Sudanese
Nights
By R D Okang’a Ooko
Dedicated to the people’s liberation movement of Sudan
© Okang’a Ooko, 2000. All rights reserved
SUDANESE
NIGHTS was the title of the new record album. Serengeti Records
had selected two songs for the video clip, to be used for the
launch of the CD: the title track, Sudanese Nights,
and another song on slavery in Sudan, entitled Sudan Free
The Slaves. Oddie wrote the song. It was an odd kind of
inspiration. It happened after a conversation with a journalist
friend who had worked with an NGO in Sudan and witnessed the
slavery, saw Dinka men killed and their women and children abducted
by the semi-nomadic Baggara Arab tribesmen. And sold. The journalist
was going to sell the story to Reader’s Digest, Oddie
had a acquired a new idea for a functional song. The video was
shot on enormous Serengeti budget in remote Southern Sudan locations.
It would be used to sell the record album all over the world.
Oddie Awando Brazzos had a chance to be a new kind of star,
finally, after eight years of lumbering with music and feeling
inadequate.
African Jazz Makali, Serengeti’s part-time studio band
and Hatari Orchestra, had been instrumental in providing studio
back-up during the recording sessions. But Hatari was a home
band that was forever reluctant to leave Mombasa where it had
been born twenty-five years ago and where it had seen its ups
and downs during a long history marred by personnel changes
in the vocal section in its long productive history. In the
end the more adventurous African Jazz Makali were chosen for
the album promotion safari, and a total of thirty-two musicians
had been involved in the two month programme whose itinerary
included Southern Sudan for the video shooting and Kampala,
Kisumu, Nakuru, Nairobi, Mombasa, Zanzibar and Dar es Saalam
for planned promotional shows. Afterwards the group would return
to Nairobi for the official launching of the video. The video
would be a valuable piece and would be sold as a docu-drama
besides used to make the video for Oddie’s song. Joanna
Sanders was particularly optimistic about it and spent hours
discussing it with Oddie and Tino ba Bukussu.
Everybody was rattled up and cursing as the Range Rover and
the two trucks trampled down the dusty tracks with noises like
dry bones. The Range Rover twirled and jumped, leading the way.
The sun had spent itself out and made a violent descent into
the scorching earth and left a lot of heat. Oddie gave a squeal
and yanked at the driver, Othwele Piston, vocalist and tumba
player. ‘Look out!’ The car’s headlights bumped
a camel that suddenly towered above the road like Sphinx. A
thin mean-looking tribal man said something in a jittery voice
and started pushing his animal out of the road. More tribesmen
appeared from the shadows. Somebody asked “Who are these?”
Turkana’, Boggos said. Then the occupants of the car could
all see clearly: a herd of cattle had to the allowed across.
The truck stopped behind the trailer, and Rimba, who was driving,
asked what was going on.
Somebody shrieked from the trailer, a woman. Oddie failed to
catch the words. But Boggos did. ‘Milk,’ he said;
they need milk. For the baby.’ Oddie cursed women and
pushed his lanky frame out of the Range Rover. In the brown
and black twelve feet trailer, Amida leaned her neck out of
a tiny window and said they needed do some fresh cow’s
milk and could the Turkanas sell us some? For the baby? Oddie
grunted and looked about. One of the Turkana herdsmen stood
nearby looking at them with his teeth. Oddie beckoned to him
and asked in Kiswahili whether they could milk a cow. The fellow
did not know any Kiswahili and fired a string of Turkana. Amida
said maziwa and Oddie said ng’ombe. But Boggos who had
a book on Turkana said milk. That did it, the herdsmen appeared
glad that communication had been achieved, the way he pranced
about on thin horrible legs. Everybody was relieved, glad. The
Turkana tittered. Amida fetched a can and the man disappeared
with it in the shadows.
SUDANESE
NIGHTS was the story of a white female anthologist who
had come to Sudan to oversee the implementation of DFID development
projects, and got stuck with a small tribal community. She works
as a doctor amongst them, healing their sick, burying their
dead, organizing for supplies and co-ordinating with NGOs that
are brave enough to risk the wrath of the Sudanese government
to reach that part of the remote, cut off land. She manages
to persuade the Sudanese government to spare the villagers,
who are faced with extinction. Their numbers have been reduced
from 50 000 to less than 3000. Later on, it appears the government
is not honouring its promise and wants to take the entire villager
to fill up the government’s so-called peace villages.
