Displaced (17 page)

“I don’t work for the UN. I work for the
Pakistani government, I’m civil service protected so to speak,”
Singh responded. “Jonathan, I’m your friend, we can help each
other, there’s no reason you shouldn’t get something out of
this.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “I’m lucky
to have such a good friend.” The conversation had ended without
conclusion but Jonathan knew he was exposed as he made his way from
the terminal to the small building that he shared with Ronald and
that served as an office.

The Nissan hut where Jonathan and Ronald
worked was roughly divided into offices with plywood walls that
supported doors but did not reach all the way to the ceiling. The
corrugated steel ceiling was exposed on its underside as it was on
the outside and lacked any insulation. On the hottest days,
Jonathan or Ronald would spray the roof with the hose from the
outside spicket to cool the building. The office was quiet with the
exception of Ronald whistling at his desk. Even the airport seemed
quiet, only an occasional landing interrupted the peace. Ronald was
already in the office when Jonathan arrived that morning. He was
always on time and although he never said anything, Jonathan knew
he was disapproving when he showed up late.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jonathan felt compelled to
say to him. “I got held up at the terminal.”

“That’s fine, I didn’t ask,” Ronald
responded.

“How is it you’re always on time, don’t you
ever get stuck in traffic?”

“I plan ahead.”

“Uh huh, you’re something of an aberration,
Ronald.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You’re the only uptight Ugandan, I
know.”

“A joke, very funny,” Ronald said dryly.

He looked out the window to his office at a
glorious bright day and cloudless blue sky that was like an ocean
of light. From his position, he could make out the trees on the
hilltop surrounding Lake Victoria. He called out, “Hey Ronald, I’m
off this afternoon to meet with Claude at the Lake Victoria Hotel,”
he said. “I just wanted to remind you.”

The whistling in the adjacent office stopped
and Ronald answered back, “I know you told me yesterday, I hadn’t
forgotten already.”

“Okay, well I just wanted to remind you is
all.”

“You don’t need to remind me every day,”
Ronald responded over the office wall. “My memory is fine and
please remember to say hello to Claude for me.”

“Will do, I’ll try not to forget.”

Claude was their supervisor, the regional
director of the World Food Program for East Africa. Based in
Nairobi, he was visiting Uganda for a seminar at the Lake Victoria
Hotel in Entebbe. Jonathan had agreed to meet him in the afternoon
to discuss business.

Jonathan arrived early at the Lake Victoria
Hotel and feeling restless decided to walk the grounds instead of
waiting in the lobby. He walked outside the front door and then
turned around and walked back in through the lobby and past the
meeting room where he could hear the seminar proceeding behind
closed doors and out onto the pool area. He found a seat in the
shade and sat down behind a glass table looking at an empty pool
and hoping for a breeze. With the exception of two women sunning
themselves in bikinis, flight stewardesses he thought, the pool
area was empty. He thought to introduce himself, but either didn’t
have the nerve or wasn’t interested in making conversation, and
feeling uncomfortable sitting alone, got up and went back
inside.

Inside, the seminar was finishing up and he
saw Claude in the lobby in conversation with one of the
participants. Small trim, well groomed with close cropped gray hair
and neatly dressed, Claude appeared to be in his fifties. Jonathan
thought him to be high strung, although he didn’t always show it,
and he watched him gesture with his hands. Hands normally occupied
with a cigarette in one or the other, but presently empty. Jonathan
sat in the couch in the center of the room near the front desk and
waited while Claude finished talking. Eventually, he started making
his goodbyes and looked around the room and caught Jonathan’s eye
and waived in recognition.

“Jonathan, how are you, good to see you,”
Claude said coming over to him and then clasped one hand on his arm
and shook his hand with the other as he rose from his seat.

“Thanks, it’s good to see you too
Claude.”

Let’s go out this way,” Claude said gesturing
to the patio outside the dining room. “Some place we can talk.”

“Sounds good.”

They made their way outside, Claude leading
the way and settled around a patio table overlooking the pool.

“It’s good to be outside,” Claude said
fingering a cigarette from its package, lighting it and exhaling,
“after being cooped up in that conference room.”

