Dragons’ Eggs

CHAPTER ONE

Punishment

The day before I met Sibongile was my last day at school. I'd been at an expensive private high school in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, for seven years. But on the day I met Sibongile I woke up in the small village of Mangwe Ford. The houses were huts made of mud and grass, there was no electricity or running water, and the nearest telephone was two hours' walk away. I felt lost, like a train without its rails.

The sun was rising when I came out of the guest hut where I'd slept. In front of me was a clearing in the forest with huge trees all around it. Sunlight sliced between the branches. On the other side of the clearing, a tall young woman with a huge basket on her head was walking away from me along a path. Dust rose round her feet. There was no one else around, but I could smell smoke from a cooking fire somewhere. My six-year-old brother Amos, who'd slept beside me on the floor, had gone out earlier.

I stepped away from the door and a second young woman, who was hurrying to catch the other one up, ran into me. Her basket went flying. T-shirts, dresses and underwear rained down as I held her arm to stop her falling over.

'I didn't see you,' she said.

'Obviously,' I replied. 'Are you OK?'

She looked up at me from under her eyelashes with a wide smile. 'I'm fine. But you're standing on my best dress.'

I stepped back. A dress had fallen on the path. It was very dirty. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'You're going to do your laundry?'

'Yes,' she said, picking up the clothes and putting them back in the basket. 'The clothes were already dirty, but you've made them worse. Your punishment is to help us.'

'Punishment?' I said, surprised.

'Certainly. Follow me.' She lifted her basket back on to her head and set off, her body moving invitingly.

I was confused about this 'punishment'. Was it something accepted in village culture, or just her way of laughing at a new arrival? But I followed anyway, enjoying watching her from behind.

We passed under the trees, crossed a wide area of white sand and came to the river. The other young woman was already knee-deep in the water, beating clothes on the rocks. She looked at me and smiled - a polite, friendly smile. My knees went weak and I sat down rather suddenly on a rock.

The young woman I'd followed said, 'I'm Beatrice.' She waved a hand at the tall one. 'And that's Sibongile.'

I swallowed. 'Hi,' I said. What was wrong with my voice?

Sibongile said, 'Hi,' and went back to work.

Beatrice said to me, 'Here. Take my dress. Wet it and beat it on the rock, like this.'

But I sat with the dress in my hands. I hardly heard what Beatrice said because I was watching Sibongile.

'OK,' said Beatrice. 'If you don't know how to wash clothes, you'll have to tell us all about yourself.'

'Will that be my "punishment"?' I asked.

She nodded. 'What's your name?' she shot at me.

'Tendai Muruvi,' I answered.

'And how old are you?'

'Eighteen,' I said. 'I finished school yesterday.'

'Which school?'

'A private school near Harare.' Maybe Sibongile couldn't hear me. I spoke a little louder over the sounds of the river and the laundry. 'My dad's boss, Owen Woods, was rich until last week. He paid for me to go there, and wanted me to go to university.'

Beatrice spoke as she worked. 'Is your dad… the man who is ill? What does he do?'

'Now? Nothing. He was chief mechanic on Mr Woods' orange farm near Harare. The Woods family left suddenly last week and the farm was taken over two days later.'

Beatrice and Sibongile looked at each other. I guessed they already knew about Mr Woods' farm, and all the workers being forced to leave due to the Land Reform Programme. They knew because my stepmother, Abigail, came from this village. She'd brought my sick dad and my brother and sisters here three days ago, because she had nowhere else to go.

I said, 'But you know all that already.' Sibongile didn't react. I stood up, ready to leave. My legs were OK now.

But Beatrice wasn't going to let me go. 'Why didn't you come with your family?'

'Because I was still at school when the farm was occupied,' I said. 'I came here on the bus from Harare. It took all day, and left me at Baobab Cross. I walked from there.'

Sibongile looked up. 'Do you know Harare?' she asked.

'A bit,' I answered. She really was lovely. I sat down again.

'Do you play any sports?' asked Beatrice. Sibongile looked away again, the flying drops of water from her work making shining lines of light in the sun.

'I was captain of the school rugby team,' I answered.

Beatrice smiled at me. 'Did you bring anything nice with you, like… chocolate?' They both exploded with laughter.

I stood up. 'Ladies,' I said, 'I must see how my father is.'

'Wouldn't you like to ask us anything?' Beatrice asked.

I was suddenly full of anger. 'Lots of things,' I shouted. 'What will my family do here? Will my dad recover? How am I going to study now? How do I get out of here?'

They both looked at me in surprise. Then Sibongile came over to me, looked me in the eyes and said, 'This is quite a large village, you know, even though it's so new. We have cows, chickens and goats, and vegetable gardens. We have cool shade, and water all year round. It was built near the Wildlife Park for tourists to visit. There are no tourists now, of course, but compared to other places, we're lucky.'

Her lovely face was completely serious. She was trying to make me feel better, but I hardly heard her words. I was trying very hard not to put my arms around her and squeeze her till she couldn't breathe. I'd never felt like that before and it confused me.

Stupidly, I said, 'I didn't want to come here.'

