Abel returns to Mali to track Alice on the Desert Route

05 Sep Abel returns to Mali to track Alice on the Desert Route

Abel spent the next several days talking with police, immigration officials, UN agencies and a couple of British investigative journalists about his next destination: Mali.

After his experience in the Canary Islands, Abel didn’t want to be taken by surprise. He felt he had stepped into the Canary Islands situation without preparation, and this could have been a deadly mistake. So, he was determined to do his homework, learn the lay of the inhospitable land and ferret out the players before he arrived in the country.

The information he gathered in London told him the ancient town of Gao was the principle starting point for illegal immigrants from all over Africa. Those hearty (or more likely desperate) souls who were willing to face the burning Sahara desert for a chance to reach Spain would first find their way to Gao.

If Alice had used that route, she must have travelled by land across the Benin Republic, Togo, Ghana and Cote d’Ivoire into Bamako, Mali’s capital. An arduous and dangerous journey. She would have been forced into prostitution at each stop to raise money for the next leg of the trip.

Abel wondered if perhaps she could have been flown directly from Lagos to Bamako. But he told himself this wouldn’t have helped Alice in the long run. Had they flown, her handlers would have made the girl work extra hard to defray the additional cost. Either way, it meant the sweet little thing would be heavily abused.

Abel arrived in Bamako a little after nine p.m., then took a minibus to the Hotel de Naboun on the outskirts of the city. Compared to the Vulcano in Tenerife, this was a downmarket, even seedy hotel. However the air conditioner, double bed and private bathroom made it liveable, at least for the night. He had a dinner of salad and French fries in the hotel’s restaurant then went straight to bed. He knew his first step, and that was to find his way to Gao.

Early the following morning, he joined a group of French tourists on the long trip to Gao. As he boarded the bus, he could smell the city. The fog carried an acrid mix of dust and smoke. Despite the conditions, he found the country fascinating. And once out of town the roads proved particularly interesting. Cars, mopeds, lorries, donkey carts, bicycles, goats and sheep competed for right-of-way. The bus made constant stops to allow animals to pass.

Abel kept to himself, pretending he didn’t speak French. It wasn’t that he felt anti-social, but he needed to use the time to review his strategy. Still, he couldn’t help being distracted now and then by the poverty of villages living along the route. As they drove, the sparse vegetation gave way to sand dunes.

Where they crossed the River Niger, Abel saw fishing piroques plying up and down the river banks, and every now and then they passed isolated villages consisting of three or four mud buildings. The river made Abel nostalgic. After all, the Niger flowed through his home country, too.

Some 14 hours after departing the capital, they arrived in the sprawling town of Gao, with its unbearably hot and windy weather.

Tired and dirty, Abel checked into the Hotel de l’Atlantide.

A man on the bus who spoke English had described the place as bad value for money. He and his group preferred to camp along the Niger. After checking into his room, Abel couldn’t disagree. It was bare and dusty, as uninviting as the squalid town. When Abel inquired discreetly about moving to another hotel, he was told without irony that he was already in Gao’s most auspicious accommodation. He consoled himself with the thought that at least it offered him the one thing he wanted most: security.

Shortly after unpacking, he ate some bread and sardines he had purchased in the outdoor market in Bamako that morning. Then he put on a clean shirt and trousers and took the stairs down to the lobby. He decided to avoid the elevator, which ran only intermittently and made alarming noises when it did work.

There he found several men lounging about, hiring out as guides. Abel approached the least ragged of the group and offered him a modest sum to show him around. The fellow bowed, hat in hand, and said his name was Musa.

Musa, who claimed to be 30 but looked closer to 50, insisted on showing Abel around the Musee du Sahel, a museum of ancient art tools and household items. They also went to the tomb of Askia, a 500-year-old structure. Situated on the northern outskirts of town, this tomb of a 16^th century ruler is a classic Sahel-style building in the shape of a pyramid. It is made from dark grey mud and sports porcupine spikes that make Sahel mosques so distinctive. The wooden spikes on the Tomb of Askia are particularly big and bristling, giving it the air of a Sahel mosque. This wasn’t the kind of sightseeing Abel had in mind, but he went along to gain Musa’s trust.

