Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (21 page)

Derrick hung
back for a moment to say goodbye to Brian. ‘See you around,’ he
said as he walked off.

Brian stayed at
the water’s edge, hoping to get another glimpse of the hippo. He
looked at his surroundings, it was idyllic - the fresh water lake,
the green lawn, the neat bungalows nestling under magnificent Fever
trees. The call of a fish eagle on the wind, bright yellow
weaverbirds making nests in the reeds, and it was cool. No wonder
the early settlers loved this place. He resolved to come down on a
long weekend and hire a boat and do some fishing.

In the dining
room he was ushered to a table overlooking the garden. The waiter
took his drink order and then pointed out the buffet. Brian ambled
over to look and was astonished at the variety of food. Turkey,
chicken, roast beef, ham, and homemade sausages, fresh tilapia and
bass straight out of the lake, as well as a beef curry with all the
condiments, at least five different salads, and vegetables steaming
away in samovars.

Spoilt for
choice, he dithered unable to make up his mind, his mouth
salivating with eager anticipation. Eventually, he took a bit of
everything and felt a little embarrassed at the heap of food on his
plate. The dining room soon filled up with hungry tourists and what
he assumed to be locals, judging by their confident manner and loud
greetings to one another. This was obviously a popular venue, and
no surprise the food was delicious. Brian had to admit it was worth
the drive down from Nairobi, the place was abuzz, and he had to
queue for the desert, managing to squeeze in some bread and butter
pudding into his already well-filled stomach.

He settled down
to a cup of coffee on the veranda, soporifically leaning back in
his wicker chair contentedly, gazing out at the view of the lake
and garden. Derrick slid into a chair beside him with a cup of
coffee. ‘Hello again, enjoy your lunch?’

‘And how,’
Brian patted his stomach, ‘fantastic food.’

‘Yes all the
produce is from farms around the lake. Sometimes they have venison
on the menu, best food in Kenya.’

‘Venison, you
mean like deer?’

Derrick
laughed. ‘No, impala, Thomsons gazelle, ostrich, guinea fowl. The
farmers cull the animals on their farms, and even a rogue hippo
might end up on the menu.’

‘What on earth
does hippo taste like?’ Brian asked, both intrigued and
appalled.

‘Like Beef.
It’s a bit tough, but has a great flavour. My fatties are still
eating. I have to limit my food intake or might fall asleep on the
drive down to the Mara. At least my lot will be quiet on the
trip.’

‘I have to
drive back to Nairobi. I came down a horrific road on the way
here,’ said Brian.

‘You came down
the escarpment road? Brave man, I haven’t been on it for years.
It’s normally only used by lorries trying to evade the police
checks.’

‘Yes, there was
one there today, bloody dangerous on a corner. I was on two wheels
trying to avoid the spikes.’

Derrick
laughed. ‘Yep ambush - get it? I wouldn’t go back that way if I
were you. Take the highway road.’

‘Where do I
find it from here?’ Brian asked.

‘Turn left at
the junction. Drive through the town of Naivasha, and where the
road joins up with the highway, turn right, takes you direct into
Nairobi. A few visible police checks and watch your rear view
mirror for the buses. Some of them do a hundred miles an hour, and
can badly frighten you as they whoosh past.’

‘Thanks,’ said
Brian, ‘driving in Kenya has been a whole new experience for me.
It’s not for the faint hearted, that’s for sure. I’m driving down
to Malindi tomorrow. I hope to take the road through the park, do
you know it?’

‘Yes, lovely
drive, the park bit that is. The main road is very dangerous, best
to leave early. What car are you in?’

‘Range Rover,’
replied Brian.

‘Great cars,
overtake everything on the road except a petrol station. I have a
diesel Landcruiser, twin tanks - goes for ever.’ They chatted until
Derrick’s tourists arrived.

He got up.
‘Been a pleasure meeting you. Might look you up for a loan sometime
if I need to expand my safari outfit,’ as he tucked Brian’s card
into his wallet.

‘You’d be most
welcome,’ replied Brian waving goodbye. He had another cup of
coffee, paid his bill and thanked them for the excellent lunch.
Driving back to the junction he joined the highway. The road
smooth, tires humming he gunned the rover up to speed, keeping an
eye out for the monster buses. The drive passed without incident
and in no time he was descending into the outskirts of Nairobi.

