Echoes From A Distant Land Part 52

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 l.u.s.tful 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 b.u.t.t 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 circ.u.mstances 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 a.s.sembled mourners and surrounding tombstones into deep shady hollows and, just minutes later, bathing them in brilliant sunlight.

The a.s.sembly 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. n.o.body 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 w.a.n.gira. 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. w.a.n.gira so diametrically opposed Jelani's point of view on almost everything that he couldn't identify with him. w.a.n.gira 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 w.a.n.gira 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 G.o.dless 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 w.a.n.gira, who shook the Governor's hand.

'Mr w.a.n.gira,' 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?'

w.a.n.gira 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 w.a.n.gira, blocking his path.

'How does it feel,' Kenyatta said, 'to be a running dog of the oppressors?' He spoke in Kikuyu so the white journalists would not understand.

Sam narrowed his eyes, looking first to Muthuri and then Jelani.

'No need for you to use your communist rhetoric on me, Kenyatta,' w.a.n.gira replied defiantly. 'I'm a Kikuyu, and a loyal Kenyan.'

'You have a strange way of showing it, my friend. In fact, you've been rather strange ever since you were a child. Strange ideas. Strange way of life.'

'There are many ways to express loyalty,' w.a.n.gira said. 'I don't feel the need to murder innocent people to prove my point.'

'Nor do I, but others do. And it certainly makes the British press aware of our cause.'

'Didn't you learn anything while overseas on your junkets?' w.a.n.gira said. 'Don't you realise that the Mau Mau are doing damage to our fight for independence?'

Kenyatta scoffed. 'Since when has independence been your cause? You're a supporter of the foreign invaders.'

'I'm a supporter of Kenya for the Kenyans: white and black. And I was fighting that fight while you were trolling through Moscow's bars cadging vodka.'

'How would you propose we go about winning our freedom if not by fighting for it?'

'Not by dehumanising people, as the Mau Mau are doing. Peaceful protests and constant pressure will win it for us. Just as Gandhi did it.'

'You're a dreamer, w.a.n.gira,' Kenyatta said. 'The British will never give up.'

'They will. They have no choice,' w.a.n.gira said. 'The Atlantic Charter is our ticket. It was signed by the Allies even before the war ended. The Americans agreed to help the Europeans in the war, provided they agreed to give up their colonies after the peace.'

'If that's the case, why are the Europeans holding on so tightly?'

'Libya is already independent. Egypt is about to follow. There's talk about the Sudan and other Arab countries following within a year or so,' w.a.n.gira said.

'Commendable. But what about Kenya? Why are the British still here?'

'This fellow Baring has been sent here for two purposes: to finish the Mau Mau and to bring in self-government. But he can't do the second until he completes the first. Can't you see? As long as the Mau Mau continue to hold out, the British won't grant us independence. Look, Kenyatta, you can use your influence with the Mau Mau to stop the bloodshed. And you must if we are to get what we all want.'

Kenyatta's laugh boomed in the silence of the cemetery.

'Now I know you're mad, w.a.n.gira. First point: I deny having any influence with the Mau Mau. Second point, and more importantly, you're just a puppet in this whole sham of a government. Worse than that, you actually believe your own propaganda.' He turned, adding as they departed, 'You make me sick!'

Jelani looked back at w.a.n.gira, who stood with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and a look of exasperation on his face.

The whole conversation had been illuminating for Jelani: he hadn't realised that Sam w.a.n.gira had many similar thoughts. He was hopelessly optimistic of course, and had a different view on how to reach the goal, but his goal - independence - was essentially the same as Jelani's own.

A fuzzy sliver of moon languished behind a film of smoke haze. Over the last few days many Kikuyu huts had been torched to set an example to those who had refused to take the Mau Mau oath. As a consequence, the oathing ceremony that night in the Mathare slums was attended by a large number of new recruits. Jelani was invited as a witness.

It was the first ceremony he'd attended for some time; he was surprised by the changes that had been made. The arch of rushes framed by arrowroot and sugar canes remained, as well as the bowls of traditional food, but the s.p.a.ce that night was adorned with figures made from bundled gra.s.s and others crudely carved from green timber taken from the forest. At the centre of the clearing among the rough sheet-metal and packing-case huts was a section of a tree trunk with its limbs entwined in a tight embrace, very suggestive of copulating lovers.

One unfortunate goat was lashed into a cradle in the clearing but just outside the cast of the firelight were the remains of another, its viscera and blood already poured into earthenware pots. Its skin was cut into a single long strip to bind the initiates together as had been the case with earlier initiation meetings he'd attended.

The ceremony began, leading to the original oath, but this time the celebrant added another. The a.s.sembled men held a ball of earth to their abdomens and recited: 'I swear by my blood that I will fight to protect the sovereignty of our holy soil that the white man has taken from us. I will strangle, shoot or stab him. I will trick him and do him harm whenever I am able. I will kill his wife and defile his daughters. I swear I will never break this solemn oath and if I do may I die and all of my family die a painful death.'

