Harmattan (21 page)

Moussa grunted again. ‘The girl can go on without me,’ he mumbled angrily through the blanket. ‘Mahamadou will have to take water for the journey.’ He showed his face now before continuing, ‘She can tell him to stop at the village on his way back from the river.’

I was about to protest further, but my father put his hand up and shook his head gently, his face a combination of amusement and sleepy agitation. ‘That won’t do, Moussa. Mahamadou will head east after taking water.’

We waited outside while Moussa dressed and gathered his belongings together.

‘You have the shoes?’ my father said.

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And you will give your mother my regards?’

‘I will, Father.’

Moussa appeared at the doorway, looking grey and weary. He yawned, cleared his throat loudly and then spat into the previous evening’s ashes. ‘You have the shoes?’ he said to me.

‘I do.’

‘Toh.’
He turned to my father and embraced him limply.

My father slapped him on the back and then, holding his cousin by the shoulders, he looked him in the eye. ‘You’ll look out for my daughter?’

‘Of course, Salim.’

‘May God go with you.
Inshallah
.’ He patted my shoulder, then turned and went back into the house.

And so it was that we missed Monsieur Mahamadou and his camels; when we arrived at Miriam’s compound there was no sign of life. It was half light now, and at first I thought the Kantaos had not yet stirred, yet the beasts were nowhere to be seen.

‘Don’t just stand there, girl,’ Moussa said. ‘Go and find out how long ago he left.’ ‘We ought not to disturb them,’ I said. ‘If we head for the river we may be able to catch up.’

‘Go on!’ Moussa insisted, nudging me forward.

I approached the house reluctantly, wary of waking baby Narcisse and thus the entire Kantao family. But, as luck would have it before I reached the doorway, Madame Kantao emerged from the house carrying a large basin. I could tell that she was a little startled by my presence.

‘Oh, child! I didn’t notice you at first!’ she said.

‘Fofo.
I am sorry to frighten you, Madame.’

‘But you have missed Mahamadou, Little One!’

I leaned towards her, whispering, ‘It was cousin Moussa’s fault. I could not stir him!’ She smiled at me, warmly, her scent – as always – somehow a heady mix of cooking and love. ‘A lazy man, eh?’

I smiled back and nodded. ‘Do you think we can catch up with Monsieur Mahamadou?’

‘A fit young woman like you, Haoua? Certainly I do.’ She bent down to squint at me and lowered her voice. ‘I’m not so sure about that no-good cousin of your father’s, though!’

We stifled our giggles, then Madame Kantao hugged me tightly and wished God’s blessing on me. ‘And keep the amulet close to you,’ she added.

‘
Toh
. Please tell Miriam I’ll see her soon.’

‘Of course, dear. And you give your poor mother my best wishes.
Toh, kala a
tonton
.’

‘What was all that cackling about?’ Moussa demanded, as we headed for the river. ‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘It didn’t sound like nothing.’

‘It was nothing, Monsieur, really.’ I did not like to lie, but I wanted to concentrate on catching up with Monsieur Mahamadou rather than making small talk with cousin Moussa, so I decided to put a stop to the conversation there and then.

‘Madame Kantao was just telling me a funny story about Miriam’s baby sister.’

‘So tell me the funny story.’

‘I’m very tired, Monsieur,’ I said, skipping ahead of him through the scuffed camel tracks on the sun softened piste.

‘Walayi!’
he said, under his breath.

We did not speak again until we were approaching the river. I was scanning the bank in an effort to catch sight of Monsieur Mahamadou and his animals when I felt myself wrenched backwards and found myself face to face with an irritated looking Moussa.

‘Wait!’ he said, dropping his head. ‘There’s something I meant to ask you.’ He was somewhat breathless and sweating heavily.

The sour odour of his body wafted around me and I longed to step away from him but knew that I could not. To distract myself I listened to the shrieks of monkeys squabbling in the distance.

At last he straightened himself. A large, black fly landed on his wet brow and followed a deep furrow to his temple. ‘Why did you take the shoes?’ he said.

I was surprised by his question. ‘Monsieur?’

‘Why did you take the shoes?’ he repeated, giving me a little shake. ‘I don’t like it when people touch my things!’

‘Monsieur, I put the shoes in my bundle because I thought it would be easier for you if I carried them.’

‘Uhuh?’ he said, suspicion in his voice.