As they walked back to the hotel near dusk, Abel decided it was time to tell Musa what he was really doing. He signalled for the guide to a stop as they walked under a nim tree. Musa looked at him, puzzled. Then Abel said, “I want to go to Spain. Which means I need to meet the best person you know who can arrange such a thing.”

Musa’s narrow face lit up. “There is someone at your very hotel”, he said in passing English. Abel figured that was the upside of staying in the garden spot of the city. You meet the best people.

Next on the agenda was getting a look at the prostitutes who roamed the city. He hadn’t seen any in the hotel, so he asked Musa where he could find them. “Woman. For sex at night”, Abel said, trying to make Musa understand what he wanted. When Musa looked uncertain, Abel pantomimed the act with his fingers. That apparently did the trick because Musa lit up.

“Ye waah!” Musa exclaimed with a broad smile: “The Ghetto. Good, small, small girls. Good.”

“Take me there now.”

And so Musa led the way with the confidence of someone who’d done this before. Apparently lots of tours ended with this little trek.

********************

The sight of the decrepit ghetto brothel shocked Abel. Several teenagers in skimpy clothes, some of them far younger than Alice, drank and smoked in front of the long cement block building. He counted about 20 rooms in the block, each with a steel door and window.

Abel shook his head mildly as the girls made passes at him, some even bold enough to reach out and touch his thigh. The thought that Alice may be involved in such abuse infuriated Abel, but he quickly quelled his emotions as he looked around to see if by any chance she was among them.

Not seeing her, he bought a pack of cigarettes, trying to make himself seem like just another customer. After approaching several girls, he picked one who spoke English well. The girl shook her head when Abel asked where she came from. She wasn’t interested in idle chatter. All business, she spelled out her fees, which ranged from a “short one” of 10 minutes, to an hour’s session, to an all-night tryst. But for that she’d have to talk to her boss.

Abel was tempted to ask the girl about Alice, but he suppressed the urge. When he finally shook his head, turning down her services, the girl moved away and approached another man and began the same litany of sexual favours and attendant prices.

******************

Abel returned to the hotel at about 8 p.m., still angry. He would have killed anyone who pushed his sister into that kind of life.

Musa had set a meeting with the agent who could arrange passage to Spain for 9 p.m. Abel waited in the bar, drinking and silently fuming over the whole sordid scene. Just after nine, Musa entered and told Abel the man wanted to meet outside. “He says he do such business away from the hotel.”

“Why?” Abel asked, in a surly frame of mind and not inclined to be cooperative. At least not without expressing some displeasure. Musa smiled.

“Man, the walls of the hotel leak.”

Abel wasn’t in the mood for a long walk in the dark. For one thing it wasn’t safe, and after his experience in the Canaries, he was being cautious.

He met the man a block from the hotel.

“I’m Peter”, Abel said.

The man was stocky and had small eyes for the size of his head. Abel thought it made him look stupid, but he doubted that was the case. The man nodded without offering Abel his hand and without reciprocating an introduction.

“I am told you wish to go to Spain.”

“Yes. I want to make the next available trip.”

“You are from Nigeria?” The man asked.

“Yes. And I like to know who I’m doing business with.”

The man nodded, apparently conceding it wasn’t an unreasonable request. “I am Robert. Liberian.” Robert stopped and lit a cigarette. It was a classic stall. Abel thought he must be sizing him up. When Robert finally broke his silence, it was to deliver a rambling diatribe on the state of the world.

“Nigeria helped us during our civil war. Odd how most of the migrants here are from Nigeria. And over sixty percent of the prostitutes in Italy are Nigerians. Your country must really find out the underlying causes of this migration and do something.”

Abel wondered what the hell he was going on about. This guy made his living ferrying would-be prostitutes around.

