by P J Skinner
‘What’s the point in saving the elephants? They don’t do us any good,’ said one of the stakeholders.
‘Ah, but they could,’ said Jean. ‘We should promote the area to tourists. If they come, it would provide jobs in the hotel and catering industries. It is a long-term project that can continue even if Consaf leaves. The WCO want to develop the sanctuary and encourage tourists to stay in town and spend money.’
‘Tourists? What kind of tourists would come to this godforsaken place?’ said Kaba, eliciting laughter and complaint in equal measure.
‘The sort that go to the Mountain Gorilla parks in Uganda, people with lots of money,’ said Jean Delacroix.
‘What about the road?’ said the shop keepers’ representative. ‘No one can visit if we don’t upgrade the road.’
‘We don’t have the extra money this financial year,’ said the accountant. ‘Unless we cut other services.’
‘I agree. Why should we help the elephants when we are struggling ourselves?’ said a woman.
Ota Benga, the pygmy representative, was following the discussion, his face animated, but he didn’t interject. He sat with his legs crossed in his now customary seat. Whether he was following the tone or the meaning of what was being spat across the hall, Sam couldn’t tell. What must he be thinking?
The arguments went back and forth but the overall attitude remained. They held a vote after everyone had their say. The result was close, but they rejected the proposal. Sam tried to mitigate the loss by accepting it without protest. There must be a better way. The meeting broke up, and she made her goodbyes.
As she left the meeting, the Chinese man she had seen in the restaurant with Joseph Kaba, was hanging around outside. What could he be discussing with the rebel leader? Perhaps they were trying to buy gold from the artisanal miners although this seemed unlikely. The gold was fine grained and not suitable for primitive equipment which spat most of it back out with the waste material. That didn’t stop the ex-rebels from strong arming the artisanal miners into handing over part of their production, the Lumbono version of a protection racket, but it was small beer for the Chinese. Why would they bother?
***
Joseph Kaba shook Chu Lin’s hand with vigour, pumping it up and down as if trying to extract money from his wallet.
‘How was the meeting?’ said Chu Lin. ‘Any problems?’
‘That woman, the new manager at Consaf, was trying to get extra rangers posted in the forest. We must act soon or it will become too dangerous for my men.’
‘But are they ready for action?’
‘Just give the word. However…’ Kaba removed a grubby white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘I need you to up the price.’
‘And why would I do that?’ said Chu Lin, his face like thunder.
‘You didn’t tell me about ivory being a special grade. The green guy from the WCO told us it’s harder and pinker than usual so the price should be too.’
‘We had a deal. You’re not the only group of disaffected ex-rebels around here, you know. I’m sure I could find someone willing to do it for the price we agreed.’
‘And you think I’d allow another troop into my territory? It’s not just the elephants who would die in that case,’ said Kaba.
Chu Lin scrutinised him as if assessing the weight of the threat.
‘You can have a ten percent premium when you hand over the tusks,’ he said.
‘And what should we do with them after we remove them from the carcasses? They will be almost impossible to carry through the forest,’ said Kaba.
‘Make the road closer. Round the elephants up and push them to the edge of the jungle with your weapons. Kill them near enough the road for easy transport and then pile the tusks there covered in palm leaves and scrub. One of your men can guide us to the site. Make sure they aren’t visible from the road.’
‘Theory is always easier than practice in these matters.’
‘Do your best. I’m paying you enough,’ said Chu Lin, and he started down the hill.
***
There was an email from Dirk waiting for her in the office. Sam rubbed her hands together in anticipation as she opened it and read. To her intense disappointment, Dirk has not joined in with the joke about chicken inspections. He made some requests for photographs, and some anodyne comments of general approval, but no jokes about chickens.
Even worse, he pointed out the spelling mistake, deadpan. Perhaps they didn’t have as much in common as she had imagined. It was isolating. Thank goodness she was going home for a break soon. Masaibu was aptly named.
Chapter XVIII
The kitchen transfer went through without a hitch. The anticipation generated by the new utilities and the promise of the longed-for uniforms created a carnival atmosphere. Ngoma Itoua had pre-warned the local contract staff about the lack of lunch which they took in good humour but with much grumbling, despite fruit and bread rolls with meat fillings being distributed to most of the men.
‘The new larder looks fantastic. Those stainless-steel shelves should be easy to keep clean,’ said Sam.
‘Yes, we’re pleased with it,’ said Frik. ‘Aren’t you due out on leave?’
‘I’m going on leave in a couple of days. I hope the project holds together while I’m gone.’
‘Jacques is going out too.’
Sam feigned disinterest.
‘Oh? I didn’t know.’
But she did, and it was hard to avoid the frisson she experienced when he was around. Not like Fergus, but at least she wasn’t bored. Sam found the security men difficult to fathom. Hans appeared insulted when she gave him back his chair. Jacques avoided talking to her. No one tolerated them much except her. Some locals were hostile and spat on the floor after they had walked past. Sam had tried asking Frik the reason for the hostility but he wasn’t much help.
‘The French Foreign Legion are scum but at least they are not Belgians.’
