The Newcomers: a novel of global invasion , human resilience, and the wild places of the planet

by Pamela Jekel

  “What are those trees?’

  “Cashews. Left over from some old plantation. They plant their bananas and sugar cane, their cassava and maize, fish from the river, milk their goats, maybe trade some cashews for a little soap or matches or tea. Nothing much goes out and nothing much comes in. When the soil stops producing, they’ll move on.”

  “I’ll bet they never even heard about the Newcomers,” Chase murmured.

  “Likely not, unless some trader wandered by and told them. And then, they wouldn’t care much, even if they understood. They’ll be here after every city on the earth is ashes.”

  Jomo came back, shooed the children away again, and said, “Now then, the wildebeest are across the river. We’ll cross up close to the reserve boundary and cut south. I would imagine the zebra will be with them.” He turned to Baako. “Unless you’d like to tarry here awhile, maybe spend the night?”

  Baako turned the wheel sharply to avoid a pothole the size of two tires, “Not this time,” he said deadpan. “But maybe we can come back and find Desta a husband later.”

  That night, they made their fire, ate a supper of tinned stew, peaches, Jata’s guava jelly, and watched the night come to the plains. A warthog sow and her five piglets jogged along single-file past their tents with a destination and purpose known only to themselves. Distant lions began their groaning, signaling the beginning of darkness, pulling their roars from deep within their chests and pushing them out into the cooling air.

  “I’ve missed this,” Chase said.

  Jomo nodded. “I heard a white hunter say once that a man always finds what he’s looking for in Africa, even if it’s only himself. But of course, you have wild places in America.”

  “I guess. I don’t think it’s the same, though. We don’t have the game.”

  “You couldn’t afford it,” Jomo said. “Preservation is expensive. That’s why the herds are gone in America and Europe, because the land was more valuable than the game. Same problem here. We may like seeing them wild and free, but the man who is trying to keep them out of his banana crop just wants them off his land. The wild animals are a luxury that Africa can’t support much longer.”

  “You see a village like the one today, and it seems like nothing’s changed there for a thousand years and won’t for another thousand.”

  “It’s a mirage,” Jomo said. “For every one village like that one, there are a dozen more setting up their solar panels for their televisions and sending their kids off to school. But foreigners don’t want to see that. They want to see the Maasai in their red robes and their beads, living in their little manyatta, carrying their shields and spears, not a mobile phone. Kenya can’t afford to keep part of its people as a human zoo for tourists, however.”

  “Too depressing, Baba,” Baako said. “Tell us a hunting story.”

  “You ever run into a man-eating lion?” Chase asked, his eyes eager.

  “All lions can be man-eaters,” Jomo said. “That old rubbish about man-eaters always being broken down or injured is just that. Takataka. A game ranger over at Tsavo kept records for ten years, and of eighty-nine man-eaters, eighty were in good condition when they were shot. It’s not hard to figure out. Man-eating mamas produce man-eating cubs. She’ll train them to track and kill man and wean them on human flesh. Why fool around with buffalo when man is easier? It doesn’t help when some of the Old Ones still tell the women to leave their dead babies out on the plains for the scavengers. They’re just teaching lions to like the taste of man. Long grass season is man-eating season. One bite through the temples with those long canines is all it takes. Mostly, they hunt man in the dark of the moon, though, so we’re safe enough.”

  “I feel so much better,” Chase said. As though to punctuate his comment, a lion began roaring, closer now, signaling the hunt.

  “Lions are about the only predator I know that can paralyze their prey simply by their smell and their voice,” Jomo added. “I’ve seen it before. Even man will stand and shiver when the lion roars.”

  “What about elephants? They’re not afraid of lions, are they?” Chase asked.

  “Not afraid, really, except for their calves. Respectful, though. I saw a pride hunting a cow once, which somehow had been separated from her herd. She fought three lionesses gallantly and screamed and screeched, but they finally got her down to her knees, and just as she was rolling to her side, done for, another cow came bravely to her rescue. When she heard her friend come running, calling to her not to give up, she started using her trunk like a bullwhip, knocked one lioness ass over teakettle, and struggled to her feet. By the time her friend got there, trumpeting and blowing mad, the lions turned and ran. That was heartening, I must say.”

