One night Africa was telling a story and the animals were all listening, when the cheetah suddenly whistled. “Sshh!”
They could hear the hyena laughing far off in the distance. But it wasn’t her usual laugh; it was a furious cackling…
“Something’s happened to the Abyssinian doves!” The cheetah leaped to his feet. “I’m off! Meet me over there, Shepherd, and bring the flock with you.” Then, just before disappearing, “I told you never to trust that.”
In the small hours of dawn, when Africa reached the first thorny shrub, his heart stopped beating. The shrub was empty! The hyena had disappeared. And so too had the cheetah. The signs of a fight were plain to see… But no one had any idea what had happened.
The king of goats nearly died of shock. “My favourite Abyssinian dove! She was the most beautiful goat I ever had. The daintiest. The apple of my eye. The finest pedigree. Now do you see what comes of making friends with cheetahs? He’ll have eaten her. Curse you, Shepherd, you and your silly ideas about thorny shrubs. Be off with you! Out of my sight, before I strangle you.”
Should he stay in Grey Africa? Out of the question. He’d feel too sad. What about going back to Yellow Africa? Not without Saucepans. Then the boy remembered the grey gorilla of the swamps and what he’d said about Green Africa. “I’ve got a cousin who lives there.”
“And how will you pay for your journey?” the driver had asked him.
“I’ll clean your lorry,” Africa had replied.
“It doesn’t need cleaning; the engine’s what matters.”
“I’ll cook your meals for you.”
“I’m already sorted for food.” (The driver had shown Africa a store of black biscuits and white cheese.)
“I’ll tell you stories.”
“That’s better; I like stories. And they’ll stop me falling asleep. Climb up. If I get bored, I’ll throw you out of the window.”
So that’s how they left Grey Africa. With the driver driving too fast and Africa telling his stories. But his mind was somewhere else while he was telling them. What had happened to the little goat? What had happened to the cheetah and the hyena? Am I going to lose all my friends, one after another? Is there something about me that brings bad luck?
The sun rose and set. It was a sad journey. A long journey. A long hot flat journey.
The lorry was actually a kind of small bus with rattling metal parts. Other passengers got on. The driver made them pay. He was charging a high price for the ride. (“I’ve got a boy storyteller.”) Lots of people got on. Far too many, as Africa pointed out to the driver.
“You’re overloaded, and you’re driving too fast!”
“Stop nagging and tell your stories!”
So Africa told his stories night and day. At night a sea of eyes listened to him…
One morning everyone let out a great cry. Over there, beyond the sea of dry and cracked earth, were the green rolling hills of the tropical rainforest. Green Africa! The grey gorilla of the swamps hadn’t been lying.
Everybody pressed against the windows and whooped with joy. The driver accelerated again. They sped into the forest. And, inevitably, on a bend flanked by giant ferns, the little bus came off the road and turned over. There was a great din of clanging metal and the sound of the engine still roaring. With its four twisted wheels spinning in the air, the upturned bus looked like an old beetle on its back.
It was the last thing Africa saw before he lost consciousness.