'It's not so bad,' Sibongile said. 'When we first came, I missed my cellphone and the TV and stuff. But it gets easier.'

'How?' I asked.

She turned back to her work with a smile. 'For a start,' she said, 'we have a wind-up charger for our cellphones now. We can charge up the batteries by hand.'

'But,' said Beatrice, 'there's no signal, so they're useless anyway.'

They both laughed at this wonderful joke. I turned back towards the huts. I had to get control of myself.

'See you later?' Beatrice asked.

'Maybe,' I said and walked back across the sand.

CHAPTER TWO

Thieves

My dad was still sick. He was sitting on the earth bench by the wall in the main guest hut. His skin was dry and grey and he seemed blind, although his eyes were open. When I spoke to him, he didn't answer. My worry and anger were like dark clouds in my mind. But my excitement at meeting Sibongile was like the sun shining between them.

I went out to sit near the fire. My baby sister Gugu was sleeping in a box on the ground. My stepmother Abigail brought me tea.

'When did Dad get like this?' I asked.

'After they occupied the farm,' she replied, sitting down on a cloth on the ground. 'He went into Harare to find work. But there were hundreds of men and no jobs. He came back, went into our house and I found him like this in the kitchen.'

'I remember hearing that he did this when my mum died,' I said. 'It seems that he got better in a few days.'

Abigail shook her head. 'He just sits, looking at his feet.'

'It's been such a shock for him,' I said. 'For all of us…'

'Your brother and sister don't seem too upset,' said Abigail with the first smile I'd seen on her face since I arrived. 'Amos has found lots of friends and Memory's already planning our new huts.' Baby Gugu began to wake up.

Two older women came and joined us by the fire. They started talking to Abigail about making a new vegetable garden, so I went back to my hut and began to unpack.

Most of my stuff was in plastic bags. I'd had to leave a lot behind, at school. They said I could collect it later. When the plastic bags were empty, I wasn't sure what to do with them. But Amos had suddenly appeared, and he knew.

'Can I have those?' he asked.

'Sure,' I said. 'What do you want them for?'

'A ball!' he laughed up at me, his teeth shining white in the dark hut.

'Of course. Want some help?' I felt myself smiling. His little round cheeks caught the light from the door. He took my hand and led me outside.

We sat on the earth with our backs against the mud wall of the hut. It was shady there, under the huge trees.

I started knotting the bags together. But my confused thoughts made me too fierce, and the plastic tore. Amos's big eyes looked up at me. I tried again.

Two more six-or seven-year-old boys came across the clearing in front of us. They stood watching me, waiting.

'How's that?' I asked Amos when I was satisfied.

'Great!' He jumped up and reached for the ball.

I stood up and kicked it out into the sunshine. Like magic, five or six more boys appeared. Amos got to the ball first and the game began.

I watched them for a moment. They were so happy, laughing and shouting.

I went back into the hut to look at what I'd brought with me. There was my school uniform, which I would never wear again, the jeans I was wearing and another pair, two or three T-shirts, and two pairs of shoes - probably as many clothes as most people who lived in the village. And I had some books, my maths things and my cellphone.

But I doubted we could afford to pay for that, even if there'd been a signal. One minute I was thinking, 'Life is trying to punish me!' and I wanted to swear or punch someone. The next minute I was smiling and remembering Sibongile's face.

'Now I know what "mixed-up" means,' I thought, laying out my clothes on my shelf with great care.

Abigail came in with baby Gugu tied on her back. She had some clean clothes in her hands.

'These are Amos's,' she said.

She went over and started arranging Amos's things on his shelf. I took Gugu's little hand between my fingers and made faces at her. She laughed.

The kids outside were making a lot of noise as they played.

Abigail turned to me. 'Uncle Winston and Aunt Ivy want us to eat with them today. I'm going now to help prepare the meal…' As so often with Abigail, I couldn't be sure what she wanted from me. Abigail's Uncle Winston was the head of the village, Chief Majozi. I'd met him and Aunt Ivy the night before. I knew this meal would be important.

I was just going to ask her if I should go with her to help, when the noise of the football game suddenly stopped. We went out to see why. The children were all standing silently under a large tree, looking up.

I called out, 'What's wrong?'

Amos pointed up. 'A monkey stole the ball!' he shouted. He sounded so horrified that we all laughed.

Our laughter frightened the monkeys and they started towards the river, jumping through the branches. I ran after them with the others.

At the edge of the riverbed the trees stopped. The monkeys gathered together in the last branches and had a shouted discussion. The riverbed sand was so white that it hurt my eyes in the midday sun.

The children were jumping up and down, shouting at the monkeys. 'Thieves! Thieves! Give it back!'

'You'll get sick if you eat it,' Memory called to the monkeys. She was only eleven, but already behaved like a little mother.

The monkeys began to fight over the ball, their screams echoing through the forest. Finally, they threw it down on to the sand at the foot of a huge tree. All the boys ran towards it, with Amos in front. He always was the fastest runner.

I watched as Amos turned on one foot to kick the ball back - and suddenly flames and smoke shot out of the ground.

