Chanda's Wars (12 page)

S
OON THE REBELS
are packed and ready. As they wait for the order to move out, some guard the herd boys, kicking them at random. Others bunch in small circles and smoke. Their chatter rises and falls. Mandiki wraps the skull in its monkey skin and puts it back in the ebony box. He sits on the altar of burial stones, stroking the box, his dead eyes lost in the coals.

My joints are as stiff as Granny's. How long have we been stuck here? I don't know. But we have to escape. We have to warn Tiro—we have to save Soly, Iris, our families.

The fire is dying. Ash drifts through the air. No one's paying attention. I tap Nelson's elbow. “Now's our chance. Let's go.”

He shakes his head.

I ignore him, and inch back alongside the trampled path.

“Stop.” His eyes widen in panic. “You'll make a noise. We'll get caught.”

The rebels fall silent. Did they hear us? A crackle of embers from the fire. A log collapses. The talk bubbles back. We're safe.

“Do what you want,” I say softly. “I'm off.” Where, I don't know. Once out of this place, I'll be lost in the night. But I have to do something. Anything.

I wriggle back a bit more. Nelson sees I'm serious. He hesitates, then follows. We slide back slowly, slowly. Freeze. Slide back slowly, slowly. Freeze.

My legs rub over coarse sand. Something tickles. Ants. I've backed beside the anthill. They're crawling all over.

Out of the blue, a loud stream of water hits the grass at the top of the trail. One of the rebels is peeing into the dirt at the edge of the compound. It's so dark we didn't see him coming. He inhales. His face glows from the end of a lit cigarette.

The ants start biting my legs. The itch is driving me crazy. I want to scratch, to roll around, to get up and run.

The rebel finishes his business. Leave, leave. But he doesn't. He stands stock still, staring down the trampled path in our direction. He turns to the group and snaps his
fingers. A man in one of the circles gets up and comes over. A few other rebels rouse to join him. Mandiki looks up.

The man who was peeing mumbles something and points in our direction. His friend turns on a flashlight. Its beam shoots down the trampled path. The tips of the high grass flash yellow and green in the night air. A row of blades is all that separates us from discovery. I steel myself for the end. And then—

A faint thump in the air. A blush of orange in the sky, far, far to the south.

“Fall in,” Mandiki barks.

The flashlight is turned off. The man who was peeing takes a step toward us, stops, and stares into the dark.

“Come on,” his friend says. “It's only bush rats.” The two of them hurry back and into formation, a long single column. It's faced at a right angle to us, heading cross-country toward the highway.

“Fire and death,” Mandiki growls. “Fire and death.”

The rebels move out, slow but sure. Like Nelson said, they see by starlight. In seconds, they've vanished into the night. Silence.

The coast clear, I brush the ants off my arms, my neck, my face. Some have crawled up my skirt. I plant a hand on
the earth, to stand up and get rid of them. As my hand pushes off the ground, my little finger taps against something hard. My heart skips.

“You almost got us killed,” Nelson hisses.

But I'm not listening. I'm back on my knees. Yesterday. The ants. I fell on the ants. Fell here. What did I touch? Just now. What did I touch? Please, let it not be a rock. Please, please. Please let it be what I came for. Please. I run my hands frantically over the ground. Where is it? Where? It's got to be here. I felt it. I just felt it. Where?

“Are you listening to me?” Nelson demands.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no'?”

My hand brushes into the object. I race my fingers up its sides. Wrap my palm around it. Yes. I feel the ridge of sticky tape.

“Nelson,” I say. “My cell. I found my cell!”

“Your what?”

“Back home, my neighbor gave me a cell phone. It fell out of my pocket yesterday when you tripped me.”

“I never tripped you.”

“Who cares? I have it. We can warn the soldiers in Tiro. They can set a trap.” I flip open the cell. It lights up. “My
friend Esther programmed the general dealer's. The troops are at the clinic. Mr. Kamwendo is just across the road.”

Nelson grabs my wrist. “No. Pako. The army'll shoot Pako.”

“Not for certain,” I say. “If the rebels are ambushed, Pako can run, fall on the ground, maybe escape. Your herd boys too. But one thing's sure. If the army goes to Shawshe, it won't be just Pako in danger. It'll be Soly, Iris, my family, your mama, the whole of Tiro.”

