a short story from
The Recollections of Sir Bastionov Dash-Tope
(The Mombastard Flash)
It must have been about
4:00am on that Monday morning when I was awakened. My first
thought when I looked out the window and saw that it was
still dark was "what the hell is Mathews doing here at this
time?", because I could hear someone speaking. Mathews was
my houseboy and he usually turned up for work around 7:30am.
In my drowsy state it did not occur to me that something
might be amiss. I could only think that he had turned up for
work far too early. Or was it just an extra miserable,
cloudy, dark morning making it appear earlier than it was? I
was too sleepy to put together coherent argument or even to
wonder why I had woken up so suddenly from deep sleep. I
nonetheless got out of bed and opened the bedroom door to
the lounge. There were four Africans in the lounge. Three of
them were hanging around the front door talking and the
fourth was just disappearing around the corner which led to
the bathroom and kitchen. My first reaction was
pretty normal. I thought, "Oh Fuck!". The three Africans by the
door must have thought much the same, because they couldn't
get out of the door quick enough. In their haste and panic
they all tried to get out at the same time and all three got
jammed in the doorway in classic slapstick style. Under
different circumstances it would have been hilarious. The
fourth African however, was made of sterner stuff and he
walked back into the lounge. In one hand he carried a
'rungu', a stout round stick much like a truncheon, and in
the other hand a 'panga'. The Panga is a common gardening
tool and it would otherwise been known of as a
machete. Exercising extreme lack of
presence of mind, I entirely forgot about the compressed air
underwater speargun which I kept propped up against the
wall, just behind the bedroom door. I had placed it there
soon after moving into the little guest house. It was as
good a place as anywhere to store what was a relatively
rarely used piece of equipment and I am sure I fondly
imagined using it in self defence. It is Africa, after all.
One has to be prepared for anything! But in real life people
don't normally expect to be attacked - unless, that is, you
have been attacked before. So the best I could come
up with, as the fourth African was approaching, was to look
pissed off and shout, "What the hell do you think you're
doing? Go on..just fuck off out of here!". Evidently, he
wasn't particularly impressed by this puny fifty-two kilo
white boy standing alone and unarmed and wearing just a
kikoi. "Gi'me maney" he
said. "I don't have any money,
so just FUCK OFF" I replied. His response left no doubt
as to the seriousness of the situation because he just
swiped the panga across my forehead. Oh Shit! I've got a
problem! I had had for some time a
small portable domestic house alarm. It was a simple stand
alone little box with a keypad for entering your code and a
small loudspeaker that emitted a harassed little 'beep' when
its infrared eye detected movement within its area. After
being struck on the head with the panga I turned and ran the
three steps back into the bedroom to the alarm unit and and
hit the 'On' button. It was not a particularly sophisticated
unit as it had no facility for an Instant Emergency Alarm.
It incorporated an 'Exit Delay' to allow one to set it and
leave the room before it became activated, so I knew that
there would follow a period of fifteen seconds before it
would become active. I also knew that once activated, after
detecting movement, it would then wait a further twenty
seconds before sounding the Alarm because, cleverly, it also
incorporated an 'Entry Delay', to allow one to enter the
room and punch in the deactivate code without setting off
the alarm every time you return home! Number Four followed me
into the bedroom and began beating me with the rungu. His
actions gave courage to the other three and they returned
and joined in the fun. Unfortunately, I was somewhat
preoccupied in the bedroom and I did not witness the
threesome's re-entry, so I do not know whether it was in a
similar fashion to their recent exit or whether they had
come back in more efficiently i.e. one at a time through the
shattered doorway. Having lived in Africa and observed
Africans firsthand for more than thirty years I suspect
not! The fifteen second 'Exit
Delay' had happened, the infrared eye had detected movement,
the 'Entry Delay' had happened and so finally the 'Harassed
Beep' was beeping. There is a further twist. The little
alarm box had a socket on the back to connect an external
loudspeaker. That little socket was my salvation. I had
placed, up in the Makuti (Palm-leaf Thatch) roof outside
above the front door, an old car stereo loudspeaker and
connected it to the external speaker socket with a long
cable. I figured that if the alarm was going to be of any
use at all it was better that it be heard outside the house
and not inside, where nobody outside would hear it and any
intruder could simply unplug it from the electricity supply
or smash the box if it started making a noise. I assume it was Four, as
he had the panga, who decided on the latter course of action
and leapt across the bed and planted his panga several times
