Echoes From a Distant Land (33 page)

Following Muthuri's orders, Jelani kept apart from the crowd. ‘I don't want you arrested if it comes down to it,' he'd said. ‘Someone has to keep the office open if I and the others are taken away.'

Around the perimeter of the quadrangle was a thin line of administration police, most of whom were black Africans. There were only three or four white officers in sight. Clearly, if there was going to be any physical force applied, it would not be by white officers. It didn't look good from the very start.

When the rally commenced despite the low attendance, the police gathered into small platoons. The white officers moved among them, issuing orders. Jelani wanted to rush to Muthuri and warn him, but he knew it was too late. He also knew Muthuri would not thank him.

At a signal, the police charged into the centre of the rally, wielding their batons, and scattering the crowd in a panic. They cut through the small knot of union officials standing around the truck, and hauled Chege Muthuri from it.

The last Jelani saw of his boss, he was being dragged away by two heavy Kikuyu policemen — two of the people he was trying to protect from exploitation.

 

The Trades Union Council acted swiftly and called a general strike in protest against the union officials' arrests. Large numbers of
black workers stayed away from their places of employment in spite of their employers' threats of fines and dismissals.

The government was rattled by the unexpected show of solidarity by the black Africans. Newspaper headlines shrieked
Anarchy
, and business and political leaders harangued the strikers.

Days passed without either side conceding ground. Meanwhile the union leaders remained in gaol. The Trades Union Council decided to increase the stakes and called for a massive show of strength. Convoys of trucks and buses ferried hundreds of rural workers to the city where they joined thousands of their urban counterparts.

The demonstration quickly turned violent; police were unable to quell the spread of the disturbances as the more extreme groups, without the knowledge or approval of the march organisers, broke from the main crowd and attacked shops and places of business. They smashed windows and set fire to a number of buildings.

The police chief called in members of the armed forces who were stationed a short distance from the city centre. Their reaction was swift and brutal.

The soldiers barricaded the road to Government House with their vehicles, standing behind them in a show of strength. Jelani was among the union officials in the first rows of the march. When they rounded a corner they saw the barricade for the first time. There were black faces among those manning the barricades, and the union leaders called on their followers to proceed in a peaceful show of solidarity.

When the first shots rang out, the marchers faltered, but the volley flew well over their heads. They pressed on.

Suddenly the man next to Jelani fell to the road. Jelani hadn't even heard the shot that felled him. There was a scream from somewhere behind him; more shots rang out. Men were falling all around him, some crying in agony, others dropping without a sound — dead before they hit the ground.

Jelani was frozen in shock, but a moment later he and the others were bolting away in terror, crashing through fences and gardens, running for their lives.

Tears of anger and outrage streamed down his face.

 

The matatu rattled along the rutted, potholed road towards Ngong town. When it reached the track leading into the forest where he'd left Kimathi some days before, Jelani called on the driver to stop.

It was late afternoon and the forest was dark, made more ominous by the flat sky that had hung like a grey blanket over the city all day.

An armed guard met Jelani on the track, then after checking his
kipande
, led him deeper into the forest to a group of a half-dozen or so other men standing and sitting in the fading light. Several looked as though they had been waiting in the clearing for a long time.

Nobody spoke.

After a lengthy silence, one of the men nodded a greeting to Jelani. He asked Jelani where he was from.

‘Nairobi,' he said, then realised he'd meant what district. ‘Kobogi. Near Embu.'

The man nodded. ‘Meru,' he said.

They didn't exchange names, but their home villages were widely separated and this seemed to give them freedom to exchange information while keeping their identities safe.

Jelani learned that the man had decided to join the Mau Mau after his local chief had confiscated most of his maize crop for an invented misdemeanour. When the man protested the chief had the tribal police throw him in gaol. While his wife was bringing him food, the chief invaded his house and raped his oldest daughter — a girl of twelve. His complaints to the district office went unheeded, however the local Mau Mau leader took revenge on his behalf: he had the chief's legs broken. It was then that he decided to join the movement and to convince his other male family members to do likewise.

Jelani said that his story was pale by comparison. He told him about his Kikuyu friend who had been murdered by a vindictive manager and that, more recently, he'd been in a march where peaceful protesters were shot down like dogs.

There was more to it than that, but Jelani didn't want to appear too philosophical. He'd thought long and hard about his decision
to accept Dedan Kimathi's invitation. The violent reaction to the march was simply the catalyst.

