by Gill Lewis
* * *
Imara woke before dawn. She tried to push the thought of Bobo from her head. She knew the Black Mamba’s ways. She knew they would be lining up along the forest edge, waiting to attack. The Mambas were like the forest ants. They destroyed and devoured anything in their way. Imara imagined Bobo with his panga at his side, running into battle. If he didn’t join in the fight, the Mambas would kill him anyway. She hoped he would escape and leave, but Bobo had some other battle and Imara knew he wouldn’t leave until it had been fought.
She tried to keep herself busy, giving Kitwana his milk and collecting plants from the forest for him to eat. Frog looked better. She saw him sitting up, scraping out a bowl of rice. Saka tried to catch Imara’s eye, but she ignored him. She didn’t want the Mambas to think she was any friend of Saka or Frog.
It wasn’t until the late afternoon that the Black Mamba and his men returned, their arrival announced by the crackle of the radio and the sudden busyness of the Mambas guarding the camp.
The men returned high on adrenaline and beer, laughing and shouting, firing shots into the sky. They carried goats and bags filled with chickens, which they released into the camp. The chickens clucked and scurried in a flurry of feathers across the ground. All the Mambas had returned, all except the boy, Dikembe, but no one spoke about him as if he was forgotten already. The Black Mamba was happy. He drank his beer, holding the wrist of a young woman at his side. He had found himself a new wife. It had been another good raid.
Imara searched the crowd of men for Bobo. Then she saw him standing, shoulders slumped, his arms loose at his sides. The boy she knew had returned, but in his face she saw an emptiness. A haunting. The Black Mamba pushed Bobo forward into the firelight. He took his arm and held it up high. “We have a new Mamba,” he shouted. “Bobo is one of us now.”
The men cheered, holding their beer bottles high in the air. Only Rat threw sidelong glances at Bobo, from his small suspicious eyes. He bit the cap off a beer bottle and spat it on the ground.
The Black Mamba was smiling. He picked up a Kalashnikov rifle and thrust it into Bobo’s hand. “Today you became a man.”
The Black Mamba pushed a beer into Bobo’s other hand, and Imara watched Bobo drink it, not stopping until the bottle was empty. When Bobo finished, he just stared ahead, his face blank. Expressionless. Imara had seen new recruits look like it before. It was never easy, the first raid. She had seen it too many times.
It was always the same.
The gun made men of boys, and monsters of men.
Imara waited and watched as the Mambas drank and shared their stories, each story becoming more embellished with bravado as the beer took hold. She saw Bobo slide away into the forest. She chose her moment and slipped out of her hut, with Kitwana clinging to her, and followed him along the trails until she saw him crouched by the riverbed. He was kneeling in the water, bent over, scrubbing his arms with his nails. She could see the raw raised marks where his fingernails had scratched his skin.
“Bobo,” she said.
Bobo spun around, staring as if he had never seen her before.
“It’s me. Me and Kitwana.”
Bobo glanced at them and then turned back to scrubbing his arms.
“The Black Mamba is pleased with you today,” she said. “He says you are a Mamba now.”
Bobo stopped scrubbing. He sat down on a rock and stared into the water. “Today, I watched an innocent man die, and I did nothing to save him.” said Bobo. “Nothing.”
Imara could see his hands shaking. “You couldn’t do anything,” she said, kneeling down beside him. “Or you would have been killed as well.”
Bobo washed water over his head as if trying to wash away the memory. “He was protecting his family.”
Kitwana clung to Imara and eyed Bobo as if he was a different boy from the one before. “You had no choice,” said Imara.
“I had a choice,” said Bobo. He wrung his hands together. “In that split second I had a choice. But I was scared. I chose the wrong one. I could have tried to save a man’s life. He was someone’s father, someone’s husband, someone’s son.”
Imara shook her head. “And you would both be dead now, if you had tried to defend him.”
“And it would have been better than this,” said Bobo. “How can I live knowing I did nothing?”
“You are alive,” said Imara. “That’s what counts. Only the strong survive.”