squarely into my new Panasonic wireless telephone which was
sitting on a small bedside table in the corner of the room
and which happened to be more or less under the place in the
roof where I had hidden the car loudspeaker. As the
telephone was the only electronic looking thing in the
vicinity he must have assumed that it was producing the
alarm noise. At this point I was not actually too aware of
the details of what was happening around me because I was
laying in a pool of blood on the floor acting as general
punch and kick bag, although I do remember someone jumping
across the bed when the alarm finally sounded. Having discovered that
smashing the telephone did not stop the alarm sounding, the
four of them decided to get out of there, so they gathered
up whatever they could carry and left. This included two
cases. One was a suitcase full of clothes which I had not
yet unpacked as there was nowhere to hang them as yet and
the other was an aluminium edged flightcase full of guitar
strings, cables, drumsticks, XLR microphone connectors and
such, which I had only just received four days ago from a
friend in Germany, who used to supply me with such necessary
spares, and which had been 'en route' for the best part of
eight months, having been put on the wrong plane and
unloaded in Amsterdam where it sat in a corner unnoticed
until my enquiries eventually located it. Of course, I also missed
'The Exit'. They were now carrying a whole bunch of my gear,
the alarm was still sounding and therefore adding to the
panic of the moment and there were now FOUR of them to get
through that door in a hurry! When all was quiet, apart
from the harassed beeping which I let continue as an ongoing
deterrent against an unwelcome return of the Foulsome Four,
I picked myself up to inspect the damage and to try to
summon help. There was a large amount of my blood sprayed
around the floor, walls and furniture. I went to the
bathroom and saw in the mirror that I had a three to four
inch gash across my forehead running diagonally from around
the centre to the end of my right eyebrow, which had left a
large flap of skin...flapping!! With one hand holding the
flap in place I went back to the bedroom to phone Declan
O'Keefe in the main house, who happened to be a surgeon and
whose guest house I was renting. It was on the way back to
the bedroom that I noticed the front door lying on the
ground where the doormat used to be and there was also a
large rock laying beside it. I realised it must have been
the crash of the rock breaking down the door that had woken
me up, although I had not actually heard it. In the bedroom
I discovered my smashed Panasonic wireless
telephone. Great! Now
what? I didn't feel much like
going outside to walk the eighty meters to the main house
with those marauding coons still out there, but I had no
telephone and I was definitely starting to feel a bit dizzy.
Then I remembered that when I had first moved into the guest
house Mrs. O'Keefe had showed me the old rotary phone in the
corner at the end of the lounge. Unfortunately, I now found
that as I had had no use for it, having just bought my fancy
little wireless job, it still had a dial lock inserted in
the first finger hole and could not be used in the normal
way to dial out. However, a normal boy's education is
multi-faceted and I had long ago mastered the technique of
dialling out on a rotary phone by tapping the two cutoff
buttons in the top cradle. Whilst not being particularly
complicated the necessary precision does require a degree of
dexterity and concentration - especially if you haven't done
it for twenty years and a piece of your head is missing -
because the taps must be very fast and evenly spaced in
order to fool the telephone. For example, if you need
to dial a number Five you must tap the buttons five times
exactly with an even space between taps, all in the space of
approximately half a second. A number Nine requires nine
evenly spaced taps within approximately one second. If you
pause for even a fraction after tap number six the telephone
will understand it as a Six followed by a Three and you will
be dialing the wrong number. Dr. O'Keefe's number was
485796. Lots of high numbers. Lots of room for a misdial. I
was relieved that I got through on my first attempt. It was
also reassuring to know that I still functioned
correctly. When I told him what had
happened the first thing he did, he told me afterwards, was
to hit the K.K. Guards 'Panic Button'. K.K. Guards is one of many
private Security Firms who offer various security services
such as Cash Transport for Companies in specially modified
armoured vehicles, Askaris for private and commercial use
and 'Radio Controlled Patrols' (in conjunction with the
Panic Buttons). 'Cash Transport' is fairly
self-explanatory. 'Askari' is the Swahili
word for a Guard and most people employ an askari, if only
to save themselves the trouble of getting out of the car to
open the gate when they return home in the car. Askaris are
infamous for their ability to be asleep three minutes after
the lights have gone out in the house that they are guarding
for the night and social gatherings in Kenya are rarely
without a story about someone who caught his Askari asleep.