“How is the seminar?”

“Fine, fine, I think they mean to put us out
of business,” Claude responded.

“Oh yeah, how so?”

“Apparently we’re undermining the economy,”
he said. “Driving all the local farmers out of business, it’s
cheaper for folks to rely on us for food than to grow their
own.”

“Not to worry,” said Jonathan, “there’ll
always be hunger somewhere. I think we’ve got good job
security.”

“Well yes there is that. Anyway I don’t think
we’ll be rendered useless anytime soon,” Claude said.

The two men sat in silence for a moment,
Claude squinting and looking out past the pool to Lake Victoria in
the distance, gathering his thoughts.

“I do like it here,” he began again, “Nairobi
can be so dry and dusty. I’m glad we have this opportunity to
talk,” he said.

“Me too,” Jonathan felt the need to say
something. “It’s been a while.”

“It has and I want you to know how
appreciative I am for the work you and Ronald do. You two have been
reliable – on the job,” he said.

“Thanks,” Jonathan said, expecting more.

Claude looked at his cigarette and then at
Jonathan, “I also need to warn you a bit,” he said. “There’s been a
lot of talk about the situation in the Congo, talk about fraud and
mismanagement. It appears that elements of the peacekeeping force
have been using the assignment as a personal opportunity to enrich
themselves. They’ve become involved with some of the local militia
in eastern Congo and even some local criminal organizations in
Kampala and Nairobi. What I’ve heard is that most of it involves
smuggling – prohibited items and material that sort of thing and
some people smuggling as well. The peacekeepers are shielded by
their national governments, but word is there is going to be an
accounting,” he said.

“I trust you Jonathan, but I just wanted to
let you know, after all you are responsible for shipping to the
Congo and I just wanted to put you on notice. If you have any
relationship with the peacekeepers, you may want to reconsider,” he
said and paused. “I’m not accusing,” he said, “just wouldn’t want
you to find yourself in a bad spot.”

“No - thanks,” Jonathan responded.” “I’ll be
careful, by the book all the way.”

“Good, great, glad to have that piece of
business out of the way. How about a drink?” he asked.

“A drink would be great.”

Claude waived to the waiter and waited for
him to come over from the pool.

“Beer okay?”

“Beer would be great.”

“Two cold Bells please,” he asked the
waiter.

The conversation became easier as the two men
relaxed and the sun began to approach the tree line. Claude spoke
of events in Nairobi and Dar Es Salaam and the poor growing
conditions in Tanzania and Sudan. Jonathan listened as he vented on
the politics in New York and Geneva, and the use of contractors
with political or familial connections. Jonathan told him about
developments in Entebbe, but left out any discussion of his
relationship with Mr. Singh. He said he suspected that transport
was being used for the delivery of building supplies and that
customs had discovered a shipment of Rwandan uniforms.

On the car ride home, Jonathan considered
Claude’s words of warning and his own deception. He thought about
Mr. Singh’s words as well, empty threats he convinced himself.
Father Boniface’s words came back to him, but he did not feel like
a good person, he felt guilty. When he arrived home, Debra was in
the kitchen preparing dinner, chicken with potatoes. The kitchen
was limited and she fried the chicken and boiled the potatoes on
the stove top.

“Hello Jonathan,” she sang out as the door
opened, “how are you? How was your day?”

“Good,” he called back unburdening himself in
the living room throwing his bag on the floor by the door. “I went
for drinks at the Lake Victoria Hotel.”

“Oh, the Lake Victoria Hotel, it is very nice
there. It is beautiful to sit outside and watch the lake.”

“Yes it is.”

She set the table and they ate quietly,
Jonathan preoccupied by the day’s events. Debra tried tentatively
to draw conversation with questions about work, but was met with
ambivalent single syllable responses. She was nervous and unsettled
by Jonathan’s remoteness, but did not want to press the issue. When
they were finished, she cleared the dishes and put them in the
sink. She sliced a mango and returned to the table with the fruit
and clean dishes. When she sat down again, the sound they exchanged
was the clinking of silverware against ceramic as if they were
communicating through a sort of morse code. But the clinking of
silverware had no meaning and could not be translated into words
and phrases and sentences.

