Ivory Ghosts

by Caitlin O'Connell

  “How are you doing?” I leaned over to open the passenger-side door.

  “Okay.” Nandi started to get in. “I am going to visit my father. Are you going Liadura side?”

  “How far is that from Kongola?”

  “About twenty minutes further south.”

  “Sure, I’ll take you there.”

  When she got in, Nandi started clucking her tongue.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Nandi pointed to a line of men carrying a coffin past a nearby kraal. “This matter of AIDS is very much troubling us.”

  “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

  Nandi nodded. “One funeral a week now. This morning, my father was preparing for another. No one wants to list HIV or AIDS as a cause of death, as no one would get life insurance, so the number of HIV deaths is much bigger than the authorities in Windhoek know.”

  I shook my head as we watched a line of villagers amassed to follow the procession. A group of schoolchildren in the back of the line sang a quiet plaintive song that sent a shiver down my spine as we drove away.

  “The priest at the Catholic mission mentioned some education programs?”

  “There are some, but they can’t reach everyone. And our culture makes it very, very difficult.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I helped out on a community survey recently.” Nandi started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I looked at her, confused. “Who was doing the survey?”

  “I think it was USAID.” She giggled. “You see, there was a question on the survey directed at the men.” Nandi laughed some more.

  “Wait, why are you laughing?”

  Nandi held a hand over her mouth to try to contain herself. “I know I shouldn’t laugh. I know that this issue of HIV is very, very serious, but, Catherine, sometimes I think it’s hopeless. And then maybe it’s the laughter that saves us.”

  “But what was the question on the survey?”

  “The question asked how many women a man might have had sexual relations with.”

  “Okay, so why is that funny?”

  “You see, Catherine, there was an old man in the room and he himself burst out laughing as he tried to think of the number in English.”

  “What number was that?”

  Nandi looked at me, her eyes bursting. “Thousands, he said, thousands.”

  “What?”

  “He said that if you were to ask for the names of those women he would never be able to remember. And from too many countries.” Nandi turned to me with a somber face. “You see, Catherine, this is what we’re up against.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  Nandi signaled for me to turn down a dirt track that led to a series of cornfields. Each small holding had a modest open-walled hut in the corner with women sitting underneath. As we passed I could see them either weaving baskets or scaring birds away by shaking a frayed rope that had shiny ribbons of material attached to it sporadically.

  We drove west for about a kilometer until we came to an area with many clusters of the clay-and-stick compounds called kraals, some with reed doors, the more wealthy having metal doors with padlocks.

  “Okay, we stop here.” Nandi pointed to a kraal on the side of the road. “This is my home.”

  I pulled up to the door of Nandi’s compound. “Is that the induna’s kraal over there?”

  Nandi nodded and smiled. “Please come inside.”

  “Okay.”

  Nandi led me into her kraal, where the induna’s wife and sister were busy weaving baskets and talking inside the courtyard. They stopped short at the sight of me.

  Nandi rattled off in Yeye and the women seemed to relax. She turned to me. “Would you like some watermelon?”

  “Sure. Thanks. That would be nice.”

  “Have a seat.” She waved her hand toward an empty reed mat on the ground.

  The women stared at me as I sat down.

  I smiled at the women. “Musuhili.”

  “Musuhili.” The women nodded cautiously and returned to their weaving. They started whispering something, and Nandi snapped at them. They stopped and continued weaving.

  Nandi ducked her head into a dark hut and returned with a large bowl of white melon. She waved the flies away and placed the bowl in front of me.

  I gingerly picked up a piece of melon and took a small bite, trying not to think about the flies. The soft white flesh was cool and surprisingly sweet. “Wow, this is really good.”

  “Yes, the elephants like it, too,” Nandi deadpanned.

  I waited to see if she was giving me a hard time.

  She smiled and burst out laughing. “You are looking very serious,” she said as she laughed.

  I exhaled in relief. “I’m glad I don’t carry the sins of the animal I’m trying to save.”

  “The elephant savior.” Nandi took a bite of melon. “Why are they so important to you?”

  I hesitated. How could she possibly understand my perspective, given all of her bad experiences with elephants? “I’d like to think that humans are smart enough to want to keep nature intact.”

  “Aren’t we a part of nature?”

  “Yes, but we are better competitors than our elephant neighbors.”

  “I don’t know if many farmers would agree with you.”

  “We clear forests, elephants prune them.”

  Nandi laughed. “That is a funny image.” She ate more melon and spit out a pit. “And I have heard that that might be true in the desert, but around here, elephants do not prune, they knock over.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “But you must have a special bond with the elephant?”

  “I recently saw two older females kneel down and pull a baby out of the river with their trunks. Something about the coordination of their effort really struck me. Their bonds seem just as deep as ours. They are very similar to us in many ways.”

  “I have noticed that they like corn even more than we do,” Nandi teased.

