Softly Calls the Serengeti (32 page)

As Joshua, in shock, retreated further into the Kibera heartland, he saw scores of looters breaking in the doors of houses and places of business. The door of the
duka
where he used to buy small food items was smashed open and a young boy busily stuffed his pockets with chocolate bars. Packs of rioters were now running berserk—burning, raiding, looting.

In front of Joshua, a group of four men broke into a shack. In a few moments Joshua heard screams coming from within. He dashed into the house.

‘What are you doing?' he screamed. ‘This is not right! Get out!'

He saw the club, but couldn't dodge it in time. It came down on his head and his face hit the hard, earthen floor. He slipped into blackness.

 

Joshua awoke in gloom. His head ached and there was a crusty patch in the short hair above his ear.

A chink of light from a closed shutter allowed him to see the outline of objects in the room. A female figure sat at a table above which hung a naked globe. He crept towards it and ran his hand up the cable to click the switch on. The woman sitting at the table appeared stunned. She was dishevelled and, as his eyes became accustomed to the blinding light, he noticed her blouse was torn open, revealing one breast. She had a scrap of old towelling covering her lower body.

They were alone in the shack. A trickle of blood ran from Joshua's scalp to his collar. They had both been victims of violent crimes, but the gulf between them was total. She was a Kikuyu and he a Luo. The tribes were in battle as they'd been for centuries.

He asked her if she needed help.

She kept her eyes on the table and made no answer.

‘Can I call your neighbour to come to assist you?' he asked.

She looked up at him. ‘Get out,' she said bitterly.

Joshua reached the door, then pulled a twenty-shilling note from his pocket. Avoiding those accusing eyes, he put it on the table, not because she might believe he'd taken any part in the rape, but because he was a man and a Luo.

There was a feeling of unreality in Kibera as Joshua stumbled home that late afternoon. The sky was blood red and the air thick with smoke. A baby cried somewhere in the distance. Shadowy figures raced across his path. He could hear someone sobbing behind a wooden packing-case wall.

He passed the smouldering ruins of the
duka
of an elderly Sikh fellow who sold Joshua his Safaricom mobile phone credits. Joshua had found him cheerful and courteous, and wondered if he'd had the sense to let the looters have their way, or if the Sikhs' legendary fighting qualities had forced him into an unwinnable battle.

Parts of Kisumu Ndogo were also alight. The Kikuyu had struck back. Joshua felt a knot in the pit of his stomach as he approached his father's house. The past had returned to haunt him. Had Kenya not changed in five years? Had nobody learnt the lessons? Would he arrive home to find a parent among the ashes as he had in 2002?

He gathered pace as he entered the neighbourhood, his head pounding with the increasing strength of his heartbeat.

There was smoke above the rooftops.

When he rounded the last corner, the alley feeding into the little group of neighbourhood dwellings was intact.

Joshua leant against the wall and wept.

Koske sat alone, contemplating the virtue of patience. He knew that later that night his willing helpers would work further mischief on his behalf, but those events were already in place. He was presently content to sit in the relative calm of the Kibera evening and wait while his latest plan, a plan that pleased him immensely, came into play. He felt that patience was a very desirable quality because ultimately it led to more satisfying rewards. He could have taken swift revenge on the impetuous Joshua Otieng for spoiling Koske's opportunity to impress his friends who liked to wager on football games for fun and profit. Instead, he had been patient, and his patience now offered a far more fulfilling reward.

He looked around his makeshift office. The orphanage was conveniently empty because he had despatched his latest consignment to the medical clearing-house en route to Wajir.

The sound of a scuffle came from outside. The door flew open and the girl was flung in. Her tight blue jeans were smudged with filth, probably as a result of the tussle with his men, and her breasts thrust perkily from her tee-shirt. She had a smudge of blood on her top lip.
A fighter!
The thought pleased him.

‘Ah!' he said. ‘Mayasa, isn't it?'

She said nothing, but he didn't mind.

‘Welcome to your new home. I hope you find it—'

‘Why am I here?' she demanded.

Koske stood and walked towards her, stopping an arm's length from her. He sensed her courage was waning. He flung a backhand at her, catching her on the side of her face and knocking her to the floor. She whimpered, but clawed her way to her feet. A fighter indeed.

When she faced him again, he said, ‘You are here, my dear Mayasa, because I need…What is it called? Security. No. An insurance policy! That's what you are—my insurance policy.' He laughed, feeling quite witty. ‘A short-term insurance policy. And these two gentlemen are my insurance agents. Oh, maybe they're not really gentlemen, but they do their job. Don't you?'

The two men nodded.

‘So I'll leave you with them until this is over.'

The men restrained her as he opened the door.

‘Oh, and boys,' he said, turning back, ‘make sure Mayasa is comfortable, but be sure not to touch her. That is, not until this is all over.'

It was a masterful finishing touch. Koske closed the door behind him, content that he had made a suitable impression.