He lets me go. I get Mr. Kamwendo's number, press Talk. I shove the cell at Nelson. “You speak to him,” I say. “If Mr. Kamwendo hears my voice, he'll hang up.”

Nelson holds the phone awkwardly to his ear. I press my head next to his to listen in. The phone rings forever. Finally—“Hello?”

“Sam, it's Nelson.”

“Who?”

“Nelson!”

“Nelson? What are you doing on a phone?”

“Never mind. Mandiki's about to attack Tiro.”

“What?”

“Mandiki, he—”

“Nelson, I can't hear a damn thing. There's a lotta commotion. The soldiers are heading out. Shawshe's under attack. Big fireball. Can't you see it?”

“Shawshe's a diversion, Sam.”

“What?”

“A diversion. Sam, turn up your hearing aid.”

“Sorry, Nelson, can't talk. There's soldiers at the door. Both of the jeeps need gas.” He hangs up.

I grab the phone out of Nelson's hand. Press Redial. It rings and rings. “He's got to pick up sometime.”

“After the soldiers have left,” Nelson says. “Once it's too late.”

I have a flash. “Mrs. Tafa!”

“Who?”

“The neighbor who gave me the cell.” I find her number, press Talk. Mrs. Tafa answers in the middle of the first ring. I used to joke she sat by her phone like a hen on her eggs. I'll never do that again. “Mrs. Tafa—Auntie Rose. It's Chanda.”

“Chanda? What time is it? Why aren't you in bed?”

“I'm in trouble. Big trouble. You've got to help.”

“Of course. Is it about your granny?”

“No. Mandiki. General Mandiki.”

“Mandiki?”

“He's about to attack Tiro.”

“Dear lord. Get Iris and Soly. Run.”

“I can't. I'm at the old camp. Mandiki was here. I heard the orders.”

“Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod—”

“Don't panic. Are soldiers still down the road at the Lesoles'?”

“There's a guard there, yes.”

“Run as fast as you can. Tell him to phone his commander. Radio word to the jeeps heading from Tiro to Shawshe. Shawshe's a diversion. The target is Tiro. If they're lucky, they can catch Mandiki in the Tiro cemetery.”

“What if he doesn't believe me?”

“Have him call me.”

“You're hanging up?” Mrs. Tafa wails. “Chanda, no! Don't hang up!”

“I have to. I don't know what's left on the time card. We may need it.”

“Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod! Leo, grab your shotgun! Guard my tail!” I hear her screen door banging shut.

“Run, Mrs. Tafa. Run.”

“I'm running, child,” she pants. “Thank heavens, my nightie's clean.”

I
PUT THE
cell in my pocket and shake my hands over my head. “ABCDEFG, ABCDEFG.”

“What are you doing?”

“Chanting, do you mind?” I spot a branch in a pile of unused wood next to the fire, strip the side shoots, and break it over my knee. With a piece in each hand, I head for the rebel path leading to the highway, using one piece as a cane to feel the ground, the other to sweep in front of my face. “I'm going to Tiro.”

Nelson blocks me. “No. You don't know the night. The shapes in the dark. What they mean.”

“So lead me.”

“Are you crazy?” His eyes are wide with terror. “The rebels are between us and the village. How do we get through?”

“You want to just sit here?”

He grabs my elbows. “Your neighbor's talking to an army guard. Word'll get to the jeeps by cell or satellite phone.”

“Not if the guard won't believe her.”

“Then she'll call you. Or
he'll
call you.”

“By the time everyone's called everyone, it'll be too late. Our families will be dead. Iris, Soly, and Pako will be lost forever.”

“Not if the warning works.” He grips his shoulders. “Besides, what if we're killed? How does my mama survive with no one to tend our cattle? What happens to your brother and sister?”

“Stop it! That's just an excuse to stay safe!”

“So what?” He shifts nervously. “It's the truth.”

He may be scared, but he's right. I slump to the ground. Doubts run through my head like mice in a nest. What should I do? What? What? Seconds turn to minutes, turn to I don't know how long.

Nelson breathes deep. “Let's try Sam again.” We try. There's no answer. “He's probably with the soldiers.”

