Oliver and Luka paid the money. Oliver was sweating on his nose. Luka was sweating around his neck. You would have thought a noose was tied around it and was being tightened deliberately and relentlessly. They waited for the tricky part. It was not long in coming.
The woman had to count the money, confirm the sum to her husband and hide it away in the hut. The hut was naturally protected by a potent talisman. When she returned Professor Zima Moto continued his mumble-jumble.
“I work with gifts,” he said through the interpreter, “and in stages. These gifts you have to procure in the space of a month. Beyond that, I cannot guarantee their efficacy. Do you understand?”
“Yes, we do,” Luka and Oliver chorused.
“If you follow my instructions closely, you will be the richest men in your city.”
“That is our prayer.”
“It shall be so when you have fulfilled the set preconditions. For starters, I would like to see a squint-eyed spot-less white goat.”
“A spotless what?”
“Take notes my friend, instead of shocking yourself.”
“A squint-eyed spotless white goat, he says,” confirmed the interpreter. “That must be easy for people who want to make millions overnight!”
“At this rate it will take years,” said Oliver.
“If you go to sleep, it will not happen at all,” added the woman for good measure.
“What else?” Luka inquired.
“That is all for today,” replied the professor.
Luka and Oliver spent a week touring all the major goat markets in Tanzania. At the end of it the future millionaires returned to report that they had not been that lucky. They suggested that professor should deal with the matter himself.
“That will cost you 600 000,” he said through his special interpreter.
“What!” shouted Oliver.
“There is no need to shout,” said the woman. “If you are unhappy with anything he says, you are free to move on.”
“It’s nothing, Mama. Here is the money.”
Luka counted the money and passed it to her. She disappeared into the hut and came back a moment later.
“Come back here on Saturday and we shall proceed to the next stage.”
When they arrived on the appointed Saturday, they found a squint-eyed spotless white goat tethered outside Professor Zima Moto’s hut.
They were now ready to move on to the next stage of the hunt for wealth without sweat. The presence of the squint-eyed spotless white goat was a great sign. They were agog with excitement as they inspected it. But their mirth was soon cut short.
“I would like to see the mane of a lion, killed by you jointly or singly.”
There was uproar from the visitors!
“Or… or the hair of a Masai moran! This has to be accompanied by a Masai short sword and native Masai sandals. When these are to hand, we shall move to the next step.”
“The hair of a Masai moran? Do you know what you are asking for?”
“If I did not know I would have asked for the hair of a Sun man from the Kalahari desert.”
Luka was of a more optimistic nature. He urged his friend to desist from antagonizing their mganga before they had earned enough money from their investment.
“We shall bring the gifts within a week,” he promised, without really appraising the difficulties to be surmounted.
The Masai were to be found almost four hundred kilometres away from their base. Travelling expenses aside, the pair did not speak Masai. Luka hoped that the Masai were fluent enough in Kiswahili. Oliver was not so sure. They thanked their host and left.
But the argument kindled in the yard continued outside for a long while. Luka was of the view that the conditions were in fact far too easy for them. He wondered if the man intended to really help them or whether he was a mere pretender at the money-making game.
On the other hand Oliver felt that the man was making them work like dogs when it was his duty to provide the paraphernalia for his craft. Why not charge the fee inclusive of all that was needed to complete the job?
“We have to believe if we have to gain,” Luka cautioned.
“I’m never lacking in faith,” said Oliver. “But I’m also a realist.”
“A man of faith cannot allow himself to be tempted. The heart must be steadfast.”
“OK. I get it. But now to the task! Are you sure you can persuade a Masai warrior to part with his hair?”
“We may have to pay for it.”
“Of course, we have to pay for it! The question is how much? How much does a Masai warrior think his hair is worth?”
“You have to ask one of them yourself,” said Oliver. “I do not want to be at the receiving end of a Masai club!”
“Let’s suppose…”
“Let’s suppose nothing. There are times when suppositions do not work. I do not think they would work with a Masai warrior. You are either with him or you are against him. That is as far as my knowledge of the Masai goes.”
“You underrate their intelligence. They might get a chance to correct that impression.”
“I will not give them a chance!”
“Okay! Let us say we start from a position of zero information on that issue. I would like us to go there with an open mind and deal with the situation as it unfolds.”
“Very well! How much should we carry to deal with that situation?”
“A million is obviously too much; and three hundred is unequivocally too low. They are a proud people, you know?”
“I have heard it said, yes. Would they attack us or steal from us?”
“They would not stoop that low. I told you they are proud. If it were cattle it would be different, of course.”
“All cattle belong to them, eh? Blessed people!”
“You can say that again!”
“We better carry a million. It is our money. We can always come back with it. Besides, we shall also have to buy the sandals and the Masai sword.”
