Gorilla Dawn

by Gill Lewis

  Imara walked over to Bundi, Kitwana resting on her hip. Kitwana seemed brighter, but his eyes looked sunken and his stomach was still hollow. “Where is the milk powder for Kitwana? The Black Mamba ordered it yesterday.”

  Bundi checked through the list and called in through the pilot’s door; the pilot reached beneath his seat and pulled out a small package. Bundi tipped out the contents and passed a white plastic box and a bottle to Imara. She took them, sliding them beneath her blanket, and walked back with Kitwana to her hut.

  Inside, she put Kitwana on the floor and gave him a piece of wild celery to chew. She opened the plastic box to find white powder inside. She dipped her finger in and licked it, tasting the sweet creaminess of the magic powder that would keep Kitwana alive. She closed the lid and turned the box over and over, tracing her fingers across the instructions, printed words she couldn’t read.

  She had no choice. She would have to find Bobo to help her.

  Saka was sitting near the fire, skinning a wild bush-pig caught in a snare from the night before.

  “Where is Bobo?” she said. “I need him now.”

  Saka stood up. “He’s in the mines. Come,” he said, “I’ll help you find him.” He glanced at Kitwana in her arms. “He looks better.”

  Don’t talk to him.

  “Just take me to Bobo,” said Imara, following Saka around the high rim of the mine.

  “There,” said Saka. He pointed down in the ravine where Bobo was working a section of the mine with Frog.

  Rat was leaning back against the red mud, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, his arm casually resting on his gun. He was watching Bobo shovel spade after spade of red earth into a bucket. Bobo’s shoulders glistened with sweat, and Imara could see the strain in his muscles. Frog’s job was to wash the shoveled earth and separate the mud from the lumps of coltan. Imara noticed Frog had lost more weight. His hands shook as he tried to lift another bucket. He didn’t look as if he could go on much more. His knees buckled under the weight and he sank down, sliding on the mud.

  Rat kicked him. “Get up, get up.”

  Frog tried but floundered in the mud. Rat kicked him hard in the stomach. “Get up. GET. UP.”

  Saka gripped Imara’s arm. “He’ll kill him.”

  Imara shook Saka off, but watched as Bobo turned and advanced on Rat, his shovel raised above his head.

  Rat scrambled backward, grabbed his gun, and leveled it at Bobo.

  “Stop!” shouted Imara.

  Both Rat and Bobo looked up at her.

  “I need him,” said Imara, pointing at Bobo. She looked at Frog doubled over in the mud. She knew Rat would kick him again once Bobo had left. “And I need Frog, too,” she called. “I need him to fetch me water.”

  What are you doing? hissed the demon. Frog is not your business. Don’t show him mercy. Rat will tell the Black Mamba of your weakness.

  “You don’t need both of them!” shouted Rat.

  See . . . See what will happen . . . Rat will do anything to bring you down. I am the only one who can protect you.

  Imara glared down at Rat. “Do you challenge me?”

  Rat turned his face away, kicking at the mud.

  “Send them both up to me,” ordered Imara. “I need them now.”

  Imara walked behind Bobo and Saka, watching them carry Frog between them.

  They are nothing to you, Imara. Nothing. Don’t pity them.

  Back at the camp, Imara pointed at Frog. “He is too sick to work. Saka, take him away. Let him sleep.”

  Frog stumbled forward. “Thank you,” he said.

  Imara spat on the floor beside him. “Don’t thank me. You are no use to me dead.”

  She watched them go and then turned to Bobo, handing him the box of powdered milk. “What do I do with this?”

  Bobo took the milk powder from her hands and looked on both sides of the box. His eyes scanned the words.

  “You can read?” said Imara.

  Bobo nodded.

  “You’ve been to school?”

  Bobo frowned. “My father taught me,” he said.

  Imara saw a shield come across his eyes. So he had secrets, too.

  Bobo pulled out a small plastic scoop. “We need to mix the powder with warm water that’s already been boiled.”

  “There’s some in the pot,” said Imara. She reached in with her finger. “It’s warm still.”

