Blue Gold (11 page)

“I'm sorry,” explained the aid worker in broken French. “The shipment was short. Everyone is getting less this time.”

“Animals are treated better,” retorted the woman.

She gathered her oil, maize, and beans and headed away. Sylvie stepped up to the young American, whom she had come to recognize. Usually he was friendly, but his patience was wearing thin today. Sylvie could imagine that he had been taking the brunt of the refugees' anger over the shortage of rations.

“
Bonjour
,” he said, mangling the greeting as he poured three cups of oil into the can she had brought instead of the usual five.

“
Hello
,” replied Sylvie, practicing one of the few English words she knew. Then, in French, “What's the problem?”

“I don't know. They don't tell me. Every week there are more people, but the same amount of food. And this week there's less.”

As he poured dried beans into the sack that she'd brought, Sylvie felt a familiar knot in her stomach. How would they eat if they were cut back any more? As it was, the rations barely lasted two weeks. She remembered the cassava that Kayembe had given her, and the can of meat that he'd sent with Olivier, seeing the trap that lay in his generosity. Is that how Kayembe came to own people?

The American put a sack of maize on the table for Sylvie. Lifting it onto her head, she thanked him and took the oil and beans in either hand. Thus balanced, she started away to take the red dust track back home to the hut. But she was only halfway across the old marketplace when she heard someone shout her name.

“Sylvie!”

She glanced around to see Kayembe calling to her from one of the makeshift food stalls. He was seated at a small table under the shade of a tree. Two of his guards were at another table, their AK-47s slung over their shoulders. Sylvie kept walking, pretending she didn't hear. But carrying the rations slowed her down. In another moment, one of the guards—the round man she had seen Kayembe talking with before at his former shop—stepped in her path.

“Mr. Kayembe wants to speak with you,” he said.

This one wasn't like Kayembe's other men. He was polite, taking the oil and beans from her to lighten her load. On the other hand, Sylvie realized, holding onto the rations was a good way to force her to come with him.

“Did you get the meat I sent?” asked Kayembe as Sylvie approached him with the soldier as her escort. He rose slightly from a rickety folding chair, indicating with a sweep of his hand that she should take the one across from him.

“Yes. Thank you,” she said, making no move to sit.

“Please, have a seat,” he insisted.

Reluctantly, she sat down, easing the sack of maize from her head to the ground while calculating how to get the rest of the rations back. The soldier solved that problem by putting the beans and oil down beside the maize.

“Has Olivier talked to you?” Kayembe smiled and bent closer, his old man's breath sour in her nostrils. “Let me buy you a Fanta, my dear,” he said, waving to the large woman in a traditional
pagne
and matching turban who ran the food stall to bring a second bottle to the table. “I promise I won't touch you.”

Sylvie was worried by his need to make such a promise. Why should he touch her? “What was Olivier supposed to talk to me about?” she asked.

He spread his hands wide, as though offering her a blessing. “About becoming my wife, my dear,” he said.

He waited with an expectant smile for Sylvie to absorb the enormity of the honor he was doing her. But Sylvie was in shock. How could Olivier even consider such a revolting proposition? Neither of them spoke while the woman in the colorful
pagne
placed a bottle of Fanta in front of Sylvie.

“I take it that Olivier has not yet had the discussion with you,” Kayembe said, reading her expression.

“I don't want to marry you,” she told him flatly.

Seeming not to have heard her, he took a long drink from his Fanta. Sylvie refused to touch hers. Kayembe belched up a little gas before explaining, “Here's how it is. I need someone I can trust to help me with my business affairs.”

“I don't know anything about business,” Sylvie countered.

“I will teach you. Olivier tells me you are very smart, and good at maths.” He waited for her to reply, but Sylvie sat mutely. “Once we are married, I will look after you and your family,” he continued. “I will help them and protect them, just as I am helping Olivier.”

“How are you helping Olivier?” she asked.

He smiled. “Let's just say Olivier and I are helping each other.”

Sylvie repeated, bluntly, “I don't want to marry you.”

He reached out and gently ran his fat fingers along her chin. Sylvie pulled back, and he withdrew his hand.

“Don't be so hasty,” he said. “You will be the wife of Hervé Kayembe. People will look up to you. Besides,” he added, lifting his index finger to her face and tracing her scar with it, “beggars can't be choosers.”

Repulsed, Sylvie jerked away from him and jumped to her feet, toppling the table and sending the Fanta bottles into the dust. Outrage stormed across Kayembe's wide face. He looked ridiculous, a big man perched on such a rickety chair, but all the same Sylvie found she was terrified.

“Who do you think you are?” he bellowed. His guards quickly righted the table in front of him. He brought his fist down on it with enough force to almost shatter it. “I could buy a hundred girls like you in the street!” he ranted. “I am offering to make you my wife!” He took a moment to catch his breath—and his temper. Abruptly, he was charming again, although violence pulsed just beneath his smile. “Forgive me, my dear. This offer comes as a surprise to you. I understand you need a little time to get used to the idea.” He leaned toward her. “Listen to me, Sylvie,” he said, looking up at her, a hand on one knee. “There are business opportunities happening back home. For a while, the Americans stopped the coltan trade in the Congo, but now the Chinese want to buy it—and I know how to get it out of the country and sell it to them. One day soon I will be returning to North Kivu as a rich man, and I will build a big house for you there.”

“But the Mai-Mai will kill you if you go back,” she said.

“The Mai-Mai are busy holding off the Rwandan fighters coming across the border,” he replied with a shrug. “They can use my help, in exchange for an appropriate share of the profits.”

