Sahel

By Jason Coughlin

Issa awoke to the sound of thunder. The sky lit up through his patched up mosquito net and open door. The wind began to pick up so Issa sat up, slid into his flip flops and went out to wake his wives and children. To prepare for the imminent deluge, chickens and goats were rounded up into the small round storage hut. He tied the goats to the door post the best he could since he knew they would chew into their last sack of grain if it was within their reach. This is all they would have until the harvest season set in. His oldest son Roe, helped gather the cooking pots, utensils and mats to put into his first wife’s hut. Both wives Corrine and Yolande yelled at him to bring the pots back out side to collect the rain water. He adjusted his torn raggedy shorts and quickly did as he was told.

All they could do was pray the storm did not bring down the roofs of their huts as one had done last year. Issa had worked well into the night by light of his lantern after spending all day in the fields, in order to repair them. The six of them had slept for two weeks in the one undamaged hut while the other two were repaired.

He was relieved he no longer had to check on his parents since they had left the previous year to be with his younger more prosperous brother. They were long on complaints and short when it came to helping out. His father seemed more intent to tend to his batches of tobacco (which he smoked from his pipe continuously) than do anything else. Although he did miss having another man around to make music and drink the homemade beer his wives prepared during the harvest season.

Issa returned to his hut and put an extra blanket on his bed. He struck a match, checking to see all his belongings were in order before closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

Alfonze kicked Leone’s feet.

“Look!” he said. “We’re out of water. Fuck the commander’s orders. We’ve been sitting in this hole for 4 days. Guarding what?! A patch of open field? They’re gone. Gone!”

The three of them were situated behind an abandoned termite mound in the middle of a field. It was a quarter mile from an ancillary dirt road. Their orders were to cover the flank of their main rebel brigade that was sweeping through the regime supporting villages to the north on a revenge fueled mission.

This was not the usual time of year to go out fighting. Normally they would be planting crops in the untamed border region more south. But the commander said this was important and everyone would be paid well for it when it was completed.

Leone was left in charge.  Alfonze was chief complainer and Saturnian was just a kid. They took turns keeping watch, foraging, hunting for birds and rodents. The rest of the time was spent playing cards, cleaning their weapons and occasionally listening to Saturnian’s radio.

It was a cloudless night and the moon was nearly full on the first night. There were several hours of heavy machine gun fire and grenade explosions to the west. The morning after, they heard two vehicles on the dirt road heading in that direction. The past two nights were cloudy and quiet.

Each man had an AK-47 with bayonet, three rounds of ammunition, and two hand grenades. Leone’s extra gear consisted of a pistol, 2 cigarettes (he was saving for emergencies), a mirror, hand shovel and a bad, bad feeling about their situation. Without the proper papers they couldn’t enter the big towns. Having very little money they could not bribe anyone to do so, or risk buying food. They lived like a pack of wild dogs.

Leone was starting to come ‘round to Alfonze’s point of view. But which way should they go? They’d stolen and coerced villagers for supplies all the way up from the border, not making many friends. He knew if you hung around in any one area for too long was trouble. What would they report to the higher ups when they returned?

For the past three years he’d been wandering the Sahel with various bands of thieves, thugs and big men as a gun for hire, calling themselves rebels and burning up and wasting everything in their path. This ‘waiting’ situation was not what Leone was used to. Saturnian had used the last of his cheap Chinese batteries for his radio, which they all had cherished like a god. This meant he had nothing to  distract him.

Leone sat up and stared down Alfonze. No one had been sent back to get them which either meant that the main brigade was in deep shit or they were considered dead wood. Leone saw Saturnian stand up in the middle of the field and pull up his trousers. Let’s face it, they were fucked.

“If no one comes for us today, we’ll head to Gore`.” It was as simple as that.

Issa awoke this time to the rooster’s call. He whipped the sleep out of his eyes and scratched his head, surveying the interior of his hut in the morning light that shone through the gaps around the rickety tin door and frame. Every thing was dry. He took down the hand hoe and hache` that hung from a peg and opened the door. The hard ground of the compound had turned into mud. He sighed and walked barefoot through the slop to the storage hut to release the animals.

