BAMAKO, Aribert Raphael [read out loud books .TXT] 📗

to leave without a promise or a reason to come back to Mali.
20
Talya was dreaming. There was a knock at the door. She woke up with a jerk. Another knock got her up. She looked at the clock: 4:00AM.
“What is it?” she said through the door.
“A message for you,” was the answer. A message at this time of the morning? It was late evening in Vancouver. Talya didn’t expect any message nor did she want any. She wasn’t in the best of mood when she opened the door. Standing in her face was the night watchman, a plate in hand with an envelope on it.
“Who is it from? Do you know?”
“I don’t, Madame. Someone brought this to the reception and said it was most urgent. The man gave me a good tip to bring it to you right away.” She took the envelope, grabbed her purse from its hiding place and gave the man another ‘good tip’ for delivering the message at 4:00AM.
As she closed the door, she could hear him whistle down the hall. At least he was happy. Talya wasn’t. She was puzzled. She sat on the edge of the bed, unsealed the envelope and pulled out one small sheet of paper folded in half. The message read:
Dear Madame Kartz,
I haven’t had the pleasure yet to meet you. I have some business to take care of in Dakar before I could come back to Bamako. In the meantime, I will ask you if you could send my monthly fee to the following address: Monsieur Savoi, Hotel Terranga, Dakar. I will write to you again when I receive payment. Thank you for understanding.
Yours respectfully,
Monsieur Amadou Savoi.
PS: Could you do this rapidly, please? I need the money right away to clear some pressing debts.

That does it! The guy has guts one could say that for him. What am I supposed to do with this? Savoi must be daft if he thinks I’m going to comply with such a request.
She lay down on the bed and sighed. She was unable to concentrate.
She could read this letter ten times; she still couldn’t see how someone like Savoi could write this. Savoi was shrewd, he was cunning, and he wasn’t stupid. That’s it! Talya sat up. Savoi did not write this letter. Someone like Savoi wrote it, but not Savoi. It was typed not hand-written. It wasn’t signed. The name was also typed. Looking at the letter more closely, she could see it was an original from a typewriter, not printed on a computer printer. Talya needed to know who brought the letter. Who typed it, and who was the real author? She had an idea on that point.
Someone was playing games. She needed to go to the top and work her way down the ladder of government to nip this in the bud. The wheels were turning against her will. She was losing control, again. Somehow, Rheza’s name came to mind.
Talya took a shower, washed her hair, elaborately combed it (she had an unruly mop of curls), dried it, and spent a great deal of time pampering herself. She put on her best dress, a longish white garment, specifically designed to enhance both her figure and her colouring. By 6:00AM, she was ready. She went to the restaurant. She sat at her usual table. The waiter looked at her agape. She didn’t know if he was impressed by her appearance or by the fact that she came in so early in the morning; maybe both.
He didn’t say much more than, “Good morning. Would you like some coffee?”
“Thank you,” Talya replied, “Yes, coffee is just what I need,” while he was pouring the first cup from a freshly brewed pot. Coffee is excellent in Africa, not bitter not sour, just right.
As she was buttering a croissant, the hotel manager came in.
“Good morning, Madame Kartz, how are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you, and you?” Talya looked up from her newspaper, smiling.
“Well, I’m a little annoyed with the porter. He told me he delivered a message to you at four o’clock this morning. He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Gerald, I was actually glad he did. The message was important.”
“I see. Anyway, I’m sorry if the boy disturbed you.”
“Not at all. Don’t worry about it … but what I’d like you to do is to get me a car with a chauffeur for 7:30 this morning. I need to get to some appointments in town early, and it’ll be easier than having to hail taxis…”
“No problem. I’ll see to it right away. Enjoy your breakfast…” And he was gone.
By this time, other people had come in and the place looked as busy as usual. Talya ate, worked her way through the crossword puzzle, and pondered the day ahead.
21
Rheza picked up the receiver distractedly. She had arrived in Dakar the previous night after an exhausting drive from Bamako. Her uncle had told her to come and join him—something to do with signing documents for this new deal—but the call had been cut short before Amadou Savoi could tell her where he was staying. He said something about the Terranga...
“Madame McLean?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“My name is Abdul Rasheed, Madame McLean. Your uncle asked me to call you.”
“Where is he? Who are you?”
“He has been called away on business. Nothing to worry about.”
“But, I am worried, Monsieur Rasheed. Where is he? Why doesn’t he call me himself?”
“He came to Dakar—”
“I know that, but where in Dakar?” Rheza was getting irritated. She didn’t like the sound of the man’s voice.
“Oh, I thought you knew. He was staying at the Hotel Terranga.”
“No. I don’t believe you. When I phoned the Terranga this morning, they told me they had no one registered there—”
“He must have checked out… As I told you there is nothing to worry about—your uncle is fine…”
“I am staying with a cousin, but I was going to…”
“Yes,” Rasheed cut-in with annoyance, “that’s what I gathered since your uncle gave me your number.”
Rheza was on the verge of hysteria; she had no idea where her uncle was. The man on the line was lying, and why was he calling her?
“Monsieur Rasheed… why … why did you say that my uncle was staying at the Terranga? Where is he? Why isn’t he calling me himself?” she insisted.
“Well…, dear lady….” He hesitated. “Your uncle has been called away on business and he wanted me to let you know that he is okay.”
“Away on business? Where?”
“If you like, I’ll take you there.”
“Take me there? Why?”
“Madame McLean, let’s have no more question shall we? You want to find your uncle. I know where he is. So do you want to see him or don’t you?”
“Of course I do, but…”
“I tell you what, you come to the Terranga and I’ll take you to him.”
“When?”
“Let’s say tomorrow, at 11:00.”
“Sure, but…”
“I’ll see you at 11:00 tomorrow morning then. Have a good night.”
Abdul Rasheed hung up before Rheza could say another word or ask another question.
What was her uncle up to? What was going on? Who was this Rasheed person?

