Foot-tapping, Cook-ing, Serialising
Chapter 3, Koba book 3
Where I’m at with my Koba book 3 edit
I’m awaiting responses from my Beta readers to the last story in my Koba trilogy. The initial responses range from “Gripping” to Gripping as F**k”, so I’m optimistic it will give you a good read. Meanwhile, paid subscribers here have elected to continue receiving this story in instalments. As one said, it saves adding another book to his teetering TBR tower.
Welcome to new subscriber, Liz, with whom I bonded over Beryl Cook. Remember the comic artist’s women living large?
If you’d like to find out more about a people little known outside of academia, read my page-turning historical fiction series. All income from sales of Koba books 1 & 2 supports an educational charity in Namibia.
Here we go again…
Daughter of the Kalahari, Chapter 3
For Nick, a headline:
Mannie’s been abducted, the policeman does illegal, and Marta is unwelcome at Weltevrede.
Mannie recovered consciousness into what felt like a dream. He was gliding. It was dark, quiet, mud water-smelling. Cool after weeks and weeks of heat and dust. But what was that throbbing pain?
‘Jissus, my head,’ he said, opening his eyes and struggling to sit up. He was astonished to find himself in a traditional canoe, a makoro, being poled across a wide, dark river.
‘Peace, bra,’ said Moses, pressing down on his shoulder. ‘You’ll overturn us. Those crocodiles,’ he swept his flashlight across the black water, picking up the glowing eye-embers of crocodiles, ‘they are hungry.’
‘WHATTHEHELL?!’ Mannie yelled, and succeeded in throwing off Moses’s restraining arm. The boat tipped towards the right in the tussle, while the other two occupants, hissing protests, leaned left to counterbalance it.
‘Sit still and be quiet, mlungu[1],’ barked the figure in the helm.
Mannie stared. In the dim light he could make out a massive silhouette wearing a dark beret. Its menace made him obey.
They beached on a narrow stretch of grey sand, almost invisible in the shadow of overhanging bushes. They were instructed to drag the boat up the steep riverbank, no mean task. The bank was potholed by huge elephant and buffalo tracks. When Mannie felt fresh dung squelch between his toes, he realised he was missing a shoe. He gesticulated to Moses, who shrugged. He felt around in the dark interior of the boat, but found nothing.
‘What is your problem, mlungu?’ Mannie sensed it was a rhetorical question and kept quiet. ‘Get a fokken move on,’ Beret hissed. Brusquely, the recruiter directed operations and they hid the boat under a mound of branches and brush. Then Beret knocked Moses’ pith helmet off his head with a casual blow and went to do the same to Jabu’s horned headgear. Jabu quickly snatched his off. ‘Yebo[2]. You are not children,’ he growled. ‘You are soldiers, amajoni, going to war.’
War? Not me! Mannie thought, but Beret had marched off and was quickly followed by the chastened comrades, Jabu and Moses. Mannie turned to leave but he was blocked by the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle thrust across his chest. Another black man, this one wearing camouflage fatigues, had materialised out of the dark. He indicated for Mannie to fall in line. Mannie’s objections led to a hard blow from the rifle butt. He took a useless swing at the soldier then felt his arms being pinned to his sides.
‘Calm down, man,’ Moses whispered, ‘just follow.’
Follow?!! Through thorn bush, with one stockinged foot – what the hell! What had happened to his other shoe – and why was his head so sore? Where were they going and why the hell was he being forced to go along? This was a mistake. But the soldier ended all discussion by punching Mannie in the gut. Then he raised his rifle, looking like he’d enjoy peppering Mannie with bullet holes. Mutinously, Mannie fell in line behind Moses.
He didn’t understand where he was but he had a sinking feeling that he was further from Koba than he’d intended to be. In fact, he might even be in another country! He suspected the river they’d just crossed was the boundary between South West Africa and Angola. For fok’s sake!! And the two big guys, Beret and Rifle, looked as though they were the real deal – Freedom Fighters, what most South Africans would call terrorists. This was not what he’d planned when he’d told Koba he’d hide with the comrades until the police hunt was called off.
He considered making a break for it and running back to the river while he could still find it. He knew where they’d hidden the boat. But Rifle did not take his eyes off Mannie. Under his breath he snarled racial insults until Beret commanded him to shut up.
‘There are real Boere sitting across the river with their weapons pointing this way. Do you want to start the border war all on your own, you donkey?’
*