Bobo shook his head. “I am weak,” he said. He leaned forward, clutched his stomach, and retched into the river. When he sat back up, Imara could see the softness in his eyes had gone.
“My father was right,” said Bobo, wiping vomit from his mouth. “Only a coward needs a gun to make him strong.”
gorilla
Kitwana clung to Imara, curling his fingers into the Girl Ape’s clothes. He didn’t like these Tall Apes. He wanted his mother and the rest of his family. He wanted to smell them, to hear them and touch them, but in his mind he heard them screaming and saw Hodari lying dead.
Fire-stick blood dead.
Eyes wide, staring.
These Tall Apes were Killer Apes.
They were all young males. Angry, scared, and wary. They had no mothers to protect them or reprimand them. They didn’t let each other close. Each one had a boundary that another couldn’t cross. The only thing that bound them together was their fear.
Kitwana watched them from the safety of the Girl Ape’s arms.
The Tall Ape with the snake bones walked with his head high and shoulders back. He barked to the others and they made way for him. No Tall Ape would look him eye to eye. He was the silverback here, but he was not like Hodari. Hodari protected his family, but this Killer Ape needed the other apes to protect him. This Killer Ape cared only for himself. When he turned away, the other Tall Apes squabbled among themselves. Even the small ones had some power. The fire-sticks made the small ones big.
The two youngest Tall Apes were the only ones to cling together. They didn’t fear each other. Kitwana had seen them curled next to each other in sleep, like he and Enzi used to do. But the smallest one had been the one to lead other Killer Apes to his family and so Kitwana couldn’t trust him.
He trusted the Girl Ape. She was his protection. She kept him safe. He needed to feel her hands holding him. She gave him milk and food and wrapped him in her arms. He slept beside her, warmed by her. Yet, when he closed his eyes, he could see the creased contours of his mother’s face, and every time he reached for her, she was running into the dark forest, running and running, away, away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
imara
The White Lioness arrived the next morning, while Imara was serving mealie porridge for the men. Imara watched her shaking out her mane of golden hair. The Black Mamba was waiting for her, his shirt billowing in the downdraft from the rotor blades. Imara held Kitwana close to her body and felt the demon squirming deep inside, squeezing the breath from her lungs. The White Lioness had come for her prize. She had come for Kitwana.
Imara looked for Bobo among the men. Bobo hadn’t come for food. She could see him sitting by the Black Mamba’s hut, his arms wrapped around a gun, staring into space. He had become the Black Mamba’s favorite. He was now the Black Mamba’s guard.
Rat joined the end of the queue of men lining up for porridge. He waited until he was alone with Imara and then pushed his cup in front of her face. “More,” he demanded.
Imara scraped the bottom of the pan and spooned the last of the porridge into his cup. Rat was watching her, a smirk upon his face.
Be careful, whispered the demon. He comes to taunt you.
Rat nodded toward Bobo and pulled a sad face. “Your gorilla boy does not love you anymore.” He sighed and shook his head. “And soon you will lose your baby, too,” he whispered, poking Kitwana in the stomach with his finger. “The White Lioness will take him with her.”
Imara drew Kitwana away. She felt the demon claw at her inside. Don’
t say anything. Don’t rise to his bait.
Rat leaned forward. “You don’t fool me, Imara. See, I am not afraid to look you in the eye.” He stared at her. A triumphant grin stretched across his face. “You have no powers. The Black Mamba will find that out soon enough, and then he will treat you just like any other woman.”
Imara closed her eyes and felt bile rise inside her.
The demon raged inside. This is your fault, Imara. You let me out and showed your weakness. I warned you what would happen. I warned you!
* * *
“Imara!”
Imara looked up. The Black Mamba was calling her from his hut, the White Lioness standing beside him.
“Imara, come here.”
Rat followed close behind as she made her way across the camp. Kitwana gripped tightly to her, burying his head in her arm. Imara glanced briefly at Bobo, but he didn’t even seem to see that she was there.
“So,” the White Lioness purred, bending down to look at Kitwana, “the Black Mamba has kept his word.”
