Underground Rivers Page 7

  Martha Brown, the childless wife of William, the owner of the orphanage, had longed for a child and thought that when they took over running the orphanage she would be able to satisfy her maternal desires by befriending the children. Her despotic husband had other ideas and forbade her to have anything other than the most necessary contact with them. Charlie stole her heart with his eagerness to be loved and above all to learn and she soon found a way to stage his disappearance, then keep him in the cellar which was well hidden and that William knew nothing about. Her desire to help him better himself was her downfall and Charlie, with his newly acquired writing skills, managed to smuggle out messages in his dirty linen, where a laundry maid found them. When it was brought to William’s attention, Charlie was released ...

  The story comes to an abrupt end here so I can only assume that it was quietly covered up at the time and that whoever left the books in the cellar felt it was best to leave the sad tale where it belonged, in the past. I wonder what became of Charlie and Martha. Poor sad Martha, how I feel for her, how I empathise with her and as I close the old books, I accept finally that some psychic force or spirit has been reaching for me across the centuries.

  The three words predominant in Charlie’s scraps of writing, free, escape and help fidget in my head and as nausea invades my body I see what I have become. An unhealthy cloud lifts from my brain and I feel exhausted and weak with the knowledge that I have been living a lie for far too long.

  What I have to do now is let Archie go, listen to the messages he is leaving me in the books I get out for him, written in his own blood. It is time to accept that Archie will never be the boy I longed for, the grandson I will never have and let him out of my own cellar where he has been for the past year, a terrified ten year old, desperate to get back to his mum and far away from this mad woman.

  Another Day

  by Lucy Meroge Mwakulegwa

  It was the early hours of the African night and the full moon, which the natives called “the poor man’s lantern”, reflected the shiny dark river meandering over garbage heaps and across makeshift wooden bridges. On its journey through the slums, the river was joined by tributaries of little streams consisting of dirty water, from the trenches that ran between the dwellings, as well as human and animal waste.

  A rat scampered past from one of the buildings and into another. They had learnt to survive the harsh competition of foraging for the scarce bits of food with other scavengers who included dogs, goats and even humans.

  The collection of illegal structures housed thousands of people who had come into the city in search of work and a better life. They were built close together with occasional alleyways that led out to the narrow paths. In between, trenches divided the dwellings that facilitated drainage of rain and waste water. Often they would be filled with raw sewage and were also used by some residents to relieve themselves as there was no proper sanitation. Toilets were scarce, and those available were “let out” at a fee that most could not afford. There was also no electricity. The whole area was dark apart from sporadic yellow light produced by kerosene lanterns that was visible through cracks in the walls.

  Most of the homes were made of mud and rusty corrugated iron sheets for roofing. Some were built of cardboard, old bits of wood and plastic paper.

  In one of the houses a group of young men sat drinking illegal brew made from fermented sugarcane; some of them smoked cannabis and ate miraa (cannabis sativa). Crime was common place.

  It was still fairly dark outside but one could hear the early risers bustling about. Joseph looked at his wristwatch on the table next to the bed. It was five am. He had better start getting ready or he would be late. He pulled back his blanket and stretched. His ebony dark skin exaggerated against the faded, stained bed sheets that were once crispy white but had lost their brightness after several washes in dirty water. He yawned loudly, causing his makeshift bed, made out of wood and rubber tubing, to creak with his movements. His long arm reached out to switch on the transistor radio. It produced a hazy hissing sound. He played around with the aerial until the sound became clearer. He made a mental note. He will need to buy new batteries, hopefully, if he got work today he will pass by the kiosk on the way back. The news headlines reported a bank robbery in the city and a carjacking of a prominent businessman. Joseph wondered if any of the perpetrators were from his slum area. He knew a couple of young men around who had resorted to crime for survival. They were vicious characters and he would not like to be on the receiving end of them. Usually, they would be high on illegal substances and did not seem to value life at all. He supposed they had nothing to lose. He could see how easily one could resort to that lifestyle. But not him. No. He would rather go back to the village and labour on the land ... or beg.

  Joseph proceeded to light the kerosene lamp. He shook the lamp to assess the amount of kerosene inside. Not much. As he did so, he shook his head as he thought about how tough life had been in the past two months since he moved to the capital city in search of work. Money was hard to come by and there was never enough. But he was a man. He was tough. He would make it. After all, he had a wife and three children to look after.

  Joseph bent to put on his rubber slippers, adjusting the thong to fit between his big toes. His feet were rather large and due to his deformed toes, he struggled to find shoes that could fit him. As a young lad his toes had been heavily infested by jiggers, (little parasites that burrowed into the skin and fed on your blood.) They had to be surgically removed. Often an unsterile needle was used to remove them and so infection was common and resulted in scaring and deformities.

