Japan, 1944
'Am I dead?'
'Not yet. Let me fix your injuries.' A Californian airman sets down his basin of salty water and peers at Makorongo's lacerated feet. 'You Africans are tough. This would have killed me. They must have whacked you with fencing wire.'
'Only bamboo. I ran barefoot as a boy.' A whistle signals the end of the working day. Relentless sounds of quarrying cease, but stone dust hangs in the air, caught in a rare shaft of sunlight. 'We must keep an eye on the guards.' Makorongo twists around to look through a hole scratched in the wall next to his bunk. Row upon row of wooden barrack blocks fill with prisoners of war returning from twelve-hour shifts in near freezing conditions. A halyard clanks as a Japanese guard lowers a flag bearing the red blob of the rising sun. 'What do they mean by the word ''furio''? Is it a curse?' Makorongo flinches as the salt stings.
'It literally means you have six months to live – and won't get out of here.' The airman taps wings sewn on his torn uniform. 'The Japs are using intimidation because they don't have much time. Distance has protected these island, but as U.S. aircraft extend their range, Tokyo is becoming vulnerable. This entire camp could be wiped out. Incinerated.'
'What can we do?'
'Laugh, pray, ask for a miracle.' He concentrates on bandaging Makorongo's feet. 'It's tough. This war isn't your war. How come you East Africans got to be here?'
CHAPTER ONE
British Protectorate of Tanganyika, 1941
A red moon hung in the sky, date palms quivered and drums began to beat as excited girls jiggled towards a patch of hardened red earth that made up the village dance floor. Every mother in the district had their eyes on Makorongo. Turning to avoid their gaze, he caught sight of a solitary woman standing beyond the firelight. She looked directly at him before drawing a purple shawl around her shoulders and stepping back into the shadows.
'Makorongo! Have some beer.' A summons from Asha could not be ignored. Newly appointed as Chief of the Northern Highlands, he strode over, looking almost comic in an ostrich feather headpiece and a shuka cape lined in leopard skin. 'Here come the beauties.'
A line of maidens approached, eager to fill the African night with their singing. Makorongo caught the scent of wild lavender anointing neatly shaven heads as the girls formed a circle and began to hum and stamp in rhythm with the drums. They wore strings of dried seed pods around their ankles with leather skirts embroidered with cowrie shells to symbolise prosperity. Dust rose as one dancer surged forward, shining with perspiration and giggling unnecessarily. Makorongo hadn't spoken to her in weeks, but there was nowhere to hide. Although not without allure, she had assured him she wanted ten children, which seemed excessive.
Asha thrust a cup of warm liquid into Makorongo's hands. 'Can you talk to my daughter? She is looking miserable tonight.'
Makorongo winced. The fifteen-year-old in question struck him as being intensely irritating, far worse than the giggling beauty. He couldn’t face the thought of drinking anything she had brewed. 'What did she include?'
'Battery acid.' Asha laughed, raising his glass. 'And a dead skink. Tony says we should send it to Hitler in glass bottles.'
'Is it liable to explode?'
'That boy is obsessed with the war in Europe.' Asha belched. 'I leave the secrets of inebriation to Mganga.'
This news was worse than World War II. 'Is he here?'
'I've paid him to spirit-bless my carvings. It should prevent them from getting stolen.' Asha pointed out the traditional healer surrounded by women keen to have their fortunes told. Makorongo inched away, unsure why distended earlobes could be considered attractive, when Mganga shoved an old lady aside and veered towards him.
'New shirt, I see. When is Asha going to make you an elder?' The medicine man's smile revealed dazzling teeth, but his breath reeked of raw tobacco. 'A good-looking man like you needs a robust wife.'
How could he answer? 'I've given up the idea. Finding the bride price is near impossible.' He wasn’t going to tell Mganga that the only girl he’d ever loved had left long ago.