  I laughed and took another tiny bite of melon. “I’ll give you another example. In Kruger, I often followed a young male elephant and his very old companion that was either on the last of his last set of molars or didn’t have any teeth left, as he wasn’t able to chew very well. The young male would chew up branches and place the mash in the elder elephant’s mouth. The old bull wouldn’t have been able to survive without his little friend.” Deep in thought, I sucked on my rind. “I’ll never forget that.”

  “You have a very different experience with these elephants. I would like to have that experience one day.” She placed her hand on my knee. “I would like to help you save your elephants.”

  I smiled. “Have you had the chance to speak to the induna?”

  Nandi nodded. “He says it is fine for you to talk with him next week.” She leaned over and whispered to me, “We can visit my brother in prison tomorrow. He is getting scared. I’m scared. Maybe he will tell you something about the people who buried the tusks in his yard.”

  “Why would someone do that to him?”

  “Maybe they want to scare him.”

  “So, they’re afraid of what he knows?”

  She nodded as melon juice dripped down her hands.

  “Thanks, Nandi. That would be great.”

  “I must go to my field now.” Nandi got up. “There is someone I need to talk to about the witch doctor.”

  I got up as well. “Okay, I can drive you there.”

  Nandi shook her head. “No, it is just across the way. I can walk.”

  “What’s going on with the witch doctor?”

  Nandi shook her head. “Someone is trying to take over his position. It’s a very bad situation.”

  “Anything you can tell me?” When I saw the witch doctor lying on the ground with a bullet in his head, I hadn’t thought of the possibility that Ernest might be capable of making things escalate in his absence.

  She shook her head and whispered as she saw me out. “We now have a worse problem o
n our hands. It is all very confusing. And very, very dangerous.”

  I nodded good-bye to the women, who nodded in return as we walked out.

  I followed Nandi through the courtyard and noticed a line of skulls propped against the wall of one of the small buildings—two elephant and three buffalo. “Are these natural mortalities?”

  Nandi shook her head. “Trophies.”

  “Whose trophies?”

  “Those hunters that come in from the outside. They pay many, many dollars to shoot an elephant.”

  “Who gets the money?”

  “It comes in through our conservancy.”

  “How many elephants?”

  “Eight this year.”

  “Eight?” I was expecting her to say two or three. “That seems like a lot for one conservancy.”

  “There are many more elephants here now and this conservancy got very, very rich. But not anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  Nandi nodded and led me out of the courtyard. As she walked me to my car, she whispered, “It is a very sad story. We saved a million Namibian dollars to build a school. The Minister of Education came up for a celebration to accept the money last month but the chairman of the conservancy had taken it all.”

  “Oh no! What happened to him?”

  “My father thinks he may have gone to Botswana. There are many rumors. He may be involved with some of these ivory dealings.”

  “Do you think your father would be willing to give me more information about the chairman?”

  “I think so. But he doesn’t want the government to know what happened yet. He took his place as chairman and is trying to repair the damage. It isn’t fair when there are so many good people doing good things with the money we had saved in the past. My father is hoping to get the money back, but he is stalling for time.” She shook her head. “The chairman’s name is Mr. Mazinga. He is a very, very bad man.”

  “Mr. Mazinga?” I suddenly remembered the old man wearing a suit and carrying his shoes that Nigel had dropped off here when we were supposed to meet with the induna. “I think I saw him here recently.”

  Nandi looked at me in disbelief. “Mr. Mazinga? Here?”

  “I think so. Nigel had given him a lift. I believe that’s who Nigel said he was.” I thought back to our conversation, remembering that Nigel seemed positive about him. He must not have heard yet what had happened.

  Nandi clucked her tongue and shook her head. “There is very much going on here that is not good. You must not tell anyone about this.”

  I opened my car door, got in, and rolled down the window. Nandi leaned over and whispered again, “And you cannot tell a single person that we will go to the prison. Especially anyone in the ministry. My father doesn’t trust anyone.”

  I could tell from Nandi’s expression that I was about to walk into something even more serious than I had thus far. “Of course, Nandi, I won’t tell anyone.” I waved good-bye as I pulled away and headed back to Susuwe.

  Chapter 32

  I stood on my porch in the late afternoon looking out over the floodplain, watching the elephants pour in, and listening to the roar and growl of another elephant reunion. I dialed Craig’s number.

  “Craig, how are you?”

  “Charming compared to how I felt in Hong Kong. I haven’t seen a single chopstick since I’ve been back, and I’m bloody grateful for it. Hadn’t realized how nervous they made me.”

  “You mean because of the ivory?”

  “No, man. Ivory chopsticks, wooden chopsticks, it makes no difference. Forks are much more civilized implements. I resent having to stab at my food with two sticks in order to get it into my mouth. I’m developing much more respect for the Thai people for managing to resist the chopstick in their culture.”

  I laughed. “How long were you there?”

  “Two days.”

  “Only two days?”

  “And I leave first thing in the morning for Lusaka. My itinerary is absolutely mad. Glad you were able to reach me. One of these days I’ll have to pay you a visit. Hear the elephants are stunning up north.”

  “Can you hear them in the background?” There was a particularly jubilant bellow filling the floodplain.