 

‘Good afternoon, viewers, this is John Muya of the Kenya Broadcasting Corporation in Nairobi. We cross now to Studio Two to hear an official announcement by the chairman of the Electoral Commission of Kenya, Mr Samuel Kivuitu.

‘Regional stations, please stand by.'

‘…and it is my duty as chairman of the Electoral Commission of Kenya to announce the details of the voting in the Kenyan presidential election conducted on Thursday, 27 December 2007.

‘The results are as follows:

‘Stephen Kalonzo Musyoka—879,903.

‘Emelio Mwai Kibaki—4,584,721.

‘Raila Amolo Odinga—4,352,993.

‘I therefore declare Mr Mwai Kibaki to be the winner of the presidential election. Mr Kibaki retains his position as president of the Republic of Kenya.'

 

The man who opened the door to Mayasa's house was tall and lean. Apart from his tired eyes, which might have been caused by lack of sleep, he appeared healthy.

‘Mr…Shaban?' Joshua asked.

The man studied Joshua before answering. ‘I am David Shaban,' he said warily, then his eyes widened. ‘It's Mayasa. She's hurt!'

‘No, Mr Shaban. She's not—that is, I don't know. I've come looking for her.'

‘She's not here. Are you Joshua?'

‘I am.'

Mayasa's father looked at him more intently then, before his expression again turned to one of concern. ‘Where could she be?'

‘I was supposed to meet her at Toi Market, but there was a fire and—'

‘Toi Market? But I sent her to her sister's house in Langata.'

‘She was there, but she said she wanted to come home.'

He didn't add that he had encouraged her. The knot in his stomach grew with the growing panic that he might have contributed to a ghastly mishap.

The man leant heavily against the door jamb and slowly shook his head. ‘Then, where is she?'

 

Joshua pushed through the huge glass doors and into Kenyatta National Hospital. The suffocating odour of antiseptic attacked the back of his throat. He tried to avoid swallowing his saliva for as long as possible, but this made matters worse. When he finally surrendered to it, he had to fight the hot flush of nausea. It was only his second visit to a hospital, and he realised that after seeing Kwazi here, he had developed an irrational fear of the place.

He approached the information desk with trepidation.
‘Mayasa Shaban,' he told the nurse when she asked who he wanted to see.

‘None by that name,' she said, and looked beyond him to the queue. ‘Next!'

‘Are you sure?'

She glanced at him. ‘None by that name,' she repeated impatiently.

When he remained where he stood, refusing to move, she added, ‘The unidentified patients are in Ward 6C. Next!'

The stench hit him as he came from the stairwell onto the sixth floor. The injured lay among the dead and dying, many on wheeled litters crowding the corridors. He could go no further as he fought his rising panic. Every molecule in his body shrieked at him to flee.

A male nurse, a fellow Luo, asked him why he was there.

‘I am looking for my girlfriend,' he said. ‘They have no record of her coming to the hospital, and they thought…'

‘Those we have here have no ID and are too injured to speak,' the nurse replied. ‘You can come with me while I do my rounds. If you're lucky you might see her. Or maybe it would be luckier if you don't.'

Joshua followed the young man as he attended to the worst of the injured. He explained that most of the injuries were caused by blunt instruments such as clubs and hammers; others were slash wounds, generally caused by machetes or
pangas
.

‘Many of our fellow Luos are attending with slash wounds to the penis and genitals,' he said.

Joshua stared at him. ‘Why?'

‘Forced circumcisions. Some of the worst cases have been emasculated.'

Joshua put the thought from his mind. He was already having difficulty concentrating on the faces he passed, hoping and dreading he would find Mayasa. The injuries he saw made him physically ill. Many of the victims were damaged beyond being recognisably human. How anyone could survive such
physical abuse was unimaginable. Twice he had to fight the gorge that came to his throat in a rush. On a third occasion, at the bedside of a young girl so mutilated by burns that the skin hung from her limbs in sagging sheets, he was unable to contain it and threw up.

At the end of the round he was exhausted. The nurse agreed that Kenyatta National Hospital was the most likely medical facility for Mayasa to be at, and since she was not among the admitted patients nor those in a coma or otherwise incapable of identifying themselves, he tactfully suggested Joshua try the next most likely place to find her.

Joshua thanked the young nurse and walked from the ward on rubbery legs.

He had to believe Mayasa was alive, because he knew it was beyond his capacity to visit the City Mortuary.

 

Joshua heard the door bolt slide and a moment later Kwazi's face was in the doorway.

‘You are looking even uglier than me,' Kwazi said as he caught sight of Joshua's drawn features.

‘You got my text?' Joshua asked.

Kwazi had a mobile phone, but seldom used it or admitted to it when he did.

‘I did. Are you mad to come out when the day is full of smoke and crazy people?'

‘Mayasa was at her sister's house and she was supposed to meet me at Toi Market, but I couldn't find her.'