CHAPTER THREE

Blood

Amos rose into the air and hung there for a moment like a broken doll. He fell back on to the sand, screaming. Something else fell further away and the smoke began to clear. The sound of the explosion and Amos's scream reached me in the same second.

I ran forward, Abigail just behind me.

Amos lay on his back, his arms waving crazily in the air. One hand was hanging loose, almost completely cut off. Half his left leg was missing. Blood shot into the air with the regular beat of his heart. It made red lines of drops on the sand and the clothes of the children. Abigail fell on her knees beside him, trying to stop the blood with her hands. I raced towards the huts to get help.

And I ran into Dad. He was running towards me! Aunt Ivy was with him. She had a piece of cloth and a short stick.

We got back to Amos. Aunt Ivy tied the cloth round his bleeding leg, put the stick through it and began turning. The blood stopped.

Meanwhile, Dad had torn a piece of cloth off his shirt. He turned to Abigail and tried to speak, but Memory was ready and handed him a strong stick. They stopped the bleeding in Amos's arm. His hand had fallen off.

Abigail took over from Aunt Ivy, who ran back to the huts. Amos had stopped screaming. He was unconscious.

In the strange silence Abigail said to Dad, 'Shamba, he needs to go to hospital.' Dad picked Amos up as if he was as light as a leaf and began running. He ran away from the river on the dirt road that led to Baobab Cross.

Abigail turned to me. 'Please, Tendai,' she said, and this time I knew what she wanted. I ran after Dad.

As I passed, Aunt Ivy rushed out of a hut with a backpack. She pushed it into my hands. 'Thanks,' I called and ran on.

I don't remember much of the journey, except thinking I was glad I'd trained so hard for the rugby team at school. I concentrated on where I was putting my feet. The road was stony in places. I'd walked it from the bus, but it had been dark and I'd been going slowly. Now it was light and we needed to run like cheetahs.

We both slowed down a bit for the steep rise halfway, but it was downhill from there. A bit later, Dad tripped and fell on to one knee. We stopped for a moment, too breathless to speak. I found a bottle of water in the backpack. Dad poured some into Amos's mouth, and we drank a little, taking turns.

I also found my cellphone. Good old Aunt Ivy! There was no signal, but the battery was still alive.

'Shall I take him for a bit?' I asked.

Dad gave Amos to me without a word.

We ran on. When we could see the group of huts that was the Baobab Cross Hotel in the distance, I thought of the phone again. I stopped and gave Amos to Dad. Drops of our sweat fell on Amos's face. Dad gently wiped them off.

I had a signal! Dad tried again to give Amos some water while I called the emergency services. In the end I got the hospital in Sikumi, the nearest town. They sent out a car to meet us.

In the car, Amos woke up. Well, he didn't exactly wake. He opened his eyes and looked straight through us. I thought that might be the end, but Dad got him to swallow some water. In less than half an hour, we were at the hospital. They took Amos from us and disappeared inside with him.

Later, Dad and I sat in silence, side by side, in the waiting room. We'd been to the men's toilets and washed the blood off. No one had said whether Amos would live or die.

The nurses had taken some blood from my dad and me to put in the hospital blood bank. Amos had needed a lot of blood. And now my head felt like it was going round and round. It was like being very drunk, I suppose. A nurse had brought us tea with sugar.

As we sat, a young woman in jeans came up to us.

'Are you with the boy hurt by a landmine?' she asked.

I looked at Dad quickly. He was shaking his head very slowly so I said, 'Yes?' I made it a question.

'Hi. I'm Zola. I'm a volunteer. In my spare time, I help out with an organisation that takes care of people like your boy. I just wanted to say that there may be other landmines.' Her fingers were very thin, with long nails painted pale blue. She held a notebook and a pen. 'Most landmines,' she went on, 'are in known minefields. They were mapped and marked with signs, although the signs have gone now. People are saying that a few landmines were laid without maps, by revolutionaries, and no one knows where they are. This may be helpful.' She gave me a piece of paper headed, 'What to do about landmines.'

I folded it, put it in my jeans pocket, and said, 'Thanks.'

'There are companies that clear landmines and organisations, like the one I work with, that help people who are hurt. Their names are on that paper,' she said.

'Thanks,' I said again, and she left us.

I still felt strange, so I asked a passing nurse if I could have some more tea. She went off with a smile and came back with two steaming cups.

Before I could say anything, Dad spoke!

'Thanks very much,' he said to her. Same old voice, same old light in the eyes.

She smiled at him, touched his shoulder, and went back to work. She was pretty, I had to admit, but well over thirty.

'So…' I said to Dad. 'You're OK if there's a pretty woman around, then.'

'Remember that,' he said, with the ghost of a smile. 'Next time I "go away" like that, find a beautiful woman and I'll come back, fast.'

But then he turned and looked into my face. 'What's happened to us, Tendai?' His eyes filled with tears.

We were both covered in dust and smelled of sweat. He badly needed a shave. I said, 'We've learned you can run nearly as fast as I can.' But we both knew what had happened to us. Disaster.