“Roe! Women! Get up the day has begun.” He called.

He took one of the rainwater filled pots to freshen up. Smoke slowly started to rise out of Corrine’s hut. Shortly thereafter Roe approached him with a few pieces of fried dough and a small clear glass of tea on a tray, then headed off to the latrine. He held the hot glass gingerly in his fingers by the top and bottom while devouring fried dough.

“Roe bring the animals to a new grazing area today.”

“Ho.” Replied his son.

Corrine exited her hut and stood up straight with her hands firmly on her hips to survey the compound. Smoke swirled around her head.

‘Always the prima donna.’ Issa thought to himself and smirked while pouring water into a goat skin jug for his day in the fields. The women prepared for market day.  They brought out their sacks of tomatoes and okra and placed them in large baskets. Then they strapped their babies to their backs and helped each other place the baskets on their heads for the 5 kilometer walk to market.

“Put out the fire.” Issa ordered “We won’t have much dry kindling for awhile.”

Corrine rolled her eyes then barked at Yolande to put out the fire. She had to be helped with her load and then got resituated before heading off to market. Issa closed the woven grass fence opening behind everyone, his tools in hand. He admired the bright green foliage glistening with dew for awhile, then set out towards his fields.

Saturnian returned to the termite mound empty handed. Leone couldn’t believe it. More bad luck. Saturnian sulked. He knew he would be getting a beating from Leone. He had tracked a small antelope for quite a distance but lost the trail at a rock outcropping. Alfonze hadn’t faired much better in the morning, only bringing back a scrawny praire dog. Leone wasn’t in the mood to give Saturnian a beating but slapped him on the head none the less.

They were well into the rainy season. The land was teeming with life. At night the mosquitos were eating them alive and they could hear all the animals of the Sahel. Time to get moving.

“Tomorrow morning we leave for Gore`” Leone declared, ramming his gun butt into the ground.

The stars faded out of the sky as morning approached. Without much fan fare they broke up the camp. A flock of sparrows passed overhead. Saturnian led them back the way they had come. Alfonze and Leone trailed behind 20 meters apart. Their gear felt heavier the relentless sun and lack of food and water had weakened them. Alfonze began to whistle as they approached that same rock outcropping where Saturnian had lost the antelope tracks. It was a Kinshasa melody they all knew well. This lifted their spirits until the midday heat seeped in. Leone chose a small cluster of acacia trees to halt for rest. They dozed after sucking out the last sips from the water jugs.

Saturnian’s dozing was interrupted by the sound of a deep caw or groan. His eyes were still closed when he heard it again. This was followed by a deep guttural clicking sound and rustling in the branches overhead. He became very afraid but did not want to open his eyes, though he knew he must. One by one he pulled back his lids. Directly above with its long neck extended towards him and its black beady eyes staring right into his was a vulture. Its talons that clutched the branch were twice as big as Saturnian’s hands.

Its eyes blazed full of sinister intentions. Its chest expanded with each breath. A dark, haunting, real life nightmare gripped Saturnian. He darted his eyes in the direction of his two sleeping comrades. Or were they dead? His fear amplified and the bird grew tense. He inhaled a quivering yelp, scurried to his knees and half ran, half crawled to the clearing crying-“Don’t eat me!”

The two men bolted upright panic stricken to watch the boy flee. They looked at each other in disbelief and instinctively reached for their weapons. By then the beast was airborne. The two men scanned their surroundings.

Alfonze cried out to the boy-“Saturnian. Saturnian what’s wrong?”

The boy paused and looked over his shoulder at them and then up in the tree. The bird was already airborne and for a moment he thought he might have been dreaming. But then he looked up into the sky and saw the big bird lumbering away, its vast wings pulling it skyward.

“Vulture.” He whined out of breath and with a shaky hand pointed upwards. The two men crouched down and covered their heads.

“No, it’s in the air now.”

Relief mixed with awe colored the men’s expressions.

“It was on the branch above my head staring at me when I woke up.” Saturnian explained.

The two men were still a little on edge. Leone thought about smoking one of his cigarettes.

“Not good. Not good.” said Alfonze shaking his head.

He pretended not to hear Alfonze’s harbinger while brushing the dust off of his lower pant legs.

