The Star of Simbako

by PJ Skinner

  She pushed it to the back of her mind. Work came first.

  Suddenly, she saw a flash of white between the trunks. Something was moving around in the copse opposite the terrace. Something or someone. Then she saw them. A group of girls sneaking through the trees. Their skin had been painted white. Their strange pale faces contrasted with their dark hair. She got out of the car slowly, but they saw her and withdrew further into the trees, melting into the darkness. Had she really seen them or was she imagining things?

  Tamba came bustling over.

  ‘Miss Sam, good morning. We are ready to start again. The men are putting in the grid and we should be ready to start digging after lunch.’

  ‘That’s great news, Tamba. Thank you.’

  They walked to the river bank and greeted the workers. Sam made her way to her usual spot on the stone seat and was surprised when Tamba came with her. He stood fidgeting like that he wanted to tell her something, but she didn’t force the issue.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she said.

  ‘No, thank you, Miss Sam.’ He sat on another one of the rocks, looking out over the terrace and watched the work progressing, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. Sam waited. It was hard for her not to fill the silence with chat, but for once she had the correct instinct.

  ‘Have you heard much about the civil war in Simbako?’ said Tamba.

  ‘No, I’m sorry to say that I’m pretty ignorant about it. I know that it finished recently, but I don’t know much else.’

  ‘Would you like me to tell you? It might help you understand the way things are around here.’

  Sam was not sure to what state of affairs Tamba was referring, but she wasn’t going to say so.

  ‘That would be great. I’m all ears.’

  ‘The war was at its height about ten years ago. The rebel soldiers who started the war came not from Simbako, but across the border from Liberia. They were irregular forces hired by warlords who were fighting over Liberian territory containing diamond deposits. When the U.N. entered Liberia, these mercenaries were chased over the border to Simbako by U.N. troops supporting the new government. The rebel forces were not inclined to disband and saw the northern villages of Simbako as easy targets. They followed the trail of the illegal diamonds smuggled out by the Lebanese traders. They were keen to take advantage of the diamond-rich alluvial deposits in east of the country which had no protection from marauding forces with no scruples.

  ‘As you know, river gravels are easily exploited using no more than a shovel and a sieve, and the rich pickings in Simbako were just too tempting. The soldiers were joined by local unemployed youths who wanted to get rich quick. There was little resistance. People who stood in their way were murdered or locked in their houses and burnt to death. Those left alive were used as slaves to dig up the wealth under their feet. Anyone caught stealing a diamond or trying to escape had their hands cut off. The rebels used to ask them if they wanted long sleeves or short sleeves before chopping off their hands at the wrist or elbow with a machete or axe. The women were raped as a matter of course, often by their own soldiers, as well as the rebels. There was no escape from the horror.

  ‘Eventually these soldiers moved into central Simbako. They came to Fona and overran the Chief’s compound.’

  ‘They came here? But I didn’t see any burnt buildings or destruction. It’s impossible to tell that they came this way. Were people killed?’

  One of the workers appeared in the shadows to tell them that they were ready to dig the first pit. Tamba jumped up as if relieved.

  ‘I will tell you more later. Can you please come with me and direct the excavations of the first pit? I want you to explain what needs to be measured and how we separate the materials.’

  Saved by the bell. Sam frowned. ‘I’ll be out in just a minute.’

  Intensely frustrated, she took a couple of deep breaths before following him to the edge of the trees. She wanted to find out more about the raid on Fona, but she wasn’t sure if Tamba would tell her the truth.

  And, as if on cue, she saw the painted girls again. They were on the other bank, gesticulating at her. She stood up and they all faded into the blackness again. Standing very still, she waited. One of the girls peeped around a tree and smiled at her, beckoning to her with a white hand with a black palm. Sam smiled back and shook her head. Some of the other girls joined in, making her giggle. The white paint made them look like dappled tree trunks undulating in the wind.

  Suddenly, they all disappeared.