Dad's tears fell on to his trousers. Questions poured out of his mouth. 'What are landmines doing in that bit of the river? Will it happen again? Will Abigail keep the girls away from the riverbed? Why didn't someone warn us?'

'Perhaps it was the first time?' I said.

His questions hung in the air, mixing with the hospital smells. He took my hand, and held it in his.

We sat there looking at the wall. I remembered the tea.

'Drink up,' I said with the best smile I could manage. 'We'll need our strength for the run back.'

Finally, a woman doctor came out to us. We stood up and I examined her face. She just looked tired.

CHAPTER FOUR

Hope

The doctor said, 'Amos will live.' Dad took a deep breath. I let my breath out. 'But he must stay here for two or three weeks,' she continued, 'and he'll need more blood. Then he'll need nursing at home for two or three months or more, while his wounds close completely.'

'Thank you, Doctor,' Dad said.

'If you agree, someone from the Landmine Injury Rescue Organisation will come and see him before he leaves here. It may be that they can get a leg made for him later. They don't make hands.'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'The LIRO is an organisation that arranges for people who are wounded by landmines to have what are called prostheses. These are artificial arms and legs, so the wounded person can live more normally.'

I thought, 'That's what Zola with the blue fingernails must have meant.' I hadn't read what she'd given me, and I'd been thinking Amos would be a kind of vegetable for the rest of his life - if he lived.

'Anyway, he will have a crutch,' she added.

Dad hadn't been listening. He'd been trying to see into the room where Amos was. He suddenly asked, 'What's that?'

'It's a wooden stick that fits under the arm and works instead of the missing leg.'

'I didn't… A crutch. Of course,' he said.

'They won't be able to make him a leg until he's completely well,' she went on. 'And even then it's often difficult for children, because they're still growing.'

But Dad was smiling. 'That's wonderful,' he said. 'Thank you!' He took her hand and shook it hard.

'He's still asleep. The nurse will tell you when you can see him.' She smiled a tiny, tired smile, pulled her hand out of Dad's, and left us.

Dad put his arms around me and squeezed the breath out of me. 'Thank you too, Tendai.' He was grinning. 'Without you I wouldn't have made it and Amos would have died.'

I freed myself with a laugh. 'Well, now you'll have to pay the price. I'm dying of hunger!'

He let me go and we left the hospital to find food.

We went to an eating-house and ordered chicken and rice. We sat on high little chairs in the window, looking out. 'Eating in a restaurant,' I joked. 'You a millionaire now?'

'Sure.' Dad didn't smile. 'Enjoy it. We're celebrating.'

The silence came back, thick and heavy.

When we'd had enough, we sat back with mugs of tea. Dad was looking straight ahead at the people in the street.

'Do you remember last time you were home from school?' he began.

'The winter holidays,' I put in. 'I passed my driving test.'

'Right. We had a visit from some guys in uniform?'

'Yeah, I remember. They were pretty nasty.'

'They came again three or four times.'

'So that's why the Woods family left?' I asked.

'Yes. I believe Mr and Mrs Woods finally got scared,' he said. 'They just left without telling us. They'd been on the farm for three generations… They seem to have gone to Australia… They gave us a good life for a long time.'

I couldn't bear his being so calm. I shouted at him, 'But you worked hard! And now you're left with nothing after all those years. And Memory and Amos won't get their education.'

He looked at me. 'Tendai, you have a right to be angry,' he said. 'But it doesn't solve anything. I feel powerless too. But we Zimbabweans survive because we can change as our circumstances change. And that's what we have to do now.'

'But you "went away",' I said, 'and left Abigail to deal with this on her own.'

Dad looked down again, his eyes full of tears. 'I didn't do that on purpose - and I'm back now.'

I kept quiet. I had no answer except an angry one.

After a while, Dad said, 'We have to decide how we're going to live. Abigail's Uncle Winston is offering us part of the land where they grow vegetables, and help with building some huts - our own little compound. The rains have been bad so far this year, but in Mangwe Ford, they always have water. My own family lands were taken by white people a long time ago, so we have nowhere else to go.'

I took a deep breath. 'Then I suppose we'd better be grateful for the offer to live back in the Stone Age!' I said. 'Do we have any money at all? Perhaps I can get a job. I went to one of the best schools in the country, after all.'

Dad smiled, calm as a windless dawn, ignoring my angry voice and my question about money. 'Maybe you can. But I hope we can get our home in the village organised first. I need your help with that. Then you can start looking for work.'

CHAPTER FIVE

Back to the village

Later, during the night, we were allowed to see Amos. He was sleeping deeply, a small black boy in a huge white bed. We phoned the Baobab Cross Hotel and left a message for Abigail. It was the nearest phone to Mangwe Ford. We said that Dad would stay with Amos, and Abigail should come as soon as she could. We slept on chairs in the waiting room, and agreed they weren't as comfortable as the floor of a hut.

Then, at first light, I set off back to the village on foot.

There was a truck stop with a cafe and bottle store at the edge of Sikumi. One of the drivers was happy to give me a lift if I kept him awake, he said. I told him the story of the latest Will Smith film while his noisy old truck fought with the hills. It was very good to get out at Baobab Cross.

