Storms Over Africa (18 page)

‘Think about it, Daddy. I'd like to meet this girl . . . what's her name by the way?'

‘Steve.'

‘Steve!'

‘Short for Stephanie.'

‘Funny name for a girl,' Penny said, then added, ‘don't say no to Joe now. Think it over and let me know in a few days.'

When he hung up he was thinking, ‘No bloody way,' but, in his heart of hearts he knew he wanted to show Steve off to his children and he would probably capitulate.

He threw himself into farm work to get her off his mind. He refused to speculate that she might not want to see him after their fight. He worked long and hard hours alongside his men. One Sunday morning, as he was relaxing on the verandah after breakfast, Samson came to see him. He shuffled across the lawn, pausing to throw the ball for Winston and fondle the puppy, Maxwell. His delaying tactics alerted Richard to the fact that whatever his head man had on his mind, he was taking his time—a sure sign that it was an important issue.

‘I see you, old one,' Richard greeted Samson in Shona.

‘I see you, lord,' Samson replied formally in the same language.

Wow, Samson must be serious. ‘How is your young wife?' Samson had just taken his fourth wife, a young girl in her early twenties who promised to bear him many more sons.

‘She is very obedient and hard working.' This was high praise.

‘You are very fortunate.'

‘My old wife likes her very much.' Samson's three other wives were still with him and still enjoyed conjugal attention from him but his favourite, until now, had always been Poppie, the woman he married first. She was now beyond child-bearing age, and years of toiling in the fields had taken their toll. In the African way, she hoped her husband would take a younger wife, someone who would be like a dutiful daughter to her, so that she may live out the remainder of her years tending the younger children and brewing her husband's favourite beer.

Richard remembered how Samson's first wife showed her dislike of the other two, both of whom she considered to be lacking in respect for her position as number one wife and neither of whom worked hard enough. Some of the fights had resulted in rushed trips to the local doctor for wounds to be stitched. On one occasion, Poppie had tipped a pot of scalding posha over number two wife's head.

They continued to speak of families and happenings around the farm for ten minutes. The longer Samson delayed getting to the point, the more alert Richard became.

Finally, ‘You know, Gudo, I am getting very old.'

‘I see the grey in your hair, old one. I see the trembling in your limbs and the slowness in your walk.'

‘And you know, Gudo, that I have many sons.'

‘I have counted twelve sons, old one.' Daughters were not counted.

‘Two of my sons are very clever.'

‘That would be Horace and Tskedi.' Richard kept up with all the families on his property.

Samson chuckled in appreciation of this fact. ‘It is my wish to educate these two sons.' All the farm children went to school in the local village. This was not what he meant.

‘Where would they go?'

‘Harare, Gudo. I would send them to the white-school in Harare.' It was no longer a whites only school but that did not matter. It was Samson's way of letting Richard know how serious he was about educating his sons.

‘That will cost a lot of money,
shamwari.
' By calling him ‘friend' he was telling Samson to open up and say what was on his mind, that the conversation they were having was that of friends, rather than employer and employee.

Samson nodded to acknowledge this, and beamed at him. Richard was on the right track. ‘Yes, Gudo, it is a very big problem.'

‘Perhaps it is a problem so big there can be no solution?' Richard knew he had thought of a solution. He just had to wait for the man to tell him in his own way.

Samson scratched his head thoroughly. ‘I can see one such solution.'

Here it comes
. ‘What is this solution?'

But Samson was not quite ready. ‘Gudo, you have told me we will not take any more animals from the reserve.'

‘I never took animals from the reserve,' Richard reminded him. ‘And I haven't shot any animals on Pentland in two rains.' He had intended to speak to Janie Roos about the elephant massacre. Such wholesale slaughter in itself was totally unacceptable, but murder, that was another thing entirely. He hoped Gabriel Tenneka would now find a different venue altogether for his activities.

‘We made much money, Gudo. It is hard on the men now.'

‘I know that,
shamwari
.'

