Home
      About Me
      Photos
      Travel Writings
      Poetry
      Guest Book
      Contact

SHIFTA

I think it was a Tuesday. It felt like a Tuesday anyway, if that's possible, but it didn't matter; this was Africa and I was happy to be alive. Slowly one starts to lose track of the hours, then the days. Before long, the months just blend into barely distinguishable seasons. It was sunny and Colin was driving, so really it could have been any day in the last seven months. We had heard rumours of better roads ahead and that it was now safe to travel them without an escort or convoy. But that's all rumours are in Africa, just rumours. Unless you've seen it with your own eyes, don't believe it. Even then, if you've turned away for just a second, things have probably changed.

A smiling young gentleman in green army fatigues and a matching beret had waved us down on an arid stretch of highway.
"Jumbo Rafiki. Habariako?" He had greeted us, a huge smile illuminating his dark face. "Please I need to get to checkpoint down the road," he said in a deep African accent.
" Hakunah matata," Colin joked.
We had been doing our best at speaking Swahili for a couple of months now. Not that that had amounted to much more than pleasantries, food, and directions, but it was always fun to see the glee and surprise on people's faces when you greeted them with a few words of their native language. We were heading his direction anyway and with temperatures constantly above 35 degrees Celsius in the Northern Kenyan desert, the roadside was not a pleasant place to be. He pushed our vegetables out of the way and clambered up into the back seat of the Land Cruiser.
The rumour we had heard was that the road west toward Lamu Island had been paved and it was no longer necessary to travel with an armed guard or in a secured convoy. Our new friend, Siamo, was saying otherwise and was offering his services for our protection. I had learned long ago that there is a fine line between people who want to help you and those who just want to help you out of your money and in many cases, the two go hand in hand. Some friendly bartering was always a good way to get a feel for a person's character. We could use the hearsay of the new road for haggling if need be, because information, fact or fiction, is a great bartering tool in any country.

As always, we were late arriving to our destination, which usually didn't matter on this continent with an inherent lateness. 'African Time' they say, and 'polepole', phrases which mean to take life slowly, everything will happen in it's time. We were acting quite nonchalant with Siamo, convinced we'd be safe driving on our own to the utopian coastline of the Indian Ocean. As we drove through the seemingly lifeless barren land, we talked of the differences between growing up in Canada versus Africa. Both of my African companions longed to partake in a Canadian winter.
"Very brave," I exclaimed.
"Toronto! Montreal!" Siamo blurted, proud to know of my homeland.
I smiled as I waited for him to ask me some names of Canadians he'd met previously.
Siamo hugged the rifle on his lap as he leaned forward between our seats, not wanting to miss any of the conversation. His wide smile was so friendly, his laughter so warming. When the imminent bartering began, Siamo's services had started at an 'eye-popping' 2000 Kenyan shillings, or $26 Canadian; it was half that much by the time we'd gotten to his checkpoint by the river. We still didn't feel we needed protection, however he had strength in numbers; his cronies all backed up his story that, "no the road was not fixed" and, "yes the last convoy for the day was gone." Siamo had illustrated to us the atrocities of the Somalian Shifta. These bandits sneak into Kenya to poach elephants for ivory and hijack vehicles on this road that runs parallel to Somalia's southern border. The guards explained that just last week a man had been shot in the leg but managed to speed away to safety. Long story short, we had the pleasure of our new friend's company for a 'sunset price' of 700 shillings, about $10 Cdn. We added jokingly that if he saved our lives, he would get a bonus, but if we were all killed, he'd get nothing.

With a few high-speed, bone-jarring jolts, we soon found that the road had not been fixed. We were forced to creep along, weaving back and forth to avoid gaping, axle-busting potholes on a road that was once tarmac and was now a jigsaw puzzle of tar chucks and craters. And from the stories we'd heard, this was no road to be moving slowly on either. Our paranoia was not helped by the fact that the path was hemmed in by thick brush and overhanging grasses, making us feel like sitting ducks in a pool of sharks. It still amazed me that nearly every plant out here had thorns; that nearly every day was sweltering under a huge cloudless, blue sky; that dust would rise up at the mere thought of wind; that areas went months, years sometimes without rainfall - and that still people existed and thrived off the land here.