Abigail came hurrying towards me from the hotel, her skirt bright blue against the red earth.

'Is it true?' she asked. 'He'll live?'

'It's true,' I said. 'Amos will live and Dad's OK now.'

'I didn't dare believe it,' she said with a smile. 'Memory and Gugu are staying in Uncle Winston's compound. Give them a kiss from me.'

And she was gone, walking fast down the road to Sikumi.

I drank some water and took the red dirt road towards the village. I'd given my cellphone to Dad, as the nurse had said she'd charge it for him. So now, I was leaving the last electricity and telephone behind.

This thought brought my anger back, and I began to run. I kept my mind busy, making lists of all the bad things that had happened to us, all the bad things that still might happen to us, and what I would do to the people who'd made them happen. That got me about halfway.

I slowed to a walk. 'Now think about something nice,' I told myself. So I thought about Sibongile, and the shining drops of water falling round her as she worked, making her T-shirt stick to her skin as they fell on her. I wondered what she'd meant by saying, 'When we first came…' Where had she come from, and who were 'we'? And how did she make me feel the way she did? She obviously wasn't trying to.

I looked up at the clear blue sky - no sign of rain - and saw two great birds circling. All around me were small trees, with wide areas of rocky red earth between them. In the distance, I could see zebra eating tired green grass. Suddenly they began to run. They crossed the road ahead of me, leaving a cloud of dust. Maybe something big was hunting. These hills were home to a lot more animals than people. I began to run again, too. But when I got to the top of the rise, I stopped to look at the view.

Four or five kilometres away, thick forest grew on either side of the wide sandy riverbed. The river itself was a thin line of rocks and water near the far side. The dirt road wound down and was lost in the forest in front of me. I could see where it crossed the river at the ford, a shallow place with no rocks. It went into the trees on the far bank, and came out above them on to low, empty hills. From there I knew the border with Mozambique was a day's walk away.

I hurried on to the village, looking forward to a wash and clean clothes - and to seeing Sibongile again, even from a distance.

Later, I went to Uncle Winston's compound. I could hear Aunt Ivy singing in her cooking hut.

'Knock, knock,' I called.

She came out calling, 'Memory! Your brother's back… Come in, Tendai, come in.'

Memory sat with me while I ate Aunt Ivy's biscuits and fruit and told her about the hospital. Gugu played outside with some baby chickens. After a few minutes, Uncle Winston came in. He was a tall man with an almost Arab face, wearing jeans and a purple Nelson Mandela-style shirt.

'We've never had a landmine in this village before,' he told me. 'Thank goodness Ivy knew what to do.'

I said, 'Yes, Amos could have died without your help.'

Aunt Ivy said, 'Stop your nonsense.'

When I'd finished eating, Uncle Winston asked me if I was free. I stood up immediately.

'Come with me,' he said. 'I need your help.'

We went to his private hut, where there was a desk and bookshelves. On the desk was a letter. There were a lot of corrections on it.

'I'm writing to the mayor,' he said, 'to ask what he's doing about the landmines. We've asked many times for the minefield across the river to be cleared. There was talk of starting some months ago. And now we know there are landmines near the village. I want you to check this letter over for mistakes in the English.' Uncle Winston pulled up a chair for me.

I checked through the letter and found it almost perfect. Just as I finished, a shadow filled the doorway.

CHAPTER SIX

Sibongile

'Ah,' said Uncle Winston. 'Come in, dear Sibongile. Tendai has given me his opinion. Now you can tell me yours.'

I didn't hear Sibongile's reply because my heart had started beating too loudly. I stood up to let her sit down at the desk and I had to hold on to the chair. I'd thought the feeling would get less as I saw more of her, but it was worse.

I took a couple of deep breaths, wondering whether she felt it too, but she didn't seem to. When she'd finished, Uncle Winston almost pushed us out of the door together.

I walked to the gate and held it open for her. I was in control again now. I tried to look cool, but I felt like I was flying. We walked towards her hut together.

'How's Amos?' she asked.

'He'll be OK.' Trying to look cool wasn't working. Even Amos's terrible problems couldn't stop me smiling. 'He'll just need a new leg and to learn to write with his left hand.' I suddenly thought, 'This feeling is called happiness!'

'That's all, is it?' she asked with her head on one side. She was laughing at me a little.

We'd stopped outside her hut. She called to someone inside, 'Do you hear that, Useni? Be careful where you walk if you want to grow up with two legs.'

A boy of about twelve came out of the hut. He blew down his nose. 'Pphh. This place is disgusting!'

'Don't be rude, Useni,' Sibongile said, embarrassed. 'Tendai, this is Useni, my brother. Useni, if we weren't here we'd have to live at Grandma's, where there's no water. Here is better.' Useni took a last swallow from his can of cola and threw it on the ground. 'Why did Mum have to die, anyway?' he shouted. 'And why won't they let us see Dad?'

'Useni,' said Sibongile, pointing to the can.

'Let's go and see the guys playing football,' I said.

