ISSUE IV: Mirror of Society

PROSE
He decided at once to buy a
plot in this little paradise
if only to please Annabelle.
And now beside the brook
in the valley looking out on
the emerald fields where residents
grazed their cattle was rising
the first expansion of his resorts
outside Europe, La Emeralda. And
the fields were alive with antelopes
and elephants. But how would he
tell Annabelle that the kindhearted
man that had sold them the land
was murdered in cold blood in that
very paradise? She never believed it.
Even right there in the cemetery she
still obviously couldn’t believe it. He
cried in his handkerchief and when
he raised his damp eyes to look at the
padre the pits were being filled.
One spring morning,
Maconi looked out of the third floor
of La Emeralda. A drizzle ensued.
Fundis was alighting in the yard to
give their last touches to the interiors
of the five floors. They wore helmets
and reflector vests and boots. They
conversed in casual drawls as their
feet echoed up the vacant stairs. He
was admiring the African tulip with
its floral flames in the sunrise beside
the brook close to where he had set
up a large greenhouse to provide
ready veggies for the resort’s needs.
That week he had ordered batteries
worth 150000 shillings to supply him
with his own ready chickens and
eggs.
He gradually became aware
of a large herd of cattle, including
camels, approaching the valley from
the other side of the rill. They were
hundreds and their AK47-wielding
herders drifted across the northern
frontier looking for greener pastures.
They were the Turkana, a nomadic
tribe of the Nilotes. They wore beads
and cloaks and plaited hair and were
very friendly. They wore daggers too,
and sometimes during the safaris,
they provided security and guidance
due to their special discipline which
had made the country create them
a sort of legendary symbol for its
hospitality sector. In the nation’s
tourism ads they were popular as
accurate props and models for the
face of the tourism industry.
Suddenly, the herdsmen
were attacked by five gunmen on
motorbikes and Maconi heard
gunshots and saw game and the herd
scatter. One of the gunmen fell and
three of the herdsmen also fell then
from behind a police Land Cruiser
braked abruptly and six anti-robbery
squad policemen pushed through
their doors with guns corked, barrels
rising. Just when they were accosting
the bandits more gunmen sped from
behind and opened fire on them
and Maconi watched their bodies
scattered there on the field like offal
in a slaughter. He grabbed his phone
and dialed, but when he raised his
face again a missile flew into it, and
with its force he was thrown back
into the room against the approach
of a scared Annabelle, who was just
arriving from touring Lake Turkana
five miles away.
“Darling,” she said in
Italian, leaning over him, shaking
him. “Are you okay?”
Then, she saw the red spot
between his eyes. A crimson rill
flowed gradually from it. Then the
little source became a river. He had
been shot by a stray bullet. Annabelle
looked out of the window. The
rustlers were driving the great herd
away across the rill. There were two
silver rills sourcing from her own
eyes through which she watched this
daylight terror.
Inspector General Jeff
Ochieng was a fat, dashing man close
to his retirement. He was painfully
conscious of the perils of his job. He
had been for close to forty-five years.
A meeting was underway in the
conference hall of the National Police
Headquarters. He had convened it.
Arrays of shaken police inspectors
sat around the glossy mahogany
table in piece suits. Some of them
wore berets, while the rest wore
crew cuts. Mineral water bottles
By CLAY BANKS
THEGLOBALYOUTHREVIEW.COM
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By MATT FLORES