African Dawn

by Tony Park

  Jamie shook his head, but George interrupted. ‘Get him to tell her my name.’

  ‘OK.’ Jamie managed to stop Matthew from hanging up and urged him to pass on George Bryant's name. ‘Do you really think she's going to know who you are or that your name's going to mean anything?’ he asked George while he waited on hold again.

  ‘We'll see,’ George said, not knowing the answer himself.

  Jamie held up his hand, signalling that Matthew was back on the line. ‘She will? That's great news, Matthew. Thanks so much, hey. OK, we'll be there at eleven on the dot.’ Jamie ended the call. ‘Do you know how hard it is to see a government minister in this country? Who'd you sleep with to get so well known by a senior MDC politician?’

  George felt his temperature rising, and smiled to himself. If only you knew, he thought.

  *

  Harare's traffic was chaotic, and the congestion was made worse by the fact that most of the traffic lights they passed through were out of order because of electricity shortages.

  George wiped his hands on his chinos. He was nervous about seeing Thandi after all these years. He hoped that the fact she'd agreed to see him was a good sign. But there was no way of knowing if she would be able to help him at all, or if she would even bother trying. He'd found a picture of her online. The official portrait shot showed her smiling and well groomed, the consummate politician. He remembered the feel of her lithe young body under his in the beach hut in Mozambique, and the salty taste of her as he ran the tip of his tongue over the womanly swell of her hip.

  The offices of the Ministry of Women's Affairs were on the twentieth floor of the Mukwati building in Fourth Street. Jamie dropped him outside the unattractive office block and went off in search of a parking space. Inside, George consulted a list of offices in the foyer and found the lifts. Electricity may have been a problem for Harare's residents, but not so for the politicians and bureaucrats who inhabited the Mukwati building.

  On level twenty George presented himself to a well-fed African receptionist who took his name and motioned for him to take a seat on a grey imitation leather sofa whose surface was cracked and peeling. He sat forward so as not to let his head come into contact with the greasy marks on the headrest where other supplicants had perhaps fallen asleep waiting for an appointment.

  A young man in a grey suit opened a side door and smiled at him. ‘Mr Bryant? I am Matthew Mpofu. The Minister will see you now, if you'll please follow me.’

  George stood and straightened his tie. His heart was pounding and he felt like a teenager again. Matthew opened a door and George saw her. She stood up behind an impressively large desk. The room was mostly lit by weak sunlight, diffused by years of uncleaned grime on a row of windows.

  ‘Mr Bryant, Minister,’ Matthew said.

  ‘Thank you. Please leave us.’ Matthew nodded and slipped out behind George, closing the door as he left.

  George and Thandi looked at each other. George forced himself to take a breath. His chest felt tight and he could feel his face flush as the memories of her, and their time together, tumbled through his mind. She had aged well, he thought, her body curvy but still as perfectly proportioned as it had been when she was a teenager. Her hair was immaculately styled, straightened and coloured – far different to the afro he'd last seen her with – but when she smiled he was transported back to their time on the beach in Mozambique.

  He remembered, suddenly, vividly, the taste of her mouth, the heat of her body, the dried sea salt on her skin that last time their bodies were locked together.

  Thandi smiled. ‘It's good to see you, George,’ she said at last. ‘After all these years.’

  He felt embarrassed that he'd been unable to speak, to even say hello. ‘Yes …’ He took two steps towards her and held out his hand. She leaned across the expanse of her desk and took it. He held her hand, looking into her eyes at the same time and the emotion welled up inside him. He felt like a sentimental old fool. He had an immediate urge to tell her something … anything … but he was lost for words.

  ‘Would you like tea?’ she asked.

  ‘Um … no thanks,’ he stammered.

  She eased her hand from his and sat down. He took one of the seats opposite her. The space made it a little easier for him to compose himself.

  ‘You look well, George,’ she said. ‘You live in Australia, yes?’

  He wanted to tell her that she looked as beautiful as ever, but the words wouldn't come. ‘Yes … for, gosh, thirty years now.’