Useni looked a bit happier at that, picked up the can and set off across the clearing. A match had started near the road to Baobab Cross. His sister and I followed more slowly.

Sibongile means 'thankful'. So I said, 'You have a lovely name.' But as soon as I'd said it, I felt stupid.

I felt better though when she said 'thank you' quietly.

'I was wondering,' I said, 'how long you've been here.'

'We've visited many times,' she said. 'But we came about a week ago to stay, maybe forever.'

'Where were you living before, then?' I asked.

'In Harare,' she answered. 'Our mother died some time ago… And now our father is in hospital, also dying. She didn't sound particularly upset about her dad, I thought. And his father insisted we came here now, so Useni can start at the church school near Baobab Cross in the New Year.'

'But surely you could have stayed in Harare and lived there with your grandfather?' I asked.

'But he doesn't live there,' replied Sibongile. 'He lives here, in Mangwe Ford. He's related to Uncle Winston, like most of us here!'

'And what about your own education?' I asked.

Just then, Aunt Ivy called from behind us and we turned. 'I have to go,' Sibongile said, 'but I have lots of questions I wanted to ask you.'

'Not as punishment for anything, I hope,' I said.

She laughed and waved as she ran back to Uncle Winston's compound. Was it me or Harare she was interested in?

I followed Useni and watched the boys playing, but somehow my eyes didn't see them. All I could think about was Sibongile's lovely face.

I couldn't stand still, so I walked back past the huts to the vegetable gardens. I found a small lake filled by a stream running down to the main river. From the lake, there were narrow paths to the gardens. These were inside high fences. There were rows and rows of onions, cabbages, and so on.

I walked on along the main path. It was the continuation of the road from Baobab Cross that ran through the village. I'd seen it from the rise on my way back from the hospital. It was wide enough to drive a car along, but there were no tyre marks. Where the road turned across the sandy river-bed towards the ford, there was a new garden marked out beside it. I thought, 'This is where Abigail and Sibongile will work.'

And that made me wonder whether there was work I could do in the village. To start with there would be our compound to build, with its huts and the fence all round. I'd been planning to get a job in Sikumi when that was finished. But now, with Sibongile in Mangwe Ford, that didn't seem such a good idea.

However, it wasn't that easy to get to see her. Aunt Ivy seemed to keep her busy all the time. I didn't see her that evening, except from a distance.

The next day Uncle Winston asked me to start work on our compound. I went a long way down the river with two other men to find tall, straight young trees to cut for the 'bones' of the huts. We got back in the evening, and Sibongile, Useni, my sisters and I all ate at Aunt Ivy's table.

Useni was feeling better. He liked singing the latest pop songs, and the village boys thought this was brilliant. After the meal, there was quite a party with everyone singing and dancing. But girls danced with girls, and boys with boys. So it was only later, when everyone was going to bed, that I had a few minutes alone with Sibongile.

I walked with her to her hut. It was completely dark except for the faint starlight on the river sand, pale between the trees. My whole body felt painfully alive from the music and the excitement of being close to her again.

'You don't sing do you?' she asked.

I laughed. 'You mean, I can't sing. I sound awful.'

'But you have a beautiful speaking voice.' Was she making fun of me?

'I used to tell traditional stories,' I told her. 'When my grandmother, my mother's mother, died, I told her stories to my friends. It was a way of keeping her near.'

'Your mother died?' asked Sibongile.

'When I was born,' I said. 'So my grandmother was like my mother… until she died too.' My chest felt tight.

Sibongile's hand found mine and squeezed it in the darkness. 'You should tell those stories again.' She laughed, lifting our mood. 'In the evenings, before the meal.'

'But they're for little children,' I said, holding her hand in both mine.

'Make up some new ones!' she said. 'Or change some of the old ones.'

'I'll think about it,' I said. I didn't want to say goodnight.

Sibongile pulled her hand away. 'Goodnight,' she said quietly. 'Sleep tight.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kisses

Next day, late in the afternoon, I took the wood I'd cut to the place where our compound would be. Then I began looking for Sibongile. Was she avoiding me? I saw Beatrice, who told me Sibongile was busy. 'There are other people in this village apart from her, you know,' she laughed.

I'd started having ideas for a story. I decided to find a quiet place to work on it, so I went to sit on the rocks at the top of a small hill just west of the village.

The sun was going down when I heard a sound behind me. Someone was climbing up the hill towards me. I thought it was Memory, come to call me in for the evening meal, but it was Sibongile!

I stood up slowly, trying to be very cool. 'Hi,' I said.

'Hi,' she replied. She looked around and sat down carefully on the ground, her back against the warm rock.

I sat down beside her, not too near. I couldn't think of anything to say. My mind was too full - or too empty.

'Your dad's a good man,' she said at last.

'He's… well, not the perfect dad, but pretty good,' I said.

'And your stepmother is a bit stressed out, but nice.'

'She's fine. She's been very good to me,' I said.

She spoke thoughtfully, as though she was talking about a character in a film. 'My father's a terrible man. He had AIDS and didn't tell my mother. He gave it to a friend of mine too.'