Sometimes they would sneak up and deliver a sharp blow to
the Askari's head, before quickly jumping back. It is
imperative that you jump out of the way quickly because an
Askari aroused, even gently, from sleep tends to emerge from
that state like an Octopus on amphetamines. Arms and legs
whirling in all directions, invariably with panga, rungu or
bow and arrows attached, as he defends himself from his
would-be killer . Careless or timid people have been known
to have been struck down by their own Askari by standing too
close when he wakes up. Once he has realised that he is not
in personal mortal danger and has calmed down he is then
confronted with sleeping on the job. The response to this
serious charge is always a very quick denial with an
explanation of the true nature of events. "No pleez Sah, I was
nodt-ee srreeping...I was just-ee lesting my
eyce". 'Radio Controlled Patrols'
is perhaps a somewhat misleading term for anyone familiar
with the modelling world. I refer to Miniaturisation, not
Catwalks. A 'Radio Controlled Patrol' is a group of around
seven or eight Askaris who are stationed at one of several
'strategic' locations in populated areas and are 'on call'
24 hours a day. Given enough time at their Field station
they will eventually clear a small area of bush and build
fairly sturdy shelters out of branches and leaves, with a
table and benches to make the days more comfortable. The
largest proportion of their 'work' entails hanging around
hours, days, weeks and months on end, waiting for a
radiocall to investigate a clients' alarm distress
signal. People or Companies who
subscribe to KK Guards, by hiring an Askari, can also take
advantage, for an additional fee, of the 'Panic Button'
service. A number of push buttons (usually just domestic
light switches, as more esoteric items are not freely
available in Africa) are positioned about the house or
factory e.g. one in the bedroom, one in the lounge, another
in the hallway..., and these switches are all connected to a
transmitter installed in the roof. One push of one of these
switches will activate the transmitter whose alarm signal is
received by the Radio Controller at the KK Guard Base, who
in turn radios the nearest Patrol who can rush to the source
of the distress signal within minutes. Theoretically. Having satisfied himself
that I was in a sufficiently stable state, Dr. O'Keefe
walked me back over to his house. As we walked, KK Guards
arrived at the front gate in a glorious, noisy fanfare of
revving engines and blazing headlights. There were three
'Patrol Vehicles', from within which a veritable small army
of KK Guards' Askaris poured out. The 'Patrol Vehicles' are
usually Nissan 1200 Pickups with a moulded fibreglass roof
over the bed, which in Africa is good to carry up to fifteen
people before it could be considered verging on the
overcrowded. Dr. O'Keefe gave a brief
explanation of the events so far and the platoon was split
up into those who would guard the house against further
attack, those who would track and pursue the 'perpetrators
of the crime' and those who would drive down to Bamburi
Police Station to give the Police Officer on duty a lift
back, as the Police there didn't have a car of their own, so
that he may begin his "investygayshon". After telephoning to warn
them of our imminent arrival Dr. O'Keefe then drove me to
the Mombasa Hospital. By this stage I was not feeling
bright. Delayed shock or something. Whatever the correct
medical terminology may be, the manifestation was extreme
nausea and dizziness and a strong need to curl up and go to
sleep. I remember little of my arrival at the Hospital
except for the trip to the operating theatre. I was wheeled
there on what appeared to be the top shelf of a meal
trolley, with my head retching over one side and my bare bum
and balls poking out the other side from under the
inadequate little sheet they had placed over me. One nurse
was on the 'head' side and the other was, much to my
embarrassment, on the B&B side. I was stitched back
together and skull scanned for bone fragments in the brain,
since the panga blow had actually caused a fracture of the
skull, observed for four days and sent home - after I had
settled the bill. Dr.O'Keefe had popped in a couple of times
to see how I was getting on and had brought up the subject
of my intention to buy his whole property, for which I had
already made the first substantial down-payment. He
explained that he and his wife fully understood if, after
what had happened, I wanted to back out of the
deal. "Hell...No way, man. I
want to buy your place and I'm not about to be put off by a
couple of stinking munts". "Okay, well that's great"
he said, "Er...there was something else I wanted to ask you.
