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

on the far wall. The sink, the tap above, and the drainpipe below it, were gleaming. They had been scrubbed regularly by the looks of them. There was no toilet or shower in none of the huts. Those were available in one larger house at the end of the main street, beneath which a septic tank drained the wastewaters.
Roughly cemented onto the ground, ceramic tiles covered the bedroom floor. There were two wooden beds against each of the walls. On each bed, a thick foam mattress in a slipcover rested over wooden slats. The linen consisted of two cotton covers, two pillows and four bed sheets neatly folded and piled on one of the beds.
“All the comforts of home, I see,” Samir said appreciatively, while looking around their home for the night.
“You know, this is the best hotel in town.” Johan knew the camp well. “We’re spoiled. I stayed here last year when things were running more smoothly. But after a while I got relegated at the other end of the camp near the gate. Down there you get hot. The huts are too far from the generators to get much power, so the clims only work part-time.”
Samir made no comments. He simply smiled and shrugged. He never liked air-conditioned rooms anyway. He preferred sleeping in his tent, feeling the softness of the breeze gently caressing his body during the night rather than the noise—even if only a purr—of an air conditioner.
Mamadou came in with the luggage and set them down under one of the windows. He then went to check if the water was running and made sure there was a full supply in the two basins in the bathroom.
When he was satisfied that everything seemed in order, he turned to Johan and said, with some embarrassment in his voice, “I’m sorry your friends are gone. But—”
“It’s all right,” Johan interrupted before the man had time to give what was sure to be a lengthy explanation. “I’ve told you before, don’t worry. We’ll find them.”
Johan was tired. He felt the burden of the years weighing on his shoulders. There will be a time when he could retire. Soon…, soon.
Mamadou left with the driver, reminding both Samir and Johan they were expected for dinner at the Main House in an hour’s time.
Once they were left alone, Samir and Johan sat on their respective bed and looked around, reflecting on the day’s events. A woman had thrown them in this trouble-ridden adventure. As if reading each other’s thoughts, they burst out into loud laughter.
“What a mess,” Johan said, shaking his head.
They were literally at the end of the road, left to their own device. What now? What were they supposed to do? The only logical thing to do was to return to Dakar in the morning. However, these sorts of problems were not often fended off by logic. Mostly by extinguishing each fire as it would come alight in front of them. They didn’t know where Savoi and Rheza were. Were they dead or alive somewhere on the side of the road between the village and the city? As for Rasheed, he would stay unseen. Whether they’d take him back to Dakar would also remain an unknown factor for the moment.
Taking turns, Samir and Johan bathed in the basins. They preferred to save the tap water for emergencies such as drinking. Samir went first. He shed his pilot uniform, brushed it, folded it carefully, and replaced it in his suitcase. He took his time and used plenty of soap to get rid of the red dirt, which seemed to cover every inch of his skin. Once he dried himself with a towel that he found on a small stool beside the basin, he then donned cotton trousers and a short-sleeve shirt.
Johan bathed quickly and changed his clothes even faster. He was conscious of the time. He wanted to get to the Main House and talk to Ashan, the Elder of the village. He must have some of the answers we’re looking for. He got dressed with the same jeans and a clean T-shirt. Neither man had allowed himself the luxury of a shave. When they were ready, they walked to the Main House for the evening meal.
As they entered, after leaving their shoes at the door, everyone stood and greeted them warmly. Ashan, the oldest member of the community, came ahead of the assembled company.
He walked with difficulty, at each step resting the weight of his frail body on a wooden stick, which he held firmly in his right hand. His white hair and his face, wrinkled like unfolded paper stretching across his forehead and cheeks, attested of his advanced years. His deep-set eyes were compassionate but inquisitive. His hands and forearms were striated like the branches of a tree, showing the painful onset of arthritis, which had mangled some of his fingers also. He wore a long beige thawb under a fine woven mishlah with a brown beaded chaplet around his neck. His allure was one of a wise and fatherly man, although he looked feeble and of diminished stature.
“Allah be praised for bringing you back safely in our midst, Monsieur Johan. And who is the stranger with you?” Ashan pointed the tip of his cane in Samir’s direction.
“This is Samir Shaykh Sahab, Ashan. He is the pilot who brought me back.”
At these words, Samir salaamed to the old man in a respectful gesture. “I’m grateful to Allah to have allowed me to come to your home, Ashan. I’m only a humble Touareg, and your oasis will bring me peace and rest at the end of this voyage.”
