The Chemicals Trader

The Bolt taxi stopped at the gates of the Ministry of Works building in Upper Hill. The passenger dismissed the driver by paying him through MPesa mobile money. She stepped out into the brilliant sunshine, waving to the guard as she entered through the gates.

The building before her was exactly alike to the Office of the President on Harambee Avenue. She remembered hearing a story that the Harambee one used to belong to the Ministry of Works, but was commandeered by the first president of the republic. The Ministry was forced to move up the escarpment and build this one. It was an exact copy of the one they had left behind.

The tall double doors were of glass, and had only recently been automated. As she approached they opened to let her through, and she headed to the lifts. She noticed the VIP one used only by the Minister and his chosen dignitaries who came to visit him. She was no such.

Selecting the sixth floor on the pad standing in front of the lifts, she waited for the next available one. A soft ding announced that number four lift had arrived, so she and the others took a step to the side to let those who had come down to exit, before they jostled gently through the doors.

A robotic voice announced, "Going up." At each stop it informed them which floor it was, even though the panel at the side showed the same information.

"Sixth floor," said the robot, even though Mercy was already angling her body between the other passengers towards the door. The lush, deep, red carpet met her as soon as she stepped out. She had come here a few other times, trying to win the contract by speaking to none other than the Minister's staff. On this visit she felt confident that she would be awarded it. Recolte Finance had offered her a performance bond to allow her the funds to fulfill the order; this would hopefully improve her chances with the Honorable Muchiri, she thought as she pushed open the door to the big man's office.

She came face to face with the long counter behind which the two secretaries had their enormous desks, facing each other. It meant they had to turn somewhat sideways in order to greet the visitor.

"Good morning madam!" They kept up the pretense that she was unknown to them, even after seeing her severally.

"Good morning to you! I am here to see Hon Muchiri. He should be expecting me."

"Mercy Wakomba?"

The pretense was starting to get on her nerves. "Yes, for eleven o'clock," but trying to keep the annoyance from her voice.

"Please take a seat, while I alert him." It was still seven minutes to the hour.

The magazines on the coffee table were of no interest to her, and anyway she doubted whether she would be able to follow anything, even if they had been. She opened the Blockchain app on her phone to put through a few trades, if the conditions were favourable. She became so absorbed that the voice of the secretary informing her that she could go in pulled her as if from a trance.

There was still one hurdle to overcome before she saw the Minister himself. She faced the ADC in the inner office who, fortunately, did not seem to need the pretense of the women on the other side of the door.

"Mercy! Good to see you again. Did you arrange a performance bond as we advised you last week?"

She opened the thin satchel she carried and pulled out the document mentioned, along with those others pertaining to the transaction. "Yes, it was very kind of you to let me in on that information." She handed them to Alfred, noticing that like all men everywhere, his eyes wandered to her chest, drawn by her enormous breasts. Her nipples puckered reminding her that she had not had a good dose of loving for almost two months, since she broke up with her boyfriend.

He got up from his chair and led her to the door, knocking softly.

"Come in!" A commanding voice.

Alfred pushed the door and signaled Mercy to enter before him. She heard his voice behind her. "She is here. All her documents are in order this time." He laid them on the desk before the Minister, who barely glanced at them before fixing her with his eyes.

"Please sit." She felt the slight bounce of her breasts from the action of sitting. She could not be sure the Minister's eyes did not flick to her chest. He was looking at her with a kindly, avuncular expression. "I see your figure work is accurate this time. Congratulations. I like a quick learner."

"Thank you Honorable, for all your support in showing me how these things work. Your percentage has been calculated very carefully, sir!" His tightly controlled lust still managed to send a thrill of excitement down her spine. She suppressed it brutally, reminding herself of the deal that was at stake.

"Wonderful work, young lady. It should be credited to my bank without any reference either to yourself or your company. No trace!"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Before I sign these documents, I need to be assured that the alum you talk about is the real deal."