Sylvie's stomach lurched. “The Mai-Mai killed my father, and they killed your family, too!”
And
they'd raped her and her mother, but this part she kept to herself.

Kayembe opened his hands wide before him. “Things change. Enemies become friends. Business is business. There is coltan in our country waiting for a market. Why shouldn't we get rich, instead of those Rwandan devils?” Getting to his feet, he reached out and stroked her cheek, seeming not to care when she pulled back in disgust. “We will be rich together,” he said.

Sylvie felt a suffocating weight on her chest. “You can have any girl,” she said. “Ask someone else.”

His smile vanished. He drew himself up so that Sylvie could see how powerful he was, how dangerous.

“Your brother is the man of your family,” he declared, “and he has given me his word. Men rule women, not the other way around.”

“You are a devil!” Sylvie blurted.

She grabbed the oil and beans and ran, leaving the heavy bag of maize behind in her haste to get away. Kayembe didn't come after her, but she knew—and he knew—that he didn't have to. He owned this place—owned Olivier, and, if he wanted her, he owned her, too.
If only Papa was alive!
she thought. Her father would never have forced her into marriage. But as long as she remained in Nyarugusu, Sylvie was Kayembe's for the taking.

The maize! What would the family eat for the next two weeks? Her pride wouldn't allow her to go back for it. But she couldn't go home without it either. Instead, she headed for the clinic, desperately hoping that Doctor Marie was working today. She needed her help, and she needed it now.

FRIDAY WAS THE END
of Laiping's second week in the factory, and Saturday was payday! Laiping joined a lineup at an automatic teller just before noon, one of a dozen in a row outdoors near a busy restaurant that sold American-style food, like hamburgers. Laiping's stomach growled as she caught the scent of grilled meat. It was tempting to follow the lead of many in line who, once they received their yuan from the machine, went immediately into the restaurant to spend some of it. But Laiping decided she would eat for free in the cafeteria instead, and save her money.

The line was long and slow-moving, but everyone chattered excitedly. Not even the scowling presence of security guards with billy clubs holstered in their belts could dampen the mood. Recently, the company had given all of its workers in Shenzhen a pay raise. Laiping earned 450 yuan per week—so she counted nine hundred yuan she should have in her account from the last two weeks, plus the overtime she'd worked last Saturday. She should have enough to pay Min the 110 yuan that she owed her, plus send money home—maybe even money left over for a mobile phone if Kai could get the good deal he promised!

At last it was Laiping's turn. She'd been watching carefully how other people pushed their bank cards into a slot in the machine. She did the same, punching in her security code when the screen told her to. Her heart beat a little faster as the machine processed—and then her face fell. Instead of over nine hundred yuan, the machine told her she had none!

“Hurry up!” called a man in line behind her.

Flustered, Laiping took her card back from the machine and moved on.

“Fen!” she called, spotting her just as she finished at another machine. “There must be a mistake. There's no money in my account.”

“Mine either!” replied Fen, upset. “My mother will say I'm cheating her!”

“There's Choilai,” said Laiping, spotting their Big Sister in one of the lineups.

“Wait!” warned Fen, but Laiping didn't listen.

“Choilai, we have a problem,” she said, running over to her. “There's been a mistake in our pay. Can you help us?”

“Read your contract, stupid!” retorted Choilai, with no trace of her previous kindness. “The company deducts 110 yuan per month for the dormitory and three yuan per meal. Did you think they would feed and house you for free?”

Fen tallied quickly in her head and blurted shrilly, “They charge sixty-three yuan a week for that slop they feed us?”

“You don't understand,” said Laiping, “There's no money in our accounts at all!”

One of the security guards stepped toward them.

“What's going on here?”

“Nothing,” said Fen, bowing her head and moving behind Laiping.

“If you don't like the pay here, find another job!” he said, gripping the handle of his billy club threateningly. “Now move along.”

Fen pulled Laiping away from the guard and the machines.

“But our money—”

“Stop making a fuss!” hissed Fen. “He'll hear you!” She pointed to a surveillance camera fixed to a light pole. The camera was aimed directly at them. “It's easy for them to find out who you are, you know.”

Fen pulled Laiping past the restaurant where workers were filling their stomachs with hamburgers. A few moments ago, Laiping had thought about joining them. Now she realized that, with the money she'd brought from home almost gone, she could barely afford to buy tea, let alone a meal—or a mobile phone. Laiping wanted to shout out loud that the company was cheating them, but she let Fen lead her away, tears of frustration burning her eyes.

 

“THEY'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO
, but the company holds onto your first month's pay, in case you get any ideas about quitting,” Older Cousin Min explained when Laiping visited her in her dorm that afternoon.

“That doesn't make any sense!” protested Laiping. “Why would I want to quit? I just got here.”

“Lots of people quit. Why do you think they keep hiring so many new workers?”

Min was rinsing her nightdress out in the sink in the toilet compartment, with Laiping stationed at the door in case anyone came in. It was against the rules to wash clothes in the dorm room, and Min didn't want to have to pay another fine. But Min's roommates were in the factory working overtime.
Or they're out spending their paychecks,
thought Laiping, bitterly. For the time being, they had the room to themselves.

“It's your problem, too,” Laiping pointed out. “I can't pay you the yuan I owe you.” Min just shrugged. All at once, Laiping realized what was going on. “You knew this would happen. Why didn't you talk about this back home, at New Year?”

“I didn't want to frighten you off,” Min admitted. “I thought it would nice if we were here together. It gets so lonely.”