African Pursuit (3 page)

N
eema’s earliest memories were of happy times spent playing with her pets in the house and garden where she lived with Mzuri, her mother, and her great-aunt and great-uncle, whom she knew simply as ‘grandma’ and ‘grandpa’.

As she grew older she was thrilled by Mzuri’s stories of the faraway land where she had been born – a land of endless plains where giraffe and antelope grazed; where rhinos and elephants lived; and where lions, cheetahs and hyenas roamed in search of prey. Grandma was very kind but also very firm; she made sure that Neema learnt all her lessons, and taught her many things more than she learnt at the village school. Grandpa worked in the immense national park called Salonga which, he proudly told her, was the largest forest reserve in the whole of Africa and contained some of the rarest and most exciting animals in the world. After school he would take her with him on his expeditions along the enthralling jungle waterways and paths and she came to know the forest and its animals as well as any of the rangers who worked there.

Neema had discussed her pale skin with Mzuri and her ‘grandparents’ many times and knew that her father had been an Englishman who had returned to his own country long ago as the result of the
troubles. There was not a single child in her school and village who had not been affected in some way by the two Congo wars that had occurred in their short lifetimes, and to have a missing, unknown or foreign parent was sufficiently commonplace as to arouse no curiosity whatsoever. Neema had always assumed Mzuri to be her mother and while Mzuri always intended one day to tell her the whole story and to answer truthfully any questions, those questions were never asked. Then, when Neema was eleven, something happened that was to change her life for ever. It was morning and Neema wasn’t feeling well and had decided not to go to school. Grandpa and Mzuri had gone to work and Grandma had gone shopping.

At about half-past nine she suddenly developed a bad headache. One day in the future she would come to realise that, at that very moment, her identical twin sister was being knocked down by a car in a London suburb. For the moment, however, she knew of nothing but her headache, and she rang her grandfather at work in his office at Anga in the reserve.

‘I expect it’s just this virus that’s going round,’ he said. ‘Have you taken anything? I think there’s some paracetamol in Grandma’s bedside cupboard. She shouldn’t be out too long but if she isn’t back by lunchtime, give me another ring and I’ll try to pop back to see you.’

Neema carried a glass of water into her grandparents’ bedroom and looked in the bedside cupboard, but there were no tablets there. As she turned back towards the door, she saw that Grandpa’s desk, usually locked, was open. She looked inside and to her relief saw the tablets and took two immediately. As she did so she splashed a few drops of water onto some papers which she hurriedly mopped dry with a tissue. As she did so her attention was caught by a box file on which a label had been pasted. It said:

“In the event of the simultaneous death or disappearance of myself and my wife please deliver to the UNESCO heritage site office at Salonga or the British Embassy in Kinshasa.”

Intrigued, Neema opened the file which contained all the material that Mzuri had retrieved from the safe in the Bonaventures’ burnt-out home. There were two British passports and a bundle of research notes and letters, but on the very top was a letter written by her grandfather. Her mouth ran dry as she read it:

“To whom it may concern. I, Ulindaji Hakimu, do solemnly declare that the information below is accurate to the best of my knowledge:

The infant girl known as Neema, who has been brought up in my house under the care of my wife, Shangazi, and niece, Mzuri-Mlezi, is not related by blood to this family. She is the twin child of two UN scientists called Bonaventure from the UK who lost touch with her during rebel activity at the start of the first Congo War. I do not know the fate of her parents and twin sibling. They apparently escaped unscathed from a local massacre that took place at the time of Neema’s birth, but I fear it is extremely improbable that they ever managed to leave the country alive. In order to protect the child during the various political upheavals that have ravaged the country during her lifetime we have brought her up as our own. I implore the recipient of this file to ensure that, in the more settled times that we hope and pray the future will bring, she may one day be made aware of her origins and be assisted in any appropriate action she may take, to re-establish contact with her roots and any surviving relatives. Her parents’ passports are enclosed in this file together with a copy of my will in which I leave my estate to be divided equally between my niece, Mzuri, and the aforementioned adopted great-niece, Neema Bonaventure.”