A tremor ran through her body, which she hoped the two men did not pick up on. She had no knowledge of the alum salts beyond her high school chemistry classes, many years in the past.

The minister resumed, "I want you to show my ADC the mines, the mining, the purification process and packaging. I do not want another scandal."

"Yes, sir." She hoped the anxiety had not crept into her voice.

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Rose Mahinda disconnected the call, with a satisfied smirk on her face. She worked at Somak Travels, the largest and oldest tour company in Kenya. It had been set up in the earliest days of the colonial era, when tourists came to hunt game. They had handled Ted Roosevelt who would later become president of America. They had taken his party into the bush, their guides had led them to the best hunting grounds, taking care of all the guns and ammunition. When the big man had felt satisfied with his booty, Somak had taken care of all the trophies, their preparation and shipping to America.

A little later it was the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII) whose itinerary Somak handled. He declared himself very satisfied with his hunting expedition. Through the years they had grown from this small five-person outfit to a tour company with a huge fleet, the most professional driver-guides and contacts all around the globe. Even when hunting wild game was outlawed they had quickly changed their slogan from "Shoot to your heart's content" to "Shoot through superior lenses."

Rose had joined the company long after the era of game-hunting had been outlawed by the government. Thus those stories of the past of Kenya's tourist scene were only that. On the walls of the office, however, were posters and old photographs of those times, so she had lived vicariously through them. She enjoyed her work of building itineraries for guests coming from any part of the globe, booking their flights into Kenya, putting them into hotels whether in the city, the coast or in the many game reserves that Kenya was famous for. Sometimes she had to muscle her way into these places by visiting them personally to ensure that "her" guests got the best deal. Not once had she had to elbow out the agent of a smaller outfit to claim the available rooms for "her" children as she sometimes chose to think of them.

Rose's Armenian guests had landed at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport just that morning. They were, at that moment at the Nairobi National Park, unique among game sanctuaries in that it was a short drive from the city centre. Less than twenty minutes from getting into the tour vans outside some international hotel right in the middle of the bustling city, tourists found themselves surrounded by game country, admiring the plump rumps of a herd of zebra, or getting stared at disdainfully by a pride of lions. A mere turn of the head brought one's eyes to the skyscrapers of the city; a great many photographs had been taken of animals in their natural habitat against the background of skyscrapers. It was claimed that nowhere else in the world was this possible.

Two days later Rose's "kids" would visit Lake Magadi before going to the coast. She had just booked them into the Castle Hotel, the only hotel in that remote town, taking all but one room. If another company or even a pair of tourists had arrived at the Castle Hotel, or called five minutes before her, there would have been nowhere to book the whole party. She knew her boss would be pleased at her work.

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The five-seater taxied from the hangars emblazoned with the logo of ALS, owned by tycoon John Njuguna. The pilot gingerly nudged it along the tarmac to where the two passengers would clamber on. In a minute he spotted them, a tall graceful woman with an impressive bust, dressed in khaki jeans, a small valise by her feet, and a very dark-skinned man casually dressed in blue jeans and red-and-blue striped t-shirt. He carried himself with some importance as if he were a politician or some kind of government official. Beside them was the pilot's boss in his usual genial mood; he could hear the woman's laughter from across the tarmac. As soon as they saw the pilot nearing his position Njuguna led them towards the plane.

"Don't you dare bring back ash!" Njuguna was saying as the door to the plane swung open to let the passengers in. The woman let out a loud cackle at this reference to stories of Abunuwasi who had cheated the king by delivering sackloads of ashes instead of the sorely-needed salt. The dark man and the pilot, also aware of the children's tale, joined in the laughter.

The pilot, after being introduced, helped the passengers with their luggage, such as it was, stowing it in the aft compartment. Njuguna bid them a safe journey and pushed the door closed while his pilot made it secure from the inside.

"Please fasten your seat belts," he began his routine briefing prior to take off. "We are flying from Wilson Airport, Nairobi to Magadi airfield, almost due south. We expect to land in under 50 minutes. The weather is reported to be only mildly cloudy."