He knew that orators were respected in times of peace, and were heeded on social matters, but in times of war the Kikuyu people always turned to the strongest among them. Jelani believed that no matter how eloquently Muthuri or Kenyatta spoke, unless they were prepared to show aggressive leadership, they would be ignored by the Wakikuyu. He also knew that the Kikuyu were the largest tribe in Kenya and, since the leaders of the Mau Mau were Kikuyu, they were the best able to mobilise the numbers needed to challenge the white government. Jelani had come to the enclave the previous day, hoping to be allowed to take his oath at the next ceremony and so make a real difference for his people.

After a further fifteen minutes, the guard returned and led them through the darkened forest to a wattle and daub house with a large
makuti
roof and shuttered windows. A newly constructed hut of bush materials stood at a short distance. A goat, making an occasional nervous bleat, was tethered to a stake inside the hut.

The men filed through the doorway into an interior empty of any furniture and well lit by smoking lanterns. An arch made of vines and flowers stood at one end. It was similar to ones Jelani had seen used in ceremonies back home in Kobogi.

There were three men already in the room. Two were sitting at a large table, the other stood at the window. Jelani could vaguely recall seeing the seated two at Nairobi rallies. He recognised the third, bearded and wearing metal-rimmed spectacles, as Bildad Kaggia. According to the daily newspapers, Kaggia was the Nairobi leader of the Mau Mau and principal oath-giver. After glancing around the group, Jelani turned his eyes back to the window opening outside which, by the sounds coming into the hut, the goat was being slaughtered.

Kaggia gathered all of them into a circle, then the assistant who had slaughtered the goat came in from outside carrying a long strip of bloodied hide. Kaggia made a circle of it on the floor and the initiates entered the sacred space that it made.

Bildad Kaggia made a long speech about the Movement. He told them that it represented the Kikuyu people and would fight their battle to regain their land. In the process they would also gain independence from the British, who had kept their booted foot on the throat of Africa for too long. He reminded them of the importance of a Kikuyu oath; how oaths had been used throughout their history as a means of solemnising undertakings and promises.

‘In the most serious situations a broken Kikuyu oath can condemn the taker to death,' he said. ‘Such is the case in the oath you will be swearing tonight.'

Jelani felt a growing apprehension. He couldn't say exactly what he had expected that night, other than a promise to keep the rules of the organisation, but as Kaggia continued his tirade against the government, the white settlers and all who would oppose the Mau Mau, his unease grew.

Kaggia circled the men, staring at each in turn, as he spoke. When he paused in front of Jelani, he felt Kaggia's eyes burning into his. Jelani had the almost irresistible urge to blink or look away, but he held his nerve until Kaggia passed.

Kaggia's assistant reappeared carrying a wooden platter upon which were a pot and lumps of raw meat. He set them down in front of Kaggia, who then indicated that the man two ahead of Jelani should step forwards to take his oath.

The first man swore the oath then took the pot from the assistant, lifted it to his lips, and drank. He then sliced off a piece of the raw meat and swallowed it before moving on.

The next man stepped up and Jelani could then see that the meat was the goat's heart, liver and lungs. With a lurch in the pit of his stomach, he realised that the pot held the goat's blood.

Standing under the harsh gaze of Bildad Kaggia, Jelani had no doubt that if he decided to renege at the last minute, he would not make it back to Nairobi alive.

Kaggia intoned the words of the oath again and Jelani repeated them.

‘
If I ever argue when called, may I die of this oath.

‘
If I ever disobey my leader, may I die of this oath.

‘
If called upon in the night and I fail to come, may I die of this oath.
'

Jelani took a deep breath and sipped warm blood from the pot then gulped down a slice of the heart.

His initiation was complete.

The following morning, the sun rose clear and bright in a brilliant blue sky.

As Jelani waited for the gaoler to lead Chege Muthuri into the visitors' meeting room, he wondered about Kaggia's almost primeval antics of the previous night. Although the oathing was quite bizarre, he had no doubts about his decision to join the Mau Mau.

The gaoler led Muthuri into the visitors' room then backed out. The unionist looked pleased. ‘Ah, what a wonderful day, my young friend,' he said, beaming.

‘Haven't you heard about the riots?' Jelani asked, surprised.

‘I have. We are very close to victory.'

‘I don't see how you can say that. The army are helping the police.'

‘Excellent. It means they are worried. And when I heard they'd used tear gas, I knew we'd won.'

Jelani merely shook his head, thinking Muthuri had become delusional.