‘And now your friends have burnt the market,' Kwazi said with disgust.

Joshua didn't reply.

‘What makes you think she was at Toi?'

Joshua related their mobile phone arrangements.

‘Then if she was not there, she must be safe. Did you call her?'

‘Yes, many times. No answer.'

‘Probably no credit. Did you go to her sister's house?'

‘No. Her father called the sister and she's not there. I'm worried.'

‘She must be on her way. She will come home when this madness ends.'

‘It won't end until Raila is declared president. Did you hear that he has been arrested?'

‘How did you hear that?'

‘The texts. Everybody's talking about it. We will not allow it,' Joshua said.

‘Rumours. Always rumours. There's nothing on the radio.'

‘We're planning more for tonight. You'll see. We won't rest until he is declared the winner.'

‘And more burning. How are we going to eat without the market? And the police are letting no one past Kibera Road. You and your friends are making big trouble for all of us.'

‘Someone has to fight.'

‘Don't you understand? While you and your mad friends are fighting, many others are dying.'

‘In all Luo history, people have died. People die when they fight for what is right or for what is theirs.'

Kwazi's eyes blazed. ‘Why have you come here?'

Joshua was ready for another attack, but Kwazi's question brought him abruptly back to his immediate problem. Nobody knew Kibera like Kwazi, and nobody had as many contacts within its serpentine streets and alleys.

‘I can't find Mayasa alone,' he said as his shoulders dropped and the anger drained from him. ‘Kwazi. Help me.'

 

Joshua returned home in long shadows, the sun red on his back. The air was still and smoke clung tenaciously to the jumbled
line of rooftops that marked the western boundary of Kisumu Ndogo.

When he entered the house, his father seemed surprised to see him.

‘Have you eaten?' he asked Joshua.

‘No.'

‘I have
irio
and
sukumaweeki
,' Simon said.

He turned on the gas bottle and put a light under the pots. Neither spoke until Simon dished out the cornflour mash and greens.

‘Thank you,' Joshua said.

‘There's more if you want.'

‘No. It is enough.'

‘Are you not well, my son?'

Joshua didn't feel well at all. At the hospital he'd seen sights that he knew would haunt him for a long time.

‘I'm well enough,' he answered, unsure how much to share with his father.

It was only during his long walk home that he'd been able to identify the reason for the numbness he felt, and the need to share the pain. The trauma at the hospital had been bad enough, but the sickness came from the realisation that he had to take some responsibility for causing such a disaster.

He wanted to see a new order in Kenya that gave people opportunities to share in the wealth of the country rather than having it purloined and distributed among the few in positions of power. He truly believed that Raila Odinga was the man to deliver that. Now, even if Odinga did get into State House, the price had been too high. Many innocents had been killed, injured or had lost homes and properties. The fight to win Odinga his stolen presidency had sown hatred in the community. The cause for which Joshua had fought so hard was irretrievably lost.

He could now see that people like Koske had used people like him to grab even more for themselves. And if, as a consequence of his involvement with Koske, he had put Mayasa at risk, it
would be a stone that would bear down on him for the rest of his life. The burden seemed too onerous to shoulder alone, and, although he'd often had difficulties understanding his father, he needed to share it.

He had to start by explaining his relationship with Mayasa. Simon listened sympathetically.

‘I'm worried about her,' Joshua said. ‘She hasn't called and she's not at her sister's house. I don't know where she is.'

‘It's the gangs and the looting,' Simon said. ‘It's the young men like you who are causing all this trouble! The police have gone crazy because of you.' As he spoke, his anger increased. ‘You and your hooligans, running around, burning people's houses. Looting. Raping.'

‘I don't do those things! I am not one of them.'

‘You are a supporter. What is the difference?'

‘Those people are not with us. We are supporters, yes. But our fight is with the government. We have no need to fight our own people.'

‘Who do you mean when you say “our own people”? Are the Kikuyu your people?'

‘Of course not. I'm speaking about our Luo people.'

‘There! That's why there's trouble. Don't you see? We have nothing and yet we steal from each other. We loot and burn each other's houses. It must stop.'

‘It can't stop. What about 2002?'

‘What is different between 2002 and today? You say it is wrong to fight our own people now, but it was the same only five years ago.'

‘No. The Kikuyus did terrible things in 2002.'

Simon took his seat at the table beside his son. ‘What terrible things are you speaking of, Joshua?'

‘The fire that killed my mother and my sisters, of course. How can you forget?'

‘I don't forget. I live with that memory every day of my life. But you don't understand—'

‘What don't I understand?' Joshua demanded.

‘That night…the night you came home from football…the night of the fires. They were everywhere. Flames to reach the sky.
Haki ya mungu.
And Joshua…I saw the men who started the fires. I saw them.'

‘You saw them? You were already there when I arrived. You told me you didn't see anyone. That they were gone before you came to find the house on fire.'