  “Give us another, Wiki,” Baako said.

  Jomo rolled his eyes in mock reluctance with a coy smile. “Well. What shall I tell you this grand night.” He poked at the fire, stretching out the moment. “There was another time that I figured out just how very clever a python could be.” He stretched his boots out before the flames. “We were hunting near a vast swamp, over on the north of the Mara, my mates and I. We ran into this fog of a smell, quite the most foul odor of decay I think I’ve ever blundered into. It about choked us, as we walked towards it. Figured to find some large death, likely a packy or a rhino. Maybe both. Instead, we found this writhing, white mass of maggots, thick like a rug, the size of a tabletop. We looked closer, gagging and holding kerchiefs over our nose, and what do you suppose we found? A python had swallowed a bushbuck up to the neck. The snake was stretched out with the head and horns of the bushbuck stuck out of his mouth, his jaws strained round his catch so wide that his spots looked big as my boots. He couldn’t swallow the head, see, because if he did, the horns would pierce him through, so he was waiting for maggots to sever the head by eating away at the antelope’s neck, which was all blown up with gas. And they were doing the job, right enough, completely covering the python’s mouth and the head of the bushbuck, eating only the decayed flesh. A tool-user, that’s what that python was. Just like a primate. I’ve often wondered how that snake knew to do that.”

  Chase took another spoonful of jelly. “Kinda glad Jata didn’t send rice pudding,” he said.

  Baako chuckled.

  Jomo saw an opening and turned to his son in the firelight. “So. Tell me, lad. Are you finally past your pissiness about Chase, here?”

  Chase was silent. He rose, shifted his camp chair back from the fire and sat down again.

  Jomo noted his discomfort. The boys had minded his rules and kept most of any rancor between them to themselves. He had hoped, by giving Chase his own place, that they would re-mark their territories and reach a truce. Perhaps even begin to act like brothers.

  “I guess,” Baako said. He dropped his voice. “Although I wonder what next he’s going to ask for and you’re going to offer up.”

  Before Chase could answer, Jomo said, “He has his share. I should think that would be sufficient.”

  “Yeah, really,” Chase said to Jomo, “you’ve been very generous with me, gave me twice what I’d hoped for.” He turned to Baako. “Is that what you need to hear? That I’m not after anything else that belongs to you?”

  “That would be helpful. Yeah.”

  “Okay. I asked for two hectares of my own, and I offered to work five years for your family to earn it. That means working five years for you as well,” he said to Baako. “Your father generously gave me four hectares, almost ten acres, and he’s allowed me to work on my own property instead of on yours. That’s huge. Much more than I ever hoped for, and I give you my word, right now, both of you, I won’t ask for another thing. Don’t need another thing.”

  “What about university?” Baako asked.

  “Not interested,” Chase replied.

  “How do you plan to make a living, then?” Jomo asked.

  “Haven’t quite figured that out yet, but I’ve got a few ideas. And none of them depend on asking the Maathai family for any help. I
can grow enough on ten acres to eat and enough extra to sell for whatever else I need. Lots of families have less than ten acres, and they make it. Might grow some algafuel. I’ve got good soil, good water.” He grinned at Baako. “Good neighbors. I don’t need anything else.”

  “What about your own family?” Baako asked.

  Chase was silent for a moment. “It’s not that I don’t care about them,” he finally answered. “But things are different. They might ultimately come here, I guess. I sent my dad an email, and I told him that I wasn’t going to try to get back there. I don’t know if it went through, but I’ve sent a letter to the cabin. Who knows if they’ll ever get it?” He shook his head. “This is where I’m staying. I can visit them someday; they can come here, but this is it for me.”

  “Well,” Jomo said, “as a father, your decision would make me very sad. But as a man, I understand it. He turned to Baako. “Does that satisfy you?”

  “It helps,” Baako allowed. “Of course, he’s said stuff before. He always said he was going home.”