  Imara watched Bobo measure out the powder and scoop it into the bottle. He added the water and shook the bottle, the water becoming white as it mixed with the powder.

  “Here,” he said. “See if he takes some.”

  Imara tried to push the teat into Kitwana’s mouth, but he pushed it away, closing his lips tight shut. “What now?”

  “You have to be a gorilla,” said Bobo. “You have to talk his language.”

  Imara could see the corner of his mouth curl up in a smile. She scowled. “Don’t make fun of me.”

  Bobo laughed. “I mean it. When you give the milk you must make him calm. Gorillas grunt softly when they are content.” He gave a low grunting sound that sounded more like a belch. “Talk to him. Let him taste the milk first, too. You must show him there is nothing to worry about.”

  Imara tried grunting, but Kitwana pushed her away.

  Bobo took the bottle. “You hold him. I’ll try to get him to take the milk.” Bobo leaned forward, so his face was close to Kitwana. He grunted deep in his chest. The gorilla’s eyes found Bobo’s and stared into them in mild surprise. Bobo let a drop of milk fall into Kitwana’s mouth. The young gorilla tasted it, rolling the liquid around his tongue. His lips reached forward for another taste. Bobo let another drop fall.

  “There,” said Bobo. He let Kitwana take the end of the bottle in his mouth. Kitwana chewed on the end, then his small eyes lit up as he found how to suck the warm milk into his mouth.

  “See,” said Bobo, smiling. He handed the bottle to Imara. “Now you do it.”

  Imara held the bottle and looked down into Kitwana’s eyes staring up at her. She held the bottle to his mouth. “Am I doing it right?”

  “He looks like he’s enjoying it to me,” said Bobo.

  Kitwana kept sucking the bottle long after it was empty. He held it in his hands, refusing to let it go. Imara couldn’t help smiling at him. She scratched his tummy and he curled his legs up in delight.

  She heard Bobo laugh and looked up.

  Bobo nudged her. “Aha . . . and so you can smile after all.”

  Don’t smile. He is not your friend.

  Imara frowned and glared at Bobo. She could feel the tightness of her scar. “Don’t forget who I am.”

  Bobo pulled a piece of vine and twisted it in his fingers. “What makes you the Black Mamba’s Spirit Child?”

  “Are you challenging me?”

  “No, just asking,” said Bobo.

  Imara thrust the palm of her right hand near Bobo’s face. “This,” she said, showing him two dark purple marks on her palm near her thumb. “This is what makes me a Spirit Child. I was bitten by a black mamba and survived. The Black Mamba says powerful spirits protect me.”

  Bobo stared at the snakebite and smiled. He shook his head and chuckled to himself.

  “What’s so funny?” snapped Imara.

  “You were just lucky,” he whispered.

  “Lucky?” frowned Imara. “No one survives a black mamba bite.”

  “They do if it’s a dry bite,” said Bobo. “A snake can bite without injecting venom. My father knew a man it happened to.”

  The demon recoiled inside her. No! No one must know!

  Imara clenched her hand and held it against her chest. “You tell lies,” she blurted out. “I’m the Black Mamba’s Spirit Child.”

  Bobo moved around to sit next to her. “I won’t tell,” he whispered.

  Be careful, Imara. Don’t tell him anything about you.

  Imara pulled the bottle from Kitwana’s grip and lifted him up against her chest. The
warm milk had revived him, and he started pulling at a button on her shirt. He pulled it off and pushed his finger through the buttonhole.

  She felt Bobo still watching her and looked up.

  Bobo nodded toward the camp. “How long have you been with the Mambas?”

  Imara shrugged. “Long enough.”

  “Where are you from?” he said softly.

  Imara glared at him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Rat looking their way.

  You fool, Imara. You’re letting Bobo get too close. Rat has already seen.

  “Who are you?” persisted Bobo. “Where is your family?”

  Rat is watching you.

  Imara stood up. “I have no family,” she said, folding her face into a scowl.

  Bobo leaned forward. “You must have. You are someone’s daughter, someone’s child,” he whispered.

  “I am the devil’s child,” spat Imara.

  Rat sauntered over to them, his boots slapping in the wet mud. He looked from Bobo to Imara. “Black Mamba,” he called. “We have a problem.”