“Lets get moving.” Leone responded.

Once again they marched their way dejectedly across the infinite grass lands. After a few hours, Leone instructed them to change course to the east so they would reach a stream that would satisfy their need for water and lead them the rest of the way to Gore`. In the late day sun Saturnian stumbled upon some unripened berries which they devoured regardless. Alfonze struck a decent sized bird with his slingshot. Dazed, the bird managed to flutter into some brush. The men managed to surround the wounded bird but could not get their hands on it. Alfonze hacked an opening through the thicket and Saturnian crawled in and snagged the bird. They would kill it and cook it when they reached the river, Leone instructed hopefully.

Saturnian realized they were nearing the river when he gazed at an endless line of trees and shrubs across the horizon. He waved his arms for the others to see and everyone brightened up and quickened their pace. They watched the distant leaves sway in the dwindling sunlight when bursts of hot wind from the north east struck the tree tops. Their parched throats ached for the stream that was within eyesight. Each of them wore a thin layer of dust encrusted sweat that stung as it crept into the outer corner of their eyes.

All the disappointments of the past week were forgotten. Smiles formed on their mouths and praise for all the gods of the plains sprang from their lips.

They scanned the twisted vein of life for an unobstructed route to its shore. They followed the mass of vegetation further south and finally came to an eroded bank. Quickly they freed themselves of their heavy gear and clothing and submerged themselves into the dark waters. They gulped large mouthfuls of water knowing full well the risk of drinking directly from the stream. They were beyond caring. After rinsing out their clothing, Saturnian combed the area for dead branches and dried grass to start a fire.

The sun had become a hazy orange dot on the horizon that eventually was swallowed up by the earth. Alfonze found some mantioch root and Leone caught a turtle to add to their meager meal. They moved away from the bank of the river to make their camp. Saturnian began boiling water to fill their jugs.

Once again Leone’s thoughts returned to their desertion. He thought long and hard how to best explain their situation when and if they returned. Defeated, he finally rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

The night was a short one for it was filled with thunder, lightning and then a heavy rain. Luckily, Alfonze had always carried a plastic tarp with him. It kept them reasonably dry but the rain pelting the tarp was loud and hindered their ability to fall asleep.

They were enshrouded in a dense fog as day break arrived, no doubt due to their close proximity to the stream. They gathered their belongings and set off southward, the stream to their right, which had risen considerably. In a short amount of time they came upon a defined foot path that meandered parallel to the stream and branched off several times. It made Leone a little uneasy. He wanted to avoid encountering peasant folk. They spoke a different dialect since they originally came from a tribe much further to the south. It could lead to a tip off to gendarmes, government forces or a local militia if they weren’t careful. Being without papers could lead to stiff bribes, imprisonment and or torture and death. They wanted to return to base without a fight. But the trails also meant they were close to resources and food, which they so valuably needed.  Leone hoped they could at least steal some grain maybe a chicken or two which could hold them over for a few more days.

The first time through this region some villagers had given them food or lodgings, not necessarily because they believed in the ‘cause’ for a separate homeland but because they were intimidated.

Of course government soldiers were not always welcomed. They could be worse than the rebels and thieves. Often men were compelled to switch sides or form temporary allegiances. It depended on who was paying. In this vast empty, lawless landscape where survival was paramount, no one placed moral judgment on them. Ethics was something that could be argued in an air conditioned cafe somewhere in the civilized world.

Leone though it best if they crossed the river now while they were still un detected. They balanced their gear on their heads and slowly lowered themselves into the dark waters. Steam rose as they waded chest deep across the stream. Alfonze was the first across the twenty five foot expanse. He tossed his gun and gear onto a grassy embankment and pulled himself up. He turned and knelt in position to receive Leone’s gun and belongings. Saturnian was struggling in the creek. The current was strong and the water was much higher for him. He was never fond of being in the stream which his plodding unsteady progress and anxious expression revealed.

There was a sudden thrashing in the water surrounding him. Alfonze lifted his head up to see the body and tail of a large alligator topple Saturnian backwards into the water. The white of the boy’s eyes was the last he saw of him. Leone was hit in the back by the wave of the twisting gator’s attack. The stream began to turn a dark muddy red.

