The Song of Mawu. Jeff Edwards
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a human being? Heaven knows,’ said Lana. ‘but it should be interesting.’
‘We’ll be here for her in case it all falls apart,’ ended Suzie.
‘Do the men know?’ asked Nori.
Suzie patted her on the shoulder and smiled, ‘we shouldn’t worry their tiny little minds with such trivialities. They have so much more important things to consider.’
The three laughed, knowing that in the scheme of things, this was the most important thing.
18
Mick Sloane drove his dusty Land Rover into the refugee camp, and slowly wove his way through the narrow aisles that separated one row of corrugated iron shanties and tents from the next. In the narrow alleys crowded the unfortunate residents who were forced to inhabit the desolate camp, along with whatever livestock they had managed to bring with them into exile.
Dogs, chickens, goats and even the occasional oxen gave way to his constantly blaring horn as he traversed the camp.
Finally, he stopped outside a structure that stood out from the rest of the buildings surrounding it. This shanty was much larger than the rest and unlike the temporary housing that surrounded it. This one had been built of concrete blocks before being painted a bright sky blue. Now, only a short time after its construction, an accumulation of dust and smoke from the camps cooking fires had rendered it a dirty grey in colour.
Inside, he found Eliza surrounded by a sea of small pre-school children who were sitting quietly and listening to her read from a story book.
The Blue House had become Eliza’s pet project. It was to this cement and tin shed that the smallest of the camp’s children made their way each day. Here they could find food, clothes and sometimes the medical attention that eased the misery in their lives, as well as a very basic education.
The children were encouraged to talk about their circumstances and it was from these tales that Eliza was able to determine which families were most in need. She found many families where the parents were forgoing food so that their children might eat, while other families were forced to watch as their relatives died from the lack of basic medicines and health care. Eliza notified the workers from World Vision and they called on those most in need. Many a refugee had been saved by Eliza’s timely intervention. It was a job she loved and the reason that she had wanted to return as quickly as possible.
Mick stood at the back of the room as Eliza continued her story. A few of the children became aware of his presence and flashed him bright smiles before returning to the story. He thought Eliza’s work and the miracles she was performing would make a great human interest story, but understood that Eliza was not the sort of person that sought recognition for the works that she was doing. The touch of a grateful hand was reward enough.
Finally, with good having triumphed over evil, the story was over and small sachets of long-life milk were handed out to each child, along with a piece of fresh fruit. The children filed outside to eat in the meagre shade offered by the surrounding buildings.
When the last child had gone, Eliza turned to Mick with a smile; ‘Have you heard the good news? The Fund has agreed to Lattua’s terms. We’ll be able to return to the camp up the valley! I’ll be able to get my teeth back into some important projects, instead of hiding out here at the Blue House.’
‘You’re doing wonders already.’
Eliza nodded sadly, ‘It’s not enough. There are still so many that are missing out. I don’t find out about many of them until it’s too late. Most of the worst-hit families don’t send the children here in case they infect others, or because there are no adults left in the house. I know of too many cases where small children are forced to look after their brothers and sisters.’ She threw Mick an apple before taking one herself and leading him out of the schoolroom. ‘I have to keep an eye on them while they eat,’ she explained, ‘there are any number of desperate people around here who are not above snatching the food out of the children’s mouths.’
Eliza saw a small altercation was taking place between a pair of small boys, and she made her way over to settle the dispute.
As she was doing so, Mick became aware of a group sitting on the ground beside the door, their meagre ration finished and their hungry eyes on the apple in his hand. Smiling, he took his Swiss Army knife from his belt and cut the apple into thin slices before passing them around. But even slicing the pieces as thin as he could manage meant that there was still not enough for everyone and he noted with anguish the silent stares of those who had missed out. He felt guiltier now than if he had eaten the entire apple himself before their hungry gaze.
He was saved by the return of Eliza, ‘What brings you to the camp. I thought you were up north somewhere?’
‘I need your help with something, but I’d prefer not to talk about it anywhere around here. Can you get away for a few days?’
‘Is it that important?’
‘I believe so.’
Eliza saw the look in his eyes and nodded, ‘I’ve been organising some of the children’s mothers into a sort of executive committee. Give me an hour to sort them out.’
Mick nodded.
Two hours later, as the refugee camp disappeared into the heat haze behind them, he began to talk.
***
Two hundred exhausting kilometres later the Land Rover pulled into a ramshackle service station located on a desolate stretch of what had once been a main arterial highway between provincial capitals. Now, the stretch of road was barely passable. Potholes of varying sizes made it easier to travel along the verge rather risk damage to a vehicles differential in the middle of the road. Storms had washed away whole sections of the road and at those places some attempts had been made to effect repairs, but these seemed to have been done by drivers seeking to get through rather than by any form of organised governmental road works.
The decaying garage consisted of a pair of hand pumps, with one for petrol and one for diesel. The ‘office’ was a small corrugated shed, which, judging by the patch of vegetables growing by its side was also the residence for the station’s only employee.
At their approach, an old man seated on a rickety chair in front of the shed, rose slowly to greet them, a lighted cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. He seemed completely ignorant the dangers his smoking posed in this environment.
‘Top it up,’ ordered Mick, indicating the diesel pump.
Mick and Eliza climbed out and stretched as the old man finally flicked the stub into the middle of the highway, before opening the Land Rover’s fuel tank and laboriously pumping fuel.
Unseen to Mick, Eliza reached up as though stretching her neck and pressed the back of her shoulder in a seemingly random manner before closely studying the old man before them.
He was stoop shouldered and seemed undernourished, wearing a dirty, oil-stained singlet and a pair of trousers that had seen better days, and had obviously once belonged to a person of much larger girth. Eliza guessed that if he could have stood up straight the old man would have been tall, while on closer inspection his dilapidated trousers appeared to be well-made, as though they had once been part of a business suit. The skin on both wrists his wrists were heavily scarred and Eliza wondered if the man might have attempted suicide at some time.
When he had finished the old man closed the tank and hung up the pump’s nozzle. ‘You didn’t need much,’ he said resignedly. ‘You would have made it to the capital with plenty to spare.’
Mick passed the man a few crumpled notes and received back some change from a small tin box that rested under the old man’s rickety chair.
‘Perhaps we came for something other than fuel,’ said Mick.
The old man stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Perhaps I came to seek someone.’
‘There