With shaking hands Neema closed the file and replaced it in the desk. Stunned by what she had just learnt, she went and lay on her
bed to try and gather her thoughts. Her initial feelings of resentment against her ‘family’ were soon replaced by those of love and gratitude at the sacrifices they had all made on her behalf. She could see that they had attempted always to act in her best interests during the strife-torn years of civil war when neighbours had found themselves on opposing sides and nobody could trust anybody except their closest relatives.

It dawned on her now how her grandmother had tried to link her to her heritage by focusing so many of her extra lessons on British and European history and on English poetry and literature. And she had had a twin, probably dead, whom she had never known. She wondered whether it had been a boy or a girl.

As she pondered she became aware of unusual noises. She shook her head, thinking it was an unpleasant symptom of her viral infection, but the noises persisted. Gradually she began to realise that the noises were like distant voices. Then her pet mongoose scurried into the room, its eyes bright.

‘Greetings O Special One!’

Neema looked about her in bewilderment, then back at the mongoose. There was no doubt it had spoken, for it lifted its head and repeated the greeting.

‘Greetings to you also, little one,’
said Neema. She did not speak aloud. She intuitively realised that she and the little creature could communicate soundlessly. ‘
Why can I suddenly speak to you?’
she asked.

‘To learn that, thou must speak to wiser ones than I,’
replied the mongoose.
‘I am but a malevobane and know not of these things. Thou must seek out the little hairy tailless ones known as the bonobokin.’

Neema knew immediately that the mongoose wanted her to speak with the bonobo chimps, a rare species of pygmy chimpanzee that her
grandfather had pointed out to her in a remote part of the reserve – an area that he was especially careful to protect from poachers.

She suddenly felt a curious sense of elation at this new world of experience that had opened for her. She opened the door and the sound of the voices she had heard earlier assaulted her from all sides, now loud and distinct. She realised that they came from countless forest creatures: squirrels, birds, monkeys, even chameleons and lizards. She made a conscious effort to exclude them and to her great relief found she could ‘turn down the volume’ at will. Her headache remained (as it would until her twin’s operation had been successfully completed) but had improved since taking the tablets and now seemed less intrusive since her mind had become occupied with the excitement of her new power.

She went back inside and rang her grandfather.

‘Are you OK? Isn’t Grandma back yet?’ He sounded concerned. Hearing him now, knowing for the first time of her true relationship to him and the sacrifices he had made, she felt a sudden rush of affection for this kind and generous man who had risked so much for the sake of a foreign foster-child.

‘I’m fine, grandpa,’ she said. ‘My headache’s much better. In fact, I was wondering if I could come in to see you later. I think a jungle walk would do me good.’ Her grandpa was relieved.

‘Of course. I’ve got a conference with some UNESCO officials all afternoon, but I’m sure you can accompany one of the rangers on his rounds.’

She told the mongoose of her plans but decided not to tell any of the family what had happened. She was sure that her new-found powers were somehow related to the emotional shock of reading her grandpa’s letter, and she didn’t wish the family to feel she had been
prying. She was also worried that they might think her viral infection was affecting her brain if she started telling them about her ability to talk to animals. As for her discovery about her parents, she needed more time to decide how – or whether – she would tell her beloved adoptive family that she now knew the truth.

Later that day Neema sat in the ranger’s boat as they passed down the river, a tributary that led deep into the area of the bonobo tribe. The National Park was criss-crossed with waterways and travelling by boat was by far the best way of moving about. Over vast areas, indeed, it was the only means of travel at ground level. She knew that the rare species of chimp was found only in certain parts of the reserve and had specifically requested that the ranger did a detour through their territory. Eventually they stopped and moored beside a forest glade. The scene was magical. Steam rose from the trees and bushes and, around the edges of the glade, the sunlight streamed through countless gaps and spaces in the surrounding canopy. Exotic butterflies and giant dragonflies fluttered before their eyes and birds with brilliantly hued feathers flew across the glade and though the trees.

