Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (11 page)

‘Cops,’ she
explained.

‘Buggers, where
did they pick you up?’

‘At the bar,
outside the Moondust night-club.’

‘You look
expensive,’ he said.

‘Thanks’ she
smiled at him.

‘Maybe at the
end of the month, I will come and visit you?’

‘Sure,’ she
smiled, knowing he could never afford her.

‘Ah, money is
tight this time.’ He blew a puff of smoke upwards.

‘You don’t have
to pay me now,’ she replied, ‘in fact I need to know a few
things.’

His eyes
narrowed. ‘What things?

‘I met your
boss today.’

The guard
straightened up, looking about anxiously.

‘Relax, he was
with a
mzungu
, said his name is Birin, with light hair, the
two of them were in a small white car.’

‘Yes,’ he said,
‘so what?’

‘Have you seen
this
mzungu
?’

‘I might have,’
he replied, relaxing back on the tree.

‘Do you know
where he is staying?’ Lucy pressed him.

‘Why do you
want to know?’

‘Come on,’ she
smiled, ‘help a sista out.’

‘If I tell you,
what do I get?’

Lucy pouted at
him and giggled. ‘I can see you are hungry.’

He smiled. ‘Ok,
the White Marlin apartments are where he is staying. He is from
Nairobi.’

‘Thanks,’ Lucy
said, stubbing out her cigarette.

‘What about my
promise?’

‘I will keep
it.’ Lucy said as she strode off. ‘I will promise not to tell your
wife. See you, sojah.’ He laughed in appreciation at being
outwitted; he finished his cigarette watching her walk away.

*

Back at the
bank, Evans organised his office for the afternoon. Collecting
files and a notepad he made his way to the hotel. Brian met him at
the reception dressed in surf shorts and a T-shirt. ‘Good of you to
come,’ he smiled, ‘I thought we could find a quiet place in the
shade, overlooking the pool where we can relax and talk.’

The setting and
Brian’s casual attire fazed Evans. The meeting started amiably
enough with Brian explaining his job in detail, his expectations
and mandate within the company. Much of this Evans already knew but
was finding it hard to concentrate - from where he sat, he had a
full view of a voluptuous woman sunbathing in a micro bikini, who
at regular intervals turned over, toasting herself.

Brian so busy
talking didn’t notice Evans was distracted. Finishing his diatribe
he ended by asking a direct question. ‘So now, Evans, tell me how
this small loans scheme came about? It has proved to be a veritable
success.’

Brian waited.
Evans stared at him blankly. ‘Sorry Sir, could you repeat the
question?’

Brian did so
and Evans reluctantly moved closer, the woman now out of his view.
‘Sir, the small loans scheme is handled by a company called Golden
Palm. They have guaranteed the loan re-payments to the bank on
behalf of a co-operative of small scale farmers known as the Sabaki
Settlement Scheme.’

‘But,’ Brian
countered, ‘if Golden Palm should go bust, the bank will end up
with these plots, along the Sabaki River.’

‘True,’ agreed
Evans, ‘but Golden Palm has a safety net. It’s funded by a Danish
non-governmental organisation, an aid package for small scale
farmers in third world countries from the European Union. They have
volunteers from Denmark here, mainly gap year agricultural students
who give help and advice to the farmers.’

Brian was
impressed. ‘I see, so the success of this scheme is mainly due to
the support of the NGO?’

‘Yes,’ agreed
Evans.

‘Do you know if
this NGO has any plans to do this sort of work anywhere else in
Kenya?’

‘They might
have plans, but I have not been made aware.’ He answered, repeating
almost verbatim what Azizza had told him.

‘How can I
contact the NGO people - through Golden Palm?’

‘Yes,’ Evans
ventured, although this was un-scripted territory.

‘Ok, that
explains things. You see, I’m thinking if this NGO were to expand
to other areas of the country, we could offer them better interest
rates, a partnership as it were in our other NNB outlets. Can you
arrange for us to meet the Directors of Golden Palm this week? I
would like to sound them out on this idea?’

‘Yes, I can ask
them.’ This new turn was certainly not planned.

‘Good,’ Brian
rubbed his hands, smiling. ‘I must say, it sounds like a marvellous
arrangement, the bank has almost zero risk.’

‘Yes, we were
most thorough on all aspects of the loan agreements,’ Evans said
proudly.