In his
apartment, he noticed there was a recorded message on the work
mobile, he didn’t recognise the number. It had been late on
Saturday night. Brian called the message centre only to hear some
brief disco music before the message went dead. He shrugged it off
as a wrong number and settled down to watch TV, had a light supper
and was in bed early with a good book, contentedly drifting off
into a dreamless sleep.

NINE

Brian had
arranged to meet Doug and his girlfriend at the garage. When he got
there, the workshop was shut. He bought a paper from a passing
vendor and settled down to wait. Brian was getting used to Kenyan
time when eight usually meant eight thirty.

He finished the
paper after a cursory look and wondered if he should call Doug to
hurry him along a little. A missed call on his mobile aroused his
curiosity, he called the number. It rang and was answered with
fumbling noises and then a frantic female voice. ‘Hello,
hello.’

‘Hello,’ Brian
said, ‘you called my number?’

‘Ahhh, Birin
it’s you,’ the voice said excitedly.

‘Who is
this?’

‘It’s me, Lucy.
Birin you don’t remember me?’

‘Lucy from
Malindi?’ he asked puzzled.

‘Yes it’s me,
are you here? Let’s have hice creams.’

‘How on earth
did you get my number?’

‘Ahhhh, Lucy
clever girl, where you, I missis you?’

‘I’m in Nairobi
but who gave you my number?’

‘Nairobi, ohh,
it is too far. Come back Malindi I show you everythings, Nairobi
not good place for you,’ Lucy informed him.

Brian laughed.
‘Ok, I will call you when I get there.’ He teased.

‘Ohlie - why
you lies to me? You have wife Nairobi, you lie.’

Brian saw Juma
arrive on foot closely followed by Doug on his bike, racing into
the station, headlight blazing. ‘Lucy I have to go. I will call you
when I’m in Malindi, ok?’

The bike pulled
up. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Doug apologised with a grin, ‘this is Gem.’
He motioned with his head to the small neat figure seated behind
him. ‘Gem say hello to Brian.’ She had a shawl over her head and
face, only her eyes showing.

‘Hello Brian,’
she yawned through it sleepily and got off the bike. ‘Is that the
car we are going in?’

‘Yes, baby,
that’s the one.’

Gem opened the
passenger door, climbed in, got herself into a sleeping position,
waved at Brian and shut the door.

‘Our Gem’s not
a morning person,’ Doug explained as he unstrapped a backpack.

Brian chuckled.
‘So that’s Gem, eh?’

‘Yep,’ said
Doug, ‘just give me a few minutes and I will have my other baby
ready to go.’

Brian looked
puzzled. ‘Another girl is coming?’

Doug patted the
bike. ‘Won’t go anywhere without her.’

‘Oh, you mean
the bike - but how?’

‘Just watch.’
Doug called out for his Juma to bring spanners. Brian looked on
curiously as he and his assistant manhandled the front of the bike
onto a frame.

‘Don’t tell me
you’re going to dismantle your bike, the rovers boot space won’t
house that,’ he protested.

‘Nah relax
mate,’ Doug said as he removed the axle bolt and front wheel of the
bike, ‘going to tow her,’ he explained mysteriously. Next, he put a
rubber band round the front brake leaver holding it open, and
removed the wing mirrors and drive chain. Brian shook his head, he
hadn’t bargained on this.

Doug pulled the
iron bar out of the tow hitch on the back of the range rover and
handed the bike axle bolt to Brian. ‘Shove that in when I tell
you.’ With his workman on one side and Doug issuing instructions,
the two of them lifted the front of the bike off the frame and in
line with the tow hitch. The forks slipped down easily on either
side of it. ‘Ok, now gently slide that through the axle slots.’
Brian did as he was told. The bike now secured to the back of the
range rover with its back wheel on the ground.

Doug tightened
the bolt. ‘See,’ he said ‘easy. Go round corners, over bumps,
follow the car around like a friendly dog. No problem, only feel it
when you brake, otherwise it’s not there.’ He grinned, wiping his
hands and stowing the front wheel, chain, a bunch of tools and his
bag in the back of the car. The whole operation had only taken a
few minutes. Brian was impressed. He walked around the car looking
at it’s strange appendage.

‘What about the
police? There’s no way this would be legal in England. For one
thing, the bike obscures the rear number plate. Shouldn’t it at
least have a red flag on the back?’