Next weekend my niece is coming over on holiday from Canada
and we were planning on taking her up to Hemmingways Hotel
in Watamu on Saturday, coming back Tuesday morning. Because
of what happened last weekend I am not happy about leaving
the house unattended whilst we are gone and wondered if you
wouldn't mind staying there to keep an eye on the
place?". "Sure I will" I replied,
"after all, its sort of my place as well, isn't
it?". Dr.O'Keefe's place was
like a little Shangri La'. It was perhaps two or three acres
of carefully tended garden with a sprawling long, low
bungalow at the end of the white stone edged, curling
driveway. The rooms were large and airy, it had a beautiful
verandah and circular terrace at the front with steps
leading up from the putting green lawn and the garage was
part of the house so one never need be troubled by the
direct Tropical sun or Monsoon rains. The only problem with Dr.
O'Keefe's place was that it was smack in the middle of
Wogland. He had bought the plot and built the house years
before when Mombasa was not the popular tourist destination
it has become. At the time he bought the plot it was in the
bush, but that is not unusual in Africa. What happened with
Mombasa's subsequent expansion though, was that certain
areas became populated by the 'Haves' - Hotels, Europeans
and the better off Asians and Africans - and certain areas
by the 'Have-nots'. Dr. O'Keefe chose his plot
in an area that was destined to become 'Have-not'. If he had
chosen the other side of the Malindi Road he would have been
among the 'Haves'. But anyway, having grown up in Africa, it
did not concern me greatly to live among a gaggle of maize
fields and African villages. On the Saturday I went for
lunch with the O'Keefe's. I had not yet moved back into the
little guest house at the bottom of their garden and was
staying temporarily with a Ladyfriend. Not a Girlfriend.
There is a subtle distinction. After lunch the O'Keefe's,
with their niece, set off for Watamu which is a beautiful
bay about fifty miles north of Mombasa and is famous for its
Marine Park and Big Game Fishing. Please don't disturb even
the coral in one and kill anything you want in the
other...!? A strange combination, but that is how the World
is. When evening fell I
swaggered around the house armed with my loaded compressed
air speargun, with a spare spear and a large double edged,
serrated blade diving knife strapped to it. It was an
impressive looking piece of kit and I generally felt
invincible. Rambo with a head bandage. I was sitting at the
dining room table at about 10:30pm, with the speargun laying
menacingly at hand on the table, when the telephone rang.
Huh? It was an African man speaking. "Harro...?". "Hello..yes?" I
replied. "Harro...?". This is a quite normal
exchange when speaking with an African on the telephone. For
some reason it is necessary to go through several "Harro's"
and answering "Hello's" before we can get on with the
business of the call. "Is thaht-ee Doktah
Dayklahno?". What the hell is this now?
Is this one of those bogus calls to find out if someone is
at home or not before sending in the team to burglarise the
house? My imagination had been ignited by my recent
experiences and in my mind anything was possible. "Harro..Is thaht-ee Doktah
Dayklahno?". "What?". What was this
idiot trying to say? "Is thaht-ee Doktah
Dayklahno?". Following a swift mental
filtration process that becomes almost second nature after a
period of living in Africa I deciphered the African-English
and realised that he was asking if I was Dr. Declan
O'Keefe. "Er...yes". One learns
quickly not to make life any more complicated than it has to
be. "Who are you?" I
asked. "Dis izy KK Gahds heeyah,
and-ee...ehr...we havy leeceeved a arrarm corl flom yu".
"Well," I replied, " There are no problems here and I have
not pushed any of the alarm buttons. But hang-on. Since you
have called I would like to test the system. You wait there
and I am going to push one of the buttons now and you tell
me if you receive the alarm signal, Okay?". "Yaz, I am-ee wey-ting". I
walked through the house and pushed the Panic Button in the
main bedroom and returned to the telephone. "Did you get
that?" "Yessah. It was-ee
...ehr... butd-on numbah tree... mastah bedloom". "Okay" I said, "Now we
know it works. But in the meantime everything is alright
here." "Oh-kay, Sah. Butt-ee ...
