Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (52 page)

‘Come closer,’
the doctor instructed. Azizza squirmed across the floor, not daring
to stand up.

The doctor lent
forward, and a gnarled powerful looking hand gripped her shoulder,
she still couldn’t see the face.

‘This is what
you must do if you want your love returned.’ Another hand latched
on to the top of her head forcing her face downwards. Azizza tried
to resist but the hand was too strong. ‘Be still and listen!’ The
voice commanded. ‘You must give this man a potion; this will evoke
his physical desire. This is not for emotional desire, with men it
is physical first and then emotional later, with women it is the
opposite.’ The hand on her head patted her three times, but
maintained its grip. ‘You understand?’

Azizza said.
‘Yes.’

‘Louder.’

‘Yes,’ repeated
Azizza from her head down position.

‘I’m going to
give you two potions, one for the physical and one for the
emotional. You must not mix them up,’ more hard pats on the head,
‘you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Azizza
said loudly, learning fast.

‘Now the first
potion, you will put in his food. This potion is powerful but will
not take effect for six hours, and then it will produce a strong
physical desire. When he has this desire you must make sure that no
other woman is present or the potion will be wasted, you
understand?’

She braced
herself. ‘Yes!’ Her neck began to ache painfully.

‘It hurts?’
Forcing her head lower. ‘Good. The second potion, you will give
your man after he has consumed you. Within six hours, you put it in
his food. The cure will then be completed.’

The hand came
off her shoulder, but the one holding her head remained. She could
hear rustling paper noises, the hand reappeared under her nose
holding a twist of silver paper. ‘This is the first potion, smell
it.’ Azizza sniffed a musty acrid smell. ‘Take it.’ Azizza reached
up and was shocked to feel an ice-cold hand as she took the small
packet.

The hand
returned with another twist of paper. ‘This is the second potion,’
Azizza sniffed a faint smell of jasmine flowers.

‘Do not mix
them up,’ the voice instructed and the hand came off her head. ‘You
may go, do not look at me. Go and get your love. Pay my assistant
on your way out.’

Azizza muttered
her thanks and got to her feet - head bowed she stepped back though
the curtain. Her neck ached painfully and her hands shook from the
encounter.

Zainabu rose
from the floor and embraced her.

The girl stood
by the door rubbing her fingers to indicate money, and then held up
all ten fingers.

Azizza
whispered. ‘How much?’

The girl hissed
and held one finger to her lips and repeated the ten finger
gesture.

Azizza took out
ten thousand shillings from her bag and handed it to the child. The
girl went back around the red curtain; and returned after a moment
to open the door for them.

A woman dressed
in traditional Swahili bui-bui was sitting waiting, a child with an
enormous head sat beside her. Azizza and her cousin walked after
the girl to the head of the stairs and then down. They slipped on
their sandals and stepped out into the light.

The door closed
behind them. Azizza stood squinting in the harsh sunlight; she felt
faint and gripped the two packets in her fist. Zainabu was talking
to her excitedly but Azizza could hear nothing. She leaned back
against the wall to steady herself, looking at her cousin’s mouth.
Zainabu noticed and a look of concern crossed her face and she put
her hand on Azizza’s arm. ‘My dear, are you ok?’

She nodded
weakly. ‘Yes, I just felt dizzy for a moment.’

‘Do you want to
sit down?’ she pointed at a nearby stone bench.

Azizza came
away from the wall. ‘No let’s walk, I just felt a little dizzy
that’s all, but I’m not ready to talk yet.’

Zainabu took
her arm and gently guided her. Azizza stopped and retched a little
at the smell of dried fish.

‘Let’s go this
way,’ Zainabu urged steering her cousin away.

A few hundred
yards later Azizza stopped and massaged her neck. ‘Wow that was
scary,’ she opened her fist to examine the small twists of silver
paper. She sniffed each one in turn as Zainabu watched in
fascination.

‘Is that what
you were given by the doctor?’

‘Yes,’ nodded
Azizza seeing her cousin’s excitement. ‘It’s a potion, sniff,’ she
said holding one up to Zainabu’s nose.

She hesitated
and then bravely took a sniff. ‘What is it?’

‘That’s the
excitement potion.’

Before Zainabu
could ask, Azizza held up the other one.