The a.s.sistants doused the kerosene lanterns, leaving only the light of the fire to show what happened next.

The first of the men drank from his bowl of blood, goat excrement and bile, then approached the female goat that was bound to the cradle and, to Jelani's utter horror, proceeded to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e until he had obtained an erection. He then inserted his p.e.n.i.s into the goat's v.a.g.i.n.a. Each man did the same in turn, reciting the words: 'I will kill anyone opposing this movement,' as he went about his obscene task.

Jelani stood in stunned disbelief and was only vaguely aware of what followed. He left the clearing like a man who had seen the devil. Soon he was beyond the firelight and into the surrounding darkness. He leaned into an open drain and retched.

A touch on his arm made him jump.

'Come with me.'

It was Chege Muthuri.

Jelani was mortified that he'd been discovered in a moment of weakness, but Chege seemed to have other things on his mind. He led Jelani to a small bar on the edge of the fetid alleys of the slums.

Chege ordered two bottles of Tusker in a disorienting echo of their earlier meetings. Jelani took a mouthful of the beer. 'The ceremony tonight ...' he said, pausing to choose his words.

'Yes, there were many there. And why not? Who has the power to resist taking the oath when the Mau Mau tap him on the shoulder? Have you seen it, Jelani? I mean the horrible death that comes to those who resist them. Wives and family too.'

'But what has happened to it?' Jelani asked. 'Why must the oathing ceremony include that ... that disgusting act?'

'That's what I must talk to you about. So much has happened recently. It started when you were in America. There's been a change of leadership. The young ones in the movement want to step up the battle. Kimathi and his type. They seem to think that the more vicious they are, the better they can control everyone. Each one is striving to outdo the others in perversity. The movement's now under the influence of these mad young ones. Each new leader introduces even more disgusting things.'

'But why?'

'I agreed with the strategy initially ... binding recruits closely to the movement. But these things go way beyond that.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Jelani asked, the full import of Chege's disclosure now dawning on him. They were breaking Mau Mau rules by talking about the oathing ceremony at all, let alone critically.

'Because I can't believe in it any more. I must get out. And you must too. The movement has lost its way. I now believe there'll be a civil war, Kikuyu against Kikuyu. And not only that, the war will end any chance we have for independence.'

Muthuri reached under his jacket and pulled out a cloth bag and put it on the table.

'I want you to take this,' he said. 'Get rid of it for me.'

Jelani felt the outline of the handgun through the bag. He slipped it quickly into his pocket.

'Why have you needed this?'

'It's not important. Just get rid of it. Tonight. Take it out past the national park. Throw it in the river.'

'You know how dangerous it is for us to talk like this,' Jelani said. 'How long have you been thinking this way?'

'I spent some time with Sam w.a.n.gira working on the scholarships. He's always been a man I could respect. Ever since he set up his small bank for the farmers.'

'What do you mean?'

'w.a.n.gira came back from America years ago with money. I don't know how he got it, but he started a bank, making small loans to people in the bush. My father was one of them. w.a.n.gira loaned us enough money to tide us over a bad spell. It was a pity he lost everything in the Depression.'

'He loaned his own money to our people?'

'He did. And lost it. But he must have found more so he could set up the scholarship program.'

'I thought it was government money.'

'No, it was w.a.n.gira's. Didn't you know? I suppose not: he's not one to sing his own praises.'

Jelani realised he didn't know Sam w.a.n.gira at all. It made him wonder what else he had a.s.sumed, incorrectly, about his father.

Sam sat across the wide mahogany desk from Governor Baring, watching him tap his elegant, steepled fingers together in thought. The sleeves of his steel-grey suit coat rested at precisely the correct length above the exposed inch of his white shirt cuffs.

'We can certainly use the kind of intelligence you are offering, Mr w.a.n.gira,' the Governor said. 'Our troops have an impossible task, scouring the forests for the Mau Mau. It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Or more correctly, many needles in a haystack: Kimathi, Kaggia, Mathenge and all the others. I don't mind admitting that when I accepted this commission I had no idea of the scale of the conflict. The Aberdares alone cover nine hundred square miles! And then there are the foothills of Mt Kenya too. As far as we know there are more than twelve thousand terrorists scattered throughout that area, in as many as fifty groups.' He shook his head. 'It's impossible to cut off all supply lines and starve them out. We have to find a way to focus our resources.' He was thoughtful again. 'You say you enjoy the confidence of the ordinary Kikuyu out in the bush,' the Governor said. 'Exactly why is that?'

'I am well known among them. Many years ago I set up a modest loans fund for farmers, small landholders and graziers. Mainly Kikuyu. These days I suppose you might call it a rural bank, but a small one.'

'What happened to it?'

Sam shifted in his seat. 'It went bust in the Depression.'