Pigment (9 page)
July 17
Jalil stretches and walks out of Aliya’s hut. He is watching Delila line up the children and usher them through the door to the school shack.
Jalil looks after them in a slight daze.
Delila approaches him. “Good morning, Mr. Scott. Did you sleep well?”
Jalil looks down at the ground.
She can tell he did not. “She is not letting you sleep.”
Jalil gives her a look of surprise in response.
“I see her sometimes too. Aliya did not have a proper burial. She cannot rest.”
Jalil doesn’t answer. Aliya is alive. He changes the subject. “You know, it wouldn’t take much to reinforce the camp perimeter. That fence, over there, needs shoring up and you might consider building a wall rather than a fence, to minimize exposure from the outside.” His military defense planning comes naturally to him, after all his years in offensive operations.
Delila seizes the opportunity, “Will you help us do this? I know now isn’t a good time, but...We are short-handed, and as you say, it wouldn’t take much. But it would take more than we have.”
Jalil shakes his head at himself. What did he just get himself into? He doesn’t answer her, but changes the subject again, “I’m leaving. I’m going to look for her.”
“You are always welcome here, Mr. Scott.” She catches herself and corrects, “Jalil. And if you do come back and will you bring us some supplies from the Kuchuna office? That would be of great help.” She’s learned to not be bashful about asking for help for these children. Were it for herself, she probably wouldn’t have asked. Then again she may have. She is attracted to him after all.
#
Mid-morning, Jalil drives past the Mukuyu tree on his way to Akida at the station. He’s drawn to it, the same way Aliya is. Drawn to the energy of something so deeply rooted. His ancestors were likely kept in chains under this tree, awaiting the auction and being transported to the land of “the free” as cargo, as slaves.
#
Back at the station, Jalil shows Akida the print out of the Creepy Man.
“J
e comprends, mais je ne l'ai pas vu cet home.
I understand, but I haven’t seen this man.”
“
Il est le meilleur chef de file que nous avons, est -ce pas?
It’s the best lead we have, isn’t it?”
“
Bien. Si il n'a pas quitté le quartier, nous allons le trouver et lui poser des questions.
All right. If he hasn’t left the district, we will find him and question him.”
#
Having checked into the Geita Hotel for the night, Jalil is at the café, going through some of Aliya’s papers. He comes across some handwritten notes. One section has an asterisk and describes a plan to stage a fake kidnapping. His eyes widen at the possibility.
He goes online to the Kivuli website. There he finds a link to Kennen’s blog. There are posts there of people lamenting his and Aliya’s disappearance, strangers and friends.
He types an entry: “My daughter, Aliya went missing with Kennen. If you have any information that could help us find them, please email or call the Geita Hotel, Room 7. I am in Tanzania now and there is little to go on.”
He posts it and keeps surfing.
Within moments, his phone rings. He answers, “Yeah?”
The soft voice and brogue of an Irish woman speaks, “Mr. Scott?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Fiona Dunnovan, Kennen’s sister, calling you from Dublin.”
“Oh.”
“I just saw your post. You’re there. Have you learned anything?”
“Not really. I’m trying everything. That’s why I was online.”
“I see.”
“I have to ask…Do you think this could be a stunt of some sort?”
“No, I don’t. Not at all. Kennen told me that Rhadi had some radical ideas about how to change the way things are going down there, but Kennen ’d have no part in it. What it’s done to us...Our poor Ma can’t get out of bed since we got word.”
“I’m sorry, I just...”
“No worries, dear. Kennen adored your Aliya, Mr. Scott. Honestly, I’m worried more for her being albino, than for him being white.”
“Can you think of anything else?”
She offers, “There was a post on Kennen’s wall ...Something about...There’s a high price for their sorcery. Some albinos will fetch $100,000 dollars. The poor don’t have that kind of money, Mr. Scott. There must be other people involved higher up who have more means...People who’d stand to gain.
