6
‘Let us give Professor Charles Semambo, our visiting expert on the African Gorilla, attached to the Museum for six months, a big hand. And please join us for wine in the lobby.’
After glad-handing the museum officials, Baker came up to Semambo, his face red with embarrassment.
‘Sorry about the camera.’
‘Get it,’ he said tightly. He struggled for a smile then said very deliberately, ‘Get me that fucking camera.’
‘Charles, it’s not that big a deal.’
Semambo wiped the sheen of sweat from his face. It was a bad move to bully Baker: he removed his dark glasses, reaching for a softer, more conciliatory note. ‘Winslow, you have no idea how big a deal it is. I want that camera. Introduce me to the boy. I will do it myself.’
Even if it was fourteen years ago, Semambo clearly remembered the day he had erased his past and come to Kenya. He had met his contact in a seedy restaurant near Nairobi’s City Hall. It seemed a confusing place at first. People sat gathered around tables, wielding folders and clipboards and pens, all having various meetings it seemed. Was it some sort of game? Bingo?
He met the man at the bar.
‘This restaurant markets itself to wedding and funeral committees.’
‘Ah,’ said Semambo, laughing, ‘Where the balance sheets of living and dying are produced. They are counting the cost of life. Very appropriate. Well, here is the cost of mine, exactly counted, in the denominations you asked for.’
The man looked at him and laughed back. ‘I don’t know why. I have to sleep at night you know? Our old man is friendly to your side. Me, I just think you are all butchers…’
A title deed, four different Ugandan passports with appropriate visas and work permits, an identification document and his new name. But hiding was not easy. There were always people looking. A couple of million dollars could only buy you so much.
When he turned away from Baker, Semambo was surprised to see the kid standing not five metres away from them. He had been mistaken – the kid was probably closer to eighteen. He had good teeth Semambo saw – a rarity in Kenya.
‘Have we met before?’
‘No,’ the boy said. ‘But I’ve seen you at the Animal Orphanage. When you come and talk to Sebastian.’ The boy’s voice was a quiet whisper. ‘Sebastian. The gorilla. He’s dying, you know. I need to talk to him before he goes. Can you teach me?’ The boy added breathlessly, ‘He has maybe two months. He’s old. Could even be sixty.’
‘Yes. I know who you are talking about. And you are?’
‘Jimmy. Jimmy Gikonyo.’
‘Call me Charles. Can we talk in my office? Or even better, let’s go somewhere quieter.’
‘Sorry, but my mother expects me home early.’
‘I understand. Where do you live? Maybe we can talk on the way as I drop you off. I don’t generally allow people to take photos of me.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought I recognized you from somewhere. Not that we’ve met.’