  The Black Mamba looked across at them. “What is it?”

  Rat shoved the end of his rifle into Bobo’s chest. “It seems Bobo is fond of your Spirit Child.”

  The Black Mamba walked over and stared down at Imara.

  “Kitwana is getting better,” she said, trying to deflect Rat’s accusations. “See, the milk is making him strong. Bobo has helped to save him.”

  Rat glanced sideways at Imara. “I wonder whose side Bobo is on?”

  The Black Mamba slung his gun across his shoulder. “There is a village causing us some trouble not far from here. Tomorrow I will take some men with me to go and see the chief. Let the new boy come with us. Then we can see where his loyalties really lie.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  imara

  Imara put her eye to one of the gaps in her hut and watched the Black Mamba and his men gather around the fire. Kitwana tugged at her shorts, wanting to be picked up. He had drunk three bottles of milk since the morning and already he was stronger. His skin had filled out and didn’t look papery thin anymore. His eyes were bright and curious and he had begun to explore Imara’s hut, pulling at the spare clothes she kept tied up from the low roof. Imara shifted position to get a better view of the fire. She tried to look for Bobo but couldn’t see him.

  Darkness was approaching, brought early by the heavy clouds. A wind blew restlessly in the canopy of leaves. Rat handed out guns and ammunition to the chosen men. Dikembe stood behind them, a panga in his hand, staring at the ground.

  Imara picked up Kitwana and hugged him to her. The Black Mamba was planning a dawn raid. She was glad she wouldn’t see this raid. She had heard the Black Mamba talk of a village on the edge of the park. The villagers had complained about the mine destroying the park and about the rebels who stole their livestock and threatened their people. The Black Mamba wanted to talk with their chief. Imara scanned the assortment of weapons in the Mambas’ hands, knowing the Kalashnikovs and pangas would be doing the talking.

  Imara looked again for Bobo in the group. Maybe he wouldn’t join this raid. But then she saw him. The Black Mamba called him forward and handed him a panga. She knew that new recruits had to earn a gun. She watched Bobo staring at the panga, turning it over and over in his hand. He would have to prove himself or die.

  “Imara!” The Black Mamba called her name. “Come and protect the men.”

  Kitwana clung to Imara as she walked across to the fire. She scooped ash into an earthen bowl and mixed it with water into a paste. The men lined up in front of her to have the ash snake painted on their skin.

  Kitwana sat and watched, dipping his finger into the bowl of ash and tasting it, pulling faces at the gritty texture in his mouth.

  Only Bobo didn’t come forward. Imara walked up to him with her bowl of wet ash. She held his wrist. “Let me protect you too.”

  Bobo pulled his arm away. “Protect me from what?”

  “From harm.”

  Bobo took a step back from her.

  Imara could see his breaths were sharp and shallow. He shook his head and walked away from her to join the other Mambas.

  Come away, whispered the demon. Don’t look. He is nothing to you.

  But Imara couldn’t help looking. She wished that she could protect him. She watched him clenching and unclenching his fists. She noticed he didn’t take a swig of beer or a wad of dagga when the Black Mamba passed them around.

  Come away, Imara. It is best that he dies. If he does come back, he will not be the same boy he is now.

  Imara tried to hold the image of him, the boy with the soft eyes and silence. It was how she wanted to remember him. She turned away and walked back to the darkness of her hut with Kitwana, shutting the door behind her. The demon wrapped his arms around her.

  Keep me in here, Imara. Just you and me. Together we are strong. Together, we don’t need anyone at all.

  * * *

  The camp was quiet after the Black Mamba and his men had left. The remaining Mambas relaxed, and passed around more beer. Two guarded the Black Mamba’s hut where the weapons and mined coltan were stored. A dim yellow light glowed from the hut, and Imara could imagine Bundi in there, hunched over his books, meticulously filling in his forms.

  Rain started to fall, the drops pattering softly through leaves and bouncing off the tarpaulin roof of Imara’s hut. She was warm and dry. She curled herself up in her blanket and listened to the slow steady breathing of Kitwana, in time with hers.

