Echoes From a Distant Land (44 page)

The details of her life in Kenya had to remain a secret. Oswald was an extremely conservative man. If he ever found out his wife had become pregnant to two men within days of each other, it would shock him to the core and end their marriage. If so, it would also end Emerald's chance to inherit his company. More importantly, if she declared herself to her son, it would mean revealing to Emerald the lie she had lived for twenty years. And although doing so could reinstate her son in her life, it might mean losing her daughter.

Jelani had his hand resting on Emerald's shoulder. It could be a simple show of support for a friend in a difficult situation, or it could be a sign of intimacy. If so, there was an even worse calamity approaching. If she'd read the signs correctly, Emerald and Jelani were falling in love. The prospect galvanised her.

She stood and took a deep breath. She had no choice. She must reveal to Emerald and Jelani the truth of their birth. It would mean telling her daughter, who had no reason to suspect her mother was anything but a staid and upstanding member of London's society,
that she had concealed a hideous secret. How Emerald would receive that information was unknowable, but she had to tell her.

‘Emerald,' she said. ‘We need to … talk.'

‘Now? We'll be on the train together for hours. I'd like to talk with Jelani until then.'

‘We're not leaving. We're going to talk.' She turned to Jelani. ‘And Jelani, I want to talk to you too. But not here. We're all going back to the Algonquin. We'll go up to our suite, and … talk.'

 

Utter silence prevailed as her mother, sitting in the large armchair in the corner of the room, told her story. Emerald felt she'd left her body and floated to the curlicued plaster ceiling rose, hovering there among the chandelier's pieces, a witness to the bizarre events unfolding below. It was simply inconceivable that she and Jelani were twins. Her eyes met his and she saw the same shocked disbelief in them.

Emerald's first thought was that her mother was playing a cruel joke, but she immediately rejected it. Nobody, least of all her mother, could be so malicious.

Her next thought was: How is such a thing possible? Although she'd asked the question she was almost too afraid to hear the answer.

She flushed as her mother replied using a number of medical terms, most of which required their own elaboration. But her explanation, delivered in a soft toneless voice, was not credible. In fact, it was surely quite
in
credible. Emerald would not dispute the physiology of it. Stranger things happened in science. She'd heard of a camera that could develop its pictures right before your eyes. But the very idea that her mother — her very proper, prudish, punctilious mother — could have been impregnated by two different men, was absolutely astonishing.

When Emerald regained her concentration, seated not five paces from her mother, she could see how Dana's face had lost its tension and the knot of frown lines on her brow had melted. Her eyes were mostly lowered, but when she briefly raised them to gauge if a point
she'd made had been understood, they were full of tears. Her usually tight lips had softened, and almost trembled as she described the other man — the black man she'd had an affair with. She loosened her grip on her hands; and one went to her hair where it found a loose strand. She absent-mindedly twirled it around her fingers like a schoolgirl lost in her studies.

The woman sitting opposite Emerald, talking wistfully of the mistakes of her younger years, was not the mother she knew. She'd become tentative and vulnerable; she was flawed and human in every respect.

After overcoming her shock, Emerald's heart went out to her. She wanted to reverse the roles, to comfort her mother and to tell her everything would be well.

She then began to wonder what could have motivated her to reveal such humiliating secrets. Certainly, her disclosure would mean Dana could start to build a relationship with the son she'd abandoned as a baby. Any mother would find it difficult to pass up such an opportunity. But her mother could have confessed all immediately she recognised Jelani's pendant. When Dana mentioned her regrets that she and Jelani had not had the opportunity to grow up together, as brother and sister, Emerald got her answer. Her mother thought they were lovers, or at risk of being so!

Emerald could scarcely contain her smug smile at the revelation. She knew her mother better than she realised. It was typical that she would be so sure of herself; so intent on reading Emerald's emotions that she couldn't see beyond the most obvious truths. Emerald liked Jelani, very much, but she had no romantic inclinations towards him. She was also quite sure that Jelani was of a similar mind.

 

Jelani's first reaction was to doubt that he correctly understood what Dana had said. He shot a glance towards Emerald, and when her eyes met his, he knew he had heard correctly.

His second thought was that Dana had mistaken him for another person, one who also had a lion fang pendant. They were, after all, not uncommon. She had jumped to her conclusion as to his identity merely because he was light-skinned.

He shook his head as she talked, trying to gently dissuade her of her unbelievable notion. He'd heard that many older English women were prone to a condition that caused them to become fixed on an idea that defied logic. In Kenya, the whites said it was the African sun. But the Africans joked that the women simply had too little to keep them occupied.

