“That’s a good thing,” said Mulonzya. “I would like to see that here.”
“So would I, James, but that’s not my point. In Nairobi it seems that every other car is big and expensive - a Mercedes, a BMW, a Jaguar or a Rolls - in short the type of car which only a very few people in rich Europe could ever hope to own after a lifetime of work. It worries me, you see, that the spirit of sacrifice you speak of applies only to the poor and not the rich.”
“On the contrary, John, I disagree. All those people have undoubtedly made their sacrifice. They have probably like myself worked hard for a lifetime to achieve their present state. They deserve their reward. Think of all the other people who have benefited from their efforts.”
“I would like to believe you, Mr Mulonzya.”
Mulonzya was suddenly uncomfortable. He was clearly under attack, perhaps not directly, but still under attack. He turned to his thus far silent son sitting at his side. “You are very quiet, Charles...”
Charles nodded as if in confirmation of the obvious accuracy of his father’s statement. He smiled confidently and looked up, his gaze momentarily meeting that of Lesley. He caught her off guard and she quickly looked away, clearly embarrassed. She had been eying him, thinking how he reminded her of her own husband when she first met him. John too had been tall, slim and lithe and had carried himself in the same way as this young man, erect and proud. The difference was that Charles was obviously a highly sophisticated young man whereas in her eyes John had never been able to shrug off the telltale remnants of his poor and humble background. He remained just that little bit ‘bush’.
Mulonzya paused over his meal and turned to face his son. “Is there something wrong? I’ve never heard you so quiet.”
The others laughed at the obviously unintentional joke and this diverted their attention sufficiently to allow Charles to ignore the comment.
The conversation subsequently lulled while all four concentrated on their food. Mulonzya ate very loudly compared to the others. It was he, also, who continued to do most of the talking, with John pitching in only an occasional word. Neither Charles nor Lesley offered more than the pleasantries required by table manners, while the others still seemed to be engrossed in what was by now almost their private snippets of conversation. Lesley in fact lacked the confidence to take part. It was not a lack of worthwhile things to say which kept her silent, but a quite inexhaustible capacity for self-deprecation which, in her own estimation, effectively rendered to irrelevance everything she wanted to say. Whenever she did speak in the company of strangers, this lack of confidence and self-respect prevented her from expressing herself effectively and thus the reactions she provoked in others carried a host of unexpected and unintended signals. Of course this simply helped to reconfirm her lack of self-belief.
Making things doubly difficult on this occasion was the presence and behaviour of Charles. Though she remained polite and tried not to show her feelings, she felt uncomfortable with him there, almost threatened, in fact. Several times while John and James had been engrossed in their own conversation, she had looked up to find that Charles was staring at her - almost through her - with a vague smile which clearly said something, but exactly what it was she had no idea. It was such strange behaviour that soon she was not even sure whether he was looking at her or simply staring into space while, like a fly on the wall, he listened to every detail of what his father and John were saying. Certainly the young man was more interested in what they were saying than he was prepared to admit, but he also seemed to be expressing an obvious interest in Lesley and was causing her a good deal of discomfort. It is an irony that those people who possess a natural beauty capable of turning most eyes are often least equipped to cope with the spotlight of another’s attention.
Quite suddenly, however, Charles’s previously bland expression changed a little. His expression hardened. His eyes seemed to give up their analysis of the neckline of Lesley’s blouse and darted to focus upon John as he spoke. Mulonzya, himself, had prepared the ground.
“So then, Mr Mwangangi, what are your solutions to the problems of this area? We are agreed that charity is undesirable. There is no rain so there is not enough food and you maintain that taking a job is not a solution.”
“No, I didn’t say that. I said that, with salaries as they are, most people are unable to benefit from the employment which is open to them. Obviously people will take jobs if they are there and if they have to survive. Even a few shillings in your pocket are better than nothing.”
“So what is to be done?”
“In the future the government must show a greater degree of interest in areas such as this. It is not good enough to expect people here to starve just because there is no immediate and apparent economic benefit to be gained from trying to cope with the underlying issues. We must legislate so that more work - worthwhile work comes into the area so that people do not have to move to the city. If businessmen will not create it then the government must do it. I would suggest, for instance, that farmers could be paid to improve the quality of their land. Give them a real incentive to terrace their land and they will do it. In the long run everyone will benefit. The fields will not erode, what rain there is will not just run away and then another family may have enough food, may even produce a surplus. In the absence of any leadership at a national level, all we can do at present is make sure that what little resources people currently have are used to the maximum effect. That is why I have promised my non-existent cook’s 300 shillings a month to Father Michael’s special fund in Migwani.”
“Oh? Why? What is he doing?”