  Tamba emerged at the edge of the glade, his round silhouette sharp against the light.

  ‘Are you ready? I need your help.’

  ‘Of course.’ She peered into the trees, but the girls had gone. ‘Did you see them?’ she said.

  ‘See who?’ said Tamba. ‘There is no-one over there.’

  ‘But there were some girls in the trees who had been painted white. At least, I think that’s what I saw.’

  ‘The sowei are performing their initiation into womanhood.’

  ‘Who are the sowei?’

  ‘I think you would call them wise women.’

  ‘But why are they in the forest?’

  ‘It is a sacred place. The bondo is hidden from the eyes of men. We are forbidden to enter or look into it.’

  ‘The bondo? What is that?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. You must ask a sowei, a leader.’

  ‘But, why …’

  ‘Don’t ask me again. I may not speak of it.’

  ‘But I don’t know a sowei.’

  ‘You live with one. Ask Auntie Fatou to tell you about the bondo. She knows everything about it.’

  Sam could not imagine that Fatimata would be very forthcoming after recent events. She was not exactly on speaking terms with the living battle cruiser.

  ‘Can I ask Adanna?’

  Tamba laughed. A nasty sound that caught in the back of his throat. ‘You may ask her, but she can’t tell you about it. She’s not been to the bondo. She is unclean.’

  Sam was shocked by this description, but she was completely out of her depth. What did he mean by unclean? It felt like a betrayal to ask Tamba about Adanna. For some reason, he seemed to despise her and Sam was not prepared to feed his wrath by asking him why.

  ‘I will ask Fatimata. Let’s go and see this gravel then.’

  Tamba shrugged and headed for the terrace. Sam followed him into the sunlight.

  ***

  There was no escape once Tamba and the men had gone. Try as she might to drag it out, she had to go home and face the music. She hated conflict of any sort and would normally have done anything to avoid it, but this was different. Work was work and she had to be professional.

  Nevertheless, she stopped on the way home for a warm Seven-Up, hoping to delay the inevitable scene. She pulled the car off the road and got out, jumping over the puddles on the mud road onto the wooden boardwalk.

  She pushed through the swinging half-doors into the local grocer’s shop wearing her metaphorical cowboy hat. She should have tied the car to a hitching post.

  Then she saw Ned sitting on a stool at the counter with his back to her. She patted her sides automatically, as if looking for a weapon. Wasn’t it Doc Holiday who was shot in the back while having a sarsaparilla at the bar?

  She wanted to leave, but she was too slow. Ned glanced back over his shoulder and his face lit up.

  ‘Sam, you’re here. Thank goodness.’

  She felt as if she had entered a parallel universe. Calamity Sam meet Ned Holiday.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ She stood her ground.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said, getting off his stool and walking towards her.

  ‘Like what? You’re the one who treated me like shit on your shoe.’

  He stopped. His face fell, he held his hands out helplessly.

  ‘I did. I know. I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. I’m pond scum. No, it’s worse. I’m the m
ould on pond scum.’

  ‘Enough about you,’ said Sam, trying not to laugh. ‘What on earth was that all about last night? What did I do to get that reaction?’

  ‘It wasn’t you. Fatou told me that you slept in Fergus’ room while I was away. It’s just the sort of thing he would do to me. I should have known that she was lying. I was jealous.’

  ‘I went to his room once,’ said Sam, ‘I didn’t realise that she had seen me.’

  ‘Fergus told me about the snakebite.’

  ‘So that’s what he called it?’

  His startled face was a picture.

  She burst out laughing.

  ‘I told you I was an idiot,’ he said.

  ‘And you were right.’

  ‘It’s a pity about Fatou though. She will hate me more than ever now, if she thinks I have been to bed with her crush. I wanted to ask her about something Tamba said.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it. She’s not talking to anyone. Fergus has had to suck up to her all day just to get us some dinner. Anyway, who cares what Tamba says?’

  ‘Can I have a Seven-Up?’