Oliver Mkopo and Luka Kambo went off to Umasaini, Masailand. They did not want to deal with the morans to be found in the city of Arusha, their fear being that these would be too sophisticated. They would demand too much money. Or even report them to authorities. They decided to go to the edge of the Serengeti National Park and talk to the real roving cattle herders. As luck would have it they came face to face with reality. Some Masai initiates had been following a pride of lions and attempting to isolate one in order to kill it for a cleansing feast. They had been hiding behind a bush when the two travellers saw the lions and took to their heels. For a moment the Masai thought the intruders were poachers. They gave chase. O it was not fear that shone on their faces! It was fright! They ran like the Kenyans at the Olympics! How they got away with their lives during the fearful ordeal, only God knew!
It was only when Oliver and Luka realized that they were being chased by morans and not by the lions that they stopped and begged to be heard. The Masai- noting that the two were barely armed, listened with amusement as the couple explained their mission.
“We are from Mbeya,” Luka explained. “We are not poachers or hunters. We were on our way to Arusha, but apparently we are lost! Please help us!”
The morans checked them out and decided that they were light years away from being real lion-hunters. They let them go.
“Yero!” said their leader, “You see that hill over there? Not the mountain- Kilimanjaro, but the hill! You clear that one keeping to your left. Then you coast left-wise past the next one and come out on a clear level plateau. If you look carefully, you will be seeing the city lights. Moreover, you will see the road to your right and, if you hurry, you might find transport.”
The others murmured approval and started off on their hunt.
“If you cross our path again, we will allow the lions to feast on you!” said a moran that was not entirely on their side.
“By the way, what are you going to do in Arusha?” asked another moran.
“We want to climb
Mt. Kilimanjaro!”
“In that case, you have to go on to Moshi! It’s at the foot of the mountain.”
“Are there any more lions on the route?” Oliver asked.
“There are lions everywhere, man! This is Serengeti!”
It was around two in the afternoon. If the pride of lions had not been followed by the morans, they would have been fast asleep. No, they would most likely have hunted a zebra down, feasted on it and would then have been having their normal siesta for normal Serengeti lions. But trust the Masai morans to think about the welfare of the king of the jungle!
Luka and his now highly apprehensive friend Oliver studied the savannah around them; peered into the scattered bushes and decided that they had reached a point of no return. Frankly, they could not retrace their footsteps even if they had been given the chance. The morans were gone. They were alone in the tsetse infested lion-protected wildlife paradise, without an angel to guide them. They remembered Professor Zima Moto. Did he know where he was sending them to? Did he have any idea what danger lay in waiting for them? Or did he actually intend that they should meet their end there in Serengeti at the claws of a pride of lions? Lions that dared even their more ferocious co-terrenos- the morans?
“He tricked us!” said Oliver.
“How?”
“It’s not how but where?”
Oliver was sure in his mind that he had been led into this trap by the blind seer. He had a lot of questions to ask him the day he got back to Mbeya- if he got back at all! For starters he would want to know what a Masai head of hair had to do with business that was to be conducted in Harare. Or what his sandals had to do with wealth when they had no intention of dealing in footwear. If they had been unfortunate sole searchers, the whole macabre business would have shed light on the issue. They were dealing with peanuts for heaven’s sake!
“Just keep your eyes open!” Luka said to him. “There are snakes in this jungle, you know?”
Oliver flinched. He had been keeping his eye at horizon level, just in case a lion should raise its head. Now he was required to keep it down on his path as well. What punishment! They had taught him something at the military college, but not about snakes. He slowed down. He had to be sure of his step. Who wants to step on a cobra!
“If we do not keep pace with the sun,” said Luka, “we shall have to share the veil of the night with the inhabitants of this jungle.”
Oliver resumed fast-tracking. The earlier they got out of the snake-cum-lion den the better! A sleepy gazelle jumped out of a side thicket. Oliver almost flew out of his skin. But he remembered he was a soldier.
“These gazelles!” he shouted. “You’d think they were even remotely related to lions!”
“They are!” replied Luka. “Without them the lion population would be decimated by hunger.”
“Lions don’t eat small game!”
“Cubs do! On what do you think they practice hunting?”
“That’s unfair; these creatures have no teeth or claws!”
“That’s the jungle for you. Survival of the fittest is the law. If you don’t claw, you are clawed. The Masai know it by rote!”
They cleared the first hill while engaged in a heated discussion of life in the jungle and forgetting their ordeal for the moment. Both were sweating like cooks at a wedding party, but they dared not take off their outer garments. If a lion were to grab any of them, it would have to sink its teeth into a layer of synthetic fibre before getting to human flesh. That was small consolation to Oliver; but in the jungle any consolation, big or small, was welcome.
A squirrel ran out of a secret hole and stood on its rear feet a short distance away. It appeared to be amused to see unarmed men in the Serengeti. It coughed enquiringly!
“What did the Moran say about that hill?” asked Luka.
“That we should keep to the left of it,” said Oliver.
“I say we keep to the right,” said Luka.
“Why?”
“Let us say I’m suspicious,” he answered.
“Why would you be?”
“Because I am!”
“And why is that?”
“It’s a tradition. Why should he have told us the whole truth? He told us enough to get us out of danger but not to get us out of the woods. That is standard practice in Africa.”
“Why?”
