was over the top and is trying to get his cool back.

  ‘Go on,’ says Matt’s Dada, a bit angry.

  But Matt just looks at him.

  I then see Matt’s not trying to be cool or difficult; he’s just scared.

  Three

  White Folk and Farts

  We finally find out what Matt has to tell which isn’t much, but enough to give us a dream of the twin Spirits.

  He’s up at dawn and not able to sleep – as often happens with him. He goes out for a long walk towards the woods – as he often does when he can’t get to sleep.

  While still going forward he hears this funny roar. He quickly moves out of the way of the bushes so as to see what it is.

  It’s two jeeps followed by a van coming on the road from Gonta.

  They’re still far enough away but Matt hides himself behind a bush. The jeeps and the van move on past the turning to the village – which is not a proper road like but just a dirt track. There are three or four such tracks though only one leads to the village, the others get lost in open space or among the bushes.

  Matt comes out of hiding and is walking back when he sees the jeeps and the van returning. He hides again. They go past very slowly this time and although they miss the turning again Matt is certain they are looking for it to come to the village.

  Matt thinks maybe it is the Government come for the outsiders.

  Maybe even seeking to punish our village for keeping them. Maybe they’ve hunted down and caught or killed the guerrilla fighters who hide in these parts. Maybe that’s why they come so openly and boldly.

  The outsiders look very worried and very sad. More for us than for themselves. They feel they’ve brought us pain and suffering in payment for our food and care.

  Leku’s Dada says we have two options: one – we gather whatever weapons we can, like stones and sticks, and fight what we can; or two – we run and hide where we can.

  He says we should stand up and fight.

  The missionary bloke turns all white. He says he must ‘inform my wife of the situation’ and walks home fast.

  Grandma Toughtits pushes everyone aside, moves into the middle of the circle where people are gathered, close to the fire where the food is cooking; and starts to dance.

  This is the first time I see Grandma Toughtits dancing without first oiling her body or arranging her shawl properly across her shoulders.

  Everybody stops talking and watches as Grandma Toughtits dances round and round the food and the fire, arms flirting with the wind, eyes daring the skies, feet playing with the sand.

  Some others join in. Before long many are dancing, the rest are watching in silence.

  All are swaying, gently and softly, like trees come to life; their roots more high above the earth than in it.

  Some children start playing the flute, some start beating the drums.

  Nobody’s said anything but it’s decided without words. We won’t hide and we won’t fight. If they are going to kill us or take us away, we want them to find us dancing like Spirits – not hiding like cowards or fighting like fools.

  Even Matt dances. Matt who’s always shy of dancing and only does so when pushed on account he’s not very good at it. Even Matt dances, his fear all gone.

  The roar of jeeps draws near.

  No one pays any attention to it. Or if they do they don’t show it. I pay attention to it and I show it. I look up. I stop dancing.

  The jeeps roll into the village, slow down and stop.

  White men come out of the jeeps. White men come out of the van. Two white ladies as well.

  They are all holding strange looking guns and bombs in their hands. I’ve never seen the likes of them.

  So the school Master was right: white men are behind the Government, I say to myself foolishly. Foolishly for it don’t truly make no difference. Not to me, not to Matt, not to Grandma Toughtits – not to any of us. Leastwise that’s how I see it. Whether I’m killed by a white man holding a white man’s gun or by a black man holding a white man’s gun, I’m still dead.

  ‘Start shooting,’ says one of them, ‘we’re damn lucky to come across so many like this.’
/>
  I close my eyes.

  But I hear no guns. No one cries. No one dies.

  I just hear this strange whirring and clicking noise.

  It turns out it’s a television crew.

  Leku’s Dada knows about it.

  I’ve never heard of such a thing and am still not sure what it’s all about. I certainly don’t know how it works.

  It seems these white folk make these pictures and send them back home to their country to show them what’s going on in our country. It’s strange for I don’t know what’s going on in their country. They can see us, our sick and hungry hiding their pain and shame in dance, but we don’t see what they do and why.

  But no matter, we all see what we can see.

  They have with them a nurse, a reporter and another missionary bloke.

  When I see the cameras and machines of these white men working away and instant pictures coming in this little box they’re carrying, I’m hit with wonder.

  They all look so careful about what they’re doing. They organise everything and everybody. They ask questions holding this little metal carrot full of holes and you can hear the sound of your voice again and then all over again as many times as you like.

  The same with our pictures, made so they tell the story of our lives. Our bodies speak our pains and joys, our eyes speak our hopes and fears – for all to see in their homes. Moving pictures.

  My eyes and my Spirit are caught, to live long after my grandchildren are dead.

  When I see all this I truly believe, for the first time, that white men have three balls. And if they haven’t they ought to – or else there’s no justice in the world.

  But what about the white ladies, I wonder, for they are doing these great and wonderful things as well. Katuna, one of the older boys, says they have all the fun for they get to play with three balls and a bat which makes a better game than two balls and a bat.

  We all grin over it, but I’m not sure I understand it completely.

  After our dance they tell us about themselves.

  It seems they hear of this new attack by the soldiers of the Government on the villages to our east. They travel there on their jeeps and van but don’t see many people. As they’re coming from the south they don’t meet the people on the way who are going west to Gonta.