Impatient from the absence of language, she
asked, “is everything alright?”

“Sure, everything’s okay,” he responded.

Considering the “practicality” of their
situation, she had felt unentitled to ask the next question. “Are
we okay?” she asked.

“Yeah sure, we’re fine,” he responded
flatly.

The question surprised him and he knew that
the answer was a problem. He thought or at least wanted to believe
that they had an understanding. She was paid to cook the rest was a
matter of comfort, nobody got hurt. He stopped eating and looked up
to see her eyes fill but no tears shed, her cheerfulness replaced
by an expression of stoicism. The response confirmed what she had
suspected that their relationship remained a matter of convenience.
Her hope that over time it had become changeable was set aside by
this curt response. She had been foolish to expect more she told
herself.

“Debra, I’m sorry,” he said. And he was
sorry, sorry to be responsible for the happiness of another. Sorry
for the growing sense of worry mixed with fondness. Could
obligation be the basis for love? But this was his conceit. In
truth he didn’t know what love was, didn’t properly understand it.
He was careless and his carelessness could only lead to his
inevitable regret.

“Don’t be sorry,” he heard her say. “I
understand, you don’t have to worry about me,” she managed to say.
But I do worry about you, he thought, that’s the problem.

She got up from the table, straightened her
blouse and walked into the other room and sat on the far end of the
couch where she was not visible from the dining room. She sat and
breathed deeply and wiped the tears from her eyes. He waited a
moment and then got up from his seat and followed her. He sat down
close to her and took her hand in his. She sat turned away from him
to hide her face.

“I’ll sort this out Debra, somehow,” he said,
“but I can’t do it tonight. I promise, I won’t leave you in the
lurch.”

“I don’t understand,” she cried, “what is the
lurch? Talk so I can understand you.”

“I won’t abandon you,” he said with emphasis.
“I’ll take care of things.”

“This isn’t about money, if that’s what you
think,” she said. “You think you can just solve all you problems
with money. If I wanted money there are any other people I could
work for in houses better than this apartment. I didn’t stay here
for the money,” she said. “I stayed here because of my feelings,”
she paused and there was silence between them. “My feelings have
tricked me,” she said more quietly. “It’s my own fault, I knew you
would be leaving eventually, back to Canada, I was fooling myself.
I expected too much from you,” she said and the last words stung.
Momentarily she built her courage but couldn’t maintain it and
began crying to herself with her face in her hands. He held her and
tried to comfort her. This was the particular scene he’d hoped to
avoid.

“I’m not going anywhere tomorrow or the next
day,” he said trying to reassure her. “I’ll be around for awhile,”
he said and although he felt affection, at that moment, he thought
he mostly wanted a clean departure. She was not reassured, he knew,
but was too exhausted from her emotions to argue.

It was 9:45 before Jennifer was finally able
to get out of the office and now she relished the walk home in the
night air. A full moon lit the sidewalk as she walked past the row
houses in her Capitol Hill neighborhood. Summer was ending and
there was a note of cool in the air anticipating the change in
seasons. She enjoyed this time when she could take satisfaction
from the end of the day before having to think about what lay ahead
of her tomorrow.

Not only was it the end of the legislative
session in Congress, but it was an election year, which meant an
increased urgency to finish work so that Members of Congress could
get home as soon as possible to campaign. As usual, the hardest
decisions had been left to the end and legislators rushed to
complete appropriation bills to keep the government funded. The
requisite horse trading to reach agreement had begun in earnest.
The Foreign Affairs Reform and Reauthorization Act had been passed
out of the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee without a committee
report. The House had approved a different version of the Act by a
large majority. The Senate was expected to do the same with its
version of the bill. The differences between the two pieces of
legislation would be worked out in a conference committee made up
of a small number of House and Senate members. It was agreed that
Senators on the Foreign Affairs Committee would have an opportunity
to include language in the conference committee report reflecting
the final agreement on the legislation between the Senate and the
House.