Probably? I hate probably. I need to know things for certain. Like, why hasn't Mrs. Tafa called back? She was going to call if there was a problem. So the fact that she
hasn't is good, right? Probably. But she'd call either way. So the fact that she hasn't is bad, right? Probably. Well which is it? Are things good or bad?

The more I worry, the more my finger gets itchy. I ring Mrs. Tafa. No answer. I wait. Ring again. Again no answer. I'd call every minute if I could—only what if the battery wears down? I decide to wait a few hours. It's torture.

Nelson lowers himself cross-legged beside me. “The one thing for sure is, Mandiki's not coming back. He said so before he left. We've seen the last of him. That's good news, right?”

“For us, I guess.”

He goes quiet. Time takes forever in the dark. It crawls so slowly I can feel my fingernails grow. Why isn't it morning?

Nelson sits closer. His arm presses against mine. We haven't said a word in ages. It's as if, if we break the silence, we'll miss something, or something will happen, or I don't know what. But we're both dying to talk, I can tell. I've started to say something half a dozen times, Nelson too, but each time we've stopped.

Nelson breaks the spell. “For what it's worth, they haven't blown up Sam's gas tanks,” he says hopefully. “If they had, we'd have heard it. Maybe it's a sign the soldiers scared them off.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe Mandiki wanted to be quiet, so the army wouldn't race back from Shawshe.”

It's like I've hit him. “Why think the worst?” he demands.

“Because that's usually what happens.”

“Who cares? We won't know what's gone on till we're home. Let's hope for the best.”

“Dreaming a lie makes the truth hurt more,” I say quietly.

Nelson pushes away from me. “Fine. Think what you want. Me, I've had enough truth for a lifetime.”

Silence. I reach out my hand, touch the curve of his back. He's shaking. “I'm sorry,” I say.

“Leave me alone.”

 

My cell phone rings.

I blink. I don't remember drifting off, but I must have. There's a dark velvet haze in the air. It's almost dawn. I fumble the cell from my pocket. “Mrs. Tafa?”

“Chanda! You're alive! And Soly and Iris?”

“I don't know. I'm still at the post. You told the guard?”

“Yes. But Chanda, he didn't believe me. He laughed. ‘Some kid hears Mandiki's plans and lives to tell the tale?' I told him to call you. He said I was drunk. Me? Drunk?”

“What did you do?”

“I slapped him!”

“You slapped a guard?”

“Chanda, I got arrested! Thrown behind bars with thieves and whores. They took my cell phone!”

“The warning never got through?”

“I yelled. I begged. They told me to sleep it off, went outside and played cards. A few minutes ago, they got a call. They took me to a little room. Said they'd let me go, if I'd forget I told them about Tiro. Otherwise, they'd put me away for a long time: assaulting an officer, resisting arrest.”

“So it's happened,” I whisper. “They don't want to be blamed.”

Mrs. Tafa sobs. “Chanda, I failed. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're in my prayers, the little ones too. Pray god, your family's all right.”

We say our goodbyes and hang up. I turn off the cell.

Nelson sees by my face what's wrong. He opens his arms. We hold each other tight. Light lifts the morning. Curfew is broken.

We head to Tiro.

“A
IIII
…A
IIII
…”

Granny's voice is a moan—an endless moan that rises and falls as she tells her story, rocking on a stool, supported on either side by my uncles. Her dress is ripped; she's bundled in her shawl. Lily and my aunties, Agnes and Ontibile, wipe the blood from her legs with rags dipped in a pail of warm water. Granny shudders when the rags brush the places where the flesh is scraped raw.

Other relatives fill the yard. My male cousins—the ones I saw returning from the post with my uncles—have come from the rest house on the far side of the village, where they spent last night drinking with old friends. By the time they smelled fire, Mandiki had already gone. My female cousins, who left the family compound years ago to marry, have come from their in-laws with husbands, babies,
spare clothes, blankets, and food. Lily's husband, Mopati, is here too, along with their little boy; they got back to Lily's as dusk fell. All of them have gathered together to witness. To grieve.

I wish Nelson was here, but he has heartaches of his own. He's carrying his mama's body to the undertaker's. Then he's going to his cattle post to bring back his brothers' remains.