Terrified, Leone screamed to Alfonze “Pull me up! Pull me up!”

The surface of the stream where the boy once stood kept undulating. One of his flip flops popped to the surface and fleeted downstream. Leone literally flew out of the water, crashing into Alfonze panic stricken. The two of them untangled themselves, lunged for their belongings and darted through the brush. Away from the stream Leone stopped, turned around and halted Alfonze. Both were out of breath, water logged and scratched up from the thighs down. Leone cursed repeatedly. Alfonze looked up through the morning fog but couldn’t erase the image of Saturnian’s doomed expression from his mind.

Both men had experienced hand to hand combat, plague, famine and brutality of all kinds. They were not prepared for this. The alligator could have easily chosen anyone of them. Alfonze began to shiver as he knelt down and began to pull thorns out of his feet and shins. Leone did them same. The two men recounted the experience emphatically from each other’s point of view with broad gestures.

Then Leone remembered how they first came to know Saturnian. It was three years ago. Homeless, hungry and desperate, the boy had ineptly attempted to sneak into their camp to steal some food and goods while they were sleeping. He had approached opposite the night watch. The five other men including Leone and Alfonze were sleeping. During his hasty retreat, he had kicked a rifle butt leaning against a tree, waking everyone up. Leone was the first to get his hands on him. He knocked him to the ground and put a fist in the middle of his back.

When the others arrived he leaned on him with his knee and beat him with his belt. Saturnian did not make a sound. His arms were bound behind his back and he was dragged back to camp. The men agreeddecided it would be good to use him as porter for their gear and ammunition.

They kept a rope tied around his ankle and bound both his arms and legs during the night. They beat him regularly to deter him from fleeing. He never cried. This earned him respect amongst the men. Over time the men lessened their harsh treatment of him, programmed him mentally to believe that what they were doing was just and eventually he was trained to fight. His youthful agility often came in handy. A boy with a gun could be just as deadly as a man if not more so under the right conditions.

The two forlorn men hobbled and grimaced as they marched on in somber silence, the fog slowly lifting. Alfonze reminisced about the first time they got Saturnian drunk on beer after pillaging a police outpost. He was so drunk he tried to get amorous with a fallen tree. At the time Saturnian had been too young to receive a tribal facial scarring ritual nor did he ever speak about his family. Of course none of them ever did.

Corrine, Yolande and Roe walked the footpath until it reached the overgrown sand road. They took the loads off their heads and rested for a moment. Roe departed with his spear, sickle and water jug to tend to the livestock. They swung the babies off their backs and breast fed them as the African heat began to dry out the earth and vegetation. They spoke to their children affectionately and rocked them. Yolande had married Issa a year ago. She quickly became pregnant and was accepted into the nearby village for her honesty and hard work. Issa had always done well for his family, more so after his parents left. Corrine had her second child soon after Yolande’s. Maybe Issa took a second wife because it had been two years since her miscarriage and 6 since Roe was born, Corrine reflected.

For the most part, they got along. Corrine delegated most of the harder labor to Yolande, but that was to be expected from a second wife. Onward they walked to the bi-weekly market to exchange goods and any news or gossip. The market was more deserted than usual due to the heavy rains the night previous. They laid out their tomatoes and okra in small piles and exchanged greetings with the other village women who trickled into the market clearing with goods.

Issa nonchalantly swung his machete at random stalks of sugar cane that leaned into the foot path from the weight of the rain. After he tore off the outer stalk, he sucked out the cane juice and spat the fibrous residue aside. When he got to his field of millet, he went to his shade tree that served as his “office” and hung all his belongings from its branches except for his hand hoe. He found the row where he had left off weeding. He squatted down, loosened the weeds with his hand hoe and pulled them free. Then he shook the dirt free from the roots and flung the weed in a pile. This was his fourth straight day weeding his field. He had a few more days here, and then he would move on to the peanuts and corn.

He no longer grew cotton. He disliked all the chemical additives one needed and had been burned several times by the fluctuating market prices for it. Rebels threatening to amputate limbs of farmers who were caught growing it, was another deterrent.