‘I left your flashlight beside your bed… and I only lent you my little radio, and missed it so… and the shoes are mine, after all…’

He grabbed my chin then, and angled my face up towards his; not roughly, but still it unsettled me. ‘It’s good that you are carrying them. But they are not yours, child. I’m to escort you to Niamey. The shoes are my payment. Don’t forget it.’ He drew a gritty thumb across my lower lip then gave an odd smile before releasing me. ‘You ought to have asked me for the radio too,’ he said.

As I stood with my back to the river, I realised that I was trembling slightly.

Moussa had continued towards the riverbank and now called out, ‘Come on!

Let’s find this Touareg.’

I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth and turned to follow him.

The dispute over ownership of the shoes troubled me, without a doubt, but soon it retreated into the deepest recesses of my mind. Ahead of me, Moussa was making straight for a clearing on the riverbank, to the right of where we usually washed our clothes and bedding. We heard the animal before we saw it: the strange, strangled lament of a camel at odds with its master.

Mahamadou Alpha was the owner of two camels; at least two that I knew of.

One of these beasts, a good-natured, white female with lashes more beautiful than those belonging to any woman, was now standing, heavy laden and hobbled and waiting patiently for its master, while it chewed at the wispy branches of a locust bean tree near the riverbank. The other, a larger, younger, brown male, which had sprawled itself on the riverbank, was obviously not about to comply so readily.

Monsieur Mahamadou had his back to us as we approached him. I had rarely heard him speak when I had visited the Kantaos and, any time he did, it was in a most genteel manner. Now, seeing this tall, light-skinned, elegant man furiously prodding the male camel in the ribs with a short, straight stick and hearing the barrage of abuse which he hurled at the creature, I could scarcely believe that it was the same person.

‘You stinking bastard!’ he screamed, as the animal attempted to yank its head away from Monsieur Mahamadou’s grip. ‘Get up, you lazy, good-for-nothing swine!’As if answering, the animal shook its head again and uttered another furious bellow. Monsieur Mahamadou jabbed the stick into its ribs once again but the creature’s legs remained stubbornly folded beneath its bulk.

‘Do you need some help there, brother?’ Moussa called out over the awful noise. Monsieur Mahamadou looked over his shoulder. ‘Just stay back there!’ he called. ‘I know how to get this son-of-a-devil on to its feet!’ He grabbed the animal’s lower lip with one hand and then, spinning the stick swiftly and skilfully in the other, he dropped a loop of cord attached to the end of the stick over the creature’s muzzle. ‘Stay well back!’ Monsieur Mahamadou advised again.

It had not occurred to me to do anything else.

Monsieur Mahamadou then proceeded to twist the end of the stick so that the cord tightened quickly on the camel’s rubbery flesh. The animal was indignant and roared once again. Monsieur Mahamadou brought the flat of his hand hard against the animal’s neck, at the same time pulling roughly on the corded stick so that the camel’s head was forced upwards and sideways in a most unnatural manner. At the same time, he kicked at the animal’s torso, jabbing its ribs with his sandaled foot.

‘Get up, you son-of-a…’

At last the poor creature struggled to its feet, all the while moaning like something possessed by bad spirits. Monsieur Mahamadou continued to clutch the stick. He glanced over his shoulder towards us, a victorious look on his face. Yanking at the stick once more, he cuffed the creature around the ears before releasing it from the noose. This was a mistake. I had witnessed ill-tempered animals before, many times, but never anything like what happened next.

Monsieur Mahamadou turned to face us, a great, broad smile on his face. ‘Got to show these beasts who’s boss,’ he said.

‘Walayi!
For sure!’ Moussa said.

But the creature was obviously far from satisfied with the outcome of the situation; it shook itself violently and then quickly deposited a huge, steaming lump of faeces in the dust.

Now, with his back to the animal and holding on to it only with the rope attached to its nose ring, Monsieur Mahamadou did not foresee the camel’s next actions: it had been angry before; now it went berserk. Uttering another of its demonic roars, it suddenly began to buck and rear, twisting and kicking in all directions. I had never seen a camel move so fast before. Too fast for Monsieur Mahamadou, who was dragged towards the river, slithering through mud and reeds, cursing wildly all the time until he managed finally to slip the noose back over the creature’s muzzle.