Me, I'm kneeling at Granny's feet. As she keens, my eyes drift over the other homes at the edge of the village. What's left of them. Some of the outer thatching lies scattered around the yards. It must have fallen away when the roofs collapsed in the flames. Mud walls are standing, but shutters and doors are shattered and charred. Wisps of smoke curl up from the insides.

“Aiiii…Aiiii…,” Granny moans. “Soly…Iris…your Auntie Lizbet…”

Soly and Iris were inside, asleep, when the rebels came. The rest of my family was sitting around the firepit. It had died out hours before, but they'd stayed there in the dark, worrying about the rumors my uncles had heard on the post and wondering where I was and if I was all right.

Granny remembers the sound of a pail being knocked over on the Malungas' property and the sight of Mrs. Malunga standing in her doorway with an oil lamp. “Who's there?” Mrs. Malunga called. Pako's voice came out of the dark: “Hush, Mama. Go back inside, and you won't get hurt.” Mrs. Malunga raised her lamp and ran into her yard. “Pako, where are you? What's going on?”

That's when my relatives saw the shapes creeping up from the cemetery. “What are you doing with my boy?” Mrs. Malunga cried. “Give me my child! I won't let you take my baby!” She grabbed hold of Pako. A machete flashed, and she fell to the ground.

My uncles grabbed their wives and ran into the night. Granny and Auntie Lizbet raced inside for Grampa, Iris, and Soly. The rebels found them in the back room. They bound them together, except for Grampa, stuck in his bed. Poor Grampa, he thought the rebels were guests come for Mama's wedding. Granny begged the rebels to let her die with him, but they dragged her away: her, Iris, Soly, and Auntie Lizbet. As they left, they threw a torch on the thatched roof.

“Aiiii…Mashudu, my Mashudu,” Granny moans. “What did they do to you?…Aiiii…Aiiii…”

Six of the neighbors' compounds were also attacked. Granny tells how all the families were hauled to the cemetery, greeted by Mandiki, and forced to lie facedown at his feet. Rebels moved among them, stroking their cheeks with gun muzzles, telling them that if they cried out or looked to their husbands and wives, their mamas and papas, their children, they'd be killed.

Soon other rebels joined them, child soldiers, with weapons and crates of dried goods from raids at the clinic and general dealer's. They laughed about the soldier who'd been left behind when the jeeps left for Shawshe; how he'd run choking from the smoke bomb fired into the clinic, his gas mask all back to front; how they'd thrown him to the ground and crushed him with sandbags. “The general dealer was asleep when we broke in,” one said. “He thought we were bandits, came after us with a rake. We showed him what to do with a rake.”

“Aiiii…Sam…” Granny keens. “Sam…Aiiii…Aiiii…”

She tells how Mandiki boasted that his cousin had radioed from Shawshe; he'd fired rocket-propelled grenades at the jeeps as they approached from Tiro, and escaped into the brush. “Survivors will be hiding all night,” Mandiki taunted
them. “Abandon hope. There's no one to save you.”

Mandiki had the families tied in a row, loaded with sacks, and led single file up a trail at the far end of the cemetery. They marched north, parallel to the highway, for a longtime. One of the neighbors, Mr. Bakwanga, collapsed. Mandiki cut his hands from the line and left him to die.

They turned inland. After a while, they reached a stretch of rock in the middle of nowhere. Mandiki lit a torch. The rebels formed a circle. They put the families in the middle. One of the rebels poked Auntie Lizbet with a stick: “This one can't keep up, with that foot of hers.”

Granny says how Iris suddenly spoke up, too frightened to know better: “I can take Auntie's load,” she said. “I'll carry her sack on top of my own.”

Mandiki laughed. He had Auntie untied, made her stand apart from the others, and told her to dance. Auntie tried. The rebels pelted her with stones. She fell. Mandiki ordered the herd boys to kick her until she was dead. Iris screamed and screamed. Mandiki said if Iris didn't stop, she'd be killed too. “Hush, my sweet,” Auntie Lizbet called to her, as the herd boys swarmed. “Don't cry. Be happy for me. Rejoice. Tonight, I shall be with the ancestors.”