‘You have a
good team at that bank.’ Brian agreed. With the loans scheme out of
the way, the discussion turned to more everyday banking matters.
They drew the meeting to a close on a companionable note, agreeing
to meet in the morning, before going back to the dreaded police
station.

*

Lucy sauntered
along the main street of Malindi town, past coffee shops, furniture
showrooms, supermarkets and bars. The strip about a mile long, with
the White Marlin Hotel more or less at the end of it. She had
plenty of time, on the lookout for work, greeting acquaintances as
she strolled along. The bar where the police had picked her up was
open, but she wasn’t going back in there today.

At a beer
garden opposite the gates of the White Marlin she ordered a soda
and sat where she could watch the hotel entrance. There was no
point in trying to gain access to the complex, she would never be
allowed in on her own. As Lucy waited, she methodically painted her
nails with a colour matching her beret.

The gates
opened and a white car drove out with Evans at the wheel. ‘Good,’
she muttered with satisfaction, both at her nails and the sighting
of the manager. As luck would have it a few minutes later Brian
walked out still dressed in his surf shorts, trainers and T-shirt
and started to walk downtown, waving away offers from taxi
drivers.

Lucy blew on
her nails staring intently from across the road. It’s him, she
decided and leaving money on the table hastily followed. She
tottered across the road in her high heels almost colliding with a
cyclist. ‘Birin! Birin!’ She yelled out at the retreating
figure.

Hearing the
commotion behind him, he turned to see an African woman in a red
beret, high heels, breasts jiggling, bearing down on him. The woman
was shouting out ‘Birin!’ He stopped. ‘Hello Birin,’ breathed Lucy
as she caught up, smiling excitedly.

Brian looked at
her uncertainly. ‘Oh Lucy it’s you?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’
She gushed.

He held out his
hand formally. ‘Hello, how is the eye?’

Lucy took his
hand and held on. ‘Tell me, you see better than me,’ pushing her
face at him.

Brian tugged at
his hand to no avail. ‘Did you see a doctor? He peered at her eye.
Apart from the bruising, it was almost normal. The swelling had
mostly subsided.

‘Where you
going?’ asked Lucy, ignoring the question.

‘I was going
shopping,’ Brian answered.

‘Oh good,’ she
laughed with delight. ‘We go together.’

Brian managed
to get his hand back. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘What’s the
trouble, you nice man you don’t like me?’

‘No it’s not
that. I don’t know you,’ and he shrugged shyly.

‘I comes with
you,’ she decided for him. ‘I know Malindi, besti brices, they will
sheet you. What you want buy?’

‘Ah, listen, I
don’t think this is a good idea.’

‘Sure it is,’
Lucy smiled, ‘you heleped me, now I must helep you.’

‘Ok,’ he
relented to humour her. ‘Perhaps you can help me. I need good
shoes,’ he pointed at his trainers. ‘Do you know a shoe shop?’

‘Oh yes, a very
good one, let’s go.’ She took his arm and hailed a passing tuk-tuk.
‘Hey derever,’ she yelled out lustily, ‘wait!
Ngoja
!’ The
taxi pulled over noisily idling beside them. She dragged him
towards it. ‘Come, Birin let’s go.’

He laughed,
charmed despite himself. ‘Ok Lucy. By the way my name is Brian.’ He
climbed into the tuk-tuk.

Lucy gave the
driver an address and they set off. ‘Ok, yesi,’ she agreed, ‘Birin,
that is what I say,’

‘Where are we
going?’ Brian asked her.

‘To the old
town, besti shops there, besti brice. ‘Here,’ waving at a passing
shop, ‘too heckspensive and not good, you will see, Lucy, she know
everythings.’

The tuk-tuk
beetled along the main drag, going up the hill into the old part of
Malindi. A veritable maze of flat roofed, two and three storied old
buildings in narrow streets, built in the old Arab style, some of
them dating back to before Vasco da Gama. The taxi stopped in the
main square, a mini park with trees at its centre and from here
they would have to continue on foot through the labyrinth of
alleyways. Lucy bounced out of the taxi and paid the fair to the
driver. ‘Oh, let me pay,’ Brian protested.

‘No, you pay
already to those bladi, fakin policies, bastardis,’ she said with
feeling, her nostrils flaring prettily.

Brian smiled at
her description. ‘My sentiments exactly,’ he said.

‘Huh?’

‘It’s true,
what you said, I’m agreeing with you.’

