AX50 Page 9

  Father tried to mollify her, speaking calmly. “I’m very sorry we’ve intruded. We didn’t know that anyone lived here.”

  “The gate was locked; didn’t that give you a clue?”

  “You’re right. We’re entirely in the wrong. We are trying to walk to Lake Malawi and I was looking for somewhere safe for us to spend the night.”

  “Where have you come from?”

  “India.”

  “Well, you can’t have walked from there.”

  “No, we spent three months living on a small boat before we landed at Lindi.”

  I was pleased to see her lower her gun.

  “Well, you’d better come in and I’ll get you some water; your children look fit to drop!”

  We learnt that she’d lost her husband and two children to Ebola. She had no neighbours and was understandably afraid of looters who might harm her, hence her unfriendly welcome.

  She’d once been a teacher and was able to give us some guidance about our route ahead. She said it would be tough going but worth it in the end; Lake Malawi was beautiful.

  That was the end of our good luck. From then on, we had to accept any place we could find. The houses or huts all had their windows broken and had been taken over by all manner of insects, spiders and giant centipedes. That was the least of our worries. On three occasions, the heavens opened and we were soaked through before we could find shelter. Walking in wet clothes caused our skin to chaff in our groins. We often had to remove human bones before we could settle for the night. One of the huts was very dark, and as I was checking the bed for bones, I heard something large scuttling into the next room. I feared it was a monstrous big rat and screamed for Father to come and sort it out. I stayed outside as I have a morbid fear of rats. He started to laugh. I could hear him moving towards the entrance and was relieved to see he was preceded by a foot-long monitor lizard. Two nights after this incident, I was getting out of another disused bed in the night to go for a wee when I felt a needle stab my foot, followed by agonising pain; my foot was on fire. I must have screamed; Father rushed in and used our precious torch to find the culprit. A dun-coloured scorpion. I’d read in Nathaniel’s book that the venom can cause numbness around the body and vomiting. Fortunately, I didn’t get this but had a miserable painful night nevertheless. By mid-morning, the pain and swelling had subsided enough for me to get my shoe on and we set off once more.

  At least the walking became easier as our fitness improved and my feet toughened up. Tom enjoyed looking out for birds and animals when the weather was fine. We often saw antelope and could easily have shot them for food if we’d had more ammunition. We foraged for fruit and maize that was growing wild in people’s abandoned gardens and fields, but we never found enough and always felt hungry.

  Roughly two weeks later in the afternoon, we saw a mountain range in the distance blocking our way to the lake. My heart sank. As we approached the foothills, I heard beautiful harmonic singing; moments later, I saw smoke and then people dancing in a circle around the fire. Oh, what joy and surprise to find a happy community still in existence! They can’t have seen us approach as we were within a hundred metres before a tall, bare-breasted lady turned, pointed at us and started shouting. They all stopped dancing and stared in our direction. They were arguing loudly in some strange tongue and gesticulating wildly. Were they going to kill us and add us to the pot that we could now see boiling above the fire? Finally, someone who seemed to be in authority indicated we should move towards him. Using signs, it was clear that we were being invited to sit down and join them eating and drinking. My fears rapidly subsided as they brought us meat from the pot. I feared it was some form of bushmeat, but whatever it was, it tasted wonderful. We drank thirstily and felt better. They indicated we should join the dancing. We gladly obliged, thinking that this was the least we could do to repay their kindness. They were soon rolling on the floor in hysterics at our clumsy attempts. Three of them came over to teach us the steps and body postures. It turned into the most enjoyable evening. I think Father was a bit tipsy from the homebrew that all the men were drinking in copious quantities. We never learnt how they’d survived the epidemic as no one spoke English.

