WHITE ANTS AND BLACK

(Strange. I’d met them once before on a sponsored walk for OXFAM/Christian Aid. Later, we solved the problems of the world sprawled in their little flat on Pitcroft Road. James had engineered the Bideford by-pass (and the beans on toast, as I recall) while Monique worked long hours as a trainee-nurse.

That was years ago.

Tonight we met again, and I once more their guest, but now in N’kpwepwe. Sipping a second dubonnet we wait …. James, Monique and I.

Out in the darkness cicadas chirp and pink lightning illuminates a distant storm. Minutes tick by. The table is laid with a starched white cloth; ice jams the neck of the boiled water jar. Still we wait …

James:…..that damned cook! Fiddle-faddling back there with the soup.
Ring the bell again.
At last! Joseph! Where have you been?
Dinner was for seven sharp!

Excuse me, Sir. Excuse me, Madam

No. The guest first, then Madam! God…how many times?
We inherited this one from the Peace Corps when they moved out but he’s a terrible disappointment. He should have been trained; they’d had him from a Greek who got him from the Baptist Mission, which got him out of the bush.
You can see he’s an N’toto from the high cheekbones. A poor lot, and every one of them

Soup, Sir? Excuse me, Madam.

a thief. Scurrying about, taking my socks, razor blades, candles, sugar – we call him the Black Ant – it all goes back to the bush. Doesn’t it Joseph?

He doesn’t understand. See how he bows and smiles. They’re big children really. But cunning.  In a month with us already he’s had time off for one wedding, a burial and two “religious festivals”. Now he says his wife must travel to Bamba to visit a sick relative, and “can he have an advance”?
In the early days we’d fall for that sort of a tale – lent our boys a small fortune, didn’t we dear? But no more.

Not a dollar, Joseph, till Friday next.

Excuse me, Sir. Excuse me, Madam.

The project? I could do twice as much but for local interference, bureaucratic muddle, corruption.
If they put their mind to it (and with spares for the Caterpillars) we could cut through to Benda before the rains begin.

I plead with them. I curse them, but they won’t follow the plan. The Highway Minister is far too busy with his fancy girls, and anyway, the road is past his village now so why should he care?

I’m no racist, but the African, quite frankly, lives for the moment, won’t analyse, can’t plan. Ruins a tractor for a drop of oil and, when your back is turned, sells the gearbox down at the market. (Don’t drive down there alone. Orders from Military Command. Run over a chicken and the crowd will go for you. Keep moving!)

At least the Army has some backbone. Without it this place would go to pieces. Hanged five terrorists on the square in March. We drove down and saw them swinging. Didn’t we dear? Here’s a snap. Minolta telefotomatic with a blue filter. Tax-free at the airport. And how do you like Hotel Afrique? If you’d only stuck out they’d have put you at the Hilton with a larger pool. We always swim there when in town. Like last week we motored up – 100 miles round trip – for bacon, fresh in from Nairobi.

No! You can keep your foggy Europe, all strikes and politics. It’s Australia for us, or maybe South Africa next year, if they don’t renew our contract.

True, Monique finds her time can drag, though she has her riding now. The Swede and Germans are often here for dinner – we surprised them once with smorgasbord and aquavit! – and there’s the tennis tournament on Saturdays.

After the rainy season its safari time – get away from it all – Serengeti, N’gorongoro.
The animals are the finest things in Africa. They’re proud, they’re clean, they have some sense.
Unlike the people.

Talk about development! Not a chance while they breed like baboons. The fact is they don’t want to get ahead. Monique told Joseph the other week she would teach his wife to read and write, cooking and hygiene. All arranged.
But the woman never came.

Quite typical.
Since the Peace Corps left, our only real friends have been the Johanssons – and they join the UN

Excuse me, Sir. Excuse me, Madam.

in December. Ah! There you are. We need more ice for the drinks, and you can take away these dishes.
Leave the washing up if you like – its getting late.

You may do it in the morning.

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© Tony Crasner