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THE JOURNAL OF ELLIOT CRIPPLESBY

  Having stopped the night in one of the small groups of rondavel huts that are dotted about Tsavo we started afresh, bright and early. So early in fact, that it had not yet had a chance to become bright. Well, the best times to see the animals are supposedly dawn and dusk, so I thought we might as well make the most of it whilst we were there.

  After all, now that the names of Cripplesby and Vermies can be added to those of Bonnie and Clyde and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, who knows how much longer I will have to enjoy the sun on my back? This time next week I may be locked up in some dark, dank Kenyan prison, beginning the period of incarceration that will see me through to the end of my days. Not a pretty thought…

  A few hours after sun up we each breakfasted on a rather curly sandwich - no, that is not really fair. It was not curling, or stale, but you know what it is like when you bite into a warm cheese and tomato sandwich. It was that sort of taste - well, actually, it was exactly that taste because that is precisely what it was. Any warmer in fact and they would have been toasted.

  So after we had both eaten a couple of sarnies I began to broach again the subject of Geeza’s illicit activities in the hotel. I told him that whatever his methods were, they seemed to be working, but then I mentioned my concerns with regards to crime, the police and things of that nature. Rather than apologise however he held his hands up - which I rather wished he hadn’t, as he was driving at the time - and assured me that he was willing to swear to any oath I chose that there would be no repercussions.

  I was taken aback by his confidence, I don’t mind admitting. I asked him how he could be so sure. Smiling wistfully, he turned to face me (again, err, driving? Eyes on the road and all that?), and said, somewhat mysteriously: “Don’t worry Elliot. We’ve got powerful friends.”

  God alone knows what he means. Does he know the mayor of Mombassa do you think? Or has he been here before? He’s never mentioned it, but I can only assume he has because not long after that we came to a split in the road - one way was signposted to a town named Voi. The other disappeared back, presumably, into the depths of the Park.

  I wondered aloud where the other road went and Geeza replied “I don’t know.” Turning purposefully down the road that led to Voi however, he continued, “but this is the way we’ve got to go.”

  So he must have been here before. However, as we drew up to the outskirts of Voi, which seemed a little larger than I had been anticipating, he pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the engine. The whirring and pinging sounds made by the motor as it cooled could equally have come from my friend’s head - by the furrowed expression on his face I could see his mind was working on over drive.

  He seemed in a bit of a quandary. Ahead of us the road split once more, this time into three. Two of them headed vaguely left and presumably separated further apart from each other down the road a ways, whereas the third branch took the traveller right. Mr. Vermies was chewing his lip I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, to all intents and purposes stumped.

  After a minute or two’s deliberation I spoke up. “Well?” I asked him simply. His response was to let out a frustrated ‘tut’ and heave a dirty great sigh. “Come on now – you were so sure of yourself not long ago.”

  “Yeah, that was different though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, I knew we had to come to Voi – there’s someone I’ve got to look for.”

  “Not another poacher’s house,” I said, only half joking.

  “No, no, no,” he explained, all seriousness. “There’s an old woman I need to see. An old… herbalist called Ramona.”

  “Ramona…?” I wondered about a surname.

  “That’s all I know. She’s called Ramona, she’s a traditional doctor and she lives somewhere in or around Voi. But where exactly…” he trailed off and lapsed into further silence.

  I saw our predicament of course. If we really did have to stop and see her, which we did apparently, then how on earth were we going to find her? I confess that I grew a little down hearted.

  “Well sitting here isn’t going to do us any good is it?” I said, not allowing the gloom to settle. “We might as well just toss a coin for which fork to take and then start asking when we meet someone.” Not a great plan I know, especially as there were three forks so unless I could find a three-sided coin… Well, we could draw straws or something. Anyway, it was all I could think of at the time.

  Geeza pulled a face at my suggestion initially, scowling, but then he suddenly looked thoughtful as if something had finally clicked. A grin slowly began to take shape and I could tell right there and then that he had cracked it! He keyed the ignition.

  “Elliot, you’re a genius!” Rather unwarranted flattery I thought and said as much to him. His reply was even more cryptic than usual. “This is the one we want,” he said, as we headed off down the right hand lane. “A fork in the road! The dwarf with the hands was on the right, and the bushes were blowing this way.” He was smiling all over his face. “It’s flaming obvious!”

  Obvious?

  Is it?

  ***