‘Flowers,’ she
sniffed.

‘Yes, jasmine
the love potion,’ said Azizza knowingly.

‘Tell me all,’
Zainabu invited.

‘It was sooo
scary.’

‘Ohhh, tell
me,’ she repeated.

‘It was a
giant, with big claws like a lion. Oooh!’

Zainabu’s eyes
were huge. Did you see it’s face?’

‘Only for a
moment, then these great claws held my head down, I would not have
looked anyway what I saw was …it’s so hard to explain. Half man,
half beast.’

‘Beast !
Oooohhh.’

‘I heard it
growling,’ Zainabu confirmed encouraging her to go on. ‘What did it
say?’

Azizza then
relayed word for word what Dr. Kumanda had said - Zainabu
breathlessly drank in every word.

A hawker
pushing his wares up the street in a
hamali
cart shouting,
interrupted the two women. ‘Underwares, pretty panties for the
ladies,’ he stopped next to them, ‘ladies for love, look, not
expensive,’ the cart was adorned with rows and rows of bras and
colourful panties.

The two women
exchanged looks and giggled like schoolgirls, laughter rising as
they set one another off. Azizza saucily picked up a lacy pair and
held them up for Zainabu to see.

‘Stop, stop,’
her cousin pleaded, ‘you will make me pee!’

The hawker
waited. ‘So you buy?’ he smiled.

Azizza put the
panties back and shook her head. ‘Not today,’ she managed to
splutter. The hawker moved on shouting his chant. ‘Underwares,
pretty panties, not expensive.’

Azizza wiped
her eyes, the mirth just below the surface.

‘Tell me more,’
Zainabu urged as they resumed their conversation. ‘How will you get
him to take the first potion?’

‘We are meeting
at lunch, I will try then.’

Zainabu looked
dubious. ‘Does he like cakes, sweet things? You could feed him one
of those.’

‘No - curries,
but not cakes. I don’t think he has a sweet tooth. Anyhow let’s go
shopping I need new clothes and something sexy eh?’ Rocking her
hips suggestively.

Zainabu giggled
in delight. ‘Come with me I know just the place,’ she said
enthusiastically and linking her arm in Azizza’s led her cousin
further along the streets of the old town.

*

After half an
hour on the street, Patel walked back to the bank and rapped on the
metal gates. The askari peered at him through the spy hole. ‘Oh
it’s you,’ and opened the gate.

Patel took the
suitcases out of the car, walked to the back door and pressed the
bell. A moment later the door opened and he went into the bank
going straight to the manager’s office. Later, the transaction
concluded, Patel picked up his suitcases.

‘Will you
require an escort Sir?’ The manager enquired.

‘No thank you,
I have made my own arrangements.’

At the back
door, the guard smiled and offered to help. Patel ignored him and
walked as fast as he could to the rear of the car, his heart
pounding. He opened the rear door and one by one heaved the heavy
suitcases in. He then shut and locked it and paused to get his
excitement under control.

He took the
road that led through the centre of town to the seafront, driving
slowly to the end and turning back again checking his rear view
mirror. Satisfied there were no followers, he drove into the golf
club car park, knowing it would be empty at this time of day. He
selected a parking space concealed from the main road.

Patel looked
about to check he was alone. He took out a tool bag from the glove
box and soon had the front seat off its mountings exposing the
cover on the fuel tank. Undoing the plate and setting it to one
side he retrieved one of the bags from the suitcases. He pushed the
canvas bag through the opening, juggling the wads of cash to make
them fit, then replaced the lid and carpet and did up the bolts on
the front seat. The whole operation could not have taken more than
three minutes.

He moved to the
back of the car and undid the plate over the rear tank, relieved to
see it was bigger than he had remembered but it would not be
possible to push the full bag through the opening, he would have to
decant it first. He took out wads of notes until he could manoeuvre
the bag into the hole, sweating with effort; he straightened up to
ease his aching back.

There was an
African wearing a chef’s hat outside the back of the golf club
kitchen smoking a cigarette, keenly watching Patel’s antics. Patel
glanced up and ignored him, knowing any acknowledgement would be an
invitation. He put his arm inside the hole and moved the wads from
the centre to the side of the compartment, quickly filling up the
space.

