Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (2 page)

‘What’s that
you have there?’ His father asked, intrigued.

Gulam held a
compressed grassy ball about the size of a baseball. ‘It’s an
elephant dropping,’ he announced proudly.

‘An elephant
dropping? What are you going to do with that?’

‘I want to show
my teacher,’ Gulam said shyly as the other kids crowded round.

‘You’re not
putting that smelly thing in my car.’

‘It doesn’t
smell,’ Gulam said, holding the ball up higher.

Patel moved
away pulling a face. ‘Alright, find a plastic bag for it, your
science project is it?’ Gulam nodded solemnly.

Patel grinned.
‘Oh, you want your teacher to see that she doesn’t have the biggest
bottom in Malindi heh?’ he teased.

*

Evans guffawed
as he recalled the moment, adults and children laughing out loud.
‘
Mzee
, here is your drink,’ the barman put the coke and
double vodka down on the table, ‘you will have to wait for change,’
he added.

‘Ok, thanks,’
Evans said, draining his first glass and reaching for the next one.
Mixing it this time with the coke, he felt calmer now. Where is
that bloody Patel? Looking at his watch, he was surprised to see he
had only been there for fifteen minutes. Sighing, letting the
alcohol work, he went back to his recollections. Where was he, ahh,
the girl yes…

*

Patel had
arranged that they should meet in this very bar. Her name was
Azizza, of Swahili Arab descent, in her mid twenties, currently
working in the Ministry of Lands office in Malindi.

She oozed sex
appeal, had a handsome interesting face, with slightly protruding
front teeth giving her lips a suggestive pout, large breasts and a
confident manner; all woman in a red satin dress that clung to her
ample curves.

‘Here is your
secretary,’ introduced Patel.

‘I told you, I
don't need a secretary,’ Evans shot back, as he proffered a hand to
Azizza. ‘My name is Evans my dear.’

She leaned
forward and took his hand, giving him a glimpse of a lacy bra and
looked directly into his eyes, weighing him up. ‘Hello Evans,’ she
said husky voiced, ‘welcome to Malindi.’ The three of them settled
in and waited for the drinks to arrive. A band struck up in the
corner, couples took to the dance floor, gyrating to the pounding
music.

Patel chose his
moment; he leaned forward in his seat and spoke directly to Evans.
‘My friend, I have an interesting proposal for you. It is a most
wonderful idea and I want you to listen carefully. Just keep an
open mind and listen.

Evans smiled,
Patel always had amusing ideas. ‘Go ahead,’ he said ready to be
entertained, his eyes wandering over Azizza’s body in idle
pleasure.

Patel began.
‘Remember when we were on that picnic in the Arabuko Forest,’
warming to his topic, ‘when I told you that Government land had
been allocated along the Sabaki River. Well, Azizza is working in
the lands office and the first two thousand plot allocations have
been approved. The title deeds are awaiting distribution to the new
owners and these titles are now just sitting there - originals you
understand?’

Evans scratched
his head, forcing himself to look at Patel, not seeing where this
conversation was going. ‘The applicants have no idea the titles
have been approved. It's the duty of the land officer to inform
them and collect a fee of 500 shillings for each one. In keeping
with government policy, they also have to develop the land within
two years, or else the titles are revoked and ownership reverts
back to the government for redistribution.’

Evans nodded,
distractedly, eyes back on Azizza.

‘Now, most of
these applicants are up country folk. The two-year law starts from
the date of the application. It's already been eight months and no
title deeds have been collected.’

‘Yes you said,
so why doesn’t the land office inform them?’

‘You know how
our government works,’ Patel smiled, ‘the land officer is not about
to release these valuable titles without making something for
himself.’

Evans nodded.
‘Typical,’ he muttered, draining his glass and looking for a
waiter. ‘My round?’ He asked, interrupting the flow.

‘Yes, alright.’
Patel agreed. The three of them sat though an awkward moment while
Evans ordered the drinks.

Patel glanced
at Azizza looking for approval. She nodded silent encouragement.
With the drinks order over, Patel resumed. ‘Now Evans, this is
where your bank comes in. In theory, one of these applicants with a
title deed in hand could come to you and secure a loan leaving the
title as collateral. Your bank would lend money on three quarters
of the value of the undeveloped plot, correct?’