  ‘So many people have left the country. It's one of the biggest challenges we'll face in the future, getting the good ones back. Black and white.’

  He nodded. He looked around the office. In truth it was tired and spartan, but he didn't underestimate her achievement or the effort it must have taken for her to get here. ‘You've done well for yourself, Thandi.’

  She shrugged. ‘It hasn't been easy. I served ZANU–PF for many years after independence, but as things deteriorated I couldn't stay with them and sleep at night. When I changed sides, I thought for a while I might die a pauper, leaving my children nothing.’

  He'd been foolish, he realised. He'd been reliving stolen, selfish moments of passion from forty years ago, but Thandi had more important things on her mind. He could only imagine how much of a battle her life must be, as a politician in a country that was still to all intents and purposes ruled by a dictator. She'd compartmentalised him and their affair and was living in the here and now. All the same, he had to think hard to make small talk with her. ‘Was it dangerous? We read stories about the violence and intimidation suffered by MDC politicians and activists.’

  She tilted her head. ‘There were moments when I was concerned, more for my children than myself, but that is all water under the bridge. At least we now have a voice in government, even if ZANU–PF continues to frustrate our attempts to bring real change to the country.’

  There was so much he wanted to ask her, about what she'd done during the war years, about her family, but he didn't know where or how to start.

  Thandi looked at her slim gold watch. ‘George, I hate to sound abrupt, but what can I do for you?’

  He felt silly again, thinking she might want to reminisce about old times. She was a busy woman and she'd made time for him. Quickly, he told her about the eviction notice that had been served on his parents, and his father's heart attack. ‘I'm flying to Bulawayo this afternoon to see him. I don't know if there is anything you can do, Thandi, but I thought that since your brother was involved you might get him to see reason. If the community is going to take over the ranch, perhaps my parents could at least stay on as managers, to help ensure the safety of the government's rhinos.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘I've read about the problems at the ranch, but to tell you the truth I didn't know Emmerson was involved in this one. You say he's setting himself up as the chairman of the proposed community project that will run the rhino-breeding centre?’

  ‘Yes. Look, Thandi, I don't live in Zimbabwe, and all I know is what I read online and in the newspapers. Your brother does not have a very good reputation internationally, especially when it comes to rhinos.’

  She frowned, but nodded. ‘Yes, I've read the same things. We barely speak these days. Corruption is rife in the government, and while there are some people who are dedicated to wildlife conservation, it would be naïve of anyone to suggest that there aren't senior politicians and bureaucrats who have been involved in poaching and the smuggling of wildlife products out of the country. There have been secret shipments of stockpiled ivory and rhino horn to Asia and the Middle East. I don't know if Emmerson is guilty of all the things people accuse him of, but as they say, where there's smoke …’ She shrugged.

  ‘My daughter, Natalie, was part of an operation that caught him in the middle of nowhere at a meeting with some rhino poachers. The government media said he killed two of the poachers, but Natalie thinks he was just covering his tracks.’

  She nodded.
‘Yes, I read the same story. I also read that your father has been accused of dealing in rhino horn as well.’

  George slumped back in his seat. ‘That's preposterous. My father's dedicated most of his life to saving these animals. He's hardly likely to start selling rhino horn on the black market at this stage of his life.’

  ‘I know, George. There are so many allegations flying around it's hard to know who is doing what these days. The truth is, as much as I hate to admit it, there is a power vacuum since our new Government of National Unity was formed. The police don't know who to listen to – us or ZANU–PF. We control law and order on paper, but it's no secret that ZANU–PF enforces its will through intimidation and patronage. I'm sure the investigation into your father is based on trumped-up charges, but someone darted a rhino and stole its horn on your father's ranch out from under his nose. It does seem like the work of someone with at least some concern for the animal's welfare, don't you think?’