  “Oh, that explains the unholy noise. Thought it was a poor connection.”

  “The elephants are very vocal in the Caprivi, as I’m finding out. I’m getting used to it.”

  “Catherine, I must be brief. I have some bad news.”

  “I was hoping you’d have good news.”

  “My guys in MCD told me that the police didn’t catch Alvares.”

  “What? But Jon seemed so certain that they would.”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you about. Do you know what the time delay would have been between dropping you off, going to the police, and then meeting you at his house?”

  I was so confused. “It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes.” What was he getting at?

  “Could Alvares have unloaded that quickly?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.” I tried to remember what Jon had said to me after returning from the police station that night.

  “Catherine, I hate to say this, but we’ve got to be more cautious about Jon right now.”

  This was the last thing I wanted to hear. I paused. “What? Really?” I tried not to have any emotion in my voice, but Craig knew me too well.

  “Look, I’m sorry to do this to you at the moment, but trust me on this one. Things aren’t lining up between the failed bust at Liadura and Alvares getting away last night. I had warned you when I hired you that there’d be times where I’d ask you to trust no one. Now is the time.”

  My mind couldn’t help starting to spin with questions. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but why had Jon asked me in the driveway if Nigel had gotten there yet, as if Nigel’s presence would influence the outcome of catching Alvares—or Alvares getting away? He was acting really strangely, but I had brushed it off. And why didn’t he want Nigel to know what Chastity was up to? I was so sure that he was becoming suspicious of Nigel. But I had pretty much convinced myself that the reverse possibility hadn’t been true—that Nigel might have reason to be suspicious of Jon. He had been so supportive of Jon, especially during our conversation at Liadura. Was he purposely defending Jon to throw me off? Why would he do that? What if they were both trying to derail me? What if Jon made a pass at me on the houseboat because he was trying to distract me from what Alvares was doing in the reeds? The more I thought about it, the more embarrassed I felt I’d be, no matter which outcome would turn out to be true.

  “Catherine, you still there?”

  I took a big breath. “Well, I had what I had hoped would be good news, but now I don’t know what to think of anything anymore.”

  “What is it?”

  “Jon identified the other man in the photos.”

  “Brilliant, who is he?”

  “It’s Ernest, the guy they thought had been eaten by a crocodile.”

  “Really, hey. So the doctor thought he’d do better with the witch doctor’s henchman than the witch doctor himself. Interesting.”

  “But, have you heard any follow-up on using the photos as evidence? Jon told me that they have been deemed inadmissible.”

  “Geldenhuis is a bloody difficult bastard to nail, I’m learning.”

  “So it’s true? They were thrown out?”

  “Someone’s paying big bucks to protect this bloke. And I didn’t want you to worry too much about it, but someone might have seen you on the airstrip that night in Zambia. Maybe this fellow, Ernest.”

  “What?” I immediately thought back to the moment on the airstrip when the branch snapped and I dropped my camera. I was focused on the doctor and the witch doctor. I wasn’t paying attention to where Ernest might have been looking at that exact moment.

  “If that’s true, he may have been able to identify you somehow, and figure out that you didn’t have permission to cross the border at night.”


  “Are you sure?”

  “No. Just murmurings.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Lie low for the moment. We’re making a new plan with the magistrate. I think we’ll make headway.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Oh, and I do have some good news.”

  “Great, I wish we had started with the good news.”

  “The ivory you picked up from the crime scene is an exact match to the three tusks you sampled from Jon’s office.”

  “The induna’s son!” This evidence would place Nandi’s brother at the murder scene. He could have been the third person in the car. That was the one piece of information that Eli and Natembo were able to extract during their interrogation of Ernest—that someone else was driving.

  “Who is the induna’s son?” Craig asked.

  “I’m going to see him in prison tomorrow.”

  “You’ve done well, Catherine. I can bloody well see the end of this saga just around the bend.”

  “Well, I can’t, particularly after this conversation, but I’m glad to hear you can.”

  “I know you’ll hang in there. And good luck with the census. Remember to bring enough Dramamine this time.”

  “Thanks, Craig. Always looking out for me.”

  “Catherine.” He had that tone, like he read the sarcasm into my flat response. “Be careful.”

  “It seems like everyone around here is too careful when it comes to this case.”

  “You have to understand, I’m still trying to get us out of trouble after your Zambia stint. We don’t want your efforts wasted. You’ve got to trust us. We have to be very sensitive right now. Go as slowly as you need to. And keep your distance from Jon.”

  Chapter 33

  Nandi and I stood on the concrete step outside a crowded, noisy jail cell. The place reeked of urine and unshowered bodies. The police were not happy about our showing up for a visit, but they couldn’t seem to come up with a good reason to stop us, so they begrudgingly let us through to an area where prisoners were allowed to talk to visitors.

  It took some time for the guards to inform Nandi’s brother that he had a visitor. As we waited, a smartly dressed woman was let in and approached the bars, dabbing at her weepy eyes. She looked at Nandi and became hysterical. “It’s the rangers’ fault that Moffit is dead. They did nothing about those elephants.”