A Court Of Fowls: Episode 52
"Dozens of oil drums had been washed in on the high tide. They rolled heavily back and forth in the shallows, the waves not strong enough to toss them onto the beach. Several of the boys fished one out and sat it upright in the sand. It was sealed but bore a skull and cross bones and the ominous
warning in Italian: DANGER: HAZARDOUS WASTE...
Michael Conrad Wood brings another episode of his thrilling new novel set in romantic but turbulent East Africa.
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Chapter 17
Kaambooni (continued)
It didn’t take long to draw preliminary conclusions about the
cause of the disaster. While we enjoyed the company of our friends
into the evening, some of the evidence was already bobbing about in
the sea, not two hundred metres away, the currents progressively
pushing it towards the Kaambooni shore. When we roused ourselves
the following morning, we saw it for ourselves. Dozens of oil drums
had been washed in on the high tide. They rolled heavily back and
forth in the shallows, the waves not strong enough to toss them onto
the beach. Several of the boys fished one out and sat it upright in the
sand. It was sealed but bore a skull and cross bones and the ominous
warning in Italian: DANGER: HAZARDOUS WASTE.
Joined by Kakenya and Annie, Nimrod called everyone together
to discuss what needed to be done. The drums were sealed and
therefore presented no immediate danger. But the menacing material
they probably contained would be better out of the water than in. So
it was agreed to get as many as possible onto dry land, keeping them
upright and well above the water line.
A small crew joined Nimrod and Kakenya, taking the dhow out
to sea to check if there was anything else to be found in deeper water.
Initially they discovered nothing untoward. Even the dead marine
life which Kakenya described seemed to have vanished overnight,
dispersed by strong ocean currents. Then, three miles out, the
boys stumbled across another oil barrel, just about floating under the
water’s surface. Then another, and another. They counted forty in total
but there were bound to have been more. That evening we parleyed
again.
‘Now it’s obvious what happened. Foreigners have brought this
cargo of filth to Somalia. Fortunately some of it is still contained.
But a lot must have been poured directly into the sea giving rise to
the carnage which we encountered yesterday,’ said Kakenya.
‘Years ago I joked with a friend that we should blow up foreign
fishing boats, such was the speed with which they were sucking up
our fish stocks. But this! These are unscrupulous rats exploiting the
chaos in Somalia. They have poisoned our waters with God knows
what, in the full knowledge that we can do nothing about it,’ I offered,
outraged.
‘The first thing we must do is mobilise local villagers to help us
get the rest of these drums out of the water. And we must talk to
the townspeople as well to alert them to the danger in and around
Kaambooni. For all we know the pollutants might stretch for miles
down the coast. It’s improbable they all fetched up close to our
camp. We have to find some place to store the containers until we
can get some help,’ said Nimrod.
He looked as troubled as I’d ever seen him. Although he preferred
dry land, he knew something of the beauty of the ocean and
was shocked by what it seemed the Italians had bestowed on us. It
was entirely possible that the poison had also affected the inshore
fishery – the very food we ate.
Annie had also been seething. However oddly, however unlikely,
this was the land that she had made her home.
‘Nimrod is right about the immediate priority. I might be able to
get some advice on what the drums contain, and what can be done
with them. Perhaps also to find out exactly who dumped them.
These days, experts can undertake forensic tests on ships.’
She had started to lose those assembled. People were looking
blank.
‘Put more simply, they can do chemical tests on shipping. If those
on a particular cargo hold match with the stuff we have here, blame
can be attributed. I’ve got a friend in London who works for Greenpeace.
Let’s hope they’ll agree to come to Kaambooni to help us.’
Further explanation was needed about the environmental campaigners.
All agreed that we could do with their presence, and fast.
Annie called her contact the same day. The rest of us got to work
persuading villagers to help remove unattended barrels further along
the shore, or advocating similar action with those presumed to hold
authority in town. Our efforts paid off. In a way it was a triumph
given the absence of governance in the region. It had to be a community
effort. For fifteen kilometers on either side of Kaambooni,
alerts were put out. We collected and counted more than three hundred
barrels which were moved up above the high water line.
A serious environmental crime had been perpetrated against us.
And given the prevailing winds and ocean currents there was every
prospect of Kenya being stricken too.
