Death Robs

On a ravaged dirt road at a remote corner of Juba, suddenly a crack of a rifle rings the air and jostles me back into life. Like of a trained commando I take a dramatic dive to the ground face first. A precarious dive I must admit.

You see, nothing instills the fear of God, terror and chills down anyone’s spine than the thought of a semi automatic rifle rapidly spewing out hot copper chiselled into bullets for your fragile body. It is no match at all! Well, if that thought doesn’t terrify you, then the obnoxiously loud bangs will. Take that to the bank and ask the cashier to empty the vault, it’s that guaranteed.

Mikhail Kalashnikov, may God rest his soul in eternal peace, must have had a really bad day to conjure up such an idea! It was outrageous! If you have never been ten meters away from a Kalashnikov in action, go to church, mosque, shrine, synagogue, temple or whatever, now and thank your God. Thank him until he tells you to go home!

It must have been eternity but as I regained consciousness, I could not spot a living soul in the vicinity right into the horizon in front of me. It was surreal. A few mango leaves dropped right by my eyes. As they hit the ground, it felt as though a jumbo was trampling the very ground I laid, only that it had miscalculated its trajectory to my head.

My eyes moved its content slowly trying to make out the immediate environment and at the corner of my eye I could momentarily capture a lethargic figure of an old man. Very tall and dark, commanding the skies as he made his way towards my direction.

He looked frail to carry anything, yet astonishingly, he clutched a menacingly looking Kalashnikov under his armpit. I would imagine it as a dark hairy place that hadn’t seen a drop of water for a while now. I swear he was gazing right into my eyes. He cut a frustrated figure, his dark face exhibited tribal marks that had stood the taste of time. His forehead permanently contoured like ripples of pool water when a leaf drops. His face squinted the entire time, the nose ridge sharp as though it would cut through the air with ease. His bowel like mouth remained wide open the entire time. Flies were having a field day venturing in and out. A natural place for them to I imagined. He spat out some greenish stuff that I made out to be khat, he let out a pungent smell a honey badger would find hard to stand. He lacked several front teeth,perhaps dropped out during a fierce fight in the forests of south Sudan during his heydays.

He was standing right in front me, lying stark flat on my stomach as itrembled like an old diesel locomotive snaking its way in the meanders of the rift valley. I could hear my heartbeat. I uttered a few mumblings that were supposed to pass as last prayers as awaited be obliterated into oblivion.

Juba is a hot place. Its unimaginable it’s habited by living organisms, let alone Homo sapiens! And yet, there I was. Its 3 am and I haven’t slept a wink! The temperatures are soaring at 38 degrees, it’s terribly hot and my body is dripping wet. The entire bed has become dumb. I feel like crying. Yet, my roommate Bonnie is snoring heavily. I always wonder how he does it. Maybe, because he had become an old furniture in Juba this being his eighth year. Miraculously, I collapse into a deep and heavy slumber.

“Mzito”?

That was Sylvester calling.

He had made it his religious duty to wake me up every morning. It exasperated me yet I cut a calm figure.

“Sema Chief”!

I yelped back almost uninterested.

My eyes were heavy. Every single fibre of muscle in my body excruciatingly hurt. It was a few minutes past six am. I made a hasty decision to snooze for at least ten more minutes. I could not. Bonnie was still heavily snoring. I couldn’t take it anymore. I let myself out of the bed begrudgingly and pulled myself up to a standing posture.

It was a struggle.

I stumbled and adjusted my legs as the gyros in my ears ran into overdrive to try to keep me vertical.

You see, we worked for a travel agent company. God bless its directors, they had rented a residential dwelling for us. It was anything fancy, rather an old tin roof large house, flanked by two fabricated containers that housed senior staff at our coveted company. Sylvester was a senior staff, his place high in the hierarchy earned him plump room in one of the fabricated containers. These were as good as they could get in Juba. They were divided into two rooms each. The rest of us had to make do with the main house. Cockroach and rodent infested tinned roofed house divided into several rooms. It seemed to have seen it fair share of the Juba drama. It nostalgically reminded me of Longonot, my high school dorm house.

Breakfast and other supplies were always housed in the main house. Sylvester, an ardent fan and addict of caffeine religiously showed up every morning before six thirty in the morning to take his fair share of the concoction.

Really it was one.

Mildly splattered milk in water, mixed with tea leaves and a few crystals of sugar. Oh how I missed infusion of rich, tasty, smooth and full fragrance of Kenyan tea from the best tea estates in the Kenyan highlands of Kericho!

Now fully awake, I threw a towel across my shoulder and hit the showers. It was a bit cooler now; the temperatures had subsided to a little less than 30 degrees. No one dared take a hot shower save for one colleague. I spend a substantial amount time in the showers deeply engrossed in my own thoughts as the cold water gently caressed my body.

It felt heavenly.

On my way out, I hit something on the ground. A sharp pain electrified every single neuron in my body. I hissed in pain and annoyance. Apparently, our accountant Kababa had placed a tin of simmering hot water right in front of the bathroom door, to book the next slot in the sanitary quarter. My toe hurt, and I hopped away to my bed. Bonnie was full awake now.

“Mzito iko nini”? He absent-mindedly muttered.

I explained bitterly and cursed every bit into Kababa's future.

Breakfast passed on nonchalantly.

There was a surreal calm, almost unspoken to everyone that we all had a very long night. We seemed perhaps momentarily unaware of each other’s presence and surroundings. Yet a furious breeze swayed humongous century old mango trees from side to side.

It reminded of my high school choir.

We would belt out melodious tunes while dancing in unison like an orchestra heeding to the directions of the conductor.