  She was falling asleep when she heard a soft knock at her door.

  Imara edged closer to the door and peered out through the crack. “Saka, what are you doing here?” she whispered.

  “Frog is sick,” he said. “I can’t wake him. He is muttering to the spirits.”

  Imara opened the door a little wider. “What do you want?”

  “Can you ask the spirits to make him better?”

  “It is up to them to decide,” said Imara coldly.

  Saka pushed his way through the door. “I think he will die.”

  Tell him to go away. Tell him death is a blessing in this place.

  “Go away,” said Imara.

  Saka held on to Imara’s arm. “Please, Imara. Please help him.”

  Imara looked at Saka, and then beyond him to the Black Mamba’s men huddled around the fire. She nodded, glancing back at Kitwana to check that he was still sleeping. “Take me to Frog,” she said. “And quietly. No one must see.”

  Imara followed Saka, keeping in the shadows, out of sight of the men. She crawled beneath the tarpaulin shelter he and Frog shared. Saka switched on a small flashlight.

  “Where did you get that flashlight?” she said.

  “I found it,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, pointing it at Frog. In the flickering light of the yellow bulb, Imara could see that Saka had tried to keep Frog dry with some of the sacks for coltan. He’d managed to find extra blankets for him too, but Frog had thrown them off and was lying in the mud, his whole body shaking.

  Imara bent down beside Frog. She wrinkled her nose. Frog had the sickness and diarrhea. His clothes and body stank with it.

  Frog grabbed her arm, his eyes wide. His teeth chattered as he tried to talk. “It’s all true of course . . . every word.”

  Imara glanced at Saka. “What’s he talking about?”

  “A story,” said Saka. “He keeps telling a story of the lion and the mamba, telling it over and over.”

  “A story,” said Imara. “Stories won’t save him now.”

  Frog fell into a fevered giggle. “When they fight, who wins the battle?”

  Imara felt Frog’s forehead with her hand. “The lion,” she said. “He kills the snake.”

  Frog shook his head wildly from side to side. “They both die. The mamba dies quickly in the lion’s mouth, but not before he’s bitten the lion with venom. The lion dies . . . death is
slow and painful.”

  Imara watched Frog yabbering his thoughts into the air. Sweat poured from him, soaking into his clothes. “When did he eat last?”

  “Two days ago,” said Saka.

  “He needs food and water,” she said.

  Saka clutched her arm. “He needs medicine too.”

  “Wait here,” said Imara, slipping out into the night. She kept a wide circle around the Mambas and crept into her hut. Kitwana had wriggled in his sleep, his arm curled around Imara’s blanket for comfort. Imara reached up for the sachets of medicine hidden between the sheets of tarpaulin.

  What are you doing? You might need this medicine for yourself.

  Frog kept my hut dry, she argued with the demon. He helped Kitwana, and he helped me too.

  You owe him nothing. If you get sick you will die instead, weak and lying in your own mess.

  Imara snatched the two sachets and left the hut before the demon could change her mind. She crouched down beside Saka. “I have two sachets of medicine left. Frog can have them, but it is all I have.”

  “Thank you,” said Saka, staring at the sachets.

  “You need to mix them with water. Go fetch some and I will help him drink.”

  Imara waited in the shelter for Saka to fetch water, trying to ignore the demon yelling in her ear.

  Stupid girl. You are risking everything. Everything!

  “Help me up with him,” Imara said on Saka’s return. She mixed one sachet in a cup of water. “He must drink.”

  Saka helped Frog to sit up and Imara put the medicine to his lips and watched him take small sips.

  Frog turned to her, blinking in the darkness. “Mama?”

  “I am not your mama,” snapped Imara. “Now drink. It will make you better.”

  When Imara had finished, she gave the last sachet to Saka. “Here. Give him this in the night. Do not let anyone see. If they find it on you, I will say you have stolen it. Do you understand?”

  Saka took the sachet. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t ask anything of me again.” Imara crawled out of the shelter and made her way back to her hut through the shadows with the demon fuming inside her. Imara, you are becoming weak. What are you doing? You should have kept the medicine for yourself.