Blood on Tanganyika

CHAPTER TWO: A little while longer

“ Hello! Good morning, welcome!” he said, bowing to each passenger as they rolled in one by one; ladies in satin gloves, dresses below the knee, gentlemen with wide-legged pants, belts tied high above the navel , they walked by briskly, dragging their luggage, as though someone owed them something. He stepped forward, they stepped back, flowing around him in a semi-circle like a rock in a stream’s path, making no attempt to break from the current, lest they flounder and catch his blackness, all of it; his aura, his gaze, each a potent substance more lethal than hemlock! Gaze too long and it would radiate, or so they thought, keeping their eyes to the ground as they walked past him.

Of all possible afflictions, his was the worst, or so they came to believe. Measles and Polio they could inoculate, but his was chronic, tied to his D.N.A; a strain so stubborn, it would cost a miracle and several bloodlines to purge, or so they thought, looking back at one another, hoping the next man would do or say something more than the first’s own courage or indeed cowardice would permit ,but alas! He prevailed, a pariah in the heart of his own motherland.

" Miller! Madam Miller!" he called , wide eyes combing through the thinning crowd, to no response. “Miller! Madam Miller?” he continued, hearing the footsteps fade off into the distance, eerie silence returning in it’s place. It didn’t make sense. For the third time that day he found himself alone in the vast desolate space, a boulder in a room full of round pebbles.

‘ Just leave now, before that crazy Policeman comes back! Forget the white lady, she’s not even worth the embarrassment!’ He thought, furnishing his mind the illusion of liberty. He nodded.

Far past the exit and into his vehicle, he wandered, yet his feet remained steadfast on the floor, but who could blame him? Pride was difficult to behold on an empty stomach; a fact his churning gut refused him forget ; as it knotted and writhed, like a headless serpent, seconds away from consuming itself. It wasn’t a mystery what kept him in that room that day; it was the same thing that brought him to Abercorn days ago, the beast that crept into his home one fateful day after a horrible tragedy; when the tears dried and reality soon reared it’s ugly head in the form of unpaid bills and rumbling tummies.

Some called it poverty, but he preferred ‘lack’ , the more honorable term, for that’s all it was, essentially; the lack of clothes, food, money, sanity; each a penny above his minimum wage such that his problems worked shifts, in constant rotation, chasing one after the other, each gaining due attention, but none ever fully-met. Upon sealing the roof, the window cracked, while fixing the window the door fell out it’s frame and the charcoal and mealie-meal ran out, and so on and fourth until he ate out of his pay into the wages of other men, plunging him deep into a sea of debt and depression, with only brief pockets of cold dry air.

Life was hard, without a doubt, but every once in a while the tide changed, a miracle in form of a specialized native vacancy straight from the Boma; one too menial for White folk but equally as necessary. In other words, a chance above regular minimum wage, with generous tips and bonuses; often in the presence of a high-profile client, and with this promise he borrowed the bus fare from a hesitant neighbor and made the trip to Abercorn, with just a few jingling coins between him and poverty; assuring himself that once the task was completed, so would his cycle of debt and misery ; he had it all planned out.

As soon as the sealed brown envelope touched his hand, he would clear all his debt, pay back Mr.Zimba , double the interest, to shame him; replace the roofing sheets, buy a new bed and give the old one to his brother ; buy his mother a new sofa , replace the brazier with an electric cooker and use the rest to start up a small business. It was all written down on a scrunched up paper in his pocket; five points, in blue ink and a child’s handwriting. And in a few minutes his miracle would materialize, or so he thought, sinking his teeth into his lip as the door suddenly swung open again. He held his breath.

“Mwe lesa wakwa Abram, Shadrick, Mischeck na Abednigo, ntuleni. (God of Abraham, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, help me.)” he whispered, raising his sign with trembling fingers , as a fresh wave rolled in, a much smaller crowd, mostly middle-aged men with dead eyes, wrinkled foreheads and straight faces; the kind you couldn’t ask for time or directions. ‘Business class’ , he thought, watching them glide by, with heavy briefcases and eyes on their wrists, leaving a trail of fine tobacco and foreign perfume. One by one they marched past him; a blonde, three brunettes, a bald head, one Afro, not a red-head in sight.

Instantly his heart dropped, blood rushing so rapidly through his veins that he soon grew light-headed, nauseous; a few seconds more , he’d be a puddle on the floor, absorbed in his own vomit. He stepped back, resting his back against the wall for support as the room emptied, sending his pulse into an unnatural rhythm, when suddenly, something stood out from a distance; a crimson fringe- bob emerged from the door, carved around an oily pink face like a helmet. Instantly, the strength returned to his bones, as he marched boldly towards the woman, flashing a bold bright smile. Never had he been so happy to see a white woman; his guard dropped.

“Madam Miller, it’s me!” he cried, flagging her down, as though they had ever met. Knotted brows cautioned him.

“Madam, I’m here ! It is me, the Taxi man!” He cried, dangling his keys as she paused, withdrew, clutching her purse tightly against her rapidly heaving bosom, as she turned the opposite direction.