‘You don't understand, do you?' Muthuri said. ‘Let me explain. The administration has never before used tear gas in Kenya. It's unprecedented and, as someone said about empires,
what is unprecedented is not permitted
. This story will be in all the London newspapers. The Colonial Office will have a fit.' He was beside himself. ‘I give them two or three days before it is all over. And I will be out of this place. Now, to business.'

Muthuri detailed what needed to be done in preparation for his release. Jelani scribbled notes, still not convinced Muthuri wasn't deceiving himself. When the union matters were completed, Muthuri asked about his scholarship.

‘What do you mean?' Jelani asked.

‘I've put you forward to the Trades Union Council. Didn't I tell you this?'

‘No, not really.'

‘For a place on the government's scholarship program. Someone in the Legislative Council is running it.'

‘A scholarship? What is that?'

‘A training program. In your case it would be six weeks in America with the Longshoremen's Union.'

‘In America?'

‘If everything goes as planned. They'll want to interview you, but that won't be a problem. You'll probably leave in a couple of months.'

‘For America?'

‘The person who you must see is …' He patted his pockets and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from one of them. ‘… Sam Wangira.'

 

Jelani crossed the quadrangle on Queens Way. It was still littered with the detritus of the most recent fracas — stones and empty tear-gas canisters lay scattered around the grounds.

There was a large crowd inside the administration building. Jelani had never seen so many excited white people — businessmen from the look of their expensive suits. He guessed many were there to lobby the politicians to choose one of the solutions to the industrial situation suggested in the press. There was also a small number of black Africans. All were trying to gain access to the information desk where two quite harassed black public servants were attempting to answer questions and direct people to the appropriate person or department.

Jelani took his place in line behind a young woman wearing a white broad-brimmed hat, pleated brown skirt and white gloves.

After some time waiting in line he was getting no closer to the counter and realised that the woman in front of him was allowing others, particularly the businessmen, to push ahead. It annoyed him that they always considered their business more pressing than any others, but he thought it quite unusual that they ignored the usual protocol of allowing their women to go first.

When she finally reached the top of the queue, he understood why the men had ignored her. By her fluent use of Swahili, she was a black African. Her subdued European outfit had deceived him.

He could overhear her request for information about the two
askaris
promised to her village. She had a soft, lilting voice. Her Swahili was also quite proper and without any accent. It was the Swahili taught in good schools and used by quite educated Africans.

The clerk gave her some forms to complete and, as she turned away, she stepped on Jelani's toes and dropped her papers.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon,' she said, stooping to retrieve the forms.

Jelani bent to help too, and when they stood they were face to face.

She had curving black lashes framing the most beautiful dark brown eyes, which now widened in surprise. Her lips parted, and her tongue lightly touched her top lip.

She was more beautiful than ever.

‘Beth!' he whispered.

 

It wasn't the most romantic venue Jelani might have chosen, but the tea shop at Nairobi station was at least a respectable one and, since Beth appeared to have grown into a very proper young lady, with pleated skirts and white gloves, he thought she would be more comfortable there.

He sat listening to her beautiful voice and simply couldn't stop grinning.

She told him about her job working with Chief Luka in the district of Lari.

‘Lari? You mean up past Limuru?'

‘Yes.'

Jelani knew of it. It was a small farming community in the fertile high ground at the edge of the Rift Valley.

‘I work helping Deacon James in the villages around Lari.'

He asked her if she'd like tea and she said she would — with milk and sugar. But when he reached the counter he realised he'd forgotten her order, and three minutes later he was back to ask again.

He felt no desire to speak, preferring to watch her face as she talked. He loved the way she touched her cheek as she tried to recall a detail and how her eyes sparkled when she smiled. He asked about her life since she left their village five years before.

‘Reverend Farley sent me to the Anglican Inland Mission school in Voi. I studied there for four years. I learned about the work of the mission in Kenya, of course, and secretarial work, and I learned dressmaking and cooking.'

He listened patiently as she listed her academic subjects, but she was not telling him what he most wanted to know. ‘Are you married?' he asked, impulsively.

Beth looked surprised, then shy. ‘No,' she said. ‘Are you?'

‘No. Never. I mean … when you went away, I knew …'

Now he regretted choosing the railway station café. He reached across the table to take her hand in his.

‘I knew I only ever wanted you, Beth.'

 

Back at the administration building, still buzzing with love and delight, Jelani found Sam Wangira's office at the far end of the corridor, with only the number on the door to indicate he'd found the right place. When he opened the door he was surprised to see Wangira himself sitting at a secretary's desk; he looked up when he arrived at the doorway.