“If they were making too many waves, do you think someone wanted to shut them up?”
“That’s what we’re afraid of. They’re gone too long with nary a word.”
“Do you have any idea who else I can reach out to or who may have been involved?”
“I’m sure I don’t. I can’t stay on the line. I’ll email you the link to Kennen’s blog. Please let us know if you hear any news and we’ll do the same. Bless you then, Mr. Scott.”
#
The Geita Mines, black and brown curvy roads and man-made crevices cut into the green scape. Miners are moving about, the human cogs in this machine that procures precious metals, from the earth.
Jalil is standing outside the main gate, which is heavily guarded by armed men in uniform.
One approaches Jalil. “Unafanya nini hapa?
What are you doing here?
”
Jalil just looks at him.
The guard is intimidating, pulling his gun up closer to him. “Unafanya nini hapa?”
He gets in Jalil’s face. Jalil steps back slowly raising his hands. “Kwenda mbali.” It means go away.
Jalil backs away, his hands in the air, looking at the gunman, standing with his gun pointed at him and the mine behind him. He takes a few more steps back, turns and continues on the road.
Private security. Privately owned. Jalil knows the politics of this part of the world: the power the German East India Company wielded over a century ago; the British colonization; the move to socialism and the self-reliance that it promised and the very recent re-establishment to a capitalist society in 1961. But why this hunt now? There is no prosecution, but why are albinos hunted in the first place?
July 7
Kennen sleeps soundly in the hotel room. He looks more like a teenager than a man, thanks to his deep slumber and the soft morning light. Sand is sprinkled on his sheets from the hours spent at the beach. Horns blare and live music echoes from the street below. Kennen stirs slightly and smothers the sound with a pillow to his ears, but the bass persists. Hung-over as he is from the whiskey and little sleep, he relents and sits up. Squinting out through the strands of his pillow-hair, he sees that Aliya’s bed is empty. He takes a long piss in the john, then goes back into the room and looks out the window at the crowd and traffic below. The festival is well underway.
He takes a quick shower and dresses, eager to join the fun outside. Aliya still isn’t back. He looks closer at her bed and wonders if she slept in it at all.
He walks out into the crowded street, traffic is at a standstill so the only way to get anywhere is on foot. He makes his way through vendors and stands, buys some pineapple and continues on hoping to come upon her. He goes over to the main stadium where speakers and performers are engaging the audience.
The crowd is thick and there is a celebratory vibe about the place. Kennen weaves quietly through the crowd from the back, to the front to better see the stage. People are waving miniatures of the Tanzania flag with the green and blue triangles with black and yellow stripes running diagonally across them. People even wear shirts in the likeness of the flag.
Kennen’s eyes widen when he sees the German who was ogling Aliya at the Sea Cliff up on the platform at the podium. He is head of Drake Enterprises, a strong international import-export conglomerate, among other things. He stands tall in a custom tailored suit with a thick accent and a translator to share his promises. “Tanzania is one of the richest countries on earth. Her resources are plentiful. We at Drake will continue to work with you, the people of Tanzania, to harvest these resources and share the wealth.” He’s been coached well, uses all the tricks of nodding, eye contact smiling, touch and strong handshakes. The crowd enjoys him, but some are angered by his presence; they wave thorn tree branches at him in protest and shout. Though, for the most part, they are reserved and peaceful. Guards are in the positions Rhadi and Aliya had gone over with their team, but there are two more that were not in their plan.
Magistrate Luamke shakes Drake’s hand at the close of his speech and thanks him for speaking. Luamke stays at the podium to offer some words of his own. “We are very happy Drake Enterprises is here with us today celebrating our country’s independence!” Luamke takes his hand and raises their arms up as if he was declaring the victor of a boxing title, then the German leaves the stage.
Drake’s mines are in Luamke’s district so it makes sense he’d be here schmoozing, Kennen would say to Aliya, were she at his side. He scours the crowd trying to spot Aliya, but doesn’t see her anywhere.