“See, he is a healthy gorilla,” said the Black Mamba.
A frown crossed the White Lioness’s face. “I had wanted a girl, but no matter.” She ran her fingers through the gorilla’s fur. “He will do.” She smiled and held her arms out, palms upturned. “Here,” she said to Imara. “Let me hold him.”
Imara felt the Black Mamba watching. She tried to peel Kitwana away, but he clung to her, gripping with his fingers and toes.
The Black Mamba reached out and pulled Kitwana away from her. “Let the White Lioness hold him,” he ordered. Kitwana shrieked, grasping for Imara. A spurt of diarrhea sprayed the Black Mamba’s clean shirt. He swore and pushed Kitwana back into Imara’s arms.
The White Lioness stepped back and wrinkled her nose. “He is shy,” she said. “He is not yet ready for me. But that will change.”
The Black Mamba wiped his hands on his shirt. “Rat,” he barked. “Get me water to clean myself.”
The White Lioness looked amused. She turned to Imara. “The gorilla likes you.”
Don’t say a word.
Imara stared straight ahead, curling her fingers into Kitwana’s fur.
“Well,” said the White Lioness, reaching out to stroke his face, “does he have a name?”
Imara gripped Kitwana more tightly and stayed silent.
“The Spirit Child has named him Kitwana,” said the Black Mamba.
The White Lioness smiled, not taking her eyes from Imara. “So, the girl is fond of the gorilla too.” She studied Imara for a moment. “I almost forgot, I have something for you. I thought a girl in the jungle shouldn’t be expected to wear men’s clothes.”
Imara looked down at her ragged T-shirt and shorts, torn and caked in mud. She felt small and dirty.
“Clarkson,” said the White Lioness. “Bring me my bags from the helicopter.”
Clarkson returned with a bright bag with soft pink handles.
“Really, Black Mamba,” the White Lioness scolded. “You should treat your Spirit Child with more respect.” She pulled out a parcel wrapped in tissue paper.
“For you.” The White Lioness smiled.
Imara glanced at the Black Mamba and took the package. She felt something soft inside. “What is it?”
“Open it,” encouraged the White Lioness.
Imara peeled back the paper, helped by Kitwana who tore it with his fingers, stuffing pink tissue paper in his mouth. The White Lioness laughed, a high nasal laugh, and reached forward to the package, pulling out a red dress printed with white flowers, with a white bow around the waist.
Imara just stared at it.
The White Lioness held the dress next to Imara. “Feel it,” she said. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s silk.”
Imara ran her fingers across the soft ruffles of the dress. It smelled clean and of flowers, not of the forest.
“Put it on.” The White Lioness smiled.
Imara tried to put Kitwana on the ground, but he shrieked and didn’t stop until the Black Mamba ordered Bobo to hold him. Kitwana quieted in Bobo’s arms and chewed the tissue paper, dribbling pink-stained saliva from his lips.
“Go and get changed,” said the White Lioness. “I would like to see you in it.”
Imara took the dress and walked across the camp. Instead of going to her own hut, she walked a little way through the forest to the stream where she liked to bathe. She took off her shorts and T-shirt and slipped into the water, washing the mud and dirt away, before stepping into the dress. She pulled it over her shoulders and smoothed it over her hips. She leaned over the rocks, trying to catch her reflection in the water. The dress danced in the ripples, bright against the dark water.
It’s too good for you, sneered the demon.
Imara put her face closer to a pool of still water to look at her own reflection. She traced her finger down the long raised scar, and scowled.
Look how ugly you are. No one could love you.
She punched the water, shattering her face. She pulled on her boots, grabbed her old clothes from the riverbank, and marched back to the Black Mamba’s hut, aware of the other Mambas staring at her.
“Turn around,” said the White Lioness.
Imara turned, showing the whole of the dress. The skirt flared out around her.
The White Lioness smiled and looked around the watching Mambas. “A bright flower among the thorns,” she said. “Maybe we will make a woman of you yet.” She glanced at Imara’s worn boots and tutted. “I will bring some pretty shoes next time I come.”