  “Yeah,” Chase agreed. “I did. And I believed it, too. But this is my home now. The aliens said they’re coming back. Might be in a millennium or a month. I’m keeping below their radar, if I can. But hey, if it weren’t for you guys, I might have died in the camps or on the road. So I’m in your debt forever. I won’t forget that.”

  “Nor will I,” Baako said.

  Jomo settled back, smiling. “Well done, lads. Now we’ll have no more on this sodding issue, right?”

  “Right,” Chase said. “Do we start before dawn tomorrow?”

  “Indeed,” Jomo said, ready to change the subject, “we’ll cross the river, find the herds, and set up a blind, I think. The Old Ones said that the herds are overgrazing the waterholes and riverbanks, same old story. Too many hooves, too little water. We can take three zebra, two gazelle, two impala on this trip. We were lucky to get this concession; it’s in high demand.”

  “You had to pull a few strings,” Baako said, deadpan.

  “Indeed, I did. Once we cross the river, we’re on Sweetwaters land, so do be careful to take only what’s on our permit.”

  “Whoa. Some eyes over there,” Chase said, pointing out into the darkness at shining orbs moving in the fireshadows.

  “Hyena,” Jomo said. “Make sure you bring your shoes in tonight. Remember they’re not afraid of fires; they see them all the time. Dangerous fallacy. Last one to bed, bank it. I’m turning in.”

  Jomo went to his tent, and the two boys sat in silence before the flames. The stars looked like glowing eyes in the dark, some near, some nearer, with the Milky Way arched over the night like a hunter’s net cast to catch them. The whoops and snuffles of hyenas just outside the reach of the light brought the wildness in close. Always at night, the sense of the animals secretly moving, at work, at the hunt, mating and birthing and dying, seemed to be a message that was waiting to be heard and understood, Chase thought. But could not be understood, no matter how hard a man listened.

  “Where there’s hyena, there’s lion,” Baako said. “They hate each other, but they’re never very far apart.”

  “Yeah? Just the normal predator competition?”

  “It’s more than that,” Baako said. “They’ll go out of their way to attack each other. It’s a blood feud. Male lions will sometimes hunt for hyenas to kill. Hyenas will pass up a lion kill to go after lion cubs.”

  Chase took that in silently. He rose finally and said, “I’m going to bed. We good?”

  Baako looked at him over the fire. “I guess.”

  Chase nodded. “I’m over it. Deal, man. Just like the rest of us.”

  * * *

  They were in the jeep and moving towards the river before first light. They crossed the river in the shallows and turned south. They stopped to pull down the green camouflage netting from the roof of the jeep which enveloped it from top to wheels. Baako and Chase stuck branches into the netting, so that the jeep now looked like a rolling bush.

  A small herd of elephants was moving south as well, and they fell in line behind them. In the darkness, it was hard to see the whole herd, and they drifted away. They came upon an elephant cow and a newborn, still tottering on tiny stumps of legs. Clearly, it had not yet completely bonded with its mother, because it came over to the jeep and tried to mouth the wheel, looking for a teat. The cow angrily shoved the jeep from the other side and then backed off, wailing for the calf to follow. But the calf was smitten with the jeep, perhaps attracted to its heat, and as they drove off, the calf ignored its mother and ran after them at full speed, its small pink ears flapping, protesting their departure. The cow came at them as well, so they stopped and turned off the engine. In the silence, the cow somehow decided that they meant no harm, and she eased between the jeep and her calf, gently pushed it away, and finally led it off towards the trees, where it began to nurse properly.

  The lionesses were roaring the dawn into life now, and they could see the darker forms of the herds in the distance. They drove as slowly and silently as possible towards them. “Grass is higher than I’d like,” Jomo said. “Must have had some recent rains. One can’t depend on any sort of normal schedule at all anymore with the weather. These plains are supposed to be cut short by the herds by now.”

  “Maybe we won’t need a blind,” Chase said.

  “Likely not. Straight-up spot and stalk. But it makes it easier for lions and snakes to hide in the grass. Keep a smart lookout. Oho, we’ve got some nyati mixed in with the herds. See that lot over there? Buffalo. We’ll keep clear of them.”