Luamke is about to start his own speech when, suddenly, there is a rush of movement through the front of the crowd to the stage. A man dressed head-to-toe in white, wearing a white scarf on his face rushes the stage and lures some of the guards to chase him. Five more people dressed in the same white attack the stage. Two of them hold back some of the guards, while three others throw white powder all over Luamke.
The crowd screams and disperses in various directions but away from the source of the hysteria. Armed security guards manage to tackle one of the people in white, but he punches the guard and manages to squirm away. The assailants escape into the crowd, each stripping off white and dropping it to the ground as they flee the scene. One guard shoots after the perpetrators and nicks one in the leg. The person falters but persists in escaping. Blood drips through the white pant leg.
Luamke is whisked away by one of his aides while he tries to wipe the powder from his eyes. They take him to the hospital for testing in case the white substance is lethal.
Kennen can’t find any high ground to better see what’s going on. The momentum of the crowd forces him out to the street at a quick pace. There is no escaping the current of the herd. Once he is a few blocks from the scene, he is able to step aside. Some members of the crowd are restless and inspired. One man throws a bin into a storefront, but it bounces off the metal gate protecting the store for the holiday.
Recognizing that this could escalate into a full riot and that he, especially as a foreigner could be in greater danger, Kennen quickly makes his way back to the hotel.
July 7 (later) - 8
The hotel lobby is quiet and reposed compared to the mayhem outside. Kennen runs into their hotel room in search of Aliya. She’s not there. He has a bad feeling that she is involved in this and Rhadi is no doubt the instigator. He clenches his fists at the thought of Rhadi, then a new bigger wave of realization washes over him. Kennen would be implicated, fingers will be pointing at him for the attack. He grabs his bags and as he reaches to turn the knob on the door, he turns back and gathers Aliya’s things too.
The streets are at a halt with traffic. Police are even putting up blockades. He walks for a quarter mile and then he sees Aliya on the street coming toward him. She is wearing the “Skin Deep” t-shirt and shorts she had on under her white costume, her hat swoops a shadow over her face, but he can tell it’s her. She sees him first and looks a little unsure. She waves for him to follow her down a side street, which he does.
“Thank God you’re alright! What happened? What have you done?”
“What was necessary.”
“Necessary!” Kennen’s voice cracks at the suggestion.
“There’s no time to argue about this now.” They hurry a few more blocks away from the incident. She hails a taxi and they ride on side streets until they are out of the traffic and continue to the airport. They just make the next flight by ten minutes. The plane is too full for them to sit together. Kennen didn’t even ask if they could. He’s pissed at her for lying to him, for being so reckless. It’s better they are five rows apart or he would say something that other passengers would hear and he might say something he’d regret.
They land in Mwanza and she goes ahead of him toward where they parked the van. She thinks it’s best that they aren’t seen walking together, so that they draw less attention.
The hour and a half flight didn’t cool Kennen down. He throws their bags into the back, slams the door shut then gets in the drivers seat. Aliya moves the handle on the passenger side to get in but it is locked. Kennen hesitates before unlocking it, not sure if he really wants to let her into the van. She taps on the window and he won’t look at her, but does unlock it. She gets in and they drive. The tension between them speaks louder than any words could.
Once outside of Mwanza, “Kennen...” Aliya starts to speak.
But he cuts her off, “What in God’s name were you thinking?”
“Did you see Rhadi?”
“No. And it’s lucky for him I didn’t.”
“I’m responsible for my own actions.”
“Yes, you are and he is for his.” He looks at her, her arms crossed in a defensive posture. She practically stomps her foot on the floor and looks out the window. She can’t look at him either right now.
“We couldn’t tell you...” She starts to explain for why she assumes he’s mad.
“You could have, Aliya. You should have. What you did was reckless. Do you have any idea of what you’ve done? What you may have cost us? You? Me? The kids at the camp?”