  ***

  By the time, they went home for supper, they had re-established their connection. Apart from the loud burp that escaped her after the second Seven-Up, it was really pretty romantic sitting in the fading light of the saloon.

  Fergus was waiting for them, his body rigid with tension. On seeing them arrive together, both smiling, he beamed and exhaled the breath he had been holding.

  ‘Aha, you’re here. Great. I’m starving. Fatou! Please can you serve dinner now?’

  Even Fatimata seemed in a better mood, brushing playfully up against Fergus a couple of times and almost knocking him off his chair. And the food was back to normal. Lovely chicken stew with mountains of rice and fried sweet plantains steamed on their plates and up their noses. Sam was so hungry, she almost licked the plate.

  ‘Steady on, girl,’ said Fergus, ‘leave the pattern on the Delph.’

  ‘What’s Delph?’ said Ned.

  ‘It’s an Irish word for crockery,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, now aren’t you the deep one?’ said Fergus, ‘and how do you know that?’

  ‘Oh, some boyfriend or other.’

  ‘I thought you had some Irish in you,’ said Fergus, who got thumped for his trouble.

  After eating, Sam went out to sit crossways in the hammock with her feet hanging over the edge. She didn’t admit to herself that she was leaving a space for Ned, but it was asking to be filled. Pulling the hammock’s material up behind her back, she swung in the night air. The door opened and she held her breath. To her dismay, both men came out.

  ‘Grand,’ said Fergus and before she could protest, he fell back into the hammock on Sam’s right-hand side.

  ‘Well, this is cosy,’ said Ned, and did the same on her left.

  Sam examined them both and rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t even think about a ménage à trois,’ she said.

  Fergus lit a cigarette for them all to share and they passed it back and forwards as the hammock creaked and groaned.

  ‘Any minute now,’ said Sam bracing herself.

  ‘Oh, I think we’re all right. Fatou naps here in the afternoons,’ said Fergus.

  ‘As long as she doesn’t join us,’ said Ned.

  They all roared with laughter and that proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. The hammock fell to the floor, depositing them all in an undignified heap, still giggling.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ said Fergus, dusting himself off.

  ‘We need a stronger rope,’ said Ned.

  ‘Night, chaps,’ said Sam, who floated off to bed without her feet touching the floor.

  ‘Why don’t you go after her?’ said Fergus. ‘You know you want to.’

  ‘Christ! My life is so fucked up,’ said Ned.

  ‘You’re such a drama queen, Neddy. What on earth could be wrong now? You’ve made up with Sam and all is right in the world.’

  ‘There’s just one problem.’

  ‘What’s that then? Don’t you like her shorts?’

  ‘Gemma wants to make up. She’s coming to Simbako next week.’

  ‘Did you tell Sam?’

  ***

  Sam sat in her room beneath the fan. The mosquito net billowed gently in the breeze under her vacant stare. She was rerunning the day in her head. It was hard to be rational about her feelings for Ned. He was all in one minute and all out the next. This, added to her natural insecurity, was not making for smooth running in the relationship, if it even was one.

  She was more perturbed by the fact that it was as exciting to have Fergus on one side as it was to have Ned on the other. Her hormones were going berserk with all the testosterone around. And what on earth was going on in the bondo? She had no idea what being unclean meant. Simbako was definitely turning out to be a conundrum.

  Chapter XI

  The next morning Sam followed her usual ritual with Dembo the parrot, but he refused to repeat her name. She might run out of cashews and patience, but he would capitulate first. Any day now, she thought, and stood up to go to breakfast. She felt dizzy, which she attributed to standing up too fast, but her head also throbbed. How irritating, I’m getting a headache. Sam was prone to headaches. They started in her teenage years and could last for days. She took propranolol to reduce their frequency, but sometimes she forgot.

  She returned to her room and took one with two Panadol. The combination killed a headache stone dead if she took them in time. She stuffed the rest of her packet into her rucksack with some fruit and raisins for lunch and then joined the men at the table for breakfast.