'You could join the Army, but would they take you with that mangled thumb?' Mganga lifted Makorongo's scarred hand. 'A little engine oil must have been included when it was stitched back on.' He smiled, adept at flattery, but tightened his squeeze. 'Shillings speak louder than words. Let me know when you need money. I pay well for rhino horn or ivory.'
A line of would-be warriors exuding the buttery smell of cattle joined the maidens they were forbidden to touch. After a few beats, they leapt high, grasping the opportunity to display their virility. Soon their skin shone with sweat and they flung back their heads in cheerful abandon. Makorongo retreated to the cool of the meeting house where the stranger stood in her purple shawl. She scooped the fabric to one side as she moved towards him, reaching out with her other hand.
'Makorongo?'
'Meru?' He looked into the eyes of someone he hadn't seen for twenty years. It was his childhood friend, Asha's eldest daughter, born of his first wife, and named after the holy mountain. She had gained unexpected beauty. Once so gawky, Meru's high cheekbones now granted her poise. A thousand tiny plaits piled on the back of her head accentuated her striking profile.
'It's so good to see you.'
She acknowledged him in a low voice, mumbling customary greetings. 'Are you well?'
'Forgive me. I didn't recognise you earlier.' He reached out as memories came plunging forward, jolting his senses. 'You've grown your hair.'
'One of Imba's other wives braided it.' She glanced at her hands.
'I didn't know that you had returned here.' Makorongo looked around, realizing why the older people of the village had been staring at him. They would have remembered how upset he'd been when Meru had left for the cattle lands at the age of fourteen to be married to a wealthy leader. He grasped for words. 'Asha suggested I should speak to you.'
She led him towards her grandmother's outdoor kitchen, indicating a pot of cornmeal prepared for guests as she gathered her garments with grace and knelt by the fire.
'How is your father, Baba Hasani?' she asked, inviting him to sit while she raked the embers.
'Ageing but cheerful, eager for news of the war. He'll be excited to see you.'
'I often think of him.'
'Have you come down for Asha's inauguration?' There was to be another feast held after his investiture in Arusha.
She took a deep breath. 'My husband has passed away.'
Makorongo's mouth went dry. 'Have you been widowed?' She seemed too young, too beautiful to be left alone. 'I'm so sorry. How did he die?'
'He got stung by a bee.' Flames illuminated Meru's profile. 'We summoned a European doctor but he arrived too late. Imba's heart had stopped.'
'Killed by a bee? How did the people of his village react?'
'Boma,' she reminded Makorongo, referring to her husband's status as chief and cattle baron. 'The family are in uproar, seeking restitution.' Drums calling up ancestral spirits drowned her words. Makorongo was obliged to lean forward to listen. 'They heard Imba cursing me. He was elderly, yet could not accept his days were over and resisted death, twisting this way and that.'
'Are you in trouble?'
Meru's face filled with tension. 'My father came to the funeral,' she said. 'I returned here with him.'
'You're safe now.'
'I don't know how long I can stay.'
***
Meru stared at Makorongo in wonder. He sounded different from the boy she'd once known, but the light in his spirit still shone. She saw the same steady gaze and quick smile. He had always been ready to listen, concerned for her well-being and able to laugh at adversity. As a recent widow, she was forbidden to look a man in the eye, and yet their connection was as strong as ever, a dancing union of souls that spiralled back through time, rooting them in the very earth of Tanganyika.
Meru didn't think she would ever sleep that night, but her grandmother put her to bed like a little girl. Lulled by the clicking of cicadas she slept until the comforting scent of woodsmoke filled the air, a little dog barked and a cup of spinach tea was lifted to her lips. She could hardly believe it was morning. All she wanted to know was whether Makorongo had married.
Her grandmother was dismissive. 'Not that one. Kind but indecisive. Usually covered in fat from some machine. Always under the belly of a motor car, but never at the wheel.'
'It's called grease.'
'He'll be at the farm workshop all day.'
