I had long since given up praying to God to spare Ella. Now, I willed her to live. She was such a darling child. Gerhard was out there somewhere preparing to give his all for Poland and his family; with no idea that his daughter’s life was already ebbing away.
I returned to the hospital carrying water and fruit the nurse had given me.
‘How is she?’ I set down a glass of water on the cabinet beside Lodzia.
We both stared at the panting, sweating child and Lodzia shook her head.
‘The nurse gave me these.’ I handed her some bananas. ‘She said you have to eat.’
Lodzia pushed away my hand. ‘I’m not hungry.’
I was angry. This is just what Mama said, refusing the slither of soaked potato I tried to give her. ‘Eat them, Lodzia! You’ll need all your strength for when Ella gets better. What use will you be to her when you’re dead?’
She took a banana and ate it. It was a start. Ten days later, Ella’s eyes flickered open. She had survived.
The flamboyant trees of Dar-es-Salaam blazed with blood-red blossom, the humidity was relentless, and the air hung with the pulsating drone of cicadas.
Ella and I sat in the shade of an Acacia tree on the long dusty road that stretched into the distance on either side of us. Indian traders stood in their shop doorways, and black and brown-skinned tailors worked on their treadle machines.
Lodzia stepped out of the station building clutching the tickets. ‘There’s a train leaving in under an hour that will take us as far as Dodoma. From there we have to organise passage to take us north to Kondoa.’ Having missed the pre-arranged transport when we first arrived, we had to make our way into the interior.
The sun beat down and there was not even a wisp of cloud as the wood-burning Garrett locomotive towed us along the metre-wide track at a leisurely pace.
We followed the old caravan route, from the Indian Ocean to Lake Tanganyika, an eight-hour journey. It was so hot that even the lizards took shelter in the shadows of rocks where the parched earth threatened to bake them alive.
Lodzia coped with everything calmly, did what needed to be done. When the train approached each of the many little stations, hustling and shouting Africans ran alongside the carriages, pushing their bags and their wares through the open windows, even before it had stopped. She used the opportunity to step out, collect water and buy bananas. The stops were not long, yet the train never left until everyone was aboard, and continued at its unhurried pace. The African people were kind and relaxed – unlike the angst-riddled and fearful citizens of the Soviet Union.
Vast herds of game turned and sped in the opposite direction as our train approached. A line of low blue hills appeared, turned brown and receded into blue again. Everywhere else was brown; brown cattle, men and houses. About 175 kilometres from Dar-es-Salaam, we passed the Uluguru Mountains, brooding in the mounting dusk against an enormous sky; Africa was vast.
Dodoma was the end of the line for us, and Lodzia rented a room at a clean but basic lodging house. Before retiring to bed, we ate a wholesome meal of Ugali and lamb stew. Watching closely how the locals ate theirs, Ella copied, clumsily rolling the Ugali into a ball with her right hand, denting it with her thumb, and using it as a scoop to wrap around pieces of meat and to soak up the sauce. Looking pleased with herself when she had mastered it, she cleared her plate of food.
The next morning saw us climb aboard a covered truck Lodzia had hired to complete the last of our journey to Kondoa.
The temperature was already rising, and the cicadas were in full voice. While Ella stayed well out of the sun, Lodzia and I sat fanning ourselves in the canopy’s shade, grateful for the passing breeze.
Deeper into the interior, away from civilisation, the countryside was harsh – a sunburnt landscape of bleached pale yellows and tawny browns. There was little to see, but outcrops of rock, a scattering of thorn bush, the occasional patch of withered millet and the odd tree.
Lodzia pointed to a pride of lions sheltering beneath a baobab tree. Sand rivers crossed our path and in the distance a herd of giraffe fed on the leaves of an Acacia, before the engine’s noise disturbed them and they loped off in the opposite direction.
The late afternoon was a listless stream that had lost its torrent by the time we arrived at the old Italian mission, three hours later.
A rosy-faced nun appeared, her crucifix bouncing against her bosom as she hurried to greet us.
‘Welcome.’ Her arms were already outstretched to help us down from the truck. ‘We’ve been expecting you for the past month. Praise the Lord you are all well.’ She clutched Ella’s hand and led us to our quarters. ‘You’ve arrived just in time for afternoon tea.’ She walked and talked. ‘We have bread and runny butter delivered to the huts at about this time; a vat of soup for your breakfast, and you go to the canteen for your mid-day meals. Work finishes at twelve.’
‘Home,’ she announced and led us into a wattle and daub hut covered with banana leaves.
There were eighteen beds, and fifteen lounging bodies lifted themselves to their elbows when we walked in.
‘Everyone, this is…’ She turned to Lodzia for support.
Lodzia pointed, ‘Marisha, Ella and I’m Leokadia, but everyone calls me Lodzia.’
The nun whispered, ‘They’re all waiting for their teas.’ Then louder, ‘Can I leave these wonderful people in your capable hands ladies? They have just navigated their own way from Dar-es-Salaam – how amazing is that – so they’re tired and hungry?’ With the introductions over, the nun disappeared.
A young woman called Danuta seemed in charge. Her bed was furthest from the door at the end of the hut. She swung her legs to the floor and joined us. ‘Sorry, these are the only beds left. Chose which you want, and I’ll take you to the wash-house; I’m sure you’d like to freshen up before we eat.’
When we returned, Danuta was already divvying out the bread and runny butter. I noticed our three portions were smaller than the others, but you notice these things, don’t you? They were used to the larger ones in our absence, and I still felt hungry.
I ended up with the worst bed – it was opposite the open doorway, but there was no door. Neither was there any glass at the windows – just blinds. Lifting the mosquito net, I lay down on the bed, surprised to find it comfortable; the mattress stuffed with banana leaves.
At night, Danuta placed a candle in the door opening to ward off snakes and hyenas, and I prayed it worked because I would be first in line to make a tasty meal for a voracious animal.
Exhausted as I was, sleep eluded me. Strange and disturbing sounds drifted into the night; the occasional chanting in an unfamiliar tongue accompanied by rhythmic drumming from somewhere beyond. It had to be the natives, but why so late?
‘Did you sleep well?’ Lodzia threw her legs over the side of the bed in the morning and disentangled herself from the mosquito net. Ella was already awake and sitting in the doorway; the candle gone. So had all the girls.’
I propped myself onto my elbows and looked around. ‘Did you hear that drumming in the night? It kept me awake.’
‘Must be the natives.’
The rest of the girls returned just after eight, in time for the kettle of soup brought to our hut from the kitchen.
‘We’ve been to Mass,’ the one called Stefcha told us. ‘It starts at seven. Danuta wanted to wake you; she insisted you wouldn’t want to miss Mass, but I told her to let you sleep in.’