“Yes. Well, I’ll look into it once I settle all the world’s other problems.”

Robert laughed. Good. Whatever Robert was looking for, Abel had given him. Robert visibly relaxed.

“So, you know what you want, sir?” Robert was opening negotiations.

“We’ve established that already. I need to get to Spain.”

“You are ready to pay for it?”

Abel thought every conversation manages to find its way here. Money. The universal knows-no-national-cultural-racial boundaries bottom line.

“Yes. If I can make it to Spain, I have employers who will hire me.”

“Excellent. So many who go have no such prospects”, Robert said. He apparently approved of enterprising men like Abel.

“I have no idea how this works. I’m really in your hands. Of course, I’ll pay half of the fees tomorrow and the rest upon departure.”

Robert shivered in the dim light then said, “Here’s how it works: I arrange to hand you over to one of the Touaregs, who are the masters of the desert. They know all the routes that avoid official border crossing points, where you would otherwise be stopped and returned to Nigeria.”

“I see”, Abel nodded, playing the interested customer.

“The Touaregs will drive you in their truck for a fee of seven hundred dollars, American. When you get to Morocco, they will hand you over to the master smugglers who charge about one thousand Euros per person to get you across the Mediterranean Sea to Spain.”

“How long does the trip take?” Abel asked.

“Two weeks to a month, depending on the kind of service you want and the Spanish and Moroccan police. But a good Touareg worth his salt is able to avoid them.”

“I’m in a hurry and want an express service”, Abel said. He couldn’t afford to waste so much time in transit. And he figured money could speed up the process. He was correct.

“That will cost you twice the rates I have quoted, Peter. Are you ready for it?” Abel nodded. “The money’s worth it.”

“Yes, with a job waiting for you, of course. I will get you the best Touareg on the route. I think he leaves tomorrow evening.”

But the business wasn’t concluded. There were incidentals. There always are. Abel wasn’t surprised when Robert brought them up as an afterthought.

“Oh, I forgot”, he said, suddenly remembering something and acting all innocent. “To travel through the south-western tip of Algeria, you will need a Malian visa.”

“And where do I get one of those?” Abel asked, knowing perfectly well.

“I can get you one by morning.”

Who would have guessed? Abel only smiled as if he were grateful for this extra expense.

“Very good, Robert. I’ll pay you tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent. I’m in room two-seventeen.” He handed Abel a worn business card, which looked as if he had been carrying it around in his pocket for awhile.

“I move around a lot, but you can always reach me on my cell phone. I will do you a better job than Philip.”

“Who’s Philip?” Abel asked, curious for more information.

“He is the Nigerian who runs human trafficking. He is really a figurehead. I am the chief operating officer. I know all the vital links.”

Robert said this as if he were talking about IBM. Chief operating officer. Abel held his tongue, but he was already writing the paragraph in his future story. The one where he skewers this complete piece-of-shit criminal, exposing him for the worm he was. Abel regretted the man probably didn’t subscribe to The Zodiac.

******************

Early the following morning, Abel delivered an envelope full of money to Robert’s room. He then waited as Robert went about the job of obtaining a visa and arranging for transportation. They were to meet that night at eight.

Abel knocked on Robert’s door at eight sharp and was pleasantly surprised to find that Robert had accomplished everything. As they spoke, a tall, slim, fair-complexioned man in a sparkling white tunic emerged from the bathroom. Robert introduced him as Aghreb, the Touareg.

“He is your driver. Unfortunately, he does not speak much English.”

“Thank you”, Abel said and offered his hand.

Robert counted out $1,400 from the envelope Abel had brought that morning and handed it to the driver.

His toothpaste smile in that dusty environment surprised Abel, “Tonight”, Aghreb managed to say.

“So”, Robert said, “you are on your way.”

Abel felt a pang of genuine fear. “I read that people die on the way.”

Robert’s smile dissolved.