I was shocked. 'A friend of yours?' I asked.

'Yes. He tricked my best friend into his bed.' She turned to me and said very quietly, 'She's dead now. And he beat me when I tried to ask him about it.'

I said 'But you're only a child. I mean…'

She smiled sadly. 'I'm seventeen now. I was fifteen then…' I didn't know what to say.

She continued, 'And now he's dying too. Stupid, isn't it?'

I nodded my eyes on the deep-pink clouds.

She put a hand on my arm and said, 'I just wanted you to know the kind of family I come from. You're… so sweet…' I almost exploded. That was not how I wanted her to think of me!

She went on, '… so sweet, and I think you don't know much about the dirty side of life.'

I felt shaken. 'I can't believe…' I said. 'You seem to come from a wealthy home, you seem so…'

'Money isn't everything,' she said. 'Everyone is given a body, and a brain, and a life. But what we do with our lives is what we give to ourselves - our present to ourselves.' She paused, and then went on. 'My father has given himself the present of a horrible death.'

What could I say to that? I had to change the subject, so I said, 'I'm working on a story for the kids. About landmines. This village didn't have a problem with them before, did it?'

Sibongile turned to me and laughed - such perfect teeth! 'Ah ha. So you will tell us a story,' she said.

'Perhaps,' I replied.

'Well, there is a minefield,' she began, becoming serious. 'It's a few kilometres away, across the river. It used to be marked. But people used the metal signs for other things years ago, before this village moved here.'

'So the landmines are from the war,' I said. 'Thirty years ago?'

'I suppose so,' she answered.

'At the hospital,' I said, 'there was a woman who told us there might be other landmines in our area.'

Sibongile's shoulders were tight, her face angry, her eyes half closed against the setting sun. 'That's another stupid thing people do. Wars… Totally and incredibly stupid.' She was far angrier about that than about her father.

Then her voice changed and she turned to me. 'But, you know, we could do something about that minefield. We could get people together and demand that the landmines are cleared.'

Her eyes shone and I felt excited by her energy. I said, 'The woman at the hospital gave me a list of names and addresses. We could go into Sikumi and email them.' I'd taken the paper out of my pocket and left it in the hut.

'Yes! And we'll go with Uncle Winston to see the mayor.' She stood up and clapped her hands. 'We can put out a message on the Internet, asking for money and help. We'll make sure everyone hears about Amos. We must do something quickly.'

I stood and took her shoulders in my hands. 'You can write down what we're going to say and we'll go to the Internet cafe near the hospital.'

She looked at me with such an excited expression on her face that I was kissing her on the mouth before I realised what I was doing.

A storm of feeling went through my body! I had to stop kissing her so that I didn't fall down. I looked at her face. She looked shocked for a moment, and then smiled a gentle smile - not a come on smile, just a friendly, happy smile. Maybe she was ignoring the storm, or maybe she was better at dealing with it than I was.

She said, just a little breathlessly, 'I… we… need to talk to people and plan things.'

We stood completely still in the last of the sunlight. 'Yes,' I said. 'We need to think things through.'

She looked up at me. 'Why didn't the people who laid those landmines think? Didn't they see what a danger they would be to innocent people after the war?' She turned as if to go back down to the village.

I was afraid she would rush straight off to start her campaign - and I had other plans. I kept a hand on her shoulder and said, 'Thinking is not everyone's strong point.' I turned her towards me again, held her face between my hands and kissed her, very gently. I was afraid my legs would give way if my body reacted like before.

After a moment, she drew away a little, with a sweet smile. 'No,' she agreed. 'Too many people do things because of how they feel rather than what they think.' She was making fun of me, of course. But she wasn't stopping me.

I licked my lips. They were so hot they dried immediately. I said, 'True… But some people decide to follow their feelings rather than their thoughts. That's the difference.' I leant towards her again.

She grinned at me and said, 'Are you thinking when we kiss?'

That made me laugh, and she laughed too. I sat down again and answered seriously, looking up at her. 'Mostly, when we were kissing, I was feeling. I was feeling so happy, I couldn't think.'

To my surprise she sat down and said, 'Good, me too.'

So she really did like me! We laughed and kissed a bit more. I said, 'But that doesn't mean I couldn't think if I had to, just that I don't want to.' She kissed me back, just a little.

After a few moments she said, 'I'm beginning to think…' I made myself sound cool and lazy. 'Oh no,' I said. 'That's bad. Stop now!'

She said, her lips moving against mine, 'It's getting stronger and stronger, this thought…'

'No, no,' I said in the same position. 'Just feel…'

A second or two later, she said, 'It's not going away…'

I leant back. 'I suppose you want me to ask what it is?'

She smiled. 'Yes,' she said and kissed my cheek.

'OK,' I said. 'What are you thinking about so much that it stops you kissing me properly? Landmine campaigns? What kind of cabbages to grow?'

Her laugh was like church bells. 'I'm thinking… that we must go back now. If we don't, we won't get any dinner!'

Of course, I didn't want to, but it was better to stop. So I jumped up and said, 'So… kissing doesn't fill your hungry little stomach!' I took her hand and pulled her up.