He looked up
and saw the chef walking towards him, money lay all over the boot.
Patel stood back ‘Hello,’ he called out to the approaching man,
‘please can I have a glass of water?’ Holding his hand up to his
sweating forehead. ‘I think I might have malaria.’

The chef
stopped. ‘Ok,’ he replied, ‘I get you water,’ and turned back
towards the kitchen. Patel quickly went back to his task. He
managed to get all the wads into the compartment, and then put the
carpet over the hole concealing it.

The chef walked
up with the glass of water. ‘Thanks,’ said Patel gratefully
drinking the water. He was thirsty and drained the glass.

The cook tried
to see what was in the back of the car, but Patel turned to him
blocking the view and handed back the glass. ‘Thanks, can I have
some more?’

The chef
studied him; saw the sweat on his forehead. ‘Malaria,’ he
sympathised and taking the glass, ‘water good for malaria,’ and
sauntered back towards the kitchen.

Patel then put
the plate back over the hole and tightened up the bolts, pulling
the carpet back in position; he picked up the tools and shut the
back door just as the chef returned.

The chef took
the opportunity to peer into the back of the car, he pointed at the
spanners in Patel’s hand, and the open suitcase on the back seat.
‘You have problem?’

‘No problem,
thanks,’ Patel handed back the glass, and climbed in the car
quickly starting it.‘ I must go to the hospital,’ he said by way of
explanation and drove out.

He drove to a
nearby supermarket and bought lengths of stout chain and two large
padlocks. Back at the hotel he enlisted the help of the askari.
Together they loaded the spare tyre over the boot. Patel then ran
the lengths of chain, round the rear seat supports, through the
hole in the tyre and the rear seat belt D rings on the floor. The
chain now straddled the tyre, and with the askari heaving
enthusiastically, they tightened the chains and padlocked them.

Tipping the
askari and carrying the empty suitcases, he went to his hotel room
to wash his hands. It had been a hectic morning and he still had to
get his passport back from the mercurial and unpredictable
Inspector Fimbo.

TWENTY-NINE

Brian woke with
a start, Lucy tugging at his arm. ‘Birin, Birin wake up,’ she
insisted.

He looked up at
her. ‘What time is it?’ He reached for his wristwatch; eleven
fifteen it read. He lay back, stretched and yawned. ‘You,’ he waved
a finger at her playfully, ‘have only just woken up yourself.’

‘The bank, the
monies, you musts get it,’ she insisted.

‘Ok,’ he
agreed, ‘but first I need coffee.’

She tut-ted
impatiently and walked off naked to the bathroom shutting the door
with a bang. He winced and rubbed his eyes, he needed more sleep.
Rousing himself he wrapped a towel round his middle and walked
downstairs to make coffee. As the kettle boiled, he recalled last
night’s antics with a rush of feeling.

Upstairs he
switched on the computer. Lucy was still in the bathroom and he
badly needed to pee. He went and knocked on the door. ‘Lucy I need
the bathroom,’ his excitement made the problem more acute. The
splashing noises stopped, he heard her shoot the bolt, locking the
door.

‘Shit,’ he
dashed downstairs, to use the kitchen sink. It was too high so he
pulled over a chair and stood on it. He dropped the towel and aimed
at the sink and couldn’t go, he closed his eyes and visualised a
toilet bowl, this time a flow came accompanied by a searing pain
that made him wince. Ow, what was that? Too much sex he decided as
he gratefully emptied his bladder, ran the tap, and quickly wiped
the surrounding splashed area.

Back in front
of the computer, he tapped in Azizza’s password for the Golden Palm
account. Scrolling through the numbers, he gasped at the total,
almost a third of the money had gone that morning to Mombasa. He
silently cursed himself for waking up late, but the account still
had almost three hundred and fifty million in it. Lucy walked naked
into the office. ‘You get monies?’

‘Soon, why
don’t you get dressed?’

‘Wheres the
monies? You get,’ she commanded.

‘I need to
concentrate. Go and get changed sweetheart.’

‘No, I stays,’
she announced firmly.

‘I can’t do
this with you here.’

‘Birin!’ She
shouted at him hands on her hips, a look of desperation on her
face. ‘Birin you do it now!’