“You see people die everywhere, even in the best aircraft. People die in the best automobiles along city roads. What happens here is that some people disobey the Touaregs, who are masters of the desert. When they tell you to cover up, you do. They ask you to drink water, you do. People die of minor things like sunstroke.” He paused for effect. “In this game, you listen to the masters and you will be okay. In your case, it is the duty of the driver to ensure your safety. So, please, do not be afraid.”

Abel took a breath and thought of Julius Caeser’s famous words as he crossed the Rubicon. “Alea jacta est.” The die is cast. There was no turning back. He turned to Robert.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

****************

Some two minutes away from the hotel, they arrived at the departure point, an open space dimly lit by a fading streetlamp. Abel could not see much of the pickup truck because the back was covered with a tarpaulin. The driver and five other men stood some distance away counting money. No doubt they were other “facilitators”.

Abel walked to the back of the truck where he was startled to see people huddled on two long seats opposite each other, luggage packed in the space on the floor.

“Get on board and let’s go”, he heard someone shout at him.

“You sit with the driver. You paid for a first-class passage”, Robert said, pulling him toward the cabin.

As Abel climbed into the passenger seat, Robert said, “There is enough space in the back for your suitcase.”

“I’ll keep it with me if that’s all right”, Abel said, sliding the suitcase into the space behind the seat.

A short time later, the driver came over, shook Robert’s hand, and got in. A second Touareg took the seat to Abel’s right and banged the door shut. The two men recited a prayer in Arabic before the driver turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life.

The truck moved slowly through the night, past shops and cafés and men on benches playing cards. The town suddenly seemed safe to Abel, the familiar signs of any civilized society very much in evidence.

As the truck finally reached the outskirts of Gao, joining a dusty road, Abel felt isolated, as if giving himself over to a fate he could not control. These strange men on either side of him, the pathetic souls huddled in the back of the truck, all they owned squeezed into a small suitcase between their feet, it was suddenly more than he had bargained for.

Abel wondered if he would ever see his comfortable house in Lagos again. He felt as if he were on the dark side of the moon, home impossibly far away and unreachable. As the truck gathered speed, Abel leaned back and watched the speedometer climb steadily up to 80 kph, acutely aware that every second carried him farther into the vast desert.

 

**************

At some point, Abel fell into a deep sleep. When he opened his eyes, the sun was just coming up over the horizon and the truck was pulling into a small remote village around an oasis.

Everybody tumbled out, stiff from the long ride. The driver spoke to them in Arabic, which, of course, nobody understood. Finally, he pointed to a water body down the horizon.

“Boat.”

Abel felt a wave of relief wash over him. Apparently, he had made it through one leg of the journey. He hadn’t been murdered and dumped in the desert. Looking back, he had to laugh at himself. These were businessmen who made a living ferrying people safely to their destination. How long would they last if they murdered their customers?

Feeling silly, but giddy at the same time, Abel retreated to a small café on the water to buy some breakfast. He joined his fellow passengers, who were ordering the meagre faire available. Fish looked like the best thing on the menu, so Abel ordered a plate of the local catch.

As he ate what turned out to be a delicious unnamed delicate white fish, he flagged down his waitress, a pretty young girl with shiny earrings that dangled along her neck. Abel, as had become his habit, showed her Alice’s picture. He had taken to showing it to everyone when it felt safe to do so. He also had come to expect a blank stare and a shake of the head. But this girl nodded when she saw the photo.

“Yes”, she said. “I have seen her.”

Abel could hardly contain himself.  He asked for details, and the girl said Alice had come through about a week before with a man. When she described him, Abel knew it had to be Kehinde Lawal.

Abel kept the girl talking by offering her a large tip. She said, yes, they had taken a fishing boat across to Spain. Did she know where in Spain? The girl surprised Abel by saying she didn’t think Spain was their final destination.

“What do you mean?”

“The man got a phone call when he was here. He was very upset. He asked the owner of this place about getting to London from Spain.”