In the peace villagers, they would provide free labour in the
government’s plantations or be leased to rich landowners.
Strong men and boys would be confined in secret government camps
and trained to supplement the armed forces in the war against
the Sudan Peoples Liberation Army, the resistance fighters of
the south. She turns to SPLA for help and organizes for the
evacuation of the villagers to a remote hillside territory.
She becomes a symbol of hope to the villagers and the rebels,
many of whom are wounded during a clash with the government
troops during the evacuation exercise, and need medical attention.
That was the story, to say the least. Sudanese Nights was
a story of compassion, courage and hope, but shooting it had
become extremely difficult. The script had been written by Joanna
Sanders, a British journalist working as a consultant with Tino
ba Bukussu, the owner manager and chief technical executive
of Black Opika Vision, the company that had been subcontracted
by Serengeti to produce the video. She also played the part
of the anthropologist while Viva sang the lyrics that had been
sung by Victoria in the original recording.
Forty days and forty nights had gone by. Day after day they
ate dust, braved the ran and fouled weather and sang their hearts
out in the bush as they shot the video and horizon drew them
to nowhere. There was an overwhelming presence of bush and uncertainty
in the vast endless hilly Sudanese countrywide. There were dangerous
moments as well as unpleasant ones. And there were hollow and
lonely moments too. The prevailing insecurity, as a result of
the on-going civil war, mounted when they were held up in their
camps for days waiting for the tropical rain to subside, roads
were bad beyond description, and impassable in some areas. There
were also moments when they got into contact with SPLA troops,
and had to be delayed for days while they waited for the approval
of the general of the resistance army that controlled the region.
The SPLA was quite helpful, and advised on the parts of the
vast land to go to, some districts were off limits because at
that time, the SPLA was trying to face out poaching of game
and vandalism for its mineral resources. The crew of Sudanese
Nights had to be escorted by the rebels to the safe Nuba mountains
territory during the shooting of the evacuation scene and allowed
themselves to be included in the scene. Oddie’s determination
alone got them through such impediments. In his own words, they
will do the video or perish. As a counter-attack to the sound
of gunfire, he said, theup-tempo beat of Sudanese Nights had
to gear higher. And there will be no rest even if the day itself
does and the night took over they worked behind the dark wash,
blared the sound of Sudanese Nights loud with lions baying and
hyenas laughing and hyraxes shrieking. So they did some very
brilliant scenes which Tino ba Bukussu felt was still far from
perfect, grumbled at and tore. He was especially impatient with
some scenes which the crew wanted rash due to the prevailing
insecurity. Those scenes had to be repeated even if it took
days to get them right.
From the safety of Mombasa Grand Piza kept the routing of sending
e-mail every day to find out how things were going. Grand Piza
was the CEO of Serengeti Records, that had sponsored the video
production. Boggos, the project manager, the gentlemen’s
gentleman kept the argument that the project was too costly
and was consuming more time that had been allocated for it.
Oddie played dumb to such arguments. The only person he listened
to was Tino ba Bakussu. Nothing was going to deflect this perfect
video. His first solo project with the band. And here good things
were happening.
In Sudan they had experienced some of Africa’s realities.
There were huge black men, naked with muscles that they had
only seen in history books, and whom Viva was excited at, embraced
and took endless photos with, and whom Rimba stated at with
scorn. This was Africa in its best definition with rugged terrain
dotted with anthills and shrubs stretching to meet with rolling
hills. The land was vast and virgin and sky open all into one
white state, scanty with clouds. The sun stood defiantly, unflinching.
The goats ate at leaves and dusty little boys ran, playing with
earth. The sounds and smells were humble and homely, and reminded
one of something from long ago. Sgt. Jomo was excited about
it all, played is flute and jumped. His dreadlocks twirled.
At night they set up tents and lit up the fire. The girls cooked
game meat and they ate.Then they drank canned beer and told
folk tales in turns. Each night two stories were heard. Riddles
were told and laughter created. Then they sang and swayed until
the presence of jackals, hyenas and lions forced them to retreat
into their tents.