When he came across a melon, he rotated it ninety degrees. Several had been eaten by field rats, which was not uncommon. This one he would hope to bring home in another week or so depending on the rain. The rain had softened the soil which made today’s work easier. Had it not been a market day, his entire family would be out here helping to weed the fields.

There was no sensation in his body accept his breathing, the soil and the wooden handle of the hoe. Insects of all shapes, size and color crawled about him. As the heat of the day rose, so began the flies in their endless swarm about his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. When they crawled into these tender areas he’d brush them aside only to have them return.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, the earth had completely dried. He gathered up the piles of pulled out weeds and placed them on an old worn out woven straw mat. This he dragged to the edge of the field and dumped for future burning.

He retreated to the shade of the tree where he kept his belongings. The world was silent and still. Now all he could feel was the insufferable heat. Everything he touched was hot. He ate the ripest melon and tried to fall asleep. At least now the flies would swarm the rind and leave him alone. By tomorrow that rind will have vanished from existence.

When he awoke he could hear the faint chirp of a distant bird, and a soft hot breeze brushing the leaves over his head. He sat up, scratched his head and spat. He worked a few more rows before leaving to tend to his garden. While on his way he noticed boot prints crossing the sandy path.

“Must be fighters”, Issa thought to himself. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and his heart raced. Instinctively he crouched looking to his left and right. The prints were fairly new. Thoughts of his family flooded his mind. His wives would be safe at the market but Roe was alone tending to the animals and would be coming this way soon to help him in the garden.

There were at least two sets of footprints but it was hard to determine if there were more because they often marched in single file to conceal their numbers. Hopefully they were just passing through. He thought it best to continue to the garden since Roe would be meeting him there.

The garden seemed to be as he had left it. He scanned every horizon and listened intensely. He set down his belongings except his machete and removed the watering can from its perch on the fence post, then tensely walked to the river to fill it. He started with the tobacco. It was coming along nicely. Last night’s rain had made it more robust. Some tomatoes were half eaten by slugs. He traced their trails but could not find them. The rain had washed away the temporary grass shade cover he built for his okra seedlings. Some of which had washed away. He set down his machete and knelt down to gather up the washed out grass and fix the cover.

Kneeling, he worked for several minutes, until out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow move into the entrance of the garden. He tensed before standing, his machete still within reach. A wraith stood opposite him. The man in tattered rags  stared at him from wild piercing eyes held in sunken sockets. He had a hooked nose and carried a machine gun loosely in his right hand.

The two men standing 20 meters apart sized each other up. Leone greeted Issa reservedly in a worn metallic tone using the colonial tongue. It was immediately apparent that this man was not from around here. Issa asked what was amiss. Leone said nothing and just stared mechanically back at him.

Leone was the taller of the two but emaciated. And of course he carried the gun. The butt was scratched and worn. Over the years he had carved random geometric shapes in it with his knife. There were sixteen short lines near the trigger. He felt the indentations there under his knuckle. Each one, an indiscretion; mementos from a shadowy past.

Issa was tense from head to toe. He prayed to his personal god for protection.

“What are you planting here?” Leone broke the silence.

“Oh. The usual tomatoes and okra; some peas.” Issa replied and opened his palm to present the plants before him.

“Would you like some?” he asked.

“I am merely asking.” said Leone in annoyance.

“Of course. Well….. last night’s heavy rain washed away many of the okra seedlings. So I have a lot of extra work to do today.”

“So it seems.” replied Leone.

They heard a rustling outside the woven grass fence in the tall grass behind Issa.

‘No doubt another one of his comrades.’  Issa thought.

If he was trying to be stealthy he wasn’t doing a very good job. Even the ghost in front of him expressed a bit of disappointed irritation.

“And over here so many slugs.” Issa turned and pointed to the rows of tomatoes which enabled him to put both of them in his lines of sight.

Leone was not phased. Although he wished he hadn’t come upon this farmer while he was working in his garden. He wasn’t sure what he should do with him now and Alfonz was completely incompetent. Alfonz was supposed to keep watch while he took some vegetables. Now everything was vastly more complicated. Had they arrived an hour earlier, they could have taken all the vegetables they needed to nourish themselves for the trip to Gore’. This was definitely not shaping the way he would have liked.