  The following morning, we pointed to the direction that we wanted to take. They understood and showed us a hidden path that was well used at the point it left the village. It took us steeply up the mountain. At one point, the jungle cleared and the sun warmed our backs. Tom was in the lead and shouted that a large grey animal was blocking our path. Father ran past me and grabbed Tom and indicated that we should stand still. A buffalo was grazing quietly in a clearing. It was steaming slightly in the early morning sun; a red-beaked oxpecker was hard at work eating ticks just behind its enormous curved horns. I’d read that buffalo were very dangerous but thankfully he stared at us for a few seconds and then nonchalantly resumed his grazing before moving away into the thicket. Tom resumed his lead position and was looking up at the branches, hoping to see monkeys or birds in his usual way. Due to his upward gaze, he completely failed to spot a yellow and black snake that was sunbathing on the path and stepped right over it. Father grabbed my arm and pointed it out to me.

  “Keep walking, Tom, and stop by the big tree. Stay still, Sarah, it’s a puff adder. I’m sure it’s more frightened of us than we are of it, be patient.”

  Sure enough, it soon slithered into the undergrowth, and we joined Tom.

  “For God’s sake, Tom, look where you’re putting your feet!”

  Father was clearly getting stressed out by the dangers as he never normally took the Lord’s name in vain. From then on, he insisted on taking the lead and Tom sulkily walked with me.

  Because it was so steep, we made slow progress. Eventually, we must have reached the top of the ridge as we started to descend, but couldn’t see any view as the canopy was too thick. By late afternoon, we came upon a massive rock, and climbing onto this, we found we were standing at the top of a cliff. There beneath us was a vast shimmering silver lake, so enormous that we couldn’t see the shore in the west. We wanted to reach the lake that day, but the path was steep and dangerous. We were still a long way up when dusk quickly turned to night. Fortunately, we stumbled upon a small cave at the foot of a rock face in which we could spend the night in relative safety. We lit a small fire at the entrance to ward off wild animals.

  The next day, we reached the shore and found a deserted fishing village. It had no land for growing vegetables as cliffs rose up almost from the water’s edge. There was an island a few kilometres into the lake. We found some abandoned fishing boats tied to an old jetty. Two of the boats had hopelessly ripped sails, but the third was relatively intact. It was big enough for three of us and had oars in case the wind dropped. Father decided we would take it and explore the island.

  As we approached, we could see the island was flat and fertile around the shore but a forested hill filled the centre. As we rounded a headland, we saw maize fields that looked well tended and beyond them a collection of rondavels with smoke coming from a cooking fire. With happy memories of our last evening spent by a fire, we sailed round to the beach near the village. As we approached the shore, a band of young men came running down the beach shouting and waving spears and clubs. We obviously weren’t welcome. Then a great gust of wind caught us unawares, and before Father could control the boat we suddenly lurched towards the angry men on the shore. Too late, I saw one raise a gun. I shouted; a shot rang out and Father cried out as he collapsed. I grabbed the rudder and forced it hard over. Fortunately, the wind caught our sail. I pulled this tight to harness the wind and we were soon racing away from the shore. Tom was hysterical. Blood was pouring through Father’s trousers; he was obviously badly wounded. I made Tom take the rudder and found some thin rope to use as a tourniquet and pulled with all my strength to stop the bleeding. I got Father to put his finger on the knot and tied it double, hoping I’d done enough. It carried on o
ozing but at least the main flow had been stemmed. Father was very weak and felt faint. I laid him flat in the bottom of the boat. He suggested that we let the strong wind take us west and hope to find the distant shore. He drifted in and out of consciousness, but after an hour, he stopped moaning; I hoped the pain had abated.

  As the sun began to set, I saw trees and then land. We made rapid progress and the hull was soon scraping up a sandy beach. Again, I heard singing. This time, I located it in a primitive church with a rusty corrugated iron roof. I left Tom with Father and ran, as fast as the sand would allow, towards the church. As I entered, the door creaked and eight heads turned to stare at me. They stopped singing and a kind-looking lady ran over, looking shocked to see me covered in blood. “Tell us, child, what on earth has happened?”

  “My father’s been shot.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Please come quickly.”

  They all ran with me to the boat where Father lay slumped as I’d left him. He woke as we approached and ignoring my entourage, he took my hand and said, “Thank you, Sarah. I can see fields and this beautiful beach. You have brought us to our promised land.”

  An imposing regal lady, with big brass earrings stretching her lobes, stepped forward.