Moussa ran towards Monsieur Mahamadou. ‘How can I help?’ he called.

Monsieur Mahamadou was panting heavily. The camel wheezed too and white froth dripping from the corners of its rough lips, its ribcage heaved and its spirit seemed broken – for now at least.

‘Hold this for me for a moment, please,’ Monsieur Mahamadou said, nodding towards the stick and giving the noose another turn. ‘I just need to catch my breath.’

‘
Walayi!’
Moussa took it with little enthusiasm. ‘Please God it won’t start again, will it?’Monsieur Mahamadou puffed and shook his head. ‘He’s young. Foolish. Goes off like that every once in a while. But he should be all right now.’ He looked at me and shrugged. ‘He’d better be, or I’ll serve him to the dogs!’

I smiled, nervously. I had met Monsieur Mahamadou on several occasions, and had always liked him, but seeing him beating this animal had unsettled me. Suddenly it struck me that I was about to set off on the first stage of a long journey with two men whom I barely knew.

With the big male calmed, it did not take long for Monsieur Mahamadou to add my bundle and water gourd to the camel’s burden. I had not ridden a camel before and was a little apprehensive about it. Seeing the male at his worst had not made me feel any more at ease about the prospect, but Monsieur Mahamadou quickly reassured me.

‘Don’t worry, Mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘You won’t have to ride alone.’

Moussa was tying his own bundle on to the female. He was quick to speak.

‘No, indeed. You can ride up in front of me.’

I was not sure whether Monsieur Mahamadou had read my face or had another reason for not complying with cousin Moussa’s idea, but – despite the fact that I had witnessed the ill temper of both he and his camel – I was relieved when he took me by the arm. ‘No,’ he said. ‘My female has only a blanket on which to sit, whereas look at the fine three-pronged saddle we shall sit upon!’

As if sensing that it really was now time to set off, both creatures dropped down obediently when their master bid them. Lead rope in hand, Monsieur Mahamadou guided Moussa safely onto the female before straddling the big male and leaning over to haul me up on to the beast’s back too. I was struck immediately by the powerful odour of the animal’s coarse coat. Monsieur Mahamadou tapped his stick against the camel’s neck and clicked his tongue in encouragement. Then, with a great lurch and a flurry of dust and hair, we were on our way.

The journey to the camion post was to take the best part of the day. Monsieur Mahamadou’s camels settled quickly into a steady, sure-footed stride and, perched between Monsieur Mahamadou’s thighs, high above the scorching sands I soon got used both to the unfamiliar odours of man and beast and the odd, rhythmic swaying. At times I even found myself drifting off into a light sleep, always aware of the animal’s movement and the closeness of this relative stranger, but comfortable enough,
safe
enough, to allow myself to doze. And, when I took the trouble to look around at the arid expanse, I realised that this was a wonderful way to see my beautiful country.

Monsieur Mahamadou was an extremely devout man and so it was necessary for us to make frequent stops to allow him to pray. The first few times the camels were drawn to a halt and hobbled, cousin Moussa followed Monsieur Mahamadou away from me and the animals and dropped down onto his knees in prayer beside Monsieur Mahamadou. I knew I was expected to stay away from the men during these interruptions in our journey, and that if I wanted to pray I would have to do so while making myself useful. And so, while I repeated lines from the Koran and asked God to protect my mother, I busied myself unwrapping tea, mint leaves and plastic tumblers from our bundles and scrambling around for anything flammable that could be added to the small supply of firewood that we had brought with us.

I soon realised that Moussa was frustrated by the constant stopping and starting; after a while, he stopped going through the motions and, instead, sat silently a few metres away from the animals – smoking and spitting and watching me.

I wished that he would join Monsieur Mahamadou. I was torn between the desire to keep my back to him and the necessity to show him the respect due to an elder. As I went about my business, it seemed like I could feel his eyes boring into me. On one occasion I was distracted from preparing our refreshment by the sound of splashing. I looked up to see Moussa urinating, not far from where I was kneeling. He had been squatting, in the acceptable fashion, with his
jel aba
and thighs affording him some privacy, but when he caught my eye, he stood up, quickly, and shook himself towards me. I looked away and immediately made myself busy. I pretended not to have noticed, but Moussa’s cackle made me shiver. I was sure that Monsieur Mahamadou would not have approved of this behaviour, but, of course, I did not mention the incident to him.