Kitwana pulled away from Bobo and clambered into Imara’s arms, where he tugged on the bow around her waist.
“Come,” said the White Lioness, sitting on the floor of the hut. “Let us play with Kitwana, while Clarkson and the Black Mamba talk business.”
Imara sat on the floor with Kitwana. She watched the Black Mamba and Clarkson head out toward the coltan mine. Bobo stood guard at the door, facing out, although his body was angled into the room. Imara could tell he wanted to listen to every word the White Lioness had to say.
The White Lioness opened her handbag and looked inside. “Maybe I will find something for him to play with.”
She rolled a small red tube across to Kitwana. Kitwana looked at it before stretching out a finger to poke it. He picked it up in his fingers and pulled two halves of the tube apart and tried to bite one of the halves, crunching the plastic and spitting red blobs onto the ground.
“I don’t think he likes lipstick.” The White Lioness laughed.
Imara pulled the pieces of plastic from his mouth. “It isn’t good for him.”
The White Lioness sat back, leaning on her arms, and looked at Imara. “You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?”
She wants something.
Imara shrugged her shoulders.
The White Lioness tipped her head to one side. “You don’t have to leave him,” she said.
Imara looked up sharply.
She knows what you want. She has you in her power. Tell her Kitwana means nothing to you.
“There are plenty more gorillas in the forest,” said Imara, picking at a knot of wood in the floor. “It makes no difference to me if you take him with you today.”
“I’m not taking him today,” said the White Lioness. “I’m not ready for him yet.”
Imara stared hard at the floor.
You don’t fool her, hissed the demon. She sees what Kitwana means to you.
The White Lioness leaned forward. “You could come with me,” she whispered.
Imara looked up.
A conspiratorial smile slid cross the White Lioness’s face. Imara was aware of Bobo, his head tilting ever so slightly toward the inside of the room. Kitwana left Imara’s side to sit beside the White Lioness, where he started pulling out the contents of her handbag.
“I could take you away from here,” whispered the White Lioness.
Imara tried to reach for Kitwana, but Kitwana grabbed the bag and ran to the cor
ner of the room clutching it to him. He wasn’t going to let it go.
“Where would you take us?” asked Imara.
The White Lioness smiled. “To civilization, of course. The Land of Money. There is nothing for you here. I want to help.” She took Imara’s hand. “I can give you a better life. I can give you anything: pretty dresses, a house to live in, a room of your own. You can be clean again and eat as much food as you want. Kitwana will be safe, too. He will have an enclosure of his own with trees to climb and fruit to eat.” She touched Imara’s scar. “I know doctors who could take this away. They could make you beautiful again.”
Imara frowned and pulled her hand away. “I am the Black Mamba’s Spirit Child,” she said. “He wouldn’t let me go.”
The White Lioness laughed. “Everyone has their price, Imara,” she said. “Everyone.”
Imara turned her head toward the door. She could hear feet on the wet ground outside and the Black Mamba’s voice.
“I can take you away from all of this,” whispered the White Lioness.
Imara crossed the room and snatched the bag from Kitwana and threw it on the floor next to the White Lioness. She scooped up Kitwana and held his arms to stop him from reaching for the bag again.
“Think about it, and let me know your answer,” said the White Lioness. She scratched Kitwana under the chin. “When I come back next week for Kitwana, I can take you with me too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
imara
This is your chance, Imara. She can take away the scar. No one need ever know I am inside here. She can make you beautiful again.
“Well?” said Bobo.
Imara looked around.
Bobo had followed her to the fire, where she began to heat water to make coffee for the White Lioness.
“Well what?” said Imara, pushing more charcoal into the lazy embers.
“Are you going with her?”
Imara shrugged her shoulders. She glanced across at the Black Mamba’s hut where the White Lioness sat, tapping on her phone. “Why not? She can care for Kitwana and me.”
“She doesn’t want to care for you. She wants to own you,” said Bobo, “like she owns all of us, including the Black Mamba.”