'No,' she said, making a funny little face. 'It's a pity, but it doesn't.'

The sun had gone. We ran down the hillside in the gathering dark, trying to trip each other up.

From then on, I thought about Sibongile so much, it felt as if she was living inside me. But I didn't see much of her and we were both too busy to do anything about the landmines.

And even three days later there was still no answer to Uncle Winston's letter.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dragons eggs

Then my dad came back from the hospital. He was almost his old self, laughing and telling bad jokes. Being a mechanic, he took over the building work, but kindly kept me on as his assistant. He said Amos was eating well, demanding chocolate and TV, but sometimes had bad dreams at night.

Abigail would stay with Amos until he could come home. The church she belonged to was paying for his treatment and a place for her to stay in Sikumi. In general, though, Dad was a bit mysterious about money, and I couldn't get him to tell me whether we had any or not.

The story went round that the landmine that hurt Amos had been washed down the river by floods. I wasn't sure this was true, but it made us all think carefully about where we walked, and it helped me finish making up my story. The only ones who forgot to be careful were the little kids, of course. So I made my story especially for them.

When it was ready, I told Amos's friends I'd be at the village baobab tree at sunset, and there'd be a story.

Late that afternoon I went and sat with my back against the huge tree. There were a few clouds, but still no rain. The sun seemed to be taking a rest on a hill before it disappeared completely, and the clouds flamed pink and orange. I hoped Sibongile would come to the storytelling. I wanted her to see and hear me perform. I shut my eyes and listened.

I heard children gathering quietly around me. I heard large birds making a loud fuss as they settled in the forest for the night. I heard monkeys calling far away. I smelled food cooking by the huts. Someone gave a little cough.

I opened my eyes and looked at the children. They held their breath, eyes wide open, biting their lips, waiting. Their skin shone like dark metal in the orange sunlight, and the dust hung round them, golden in the still air.

I took a deep breath. 'Long ago…' I began slowly.

The children all broke into wide, white smiles, making themselves comfortable and preparing to listen. The sun sank suddenly behind the hill, and the shadows disappeared.

'Long ago,' I repeated, 'when the world was young, high in the mountains, a boy called River was born. He was strong and dark, and he laughed and sang, as he ran and jumped down the mountains.'

'What did he sing?' asked a little girl called Fortune.

'He sang, "You can't catch me,"' I answered.

The children began to sing, 'You can't catch me,' and two of the larger boys began to jump about like River. Memory arrived with Useni and Sibongile, and sat down at the back of my audience. I waited until everyone was quiet.

'On his way,' I went on, 'River met a beautiful girl, called Stream. They put their arms around each other and, smiling and whispering, they joined together and travelled on between the hills…' I looked at Sibongile. She was looking at me thoughtfully.

Some of the children whispered together and put their arms around each other. 'Later,' I said, 'they came to a wide, flat place called a plain. Around the edges of the plain were mountains and hills. As they travelled across the plain, River and Stream gave birth to lots of children.

'These little Rivers ran along, sometimes beside their parents and sometimes near the mountains. Some went down holes to water the earth. The whole River family helped people and animals, trees and grass to grow and enjoy life.'

I lowered my voice. 'But… while River and Stream and all the little Rivers were having such a good time, someone else, who lived under the earth of the plain, was getting more and more unhappy.'

'Who was that?' someone whispered.

'That was… Dragon!' I answered, raising my voice.

'What's Dragon?' asked Thembi, Fortune's tiny sister, her eyes wide and white.

'Dragon has a head like a huge horse,' I answered, showing with my arms how tall the dragon was.

'And wings,' added Memory, stretching her arms out. 'And a huge long tail.'

'And in its big red stomach it makes… FIRE,' I said, sitting forward to scare the little ones, 'which it breathes out of its mouth, whoosh.' I showed them with my hands how the flames shot out of Dragon's mouth.

The children cried out. 'Eh, eh, eh!'

'And Dragon was unhappy,' I went on. 'Once, there had been hundreds of Dragons living under the earth. They used to breathe through holes, and fire would jump out on to the plain. It burned everything for miles around. But now so many of River's children ran into the holes in the earth that the Dragons were always wet. And when they were wet, the fire in their stomachs went out, and they died. At last there were only two Dragons left.'

'A mummy Dragon and a daddy Dragon?' asked Fortune.

'That's right,' I answered. 'And Mummy and Daddy Dragon were very scared and very angry. They knew that if they didn't do something they would die and there would be no more Dragons.

'So they decided to lay lots of Dragons' eggs. The eggs would break open and hatch into little Dragons, and the Rivers would not be able to put out their fires.'

'So little Dragons can breathe fire?' asked a small boy, his teeth and eyes shining in the growing dark.

'Oh yes,' I answered. 'Their fire is very hot. The Dragons hid their eggs under the earth, sometimes in big groups, sometimes one at a time. They hoped that, if all the baby Dragons hatched together, maybe the Rivers would be dried up in the heat of their fires.'

I could hardly see the children's faces now in the growing dark. But I could feel them holding their breath.