“Precaution, I suppose; just in case we should turn out to be who we say we are not.”
“Enemies, you mean to say!”
“Possibly!”
Accordingly, they disregarded the advice of the morans and passed the hill by coasting to the right. Presently, they encountered a gorge that ran in a north-easterly direction. They followed this for a long while and it kept turning to their left, actually in the direction that the Moran had advised them to follow. It carried on round and up the hill. Luka and Oliver soon realized that it would be impossible to cross it that day.
They would have to sleep in the jungle. But, where in the jungle? In a cave? What if a lion should visit at the darkest hour of the night? Up a tree? They had heard that the lions of Serengeti could climb trees! And so could leopards! In fact, leopards slept up there, breathing the freshest air and surveying the jungle with their eyes and nostrils! In the belly of a baobab tree? That was the natural home of cobras and other snakes!
“I’m all for lighting fire and sleeping there,” said Luka.
“If we were four or five of us,” said Oliver, “I would agree. Two could keep vigil while the others slept. We are only two. A tree is my natural choice.”
There was a huge baobab tree with a big cavity in it. It could have housed any number of small game animals if they could shut themselves in.
“Tell you what!” said Luka. “We could smoke out whatever vile creatures there may be and then light a fire outside it to keep unwanted visitors out.”
“Agreed in principle!” said Oliver.
“We are not philosophers!”
“Then let’s get moving.”
The sun was setting on the Serengeti plains. They set fire inside the baobab cave with limited dry grass and covered it with green grass to smoke away any snakes and vermin that might be there. Then they lit a bon fire outside the entrance. They had gathered enough logs to last the night. They spread a mat of dry straw in the cave for their bed, just in case they should develop an appetite- plus the courage, to sleep. They ate the small ration of biltong that they had bought from the morans and embarked on their long vigil. It ended without any major incidents, although there were endless inconsequential ones. One time a cobra came close enough to rub nostrils with Luka’s trousers. But, compared to the raging fire, he was as cold as the cucumber. The snake sailed along until it found a warmer spot. It was the log that the fire was feeding on. If he had moved his leg, he would have received a jab from the cobra. Cobras are harmless bed mates as long as you leave them to do the movements!
The other snake actually curled itself between Oliver’s outstretched legs and slept. Oliver had only to make one stupid move and he would have had something to rant and wail about. But deep sleep had overtaken him. What with all the fatigue and weariness- he slept like a log when it was his turn to rest his eyes. That’s what spared him from a fang!
But what really saved him was this: Luka was overtaken by sleep during his vigil. When he woke up he noticed the snake serenely curled there between Oliver’s legs. He knew what that meant: one wrong move and your man would need intensive care. That care or any care at all was nowhere to be found! At best he would die on his shoulders as he tried to get him to the main road to Arusha. Such was the venom that the viper carried in its sac! Luka decided to use his common sense. It comes in handy sometimes, you know! His common sense told him that it was better to carry a man with a broken leg than one whose body was reeking of and trembling from snake poison. The first rays of the eastern sun had just illuminated a portion of the cave when Luka made his decision. Moving stealthily, he picked a splinter log from las
t night’s bonfire, raised it as high as one would in a mortal emergency and brought it down crushing on the poor sleeping snake. Bang!
Oliver sprung to attention! The snake breathed its last! Life continued!
When they got out of the cave ten game rangers- guns at the ready, were waiting for them! The fire had betrayed them.
“At last we got you!” shouted the commander of ‘Operation Restore Sanity’ of the Ministry of Tourism. Poaching is something else in East Africa!
They were frog-marched all the way to the main road. There, the rangers stopped a hides-and-skins transport lorry which ferried the prisoners to Arusha.
In Arusha they were treated like kings. The cops who took their statements noted that they were heavily loaded in terms of liquid cash. From all known criminal appearances, they cut the images of very successful poachers. The police took their time! It was a signal that things could be talked over: but someone had to read the signals. Luka and Oliver were not seriously schooled in such matters.
“Put them in the top security cell,” said an officer. “They will learn to respect the officers as well as they treat their fellow crooks!”
“But we told you that we were lost,” pleaded Luka.
“Yes, I’m sure you told us that,” replied the cop. “Poachers tell us a lot of things, you know! Like they were lost in the park, you know? But when you ask them for their park entry tickets, they think you do not understand. I ask you: as a poacher, how do you get lost in your own territory?”
“Ask the Masai morans! They saw us! I’m sure they can vouch for us. We were lost!”
“Don’t worry! If they are truly your friends, they will come to your rescue! In the meantime, we think you should be enjoying the company of the other inmates.”
So Luka and Oliver were booked in. They had to be guests of the state for the foreseeable future.
“Follow that officer. He will see to it that you are well treated.”
“Step in here,” said the booking officer.
They did so.
“Do you have any money on you?”
“Yes we do.”
“Where are you hiding it?”
“We are not hiding anything,” said Luka.
“Then, come out with it! How much?”
“Let’s count.”
“No, bring it all out. I’ll count it.”
Chapter Three: Shave the Masai Moran