Makau locked up the storeroom and was about to leave when he heard the voices of the Chinese team.

“Maka-ooh! The boss yelled, “Make sure you take care of the camp!”

Ordinarily, Makau would have smiled at the way the boss tortured his name, but these were not ordinary times.

“Yes, sir,” he said soberly.

They climbed into their double-cabin pick-up and sped off towards their quarters at the river bank, eight kilometres downstream. Makau watched them for a while then walked uphill, deep in thought.

Of late, the workers were resorting to strikes and demanding pay rises but the boss had adamantly refused.

“They are already earning above the minimum wage, Maka-ooh, tell them,” he had yelled and Makau had done exactly that only for many to turn against him, some even calling him a traitor.

His salary was three times what most of the workers were being paid and so his loyalty had to lie with the management. But now, some of the workers had resorted to stealing spare parts, thereby jeopardising Makau’s job.

“You have to do better, Maka-ooh! That’s why we pay you more,” the boss had said after the last incident. He knew exactly who the thieves were but he dared not tell on them.

Before the “railway people” came scouting for workers in Emali, he had been struggling to make ends meet. His wife had left him with their young daughter for a truck driver. But now, as a supervisor, he was a hero in his village. Even his wife wanted to come back to him.

The workers’ quarters were built in a semicircle with a common dining hall in the middle. Made of fabricated metal, the houses were nice to look at but hell to live in. During the day, they were oppressively hot, and at night, bone-chillingly cold.

A group of men were playing cards and sharing lethal-looking stuff in half-litre bottles. They were behind the thefts and strikes. As he passed them, they looked up, the hatred in their reddened eyes even more chilling.

******

It was going to six and the chama meeting was about to start. Makau was the chairman-cum-treasurer-cum-secretary, because the members felt he was the only one “rich” enough not to steal. By the third month, the membership had increased to 30 people and soon their contributions amounted to thousands of shillings. Makau walked in and took the chairman’s chair.

“The meeting is called to order,” he announced, perusing the previous minutes before asking the assistant supervisor to read them out for everyone to hear.

“How much do we have so far, Mr Chairman?” asked one of the members.

Makau looked around the room nervously.

“Bwana Kazungu, according to the latest figures, we have Ksh249,000, nearly a quarter of a million — in the bank,” he stressed, knowing there were some who would kill if they knew the money was hidden somewhere in the camp. They had already broken into his place several times looking for it.

There was excitement at the news. After a year of hell in this wasteland, their sacrifice was finally paying off.

******

Night fell swiftly in the valley and for a while, it was eerily silent. Then there was a sound of something heavy moving down the valley. Makau listened. Then an engine started and he rolled off the bed and ran to the tiny window. He stood there, his mouth open in disbelief. The water truck was gone!

He staggered back and sat on the thin mattress. What next? Certainly, not back to Emali. He had no choice but to start all over in some other town where no one knew him. But how would he survive? All he had earned so far had gone to building a new house for his mother and daughter.

He looked at the time it was already 5:30am. He had to get away before his Chinese boss arrived and all hell broke loose. He dressed hurriedly, knowing what he had to do. He had no other choice.

He walked on tiptoe, taking the narrow alley between his house and the neighbour’s then paused to listen. All he could hear were men snoring.

Finally, he was at the back of his room, and ahead was a clump of thorn bushes looking no different from the others. He swept them aside, as well as the rocks and the dirt underneath, exposing a small concrete square he had built during the long lonely Easter when everyone was away. He pushed the slab aside and reached down for a paper bag.

He stashed the bag into his waistband and secured it with his belt, then tiptoed past the camp and down the valley. Once far enough, he broke into a trot, heading for the highway that was half a kilometre away.

******

Mauled and exiled from its territory by younger males, the heavy-maned lion was hungry and maddened. Too old to catch other wild animals, it had been trekking the wilderness for days looking for easier game but so far, no luck.

Suddenly, a human appeared from the right and the lion concentrated its hungry intensity on the man as he ran down the valley. It launched itself with a throaty grunt, flinging pebbles and dust into the air as it leapt on the man’s back. The man fell and before he could gasp, the beast’s wide jaws clamped down on his neck.

******

The camp woke up, and soon, it was humming with quiet whispers. The supervisor was missing. The chama members were frantic as they realised what his absence meant for them. Half an hour later, the pick-up emerged from around a boulder and came to a stop. The Chinese boss jumped out, his angry eyes on the spot where the water truck should be.

“Aiya, boss, look!”

The leader stared at a piece of bloodied shirt caught by bushes and broke into a trot.

“Mr Chou Yeng,” the African assistant said breathlessly, meeting him half way, “The supervisor is missing!”

Chou Yeng was filled with guilt. Maka-ooh had lost his life trying to recover the truck.

“He also ate our money,” said another member.

Chou Yeng looked at him angrily. “Fool! Mr Maka-ooh no eat your money, he got eaten!” Then he spun around.

“Lee Wenzu. Drive to KWS and report.”