“It’s a very simple idea he has had and I am sure it can work. Let me try to explain, but I recommend that you get it directly from him if you want all the details.” John paused momentarily to find a starting point. Charles’s interest was by now obvious. Lesley was still uneasy. With her plate now empty before her, she was wondering where to place her hands. “At present many people have to buy their food from the traders. They have no choice. It’s the only source. Though I respect the traders’ right to run their businesses and make their living, they must accept that without the famine in the area they would sell only a fraction of their current trade in maize and beans. What they have come to regard as the normal demand for basic foodstuffs in their shops would in theory dwindle to nothing if people started to produce surpluses from their land as they used to do. Throughout the District people are selling their animals and their land for cash so they can buy food on the open market. If something imaginative is not done, before long people will just not be able to support themselves, even if the rains return. They will just not have the resources. There are many people now who have sold everything and are still starving. Father Michael wants to do something immediate and positive for those people but he has no more relief money to spend. Famine here is now endemic, you see. It would have to hit the headlines for large-scale appeals to be effective, and endemic problems will never be headline news. Also our government would never allow Kenya to be seen internationally as in need of charity.”
“So the idea is this,” John continued. “The Father has been told he can use the school bus from Mutune once a week for nothing. All he will do is provide the petrol. The nuns have been very generous to us. Without the vehicle we could do nothing. Near Nairobi there is a group of Europeans who are researching into agricultural techniques for some agricultural research agency. Their farm is very productive but is subsidised, so it does not need to make a profit. Michael has persuaded them to sell us their maize and beans at a cheap rate. We will then bring it to Migwani, Mwingi, Mutonguni or wherever in the lorry and then sell off some of it to people who can afford it until we have covered costs and raised enough money for the next trip and then we will distribute the rest free to people who have nothing.”
“That is illegal,” said Charles curtly. “You need a licence to trade grain.”
�
�Ah, but we are not trading, Charles...”
“You are selling some of it so surely the law would rule that you are trading.”
“But that’s only to get us started. If we can get enough reasonably well-off people to give a hundred shillings each - and regularly - we will be able to carry on without having to sell any of the food. It could then never be argued that we were affecting the traders’ business because we would be supplying only those people who had absolutely no money to buy food for themselves.”
“And how would you identify such people? On whose word do you judge whether a particular family can or cannot afford to feed itself?”
“Priests, Chiefs, District Officers, Members of Parliament...”
The argument had suddenly become very serious. “This food... It will only go to Catholics, then?” asked Mulonzya, as usual firmly grasping quite the wrong end of the other’s meaning.
“Oh no. To anyone who is in need of it.”
Charles spoke again. His voice spoke the words of a mind already made up. “What you propose is illegal. You need a licence to trade grain. Your school bus is licensed to carry children, not merchandise. Mutune is a government-funded school. I am sure that the Ministry of Education would not like to think that their property is being misused in this way. It is definitely illegal.”
“You forget that I am trained in law. I would certainly be prepared to test what you say in the courts. Anyway, the whole project would be done in the name of the Church. Would you like to be seen to bring about a case against the Roman Catholic Church?”
“If it is illegal we would oppose it,” said Charles. “It would certainly be against our interests. We would have to consult with our legal advisers, of course, but I have no doubt in my mind when I say that, whoever started such a scheme, we would seek to stop it through the courts.”
James Mulonzya almost interrupted his son. “Would you, Mr Mwangangi, a magistrate and civil servant openly break the law?” There was some sincere as well as calculated shock in his voice.
“If the law were to stand in the way of a simple, non-profit-making humanitarian scheme such as this, especially in an area racked with famine, then the law must be changed.” There was a hint of the beginning of anger in John’s voice. “If there must be a test case then so be it. Meanwhile people who would have gone hungry will be fed.”
Charles and James Mulonzya began to laugh as he spoke. There was no disrespect, however, only familiarity. Both father and son knew that they had trod this ground far more regularly and successfully than their potential adversary. “Ah John, but now you are talking politics.”
When John nodded sagely in agreement, however, Mulonzya’s smile faded without trace. “I cannot believe,” said John, “that Parliament would want to oppose an emergency measure such as this. I am sure that under the circumstances they would allow such a scheme to take place and succeed. I would also be willing to test that.”
Mulonzya began to dither. He had no answer. Charles, however, replied immediately. “Let me put it like this, Mr Mwangangi. As the law stands, your suggestion is blatantly illegal; let us at least agree upon that. Now if you think you can lobby around this issue when it becomes a test case, you are wrong. All the traders will oppose it, and not only traders from this area. They would unite to defeat you.”
John nodded in such a way that confirmed he had just heard exactly what he had expected. He himself offered no more and Charles was again silent. Mulonzya was obviously still thinking through the idea. Then after almost two minutes of complete silence he said, “Charles is right.”
The rest of the meal was eaten in relative silence beneath a tangible tension. When, over coffee, Charles announced that it was time that he and his father should set off to return to Nairobi, only Mulonzya, who had assumed he was staying the night, looked surprised. Charles offered a clear excuse, saying that he had to attend a meeting in town the following day as John politely showed the two men out to their waiting car. Then after a short and curt goodbye, they left. Back inside the house, Lesley was clearing the table.