‘The master, Roos, he is still taking animals.'

‘Not any more. Master Roos is dead.'

‘Eeeeiii! Dead! Ah but I am very sorry to hear this thing, Gudo.' Samson scratched his shoulder vigorously. ‘But the master, Roos, he was taking the animals. Why did you stop, Gudo?'

Clearly, this was a very big thing in Samson's mind. The thirty or so elephants Richard had shot on Pentland had brought extra money into Samson's village. Some money had continued to come in as a few of the men had carried on helping Janie Roos, but not as
much. Samson was asking Richard for an explanation as to why he had taken steps to cut off this valuable source of extra income. This conversation had probably been brewing for some time, precipitated more than likely by Richard's action in firing Mannus and the other two. Knowing the way things worked in rural villages, the men had no doubt held a meeting of their elders and then delegated Samson the task of speaking with Richard. Some of the villagers would have interpreted the dismissal of the three men as a deliberate act on Richard's part to punish the entire village. It was a delicate situation.

‘What are they saying in the village, old one?'

Samson was now in a tricky position. The men in the village were lifelong friends and relatives. Richard was a friend too, but he was also a white
baas
. He shook his head, smiled, and took the middle ground. ‘Ah, Gudo, they are like old women.'

‘No,
shamwari
. They are fine and decent men of honour.'

Cornered, Samson met Richard's open stare. ‘They want to know why they are being punished.'

‘I am not punishing them, old one. I should never have allowed poaching here in the first place. It's against the law. We could all get into trouble.'

Samson spat derisively over the railing. ‘What is this white man's law, Gudo? What does it mean to us?'

‘It is no longer a white man's law,
shamwari
. It is the law of this government.'

‘Then why did you do this thing and now you no longer do this thing? Have you ever seen a lion apologise for eating a zebra?'

Richard laughed. ‘Never. It would not occur to him, would it?'

Samson's face cleared. ‘Ah, Gudo, but something did occur to you.'

‘Yes,
shamwari
. I broke the law to save my farm. It was the only thing I could think of at the time. I'm sorry I did it and it won't happen again.'

Samson nodded. ‘The elephants . . . that was a very bad thing.'

‘Very bad. That's why I sacked those three.'

‘But, Gudo, we would not be so foolish.'

‘Here we go,' Richard thought. He remembered Steve's words—‘become aware of it,' she had said. But, in the same breath, she told him he treated his Africans badly. How little she understood this continent. He could stop his men from poaching simply by threatening to sack them if he caught them, as he had sacked Mannus, Toby and John. They would be too scared of losing their jobs to continue. And yet, enforcing that rule would bring them hardships. Richard, like all the farmers, had to
pay his workers a wage dictated by the government. Poaching, which had only recently become a bad word in the history of these men, was one way they could supplement their wages.

He could also try to educate his men that poaching was bad, that the animals were becoming extinct, that the suffering inflicted on them was unacceptable. But how? Telling them it was bad would be a bit like convincing them not to have more than one wife. It was part of their culture and had been since time immemorial. They would not see it as bad. It had always been their way.

Talking about extinction would have just as little effect. These men lived locally. They never ventured further than 20 kilometres from their homes. They had eyes. They saw the animals in the reserve. Telling them there were only 2,000 elephants left in the whole of Zimbabwe would be meaningless. What is one elephant when the country had 2,000?

And as for suffering? Richard knew that African people regarded animals as either beasts of burden, part of the food chain or to be used for some practical purpose. They kept cats to keep down the rats and mice population, not to make them pets. If their cat was unable to feed itself, it died. They kept dogs for hunting, particularly leopard. If four or five of their dogs were ripped to shreds by a
cornered leopard, there were plenty more to take their place at the next whelping. When he first came to Pentland Park he had managed to convince his men not to feed his dogs sawdust. However, the dogs still had to scavenge for food more often than not.