“We have to go to extremes to have an impact.”
“Oh there’s Rhadi in your tongue now. Boy, he’s brainwashed you. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“No he hasn’t, Kennen. I have my own mind. And what we did today will make a difference. You’ll see. We’ll have international media attention...We’ll save lives...”
“You don’t get it. You’re lucky you weren’t, we weren’t all killed. What was in that white powder of all things!”
“It was just flour.”
“Bully for that.” He says, slightly relieved. Then he’s fueled by the new thought, “Nobody knows that. Could have thought it was anthrax or cyanide or some other chemical. They opened fire on you!”
“I didn’t...”
He cuts her off again “No, you didn’t. How did he get down to Dar?”
“He took a non-commercial flight. A friend of his is a pilot...”
Kennen hits the steering wheel with his fist and pulls over to the side of the road. “So, my name is the one they’ll find on the flight records and hotel records.”
“They won’t look for you.”
“They will look for anyone with a connection to the albino cause, to anyone with a connection to Kuchuna. And the airline tickets and hotel room are in my name, traveling with an albino, I might add, who is now also a terrorist.”
“But, we’re foreigners, they can’t do anything to us.”
“What are you smokin’? We can’t do any good in jail, Aliya. But we’d be safer if the government had us. We should turn ourselves in. Tell the authorities everything.”
“But you didn’t even do anything!”
“There’s no proof I didn’t and I was traveling with you and I work with Kuchuna and Kivuli and I’ve history as an activist. We should turn ourselves in.”
“We can’t, we have to go back to Kivuli for the kids.”
“How long could we do that for? Before they come for us, I mean? And they will come. And I don’t mean the government. I mean the people you pissed off today, the people who create the demand and pay money for albinos. Those are powerful people and they will come for us.”
Aliya is still and quiet, but her mind is racing she is realizing he’s right. She was reckless. They can’t go to the camp. They’ll put everyone there in danger. What has she done? She thinks to herself. This wasn’t what she wanted.
“We should go see Rhadi.”
“I don’t give a f...”
“I’ll get him to come in with us...You’ll see.” She knows she won’t be able to get him to come in. She’s still not sure she will turn herself in. She needs more time to think about this. And she wants to speak with Rhadi about it. He will have another solution. He wouldn’t have set her up to have to take the fall for this...even though it looks exactly like that’s what happened.
Kennen is swayed by her pleas...He submits there is a little time before they’d be named and tracked down. He pulls back on the road and heads for Kuchuna, but deep inside he doesn’t feel this is right.
#
Kennen and Aliya park about 20 yards from Kuchuna. It’s dark and the street is quiet. There is no light on in the office and it’s locked up tight. Aliya gets out of the van. “Where are you going?” Kennen asks.
“I think he’s next door.”
Kennen follows Aliya to the hut next to Kuchuna. As they approach, Kennen sees one of the miniature flags from the festival hanging in the window.
Aliya knocks on the door. A small elderly man opens the door a sliver. Rhadi sees them from his spot on the floor and nods for the man to let them in. Rhadi’s leg is elevated on a footstool while he sits upright on the floor with his back to the wall. The small man finishes applying some herbal healing mixture to the wound then starts binding it with a clean cloth. Rhadi stops him and nods for him to leave the room, which he does. Then Rhadi wraps the wound himself as he speaks with them. Aliya kneels at his side, takes the cloth from him and wraps his lower leg.
“Are you okay?” Aliya asks very concerned.
“I will be fine. And you are?”
“I’m fine. I wasn’t shot. I’m fine.”
Rhadi is lucky he’s hurt or Kennen would punch him. Then, Kennen reconsiders when struck with the notion that bullet could just as easily have hit Aliya and taken her life. He grabs him by the neck and punches him in the face at the meaningful and smart point where his uncle the boxer had taught him. Rhadi doesn’t fight back, but puts his arms up to block Kennen’s attack. Aliya puts herself between them. She didn’t know he was capable of violence. The horrified and shocked expression on her face stops Kennen. She sees how angry he is. She doesn’t want to mean that much to him or anyone. She doesn’t want to upset someone loves like this, to bring out their rage.
