Out of Africa

David looked out of the railway carriage window with mounting excitement. He could recognise the country now. The river wound gently along the valley beside the track through small fields of carefully tended vegetables, maize and cassava. On either side, beyond the fertile strip bordering the river the plain, a vast expanse of varying shades of brown stretched outwards, to the South to the horizon, to the North to where distant mountains loomed against the sky.

So far as he was concerned after four years at last he was coming home. He had protested loudly when on his eighth birthday Uncle Robert had told him he was sending him to school in England. He had argued strongly that the country was Uncle Robert's and Auntie Janes' country so why was it not also his. But Uncle Robert had been firm, firmer than he had ever known him to be in the past. He said that David was not his son but the son of his brother who had been killed serving in the British army. He owed it to his brother to see that David grew up to be British.

So in the end David had to say a tearful goodbye to his friends, which he did in the derivative of Swahili which was the local language and which at that stage he spoke a good deal more fluently than English. Auntie Jane had taken him on the train down to the coast and had handed him over to a nice lady in a uniform who was very kind and looked after him on the plane to Johannesburg. There he was handed over to another lady who also made a fuss of him and took him up to the pilots cabin and saw him safely into the hands of an Aunt Mary in London whom he had never before seen in his life, that he could remember anyway.

For four years he had lived in England, during term time boarding at his prep school in Kent, in the holidays staying with Auntie Mary and other strangers who in one way or another were related to him. He was not unkindly treated. During the holidays the people in whose charge he was did their best to keep him happy and occupied. In term time he was only beaten very occasionally and was not bullied to any great extent. Indeed if he had remained with his Uncle he would very probably been beaten some what more often for the people of the country believed that young boys needed to be kept in order. He would not however have been bullied at all; that was something that did not happen there.

He did not think of his Aunt and Uncle and his home in Africa all the time. He was kept much too busy for that. But when he found himself at a loose end and in particular as the long summer holidays approached he would remember and would painfully write letters pleading with them both that this time, at least, he should be allowed to visit home. How much unhappiness these letters caused the two old people David was never to know. What he got back on every occasion were two letters, one from his Aunt the other from his Uncle, full of common sense and kindness, telling him that it was too far, that he had to learn love his new home just as he loved his old one and suggesting that he was a lucky boy to have two homes to love. David would take the letters into the toilet, the only place in the school where he could find privacy, cry over them a bit and tell himself that he would certainly get home not this summer but next.

Masoua had had a fortunate history and was indeed a happy and pleasant country in which to live. Isolated by mountains and deserts, without oil diamonds or gold it all but escaped colonialism although missionaries brought Christianity and the people called their children by Christian names. It was briefly under British rule but attained it's independence with out any need for an armed struggle. The lack of resources that had made it unattractive as a colony also meant that it was not envied by it's neighbours While other states were building armies the Malouans declared that the priorities were agriculture, health and education. There was a small armed police force to keep cattle raiders from the North in check and a citizens army which would give e a good account of itself once mobilised but which required three or four days for this to be achieved.

Uncle Robert, a medical doctor, was recruited as part of the initial public health drive and married the lady, who thus became David's Aunty Jane, who had been engaged as part of a team to train local girls as nurses.

David as he looked out of his train window with mounting excitement was only vaguely aware of this political background. What he did know was that he was coming home to the place where he had been happy.

The train hooted swung round a bend in the track and ground to a halt. It was the end of the line and of David's journey. He swung the door open and leapt out onto the wooden platform. A few yards away stood Uncle Robert slightly more bent than when he had seen him last but otherwise unchanged. A young fit looking African was standing talking to him earnestly.

David was a little surprised that none of his friends had come to greet him. He thought Michael at least would have made it. He knew his uncle would have given him a lift to the station if he had asked. Still he was home and there was probably some very good explanation for Michael's absence. He ran down the platform to greet his Uncle. His case he left for the moment in the carriage. They could collect it later. The train was going nowhere until the next morning when it would trundle slowly down the track back to the coast.

