Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (7 page)

‘No, you know
very well why we are here. I just want to be sure that you will
hold up your end of the bargain. It could be a difficult week for
all of us. We need to communicate and keep the bigger picture in
focus. The issue over your car will be resolved, you know. We are a
team, a good team.’

Evans faced
with this appeal, fidgeted in his seat. Despite his resentment over
the car, he liked Patel and was not comfortable keeping him at
arm’s length. He relented, and in a rush. ‘Don’t worry about
Nicholls, he suspects nothing. In fact, he is so impressed with the
success of the Malindi branch on the small loans interest
repayments, that he is coming to study my methods in order to see
if he can introduce them to the other branches.’

Patel raised
his eyebrows. ‘Introduce the scheme to other branches? Azizza we
could go countrywide!’ he exclaimed. ‘Do you know any other land
officers?’

‘Sure,’ said
Azizza, ‘plenty,’ and began to laugh.

Not quite
seeing the joke, Evans laughed with her, easing the tension round
the table. Patel praised him. ‘You see, they love the work you do
my friend. Just keep it up, but don’t volunteer any information.
Are you going to meet this fellow at the airport?’

‘Yes, he
arrives on the ten o’clock flight from Nairobi. He was going to
drive down but I dissuaded him.’

‘Good, good for
you,’ Patel smiled. With the tension gone, the three conspirators
relaxed, and ordered more drinks. Spontaneous conversation and
laughter flowed. Azizza even persuaded Evans to get on the dance
floor with her, his lumbering frame gainfully gyrating to the music
as Patel cheered them on.

FOUR

Brian Nicholls
gazed out over the Indian Ocean as the aircraft circled before
landing at the airport. He could see the wide elliptical Malindi
bay and further south, breaking white lines of surf marking coral
reefs on the edge of blue water. What he had always dreamed of,
palm trees and white beaches.

Stepping from
the aircraft into balmy air scented with tropical plants and sea,
he joined the other passengers on the short walk to the main
building. A gaggle of people waited to meet the arrivals. In a sea
of unfamiliar faces, he spotted a portly man holding a message
board with his name on it.

‘Mr. Evans?’ He
asked with a wide grin.

The man with
the board grinned back and held out his hand in greeting. ‘Mr.
Nicholls?’

‘Yes,’ Brian
shook the proffered hand.

‘Welcome to
Malindi Sir. Let me help you with your bag, my car is just over
there,’ Evans pointed his placard at the car park. ‘We are so
excited you have come to see us. Our small branch seldom gets such
important visitors.’

Brian
responded. ‘I’m also glad to be here, this is my first trip out of
Nairobi, it’s such a beautiful country.’

‘Yes sir, I
thought we could go straight to the bank and then I can take you to
your apartment.’

‘Sounds good.’
Brian agreed.

At the bank,
Evans introduced him to all the staff in turn. Brian couldn’t keep
up with all the names and smiling faces, but knew he would get to
know them later. He asked Evans to organise a space for him with a
table and a computer, where he could work.

Evans showed
him the boardroom. ‘Will this do Sir?’

Brian nodded
his approval and sat down opening his briefcase, taking out a list
he had prepared for the manager. Evans nervously glanced through
it. It looked normal, no surprises, a typical audit.

‘Sir. Will you
do any staff training while you are here?’

‘Not this time,
but I will introduce a training program once I have toured the
other branches. I will then select the most promising trainees for
a seminar in Nairobi.’

They discussed
other bank business pleasantly. Evans asked questions about Brian’s
experience working in England, comparing it with banking in Africa
and Brian enjoyed pointing out the similarities and differences.
Evans expressed a hope to work in a bank in England one day.

He steered the
meeting to a close. ‘Sir, shall I take you to your apartment now? I
will need time to set up your office for you and you could start
work this afternoon.’

‘Yes,’ agreed
Brian, ‘good idea. By the way, Evans, you can call me Brian. No
need to call me, Sir.’

They drove to
the White Marlin flats, located on the main beach front. His third
floor apartment comprised two bedrooms, a kitchenette living room
and balcony. Brian was delighted with the flat. Evans pointed out
the in-house phone, convenient for ordering meals from the main
hotel, otherwise supermarkets were within walking distance. The
apartment included access to the hotel swimming pool, beach, tennis
courts and gym.