  “I’m Grace Malongwi. I’m a qualified nurse. Are you in pain?”

  “None whatsoever; my daughter has done a wonderful job, saving my life and bringing me here. Thank you for asking. I’m Ignatius Theakumkal and these are my children.”

  “Good. It’s still imperative that we get you to our clinic and clean that wound up. There’s an old door behind the church. Rubber, please fetch it, we’ll use it as a stretcher.”

  He ran off. I thought his name was rather odd but didn’t say anything as Grace was trying to look at Father’s leg. It was getting too dark to see accurately, but as she felt the tightness of the rope, she grimaced. She stood as Rubber returned, carrying the door as if it was made of balsa wood.

  “Okay, Rubber, take his shoulders. Samuel, take his good right leg and I’ll take his left leg. We’ll move him onto the stretcher at the count of three.”

  We were soon at the clinic, which had electricity due to solar panels. I was thankful to see that it was spotlessly clean.

  “Rubber, you take the children, while Samuel and I sort this wound out.”

  I realised then that Tom was also covered in blood. We’d been travelling in these clothes for two weeks without washing and must have smelt awful. Grace had two children: a girl called Precious and a boy called Blessing who were about our age. After a makeshift cold shower, they lent us some clothes. Their home also had a solar panel linked to a battery which supplied a small LED light in every room.

  Fresh fish, vegetables and mealie-meal were prepared for us by a motherly lady called Sweet. It was wonderful to have a proper meal after our last two weeks of slumming it. She introduced us to Angel and Easter, who were her foster children. As we ate, I told of our adventures. Sweet relayed how they’d all fallen in together. “Grace has lived here for years running the clinic. She nursed many patients with Ebola, including her husband, who died. She’s sure she and her children, Blessing and Patience, are immune. She saved my life when I caught it. Angel was a baby when her family succumbed. Easter stumbled out of the bush on Easter Day two years ago. He can’t have been more than four at the time. We assume that his family died and he found his way here by God’s guidance. Rubber and Samuel have both lost all their relatives. We are all one happy family now.

  I couldn’t restrain myself any longer.

  “Why is he called Rubber?”

  Sweet laughed. “I’d forgotten how strange that name must seem. To us, that’s just what he’s called. We enjoy giving our children names which may have special relevance to the parent, like Blessing or Precious, or occur in the Bible, like Samuel, or sometimes they’re just amusing. Rubber’s surname, you see, is Banda.”

  I heard approaching footsteps and then Grace appeared.

  “Tom and Sarah, come and see your father. His wound is cleaned, but no blood is reaching his leg. I’m sorry, dears, but this isn’t good news.”

  I felt myself dissolve as the truth of what she was telling me slowly sank in. A consoling arm embraced me, but I was beyond being comforted. We walked slowly to the clinic. I wanted to be brave for Father’s sake. In the event, Tom and I both broke down while he smiled as if nothing was wrong.

  “Don’t cry, my dear children. I’m not in any pain and you’re in the care of some truly wonderful people here. We’re all very lucky. Now you must let me get some sleep and I’ll look forward to seeing you both in the morning.” I kissed him as I tried to stifle my sobs.

  As we appeared for breakfast, I could tell by the sadness on everyone’s faces that I should expect bad news. Grace put her arms around both of us and hugged us tight as she spoke. “My dear children, your father is comfortable but he is very poorly. Sadly, we can’t save him. He may not last the day.”

  I was devastated when I saw him sweating profusely, mumbling rubbish in his delirium. There was an unpleasant odour in the room, which I feared boded ill.

  That afternoon, I held his hand, although he seemed to be deeply unconscious. Grace had filled the room with freshly picked frangipani. This did little to disguise the dreadful smell. After about an hour, his eyes suddenly opened.

  “Thank you, my darling girl; you must look after Tom now.”

  With this, he slipped back to sleep, looking more peaceful.

  Later that evening, I could see a faint pulse beating rapidly in his neck, but he looked deathly pale. Grace came in, took one look at him and left immediately to fetch Tom. About an hour passed. His breathing became quite irregular, shallow and bubbly. There was a pause and then he took one last breath and was silent. Tom ran over to me. Grace embraced us as our tears flowed freely.