As he approached the two men he noticed they were both carrying side arms. This was most unusual. The only people generally who carried arms in Maloua were the police. He also saw both men were looking very serious.

"Hello David," the younger man said. "You remember me your big brother Mark." It was common for Malouan men to refer to themselves as the big brother of any young boy they came across, especially if there was some sort of family friendship involved.

"Michael's eldest brother," David said. "Where is Michael?"

"Michael would be hear if he could David, but he was sent East with all the other children and most of the women this morning. There's been a big incursion from the North and I'm afraid you're getting straight back on that train and going back to the coast. The train is off this instant"

"I've only just come. Why? I'll be all right. You'll see."

"I'm sorry David," Uncle Robert said tightly. "Mark is right. It's back to the coast with you. A man from the British Embassy will meet you at the station. It's all arranged."

Uncle Robert seemed suddenly to see something intensely interesting on the horizon to the North and turned his back on David and the platform to study it.

Mark took David by the arm and walked him back down the platform to his carriage.

"David", he said. "Don't make a fuss. I know you're upset but can't you see your Uncle is as well? Come on into the carriage with you. When this is all over you can come here again. Why I'll come to England to fetch you myself if necessary."

David bit his lip and blinked his eyes. He got back into the carriage.

"I can come back when it's over?"

"Yes. Have I ever lied to you?"

"What is it?" Mark said to the railway clerk who had appeared at his side.

"There's just been a message on the phone Sir. They've blown the bridge at the gorge. The trains stuck here. Four 4x4s with heavy machine guns on the back shot up the guard post. Then they dynamited the bridge and disappeared back into the desert."

"Oh. That's that then. David you'll be staying after all. Get your case and get in the back of the Land Rover. Dr Simpson you drive. I'll carry the gun. David if there's any problem just lie flat on the floor."

"Couldn't I have Uncle's pistol? I could use that when he's driving."

"No you may not. Things are dangerous enough without twelve year old boys blazing away with automatics."

"And," said Mark turning to the railway man, "could you get the train back down the line a bit away from here where those bastards from the North won't see it. It could come in useful later on for ferrying troops up from the gorge."

"I say Mark," David said once they were settled in the Land Rover. "You're very much in charge."

"Mark is Commissioner here now David." Uncle Robert said.

"Gosh." David fell silent trying to absorb the discovery that the youth with whom he and Michael had swum naked in the river, whose clothes they had stolen as a joke and who had tanned their bottoms very soundly for the trick when he eventually ran them to ground, was now the chief government official in the area.

Their journey back to the old mission post, that in the emergency had been converted into the government headquarters, passed without incident.

Mark brought the Land Rover to a halt outside a single story building set in open ground some way away from the other mission buildings. Two policemen stood on guard outside it. David noticed that most of the windows had been blocked up and the glass knocked out of those that remained. He did not know that the building had been chosen because it's isolated position provided a clear field of fire for any one defending it.

It was dark and shady inside. Sand bag emplacements had been built by the remaining widows. Five mattresses with bedding neatly rolled were lined up against one wall.

David did not want to admit it to himself but for the rest of the day he was really rather bored. Uncle Robert would not let him go out of sight of the mission building. The men were all too occupied about other matters to have time to spare for him. There was really nothing to do.

It was rather a relief when dark came. Mark drew up a watch rota which omitted David despite his vehement protests.

"Right David," Mark said after supper had been eaten in almost complete silence. "The best place for you is up in the loft. You'll be safer up there than any where else. And if they do come looking for you there's a water tank up there. Get into that and just duck under the water if necessary. And sleep in your clothes just in case."

"But you'll all be here," David said. "You'll see them off."

