Isac’s eyes remained on the road as he skillfully navigated the many potholes, years of driving in crazy conditions like these evident in his calm demeanor.
“Our guide was born Lemba, but his greed is stronger than his tribal links. It seems he wants to be part of the new Africa as a wealthy businessman and not as a tribal elder sitting in a hut away from it all. The money we’re offering will enable him to start anew. In exchange, I trust that he will lead us to the holy cave where it is said the ngoma is kept.”
Natasha nodded. The ngoma was the wooden drum used to store the sacred objects of the Lemba. It was carried before the tribe in battle and legend told that it had guided them on the long trek through the continent to their current habitat. It was carried on two poles inserted into rings on the side of the drum and only the priests could touch it, while anyone else doing so would be struck down by fire. Natasha knew that it matched the description of the Ark, and they needed to find it tonight.
If Isac trusted this man, she had no doubts, but this incursion had to be done quietly and without bloodshed. Ethiopia had been a mistake. She had lost control and drawn unwanted attention to their quest, so this trip needed to proceed without incident. She pulled out Gamal’s battered notebook and checked through his notes on the Lemba as the miles lengthened and the sun fell lower in the sky.
She read that the Lemba were an ethnic group found across Zimbabwe, South Africa, Mozambique and Malawi. They claimed to be a chosen people, direct descendants from the Jews and, more importantly, they also claimed to have the Ark of the Covenant. A British academic had spent time with them chasing the mysterious ngoma and concluded that the Ark was an ancient drum, now lying dusty and discarded in a museum. But Natasha wasn’t convinced by his conclusions, especially as he was a Western academic, bringing his preconceptions to the investigation. People often forgot that the Egyptian Natasha was still African, and she knew that the rise of this continent was only just beginning. She was sure there was an Ark in these mountains: the question was whether it was the real Ark of the Covenant.
The Lemba were true Africans but genetic testing had revealed that more than half the male population tested had Semitic origins. The Lemba also had Jewish aspects to their culture, with a priestly clan emulating the Cohens of the Jews. They observed shabbat, a day of rest and they were circumcised. They refused to eat pigs, and ritually slaughtered animals. They didn’t intermarry with other tribes, maintaining their separate status, and even their clan names were reminiscent of Arabic or Hebrew variants, setting them apart from other African languages. The conclusion in Abasi’s journal was that the Lemba were related to a Jewish group who may have originally come across the narrow strait between Yemen and Djibouti/Eritrea into Africa.
Natasha gazed at the horizon and wondered at the longevity of the Ark myth. Part of her didn’t believe that they would find the Ark on this quest, as it had been hidden for so long, or most likely destroyed. She could probably produce any old artifact and it would still ignite the tinderbox of Jerusalem, she thought, but her pride in her work made her want to achieve her goal. Professionalism made her want to collect the extremely worthwhile financial reward and deliver the authentic Ark to the mysterious al-Hirbaa. He remained in the shadows, but she felt through his communications how much he hated Israel. The country was an ouroboros, a snake that eats its own tail, a perpetual cycle of violence. Just like her own life, she thought.
Natasha sighed, for a moment wishing she could escape and restart as a different person with a new life somewhere else in the world. Somewhere safe where there was no hideous past, where history didn’t bleed and where feuds didn’t go back generations. Perhaps Australia. Natasha thought it must look like this country, with open space and areas to roam and disappear in. Her own country was steeped in the gore of millennia, bones broken by slave-driving pharaohs, women beaten and stoned, and great scholars hounded out by imbecile fundamentalists. Like Israel, there was no simplicity in being Egyptian, but did she really want a simple life? Could she bear to be someone who sat on a beach reading a book while out here was treasure to be found and adventures to be had? She rubbed her belly, then felt Isac’s eyes on her.
“Something you need to tell me, sister?”
He never used the endearment in front of others, and Natasha knew that he would keep her secret, but now wasn’t the time to tell him. She turned, her eyes flashing a warning that he understood meant he must be silent for now.