After about an hour of swerving and braking in this tunnel, the trek had become tedious. I drifted in and out of semi-sleep, waking periodically, my head having bounced off some hard object. It was usually only a matter of a few waking seconds and I was out again, lost in another bouncy dream.
Suddenly we were rocked from our drowsiness by an ear-shattering blast, sharp and loud, like waking up to the grand finale of a fireworks display. "Another blown tire," was my immediate thought. Then I saw Colin, wide eyed, staring down the road. I turned to look as another explosion rang in our ears. In the middle of the road, about 30 metres ahead, was a man shooting at us from his high-powered rifle. Another blast rang out, everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Colin and I turned to meet each other's ghost-white faces and then met Siamo's gaze with our scared, pleading eyes.
" STOP! STOP!" he screamed.
I watched in horror as Siamo struggled with the door handle and tried to free his gun from the partially open window. More shots whizzed past. Before we were stopped, Siamo had flung himself out of the back door and rolled into the ditch. I turtled, squeezed my head and prayed; I was glued to the floor by the time Colin managed to stop the truck and fold himself across our seats. A hope flashed through my head that I was behind the engine block but was convinced that at any second the AK-47's bullets were about to explode through the metal and rip into my flesh. A bullet blasted through the windshield and rained glass down on us.

Deafening shots consumed our world; Siamo was firing back. He started yelling as the shots continued. My ears rang like I had been smashed upside the head with a baseball bat. What was Siamo yelling? I knew he wanted something when his beret flew through the open window at us. I was shaking as I lifted myself from the illusionary safety of my bunker to peek out the window. I couldn't understand what he was screaming at me. I turned to see men firing at us, lying on either side of the road. How were we still alive? What did Siamo want?
" RADIO, TURN OFF RADIO"!
I backhanded the radio as I slid down into a ball on the floor. Shots back and forth, metal ringing like the tin cans we used to shoot for target practice back home...
"Back home... Mom... Dad..." I closed my eyes and covered my head. . APlease know that I love you, I loved every second of my life. Please don't cry for me and know I will always be with you."
Sudden silence demanded my attention. Then Siamo crashed in through his open door.
" DRIVE… FAST! Keep your heads down."
I was not planning to lift mine. An assault of shots started again like a jackhammer pounding pavement. Colin's face was a desperate portrait of fear as he put the truck in gear and sped toward the gunmen, doing his best to stay low but still see the road. I didn't get my fingers in my ears quick enough as Siamo unleashed a thunderous hell around us. He was firing at our assailants; his semi-automatic rifle pointed out one window and his handgun out the other. Huge empty cartridges came bouncing around our heads from every direction. Bullets ripped into the vehicle with a scream, then a thud as they buried themselves into our possessions. We smashed through mammoth potholes and our whole world was ringing, shattering and crashing around us. I cried, reflecting on my life and convinced this was the end. Everything became an echo. Time seemed to stand still.

Then the violently loud noise from Siamo's guns stopped. Soon he patted Colin on the shoulder and said, "Okay, okay." We slowed and I unfolded off the floor. Nobody spoke. I was dazed; everything around us seemed a blur. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear the high-pitched ringing in my ears. We were covered in broken glass. Spent cartridges were scattered around us. The truck was riddled with bullet holes. Colin stared blankly down the road, his fingers clamped to the steering wheel as though it were his last hold on survival. Were we really alive? Was it really over? Everything seemed very surreal.

I turned slowly to look over my shoulder. Siamo was silent but his smile screamed out. You could see the adrenaline racing in his veins; his eyes glowed with excitement. This was fun to him, saving people's lives, it was his job but also his playground - and he loved it. I pictured him as a superhero, protecting the innocent from the forces of evil. I smiled; he was a superhero.
We dropped Siamo at the police station where we reported the incident. We thanked him profusely and with great pleasure paid him his wage, and an 'eye popping' bonus. He graciously accepted, thanked us shyly and hugged us farewell. He would return to his regular guard duty for the rest of the day with one more story to tell and enough money for a month of meals. He would anxiously await his next opportunity to save someone's life.

We rolled on softly, floating in mind-space the rest of the way to the coast. The sun had set, the air had cooled and the sky was streaked an ominous blood red. Colin and I sat in quiet introspection on the beach and dug our toes into the sand, the warm Indian Ocean gently lapping at our bare feet. These sensations were greater now than they had been the thousands of times before. "Grasp it. Remember all of this," I said to myself, "you never know if it may be your last." The first stars blinked at us as we stared off across the ocean. It's amazing the appreciation you gain for life when you come very close to losing it.

tb