  He recalled how he did not wear shoes till he got to Secondary school. His dad who was an alcoholic failed to pay his school fees, and after just one term he dropped out. He helped his mom on the farm and made money by labouring on other people’s farms and odd jobs here and there. At the corner of the room Joseph kept his three ten litre jerry cans of water that he bought from the water point. There were just one and a half remaining. The water supplies were running low. He had better be careful now until he got money to buy some more. He decided he could not afford a bath this morning. Maybe, if he got work, he could have a bath later and wash off all the sweat. Joseph poured a bit of water into a plastic basin and washed his face, the cold water shocking his skin and giving him goose bumps. He shivered and reached out for his towel, drying his face vigorously. Now all his senses were wide awake and ready to take on the day. He picked up his small mirror and combed his light brown hair, sparse from years of malnutrition. He licked his dark thick lips and admired his reflection. His eyes were red and puffy from sleep deprivation. He often stayed up at night trying to figure out how to improve his life.

  Joseph poured some water into a small cooking pot, some of which he divided and put in a metal cup which he would use to brush his teeth. The other corner of the room was used as a kitchen. This consisted of a kerosene stove on top of a table. There was a makeshift wooden cupboard with shelves and a cloth acted as the cupboard door. Here he kept a few pots and pans, cups and plates and on the bottom shelf which had his maize floor, rice, tealeaves and dried beans.

  In the middle of the room was a coffee table and three stools for sitting on. He could not afford a sofa. One day ... maybe ...

  Joseph put on the stove and placed his pot of water on top: just enough for one cup. He noted that the kerosene container was also running low. No milk today. Milk was a luxury. He made his tea and had it hurriedly. Also, no bread today either. His left over maize meal from supper would suffice. This should last him all day.

  As he ate his breakfast his eyes wondered round the room. The accommodation was an eight by eight foot room with corrugated iron roofing and mud walls. The floor was of dirt and not cemented.

  He rented the room for seven hundred shillings per month. He was grateful for this accommodation was not bad for the slum he lived in. Other dwellings wer
e made of plastic bags and pieces of carton boards. The only problem was the toilets that were shared by over a dozen people and were always overflowing. Things could be really bad in the rainy season when dirty water from the drains and blocked sewage pipes often flowed just outside his house, the stench overwhelming.

  Joseph tried to keep his little pad neat. He had used old newspaper as wallpaper to conceal the mud walls. At least it did not leak when it rained. He would sometimes have his bath in one corner of his room as it was more pleasant than the public bathrooms which were filthy. That was the advantage of having a dirt floor as the water eventually soaked into the ground.

  A piece of string hanging over his bed acted as a wardrobe. He did not have much. Just two pairs of trousers, a jumper and three shirts, and without counting his slippers, one pair of shoes. The shoes were worn out and had been “re-soled” several times.

  Joseph put on his brown trousers, cream shirt and shoes. His tall, medium frame was reflected by the shadows on the wall cast by the lamp. He reached for the door and unlocked it. He carried his cup and tooth brush and headed for the spot where he liked to brush his teeth. The water was freezing. Brushing rapidly, he rinsed his mouth and spat into the ditch. He made sure he took care of his teeth hygiene though they had brown stains which made his friends in school jokingly call him “copper coated teeth”.

  It was getting light and the mist was beginning to fade away as the sun started to rise. It was going to be another hot day. At least there was no sign of rain today.

  One last security check to make sure the door was looked and he set out on what had become his daily challenge, finding a job.

  Joseph walked, his eyes fully focused on where he stepped. The narrow paths between the crowded dwellings hid all manner of hazards. There were bits of wood, stones, plastic, and rubbish mounds, as well as the open drains. Most irritating of all was the human faeces that was scattered by those who used “flying toilets.” This was done by those who could not afford to pay to use the proper toilets and would resort to relieving themselves in a paper bag and then flinging the contents as far away from their dwelling as they could. During the rainy season, the situation was worse with the mud and flooding waters.

  Today at least there was no mud, so he could manoeuvre more easily. As soon as he was out of the slum, he was able to quicken his steps to a semi trot. There were not many people around at this time. He looked at his watch. It was twenty to six. He had about forty minutes to get to the industrial area of the city. As he walked along the pedestrian path he glanced pensively at the traffic which was beginning to build up. A bus passed by, and he wished he could afford to use it. He looked at the people in their cars, couples with their children, some lone drivers. They were smart, clean and well fed. They did not even glance at him, even when he was directly in front of their car at a crossing. It was like he never existed.

  Life in the city was lonely. No one seemed to care about the other and he had come to accept it, hard as it was for him. He was brought up in the village where everyone knew each other. No one would pass you without acknowledging a greeting even if you were a stranger. People were friendly and cared about each other’s welfare.

  He thought of his wife and children back in the village. How he missed them. Joseph had not been home for two months now since he came to the city in search of work so he could afford to pay school fees for his children. He was blessed with two lovely daughters aged seven and four. Joseph wanted the best for his kids. He did not want them to suffer and rely on a man for their needs like his mother. He wanted them to be independent, strong women.