tha Amahjance Padrrohl has-ee been ahrrerted, and-ee, dey
will allive suhn. You can terr dem thaht-ee... evy-ting isy
oh-kay...and-ee..dey can go-a-wey aggen". Phew! Damn it, I
don't need all this stuff. Anyway, I took a seat out on the
circular terrace, with the loaded speargun across my knees,
to wait for the 'Charge of the Light Brigade' when the KK
Guards Radio Response Patrol arrived at the front gate in
what I assumed, after witnessing their arrival the previous
weekend, was their customary blazing style. As I waited I
noticed someone walking towards the house, way over in among
the trees on my right by the vegetable garden. Whoever it
was was just ambling through the shadows heading towards
me. Instant Adrenaline
overdose! Speargun safety catch off ! "WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE
YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE?" I
bellowed. No answer. He just kept coming. "IF YOU DON'T STOP
RIGHT THERE WHERE YOU ARE ASSHOLE, I'M PUTTING THIS SPEAR
THROUGH YOU". No answer, he just carried on ambling towards
the terrace. I could see a bit more detail by now. An
African wearing a long scruffy overcoat carrying either a
rungu or a panga, I could not see exactly which. He was now
out in the open and perhaps twenty-five meters away, but
still in shadow. Then from my left came two more Africans.
They just walked out from the bushes and were heading for
the terrace where I was standing and both were carrying
pangas. OH CHRIST! What's going down here? My pulse was on
hyperdrive. The air turned dark purple with choice language
as I screamed at them to stop where they were before one of
them gets a spear through him. "Don't-ee shoot!" one of
them said, "We are KK Gahds, we are the Amahjance
Padrrohl". Emergency Patrol? KK
Guards? Only three? BULLSHIT! Between the three of them
there were no two similar items of clothing. Nothing that
resembled a common uniform. There was 'Scruffy Overcoat',
'Blue trousers with a yellow stripe' and 'Brown trousers
with a yellow stripe, and a Trilby with a hole in it'. I
needed far more assurance than that before I released the
pressure on the trigger. "If you are KK Guards
where are your Patrol Cars? What are you doing sneaking
around in the shadows?". What had put me off was the fact
that the 'Charge of the Light Brigade' had not arrived at
the front gate as I had expected. They explained that there
was a break-in on this property last weekend and that when
they received the radio call they thought it might be the
same gang so they had decided to surround the house first.
That explained why they had taken such a long time to show
up. At the time I felt vaguely cheated because I didn't get
to shoot any of them. But their story seemed to ring true,
so instead I thanked them for their vigilance and sent them
on their way. I locked up the house, locked myself in the
bedroom, laid the speargun within easy reach and
slept. The next day, Sunday, was
spent de-coking the car cylinders and trying out some
Amazing Miracle Goo which was supposed to give new life to
worn piston rings. Miraculously Goo-ey it was, but the car
exhaust still smoked afterwards. Give it a 'One'! I enjoyed
being at the house with its cosy terrace and beautiful
garden. I was imagining myself living there happily for
years. And the security thing? Huh! That was minor. I revel
in such projects. I'd soon 'hot wire' the whole property. It
would become my Fortress. There were no unsettling
'phone calls that evening but nonetheless I still locked
everything that was lockable - especially the bedroom
door. I awoke like a bullet
leaving a barrel at 1:05am. This time I knew exactly what
was going on. They had smashed in the 'French Window' Doors.