  George ground his teeth. He couldn't believe that his father would deal with the people who he'd fought for decades. They weren't rich, but neither were they struggling. It had to have been an inside job. He would have to thrash this out with Natalie and the Quilter-Phipps boys as soon as he got to Bulawayo. ‘I don't know what to think either, Thandi, but I do know that losing the ranch, and knowing their rhinos now have an uncertain future, will probably kill my parents.’

  ‘I don't doubt what you're saying, George. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't concerned at the prospect of my brother taking over a rhino-breeding ranch. It would be like putting the lion in charge of the goat herd. Let me see what I can do. I still have some friends in ZANU–PF. Perhaps there's something I can do to at least make sure the rhinos are protected. They are the property of the people, after all.’

  George sensed the meeting was drawing to a close. He pushed back his chair and stood. ‘Thank you, Thandi. My parents are heartbroken at losing the ranch, but if they had some assurance that their life's work wasn't for nothing, it might help them cope.’

  Thandi stood as well and smiled. ‘If what I plan comes off, then I think they might even be able to stay involved with the ranch. I can't make any promises, but leave it with me. When do you leave Zimbabwe?’

  ‘Assuming my father's OK, I have to leave in two weeks' time. I have to get back to my job in Australia.’ Looking into her eyes he wanted to add, ‘But I'd stay here in Zimbabwe, if it meant I could spend more time with you.’

  ‘I understand. Perhaps we could have dinner here in Harare when you are finished in Bulawayo?’

  George's heart lurched. Good lord, she wanted to see him again. Thandi extended her hand and he took it and looked into those big dark eyes that were still as sexy and enticing as they had been when he'd last seen her, forty years ago. ‘I'd love to, Thandi.’

  ‘So would I, George.’ And she grinned back at him.

  31

  Sharon Quilter-Phipps poured tea from a chipped china pot. Natalie added some milk to her cup and sat back on the wrought-iron chair in the shade of the jacaranda tree. It was a beautiful afternoon and despite the traumatic events of the last few days it was great to have her father and grandparents all together again.

  ‘How are you feeling, Dad?’ George asked as he stirred in some sugar and passed a cup to Paul.

  ‘I'm fine. And stop asking me that,’ Paul grumbled. Grandma Pip patted him on the knee and told him not to be so rude, and that George was just worried about him. ‘I'm more worried about my rhinos,’ he retorted.

  ‘Your house and garden are looking lovely, Sharon,’ Philippa said.

  ‘Thanks, Pip,’ Sharon said. ‘I had a bit of a windfall recently from an old pension policy Fred had taken out in the UK years ago. I didn't know anything about it – Fred never let me have anything to do with the finances – then all of a sudden there were all these pounds sitting in my bank account.’

  Natalie remembered the first time she'd been to Sharon's place, just a few weeks ago. The grass and garden had been overgrown and paint had been peeling from the house. Sharon, too, had undergone a transformation. She'd been wearing a threadbare house dress and her hair had been lank and greasy. Now she wore a new frock and her hair had been cut and permed. Sharon said she now had enough money to buy in water, and a large generator hummed away noisily behind the garage. The garden table was almost groaning under the weight of biscuits, scones and chocolates. Sharon was certainly doing nothing to hide her new-found wealth and it was nice to see at least one person in Zimbabwe for whom things seemed to be looking up.

  Paul and Philippa were staying with Sharon for the time being until they could organise a house to rent in town. Philippa had been to see four real estate agents already, but had found out that rental properties were in high demand and rents were generally exorbitant. ‘The problem is there are plenty of people in the same situation as us,’ Philippa said after Sharon had asked how the house hunting had gone, ‘farmers who've been kicked off their land in this latest round of invasions.’

  Philippa set her cup down and reached for a handkerchief. She started to dab her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Gran,’ Natalie said, putting her arm around Philippa, ‘you'll be OK. You'll find a lovely house.’

  ‘Yes,’ Pip sniffed, ‘but it won't be my house, will it?’

  George set his cup down. ‘Natalie's right, Mom. You'll be fine, and who knows, Thandi might be able to do something. Now, Tate,’ he said, deliberately steering the conversation away from the depressing subject of housing, ‘tell me more about the rhino.’