He fought with the urge to extinguish this life that offered him the food he craved, yet for some reason could not simply accept. The loss of Saturnian, hunger and malaise was confusing him. It was driving him toward something he need not do. He was like a kettle on hot coals. His surliness was rumbling to the surface yearning for a vengeance not clearly defined.

Leone was a manifestation of this land’s unforgiving destructive force. That this hard working subsistence farmer’s death would rid him of all his suffering seemed justifiable. Why hadn’t HE taken up arms and resist their subjugation by the oppressive regime? He was doing this man’s dirty work and he should be respected for it; paid for it.

“I have some tobacco in that corner.” Issa said. “It is almost half grown.”

That was a soft spot for Leone. Obviously this man did not want any trouble.

“Oh very nice indeed.” brightened Leone.

Alfonz made more of a racket in the tall grass outside the garden enclosure.

“What is it that you want?” demanded Issa impatiently.

“Want? Want? To free our land of the oppressors and return it to the Garden of Eden.” Leone began to raise his voice.

“I am just a simple farmer, I do not get involved in politics.” replied Issa earnestly.

“But by doing nothing you are powerless and you make the matter worse. You allow them to tax us and beat us and steal our land rights and women.”

“I cannot say what is right and what is wrong. I rely on the soil, sun and rain for my needs for this is all I’ve known.” said Issa.

Leone laughed out loud.

“Well for certain you are a fool for saying such things. But a brave fool at that. When I first laid my eyes on you I wanted to kill you. But upon hearing you speak so simply, I have reconsidered and will let you live. Just fill our sack and we will be on our way.”

“As you wish.”

Issa put his head down feigning respect as he picked up the sack Leone threw at his feet. He sullenly filled it with the requested items. His chest burned as he passed his machete lying on the ground. He would like nothing more than to rid his garden of this spectre.

“You. Hey stupid. You can come out now.” Leone ordered Alfonz.

Alfonz popped up and came around to the entrance of the garden. Leon gazed at him disapprovingly.

Issa paid him no mind. When the sack was three quarters full Leone ordered him to hand over the sack. Once again Issa passed the machete lying on the ground. The sun hung low in the sky and their shadows were long. Issa kept his eyes down as he handed over the sack. Alfonz stepped forward and grabbed it with both hands, his gun over his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you to forget this ever happened.” said Leone.

“Of course.” exhaled Issa.

The two brigands looked at each other satisfied and turned to depart.

“Papa!” shouted a youthful voice coming from the path.

It was Roe returning from pasture. The sight of the two strange men startled him and he blurted out to his father, instantly regretting it. Leone’s nostrils flared as he stomped over to the boy. Grabbing him by the bicep, he hauled him into the garden. Alfonz dropped the sack and pointed his rifle at Issa angrily. Issa’s face saddened and his clenched fists relaxed.

“Now we have a problem.” Leone growled.

“I assure you the boy can be trusted, he is my son.”

“Papa?” implored the boy almost in tears.

“Be quiet.” Issa snapped back.

“Get on your knees.” ordered Leone.

Issa was reluctant but Alfonz’ steady approach convinced him to comply.

“You do not have to worry. He will say nothing. Please. Go on your way.” Issa pleaded.

Leone squeezed the boy’s arm until he gulped and let out an almost inaudible yelp. Weakened as he was, Leone’s rage propelled the boy into his father.

“Find something to tie them up with.” ordered Leone.

Alfonz undid the twine used to hold the fence to its posts and tied them tightly back to back against the tree. Then he tied their ankles together as well. Alfonz gave one last mean look over his shoulder before the two men quickly headed south. They would have to put some distance between them and the gardener before nightfall.

Issa brooded in silence. He wished the boy had kept silent. But it was too late now. One of his wives would come looking for them eventually. Then they would go to the chief and explain what happened.

He struggled with his bound ankles and wrists but they were quite secure. Gradually, the cloud of swarming flies was replaced by mosquitoes that drank their blood voraciously. Roe complained of thirst but eventually fell asleep as the stars began to fill up the giant dark sky. Issa watched with apathy as the moon slowly began its accent until he too fell asleep.