Doug laughed.
‘The police here couldn’t give a shit. They may stop us, but most
traffic cops don’t know how to drive, let alone know what the rules
of the road are. Don’t worry about it, if they do stop us, let me
handle it ok?’

‘Ok,’ Brian
started the car. Doug got in beside him, after giving Juma some
money and instructions in Kiswahili.

As they pulled
out into the traffic, Doug said. ‘Make allowances for your extra
length.’ He looked back. ‘Baby are you ok?’ There was no response
from Gem, she was fast asleep.

Brian drove
carefully through the morning traffic, acutely aware of the bike
behind him; it took a while to get used to the handlebars in his
rear view mirror. Soon they were through town and on the outskirts
of Nairobi, heading past the airport where they encountered their
first police check. The cop pulled Brian over and asked to see his
license. Brian handed it over. The policeman read out his name.

‘You are Mr.
Nicholls?’ He asked pleasantly.

‘One and the
same,’ Brian replied.

‘Is this
motorbike yours?’

‘No it’s his,’
pointing at Doug.

‘I see and
where are you headed.’

‘To Mombasa, my
friend,’ replied Doug.

‘Ok, Mr
Nicholls,’ he handed the license back, ‘you may go.’ He waved them
on, still smiling.

‘First polite
and smiling traffic cop I ever saw, weird, must be a special expat
service,’ Doug said.

As they pulled
away, a white saloon car fell in behind them. Brian slowed down to
let it overtake, but it just hung back, so he got back up to
speed.

Gem emerged
from her shawl. ‘Morning,’ she yawned, ‘any coffee, I’m hungry and
I need a pee,’ yanking Doug’s hair playfully. ‘Where are you taking
me now, mister?’

Brian said.
‘Hello Gem, there are crisps in that bag under the seat and a
thermos of coffee; as for a pee, any ideas Doug?’

‘Ahhh, let her
suffer. Girls have long-range tanks anyhow; maybe we can find a
bush on the Athi Plains. You will have to wait baby.’

‘A bush?’ she
said indignantly. ‘Look how you treat me, you nasty man. My mother
was right, I’m leaving you as soon as we get to Malindi,’ she
announced.

He laughed.
‘Your mother is just jealous.’

Gem had found
the crisps and was noisily crunching on them. She thrust the open
bag under Brian’s nose. ‘Want some?’

Brian said.
‘Not just yet, thanks.’

Doug grabbed
the packet before she could withdraw her hand and took a
handful.

‘I wasn’t
offering them to you,’ she said coldly.

‘I know,’ he
said, happily munching.

The three of
them lapsed into silence. Brian was relieved a fight hadn’t
started, after all he hardly knew his passengers.

*

That same
morning, a man on a scooter outside the apartments followed Brian
out on to the highway. The rider hung back and kept the rover
easily in sight. When Brian drove into the petrol station, the
follower rode past and stopped beside some kiosks, and watched the
station forecourt. He used his mobile. ‘The
mzungu
is at the
Highway Service Station and seems to be waiting to meet someone.’
Later he called again. ‘There are now three in the car, one Indian
man and woman. They are towing a black motorbike. Do you want me to
keep following? Ok, thank you sir.’ It had been a long boring night
and he wanted to get home.

*

Back in the
range rover the road ran alongside a railway track and over a small
rise, they saw a passenger train headed in the opposite
direction.

Doug looked at
his watch and snorted. ‘That’s the train from Mombasa. I used to
travel on it when I went home for my school holidays. It always
left and arrived on time, you could set your watch by it. Nowadays
I wouldn’t dream of it, full of pickpockets and thieves. It has to
be at least three hours late. My father would have had a fit, and
my grandfather for that matter.’

Doug went on.
‘Silver-plated cutlery in the dining car, impeccable service. Then
they started to introduce European tourists on the trip, and they
nicked the silverware as mementos, or, invited strangers back to
their sleepers for, “brief encounters” etc.’

‘They removed
their briefs?’ Gem interjected and giggled.

‘Quiet in the
cheap seats,’ Doug told her, ‘can you imagine? These were high
paying tourists too. I couldn’t believe it until I went to Europe
and saw the crappy trains they rode in. My father worked for the
railroads, he was an engineer on the puffers, loved those trains
with a passion, grandfather too.’