‘This is
great,’ said Brian, looking around him.

Evans handed
him the key. ‘Do you want me to collect you this afternoon sir - I
mean Brian?’

‘No don’t
worry. I can find my way back to the bank, there seem to be lots of
those three wheeler taxis about.’

‘Tuk-tuks,’
nodded Evans.

‘Oh, is that
what they are called.’ Brian laughed, ‘right, Evans, I will catch a
tuk-tuk to work,’ looking at his watch. ‘Do you think the office
will be ready for me by two thirty?’

‘Sure, no
problem.’ The manager replied.

*

Brian left on
his own, hastily unpacked his suitcase. He changed into a swimming
costume, grabbed a towel and headed off to explore. He took a quick
look at the hotel pool and went for the beach, leaping in the surf
in childish glee. This was what he had craved all his life. He
spent an hour splashing about in the waves, marvelling at the tiny
slivers of mica sparkling in the water, gold flecks washed out from
the nearby Sabaki River onto the beach. He lay on the golden sand
and soaked up the sun.

Back at the
apartment, he ordered a snack from the in-house menu and had a
shower. There was no hot water but the atmosphere was warm enough.
He ate on the balcony enjoying the view of the bay. Getting
dressed, he went out to go shopping. Walking down to the local
supermarket, he found it closed over the lunch hour, so he whiled
away the time at a small Italian run café.

On his way to
the flat, Brian stopped and chatted with the driver of a tuk-tuk,
arranging to be picked up at two thirty.

In the
apartment, he checked the contents of his briefcase, changed into
his work clothes, and went down stairs to catch his taxi. A tuk-tuk
was waiting, but it wasn’t the one he had asked for.

‘Hello,’ he
said to the driver, ‘are you waiting for me? Where is the taxi I
asked for?’

The driver
smiled. ‘The other man, he went on another job. He told me to pick
you. I take you to the bank, ok, one hundred shillings amigo?’

‘Ok.’ Brian
smiled and climbed into the back of the three wheeler, enjoying its
toy like appearance.

The tuk-tuk
pulled out into the road and set off for the bank. Brian sat back
and relaxed as it sped along the Malindi main street. He didn’t see
the lorry pull out of a side turning into the path of the speeding
taxi. His driver braked violently to avoid a collision. The lorry
driver seemingly oblivious, kept coming - a head on inevitable. At
the last moment, the errant truck swerved, but it’s long body
slammed into the side of the tuk-tuk with a terrific crash knocking
it over onto its side. Brian was thrown across the passenger bay
ending up on the ground still inside the body of the tuk-tuk. The
taxi driver was soon on his feet and ran after the lorry shouting
for it to stop.

A heated
argument ensued between the two drivers and a curious crowd soon
gathered. Brian got to his feet in a daze, his ankle hurt. He
gingerly favoured it, trying to work out what in the hell had just
happened.

The driver of
the tuk-tuk came back to his vehicle followed by a mob of curious
Africans. He helped Brian crawl out of the cab. ‘Sorry, sorry, that
fool doesn’t know how to drive, you ok?’ tut-tutting. ‘Oh look at
my taxi. Shit, damn no problemo,’ trying to brush the dirt off
Brian’s tie and shirt. He helped him to the side of the road, the
crowd making way for them. ‘The police come soon, you ok?’ the
driver repeated. ‘Sorry, sorry amigo.’

Brian found an
upturned kerbstone to perch on and rested his painful ankle. ‘Can I
get some water?’ he croaked, his throat dry with shock. An onlooker
handed him a half bottle of water, and he drank gratefully from it.
He then massaged his ankle loosening his shoelaces and working his
foot back and forth, at least it wasn’t broken.

Suddenly Brian
shouted at the driver. ‘Where’s my briefcase!’ He desperately
scanned the crowd. The driver looked in the cab of the wrecked
tuk-tuk, and shook his head. ‘Nowhere,’ he said.

The murmuring
crowd moved away from the crashed vehicle, as a policeman in
uniform strode up, waving a swagger stick aggressively. ‘
Toka
toka
!Get away! Go
! Kwenda
!’ he shouted. He loudly
interrogated the driver of the tuk-tuk in kiswahili punctuated by
the occasional word in English.

Brian
interrupted. ‘Excuse me, someone has taken my briefcase.’

‘What you say?’
asked the policeman.