They got
into Lokichogio and Boggos breathed halleluya. He got out of
the truck to phone Grand Piza. But first he stopped to survey
the weather beaten shopping centre that crouched on either side
of the tarmac. Then he stepped hard on the tarmac . ‘Home
at last,’ he yelled, ‘Goodbye hostile country.’
He ordered everybody to get out and stretch their legs, buy
something, have breakfast and feel at home while he carried
his hefty weight to the buildings, hunting for some Kenyan bread.
A little over forty, he was fat with smooth bland features that
gave him a look of an amiable drifter. That he was far from.
He was a competent manager and had been with African Jazz Makali
since its formation as Serengeti’s studio band, and had
organised all the group’s concerts and shows. Four years
ago, Serengeti Records’ public relations manager, Sam
Ogwang had convinced Grand Piza that apart from functioning
as Serengeti’s studio band, African Jazz Makali needed
to be seen as an independent institution. It needed a manager
between it and the rest of the industry and the public. Boggos
came in highly recommended, with a reputation for being competent
and untiring. After some months, the best definition could have
been he was nagging, forever in the way, ruthless, never-giving-up.
The bandsmen and women called him Mzee Boggos, he was a family
man, a lover of his wife and had six kids and worked hard.
The men got out, stretched their legs and went to look for cigarettes.
They appeared spent up, prepared for vertigo and dislocations.
the video in Sudan had been a great event that had wrapped them
all in drama and gave them a sense of adventure. The sun had
appeared and yet it was a quarter to seven. Viva shrieked, hey
breakfast is ready, if your are hungry. In the men’s trailer,
come on guys. African rules prevailed: women cooked. A total
of seven women had come along including show woman and localist,
viva, actress and journalist, Joanna Sanders and the dancers
Amida, Motema, Anyango and Lava. Meals were prepared in the
trailer, which was the quarters for women and was comfortably
equipped with air-conditioner, stereo, hi-fi, kitchen, refrigerators
bathroom, TV, personal computers systems (that Roving Robbie
and the video crew spent a great many hours playing games) and
a Multi-choice decoder and recording facilities. The second
trailer was slightly bigger than the first trailer and was equipped
with similar facilities, together with a dining room and a miniature
bar that bassist, Living Ramogi and drummer, Nyosh Mapanzani
spent hours perched on drowning lager on Serengeti’s account.
The band’s instruments were in the truck, which, together
with the trailer belonged to Serengeti Records. The road machines
had inter-country license and wheels made for Africa. The band
members drove in turns, drivers had not been hired to save on
costs. Except for the video recording unit and five-man crew
every other facility and personnel belonged to Serengeti.
Amida spotted the Sudanese lady. She grabbed Viva’s arm
and twittered to the other girls, ‘Look, Akuom Weke –
the slave girl.’ They stared. The Sudanese lady was standing
with Oddie and Okhulokhulo, the guest talking drummer from Africa
Zambali who had arranged African drumming tracks in the recording.
She was pitch black with short hair and closely set fierce looking
Nilotic eyes. But when she smiled, her face brought a unique
radiance. The corners of her lips almost reached her ears as
they formed into a shape resembling the mouth of a Nile Perch.
The smile took everything away from her face, her eyes narrowed
completely and her petite nose almost disappeared. She had dazzling
white teeth and her large lips had a natural reddish tint and
required no make-up at all. Her beauty, one noticed, lay in
her sunken, penetrating eyes and her large lips. They gave her
a symbolic look, capable of commanding attention. She was tall,
gallantly tall with straight shapely legs. She had been picked
up in Juba together with eight other girls to provide some fresh
air into the song Sudan Free The Slaves. She had played the
slave woman in the video, and was retained in the crew, after
her colleagues were dropped off, for a remaining scene that
was going to be shot in Turkana. Everybody was not fooled by
Oddie; he liked the girl for other reasons. He was notorious
for falling for odd eggs. Besides, like he was fond of saying,
what he won, he kept.
Lava said, ‘She’s beautiful - beautiful.’
They all agreed. Then they watched in horrors as Oddie drew
the woman into his arms and kissed her
That was all it needed to get women African Jazz Makali scathing
with jealousy. This Sudanese woman had got their best prize.