With that the little plane tottered towards the runway ready for takeoff. At the eastern end the pilot stopped to await instructions from the tower. A Fokker Friendship touched down and taxied to its assigned hangar and shortly afterwards they saw a smaller plane approaching from the southern end. The runways were in the form of a lopsided X. The landing looked comical to them as they looked on, although if they had thought about it for a moment they would soon have realised that their own plane was even smaller and would look more so.

"That is also a Fokker, but a 27-seater," the pilot said conversationally. The passengers heard the crackle from the radio and a voice saying something that was totally incomprehensible to them.

"Off we go!" exclaimed the pilot and the whine of the twin engines climbed in pitch. Suddenly Mercy and Alfred felt themselves pushed hard into the back of their seats as the plane started its rush down the runway. Then they were tipped back as the small plane began to climb. Mercy in the right-hand seat had the better view of Nairobi Dam and the Kibera slum. Beyond she could see the city gleaming in the sunlight. Turning her head to see out of the left window only showed her the wide expanses of the national park. She felt the plane banking very slightly to the left, on a bearing for Lake Magadi. Shortly after this the plane settled into its routine on such a flight.

Abruptly, the pilot's voice came on again. "Hang on tight! There is heavy weather ahead." Soon the plane shook violently as if it was a bus on a bumpy road under construction. Then it became darker as the plane was enveloped by the storm clouds. All they could see was a dull grey soup around them, sometimes getting lighter in colour, but at others darkening even more. Neither of the passengers had ever been on a small plane and it became terrifying for them as the bumpy ride went on. They feared they might crash. Mercy felt her breasts tighten inside her bra as if in sexual arousal. Then the plane shook and shuddered so violently that she found herself reaching out to Alfred's hand in the next seat. He held hers in both his, one of them clutching her forearm, giving her some comfort. Fortunately the shaking lasted a minute or less, but he did not let her hand go. She enjoyed that contact and wanted it to last.

But throughout they kept a close eye on the pilot even though they would never have understood what he was doing with all those dials and buttons he kept pressing. The set of his shoulders remained confident as if he knew exactly what he was doing, but they dared not ask him.

Still the sounds from the radio continued in something like a coded language they could not understand. They were not sure the pilot understood either, since he did not speak.

What seemed like a long time later, he said, "We are through!" With one last bump they saw sunlight again. Down below them, they could only see the endless brown expanses of the dry land.

"That must be the grazing lands of the Masai," observed Alfred.

"We cannot be very far now," added Mercy in a hopeful voice.

"Yeah, I can now see the lake," declared the pilot. But much as they peered forward, neither of the passengers could pick out that body of water. Somewhat reluctantly Mercy withdrew her hand from the clutches of Alfred. Immediately she felt a vague emptiness as if she had lost something, but her rational mind insisted that this man was still very much of a stranger to her; she had no reason to feel anything for him.

The whine of the engines dropped to a roar, and they felt a slight tipping forward as the plane began its descent. Then it banked to the right for the final approach to the airstrip's runway. "Please fasten your seat belts. We are approaching Magadi Airstrip and will be landing in under three minutes," came the pilot's final briefing.

Now Alfred could see the shiny shimmering, surface of the lake, it's edges fringed in white. "There's the lake said to be the most salty in all the Rift Valley from northern Ethiopia to Mozambique in the south."

"I have heard that all the salt used in Kenya, East Africa and perhaps beyond, comes from here," supplied Mercy.

The pilot added, "They have been mining salt here since 1911. They even have a special rail service operated by the company to takes their wares to Nairobi and to Mombasa for export."

Now the passengers could see the dusty runway stretching ahead as the ground rushed up towards them. With a bump they were on the ground at last. Mercy thought the engines sounded as if they were complaining, as if they preferred to be in the air. Bumping along that strip, she thought the plane itself seemed reluctant to travel on solid ground. Finally they stopped within a short distance of the main building.