Evans looked
sideways at Patel and nodded cautiously. ‘More like half the value,
if it’s not developed.’

Patel nodded.
‘Each plot is about five acres and at today’s market prices must be
worth 300,000 shillings an acre. Five acres 1,500,000, so for half
of the value a plot owner could secure, in theory, a loan of
750,000, at an interest rate of sixteen percent.’

‘Eighteen,’
interrupted Evans, ‘but no small holder can afford it.’

‘Ok, eighteen,’
agreed Patel, ‘this would amount to,’ reaching for a calculator in
his pocket.

‘135,000
shillings,’ Evans filled in, showing off to Azizza, ‘and as I said,
only half the value.’

‘Right,’ Patel
said as he tapped out the numbers, and looking at the results,
‘correct.’

‘Not only
that,’ said Evans now in his element, ‘but they would have to repay
the bank almost 12,000 shillings a month, and our experience shows
that the small holder soon overspends and the bank ends up owning
land it doesn’t want and can't sell.’

‘Yes, but what
if, in theory, the small holder kept up his monthly payments, then
the bank would have no problem. The person who approves the loan is
you, the manager?’

‘Yes, but I
don't take risks like that. The bank has a very firm policy on
small loans. It's hardly worth it for us or me, and I’m not about
to put my job at risk just for the bank. No, not me,’ and laughed.
This Indian is too funny - enjoying his private joke.

‘Eighteen
percent is a nice profit for mere paperwork.’

‘Yes, but these
buggers don't pay their interest. You say it’s mere paperwork but
there are risks involved!’ Evans exclaimed tiring of this topic.
‘Listen to me, the bank just loses money,’ he snorted.

Patel changed
the subject. ‘Let’s order food, I’m hungry.’

‘Yes, yes, good
idea,’ said Evans. ‘I will have a half chicken and chips, how about
you Azizza?

‘I will have
the same,’ she replied.

Good, he liked
a woman with an appetite. Assuming Patel had got to his point and
been deferred, Evans concentrated on chatting up Azizza. She
responded by flirting with him, laughing easily at his jokes.

Patel stayed
out of this easy banter punching figures into his calculator,
biding his time. So far, things had gone well. This scheme was a
honey, he just needed to get Evans involved. He waited until Evans
was happily tucking into his food.

‘Ok, Evans,
listen to me,’ he spoke quickly. ‘For a small additional fee I can
get the Land officer to release those title deeds to me. Azizza as
part of her job has the owner’s details, so she can fill out the
individual loan applications for you. It is all very simple, you
employ her officially in your office, and all you have to do is
approve the loans. We will make sure we service the monthly
interest rates on behalf of the owners. All the paperwork will
remain intact in a closed circuit, with no risk of a payment
default. If you do the math, two thousand title deeds at 750,000
shillings will come to 15 billion.

Let’s allow14
million to service the interest rates over six months, or maybe
eight months, 15 million should do it. Then on the safe side 20
million to the land office and other incidental expenses.’ Patel
paused taking a sip of beer and held up his hand to forestall any
interruption by Evans. The look on the manager’s face was
incredulous his mouth open, full of chicken.

‘This still
leaves 14.6 billion shillings to be divided between the three of
us, or in real money about 17 million US dollars. At the end of
sixteen months, the two-year law will have passed and the land
office will revoke the title deeds. Your bank will get into a long
and convoluted court case with the government over ownership, you
sensibly, will have retired or resigned by then and can live
anywhere in the world,’ Patel having delivered his punch line stood
up, took a bow and clapped his hands, grinning at Azizza, ‘and we
will all be rich, rich, rich!’

Azizza laughed
in delight. She leapt out of her chair and pretended to dance the
bump with Patel. Hands held over her head waving a chicken wing.
‘Rich, rich, rich!’ she echoed. ‘Brilliant!’

Evans struggled
to swallow and almost choked as he spoke. ‘You’re mad… you are,
you’re insane! The idea is preposterous!’

He stared
unseeing at Azizza’s panty line, his whole world turning upside
down, as he absorbed the enormity of Patel’s plan.

They laughed
together at the stunned look on his face. ‘Look at him,’ Patel
nudged Azizza.

Evans managed a
half smile, infected by the moment and trying to see the joke in
all of this. ‘Oh very funny,’ he said, ‘you got me there my
friend,’ relieved, putting his drumstick on the plate.