  They walked slowly towards the herds in single file, Jomo in the lead. The raucous calls of the dawn birds were increasing, the yellow-necked spur fowls, the cackling of the guinea fowl, and the deep-throated bassoon of the hornbill which sounded almost like a lion’s groan. Chase felt that he could feel the pulse of the plains through his boot. They were animals among animals, just as nervous about the shadowed places and a sudden silence in the air as any other prey might be. To become dull to the signals could mean death.

  “So what’s so scary about a buffalo?” Chase asked. “Looks like a lot of meat to leave walking around.”

  “Not worth the risk,” Jomo said, stopping to shift his pack. “A bull never knows when it’s dead. It can take a heart shot and keep coming for a full minute. Do one sodding amount of damage in that minute, too. Good eyesight, good hearing, good sense of smell, skin about an inch thick, and it can run four times as fast as you. One can’t sneak up on a buffalo, and they’ll seek cover in the thorniest, snarliest backbush as possible. I saw a bull hook a hunter through the ribs once, and then kneel on the man so hard that his lung pushed out of his wound like pink clotted cream. And then the bull began to lick his face with a tongue so rough it rasped away the skin of his cheeks. He was dead by then, thank God. Plenty of other game without taking on those devils.”

  “Sounds like you’ve seen the worst of them.”

  “Quite enough,” Jomo said.

  The night was paling quickly now, and they walked through a vast plain of light and space and freedom. The long shadows of the rocks and trees grew more distinct, the world was being created anew and fresh, and the dew wet the grasses. Later, they would be tired and hot and sweaty, but the dawn gave them amnesia about any future discomfort. They approached the herds downwind, moving to one side and keeping to the fringe of the long grass. They could hear hyenas in the distance, but they seemed to be moving away. A spiral of vultures to the south announced a night-kill fairly close. “That might be where the lions are,” Jomo said. “I’d feel more comfortable if I could hear them.”

  A small cluster of zebra was moving towards them, unaware of their presence. “Let’s try this lot,” Jomo whispered, downing them in the grass at the edge of a muddy gully. They slapped mud on the blue steel of their rifles to mask their shine and crawled forward in the bush, stalking closer to the herd. The zebra stallion was grazing in front of the four mares, and a yea
rling was among them, all cropping with their heads down.

  “They like this long red oat grass,” Jomo said. “Bad luck for them. Chase, try for that yearling.”

  Chase took careful aim, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger. The zebra crumpled to its knees, the herd scattered, and from the grass to the left of them, a crashing sound of brush, and a buffalo erupted from cover, straight towards them, its head high, its huge curved horns forward. Jomo leaped to his knees in front of the boys and fired; the bullet hit the bull’s shoulder with the sound of wet meat slapped onto concrete, but the huge animal never hesitated. It was on Jomo with a bawling bellow, caught him in the belly with an ugly grunt, and threw him high into the air. The bull surged forward, twisted to horn Baako, and Chase fired again into its shoulder, aiming lower this time where he thought the heart must be, as Baako scrambled down into the gully, trying to turn and take his shot. Chase fired again, this time into the bull’s flanks as it passed him, intent on the man who was running, and finally the bull fell sideways into the dust, bawled piteously again and struggled to rise, the shoulder shot pumping blood more than two feet into the air. Baako fired again into its neck, and the bull lay still. Chase and Baako ran to where Jomo was crumpled in the dirt, gently pulling his hands away from his belly wound, which had blossomed into a massive red and spreading stain across his shirt. Jomo saw that Baako was uninjured, he opened his mouth to speak, raised a bloody hand towards Baako, and then quivered slightly and died, his hand collapsing gently back to his chest.

  Baako stood up, swaying slightly from shock. He walked to the bull, pumped three more bullets into the bloody carcass, and began to sob, his body shaking, his hands gripped so tight to his rifle that Chase had to peel it out of his grip. He put his arm around Baako’s shoulders, and they wept together for a moment. They stared at the bull, unable to believe what had happened. It was huge, covered with mud, reeked like vicious death, with curving horns and a massive boss of bone over dark, glazed eyes. Chase said, “We need to get your dad to the jeep. Right now. Before the lions smell the blood. Can you guard him while I go get it?”