‘Oh,' Jelani said. ‘I'm sorry to have barged in.'

‘Not at all,' Wangira said. ‘Come in.'

Jelani did so, closing the door behind him.

Wangira smiled. ‘I suppose you expected a secretary to be sitting here.'

‘Um … yes.'

‘Well, there's just me.'

He sat back in his chair, appraising Jelani.

‘I've seen you somewhere before. Ah! The light-skinned kid with the shoeshine box. A few years ago now.'

Jelani squirmed. He didn't want those days to figure on his résumé. ‘I came about the scholarship,' he said frostily. ‘I'm Jelani Karura.'

Wangira nodded. ‘A Kikuyu.'

He studied Jelani in a way that made him uncomfortable. Or maybe it was because he had referred to his skin colour.

‘A lot of people around here will question why I want to give a scholarship to a Kikuyu,' Wangira continued. ‘They think we're all members of the Mau Mau. Wrecking farms. Butchering livestock. Maniacs, the lot of them. I don't suppose you'd admit it if you were one of them.'

He waited a moment, but Jelani again said nothing. The Mau Mau were a banned organisation. He'd be mad to admit to membership.

‘Let me tell you what this is about, because my guess is you have no idea,' Wangira said, leaning back in his chair. ‘The government of Kenya is preparing for the day when this country becomes independent. We are looking for young people who are showing promise, and who might be trained to become future leaders.'

Wangira explained that there were only limited funds at present, but that after a trial period, when the success or otherwise of the program could be assessed, more funds might be allocated.

‘I only have a few places available, so I have to be choosy.' He glared at Jelani from the other side of the desk. ‘I don't want anyone who'll mess up.'

Jelani held his silence, not daring to make the response he would have liked to give.

Wangira then went to the single filing cabinet standing against a wall.

‘Here,' he said, handing a page to Jelani. ‘Fill that in.'

He waited as Jelani completed the form and slid it back across the desk.

‘Cook's farm. Up in the Embu region,' Wangira said, reading from the form.

He studied Jelani yet again. ‘I was up there a few years ago, delivering a pick-up load of maize. Yes … I remember you from then too. It's your colour. Very distinctive.'

Jelani had had almost enough of him. He asked through tight lips if Wangira had all he needed from him.

‘You can go. I'll let your boss know if you're successful.'

Jelani stood to leave, but at the door Wangira had more to add.

‘I wasn't just joking about the Mau Mau,' he said. ‘I know they're out there recruiting everyone they can. Using threats and promises. They call themselves freedom fighters, fighting for land reform and independence. Heroes, if you'd believe them. But they're not. They're becoming increasingly desperate, and they're not doing the cause, our cause, any good. If they approach you, don't get involved.'

Jelani closed the door behind him.

 

Sam watched Jelani Karura close the door to his office. He had handled himself very well during the interview. Even goading him about his skin colour, an issue Sam suspected was a sensitive one for him, had failed to provoke an angry response.

He'd been impressed by the young man since encouraging him to defend his shoeshining turf against the big Kamba and, although Sam was no great supporter of the trades union movement, he'd followed Jelani's ideas as editor of
Uhuru
.

He reached for a sheet of letterhead paper and used it for a note to Chege Muthuri, confirming the scholarship for Jelani Karura to attend the offices of the International Longshoremen's Association in New York. He paused there, again wondering if he'd acted wisely in allowing Muthuri to have his way on the choice of the ILA. Sam wanted the scholarship to be with the
New York Times
, but he felt he needed to be conciliatory on this, the first occasion his trust would be used. In future he would exert more pressure to get his way.

He reached into his desk drawer for an envelope and also took out the letter he'd received from General Motors. It was hedged in complicated legal terms, and obviously written by their highly paid lawyers, but it was clear to Sam that the company wanted to discuss a business deal.

General Motors had long ago purchased Cadillac — the car manufacturer to first use Ira's electric starter motors — and now wanted to buy the patents of which Sam was the nominal owner.

The money from the settlement was likely to help Sam continue and expand his training scholarship program a few more years. It would mean going to New York to discuss the details.

New York. The thought of the city drew mixed emotions.

Although it wasn't convenient or pleasing to be returning to New York — he dreaded the sea journey — in some ways he welcomed it. He could arrange his trip to coincide with young Karura's scholarship so he could keep an eye on him.

It would also draw to an end his involvement with Ira's legacy. It was time to put that painful part of his life finally to rest.