“I didn’t really understand what it was you were planning,” she said, “but did you really expect them to agree?”
“No,” replied John with a smile.
“Then why did you bother asking them here?”
“Well I needed to meet him anyway but I wanted above all to check out what I’ve been hearing about him.”
“And?”
“It’s all true. He’s useless.”
“Do you think you could beat him?”
“At the moment, no. But by the time the election comes round, who knows? At least I now know that if I stood against him, the real power I’ll be facing is not his, but his son’s.”
Lesley’s body visibly shivered. “You’re not kidding. He was really creepy.”
“A creep maybe,” said John respectfully, “but he certainly knows what he’s doing.”
Charles drove the car. At his side, his father had begun to nod off to sleep within ten minutes of leaving John’s house. Slouched in his seat with his full and ample belly lying on top of him like another body on his lap, James ceased trying to stay awake. There was little sleep for him, however, because there was no comfort with the car constantly jolting on the uneven dirt road. Charles on the other hand was wide-awake and still alert. When he spoke, he shouted above the constant banging of stones in the wheel-arches of the car.
“How long did you say that Mwangangi has been here?”
“A few months - maybe three or four.”
Charles bit his lip as he thought. “We shall have to keep our eyes on him. I wonder why he went to the trouble of explaining all the details of the priest’s project... He could never have expected us to agree. Neither can he have expected us to take his naivety at face value. He’s not that simple minded.”
Mulonzya laughed as he replied quickly. “That priest, Mr Michael, he is the one who is simple minded. It’s just the kind of stupid thing he is always talking about.” A wave of the hand tried to dismiss the entire subject.
“But, dad, John Mwangangi is a magistrate. He knows the law. He has simply used that story to see how you would react. That is why I took over and answered for you.” After a short pause, Charles continued, “Someone like him will not be satisfied with a District Officer’s job for long.”
“What do you mean, Charles?”
“I’m not absolutely sure, but do you remember when you said that changing the laws was the politicians’ job?” He turned momentarily to see his father nod. “It was the way he reacted. His expression seemed to say he knew that all along. I think that before the next election comes round we’ll be hearing a lot more about Mr Mwangangi. We had better keep an eye on him.”
The car sped on into the night along the orange-coloured dirt road. Eventually Charles spoke again. “What do you know about his wife - Lesley? She’s not Kenyan, is she?”
Shaking off his drowsiness, Mulonzya replied. “No, she is from the West Indies or America, I think. They met in London.” He paused for a while and spoke once more before slowly drifting into sleep. “I am surprised you can remember so much about them. You were so quiet I thought you were asleep.”
Charles smiled ironically and shook his head. “Oh no,” he said quietly.
***
James Mulonzya and John Mwangangi did not meet again for some months, until both attended as invited guests a fund-raising Harambee day for the secondary school in Migwani. The school’s governors, all local men, primary school headmasters, businessmen and councillors plus Father Michael, representing the Roman Catholic Church, which had sought and secured much of the initial funding for the project, had organised the day well. They needed to, for the very survival of their venture was at stake. Their school had been founded some four years previously and had just seen the first of its students, though largely unsuccessfully, sit f
or the revered East African Certificate of Education. The failure of any of the school’s first class to attain even the minimum standard required to obtain the qualification, however, had done nothing to diminish the enthusiasm of the people of Migwani for their school. But, to ensure its future, the project now urgently needed more cash - and a lot of it. A school can exist on charity and collections in its infancy and, for a time, the parents of its students will accept the fees they pay being used to buy cement and sand. If the government could be persuaded to provide trained teachers and pay them according to their own scheme, then the school would be rendered permanent. No qualified teacher, however, would ever entertain a posting to the bush without being provided with a house and building houses costs money. Hence Migwani’s Harambee day.
Fifty thousand shillings was the target - enough for two houses with a little penny pinching on the finishings. Hundreds of invitations had been sent out, one to every Migwani man known to be earning a regular salary and most of these men had come with their wallets bulging to the degree they thought would be expected of them.
Local people had donated animals, cows or goats, which would be auctioned so that the proceeds could be added to the fund. Migwani’s churchmen were there, Father Michael for the Roman Catholics and every single pastor or lay preacher from every outpost of every sect or splinter of Protestantism. Representatives of the traders from the market centres of Migwani, Thitani and Nzeluni were there with at least one shopkeeper from every one of the minor centres throughout the location. Thus on the day five thousand people crammed into the school compound to witness and, where possible, to contribute to the event.
There were many speeches to be made, a few less to be heard, before the day’s real business of passing round the collecting tins began. In turn three headmasters spoke voluminously to extol the virtues of education to a crowd that was already convinced. They reassured people of its absolute necessity for the future of both their nation and their children, citing themselves as living examples of education’s potential benefits and the starvation of Migwani’s people as the fate of those who ignored it. It was an analysis that described all but the select as culpable victims of their own ignorance, and it was meekly, dutifully and guiltily applauded by those whose worth it denied.
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