Kennen blows out of the hut, combing the rage out of his head with his tense fingers, and goes for a long walk.
Aliya puts a cool cloth on Rhadi’s new shiner. “He wants us all to turn ourselves in.”
“All of us? ’Crazy white man. What did he do?”
“His name is on the hotel and flight records. The authorities will assume he’s involved. You have to know this. Didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Know this?”
“I didn’t set him up. He’s one of us anyway.”
“But if we all get arrested, what will Delila and the kids do? They need us.”
“What we did, we did for them. That’s what they needed from us. To break the rules to get them some attention.”
“Maybe Kennen is right.”
Rhadi shrugs, “What are you saying?”
“This is all so short-sighted.” She looks toward the door after Kennen.
Rhadi moves to her on his good leg. “Yes, things could have gone better,” mostly referring to the wound to his leg. “We’ll do better next time. But we can’t have a next time if we turn ourselves in. We need to stay together and do better. We need each other.” He kisses her on the forehead. She turns away at first. He softly kisses her cheek. She gives in and they embrace each other and kiss passionately.
#
Kennen walks for hours. When he gets back to the hut, he can’t go in. He can’t spend the night in the same four walls with whatever they were doing. Still pissed, he sleeps in the van.
In the morning, he gets out of the van and stretches, walks a few paces, pours bottled water over his head and starts his morning mantra to the powers that be with arms raised, “It’s a beautiful day!” But it’s forced, almost bitter the way he says it this morning.
Aliya comes out of the hut and gets in the passenger seat in the van with her stuff. Kennen sees her then looks at Rhadi in the doorway shirtless. He eyes him and strokes his jaw where Kennen walloped him.
Kennen gets in the van and they drive off.
#
After about two hours of silence, “I just want you safe.” Kennen’s voice cracks the quiet on the word “I” and squeaks to a pitch he hasn’t hit since before puberty. He takes a breath to force the choke out of his throat then continues, “But I don’t see him caring for you the way I do. How he could let you be part of that...”
“He didn’t ‘let’ me or ‘not let’ me do anything. Are you ever going to get that, Kennen?” She decides for him. “Stop the van!”
“What? Here?”
“Stop the van now!”
He pulls over and stops the van. They are in the middle of seemingly endless flatland. The only variation to the terrain is about two miles North of the van where there’s a sparse group of trees. She gets out of the van and slams the door behind her.
“Where are you going?” Kennen shouts after her.
“You’re all over me. Smothering me. I just...” She’s too upset for words to explain. She turns away from him and walks hard and fast.
“Aliya, there’s nothing out here...You forgot your glasses.”
She keeps charging out into the field. She’s angry. Some of the flour is still under her nails from the protest action. She did something. Something bold.
As the van sinks into the distance behind her, she is out alone. She realizes this is the first time she’s been alone since she landed, since she went for that early morning run on the beach the morning she left LA. She takes a deep breath and looks up to the sky before her. She unwraps the fabric she had on her head and lets the air flow through her hair. Her eyes are seeing clearly. It looks like she could walk forever in this direction and not see another soul. The sun is dropping lower in the sky. It always seems to drop faster the lower it gets. It hasn’t changed into sunset yet, it just has a soft orange glow to it, no clouds. She raises her hands to the sky and breathes it in, she starts spinning, enjoying the feel and energy of this Africa. She floats, her long skirt swaying with the dry grass in the breeze with her spirals, her sandaled feet covered in dust. She is part of Africa. She has never felt so free and happy.
Her joy is interrupted by the faint sound of the van horn. As she spins, she catches a glimpse of the van and it pulls the corners of her smile down to her feet and abruptly stops her.