Every woman who set eyes on Oddie fell for him.
‘Oh,
my, baby,’ hissed Anyango. ‘Ai, yawa.’
‘The
Dinka bitch!’ swore Viva. More than death would heal Viva's
crush on Oddie. She was the second woman to be formally registered
as the band member when she joined six years ago as understudy
to the demi goddess and diva, Victoria. That meant that as Victoria’s
weird artistic nature isolated her from the rest of the group
and turned her into a studio recluse, recording but never appearing
with the band in public, fear seemed to intensify that the band
was headed for a decline in its stage performance. Somebody
with a voice matching her own was needed to perform the songs
live during shows. Auditions had been conducted and in came
Viva, who previously worked in Nairobi as a model’s apprentice.
Victoria herself chose Viva and trained her, improved her voice
and her mannerisms. After months, Viva was ready to step on
stage and within the years she had greatly improved, and even
gave Victoria’s songs a new kind of power. When she had
come into the band, she was warned against developing personal
relations with the individual band members to avoid creating
personality conflicts. At that time she was barely eighteen
and immediately set her eyes on Oddie. Later on when it was
clear Oddie was not interested in her, she started the on-off
affair with Rimba that still dragged on.
‘Stupid
dump bitch.’ She hissed with a trace of jealously, ‘
I didn’t know Oddie could be so…. so….’
She failed to find the right word. ‘Look at her with her
knock knees.’
‘They
are not knock knees. I like her legs.’ Amida said and
laughed.
‘Okay,’ Anyango almost pleaded, ‘he is Oddie.
You know, you can complain and get pumped up and cry, but he
is Oddie.
‘So
what?’ put in Lava.
‘He
is the star.’
‘So
what?’ countered Viva.
‘He
can do anything he wants. He can have anybody he wants.’
Amida demonstrated,
‘ He is handsome and he is a superstar.’
Viva wiggled
off her pants and threw it at the dancing girl. ‘You look
after your baby and shut up.
Lava said,
‘Viva, my dearest, don’t you know every girl is
entitle to a lay as much as you do? No matter how she looks?
‘We
‘ve got rules here as a band,’ answered Viva. She
picked up her towel and tied it around her, tying it above her
breasts.
‘Rules?
Who cares about rules?’ Amida continued. ‘Didn’t
you see in Sudan? How our men behaved about the Sudanese girls,
saying that Sudanese women have no AIDS? Tell me who didn’t
go out with a Sudanese girl including your boyfriend Rimba.’
Lava shouted
an alarm. ‘Amida!’
Viva’s
spiked eyes stood sharp. She mouthed the words out in clear
syllables: ‘What did you just say?’
Amida was
speechless. Her lips mouthed the words silently, Oh my God.
She smiled and picked up her baby from the tiny bed.
Viva warned,
‘You are way out of line, bitch mother. And you should
know better than treat me with respect.’
The quiet
Motema spoke up, ‘Girls, girls, girls. What’s wrong
with you? Can’t you get real?….. just say you envy
the Sudanese girl and shut up? What’s the big deal anyway,
she is beautiful. And we all admire Oddie. There’s nothing
wrong…..and, Viva, nobody complained when you took photos
with those naked Sudanese men the other day.’
Anyango
added, ‘You had your chance with them, why didn’t
you fuck one of them. Those real primitive African men, why
didn't you fuck them?’
Viva heaved
a heavy sigh. ‘Wish I did, really do.’ Then she
whispered, ‘I’m so wet right now.’
‘Use
your hand,’ Lava advised. ‘Like I do.’
‘Or
borrow Joanna’s vibrator,’ said Amida.
Viva moaned,
‘I need a man.’
Motema sighed.
‘I don’t believe this.’
Lava served
their breakfast in large mugs. It was strong coffee with milk
and lemon juice
‘I’m
taking a shower,’ Viva announced . ‘msinimalizie’
‘Ukichelewa
shauri yako.
‘she was told.
‘
Eti nini?’
Just then
Boggos leaned into the doorway of the trailer to announce they
had two shooting sessions in Lokichoggio. They wouldn’t
be leaving until the scenes were done to the satisfaction of
Tino ba Kukussu. So could they get ready. Joanna Sanders emerged
from the computer cubicle where, she spent most of their time,
and said a soft hello. She cleared her throat and smiled softly.