The ranger pointed silently and Neema nodded. She had known long before he pointed that the bonobos were there for she could hear them chattering among themselves; the kind of chatter that she now knew would be completely inaudible to the ranger. Suddenly the ranger’s radio-bleep vibrated. He had switched it to silent mode as soon as he had seen the shy bonobos. He pressed it to his ear and, bending down into the boat, spoke in a low voice. Eventually he switched it off and turned to Neema.

‘Bad news,’ he whispered, ‘poachers on the south-eastern border! They’re shooting hippos for tusks and bush meat. I have to go
immediately but we’ve got a problem. You can’t possibly come with me – it’s far too risky.’

‘Leave me here,’ said Neema. ‘The bonobos don’t attack humans. I’ll just sit quietly till you return.’

‘What! leave you alone in the jungle! Your grandpa would sack me on the spot.’

His bleep vibrated again and he again conversed rapidly.

‘It’s urgent: the poachers have cornered two of my colleagues and are firing at them. I’ve got to go. Look, I’ll leave you the spare gun and once I’m under way I’ll ring base and they’ll send someone out to pick you up. They should be here in about twenty minutes. Stay still in the glade and keep well away from the water — the crocs are the greatest danger.’

‘OK,’ said Neema simply. Secretly she was delighted. The ranger showed her how to cock and uncock the rifle, helped her out of the boat, then set off at full speed to help his colleagues, radioing the base camp as he did so.

As soon as the craft had disappeared Neema walked further into the glade. She had never been alone in the jungle before and would certainly never previously have dared to wander through an unknown clearing. Her grandpa had told her about all the dangers that existed: the snakes that could poison or crush her; the insects that could sting or bite; the forest elephants and chimpanzees that were normally calm but which could be dangerous when frightened or excited; the unpredictable wild pigs; the crocodiles in the swamps and rivers; and countless other dangerous and venomous creatures. But now Neema felt no fear. She felt at one with the world of the animals and confident that she could talk to any creature she met. It gave her an immense sense of liberation as she strolled confidently into the centre of the glade.

‘I seek ye O bonobokin,’
she called. For a few seconds the voices of the astonished forest creatures surrounding her fell silent, then there was a burst of excited chatter as Neema’s presence among them was revealed. Soon the branches parted at the edge of the glade and a bonobo emerged. It was a full-grown female, but the pygmy chimpanzee, even when standing erect, only came up to Neema’s chest.

‘So thou art the one who speaks!’
she said. Neema was immediately aware of the fact that this creature was vastly more intelligent than her pet mongoose at home. The chimp continued:
‘We have observed thee now for many moons with thy male kin and have sensed thee to be special; it is well that now thou canst speak to us.’
Neema was thrilled at being able to speak to the chimpanzees. She explained that very soon she would have to go but that she would return because she had so
many questions to ask. She noticed, even during the short period she was in the glade that many different species of animals had gathered near to see and hear her, and she began to wonder if this was simply natural curiosity, or whether she had some special significance for the animals. Suddenly the chimp became alert.

‘Hark!’
she said, looking across to the river.
‘One of thy kin approaches in the house that floats; I must return to the trees. Come again soon to see us – there is much to tell thee.’
Then she disappeared silently into the undergrowth. Neema was surprised and disappointed to be “rescued” so soon. As it happened, another ranger had been patrolling in his boat only a few hundred yards away and had come immediately on receiving urgent instructions and coordinates from the park office.

When Neema got back to the main park offices her grandpa was just emerging from his conference. He looked pleased, and explained to Neema that UNESCO had agreed to fund a new observation laboratory for study of the bonobos. This gave Neema an idea and that evening she asked her grandfather if the scientists studying the bonobos could use some extra help.

‘I’m sure they could,’ said grandpa. ‘A lot of the work involves sitting for hours and silently observing and recording the chimps’ behaviour. It can be very boring and isn’t always the best use of a skilled scientist’s time.’