"Yes," Mark replied looking round at the tense faced men about him. "We'll be here." He didn't ask the boy how long he thought five lightly armed men could hold out against a force which included four 4x4s armed with heavy machine guns. But however short that time was it would be time gained for their army to mobilise and strike back. -------------

They came just as dawn was breaking. David was woken by the stutter of automatic fire and the roar of truck engines. The fight did not take all that long. From the loft David saw two policemen hit in the first exchange of fire. Then with the defenders unable to cover every window one of 4x4s managed to get close up and spray the interior of the building with it's machine gun. A couple of hand grenades followed and David was looking down on a scene of bloody carnage.

The door burst open and a burly white man, a half smoked cigar stuck in his mouth, wearing shorts, long socks and an open necked khaki shirt strode in. He peered around.

"Come on blast you," he shouted over his shoulder. "Two of you in here. The rest of you search the other buildings. I want that boy. There's money in that boy if we can find him."

He spoke with a harsh nasal twang. It was an accent David had become familiar with during his short stop overs at Johannesburg.

Two black men dressed in filthy fatigues and carrying automatic rifles began to ransack the room..

"Well so the boys not in here. Have you looked in the loft you dumb black bastard? Then look."

David had just time to scramble into the water tank as the man hauled himself up into the loft.

"No one up here boss," the man said and David heard a thump as he dropped back down to the floor below.

"Well the brats about some where and I want him. Are any of these bastards alive? They'll know."

David carefully levered himself out of the water tank and crept back to the open trapdoor. The white man began to move restlessly about examining the bodies that now littered the floor.

"A white man," David heard him explain, and then the thud of a kick. "Well the buggers dead now. Serve the Kafir lover right."

So Uncle Robert was dead. David fought back his tears.

"This one's alive. You two string him up somehow while I go and get my little persuader."

The two Africans busied themselves tying a rope round the wrists of one of the bodies lying on the floor. They threw the other end of the rope over a pipe that ran the length of the room and pulled. David gasped as he saw that it was Mark who was now suspended by his wrists. The blood dribbled from a gash across his fore head and the front of his tunic on his right side was soaked in blood.

The white man returned. He was carrying a heavy hide whip. If David had seen one before he would have recognised it as a sjambok.

"Get that man stripped and get a bucket of water we need to wake the bastard up."

Once Mark was stripped the white man took the bucket of water and threw it over him. Mark groaned and opened his eyes.

"Where's the white boy?"

Mark muttered something. The man brought the whip cracking down across his bare shoulders. Mark groaned again.

"Speak up boy. I asked you a question and I want to hear the answer."

"Where is the white boy?"

"He's not here," Mark gasped out.

"Not here. I asked you where he was boy not where he was not. A smart boy. I'll enjoy this. It was smart boys like you that lost me my home in the Republic."

"If I knew where he was I would tell him to stay hidden."

"Why you...."

The white man did not finish his sentence but began methodically to flog Mark. Over and over again the whip sang through the air and cracked down across Mark's bare shoulders. David watched horrified as the deep red weals multiplied. At first Mark grunted as each blow of the whip. Then he made no noise at all but hung limply by the wrists swinging as the whip struck him.

"Another bucket of water," the man commanded.

"Well boy," the man said putting down the whip and moving round to face Mark. "To take that without talking you must love the white boy. So you won't want these any more."

He bent forward and took hold of Marks balls in his left hand. With his right hand he drew his clasp knife from it's sheath at his belt.

David swallowed. He didn't care what he had been told by the grown ups. He would not let this happen.

"I'm the boy you want," he said as boldly as he could.

The white man replaced his knife in it's sheath and slowly turned round.

"Why my little chicken," he crooned. "You come down now to Uncle Pietre. Uncle Pietre likes his little boys so you come down to him now my darling." He smiled coldly.

David sat down on the edge of the trap door and prepared to jump.

"Quickly now my darling. Uncle Pietre doesn't like to be kept waiting by his little boys."

He lashed out with the whip sending it's tip twisting about David's right leg just above the ankle. David yelped. It felt as though a red hot wire had been wrapped about his leg. Thrown off balance he tumble to the floor.

