FATBOY AND THE DANCING LADIES

The NoseAid Fundfest was, as always, a great success. Several careers were saved, many were extended, revived or – as in the case of Geoffrey Japer – enhanced. His plea, made live at peak time on national television, had been eloquent and persuasive.

If he had seemed subdued, or preoccupied, it was put down to his heavy workload and his newly discovered passion for the welfare of Africa, and the burden of responsibility for its recovery he and other like-minded celebrities now carried.

Above all, he awaited the outcome of an Aids test following what the Clarion called “a brush with death”.

Japer had become something of a national hero, thanks to a photo that had taken up most of the paper’s front page. It showed his hand tugging Mboga out of the path of a dart-like needle, a split second after he had shouted a warning, and just before he interposed his body between the man whom the paper identified as the Outspan’s head waiter, and a gang of street children who had been rehearsing a Masaai initiation ceremony that had got out of hand.

On the night of the marathon Fundfest, the hit of the evening was a street boy from Kuwisha. Introduced as Pius Makuru, the lad’s face seemed vaguely familiar to Japer.

“My brother, suh. Works as kitchen toto at Outspan, suh. He greets you, suh,” replied Pius.

Podmore’s walk-on part, given in appreciation of his help, was a well-deserved reward. Getting the travel document ready in time had, he told the audience, been a damn close thing. The photo of Pius Makuru had arrived at the last minute. Were it not for the diplomat’s good offices and the personal guarantee of the Clarion’s editor, the document would have been ready too late . . .

Japer himself had a decent voice, in fact a pleasing baritone, and together the NoseAid ambassador and the boy from Kireba sang their hearts out.

Led by Pius, his angelic face caught in a single spotlight, and joined after the opening couplet by Japer, looking uncharacteristically solemn, the duo moved the heart of the nation; and the entire cast of pop stars, celebs, wannabes, has-beens and newsreaders, joined in a rousing finale to the evening:

“Together, together we stand

United, all children demand.

Together, under one sky

United, we join in this cry –

Help children like me,

Let rhinos range free,

Forgive debt that we owe

So we all can grow;

And each builds a home

And let rhinos roam

Together, united we plead

Together, help meet our need.”

Did Japer really rescue an innocent head waiter from “a crazed Masaai mob”, as the Clarion’s story claimed? Who cares?

The readers of the Clarion will never know, nor does it matter. The brash tabloid, voted newspaper of the year, has launched a new appeal – Toys for African Tots. And there is a new competition, in which the winner is the entrant who gets closest to answering the question: How many stamps were originally stuck to Phoebe’s delightful frame?

The doctor, who together with his young family had watched NoseNight, walked Japer to the door.

“What an evening,” said the doctor, “what an evening. As for Pius, that boy really can sing.”

“Big lad, isn’t he?” said Japer.’ ‘Wants to be a footballer. Told me after the show. We got talking about this and that, about our families and so on. I told him about my sister, who lives in Dulwich.

“Turned out that young Pius has a cousin who’s a student at some technical college nearby. Apparently this cousin is having difficulties raising the fees, so I gave Pius a few quid to pass on. Amazing thing, you know, Africa and the extended family business. But what a coincidence!”

This time the postcard arrived within days: “Greetings from London”, it read, and was signed simply: “Ferdinand”.

It was time to celebrate their stunning victory over Mboga with a few cups from their latest batch of changa.

The establishment would pursue them, of course, but the forces of law and order would enter the maze that was Kireba at their peril.

“To Mlambo,” said Ntoto, taking a swig from the plastic container which he then passed to Rutere.

The persistent ring-ring of the old telephone in the hall of Lucy’s bungalow forced Pearson awake, and he stumbled down the corridor, bath towel wrapped around his waist.

The cheery tones of the president’s press secretary turned Cecil’s bowels to water.

“Just read them, Pearson, read them carefully. When do you go back to London?”

The stone floor of the kitchen was cold under his bare feet as Cecil unlocked the back door and picked up the day’s newspapers from the box in which the security guard placed them every morning.

Just then, Lucy’s steward came in to prepare tea, and Pearson took the papers into the living room.

Ill-health and old age were taking their toll on the Ngwazi, who had already indicated that he would step down before his term was complete. But he continued to circle above the Kuwisha political arena, like a hawk eyeing chickens on the ground, occasionally swooping on an unsuspecting bird.

“Crack-down on Forex Deals”, read the headline in the Daily Times. “President Promises Currency Probe”. “NGOs and Expats to be Quizzed”.

Pearson read on. Newman Kibwana, “high-flying permsec” who was still in London after his appearance on the NoseAid Fundfest, had been recalled for “urgent consultations”, said the papers.

Across town at Harrods International Bar (and Nightspot) Charity Mupanga took a sip of her early morning tea, and read extracts from the newspaper to a distressed Mildred Kigali, dwelling on one story in particular: “Kireba newtown given OK”.

She remembered Furniver’s quip after President Nduka had reshuffled his cabinet: “What do you get when you shake a can of worms?”.