“It will, Samir Shaykh Sahab. Inshallah,” Ashan replied.
Johan inquired about each of the families in turn. Eventually, after much ado, every man squatted and sat down in circles on straw mats stretched across the cement floor. Johan and Samir were invited to sit across from Ashan in a circle of six men. There were three such circles in the room. They were mostly young men, rugged and muscular. They looked tired but relaxed at the end of a day’s work, and once seated, they began chatting among themselves and laughing, enjoying a well-deserved rest.
A few minutes after the men sat down, the women entered, carrying huge tin plates of rice, meat and sauces. The four of them wore a colourful cotton bodice with shoulder straps, and trimmed around the waist with a frilly, narrow skirt. Their hips and legs were wrapped with a piece of material of matching colour, which was tied in a knot at the waist. They were barefoot and treading carefully in rhythmic steps over the mats. They placed the trays on the floor in the middle of each of the circles of assembled guests. After being given a spoon, the men started to scoop the food that was facing them. The women then brought in water jugs to be passed around at the end of the meal. Everything was well cooked and very spicy. A bowl of ‘Pilli Pilli’ was also ready at hand; if anyone wanted to scorch his mouth, or burn his entrails.
Once the meal concluded, Johan was the first to bring the conversation back to the subject most prominent in his mind. “Ashan, if I may be allowed to ask, we would like to know where are the man and the woman that Monsieur Rasheed brought here a while ago.”
Ashen shifted uneasily on the cushion beneath him. “We all work for Monsieur Hjamal as you know, Monsieur Johan,” he began. “We all do what we’re told because when we do, we have food to give to our families. We work hard at the plant and we try to make the machines work. You know the problems we have. And you know we always try to fix them.”
“Yes. I know,” Johan answered with deference. “But what we came here to do is only to find the two guests that Monsieur Rasheed brought here a couple of weeks ago. Mamadou told us, when we arrived, that they’d been taken away in a truck this afternoon. He also told us that Monsieur Rasheed contacted the driver last night and gave that person specific instructions to have the two people released in such a way.”
The old man averted his eyes from Johan’s gaze. “Yes, Monsieur Johan, that’s what I’ve also been told. I believe this to be true. And I suppose Mamadou did what he was told.”
“The question is then: where could they be tonight?” Johan went on. “They must’ve stopped on the way. They couldn’t have driven all the way to Dakar in one afternoon.”
“They could’ve stopped at Tambacounda—that’s half way,” a younger man in the circle suggested.
“Yes, that’s a possibility, if they had no problems on the road. But I’d say they didn’t get that far.”
“If they’re gone back to Dakar,” Samir interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Johan sounded surprised at the suggestion.
“Look, last night Rasheed had no idea what would happen today. He had no way of knowing that he’d be sent here to fetch the two captives. Yet, after the meeting he had with Talya yesterday, he knew we were looking for them. He knew we were going to re-trace their steps and that we’d find them eventually, and he wanted no one to know what he’d done until he was satisfied they couldn’t tell their story if they were ever rescued.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Johan looked at Samir quizzically.
Samir seemed to be reproving Johan’s interruption. “I think what happened then is this: he got in touch with one of his henchmen in the region. He probably asked him to come and take Monsieur Savoi and his niece, not to Dakar, but to Kenieba, the closest village across the Malian border. Mind you, that’s only a conjecture.”
“But what would be his motive?” Johan asked. “Why would Rasheed want to kill them? He needed them alive, until this morning at least, if he wanted to get Talya’s help.”
“True, but look at it this way. First, let’s assume that Hjamal didn’t know our friends were here. Then if Rasheed were to bring them back to Dakar, Hjamal would blame him for everything and wash his hands of it. With his contacts in government, Hjamal would make mincemeat of Rasheed. On the other hand, if our two friends were found, dead preferably, across the border, no one would have any proof they were ever at the mine in the first place, and Rasheed could tell Hjamal whatever he wanted. Hjamal would be powerless to prosecute him without implicating himself.”
“Maybe you’re right. And let’s assume you are, although it all sounds far fetched to me. We’ve got to be practical. What do you suggest we do now?”
“Let’s find the dog and get him to talk,” Samir said. “He should be able to give us the information we need and if I’m right I could fly to Kenieba in the morning. I know there is a long enough strip near that town for me to land. And maybe we could save the two people from their fate.”
Ashan, who had been listening intently to Samir’s exposé, spoke again. “Monsieur Samir, I can have Monsieur Rasheed brought in if you like? He gave me some money