The weather was cool. Such a stark contradiction to the heat just a few hours ago. It was seven-thirty in the morning but a few rays of the sun that managed to penetrate well knit tree branches had a pinch of burn in them. Time to hit the road to the office. Perhaps on the back drop of the night escapades, I decided to take a brisk walk as I enjoyed the cool morning breeze.

The rest of the team boarded the company van and sped away living behind a plume of thick dust. I passed through a series of rugged and unforgiving terrain that passed as estate roads. Menacingly deep gullies, properly weather-beaten to the core and looked like that they would swallow a whole car alive. I executed a number of precariously yet well-balanced maneuvers to get over the ridges whilst mentally calculating my next steps with military precision. The terrain demanded so lest I take a deep dive into oblivion.

Perhaps, I found it easy-going due to a bunch of young mavericks in school uniform in front of me who seemed at home in these gullies. Soon they branched away and I was left alone. The road terrain was now better but still ravaged by any standards. The air was somewhat tense even the joyous singing birds seemed alarmingly quiet. Suddenly, 'Bang! Bang! Bang!'...

I was still lying on my stomach paralysed with fear. The old man let out a wicked half-smile and beckoned me to my feet.

I could have kissed him.

I rose.

I dusted myself off.

“Kef”! He mumbled.

His smile was since replaced a piercing gaze into my face.

“Tamam”! I offered.

I wasn’t well.

A sick feeling of fear stirred up in my stomach. I was struggling not to throw up. Of course I wouldn’t want to throw up the contents of my stomach in front of a fearsome warrior hanging a Kalashnikov across my shoulders. I resisted the temptation.

What followed infuriated me red! He explained he was testing his toy against a huge mango tree in his compound. Testing a toy? a Kalashnikov? Did I hear him right? I mean, wasn’t that against every single of the Biblical 10 commandments? Or every other hard negotiated Geneva Convention? Testing a Kalashnikov? A feeling of disgust and anger hang in my throat! Every vein and artery in my body was about to explode open, yet I remained powerless.

We parted ways like good old friends complete with smiles and high fives, lest he thinks my big head makes a better target practice that a mango fruit. I made a quick inspection of my shirt and trouser and decided it was better to head to the office. I must have looked like a walking monument due to the number of glances that were being stole my way.

I regretted dismissing David our company driver’s insistent of my boarding of the van. My resolve to enjoy the morning breeze was unshakeable.

My arrival in the office was met by a roar of laughter! It was a purpose of unity, perhaps to torment me even more. Friends and foes alike. Was I looking that 'zoombish'? Only Bonnie and Annette seemed genuinely concerned of my plight. If my appearance was funny, my explanation of what had transpired was hilarious long sessions of laughter rent the air once more. I was alive, that is what mattered to me.

I sunk into my desk, punched a password on my laptop and the screen came to life. The earlier events ran into my head. It was going to be a long day, I thought. Hours passed by and it seemed it was going to be a normal day save for the morning events.

Emails were dropping in my inbox fast and furious but one caught my eye. It was from a certain NGO director who wanted me to explain why the distinguished Rwandair Captain of the flight that day had made a few dramatic oscillations above Juba International airport and turned back towards Entebbe without landing.

"How was I to know"? I paused.

 It was hilarious. I smiled to myself.

I quickly dialled up Anne, a Rwandair rep in Juba. She too was taken aback. I applied my learned customer support skills and acknowledged the email whilst I sought the reasons why the captain had decided to treat his passengers to an aerial view of Juba International Airport before injecting those trends with jet fuel and thrusting away towards Entebbe.

No sooner had I dispatched the email than a youthful looking couple came bubbling in right towards my desk. The gentleman pulled a chair for his companion whilst he sunk his athletic frame into the adjacent seat. He was grinning from molar to molar. The lady couldn’t hide her smile and kept blushing perhaps overwhelmed by the gentleman's presence.

They surely were a happy couple.

“I am John” He offered in a deep husky voice.

“And this is Vela” He added.

“Welcome, how can I be of help” I asked.

John requested that I search for flights to Nairobi, then to Mombasa on different dates. I punched away at my laptop whilst John engaged Vela in chitchat. John clad a tuxedo, black in colour. Vela looked lovely in her blue prom dress. She mesmerised with her amazing natural beauty. She spotted a warm and disarming smile. She passed for a humble and calm type, any man would die for.

John's whole attention was on her.

He was visibly happy.

They were a couple made in heaven.

 Yet, I was disappointed for them, albeit, by lack of seats on their preferred travel dates. There weren't many options available. I advised them to accord me more time. It was a hopeless promise. Sometimes the flights would open up but the fares would be high.

John thanked me and held the door for his lady.

Everybody in the office clapped as soon as the door closed!

They were impressed.

I was.

I watched them cross the road as I peered through the screen door. They walked briskly hand in hand. John was talking into his cell phone. He flagged a bodaboda down. A rickety looking old Senke (Motorbike) came to a screeching halt.

They hoped on.

I turned my attention back to my laptop.

Suddenly, a loud bang rent the air! A woman let out a piercing shrill and there was commotion towards one side of the road. I couldn’t make out what was going on. But something really awful had just happened.

Bonnie and I struggled through the door and followed the mass towards a sea of humanity. It was a big crowd. I could make out a badly deformed motorbike frame on the ground. People were shouting all over. The crowd was roughing up one person thoroughly, alleged driver of a land cruiser that had hit a bodaboda operative.

The something caught my attention. A woman in a blue dress was hovering over someone on the ground. I pushed through the crowd. A vehicle was reversing to the site, perhaps to pick the injured to hospital I assumed.

It was Vela.

“Bae, Please wake up”! She was crying.

Her dress dripped wet in blood.

“Please don’t leave me now, let’s go home Darl please”!

John was gone.