Granny's eyes fill with light. “It was then, my Lizbet began to sing,” she says. “She sang a harvest song, a song of thanksgiving. She sang with joy to the very end. Not a single cry of pain. Just joy. Joy, to keep the little one quiet. Joy, to keep her safe. Oh, Lizbet, my Lizbet, she died a saint…Aiiii…Aiiii…”

After Auntie passed, the rebels did things to the other adults. Granny doesn't say what. I don't ask. It's written in the blood on her legs and carved in her neighbors' faces. When the rebels were done, the adults were set free.

“Crawl back to the village with your dead,” Mandiki taunted. “Crawl back, you men who can't protect your women. You women who can't protect your children. Let your neighbors see what Mandiki has wrought. If you speak to the army, if these children are seen in your homes again, I will be revenged. I will come in the night when you least expect me. And when I do, I will bring such fire and death that you will remember tonight as a time of celebration.”

With that, Granny tells us, the rebels took the bound children and marched them off into the dark.

Soly. Iris. Pako. Aiii. Aiii. I rock with my family, wild with grief.

Three army jeeps rumble slowly up the road, soldiers with semiautomatic rifles stationed in their open backs. They scope the horizon on all sides. Do they think Mandiki's lurking in our yards? I want to throw things at them. I want to scream: Why weren't you here last night? Why didn't you save my family?

The jeeps brake in front of our compounds. An officer blares into a megaphone: “We're here from Rombala. Know this: The bandits will be brought to justice.”

Bandits? They're not bandits. They're the rebels of Ngala. The army must know that. We all do. Why are they lying? Who are they trying to fool?

As the jeeps idle, soldiers fan up and down the road to families like ours. Everyone turns away. Two officers approach us: an older man with a notepad and a walkie-talkie, accompanied by a young man barely old enough to have pimples. My relatives open a wide path to Granny, my aunts and uncles. The soldiers keep a respectful distance.

“We need your help,” the older one says. “What can you tell us about last night?”

Granny squeezes Uncle Chisulo's hand and presses her face into his side. He cradles her.

“Why talk to you?” Uncle Chisulo murmurs to the soldiers. “You can't protect us. You can't even say the name of who did this. If we talk, he'll return. You'll be back in Rombala. Why risk our lives for nothing?”

There's a pause. The soldiers stand awkwardly. “We'll be sending patrols throughout the afternoon. If you think of anything…” He puts his notepad back in his pocket. They turn and go.

I run after them to the road. “Are you going to track them down?”

“We're waiting for orders.”

“That means no, doesn't it?”

“It means, for now, we're here to secure the village.”

I gulp back a cry. “My little brother and sister have been kidnapped. They can't be more than twenty miles away. You could still find them.”

The soldier bristles. “Two villages have been attacked. There are bodies in the streets. We'll look for the bandits when we can.” The soldiers get into their jeep.

“Cowards!” I yell. “Cowards!”

I race into what's left of the house, into the bedroom I shared with Soly and Iris. Above me, the open sky. Stray bits of blackened thatching hang from collapsed roof
poles. I lean against a wall. The mud is scorched, cracked; the dirt floor, warm. Everything's covered in soot and ash. Our mats are singed. Our belongings, burned. All that's left are Soly and Iris's metal lunch boxes, their little treasure chests.

I see Mama in my dream: She's alive and well, watching Soly and Iris play. “I'm so proud of you,” she says. “You've kept them safe like you promised.” My eyes fill with tears. Why did I come to Tiro? Why? If only, if only, if only—

Wait. The treasure chests.

I squat down. The morning air has cooled the metal. I open the first. It's Iris's. Her torn mosquito net's stuffed in with her combs and costume jewelry. I shake it out. Mr. Lesole's tiny binoculars fall to the floor. She swiped them from my bag. Never mind, right now I could hug her for keeping them safe.

I dive into Soly's. On top of his old sock puppet and special stones—the map of Mfuala Park, protected in the lunch box thermos. I pull it out, unfold it, touch the pictures of the animals on the back, the inset map of our country on the front.

My forehead tingles. There's a fluttering in my ears. A power surges through my body. I raise my arms to the open
roof, the sky. Stretch my fingers to the sun. “Rest easy, Mama,” I say. “Soly. Iris. Wherever you are, I'm with you, you hear? I'm coming to get you. I'm going to bring you home.”