He kept shaking his head until Dana correctly described his birthmark — the one on his ankle. He then had to face the terrible fact that she had identified him and that she — a member of the English tribe and the sworn enemies of his people — was indeed his mother.

He found it difficult to concentrate after this until she'd finally reached the end of her long spiel. He exchanged glances with Emerald, who appeared as shocked as he, though at least her father and mother had been married. Presumably they were, or had been, in love. But what of Dana and his father? Perhaps he had been conceived in a brief burst of passion, the unwanted consequence of a moment of wanton lust long since regretted. And Emerald's parents were of the same tribe. Jelani's father was unknown, and might never be found.

Beth came suddenly to mind. She would find this bizarre situation very difficult to understand. If his mother could act in such an uncivilised manner, would she be concerned that he might also exhibit similar tendencies? And what effect would his bad blood have on the children they planned to have together?

‘Do you know where Jelani's father is now?' Emerald asked.

‘No.' Turning to Jelani, she added, ‘I'm terribly sorry, Jelani. Can you ever forgive me? He doesn't know about you; and I've lost touch with him. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing now.'

‘Is he a Kikuyu?' he asked, straining his voice to surmount his emotions.

‘Yes, he is.'

It felt strange to dislike this man — his father — a man he'd never met and knew little about. What he did know was enough. He couldn't respect a man who could tie the grass with another man's wife. He couldn't believe how, at a time when the whites were already moving the Kikuyu from their traditional land, he could lower himself to lie with the enemy.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it escape. He'd had enough of New York before he learned of this horrible truth. Now he felt exhausted, weighed down by the facts of his life. He needed time to think. Part of him wanted to find his father, but he was afraid that, in spite of his behaviour in the past, he might find him a person he could admire.

‘What's his name?'

It was Emerald. He'd noticed that she often thought and acted an instant before him.

‘It's a fairly common name, I'm afraid,' Dana said.

‘What is it?' he asked after a moment's hesitation.

‘It's Wangira. Sam Wangira.'

Jelani stared at her. Whatever sympathy he'd felt for her dissipated. In its place was contempt. She had not only abandoned him as a baby, she'd begotten him through a man he knew and already greatly disliked.

‘Do you know him, Jelani?' Emerald asked.

‘… No.'

‘Perhaps you could find him. Will you look for him?'

‘No.'

1952

Jelani rolled onto his back, panting in the stifling heat of his hut. He turned his head to Beth. Her body glowed in the faint light escaping the blanket he'd hung at the window. Her eyes were closed and her small rounded breasts rose and fell rhythmically.

It still amazed him how Beth was able to be two different beings: the modest Christian assistant to Deacon James of the African Inland Mission; and the hot-blooded woman who could transport him to the heights of passion.

It had taken time for them to become lovers. Beth's Christian principles intruded every time an opportunity arose until, three months before this, he asked her to marry him. Beth agreed, and the transformation was immediate and breathtaking. Whenever she was able to come down to Nairobi they would spend most of their time together in bed. In the dim light of morning, the heat of the afternoon or at night, they made love. Jelani was in heaven.

He made his long-awaited return to Cook's farm and won his parents' blessing for the marriage. The next steps had been complicated. In traditional Kikuyu culture, each family would appoint a representative to haggle over the details of the marriage and, importantly, the bride price. Much beer and goat meat would be consumed during protracted negotiations until agreement was reached. The wedding day could then be fixed. This was not the case with Jelani and Beth.

Beth's Wambui family had foresworn traditional customs. They insisted the marriage be in the Christian tradition; and they would therefore pay no bride price.

The Karuras' negotiator thought it a scam to avoid handing over a few goats, and stonewalled for weeks.

Jelani pleaded with his parents to reach a compromise. Beth did the same with hers.

Only the day before, Jelani had received word that both families were finally in agreement. There would be a modest dowry paid so long as the ceremony was performed by Deacon James in the mission's church. At Lari.

He had just two duties remaining. Firstly, he had to reveal to Beth the story of his family.

‘Beth, are you awake?'

‘Hmm?'

‘I have something to tell you.'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘My mother is coming to our wedding.'

‘Of course she is, Jelani.'

He sighed. ‘No … I mean my
real
mother.'

Beth raised herself onto her elbow and turned towards him with a stunned expression. ‘I don't understand.'

His explanation, rambling and at times emotional, took him nearly an hour. Beth listened in silence, only occasionally asking a question for clarification.

‘How do you feel about it?' she asked when he'd finished.

‘I feel terrible. It was bad enough to suspect I had a white father, but having a white mother and a black father is somehow much worse. And it's very strange having a white sister.'

‘How do you feel about her?'

‘I like Emerald. She was so nice to me.'

‘And your mother?'