  Joseph recalled his difficult upbringing with his father who was an alcoholic and who frequently abused his mother. His mother was helpless. Where could she go with her five children? She relied on her husband for practically everything. He remembered her muffled crying as she endured the beatings and tried to protect her children from hearing her suffer. His dad would shout abuses and belittle her in front of him and his sisters. It was when he was eight years old that Joseph confronted his father. One day, when his father was engrossed in beating his mother, Joseph climbed up the chair unnoticed, gathered all his strength and gave his dad a big slap.

  “Stop beating my mommy!” he shouted.

  He felt a shiver go down his spine. He knew his dad would lash out at him. He froze and just stood there, shaking.

  Both his parents were stunned by this action. His dad had looked him menacingly straight in the eye and walked away.

  Joseph realised that the number of pedestrians walking in his direction was increasing rapidly. He should rush now or he might end up going home with nothing again.. He increased his pace. He was nearly there.

  Today, Joseph was in luck. As he edged towards the entrance of the factory, he had a peek at the door in the distance beyond the large metal gates. There were about ten men there already. His could hear his heart beating hard in anticipation, and started walking faster.

  The factory was a large imposing building, surrounded by similar looking buildings. This area had been set aside by the government to manufacture items for export only. The idea was to create employment opportunities for both skilled and unskilled workers. The factories manufactured a variety of items ranging from clothes, shoes, and electronic items that were assembled using the cheap labour which was readily available.

  Every morning, hundreds of people in search of work would wait at the factory doors to get hired. Most were unskilled and uneducated, and came from the poor areas of the city. Some had walked for miles. The factory would take the first few that were at the gate. The rest had to trek back home and try again another time. Wages were paid on the day in cash. The number of labours required varied. It depended on how much demand there was and there were huge fluctuations. The factories benefited from this way of employment as they did not have to deal with expensive benefits like annual leave, sick leave, or pension.

  Joseph had learnt from bitter experience that the closer you get to the door; the most likely you would get hired. Today there was hope as he was early.

  Joseph focused all his concentration and effort into the task ahead. The work was tiresome and monotonous but he was grateful. Today he had been given the job of sticking labels on polythene bags that were to contain shirts for export to Europe and America. The labels had to be placed in a particular position, and be as straight as possible. Payment was by piece and he aimed to make as much money as he could.

  The morning shift went quickly. They had one hour lunch break. As he could not afford to buy lunch at the canteen, he headed outside to join some of the workers who were napping on the grass compound outside, basking in the afternoon sun. He found himself a spot that was not in the direct sunlight next to the perimeter wall and where the grass had not been trodden on so much.

  It felt good giving his feet a deserved rest. He had been standing continuously for six hours.

  Joseph gazed around at his surroundings. The compound was well kept. The freshly mowed green grass blended well with occasional rows of flowerbeds which had a variety of colour... white and red carnations, forget-me-nots, and roses; red, yellow and pink. Towards the back entrance of the building was a beautiful arch made of purple and orange bougainvilleas. The sight was beautiful, in contrast to the slum which was now his home. He finally dozed off.

  Joseph woke up with a fit. What if he had overstayed his time? He looked at his watch. It was only half past one. He had slept for half an hour. It was a deep sleep and he felt rested. He daren’t sleep again in case he overslept. He sat up and stretched himself. Next to him was a middle aged man who was watching him intently with a smile on his face.

  “Hello, young man,” he said, stretching out his hand in greeting.

  “Hello, sir.” They shook hands and Joseph looked at him curiously. He was not used to being spoken to.

  “My name is Simon, wha
t is yours?”

  “I’m Joseph”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “I’m from Muranga”

  “So am I.” Joseph felt excited. What a coincidence.

  It turned out that they were from the same village, and that Simon knew Joseph’s family. He last saw Joseph when he was but a little boy and was amazed at how he had turned out to be a decent young man in pursuit of an honest living. Joseph felt so much better as he had found someone to talk to. He told him where he was living and his struggle to get work. Simon encouraged him and told him if he worked hard, he was sure to get noticed and be offered a permanent job. Simon could identify with Joseph. He had lived in the slum for two years before managing to move his own family to a better estate. They arranged to meet on Sunday so Simon could take Joseph to his house to meet his wife and children.

  “We had better head back,” Simon said looking at his watch, “See you on Sunday.”

  They stood in an orderly queue outside the wages office. The excitement was palpable. Joseph could hear his heart pounding. He had worked hard and exceeded his expectations. He could now send money to his dear wife and children. He could picture the smile on his wife’s face.

  He divided his money in two, putting some in his right trouser pocket, and the rest in his shoes as he had seen others doing. He patted his pocket and felt the bulge. If he continued this way, his life could change drastically for the better.

  As he followed the other workers out of the gate, he felt elated. It had been a good day. He had made money and made a friend. The throng of workers joined the other masses from the other factories and offices around all on their way home after a hard day at work. The majority were on foot. Sweaty bodies all mingling together on the dusty unpaved paths. Some people chatting away in groups; and others like him, just walking along deep in thought. The majority were walking in the same direction as him towards the slum.