‘Oh-but,
Boggos….’
‘This
sun is killing us, ‘ wailed Anyango.
Boggos breathed
and mopped his brow. ‘It’s killing me too, but do
I say.’ Then on a different note, ‘We have to complete
this project, ladies, ‘he said, ‘that’s all
there is to it.’
Viva said,
‘Oddie isn’t through having his fun with the Sudanese
women while we kill ourselves working for his record album?
Look at my skin, look at my hair.’
‘I’m
tired,’ said Amida, ‘ I need to get home.' Her baby
had been born Sudan’
Boggos eyes
looked worried. He explained, ‘Akuom Weke is a valuable
asset to this production. And she’s part of African Jazz
now, treat her that way,’
Viva leered,
‘Oddie kissed her. Didnt you see? You didn’t see?
He kissed her!’
Boggos shook
his head slowly, his large lips curled into a tired smile.
‘Come
on, Boggos.’
Boggos said
flatly, ‘She’s here to complete the last part of
Sudan Free The Slaves. That’s all I know and care.’
Viva said,
‘ I thought we were through with that song. We shot that
song two days ago.’
Boggos smirked
his lips in a gesture of defeat. ‘Tino says we have to
repeat the slave market scene. Let’s get ready.’
He said. ‘ And if you recall, Joanna, your last scene
of the title track Sudanese Nights it’s done.’
Joanna cleared
her throat and said, ‘The airplane scene, yes. I know.’
Viva clicked
her tongue. ‘You guys are lucky making this thing look
like were doing a movie.’
Boggos was
tired of repeating himself. ‘Look, ‘he said, ‘
this is called class A video. The type Quincy Jones or Suzzy
Kasseya would nod at. And we are lucky to have Tino, who’s
worked in the U.S. with some of the top music groups there.
I don’t mind us doing a scene ten times. I’ll only
be sore if we get back and have a shoddy video after spending
Serengeti’s seven million shillings. So lets do it. Viva,
you are first with Oddie for Sudan Free The Slaves.
I want you to have something loose and not clinging much. And
I m getting worried about your shape – you are putting
on too much weight.’
‘I’m
stressed.’
‘Remember
to see Dr. Rakuom when you get back. We are all taking a month’s
break when we get back. Now the boys will be ready in half an
hour.
‘Yes,
sir,’ said Anyango.
The song
Sudan Free the Slaves was epic material. The story
line was simple. The main character, a middle-aged Dinka woman
has been abducted from her home by turban-clad Arab militia
men from the north who have invaded her home on camels and horses
and killed scores of village men including her husband. She
and other women and children have been taken prisoners and sold
at makeshift slave market in the desert. Her master, an Arab
cattle rustler treats her with brutality, and sexual abuse is
a daily routine. Eventually she buys her freedom with a sexual
bribe: she offers herself to a slave trader and promises to
give him five herds of cattle if he returns her back to her
village. The slave trader agrees and she is rejoined with her
relatives. But she does not know where her three children are.
She must add five more cattle in order for the slave trader
to bring her children back to her.
The song
and the video were designed bring to the attention of the world
through music the rampant practice of slavery in Sudan. The
video script had five main scenes: the abduction, the slave
market, the rape, the escape and the family reunion. The difficult
scenes had been the abduction which had been shot on remote
Sudanese village when the villagers were forced to watch in
terror as five village men who had tried to escape were massacred
by having their throat slit. The main character was then dragged
into the bush and raped in turns until she passed out. All the
scenes had been shot in Sudan, but Tino ba Bukussu wanted one
scene to be repeated, the slave market scene. The scene had
lacked the appropriate desert setting and crowd used did not
look convincingly Arab.
They drove about ten kilometres into a remote arid location
to shoot the scene. Tino ba Bukussu gave out instructions. At
twenty-seven year of age, he had charted a career as an up and
coming video and film producer. He had studied cinematography
and communication technology in Canada and worked in the U.S.
for two years. Afterwards he saw opportunities in his home country,
and returned with enough capital to set up a modern and fully
equipped film studio with state–of-the-art facility under
the name Black Opika Vision. Black Opika was a very busy studio
employing six cameramen, four studio engineers, three designers,
four marketing executive two script and copywriters and six
administrative staff. Tino’s area of specialisation was
engineering-based, in the studio, where he managed a whole battery
of studio engineers and technicians refining filmed work. But
he had developed a sharp knack for film directing and other
artistic stuff, necessary to end the circle of a visual product.