“Nothing, my brother. But put your foot down, we need to make that rendezvous in time, for we must make it to Dumghe, the holy mountain, tonight.”
Dumghe, Holy Mountain of the Lemba. Zimbabwe, 10.42pm
Night fell fast in Africa, and the shadows had darkened to pitch before Natasha and Isac reached the meeting point. They drove through one of the main entrances of the Gonarezhou National Park, paying off the guards so they wouldn’t record their details.
Natasha breathed deeply. The scent of jacaranda hung on the air and the sounds of the night began to emerge, bullfrogs and cicadas, the bark of hyenas. Huge fruit bats flew overhead, their wings inky black against the sky. The park was named after the elephant’s tusk and, indeed, the giant mammals still roamed the area. Natasha felt strangely at peace, for death was so close here. She could just wander into the bush and it would come upon her, in the guise of the lion or snake, or even in the buzz of the mosquito. There were so many ways to die.
She touched the scars on her arms beneath the long sleeves she always wore. Cutting herself had been a way to tame her fears of death, and now it seemed more like a friend. It beckoned her, whispering sweet things in her ear, offering its cold embrace. Sometimes it was hard to resist slipping into that sleep, but now she had more than one life to consider. But could she really bring life from a body that was both wounded and a weapon?
A light flashed ahead in the darkness. Isac slowed the car and they came to a stop beside another 4-wheel drive vehicle. As a young man peered in the window, Isac pulled out a red checkered handkerchief from his pocket and showed the man, who nodded in recognition.
“Glad to meet you. I am Matthew.”
Isac gestured to the back. “Get in. The money’s in the rucksack.”
Matthew hopped in the back.
“We must hurry,” he said. “The guards will be relaxed tonight as there is a celebration at the village, and we’ll have time to slip past them. That British researcher brought us international attention a few years ago, but now the Ark hunters have stopped coming and there is little interest in the Lemba now.”
Isac caught his eye in the mirror and spoke in a chilled tone.
“But you’re taking us to the secret place that the researcher wasn’t told about, right? I hope we haven’t come on a useless mission.”
Matthew nodded. “Of course, of course. You will see the ngoma, that is what you’re paying for. And tonight I will leave this village, so of course I will take you to the place where it lies. It means nothing to me anymore, for I believe we must move on. No more tribal objects and sacred history, no more colonial attitudes and patronizing charity. I am part of the renaissance.”
Natasha was mildly impressed with his passion. Here was the new Africa indeed, shaping the future instead of being fixated on the past. Maybe that’s what she needed to do with her life, but Isac wasn’t so impressed.
“You still have a way to go, my friend,” he said. “This new Africa may find itself ruled by China at the rate you’re accepting their money. An Eastern master could be just as bad as the whites.”
Matthew shook his head.
“The Chinese don’t patronize us like the colonials. They understand we are entrepreneurs, that we are mobile. Look at Angola. Right now, their economy is stronger than Portugal. The Portuguese, who once enslaved them, are now flocking to Luanda. Angolan companies are buying Portuguese companies and the money is starting to flow the other way.”
“Enough politics,” Natasha snapped. “Tell me about the ngoma and what else is in this cave system.”
Matthew nodded as he stroked the backpack next to him. The fire in his eyes dimmed and he dipped back into the past.
“The old Lemba think that the ngoma contains the very voice of God, that his essence dwells there and that we carried it with us from the lost land of Senna. The ngoma must never touch the ground and those who are not priests cannot touch it. Death by fire and smoke will greet the impure who try to take it.” He paused. “At least that’s what they have always told us.”
“Who are the priests?” Natasha asked.
“It is said that they are descended from a common ancestor who came out of Israel, and we have learned this much to be true from the genetic analysis that was done by the researcher. But the real ngoma was hidden when he came and he was put onto a false trail.” Matthew pointed ahead. “Turn left down the track after the next baobab tree. It is rough, so expect some bumps.”