Patel looked at
Azizza. ‘He thinks we’re joking!’

‘No,’ Evans
shook his head, ’you can't be serious!’

Azizza leant on
Patel’s shoulder. ‘Oh, dear, your friend hasn't got the balls,’ she
looked hard at Evans.

Patel rubbed
his chin. ‘Pity my dear, you may be right.’

‘Come on,’
Azizza tugged on his arm, ‘let’s dance, I feel hot to trot
tonight!’

‘Yes, let’s
dance my dear, Evans isn't the only one with a bank in town,’ he
laughed as they walked off.

They left the
Evans to his thoughts nervously gripping his plastic bamboo chair.
Fear stole over him, he felt abandoned after the intimacy of their
discussions .He considered getting up to leave. The rest of his
meal congealing in its enamel dish, he reached for a drumstick and
mouthed it without enthusiasm, all his appetite gone. They cannot
be serious, it is crazy! How can they think it’s possible?

He sat
immobilised, as he ran the scenario through his head. Ridiculous,
never work.

Patel and
Azizza came back from the dance floor, laughing and smiling at one
another; she gave Evans a look akin to pity as she sat down. Patel
followed her look and turned to Evans. ‘So are you in? Evans just
stared wordlessly at him.

Patel went in
for the kill. ‘I have thought of everything. Ask me any questions
now or get up and leave and we will never discuss this matter
again. It’s time to make a decision.’

Evans was
confused; the whole evening had taken a wrong turn. His light
hearted indulgence in a friend’s suggestion that he could get a
mistress had turned into the pressure of a commitment to a crime he
still had difficulty grasping, and unless he agreed to get
involved, he would lose the friendship, and the girl!

He tried to buy
time. ‘I will have to think about it.’

‘Forget him,’
Azizza said, now glaring openly at him.

Patel sighed,
making a decision. ‘Now, Evans what we have discussed this evening
must not go beyond this table.’

The banker’s
head was reeling, he felt stung. This woman he hardly knew had
turned hostile and his best friend was behaving like a stranger.
‘Wait a minute!’ he shouted. Heads at adjoining tables turned to
stare, he lowered his voice. ‘I haven't made a decision. I don’t
know who this woman is,’ pointing a finger rudely at Azizza. He
puffed up in managerial role. ‘I have legitimate questions if I'm
going to put my career on the line.’

‘Your career?’
snorted Patel. ‘Don't make me laugh. As for Azizza, she is my
trusted business associate and could be yours also, if you weren’t
such a weak fool!’

Evans shifted
in his seat, now angry. ‘I’m not weak, that’s it.’

Patel put out
his arm holding Evans in his chair. ‘Hang on my friend,’ he
crooned, ‘take it easy, we had to test you.’

Evans now saw
that Azizza was smiling at him. ‘Oh,’ he said mollified, but not
convinced, ‘so this is a joke right, a hoax?’

‘No, Evans, we
are serious, we are going ahead with or without you. Now is your
chance.’

The manager now
felt trapped having missed his exit. ‘Ok, ok, I'm in,’ he said
unconvincingly.

Patel and
Azizza exchanged looks, a silent agreement. ‘Alright, Evans, this
is how it is going to work.’

They talked
long into the night, only pausing to order more drinks. Evans, was
adamant about one thing, he would not have Azizza in the bank with
him.

*

Evans’s mobile
rang, startling him back to the painful present. It was his office.
‘Yes, what is it?’

‘Sir, sorry to
disturb you,’ said Florence, ‘we have a customer in the bank and
you have not approved this week’s exchange rates.’

‘Ok, just give
him Friday’s rates. I will be in soon to sign the papers, in the
meantime Florence, don't call me again. I'm indisposed till I tell
you otherwise, ok.’

‘Yes, sir is
everything alright?’

‘I'm fine
Florence, thank you,’ and rang off.

Patel walked in
the door of the unlit nightclub and peered into the gloom looking
for Evans.

The banker
waved him over. ‘Here!’ He called out, ‘over here.’

Patel slipped
into the booth, eyeing the coke on the table - he could smell the
booze on the manager’s breath.

‘Drinking
already Evans, what an earth has happened?’

‘It's terrible.
I needed a drink to settle my nerves.’