Meru rose, wrapped a towel around her body and wandered down to the river to bathe. Birdsong and the relief of being beneath the tall trees of home granted her peace and serenity. She stood, naked in the clear mountain water, scrubbing the odour of cow dung from her hair, grateful to be in a place without dust or buzzing flies. Liberated from countless obligations, she felt as if the ancestors were smiling down on her, granting her freedom at last.
Makorongo remained distant that evening. As she shared mushed pawpaw with the old folk, Meru began to fear that he'd heard that Imba's idiot son had been murdered. Knowledge of the violence would repulse anyone. There was a risk someone might equate the incident to her late husband's death and haul her up before a magistrate.
Instead of discussing local news as she expected, Asha began ranting about the exploits of the East Africa Force in Ethiopia and the Emperor Haile Selassie's triumphant return to Addis Ababa. He jabbed a thick finger at a group of young warriors, summoning them to listen to his wireless radio, and turning up the volume.
Just as Meru stepped outside the chief's compound to collect firewood, Mganga swaggered through a gap in the reed fence. His facial scarring seemed more pronounced than she remembered, but he looked impressive, dressed in a ceremonial monkey-skin cloak with discs of wood set into his earlobes. She was acknowledged with a smile before he lifted his stave to salute Asha and squatted down to listen to the broadcast.
'A man of high standing,' her grandmother muttered. 'You could do worse.'
Meru rearranged her hair but there remained no sign of Makorongo. Instead, Baba Hasani arrived, dressed in the blue kanzu of a household cook, full of fun and wearing the battered fez Meru remembered as being a hat with no brim.
'How we have missed you, ma!' he whistled through the gap in his front teeth, clasping her hands in his. 'Eeeh, but you are thin like a gazelle. Come to my kitchen for stew and dumplings. You must see what Makorongo has been up to. We now have taps.'
'He added waterpipes?'
'Hot and cold. Soon we will all turn on and off.'
She laughed for the first time since returning home. 'Tell him I love the idea of running water.'
'You’ll find him fixing farm machinery. The boy can be shy but is ''Forever looking around the next bend,'' as Hans-Werner would say.'
'Hans? Have you heard from him?'
'That stubborn fellow – he remains in Europe.' Baba Hasani rattled on, talking about paths at the farmhouse that needed endless sweeping. 'I guard his mother's piano, hoping the family will return someday.'
'The time has come for Makorongo to prove himself a warrior and acquire a wife,' Asha proclaimed, emerging from his compound to thump Hasani on the shoulder.
'Does he have the funds?' Mganga asked, winking at Asha.
'Ten head of cattle would be nice. What do you reckon, Meru?'
She had forgotten how aggravating her father could be. Any reply would have been deemed dishonourable.
'Oh, Bibi,' she wailed, diving into her grandmother's hut. 'How can I be sold twice?'
The old lady looked into her smoke-stained rafters. Descendants of the Boran cattle Imba had once bestowed on Asha were clearly no longer in evidence. 'Have you been talking to that boy Makorongo?'
'No, Bibi, but I may need his help.'
'You need to get rid of those blotches under your eyes. Come, let me soften your skin.'
***
Makorongo determined to be bold and straightforward but was daunted by Meru's grace and beauty. He walked over to her grandmother's hut telling himself that any interaction needed to be dignified and respectful. What he did not expect was for a can opener to be thrust under his nose.
'Are you able to operate such a device?' A small tin of fish in tomato sauce was held in front of his face. 'My father has been presented with this gift. I must prepare a meal for visitors.'
The family matriarch further amazed him. She was rubbing floor polish into her joints. 'He wants to know why you are not amongst the warriors.'
They heard sudden laughter as Asha introduced a visiting army officer to a group of youths that had descended from Momella carrying ceremonial shields.
Makorongo was reticent. 'Those boys can find nothing better to do than plaster down their hair with ochre.'