  That night, I went over and over the last few days, trying to think how I might have saved Father. I kept coming back to the grimace that Grace made when she felt the rope round his leg. Had I pulled it too tight or not tight enough? I had no idea and didn’t want to ask. If only we’d never gone to that island, we would’ve arrived here safely. As it was, I felt very lonely. Tom was my only relative in this whole vast continent. We had no hope of ever getting home. I crept over to his bed and snuggled up to him, crying myself to sleep.

  It all turned out much better than I’d feared. They were a happy, friendly community. While the men went out fishing, the rest of us all mucked in with the planting, weeding, harvesting and cooking. I loved singing while we worked. Soon Tom and I learned the words and joined in. In the evening, we would often play what they called Bao, which was like Mancala.

  I became very friendly with Rubber. He told me exciting stories about life in his village as he grew up. I still don’t know whether they were true or not. He taught me how to milk cows and to spot where the chickens hid to lay their eggs. He was immensely strong and could carry Tom on one shoulder, with me perched precariously on the other. Then he would run into the water and throw us into a deep pool. Sometimes, he’d pretend he’d seen a crocodile or hippopotamus coming towards us and we would shriek as we ran out onto the beach. It was true that there were hippo and crocs in the area, but I never saw them on our special beach, which was called Nkhata Bay.

  About six months after Father died, Tom complained of a headache as he was going to bed. He said it wasn’t too bad. I checked his neck wasn’t stiff. (I must’ve learnt that in first aid.) I said it was nothing to worry about and if it wasn’t better in the morning, we would tell Grace. I went to sleep thinking about harvesting and drying the maize crop which we were due to pick the following day. I woke with the morning sun already beginning to bake our little room. Tom was still asleep, which was odd as he was usually awake before me and would leap onto my bed as soon as he heard me stir. Once I was dressed, I went over and shook his sho
ulders. His eyes remained firmly shut but he was breathing normally. I began to panic, remembering his headache, and thumped him with no response. I ran out and shouted for help. Soon everyone gathered round his bed as Grace examined him. He had a high fever, was deeply unconscious, but otherwise looked remarkably normal. Once Grace had heard about the headache with no neck stiffness, she said she feared it was cerebral malaria. I’d never heard of such an illness. I’d read about malaria in history books, but it had been eradicated in India long before I was born. Grace said she would try to syringe some liquid quinine down Tom’s throat, but they really needed to give it via a drip. Tragically, they’d run out of this option over a year ago. He never regained consciousness. Three days later, he died, leaving me totally alone. He’d been my greatest friend all my life. I felt so angry that God had caused me so much misery!

  About a year after we arrived, I was in Sweet’s bedroom where she’d taken me for privacy. She had noticed my breast buds and was just telling me about periods when we heard a thunderous knocking at the door. No one ever knocked as we never had visitors. By the time Sweet and I appeared, everyone else was outside talking to two huge identical white men who were carrying some strange weapons that looked a bit like wide-barrelled guns.

  “Hi, don’t be alarmed. We’re here to give information. Are you all present and do you all speak English?”

  Samuel replied, “We are and we do, but come on in. We still have some tea, or would you like fresh milk?”

  “Thanks, we’ve walked ten kilometres to get here and would be grateful for water, if you have some.”

  They came inside, thankful to sit in the shade after their long march.

  After some polite preamble of names and asking how we’d all survived and met each other, one of them told us why they’d come.

  “We’re soldiers and have been sent by the new leader of the world to discover where survivors are living in Africa. Your new leaders can offer you comfortable homes, free electricity, clean tap water, schooling and health care. You’ll be given grain and enough land to grow fruit and vegetables. You can keep chickens and cows. There’ll be work to do, but you’ll have plenty of free time for recreation and holidays. In return for this comfortable lifestyle, we’ll determine where you live, ask you to surrender any weapons and obey the law. You’ll be vaccinated and have an anaesthetic while a bone marrow sample is taken.