"And you, you fool," Pietre said, turning on one of the black men. "You were supposed to have searched that loft."

He struck out twice with the whip, catching the man once across the front of his legs as he faced him and then across his buttocks as he turned to run.

"And now I will just make sure this Kafir is going nowhere."

Pietre unsheathed his knife once more and stepping quickly behind Mark slashed at the back of his left knee. David yelled in rage and hurled himself across the room catching the man off balance. Pietre did not fall but he was sent staggering away from Mark.

He grabbed David by his wet shirt and shook him viciously.

"Now you going to find out my darling how Uncle Pietre deals with his little boys when they annoy him. And we'll do it in front of all the other little boys so that they can learn the lesson as well."

He half marched half dragged David across the open ground to the other mission buildings. There under the guard of two bored black man crouched on the ground against one wall was a group of African boys some naked, some partly clothed. As he got closer David began to recognise them, one by one, as boys with whom he had joked and played before he went away to England. But then their faces were alight with laughter and high spirits while now they were dull with misery and defeat. Among them he saw Michael.

"What happened Michael?" But Michael turned his head away.

Not that he really needed to ask. It was clear enough. They must have ambushed the vehicles carrying the children on their way to the East. There's was no need to ask about Auntie Jane either. She would never have allowed this to happen while she was alive.

"You know this blackie do you boy?" Pietre said prodding Michael with his boot.

"Yes," David replied trying but failing to sound brave. "He's my friend."

"Why then he'll do very well. Get up boy."

Michael dragged himself wearily to his feet. He was quite naked. David could see from the marks on his bottom and back that he had felt the whip.

"Turn round boy. Good. Now my little chicken off with those clothes. Quick now or do you want me to help you. Right stand up against your black friend and put your arms over his shoulders. And you boy catch hold of your white friend's wrists and lean forward."

David felt his feet lifted off the ground Michael's bare skin smooth and cool against his. It was a pleasant feeling reminding him of times in the dormitory at school when he had crept into another boy's bed seeking and finding, comfort and warmth.

"You like that do you boy?" David felt the man's hands stray over his body. They came to rest on his bottom which he gently squeezed. Despite himself he felt himself harden and he knew Michael must feel it as well. The man slapped his back side sharply.

"But we're not here so you can enjoy yourself are we? But not the sjambok not for a delicate little boy like you. Not this time anyway. One of you," he said turning to the guards. "Cut me a cane and bring it here. Not too heavy but not too light either and nice and whippy."

There was a long pause during which David lay suspended along Michael's back feeling the terror grow within him. The guard returned. There were a series of swishes as Pietre tried the cane out. Then David felt the tip of the cane against his bum. There was a pause and with a vicious hiss it came slicing down across the centre of his bare rump driving the breath from him. David's body jerked convulsively. The next stroke landed below and parallel to the first.

David fought to hold back his cries. Mark had not cried once and he'd had the whip that was worse. He was not going to let Mark down.

"David," Michael whispered urgently. "David yell. Please yell. It's easier if you do."

Crack .. a third blow landed.

Crack ... a fourth.

David found he had no choice but to take his friends advice.

Over and over again the man brought the cane slashing down across his bare defenceless bottom as David howling writhed on Michael's naked back.

Finally the man stopped.

"That's the end of the fun," he said to the soldiers who had gathered round to watch. "We've got to get on before their army gets itself together. Get the boys loaded up. Remember we need them as porters until we're the other side of the mountains. We haven't got enough trucks to carry the water and food we need to get through the desert so the boys will have to do it for us. At the other side of the mountains you can have the pick of the boys that have survived the trek. Except the white one. He's mine and we'll make a lot of money from him. You wait till the English press hear there's the son of a British Army officer for sale as a slave boy down on the coast... in danger of being sold into a boy brothel. They'll pay well to save him. A million..two million..we will see."