I immediately reached back and pushed the KK Guards Panic
Button. As if the intruders had a prearranged rendezvous
with me they made straight for the bedroom because twenty
seconds after the window crash someone was trying to open
the bedroom door. JESUS BLOODY CHRIST! I looked frantically
around the room. There were two windows, one of which was
designed to open no more than six inches at the top and the
other did not open at all. The wood of the bedroom
door was starting to make 'cracking' sounds. Where the hell
was the KK Guards telephone call asking me, "Is thaht-ee
Doktah Dayklahno?", like they did on Saturday night? I
reached back and clicked the Panic Button on and off several
times. Shit! What a lousy system. How do I know whether that
thing has transmitted or not? It should have a 'successful
transmission' warning light or something. The door sounded
as if it was going to give in at any moment. My heart was
beating so hard and fast it was practically throwing me
around the room. I did not want to be chopped and beaten up
again! I raced into the bathroom which consisted of three
small rooms in a line, each with a door, with the toilet
being the last and the only one with a lockable
door. I locked myself in the
toilet. Then I got angry. Fucking wog bastards! I went back
into the bedroom and stood seven feet in front of the door
which was now making terrifying splitting noises. The safety
catch was off and, so help me God, the first smelly bastard
through that door was going to get speared smack through his
stomach. What the hell is wrong with KK Guards? Why don't
they phone? The bedroom door held on
long enough for them to get fed up with it and go and find
something else to do. As soon as I heard them stop and start
to walk back down the corridor I jumped forward to unlock
and open the door. I was going to shoot one of those
fuckers. It had to be the same four that had attacked me
last weekend. I reached for the lock...what if the spear
misses...or he turns at just that precise fraction of a
moment so that the spear merely glances off his elbow? I'll
never have enough time to extract the spare spear and load
it before they are all on top of me again. Do they have any
guns? Goddamn it all to hell, I am going to get a gun after
this. I don't want to have to get up close with fists and
knives and sweat and smelly breath and spit. I want to stand
at a distance and blow the stinking bastards away. Where the
hell is KK Guards? I could now hear them all
making a noise in the lounge so I went back to look for a
telephone in the bedroom to call KK Guards, as the Panic
Button evidently was not functioning correctly - unless the
Controller had ignored it at his end as just another false
alarm. Thank God the O'Keefe's had a telephone in the
bedroom. Dammit! What is KK Guard's telephone number? I
looked around for a Telephone Directory and found one under
the bed. How do you read a Telephone Directory in the dark?
I learned, found the number and dialed. "Harro..?" "Hello, is that KK
Guards?" I hissed, in the loudest whisper I
dared. "Harro..
Harro..?" "Hello, is that KK
Guards?" I whispered, a fraction louder. "HARRO.." Oh God! You stupid Moron.
"Is that KK Guards?" I whispered, another notch
louder. "Dis isy KK Gahds,
yaz." "I am calling from Dr.
Declano's house...there is a robbery taking place. The
robbers are in the house now." "Ehh...?" "I am calling from Dr.
Declano's house...there is a robbery taking place. The
robbers are in the house now." "I don't-ee heeyah yu".
Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus H. Christ in a Holy Manger! How
long is this going to go on like this? "I said this is Dr.
Declano O'Keefe...there is a robbery taking place right now.
The robbers are in my house right now at this very
moment." "Ohhhh. Oh-kay. I can-ee
heeyah yu now. Ehr...Ohkay Sah..., I yam-ee going do
sentd-ee a Padrrohl to aseest yu. Dohn't be wahreed...dey
are calming". Well, there was nothing
more to do now other than wait for 'The Light
Brigade'. 'The Crawl of the Slow
Brigade' finally arrived about thirty-five minutes after I
could no longer hear the robbers. We had to go through the
same procedure of sectioning off the troops and one van was
dispatched once more to the Police Station. After a brief
look around it became clear that the robbers had raided the
whiskey cabinet and then, after polishing off that lot, had
retired to the front lawn with the contents of the beer
fridge for a leisurely celebration. A piece of clothing was
found so a van was sent off again, this time to collect a
Police tracking dog and handler. An hour or so later the van
returned with the handler and a skinny German Shepherd and
off they went into the night. As it had been drizzling with
rain for the past two hours I didn't hold out much hope of
success. I left them all to it and
returned to bed to rescue what I could of the night's sleep.
In the morning I tidied up as best as possible and that
night there were a bunch of KK Guards' Askaris to watch over
the place until Dr. O'Keefe returned the following
morning. Being the victim of any
kind of incident which involves the Police is a double-blow
because after the anguish of the incident itself you must
then go through the Police Report 'Ringer'. You spend hours,
which melt seamlessly into days, of hanging around answering
questions, filling out statements and stolen property
reports, returning the next day because the Superintendent
is away on business 'appleehend-ting climinauwlce', and then
on top of all that there is still the joy of the Insurance
Company and repairing the damage at home. My brother finally
convinced me that although the O'Keefe plot and house were
great they were just in the wrong place and so, much to
Dr.O'Keefe's chagrin, I backed out of the sale. In fact he
was so upset he began to say that I was the cause of the
whole affair as they had never had an ounce of trouble in
thirty years before I arrived. No comment. That might have been the
end of it all except that about three or four months later
two of my African bandmembers came to me and told me that
the DJ at the Bora Bora Nightclub had offered to sell them
some packets of guitar strings. Ernie Ball Stainless Steel
Super Slinkys 9-42's. They knew that I was the only musician
on the Coast who used these particular strings and guessed
straight away where they had come from. Down to the Police Station
first thing the next morning and the plan was hatched. Two
Senior Police Officers, the Bandmembers and myself visited
the DJ at 1:00am the following morning. This, according to
the Detectives, was the ideal time for a surprise raid as
the 'suzbegd' would most likely be in bed (it happened to be
his night off) and would therefore be at his most vulnerable
and easiest to scare - an intrinsic element of African
Police Techniques. I knew the DJ, everybody did, and I was
surprised that he should be involved in something like this.