The reference went right over the top of Sam’s head. Belgians? The only Belgians I can remember are Hergé and Papa Smurf.
‘Belgians?’ said Sam
‘Jesus, Sam, don’t you know anything about Lumbono?’ said Frik.
‘I always do research before I travel anywhere new, but this contract was such a rush that I didn’t get the opportunity. I’ll buy some books while I’m out on leave.’
‘About one hundred years ago, Lumbono was the private fiefdom of a Belgian King. He used the population as slaves to gather rubber and hunt elephants. The Belgians treated the locals like animals, worse.’
‘What happened?’ said Sam.
‘During a revolution in the 1920s, the local population massacred most of the Belgians living here. The ones who survived returned to Europe. They did not educate Lumbono nationals as a matter of policy. Governing such a sprawling landmass covered in a jungle with few amenities like roads and hospitals was a mammoth undertaking.’
‘Is that why the place is such a train wreck?’
‘Yes. And why the Belgians are so unpopular. They are blamed for the mess, and rightly so.’
‘But Hans and Jacques aren’t Belgians…’
‘Hans isn’t. I’m not sure about Jacques. Anyway, the French Foreign Legion are no angels. It’s been a haven for men with criminal records, shady business dealings and deserters because it strips their old identity from them when they join and they begin a new life with a clean sheet,’ said Frik.
‘So, we don’t know who we are dealing with?’ said Sam.
‘People give them a wide berth, just in case.’
That explained the cool relationship between the security men and the locals, but it didn’t account for their relationship with her.
With time running short before her break, she called Dirk to warn him of her imminent departure.
‘Hi Dirk.’
‘She lives. To what do I owe this great honour?’ said Dirk.
‘I’m
going out on leave tomorrow,’ said Sam.
‘It can’t be ten weeks already. You’re having me on.’
‘You can’t begrudge me a couple of weeks out after the shift I’ve pulled. I’m only taking two weeks of the three that I’m allowed,’ said Sam.
‘I’m kidding. I think you should take the full allowance. You’ve worked seventy days straight.’
‘I know, but I’m afraid to leave the project for longer. Against my better judgement, I’ve had to leave Philippe in charge of the project.’
‘Isn’t there anyone else?’ said Dirk.
‘It’s tricky. He occupied the position of interim general manager before I arrived, self-appointed as far as I could make out, but it might seem racist if I asked Frik to do it instead. I’d like Ngoma Itoua, the union manager to do it, but he’s out on leave in a week’s time.’
‘In that case, can you come back next week?’
‘No.’ She didn’t leave room for negotiation in her tone.
‘I was only kidding. Are you doing a handover with him?’
‘Yes, and I have forbidden him from making any retrograde changes to the protocols we are now operating. I have told him to use Stoddard’s delivery service, but I can’t stop him sending Mama Sonia to Uganda to do her own shopping this one last time.’
‘Hm, I’ll send him a stiff email with instructions from head office. Have you done a handover sheet?’ asked Dirk.
‘Yes, I already gave it to him.’
‘Send me a copy and I’ll lay down the law.’
‘Okay great.’
‘I need to you come back via Johannesburg to update us on progress at Masaibu. Can you make us some sort of presentation? It should be an easy ride. You are going a great job so far.’
‘Thanks Dirk, I’ll chuck something together at home.’
‘Have a nice time. Are you seeing that sister of yours?’
‘She needs a babysitter so I’m sure I will. You won’t even notice I’ve gone,’ said Sam.
‘Ha! That’s what you think. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
***
Jacques had already occupied the back seat of the car when Sam got there. She threw her bag into the boot. It flew there with ease as it contained only the clothes she needed for her visit to head office. She left her field gear in her room, thinking it might incentivize her to come back.
Having sealed her remaining tea bags into a zip-lock bag, she put them inside a plastic bag. She hooked the handles of the bag over the top of a hanger in the wardrobe so that they were dangling out of reach of insects. Her chocolate hoard finished, she had plans to replenish the supply in London. Sam shut the padlock on the bedroom door, an addition to prevent a repeat of the welcome she had received on her first day.
She jumped into the car almost overshooting her seat in her enthusiasm.
‘Whoa, mind the suspension,’ said Jacques.
‘Are you insinuating that I’m fat?’ said Sam.
Jacques examined her from head to foot in a way that made her feel as if she was frying.
‘I don’t want to die on the day I’m going home,’ he said.
Ezekiel drove them down the main street and through the town out to the airport. He had removed the black film from the windows, which seemed at first like a great idea. However, it also meant everyone could see into the car. Sam had developed a film star status since the mortality rate at the hospital had plummeted, and they had to keep stopping the car to shake people’s hands.
‘Please don’t leave us Mama Sam.’
‘I’m coming back, I promise.’
It was hard to fathom the difference between it and her initial welcome. Perhaps people just needed someone to care what happened to them, and she cared. More than she should.
‘They can turn on you,’ said Hans, when she discussed it with him. ‘The hearts and minds method is a tricky balancing act. It can go wrong sometimes. And I should know.’