22
At 7:30, the car was in front of the door. Talya greeted the chauffeur and gave him instructions. They drove for about thirty minutes before arriving at her destination. Her first port-of-call was in the Ministry of Mines’ building.
In every African city, and along the walls of every governmental or commercial office structure, there are a hundred people, if not more, hanging around, waiting for who knows what. This building was no exception. Located in the business district of the city, it was a rectangular edifice a half block long and ten stories high, whitewashed and with no readily visible entrance. The square windows, recessed from the façade gave it the look of a square-holed block of Swiss cheese. The parking lot was dedicated to the Ministers’ cars only. No visitors’ car allowed, the sign said. The chauffeur let her out between two Mercedes near the door marked ‘Entrance’. Inside, on the ground floor there was a set of elevators and a stairwell beside them. People coming and going down the corridors and up-and-down stairs bothered her. Talya was on edge and she didn’t relish the prospect of having to push or shove her way through these corridors or into an elevator.
She looked at the directory board, which told her the building housed three other Ministries besides the one she was looking for. She took the first available elevator to the fourth floor. She walked down the interminable hallway to one of the doors, which indicated she had arrived at her destination.
With purposeful strides, averting her eyes from anyone’s gaze and without knocking even, she walked straight into the Minister of Mines’ office, totally ignoring the guard and the secretary who tried in vain to stop her. She was in a bad mood and getting worse. It was a good thing she was in an African Islamic country—the guard could not have laid a finger on her without facing severe reprisals.
The man inside the office stood up and told his excited secretary at the door, “It’s all right, Suzanne, please leave us and bring some coffee will you? The lady retreated, embarrassed and thoroughly bewildered.
To her the Minister said, “Madame Kartz, I presume?” Here we go again, with the Dr. Livingston bit.... Talya smiled inwardly. But how did he know who I am? Never mind that. Talya had no intention to dwell on such trivia at this point.
“Yes, Monsieur le Ministre, in the flesh.” They shook hands and he invited her to sit down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs furnishing part of his manly office. He sat opposite Talya. He was a tall, black man, extremely well groomed. His tranquil eyes and grey hair accentuated the impression he gave of serenity and sagacity. He had the presence and the dignity required of his position and the well-spoken, well-mannered attitude of the learned man that he probably was.
Once the civilities were over, Talya began with her little speech. “I was awoken this morning at four o’clock by the porter at the hotel carrying this message.” Talya handed him the letter she had received some four hours before. She waited until he finished reading the few lines of it.
“I do not appreciate receiving such notices from anyone in the first place,” she said with all the annoyance that she felt in her voice. “I do not usually comply with requests of this sort, in any case. But in this instance, Monsieur le Ministre, I’m most concerned…” She went on with her narration.
Talya assumed that the bureaucrats behind this Minister were not informing him as well as they should have done. She was certain they would not have given him any of the details, which would possibly tarnish their reputation and endanger their future as government employees. Talya, on the other hand, had nothing to lose by telling this Minister her version of the events, providing him with all of the details he may have wanted or needed to