He thought about it for a long moment. He wasn't sure how he felt now. At first he'd hated the idea. ‘But that's not so important,' he said. ‘What I need to know is how do
you
feel about it?'

‘I'm … sad. Very sad.'

‘Yes, I can see it, but we mustn't let it spoil everything for us. Beth, please, I can't change who my parents are. I'm the same
me
I
was when we fell in love. It needn't stop us going ahead with our wedding.'

‘Jelani, hush,' she said, putting a finger to his lips. ‘I'm sad for you. Not for us. Your story hasn't changed anything for me. I'm just glad you could tell me. It can't have been easy. Nothing's changed between us. I love you. You love me.'

He took her hand in his and kissed it.

It had been a difficult story to tell, but easier than revealing his second secret — his support for the Mau Mau cause. It occurred to him that it shouldn't be hard to reveal something he truly believed in. He'd had some trouble understanding recent reports about Mau Mau tactics, and many people were questioning some of their activities, but in a few days he would join Dedan Kimathi on a retribution raid that would restore the Mau Mau's reputation as a champion of the black Africans.

 

It was shortly after midnight. The light of the new moon lay in dappled pools on the forest floor. Behind the column of ten men, the Aberdare Ranges rose like a black colossus against the star-studded sky. All was silent except for the familiar calls of night birds and the occasional manic screeching of a tree hyrax.

Jelani walked immediately behind Dedan Kimathi, careful to place his feet only in his leader's footprints. A false step, a stumble, or the snap of a twig could alert a Home Guard patrol.

The Home Guard had proudly proclaimed they'd rid Ndiara — the farm lands at the foot of the Aberdares — of the Mau Mau. It was one of the reasons Kimathi chose that area for his raid. The people needed to see that the Home Guard were not the force they claimed to be. The more important reason they were there was to wreak havoc on white settler, Ben Wiggerink.

Wiggerink callously exploited his squatter-labourers. He beat them, cheated them of their wages, and deprived them of their fair share of the crops they helped him raise. But the complaint that aroused Jelani's ire most, and which allayed any reluctance he
might have had to extract retribution from the settler, was his treatment of his female workers. Wiggerink was a womaniser and one not averse to using his position of power to bully the women into his bed. The situation was all too reminiscent of Chief Muraimu's lustful claims on Beth.

Kimathi gathered his men together where the road to Ndiara town swept along the edge of the forest. They had two farms to cross before Wiggerink's. One of the Mau Mau's spies — a cook on a neighbouring property — was there to meet them. He carried a burlap sack from which he took five crudely made torches. The strong odour of paraffin confirmed their purpose.

‘What news do you have for us?' Kimathi asked the man.

‘The house is in darkness,' he said.

‘And the Home Guard?'

‘To the north of the town.'

‘Good. Then we proceed.' Turning to his men, he added, ‘
Ithaka na wiyathi
.' Land and freedom.

Their guide led them quickly and silently through the night until they reached a darkened farmhouse in a field of ripening maize. The house had a high thatched roof sitting above a squat, rectangular farmhouse with a small veranda leading to the front door.

Kimathi studied the farmhouse and its outhouses for many minutes before he issued his orders.

The men lit their paraffin-soaked torches, and slipped silently into the night. Moments later the maize crop was ablaze and flames rose from the outhouses.

Kimathi handed a torch to Jelani.

‘Go!' he ordered, pointing to the house.

Jelani ran through wafting clouds of smoke, barely able to see.

He heard a shout from the house and saw the settler on the veranda, wearing long white flannel pyjamas. He held a shotgun to his shoulder. A moment later there was a flash from the barrel and a loud report. A roar of pain came from the direction of the outhouses.

Jelani ran down the side of the house and smashed a window with the butt of his torch. A scream came from within as he
prepared to toss the burning staff inside. He hesitated a moment, and out the corner of his eye saw the man with the gun at the corner of the building. Jelani dashed away. The shotgun boomed, and a large chunk of timber exploded from the wall beside his head.

He flung the torch onto the thatch and bolted.

The settler swore as he reloaded.

Jelani's shadow ran ahead of him, intensifying as the flames from the tinder-dry roof turned the night into day.

 

Dana sat at the window with the letter in her lap, watching the rain. Her thoughts were not on the puddles forming among the rose bushes, but far away. She was in the saddle, Dancer beneath her, and the rolling hills of the Aberdare Ranges climbing above her into the ice-blue sky. A lone rider comes into view over the distant ridge, driving a herd of magnificent Abyssinian horses. She nudges Dancer, who leaps into a gallop. Moments later, their horses standing side by side, she leans over to him, and they kiss.

The letter had taken her back through the years. Jelani had written it in schoolboy English, advising her of his impending marriage and formally inviting his
English family
to attend.