  Tate had arrived from Kariba late the previous evening and Paul himself had only been released from hospital early that morning. Natalie had collected him in one of the pickups they had moved off the farm. Sharon's backyard resembled a used-car lot at the moment, with the ranch's three bakkies, two Land Rover game-viewing vehicles, the Land Cruiser and the Mercedes station wagon Paul and Philippa used as their personal car.

  Tate reached under his chair for a manila envelope. ‘I wanted to bring these to the hospital to show you, Paul, but Natalie ordered me to wait here for you.’ He pulled out a sheaf of photos. ‘She told me Philippa wouldn't let me into the hospital if I wanted to talk to you about rhinos.’

  Pip had dried her eyes and she laughed.

  Paul moved some teacups and spread the photos on the garden table so Natalie and the others could see. Braedan got up from his chair on the other side of the table and walked around behind Paul. He placed a hand on the old man's chair back and leaned in close between Paul and Natalie. Natalie noticed Braedan was wearing aftershave today. Tate's clothes were rumpled and, from the whiff she got every now and then, it seemed he hadn't even bothered to bathe or shower when he got in last night. Braedan, by contrast, was wearing a freshly ironed shirt and shorts. His muscled arms were one of his best features, Natalie thought, stealing a glance out of the corner of her eye. Natalie and Tate had only exchanged a few words since his return, and she expected he still felt as awkward about their fumblings in the hotel room as she did. There was a frailty about him that she guessed stirred some need in her to care for him. Maybe that's all that the chemistry between them had been – pity mixed with too much alcohol.

  Braedan smiled at her and she felt her cheeks redden, wondering if he'd noticed her looking at him. Braedan didn't need anyone's pity.

  ‘This one,’ Tate said, pointing to a picture, ‘was taken by a camera trap I set up near a waterhole.’ The rhino's head had been raised at the moment the flash had gone off. ‘He bolted soon after, but at least I got him. I knew the flash would scare him, but it was the best way for me to get a good image.’

  Paul picked up the photo and stared at it, saying nothing.

  Tate fanned out three more enlargements. ‘You can see these others, taken at a different waterhole, aren't quite as good quality because I took them using a night-vision lens. It intensifies the ambient light, from the stars and moon, but I had a couple of cloudy nights so they're not as clear. It i
s the same animal, though, an old bull. You can see here how he's missing a chunk of his ear. Perhaps he was attacked by a lion or a hyena when he was a calf.’

  Paul nodded slowly. ‘So there's just the one.’

  ‘That's all I've found evidence of. He's cautious, as you might expect of a forty or fifty-year-old animal that's evaded poachers for thirty years or more. I had to track him for two days after the first photo, to his next drinking place, but I photographed him twice there.’

  ‘You've done an incredible job, my boy,’ Paul said, picking up the other photos and studying them – again.

  Philippa put her hand on Tate's arm. ‘Yes, Tate, remarkable.’

  ‘I don't see what this means, though, for your captive rhinos, Dad,’ George said.

  Natalie thought her father was being as curmudgeonly as ever. He'd never struck her as a happy person and she supposed his generally glum attitude had something to do with his experiences in the war. He'd lost his country and his old job as a pilot and she assumed that was enough to make any man bitter. She had desperately wanted to sit down and talk to him, as an adult, and get him to open up about his earlier life and the war, but he had refused to have anything to do with her book.

  Paul looked up from the photos and fixed George with a stare. ‘This means something, George. These pictures are a sign of hope – they tell us that nature can survive, even in the face of man's greed.’

  George shook his head. ‘Can I give you a hand to clear up, Sharon?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. That's nice of you, George.’

  ‘I'll help you, Dad,’ Natalie said.

  Natalie stacked the tray and her father picked up the side plates and they walked inside together. ‘I'm worried about them,’ her father said to her as they carried the used dishes to the kitchen.

  ‘I don't know if it's fully sunk in yet – the enormity of losing the ranch,’ she said.