Well, it turned out that he had been approached by a
gardener in the adjacent Hotel who had asked if he, the DJ,
would sell the strings on his behalf. He was told off for
dealing in what was quite obviously stolen property but not
charged. Bright and early the next
morning the 'Round-up' commenced. The two Detectives, the DJ
and myself, in a Police car and a Police minibus van each
with a driver, was The Team. First stop was the Hotel next
to the Nightclub. With the DJ to identify him they soon
found the gardener. He said he had got the guitar strings
off a Dining Room waiter at the same Hotel. Our convoy set off without
the DJ, who had now served his usefulness, but with the
gardener and the waiter in the Paddy wagon. We were headed
North for the Hotel next door because the Dining Room waiter
had got the strings from his cousin who worked next door.
The Cousin was added to the van collection and we proceeded
to the next Hotel where two more from the Laundry Department
were arrested. They had been denounced by the Cousin as
being in possession of some clothes which had come from the
same place as the strings. Next - another two Hotels and two
more arrests before we changed our compass bearing and
headed inland to an area not far from O'Keefe's place where,
in an African Mudhut buried in among the Palms, we found two
of my Satin Show shirts. They had already been modified,
perhaps in an effort to disguise them. After questioning the
occupants of the house and throwing them in the van with the
others, we headed back South and then inland again for a
distance of about thirty miles. The vehicles stopped on a
deserted stretch of road. We had reached another 'Suspect's'
house. "Huh? What
house?". "That-ee house...down
dare". About a mile and a half
away down the hill off to our left, in what at first glance
appeared to be virgin African Bush, was a small clearing
with a Mudhut. Off we trooped through the bush to the
Mudhut, and there we found, covered in mud as though it had
spent some time buried, my famous, well-travelled aluminium
edged flightcase. It still contained a number of cables and
drumsticks, half a box of guitar strings and one or two
shirts. Our day's work had netted
a small amount of recovered stolen property but a most
impressive number of 'Suspects and Accessories to the
crime'. Nine altogether. The whole bunch was thrown in jail
and after a period of time, during which the Police had
'conducted their cross-examinations' (I know how African
Police do that and I would bet heavily that all those
rounded up wished that they had never been born), I was
summoned to the Court to make a formal identification of
those that the Police had decided were the main culprits.
There were two. One from the Laundry Department and another
one. God knows who. Certainly neither of them was the guy
who had tried to divide my head into two and I said as much.
This was not of extreme importance as far as the Police were
concerned. They preferred to be able to wrap up the case
quickly and in the absence of any other possible suspects,
these two would have to do. Of course it was not at
all just, but then at the time I had little sympathy for
anyone who was remotely connected with my split head or
nicking my gear, so...tough shit. I have no idea what
happened to them after that. Perhaps they are still breaking
rocks. When I asked if I could have my flightcase back I was
told that it had to be witheld for the trial because it was
'Eveedance'. It would be securely stored in the Court
Evidence Strongroom until such time as it was required and
after the trial I would be notified. "Aht-ee disy thyme, yu
can-ee rekraime yor posseshance". As a precaution I locked
the case anyway. In due course I was
contacted by the Court and asked to come and take away my
belongings. After the customary African interminable wait -
Time and Distance are of little consequence in Africa - I
was handed the case. I still have it to this day, ten years
later, and I still use it for storing all manner of Music
equipment related bits and pieces. Strange...!? It was
unlocked. I opened the flightcase
... it was empty.