They travelled in silence as the Jeep bounced over the rough ground. As the path began to wind into deeper bush and the track became narrower, Matthew asked,
“You have guns with you, right? This is elephant country and lions hunt here. It isn’t safe to be out this deep at night, and I thought there would be more of you.”
Natasha looked behind at him, her eyes piercing. “We don’t need any other people involved, and we’re good for guns. How much further is it?”
“The bush is too dense to see the upper slopes but soon we are coming to the foot of the mountain. Maybe ten more minutes. Then we must climb.”
As the Jeep bumped over the difficult terrain, Natasha stared out into the blackness, her mind wandering into the pathways of the past. Finally, Matthew called a halt and jumped out of the Jeep, Natasha following him with the backpacks. He beckoned Isac to drive into the deeper bush so the car was camouflaged in case the Lemba guards approached. Isac climbed over the seats and out of the car, then they pulled branches down and covered the vehicle as much as possible.
Tugging on their packs, they headed into the dense bush with Matthew leading. The sounds of the African night reverberated around them, the chirrup of cicadas masking their footfall. The call of a night bird sang out every few seconds, as if keeping time with the progress of the stars.
They pushed their way through the trees and undergrowth which tugged and ripped at their legs. The track finally started to slope upwards and Natasha was glad of the pull in her calves. It was good to walk after being in the cramped car for hours on end and she loved feeling her body stretch. The sheer physicality of the world here thrilled her - the smell of the earth, the potential danger of predators, the possibility of being discovered. Being on the edge was what she lived for, so how could she even consider what others would consider as a normal life? It just wasn’t her. She needed to get rid of the baby because she wasn’t cut out for the maternal life. She had brothers, they could continue the family name, and perhaps she would take one of her nieces to the terrorist training camps one day, to raise a new generation of assassins.
Matthew held up a hand suddenly and they stopped, silent, barely breathing. Voices could be heard ahead. Two of them, joking and laughing. Matthew beckoned them on quietly and they stepped more carefully. They had agreed not to use force if they could avoid it, since they wanted this to be a silent incursion so that they could slip away without fuss. Isac swung his backpack off and withdrew a leather pouch. He pulled out two syringes of fast-acting sedative, handing one to Natasha.
They moved forward a few steps at a time until they crouched, peering through branches at a small clearing in front of a cave. Two men were seated by a campfire holding beer cans with two empties behind them. Relaxed, but still alert, Natasha thought. She indicated to Isac that she would take the one on the right, and they crept around the outside rim of the trees towards them. She and Isac had worked together so many times, they relaxed into a pattern of behavior where they almost knew each other’s thoughts. Positioning herself diagonally behind one of the men, she visualized putting the syringe to his neck, pressing the plunger and catching his collapsing body. She knew Isac would do the same, for they had learned this together and they rarely failed.
A rustle came from the bushes in front of the men. They stood up immediately, hands on their weapons and looked towards the emerging figure. Matthew stepped out of the bushes. The guards relaxed.
“What are you doing here?” one asked the boy.
Natasha and Isac slid from the bushes and at the same moment, injected the men in the side of the neck. The men both looked at Matthew, stunned, and then dropped to the ground.
“Why did you show yourself?” Natasha snapped.
“I wanted them to remember I was here,” he blushed. “It means I cannot return, and I want the break to be final.”
Isac put his hand on Natasha’s arm to restrain her anger and nodded. “I understand, but we must hurry in case anyone else comes to check on them.”
Natasha scrambled up the final slope, and before the others could catch her she stepped into the cave. It had a low ceiling and a cool atmosphere with a stillness she relished, and for a second, she savored it in darkness. She began to make out the shapes of rocks and images on the walls, shadows she couldn’t quite recognize. Then torchlight pierced the darkness and the harsh light illuminated the walls. The ghosts of shapes coalesced into paintings and she bent closer to look.