Abel was excited, but puzzled. What could have spooked Lawal? Who would have called?  And what were they doing in London?  Abel moved around asking others who lived in the village if they had seen or spoken with Alice or Lawal. Nobody had.

But at least he had a lead now. The first hint of where Alice might be. And he knew she was alive and well. Finding her in London would be infinitely easier than Spain or North Africa. At last she seemed within his grasp. At this point Abel decided to return to Mali than to risk the rest of the journey. He could be arrested or drown in the boat ride across the Strait of Gibraltar.

“My, tummy, my tummy”, Abel grimaced, chewing at his lips hysterically, as they boarded the truck to continue.

The driver pulled the truck to a halt and turned to Abel. “Hospital Gao? You can go Mora?”

“He means whether you want to go back to Gao to attend hospital or you think you can continue.” The driver’s aide asked.

“Oh, my tummy o”, Abel screamed. “I don’t think I can go. Please take me back. I will go another time.”

“No money back, my friend”, the driver said angrily and broke into Arabic language.

His mate promptly fetched a Turaya phone and dialled a number. “Robert, your man is ill, he wants to abort the trip, so we are bringing him back.

“Yes, please, I will go back.” Abel pleaded.

The driver’s mate jumped down to go to explain the situation to the other passengers at the back and Abel could hear them express sympathy for him.

On the man’s return, the driver spoke some more Arabic and turned the truck back to Gao. Robert was at the gate of the hotel to receive him. “What is the matter, my brother?” He led Abel back to the hotel lobby.

“I had some slight pains last night, but it suddenly developed into cramps. I need to lie down so please get me a room.”

“But you have spent so much? And you nearly made it o! Unfortunately, my brother you don’t get your money back.”

“No, I understand. I will go and get some more money for another attempt. I have a friend in Bamako.”

“Fine”, Robert said, relieved and helped Abel, who was bent over, to the lobby.

Later, in his room where Abel said he had brought some drugs with him for such emergencies, he lay quietly on the bed reviewing his next line of action. If it failed, it meant he had to look elsewhere for Alice. He reached for the photographs from the suitcase and kept them under his pillow.

An hour later when Robert returned to check on him, he could afford a smile.

“That must have been a powerful medicine. You should have taken it and continued the journey.” Robert said settling in the seat opposite him. “ Or was there some allergy on the truck?”

“No, it must be something I ate in Bamako, but as you can see I am feeling better now. I will go and get some more money and try again. My people must be worried on the other side.”

“Yea, you said you have people there.”

“You may even know him. He had been using this route but he seems to have hit gold with his last batch of migrants, so he does not come around again”, he tossed the two photographs at Robert.

He raised them to the light for a close examination and burst into laughter. “I told you there is nothing here I don’t know. This is Kenny, Kehinde Lawal, and this is the girl he used while they were here. Bastard, he didn’t want anybody to get near her. I think her name is Alice or something.”

“I don’t know about the girl, but it was the Kenny guy who fixed me the job”, he said slowly and sat up. “I did not believe him until I spoke with the employers myself.”

“And you said he is in Spain?” Robert had another look at the photograph.

Abel felt butterflies fly around in his tummy. He had said his benefactor was in Spain and he had to be consistent. “Kenny travels all over the place. When we spoke, he was in Barcelona.”

“I see.” Robert rose to give the photographs back to him. “The last time people told me about him, they said he was in London, where he sold the girl off in a good deal. He took the rest to Italy.”

Abel swallowed his anger and changed the subject. “So, when is the next trip? Am I likely to get another of your friends to travel with? That driver was good.”

“It depends on when you come back here. And I believe you will still go for the express service.”

“Sure!” Abel said, happy about the sweet returns of the money he lavished on Robert. “Give me a week, I will be back here to see you.”

“Okay”, Robert got up. “I must allow you to sleep. I will check you tomorrow morning.”

 

Abel could barely sleep that night. Careful not to talk, he sent a text to Lola to announce Alice could be in London. Before Robert could get up, Abel had left a note for him and checked out.