‘My briefcase,
it’s missing, someone must have stolen it.’

‘When?’

‘Just now,
here,’ said Brian.

‘You had some
briefcase with you?’

‘Yes. Right
here with me.’

‘You saw the
accident?’ The policeman demanded.

‘I was in the
taxi,’ Brian pointed, ‘with my briefcase.’

‘You wait
here,’ he instructed. ‘You are an important witness.’

‘What about my
briefcase?’

The policeman
poked Brian hard in the chest with his baton. ‘You come to the
station, make full report. Wait here.’ He then strode off with the
tuk-tuk owner to interview the other driver. Brian was too stunned
to react.

A police land
rover pickup with a torn canvas awning drove up and stopped. Two
other policemen joined the one with the swagger stick. The taxi
driver came over to Brian. ‘We have to go to the police station,’
he said apologetically.

‘Ok,’ Brian
said, ‘sorry about your taxi. Listen, there is a reward if you
should find my briefcase. You can get hold of me at the NNB bank.
My name is Brian Nicholls.’

The driver held
his hand out to help him up. ‘You have to come with us to the
police station.’

‘Not with that
rude bugger, I’m not.’ Brian said, ignoring the proffered hand and
getting up on his own.

‘The hands-up,
he say, you must come,’ said the driver, pointing at the one with
the swagger stick.

‘Look, I’m not
going. I have to get to work.’ said Brian adamant.

The cop walked
over. ‘Ok, let’s go,’ he pointed at the pickup.

Brian set his
jaw. ‘No way, mister.’

The policeman
gave Brian a nasty look. ‘You want to leave the scene of an
accident?’ he challenged.

‘Enough of this
farce.’ Brian said, and made to move off. The policeman barked out
orders to the other two cops in Kiswahili. Brian was manhandled
into the back of the pickup protesting loudly losing his shoe in
the process. They handcuffed him to the steel frame that held the
canvas cover in place. The two drivers, urged on by the policeman
jumped in with him. Brian started to shout out in earnest.

The tuk-tuk
driver shushed him. ‘Please,’ he pleaded, ‘don’t make them angry.
Please,
mzungu
man, best to be quiet, please amigo.’

Brian looked in
disbelief as a cop stood over them cradling a sub-machine gun. The
Land rover drove at high speed through town, and turned into the
police enclosure, stopping in a squeal of brakes. A dust cloud
enveloped him and the two drivers.

A high, rusted,
barbed wire fence enclosed the compound. In one corner, accident
vehicles in impossibly contorted shapes lay gathering dust and
weeds. A rooster perched on top flapping its wings and crowing, as
though to announce their arrival.

A cop jumped
out of the cab and undid Brian’s handcuffs. ‘Ok, we go,’ a jerk of
his head indicating a low grubby building off to one side. A tin
roof with words stencilled along it. “Truffic Headquarters
Malindi,” was its unlikely title.

Brian climbed
out, helped by the taxi driver. His ankle hurt and with only one
shoe he hobbled along. He took the other shoe off and walked into
the police station in his socks. He muttered. ‘I’m going to report
all this, it’s outrageous.’

The reception
consisted of a long high counter. The cop with the baton was
already behind the desk. He told the two drivers to follow him and
instructed Brian. ‘
Mzungu
. You wait here, to take
statement.’

‘What about my
briefcase,’ Brian asked, ‘and my other shoe?’He held it up
defiantly.

The cop
replied. ‘You write statement on accident. This is traffic, not
robbery division.’

‘Oh,
“truffic”,’ muttered Brian, as the three of them disappeared into
the building.

Brian was
grateful that he still had his wallet and mobile phone, not daring
to think about the loss of his briefcase. Perhaps it was under the
tuk-tuk, had fallen out as the crash happened, and the taxi now lay
on it.

A voice coming
from over the counter interrupted his thoughts. ‘Yes,
mzungu
, what do you want?’

Brian looked up
to see a tall man looking down at him. His torso at the level of
the counter hiding the rest of his body, legs long enough to be out
of Alice in wonderland.

‘I was told to
wait here, to make a statement.’

‘About what?’
the man asked.

‘An accident, I
have been in an accident.’

The man leaned
forward resting his elbows on the counter and scratched his ear
with the end of a ballpoint pen, peering at Brian in idle interest.
‘You had an accident?’