Richard sighed. How could he explain all these things to a girl who sees things differently, to someone fresh out from a country which pursued fairness to all with a dedication that bordered on fanatical? During his fight with Steve he had nearly tossed off the standard ‘TAB . . . that's Africa, baby' response. Luckily he had stopped himself. But in essence, that is what it was.

Samson was waiting patiently for his answer. Silently apologising to Steve, Richard told him that poaching, provided it was for the use of each man and not for resale, was allowed to continue. He knew they would still sell the skins, horns and tusks but, by making this condition, he also knew his men would not go overboard.

‘Aaaah.' Samson knew it too. ‘Then, Gudo, you will not be angry if we trap these animals?'

He accepted they had to use snares. Shots fired in the reserve would probably bring the rangers. ‘It has nothing to do with me. Just remember you could go to prison if you're caught.'

Samson disdainfully ignored the warning.
He was one of the best. ‘I will not do it when I am supposed to be working.'

‘I sincerely hope you don't.'

‘I will not store the skins and horns on this land.'

‘You'd better not.'

Samson had one last thing on his mind. ‘If I do this thing what would you tell me to do about the person interfering with the traps?'

‘Do whatever you like. Shoot the bastards for all I care,' Richard said carelessly. Tampering with another man's traps had, in the old days, resulted in dreadful reprisals. Richard's answer had borne that in mind. He seriously doubted that whoever was tampering with traps would be caught anyway. He suspected it might be the work of renegades.

Samson, with all the cunning of a rhetorical master, cornered him. ‘Then can my young son borrow me his old rifle?'

Richard gave a short bark of laughter in appreciation of the way he had been manipulated. Samson had him both ways. He had delayed getting to the point until Richard had invited him to speak as a friend. He had, using his knowledge of Richard's impatience, got his blessing to deal with whoever was messing with the traps and, to cap it off, he had then reminded Richard of their special relationship. If Richard turned around now and refused to loan Samson his rifle, the friendship
built up over twenty years would be meaningless and Samson, who had probably boasted to the others than he could get the loan of a rifle, would lose face.

He did not like it but he was stuck with it. When it came to verbal circling, Samson outclassed him every time. But it worried him. Samson would most likely blow his own foot off. He was skilled at tracking, trapping and skinning the animals but a rifle was anathema to his head boy. ‘If I let you borrow it, you must promise never to load it until you want to use it.' He knew this would insult the man but not enough to mar their friendship.

‘I promise, Gudo' Samson was suitably aggrieved and held his hand over his heart.

‘And never let your children play with it.'

‘It will be well hidden.'

‘Very well, wait here.' Richard went inside to the gun rack in the hall and took down the old Winchester single shot, bolt action rifle. He had acquired it shortly after he arrived in Rhodesia and he and Kathy used it mainly to keep the snake population around the house down. Second-hand when he got it, the rifle had seen better days. It was chambered for .22 calibre bullets and, by African standards, considered a toy. Samson would be less likely to inflict serious damage with it in the event of an accident than he would with one of Richard's heavier hunting weapons.

Samson, overjoyed, carried the rifle carefully away, held out from his body awkwardly. Richard prayed he had done the right thing.

Steve telephoned him from Victoria Falls, elated and impressed with the splendour of the falls and excited about the photographs she had been taking. She immediately apologised for their argument. ‘I called you arrogant,' she said, ‘but when I cooled off I realised that
I
had been arrogant. This is your country, not mine. These are your ways. I'm sorry.'

He was absurdly pleased to hear her voice. ‘It's okay,' he said. ‘Things here must seem strange to you.'

‘They are, they are. Oh, Richard, they're so strange and so beautiful. I've taken some fabulous shots, really different to those you normally see.'

‘You haven't been taking risks again, have you?' He remembered the buffalo.

‘Nooooo,' she said, her voice sounding tinny and very far away.

‘What did you do?' He tried to sound stern but failed, he was so happy to be speaking with her again.

‘Nothing much, I promise. I just climbed down a bit to get a better shot.'