‘Ah, never
mind, come,
twende.
I teach you Kiswahili, hay?
Twende
says let’s go.’ Lucy shot down one of the narrow
streets, skipping despite her high heels. Brian following
dutifully, captivated by her speed and energy. Her lithe body
turning easily as she alternately walked, skipped, turned around to
look at him all the while chatting away. ‘What shoe you want, like
those?’ Pointing at his trainers as she athletically jinked left
down another alleyway.

‘No, not
these.’ Brian said following her. ‘Something for work, I lost my
shoe in an accident in a tuk-tuk yesterday.’

She stopped
abruptly. Brian almost crashed into her.

‘Here good
shop,’ pointing at a storefront with racks of shoes in it’s display
window. Lucy barged in the door, high heels tipping with the
effort, as her small frame strained against it. Inside the
air-conditioned shop a long glass-topped counter ran down one side
and a tall man, of Somali origin stood behind it. Behind him on the
wall was a display of shoe types, each one on its own mounting.
Brian’s eye flicked over them quickly, reading all the leading
fashion brands, amazed at the huge selection.

Lucy spoke
quickly to the storekeeper in her language. He responded in the
same, a guttural staccato sound, harsh and loud.

He smiled large
teeth at Brian watching him. ‘Welcome, what shoe you likes sir?
Here very smart shoes.’

‘Yes indeed,’
Brian said, gazing at the display. His eye settled on a
conventional dress shoe, pointing at it with his finger. ‘That
one.’

The storekeeper
lifted a long stick from behind the counter and rested it on a
shoe. ‘Thissis one?’ he asked.

‘No, the one
next to it.’ Brian replied.

Deftly, the man
hooked the shoe off its stand, and passed it on the end of the
stick. Brian turned it over, the sole was hardy and supple, on one
corner in tiny lettering he read, “Made in the Republic of China.”
Aha China, these were replicas. He examined the shoe, the stitching
flawless - copy or not he was impressed. ‘Good, do you have it in
size nine, in brown?’

‘Yesis,’ said
the shopkeeper, taking the shoe. He hoisted it back on its display
and then rummaged around under the counter, pulling out box after
box, until he found the right one and handed it over.

Lucy clapped
her hands in glee as Brian opened the box. In there, wrapped in
layers of tissue paper, were the shoes he had asked for. He took
the box and sat down on a nearby chair. Undoing his trainers, he
tried on the new shoes, walking a little in the small shop testing
the fit. Lucy enthusiastically fussed around him. ‘Ahh, good smart
shoes you look good,’ giggling. ‘Nice big feet heh!’

Brian found the
shoes comfortable and was well pleased. ‘Ok, I will take them,’
handing them back. ‘How much?’

‘For yous
friend,’ stowing them back in the box, ‘special brice, only four
thousand five hundred.’

Brian reached
for his wallet. Lucy hissed loudly and put her hand on his arm
restraining him. ‘No,’ she commanded, ‘thisis man he want to sheet
you, too heckspensive!’ she almost spat, as she scowled at the
shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper
muttered something to her under his breath. Lucy challenged him to
repeat it - so he did. The two of them glared at each other, a
full-scale argument ensued, rising in tempo as there seemed no
solution in sight. Brian alarmed at the tone and the body language
as both of them aggressively waved their arms around. It sounded
very ugly. He tried to intervene. Lucy would have none of it. At
one point the shopkeeper, getting fed up, took the shoes off the
counter, and shaking his head resignedly at Brian he put them away.
Folded his arms, and stared at Lucy.

Lucy reacted by
pushing Brian towards the door. ‘Let’s go,’ she ordered, ‘thisis
not good man like you,’ giving the shopkeeper a withering look.

‘Look, I need
those shoes,’ Brian protested.

‘Ok, but you
pay only three thousand. I know another place. Three thousand,’ she
stuck three fingers up at the shopkeeper.

‘Three thousand
five hundred,’ he said adamant. The argument about to start all
over again, but Brian forestalled it by hurriedly taking out his
wallet and sliding the correct money over the counter. The
shopkeeper quickly grabbed it, smiling in triumph at Lucy.

She threw her
hands in the air. ‘Ah Birin, why you do that?’ now turning on
him.

‘It’s ok,’
Brian said trying to pacify her, ‘I’m happy to pay the price. Thank
you so much for your help.’

Lucy looked at
him, about to say something, and then just shrugged as though she
was helpless with such a fool.