‘To Kenya!' Emerald had said when Dana showed her Jelani's invitation. ‘Oh, Mother, we simply have to go. Think of it — an African wedding!'

There was no doubt they'd have to go, and for more than one reason. Since returning from New York nearly a year ago, she'd often thought about it. Her time with Jelani in New York had been short: too short. There would never be enough time for a mother to mend the damage inflicted by abandoning her son at birth, and she sensed Jelani's reserve. They'd had three days together before the union could organise his flight. He had been very polite and tried to show how pleased he was to learn of his family, but his mood was sombre and always fell short of any sign of affection. Dana knew how strange it must be for him and her objective was to help him
understand the circumstances of his birth and, if possible, to forgive her and build a bond from there. There had been insufficient time for that in New York. Maybe with more time, and in Kenya — his home — she might have more success.

In spite of her decision to attend the wedding and see her son again, she'd already begun to feel apprehensive about being so close to Sam. If Jelani had changed his mind and found his father, what could she say to him to explain her behaviour? Perhaps he would despise her for keeping his son from him for all these years. It would be an understandable sentiment, but to have him feel that way about her, after having once been so close, would be extremely painful.

 

It was October: the dark clouds warning of the imminent arrival of the short rains scuttled across the Nairobi sky, alternatively plunging the assembled mourners and surrounding tombstones into deep shady hollows and, just minutes later, bathing them in brilliant sunlight.

The assembly was to honour Chief Waruhiu, a Christian and a strong supporter of British law and order, who had denounced the Mau Mau at a public meeting at Kiambu in August. Six weeks later, his Hudson was stopped at a roadblock and three gunmen, posing as police officers, shot him dead in the back seat.

Jelani stood with Chege Muthuri, representing the Trades Union Council. Jomo Kenyatta stood with them, signalling the new solidarity between the militant pro-independence union movement and Kenyatta's Kenya African Union.

The new governor, Sir Evelyn Baring — a handsome man, resplendent in his navy-blue British military uniform, white gloves and belt, shoulder epaulets and high-crowned helmet decked out in ostrich feathers — presided. His address was intended as much for the British and local press representatives, who had attended in numbers, as it was for the mourners and representatives of all the major community, political and industry groups. Nobody dared not
attend as it was feared it would mark them as sympathisers of the movement that had so blatantly and brutally murdered the elderly Kikuyu chief.

On the other side of the open grave, among other members of the Legislative Council, stood Sam Wangira. It was the first time Jelani had seen him since learning he was his father — a fact he'd refused to make known to him. Wangira so diametrically opposed Jelani's point of view on almost everything that he couldn't identify with him. Wangira was a member of the oppressive government. His claim that he represented the views of all Kenyans, but particularly all black Kenyans, was hollow. Jelani knew if that were true he would be standing beside the freedom fighters dying in the jungles in defence of their rights.

Jelani had to admit Wangira was, however, an impressive sight in his fine suit, white shirt and tie. No wonder the whites gave him grudging respect.

Baring enumerated Waruhiu's many fine qualities, including his outspoken criticism of the Mau Mau and undeniable loyalty to the government, then he turned to the matter of what he intended to do about the escalating violence. The press corps scribbled notes and cameras flashed.

‘Since I have only recently arrived, I have exercised patience while I take counsel from my predecessor and other advisers. It would never do to react intemperately to atrocities such as the murder of Chief Waruhiu, no matter how one may personally feel.' The Governor's brow furrowed. ‘But the British government will not stand idly by while its citizens are threatened, beaten and murdered by ruthless and criminal gangs. There are those who have suggested that the Kikuyu have foregone all advances and reverted to godless savagery. Well, I can't accept that. I know that there are as many loyal subjects among the Kikuyu as there are among all the tribes of Kenya. And I say to those loyal natives: continue to resist the bullying tactics of the few. The Kenyan government, and the British people, will not abandon you.'

A round of thin applause followed his speech, and the Anglican archbishop of Nairobi concluded the service.

The Governor accepted the good wishes of various people as they drifted off to awaiting government and official cars. Jelani and Muthuri stood by as Kenyatta wished the Governor good luck.

Immediately behind Kenyatta was Sam Wangira, who shook the Governor's hand.

‘Mr Wangira,' Baring said. ‘I received your proposal and I'm giving it some thought.'

‘Thank you, Governor. I believe I can be of some service.'

‘I don't doubt it,' Baring responded. ‘Leave it with me for a day or two, will you?'

Wangira nodded. ‘Certainly, Your Excellency.'

Baring moved away with his entourage of officials and, with Muthuri and Jelani at his side, Kenyatta stepped in front of Wangira, blocking his path.