Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD

chapter 8 (3)

Alex was thinking about life. About staying alive. You had the time to think of these things in the desert. Death be not proud. He had looked Death in the face a hundred times in Africa now. One lived close to the edge, sometimes, like now, literally close to the edge of a sword. It took one swing. Life was cheap, expendable. Heat and vultures would leave only bones in a matter of hours. Remains where few men walked and less cared, would be blown over with mounds of sand in a day. There would be no trace. Survival could mean getting killed for a coin, a watch, some cheap costume jewellery, even a litre of water. Maybe drink your blood to stay alive. Even just to taste blood, just for the kill.

Alex remembered the time he'd gone to Kano, stayed with the British couple at their house which doubled as a company office. It had over-looked on an old golf course that nobody used now, except for the bar. They'd been outside. The turbaned m'guardie had been sitting cross-legged outside. The British guy had got him in some pictures with them. He had been joking around, took the m'guardie's squiggly knife and held it to his throat for the photos. The Tuareg had not flinched, had sat cross-legged and silent, not smiled not moved a muscle, through it all. He had been worried the m'guardie was going to grab the knife, stab him, not understand the Bature's jokes.

Alex had been nervous, hadn't liked the carrying on, thinking it had gone too far. He'd hoped the m'guardie hadn't taken offence to it and harboured resentment. He hadn't slept well in the house that night. It was scary. You never knew what these tribesmen were perceiving and thinking behind those silent faces.

"They want to know if we are in trouble," Steve said after a short conversation. Fortunately, he could speak some Fulani. Fulani were prevalent around Biu where he'd been posted the last three years, and not for nothing. They continued to talk, Louise and Alex anxiously waiting for the translation.

"What does he say?" Alex asked after an uncomfortable period of time had passed.

"They'll get us petrol for a price," Steve said at last.

"We'll pay," Alex replied, "How much?"

"Her," Steve said seriously and Louise cringed. Alex was aghast.

"What!" he said. "Tell them it's out of the question."

"I can't," Steve replied, "we need the petrol otherwise we sit here. They're Muslims and he wants Louise for his number 3 wife. Simple. We give her and we get the petrol." He said it so matter-of-factly that Louise screamed.

"You wouldn't think twice of it either!" she yelled furiously, her blood boiling into a temper. 

"Survival of the fittest, out here," Steve mocked while Louise hurled a furious barrage of insults at him. But Steve was silent. This was serious. He was trying to think of some way out. Suddenly he grabbed Louise and drew her to him and kissed her hard and long. She was flabbergasted.

"Just go along with it," he urged and pressed her close again. He even began to enjoy it as her body clung to his in the heat.

"What are you doing?" Alex asked, interrupting them. It was becoming embarrassing.

Steve pushed her away and continued talking to the tribesman. "I've told him we're lovers," he said, "they can't stand infidelity and adultery. He'd never trust you. You'd be divorced or stoned in a week."

"So what now?" Alex asked, more worried than ever.

Steve was obviously bargaining. "He'll settle for 30,000 CFA's per jerry tin, that's about a hundred dollars a can," he said, "plus the bracelet Louise has on."

"What!" Louise screamed, "that's outrageous! The bracelet isn't worth anything. I don't care about it."

"Out here it's a free market -- supply and demand."

"Will he take VISA?" Alex asked, knowing they didn't have that amount in CFA's or cash.

"Not to worry," Steve said. "I've got some gold coins I bought in Kano stashed in my gear -- Saudi Arabian."

It took some more bargaining but the tribesman finally agreed to set out on horseback and return with petrol. The rest of his people started moving the herd of horses, camels and goats behind him.

"He'll be back tomorrow morning," Steve said.

"And what if he isn't?" Louise said on the verge of hysteria gain.

"Oh, he'll be back," Steve contemplated, "Muslims hate thieves and we have a bargain. You can trust them. We might as well settle and wait."

So they settled as best they could, which was easier said than done. Louise paced in circles around the truck. Alex was studying the maps again.

"You see that mound over there with the upside down tree," Steve said, "I'm going to go over and take a look from there."

"It's known in biological circles as a baobab tree," Alex said dryly. "They only call it an upside down tree because the branches look like roots. They think Allah planted it upside down in a fit of anger while shaking up the world. Anyway, there must be underground water over there."

Louise wasn't listening. "Next we'll see Clint Eastwood come over the rise, I suppose," she said kicking the sand.

"No, it's not Eastwood and it's not the Cavalry," Alex said slowly. He was studying the horizon with his expensive binoculars. "They look like Tuaregs."

"Encounters of the Fifth Kind," Louise replied more to herself, "Act II, Scene II, the extras dress like some forgotten desert tribe and cross the set. Probably on loan from Twentieth Century Fox."

"No, they're not forgotten," Alex said, factual as usual. "Colonel Qudafi has claimed them all as Libyans. Out here the borders aren't defined geographically."

"Yeh, and he also claimed the American Indians as one of his tribes," came Louise's sarcastic comment. "They probably don't even know where Libya is, let alone the U.S."

"They're Tuaregs all right," Alex said finally, recognizing them by their veils and black cloth. "Arabic stock" he added, "used to live off raiding caravans, mostly now live on their reputation as m'guardies who can sit motionless and not sleep."

"I think these ones are unemployed," Louise replied, following their approach, "I don't see any oil wells or construction companies around here."

When they approached the Land Rover, Alex saw long swords hanging by their sides. Suddenly the veil dropped from one lead man's face and he was staring at a white face.

"Parlez vous francais?" came the voice, astounding Stephen.

"Oui, je suis Canadien," Louise answered. She did the talking and Alex heard her spitting her native tongue so fast that he couldn't catch the exchange.

"What's going on?" he interrupted anxiously.

"It's O.K.," Louise said. He's a renegade who used to be in the French Foreign Legion. Those are his personal bank of mercenaries. They've got machine guns under those robes, believe it or not. They're on their way to Chad, to pay their bills he says. He says he's working so they have to go.

"Bon voyage," the man said and raised his veil again. They galloped off.

"You meet all kinds of crazies out here," Alex said shaking his head.

"He says there's a mission about 50 kilometres from here, so we can stop there once we get the petrol. It's a small village before Agadez."

By this time Steve was back and was watching the cloud of dust trail off from the horses.

"Who were they?" he asked.

"The Lone Ranger and Tonto," Louise snapped.

"A local tour group," Alex said, laughing at his own joke, "nothing to worry about."

"There's a range of hills out there," Steve said, "and a line of markers leading out that way."

"That's the track we take, buddy," Alex said relieved. "It goes to the mission at Tanout... so we'll head there when we get the petrol," Alex continued, as if he had composed some master plan again.

The trio made themselves comfortable (except Louise, who was propositioned by each in turn) and bedded down for the night in their orange tent.

In the morning the Fulani showed up with the petrol and they filled the tank.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Steve said.

"To the mission then," Alex replied, starting the Land Rover.

"To the mission," Louise and Steve echoed together and they sped off.