“Madam, no! Don’t stop, come, it’s me!” He cried, chasing after her as a loud shriek engulfed the room. He couldn’t quiet recall what followed, in those few seconds, but when he finally came to, he was hunched over, hands shielding his head as a hard leather purse rammed over his crown, seemingly in an attempt to c***k his skull.

"Stop it! Leave me alone, you hooligan! I’m a married_ Security! Security!" she cried, swinging the purse with closed eyes, as tears ran down her jiggling pink cheeks, he panicked.

“Madam, please, no; don’t scream!” He cried, squinted eyes looking out for the Officer between the repeated strikes.” Please; I’m the driver, I won’t hurt you!” He cried, scrambling for the sign, as she let out another deafening shriek, scampering for the exit, as a trail of cold eyes turned back at him, he gulped.

‘ Lord, please; it’s too much_” he whispered, rising to his feet a, as a small group of middle aged men began to converge , pointing to him and the door as their murmurs grew more and more incensed. It was useless explaining himself ; he stood silently watching the crowd amass as the voices grew more incensed.

In those brief seconds, 28 long years flashed before his eyes; his prompt birth, hard life and now, most certain death. Whether or not he would die wasn’t the question, but rather, how? As a marked colored in colonial Rhodesia, his prospects where vast and equally gruesome..

Utmost he hoped to end in a cell somewhere; planting cabbages until he was grey and useless, then the state would forfeit him to fate, outside the gates; a fate much easier for his mother to digest than the possibility of identifying his rotting disfigured corpse in some backwoods, sifting through the bumps and blues of blunt force trauma for birthmarks or childhood scars; since D.N.A and forensic sampling was far out of their reach.

Such was the fate of several of his kind; innocent or guilty, it didn’t matter. A fate that churned deep within his gut, as the mob quickly condensed, gesturing to the Officer to join them, as his heart sunk . He took a deep breath, whispered a prayer and closed his eyes, bracing for impact.

“Hey! Excuse me!” Came a high pitched voice, he clenched his fists. “

“ I didn’t do anything” He whispered, eyes closed.

“ Excuse me, I’m talking to you!” It came, poking his shoulder, as he clenched his jaw .

“ Imweh (People) I didn’t do anything, please! I can’t hit a woman! Ninshi kanshi? (Why won’t you listen to me)!!” He cried , Instantly locking his unveiled gazed on a pair of wide brown eyes, pale white skin; Auburn strands obscuring her petrified gaze, he froze.

“ What in God’s name? Is everything alright? “ She whispered, looking deep into his vacant bloodshot eyes, as footsteps huddled behind her,

“Ma’am, you’re in safe hands now; kindly step away from the suspect, we’ll take it from here!” Cried the uniformed officer, unlocking a pair of handcuffs as he approached the pair, she squinted.

“What?”

“ You heard me. This boy has been a nuisance since the moment he set foot here. Hardly noon and he’s already tried his hand at one poor lady’s purse and I sure won’t let him get another one, step aside!”

“ Oh, so you’ll take me to the village, then?” She asked, reaching for her bag.

“ Excuse me? Do I look like a damn driver to you?” He squinted, curling his lip in disgust.

“ Ah! Well then, Officer I humbly suggest that YOU step aside, and let me handle my own business, understood?” She cried, walking up to him, as the room fell still, he chuckled.

“ Lady, you might want to relax. I don’t think you have the slightest idea who you’re talking to” He chuckled, raising his I.D to her eyes, as she squinted, reading each type-written word.

“ Oh! Oh, now I do. “ She gasped, as he smirked.” A uniformed imbecile! I’m afraid that’s all I see, Second Captain Inspector Nolan!” She cried, grabbing the badge and placing it back in his breast pocket, he fumed.

“You know; Obstructing the law’s a capital offense.” He whispered, gritting his teeth, as he adjusted the handcuffs, she nodded.

“ Hmmm, I see.” She cried, reaching into her purse. “ Well be sure to get my details right when you book me in.” She said, holding out her Passport, as he grabbed it, face frozen as he read through.

“ Wait… Miller as in Barti Miller? M.C.C.M” He asked as her eyes rolled, he pulled off his hat, eyes sunken and cheeks red with shame.“ Oh, Madam, deepest apologies, my lady!” He chuckled, as she grabbed her passport. “ This was strictly for inspection and security purposes, guarantee! Nothing against you.!” He winced, fastening the cuffs to his belt brace, as she turned away. “ I’ll let you proceed; with the boy, but if he causes you trouble; and I mean ANY trouble at all, you just let me know, alright?” He chuckled, as the mob dispersed. “ Safe travels, now!” He cried, walking away, with clenched fists, tail between his legs.

“ Hey, you alright? Was he bothering you?” She cried, holding his shoulder, as he snapped back to reality. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

“Madam_ Madam Rose?” He whispered, as though in a trance, dark brown fingers trailing through wisps of soft..