'Do you not appreciate our heritage?' Bibi wanted to know, looking at his European clothes. 'They wear the battledress of their forefathers. You have to admit that it is more attractive than a boilersuit.'
Meru smiled at last.
'We need to move forward,' he said, setting the opened can of pilchards before Meru with care. 'Headbands and knobkerries have become little more than symbolic artefacts. Everyone favours mechanisation.'
Meru raised an eyebrow. 'Young men still relish the idea of warfare.'
'Those boys are strutting about like crowned cranes, each one eager to possess a rifle,' Makorongo observed, 'and a jaunty hat.'
'They think the concept of being paid to fight is hilarious.'
Sounds of revelry made conversation difficult. Makorongo looked into Meru's eyes. 'Let me walk you down to the shambas to find herbs to add to your dish.'
'Darkness is falling. I should not leave the cooking,' she said, but shifted her pot from the heat, took up her shawl and nodded to her grandmother. 'Hopefully no one will see we've gone.'
Makorongo so wanted to take her hand. 'It won't take long. You father will want to present a variety of dishes to a guest wearing uniform.'
'You think like a bird,' Meru said as they set off.
'You're the hard worker.'
'But my brain is that of a she-elephant.'
Makorongo wanted to smile. It was how they spoke as children when Hans likened Meru to a baby elephant, rushing around banging into people.
'You are now so composed.'
'Having drawn on wisdom.'
Makorongo led her through the maize field beyond the village, as he had as a boy. They were soon immersed in a hushed, green world, the wholesome smell of leafy plants enfolding them in calm. It was like walking back to the days of their youth, except that Meru now moved with her chin lifted slightly, her hands parting the leaves with grace. They ventured less than fifty paces when she turned, bending a stem between them. 'We are not going to find wild sage here.'
This was true. 'But it's peaceful and helps me think.' Makorongo stroked the silky fibers extending from a cob of maize.
'What burdens you?'
'Your whole family want me to prove myself a warrior, but the idea of fighting repels me. Being expected to hurt others is appalling.'
'They believe rules were established for a reason and want to uphold tradition.' Meru paused to look up at the moon. 'Young men need to prove their worth and endure a time of suffering or risk being defeated by insignificant trials.'
He stepped back. 'I learned to befriend heartache as a child.'
Meru nodded. Blackwater fever had taken so many in the Usambara Mountains that Hasani had brought him west to escape the sorrow.
She looked downwards, in respect for the dead. 'I'm told that if you survive that sickness, you will live forever.' Meru's shawl slipped from around her shoulders, leaving her neck to catch the moonlight. When she looked up, her eyes were brimming with tears.
His chest tightened. 'Have I offended you?'
'It's not you.' She took a deep breath. 'I thought returning home would bring me joy, but everyone has sped forward, striving for modernity.'
'I haven't changed,' he said in a rush, reaching for her hand. 'You still have me.'
She turned and moved away.
'What's wrong?' He wanted her so badly.
'I'm too old. You need an eighteen-year-old with childbearing hips. I would not make a suitable wife.'
He turned, stunned by her rejection. 'Why not?' She was thirty-four. They were the same age, old friends.
She swayed, suddenly fragile. 'Imba had many children, but I could not bear my own. I wanted them with all my heart, but they never came.'
'Forgive me. I didn't know.'
Years of pain dwelling within Meru rose to the surface. 'No one here knows. I've been so far away.' She lifted her head, tears falling on the dry red earth at their feet. 'Away too long, with years and years of nothingness.'
The agony, the indignity for Meru, the daughter of a chief, could only be imagined. Without offspring, her existence was invalidated. She could have been sent home to her parents long ago. Makorongo could appreciate how different it was for him, an outsider from Usambara with no tribal affiliation or social aspirations.
'Come here.' He wanted to take her in his arms, but she pushed against him and raised her hands.
'You need a wife who can provide you with children.'