As he opened the door the pilot told them not to worry about their bags. They would be brought inside. Alfred jumped down and gave his hand to Mercy. She was concentrating more on his hand, remembering how it had made her feel during the storm so that she missed her step. Had he not been alert she would have landed painfully on her knees but he quickly reached up to her armpit and held her near the shoulder blade; his other hand came quickly to her upper arm so that they ended up in a kind of staggering hug!

"Thank you!" She thought inwardly that he had no way of knowing that apart from helping her down, he had ignited a strange fire within her.

Mercy reflected that only two days ago she was walking on the thick-pile carpets in the air conditioned office of the Minister for Works, and now here she was in this parched, dry landscape with the heat beating about her mercilessly. It must be ten times worse for Mr ADC here, she mused, as they walked towards the greyish building that looked to have been white in some distant past. Only a few steps were enough to leave their shoes coated in the grey dust.

Inside the terminal, it was not as hot, but everything showed its age. The floor was a cross-hatch parquet whose polish had long since been carried off on the soles of many shoes over as many years.

An elderly man, with some grey in his beard and hair stood holding a placard made of a dull brown cardboard on which she made out her name. As soon as she had fetched her small valise from the worker who had brought their luggage she approached the man. "Here we are!" pointing to herself and Alfred.

"Welcome to Magadi. I will take you to the Magalum Resources offices straight away. Please come this way." He led them through the small building through a heavy door that looked like it might have been oak but was now a dull colour with patches of varnish still hanging valiantly on. Then they were out in the open again, with the sun beating down upon them. Two cars stood forlornly in the dusty patch of ground looking to Mercy as if they might have wanted a few minutes indoors as well. Their guide led them to a pale blue Toyota and pulled open the driver's door. Apparently it was safe to leave doors unlocked hereabouts. He leaned to his left to open the passenger door. Alfred made to get in but changed his mind; he motioned for Mercy to take the front while he made an unsuccessful attempt to open the back door. It resisted his efforts at first but he managed to wrench it open.

The engine spluttered into life and the elderly car made a wide arc as it left the terminal area, leaving a plume of dust. Having sat in the sun for a long time with windows closed, the heat trapped inside made it a kind of human oven. But opening the windows was not an option; the dust was already billowing in through every tiny crack it could find. Somehow the bumping over the rough road did not terrify Mercy as much as the turbulence the plane had taken them through hardly an hour before.

A train of freshly-painted grey bogies, with splashes of blue was coming into the Company yard. They could hear the gentle clanking of the wheels over the rails; it must have been much more clamorous further out when it was running at high speed. Mercy thought it would be preferable to ride one of those bogies on smooth rails instead of this pitiful excuse for a road.

"The offices are not that far," their guide told them. "See those buildings there?" He was pointing away to their left. The road twisted and turned but after a short while they could see 'MAGALUM' starkly painted on the side of the building facing them. They could make out the gate when the car engine spluttered and died. That meant walking the distance into the compound. The guard at the gate came to assist them to carry their luggage.

Quickly they were taken through reception and to the office of the CEO. "Something cold to drink?" he offered. The meeting, laying out the following day's activities was short and to the point. The evening was drawing on when they were given another driver to take them to the Castle Hotel, fully expecting to have their choice of room. But what a shock awaited them! The place was fully booked.

Mercy looked at Alfred helplessly not knowing what to do next. He decided on the humorous approach. "Mary and Joseph could at least find a barn at the inn. There is no place for us at all?"

The receptionist, the porter and a waiter who happened to be passing by all collapsed in laughter. Between gusts of laughter the receptionist managed to get out a few words. "Only the top-floor suite is available. It has a queen-size bed. Perhaps you would like to look at it?" she said hopefully.

The two guests were struck dumb. Alfred did not want it to seem that he could accept the room on behalf of Mercy. Not knowing her very well, she may react strongly. Mercy on her part did not know where to look. If she agreed, it would be giving him a carte-blanche; if, on the other hand she left him to decide, she would have given him the signal that she did not mind sharing accommodations with him. Which came to the same thing.