“I heard. Look, are you going to let me in?”
“We might. But we want to know more about you first.” I was asked several questions. I did not answer them entirely honestly, but more in a way that I felt would provoke a favourable response. The questions concerned my involvement with the war, whether I had been attacked by any troops, whether I had initiated sabotage, where my loyalties lay.
I said: “This is Nationalist territory, isn’t it?”
“We’re loyal to the crown, if that’s what you mean.”
“Isn’t it the same thing?”
“Not entirely. There are no troops here. We’ve been able to handle our own affairs.”
“What about the Afrims?”
“There aren’t any.” The direct flatness of his tone startled me. “There were, but they left. It was only carelessness that allowed the situation to get out of control elsewhere.”
Another man came forward. “You haven’t said what your stand is.”
“Can’t you imagine?” I said. “The Africans occupied my home and I’ve lived like an animal for nearly a year. The bastards have taken my child and my wife. I’m with you. All right?”
“O.K. But you said you’ve come here looking for them. There aren’t any Africans here.”
“Which town is this?”
He named it. It was not the same one as the other refugee leader had mentioned. I told him where I had thought I was going.
“That’s not here. There aren’t any blacks here.”
“I know. You told me.”
“This is a decent town. I don’t know about the Africans. There’s been none since we kicked the last lot out. If you’re looking for them, you won’t find them here. Understood?”
“You’ve told me. I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
They moved away from me and conferred in private for a minute or two. I took the opportunity to examine a large-scale map which was attached to the side of one of the concrete slabs forming the barricade. This region of the coast was heavily populated, and though each of the towns had a separate name and identity, in fact their suburbs ran into one another. The town I had been heading for was three miles to the east of here.
I noticed that the map was marked with a zone outlined in bright green ink. Its northernmost point was about four miles from the sea, and it ran down to the east and west until it reached the coast. My objective, I observed, was outside the green perimeter.
I tested my ankle and found that it was almost impossible to stand on it. It had swollen, and I knew that if I removed my shoe I would be unable to get it on again. I suspected I had not broken any bones, but felt that if possible I should see a doctor.
The men returned to me. “Can you walk?” one of them said.
“I don’t think so. Is there a doctor here?”
“Yes. You’ll find one in the town.”
“Then you’re letting me in?”
“We are. But a few words of warning. Get some clean clothes and tidy yourself up. This is a respectable town. Don’t stay on the streets after dark … find somewhere to live. If you don’t, you’ll be out. And don’t go around talking about the blacks. All right?”
I nodded. “Will I be able to leave if I want?”
“Where would you want to go?”
I reminded him that I wanted to find Sally and Isobel. This would necessitate passing through the eastern border into the next town. He told me that I would be able to leave along the coast road.
He indicated that I was to move on. I got to my feet with some difficulty. One of the men went into a near-by house and returned with a walking-stick. I was told that I must return it when my ankle had healed. I promised I would.
Slowly, and in great pain, I limped down the road in the direction of the centre of the town.
At the first sound I was awake and moved across the tent to where Sally was lying asleep. Behind me, Isobel stirred.
A few moments later there was a noise outside our tent and the flap was thrust aside. Two men stood there. One held a flashlight whose beam was directed into my eyes, and the other held a heavy rifle. The man with the flashlight came into the tent, seized Isobel by her arm and dragged her out of the tent. She was wearing only her bra and pants. She shouted to me for assistance, but the rifle was between me and her. The man with the flashlight moved away, and around the other tents I could hear shouting voices and screams. I lay still, my arm around the now-awakened Sally, trying to soothe her. The man with the rifle was still there, pointing the weapon at me without any movement. Outside, I heard three shots, and I became truly frightened. There was a short silence, then came more screams and more shouted orders in Swahili. Sally was trembling. The barrel of the rifle was less than six inches from my head. Though we were in almost complete darkness, I could make out the shape of the man silhouetted against the faint glow of the sky. Seconds later, another man came into the tent. He was carrying a flashlight. He pushed past the man with the rifle, and outside, only a few feet from me, another rifle fired. My muscles stiffened. The man with the flashlight kicked me twice, trying to push me away from Sally. I clung to her tightly. She screamed. I was struck across the head by a hand, then again. The other man had hold of Sally and tugged her violently. We clung to each other desperately. She was shouting at me to help her. I was incapable of doing more. The man kicked me again, this time in the face. My right arm came free and Sally was pulled from me. I shouted to the man to leave. I said again and again that she was only a child. She screamed. The men stayed silent. I tried to grab the end of the rifle, but it was thrust violently into my neck. I backed away and Sally was dragged struggling through the flap. The man with the rifle came into the tent and squatted over me, the barrel pressing against my skin. I heard its mechanism click, and I braced myself. Nothing happened.
The man with the rifle stayed with me for ten minutes and I lay listening to the movements outside. There was still a lot of shouting, but no more shots. I heard women screaming and the sound of a lorry engine starting up and driving away. The man with the rifle didn’t move. An uneasy silence fell around our encampment.
There was more movement outside and a voice made an order. The man with the rifle withdrew from the tent. I heard the soldiers drive away.
I cried.
In addition to the pain from my ankle, I was experiencing a growing feeling of nausea. My head ached. I was able to take only one step at a time, pausing to recover my strength. In spite of my discomfort I was able to observe my environment, and registered surprise at what I saw.
Within a few hundred yards of the barricade I found myself in suburban streets which, because of their façade of normality, appeared strange to me. Several cars drove along the streets, and the houses were occupied and in good repair. I saw a couple sitting in easy-chairs in a garden, and they looked at me curiously. The man was reading a newspaper which I recognized as being the Daily Mail. It was as if I had been transported somehow to a period two years before.
At an intersection with a larger road I saw more traffic, and a corporation bus. I waited for a lull in the traffic before attempting to cross the road. I managed it with great difficulty, having to pause half-way across to rest. When I reached the far side the nausea grew to a point where I was forced to vomit. A small group of children regarded me from a near-by garden, and one of them ran into a house.
As soon as I was able I limped on.
I had no idea where I was heading. Perspiration was running down my body, and soon I retched again. I came across a wooden seat on the side of the road and rested there for a few minutes. I felt utterly weakened.
I passed through a shopping precinct where there were many people drifting from one store to another. I was disoriented again by the outward normality of the streets. For many months I had not known any place where there were shops, where it was possible to find goods available for purchase. Most shopping areas I had seen had been looted or under strict military control.