He was especially particular about graphics details, and sometimes
did the designing himself, using computer image manipulation
software programs. Tino ba Bukussu was a hard worker with a
dynamic drive that left every body gaping. He was a hands-on
person, a ruthless go-getter who was very thorough with his
work. In less than two years, he had won himself and the company
a lot of creditable reputation in the local advertising and
film industry and over ten corporate clients. He was constantly
in demand. His products included documentaries, development
films, advertisements, video coverage of important social events,
music videos, and investigative journalism. His productions
were praised; they were different they had quality that met
international standards. His portfolio of clients include URTNA,
BBC (thanks to the influence of Joanna Sanders), VOA and the
Reuters as well as a number of local TV stations, advertising
agencies and private companies. When he had an important job,
such as the Sudanese Nights contract, he accompanied
his cameramen to the field to ascertain quality from the first
step of video production, to make sure he got enough material
necessary for the complex class A video.
Tino ba
Bukussu argued with his argumentative prop men and then positioned
his cameramen. Then the shooting started. The
familiar bakeful chords introduced Sudanese Nights. Firstly
Viva and Oddie sang the covering track. Two similar covering
tracks had been shot, one in Mombasa and another in Sudan, but
Tino ba Bukussu needed a raw, primitive scene, and could Viva
be as sexual as she could, with reckless abandon? And Oddie,
male dominance attitude was needed, this was supposed to be
a mans scene. Viva got it. The opening lyrics were hers. The
long flimsy cotton slip-on and bare feet essential and intended
for the right function and effect . She started with staring
right into the first camera. She mouthed the lyrics originally
sang by Victora. She tossed her head back, sniffed and poured
her heart. Tino ba Bukussu shouted, ‘Cut’ and Lenny
Otis, the sound engineer stopped the music. Tino ba Bukussu
stepped forward and addressed Viva. ‘The score here is
raw sexuality, confidence in sex. I want to see an African woman
disgraced. I want to see weak sex, not proud sex. I want to
see overpowered sex. Sing it again.’ Again they started.
A couple of false starts did not get the scene right, and Tino
ba Bukussu called halt, explaining in a voice loaded with impatience,
that the sex he wanted was still not achieved. ‘Sing that
again,‘ he ordered.
Oddie and Boggos explained to Viva what Tino ba Bukussu wanted.
But Viva knew it, and as much as she disliked it, she knew nothing
would deter the ruthless Tino ba Bukussu from getting his scene
right even if it took one week. So she gave in. She programmed
her timing. As the cameras started rolling and beat slammed
in, she tossed her head back, drew in a sharp breath, pulled
air into her nostrils with a sucking sound and cried out as
if in pain. At the same time, she ripped her dress and, buckled
her knees and dropped her bottoms heavily on the sand. Her breasts
sprang out for a second and her dress rode up her thighs. And
as she fell, her dress billowed up with trapped air all the
way up her full thighs that for a moment as her bare bottoms
hit the sand, her panties were exposed. She cried out again,
this time an ecstatic wail that rose then fell in uncontrollable
octaves. She drew her arm across her arm across her breast with
less self-consciousness, rolled over and was onto her feet,
in time to cut her teeth into the lyrics. She ran twenty meter
across the sand into the tired cameral and fell on her knees,
she sang the first verse, swaying and holding out her right
arm, with her left arm across her breast. Her shoulder was exposed.
She closed her eyes and sang the verse out as though she was
crying and in exalted state of sexual release, giving heavy
ecstatic in-draws of breath.
Oddie lines came. He was a master showman and knew that had
to be done to get the right feeling. He wore lose fitting white
cotton garments and white shoes. He sang through his verse with
less straining and pride, reached out a hand for Viva, drew
her in his arms, lifted her up in his arms, spilled her out.
He yanked himself loose and slammed into new gear .The song
built up new tempo. At the same time, maneuvered with its abrupt
and abstract gear changes as Tino ba Bukussu conducted them
and urged them fiercely along.