"Now get the boys loaded up it's time we moved."

"What about the white boy?" one of the soldiers asked.

"He can carry a load as well as the rest of them. Now get moving."

Michael straightened up and lowered David gently to his feet. David hung on his neck whimpering for a moment.

The soldiers moved about among the boys loading them with sacks of food and water containers. David felt he could hardly stand under his burden. A soldier moved down the line of boys testing their loads.

"This boy can take a bit more," he said giving David's sore rump a slap with his open hand. A further sack was added.

There was a shout whips cracked, a boy cried out and the march began. The sun blazed down, the day grew ever hotter, soldiers strode up and down the line of boys urging them on with shouts and cuts from the whips they carried. Unused to the heat after 4 years away in Britain, parched with thirst and aching from his beating David trudged doggedly on, his eyes fixed on the heels of the boy immediately ahead of him. Just as he thought he could go no further the column turned into a broad valley shaded by high cliffs and halted. The soldiers moved down the line of boys removing their loads. Once freed of their burdens the boys squatted or sat on the bare ground, exhausted.

Pietre walked back from the 4x4 in which he had been riding. He was red faced and sweating. He picked up a container of water and tipped the greater part of it over his head. Then he drank deeply from it before tipping the balance over himself.

"Right you men. We rest here for four hours till it cools down a bit. There's unlimited water for you and the cooks are getting some food together. The boys are rationed to a mug of water now and another before we move off. They'll get fed when we make our camp site tonight."

There was more shouting and kicking as the boys were lined up to receive their water ration. They shuffled dispiritedly past two soldiers who were serving water out of a single mug. David swallowed his ration eagerly but still felt desperately thirsty. Looking round he saw Michael sitting on the ground his head resting on his knees. He shuffled wearily over and sat down beside him.

"You look done," Michael whispered.

"I am," David admitted quietly. "It's the heat. I could have taken it easy four years ago. I could do most things you could do. But now. I'm just not used to it."

"You've got to keep going. If you drop they'll just take the water and leave you. You're dead then. Well maybe not you. That white pig thinks he can make money out of you so maybe you'll be treated differently." Michael sounded bitter.

"I can't help that," David protested.

"No," Michael was contrite. "I know you can't."

He sighed and let his head fall back on his knees.

A soldier strolled up holding a water bottle. He stopped and prodded Michael in the bottom with his foot. Michael looked up.

"Hi my little friend," the soldier said smiling to reveal a mouthful of rotten discoloured teeth.

Michael said nothing.

The soldier unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured a little water onto the sand in front of the parched boys.

"If you'd be nice to me my little friend you could have this whole bottle all to yourself."

"You know the white man says you mustn't harm us till we reach the other side of the mountains."

"This won't hurt you little friend. You'll have to do much nastier things when your sold to your new master I'm sure. It's not much to do for a bottle full of water."

Michael glanced at David. Then at the soldier. He nodded and got to his knees. He reached up and began to unbutton the soldiers flies. The soldier grabbed him by his ears and pulled his head into his crutch. David watched fascinated as Michael's head moved up and down .

I suppose perhaps I'd do it if I had the chance he thought doubtfully trying to excuse his friend in his own mind. I could certainly do with some water.

The soldier cried out arching his back and Michael hunkered down on his heels wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. He reached out and took the water bottle from the soldier.

"Here," he said holding it out to David. "It's for you."

David hesitated and then took it. To take it was bad enough. To refuse it would be much worse. David drank deeply and forced himself to take the bottle away from his lips. He offered it to Michael.

"No," Michael said fiercely. "I did it for you because you are my friend. I don't want it."

David looked at him. Started to say some thing and then stopped. He drained the bottle and then for the first time since he had arrived in Africa began to cry in sorrow. He cried for Uncle Robert, Auntie Jane, Peter , Michael, for all of them. Michael put his arm around him and hugged him.

The soldier picked up the water bottle and walked off laughing.

To be continued