She was proud, even while she suspected it would end in a fall. No problem was insurmountable, with her ability for lateral thinking. Even pretend confidence seemed to work, despite her scepticism. Ezekiel’s voice broke through her daydreaming.
‘We have arrived, Mama Sam.’
Ezekiel took their bags to the door of the shabby shed that served as the airport building.
‘Have a good rest. We will wait here for you. Safari salama Mama Sam.’
‘Asante na wewe Ezekiel,’ said Sam, thanking him for wishing her a safe trip.
The procedures for leaving the country were just as drawn out as those for entry. Sam felt as if someone had trapped her in a time warp like the one in the film Groundhog Day, which she had seen with her parents before coming out to Lumbono.
Jacques took it all in good humour, teasing the women in customs and making them blush and jostle.
‘Don’t forget our lipsticks,’ said one.
‘Would I dare?’ said Sam, making them laugh.
‘What’s that about?’ said Jacques.
‘Oh, just girl stuff.’
Mad Mark stood planted on the tarmac like a dead tree with a bees’ nest on top. He had the look of a man who had a pornographic newspaper to finish.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Time’s a wasting.’
Sam recognised his stock departure phrase. It didn’t take long to get used to something. There was no sign of any free-loaders hanging around on this trip. The small aircraft had a smoother take off without mysterious bundles in the hold.
Soon they were flying over Lake Albert where the air became turbulent as moist air rose into the sky. It threw Jacques against Sam who pushed him off with mock horror.
‘There’s no need to throw yourself at me,’ she said.
‘It’s desperation,’ he said. ‘I’ve been away from home for three months.’
‘I’ve never asked you if you were married.’
Mad Mark snorted.
‘You’re too late,’ he said. ‘Jacques has a lovely wife. She’s French. Oh là là!’
‘That’s nice,’ said Sam, but it wasn’t, so much for playing the long game. It explained why he ran away every time he found himself alone with her. Probably instructions from her indoors. She sighed.
‘That was a big sigh,’ said Jacques. ‘Are you sad to be leaving Masaibu?’
Sam couldn’t help giggling. ‘No. Are you?’
‘I’m so happy I keep falling out of my seat.’
‘There you go,’ said Mark.
***
Philippe watched the jeep pull away from the office door. Even a confirmed hypocrite like him could not be bothered to wish the occupants a good trip. As soon as they were out of sight, he let himself into Sam’s office using his set of keys and sat behind her desk. It was pristine.
He tutted and opened the drawers in her desk finding only paperclips, Sellotape and a book about beetles along with a variety of ballpoint pens from different hotels in South America. There were no files or notepads, nothing of any value to him. Sam had locked the filing cabinet.
He tried to start her computer, but she had protected it with a password. Sam’s interfering had disrupted a nice income he had going from the local workers and his wife was on the warpath. He had not expected the money to dry up and hadn’t warned her beforehand about Sam’s arrival.
How was he to know? Charlie Okito had told him that she was harmless. But she was about as harmless as a leopard up a tree. She dropped on schemes without warning suffocating them by the throat before anyone had a chance to react. She mesmerised the security guys who followed her around like puppies, especially that Jacques fellow masquerading as French. He smelt like a Belgian, and they were scum.
Philippe picked up the telephone to ring Charlie and put his dirty shoes on Sam’s desk kicking a framed photograph of her parents onto the floor. He left it lying there, the glass cracked and splintered. By the time Sam got to Johannesburg her career at Masaibu woul
d be over. It was time he moved back into his office.
***
Charlie Okito replaced the phone in the receiver. Triumph was written all over his face. That weasel Philippe had come good. The arrogant bitch running Masaibu was on borrowed time. He thumped the table causing his coffee to flood into the saucer.
‘Sara!’
His secretary sidled into the room with the air of a woman who expected to be groped. He gesticulated at the mess.
‘Get me some more coffee and clean this up.’
She leaned over to get the cup and winced as he put his hand on her arm.
‘About time we had another lunch, no?’ he said, oblivious.
After she left, he found his address book in his briefcase and searched for the number of a journalist on the main Goro newspaper.
‘I’ve a scoop for you,’ he said.
***
The airport hotel was basic but clean. Both Sam and Jacques were taking flights early the next morning and its location near the runway made it the obvious choice. Sam had been looking forward to having dinner with Jacques and flirting a little to see what happened, but he was taken and knowing that, the plan lost its gloss. Anyway, Mark joined them which knocked most topics on the head. They couldn’t even talk about work.
She stayed in her room and ate a couple of bananas, feigning a headache. Her room smelt of cigarettes and DDT which threatened to produce a genuine one. She lay on the shiny counterpane reviewing her first rotation at Masaibu. Overall things had taken a definite turn for the better but serious problems still existed and rebellion lurked below the surface calm.
Some people, especially Philippe, would never come on side. She suspected that Charlie Okito was egging him on but there was no way of proving it. As manager of the Goro office, he was well placed to interfere, and it seemed reasonable to assume that he had skin in the game. Proving it would be problematic.