  Fatimata gave her a plate of scrambled egg and she buttered a piece of toast, but her appetite had gone and she picked at her eggs making no progress.

  ‘Are you okay, Sam?’ said Ned, when she pushed away her plate. ‘It’s not like you to leave your breakfast.’

  ‘I’m okay. Just got a headache and nausea.’

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ said Fergus. ‘Maybe it’s those shorts.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it’s just a headache. Can I have the car today?’ she said.

  ‘Ah, I forgot to tell you. Ned and I have to talk to the artisanal miners in Mano so we’ll need it. The meeting will go on into the night, so we won’t be back until tomorrow’

  ‘Sahr can take you to the terrace and pick you up. You’ll be fine here tonight,’ said Ned. ‘I can ask Fatou to stay if you want.’

  ‘That'll be cosy,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Um, not necessary, I’ll stay out of her way until you get back,’ said Sam. ‘Does Sahr know?’

  ‘Yes, I told him yesterday. He’ll be here soon.’

  As if on cue, a horn sounded outside. Sam glugged down some water and grabbed her rucksack.

  ‘Have a good time. Don’t drink too much palm wine. See you tomorrow,’ she said.

  Fergus grunted and Ned waved and winked, making her blush.

  She jumped into the jeep through the door that Sahr held open. A wave of nausea flowed over her and she put her head on her knees.

  ‘Okay, Sam?’

  ‘Yeah, fine, just forgot that I had a headache. It’ll go soon. I took some tablets.’

  ‘What sort of tablets?’

  ‘Just headache ones.’

  ‘Can I see?’

  ‘Sure.’ Mystified by his interest, she rooted around in her bag looking for the packet which had buried itself in the bottom.

  ‘Can you hold these please?’ she said dropping a random selection of stuff on his lap. After further rustling around, she pulled out the packet and showed it to him. He took it and examined it, reading the list of ingredients and nodding.

  ‘Are those from England?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, everyone takes them, well, not everyone, they’re effective.’

  ‘If you have any remaining when you leave Simbako, can you give them to me?’

/>   ‘It would be my pleasure. Do you get bad headaches too?’

  ‘Oh, no, they're not for me. They're for my mother. It’s hard to get good quality medicine in Fona.’

  ‘Remind me before I go and I’ll give them to you. Can you give me back my things?’

  Sahr handed her the fruit and raisins, the notebook and camera and patted his legs looking for anything that had escaped. He reached between them to the car seat and pulled out a small bag tied with a piece of string which he dropped as if he had burnt his fingers.

  ‘Oh,’ said Sam, ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’

  The look on Sahr’s face, a mixture of fear and horror, was almost comical.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  ‘In my pillowcase. I planned on showing it to Adanna and asking her what it is, but I forgot. Is it something bad?’

  ‘Miss Sam, it is terrible, dangerous juju. Someone is trying to hurt you. That is why you have a headache. We need to purify you. This is an emergency.’

  ‘An emergency? It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘Someone wants to kill you. This is a death fetish.’ Sahr reached into his pocket and leaned over, pushing the bag into an empty cigarette packet with a pencil.

  ‘A death fetish? Are you serious? Who would do this?’

  ‘Well, someone who bought this from the witch doctor. It must have been expensive. They want you dead, big time.’

  Sam laughed. She knew the culprit's identity. Trying not to smile, she rearranged her features into a serious mask. She fancied being treated by a witch doctor. It would be a unique experience. She hadn’t realised that Fatimata hated her so much. Perhaps she should talk to her and straightened things out. If they found common ground, she would ask her about the bondo while Ned and Fergus visited Mano. In her experience, women could always bond over the awfulness of men. For a moment, she regretted her indoctrination of Fatou’s parrot, but then she remembered that even if she didn’t believe in voodoo, Fatimata did, and she had paid a witch doctor for a deadly juju.