The long had a long chorus line with lilting melodies and voluminous
instrumentation, the gem of modernised Congolese rhumba. Tino
ba Bukussu tried a crowd scene with the Turkana tribesmen and
their camels. Then he wasted half an hour getting the dancing
girls perform some experimental charades infront of Oddie and
Viva.
Afterwards, Tino ba Bukussu made Oddie and Viva to perform the
sex scene again. He liked Viva’s dress ripping very much,
and had one of the girls repair the dress using needle and thread.
The second run-through was loaded with luminescence. Tino ba
Bukussu preferred the first one and so did Oddie and many other
members of the band. Viva, on the other hand, reacted sharply
at its permissiveness, the sex thing about it. But Tino ba Bukussu
was no fool. Sex was one of the right ingredients required to
sell the video. A lot of young people would be thrilled.
They took a break and ate snacks while Tino ba Bukussu held
a meeting with his team in readiness for the following episode.
Then they put on their costumes in readiness for the slave market
scene. Boggos had paid an enormous amount of money to get sixty
Turkans men, women and children perform as extras. They brought
their camels, cattle and goats and settled themselves up on
the scenery, which was a real market. The slave market scene
was shot quickly with Akuom Weke wearing a tattered dress and
looking tired and beat while the slave merchants bargained over
her, touching her breasts, prodding her and feeling her rump.
Boggos played the slave trader and Rimba the buyer. Living Ramogi
played the ruthless slave driver who, in other scenes, had raped
the slave woman. When Tino ba Bukussu was satisfied, the crew
clapped and the actors took photos.
During the lunch break, Boggos took off with the Range Rover
to the offices of Air Leasing Services to get them get the aircraft
for last scene for Sudanese Nights with Joanna Sanders. The
remaining last scene involved the anthropologist saying goodbye
to the villagers and getting into a plane. The other scenes
had been shot in six episodes in Sudan.
Oddie took Akuom Weke for a walk. Viva watched them from the
window of the trailer with tears in her eyes.
Two long hours later Tino ba Bukussu was satisfied his scene.
He and his crew of five men, accompanied by Joanna Sanders boarded
a plane for Nairobi. Oddie and the rest of the remaining crew
got into their motor vehicles in preparation for their trip.
They would drive to Malaba and proceed to Kampala where they
would stay five days and perform four shows. A wiry Turkana
tribesman had given Oddie some dried camel meat in a battered
duom basket. ‘
‘Tribal
hospitality is a wonderful thing, ‘he said. ‘Camel
meat.’
Bggos, sitting beside him and juggling on the keys of his laptop,
murmured, ‘Never ate them, no.’
‘They
re delicious, ‘Akuom Weke said. She sat next to Othwele
Piston on the back seat to regard Oddie with a face of insufferable
Nilotic beauty as if the dark polished skin over the cheekbones
could contain the sunken, intense eyes and the large lips. She
was a fresh African beauty, the musicians had decided.
‘Like
game meat?’ Othwele Piston asked.
Akuom Weke
looked at him. ‘What game have you ever eaten? You are
a Kenyan’
Othwele
Piston said, ‘Hippo.’
Akuom Weke
asked ‘Hippo.?’
‘Hippo.
I think.’
Akuom Weke
laughed. She had an infectious laughter. ‘Hippo is game.
Like camel.’
Oddie started
the Range Rover’s engine and pulled off with the ladies
trailer in tow. The truck followed elegantly. The road was good.
They would be in Kakuma soon, and, after that, Lodwar where
they would stop briefly. Then they would drive in the night
for Malaba.
That night, for the first time in many months, Oddie dreamt
The dream was an odyssey in which they danced serenely down
the dusty streets of a remotely familiar Sudanese town to an
accompaniment of impetuous music. One single guitar sound featured
strongly amid noisy racket of traditional Dinka harps. Then
it was not a dream anymore. When he awoke it was with great
relief to find that he was in the safety for this peaceful home
country, in a hotel room of his hometown. He lay there listening,
unable to stop it, paralyzed and transfixed. For a moment as
his expression hardened, he marveled at the extent in which
Africa could wear you down. Now he knew dreams come true. With
hard work.
