Chapter 2 Kobi's Flight

LONDON, ENGLAND

 

The big jet liner climbed slowly into the grey skies over Heathrow Airport.  Kobi Tenatta felt a lifting of his spirits as he settled into his seat.  It would be a long trip before he arrived at his home in the central highlands of Kenya.  The lengthy flight would take him to Nairobi, but that was only the first leg of his journey.  After that, it would be a two-hour drive to his home in Nakuru.  He was grateful, at least, to have begun.

Kobi was a small, black-skinned man with the characteristic round face and mild features of the Tiburu tribe of Central Africa.  At about 5’4”, he was shorter than most of his friends and family, but his body was hardened from a life of physical activity as a Park Warden at Lake Nakuru National Park.  His warm brown eyes showed the intelligent confidence of a man who held a position of respect in his family group and who had proved himself in the dangerous battle against poachers in the African wilderness.

As his father described it, he was the eldest son of the eldest elder’s eldest son.

That’s a lot of elders, he thought.  One day I too will be an elder in the tribe.  That’s the reason I’m on this plane.

One week earlier, he had traveled all the way to London to represent the Tiburu People in a ceremony celebrating the return of two tribal artifacts that had been in the possession of the British Museum.  The objects had been stolen from his tribe in the late 1800’s during a time when the various European countries had divided the continent of Africa into ‘spheres of influence’ in an effort to control the rich land.  During this time of conquest, military actions against the loose tribal governments of the native people were common and often excessive.  Because of these raids, many different tribes saw their most prized possessions carried off by arrogant and uncaring white men.  The Tiburu treasure had been one of the many artifacts that now lay forgotten in museums around the world or had found their way into private collections to remain unrecoverable.

To pass time, Kobi had picked up a brochure about the objects.  They had been on special exhibit in the Museum for three months before being returned to Africa.  Strangely enough, he personally knew very little about what the objects actually were.  The story, which his family had handed down over the generations, was more a story of the noble hearts of those who had protected it, rather than a story of the objects themselves.  One day, as a part of Kobi’s coming of age ceremony, his grandfather had taken him aside and told him the tale.

“In the times long back, travelers from far to the north came to our lands to pay tribute to our King and to partake of the bounty of our land.  These men brought with them a very great treasure, which they presented as a gift, to show the esteem of their ruler for our King.  In the court of our King there was a man named Kuyu.  He was the most noble of the King’s advisors and a very great general.  Kuyu found favor in the eyes of the king every day for his truthful spirit and the steadfastness of his vows.  He did not waver in anything to which he had dedicated himself.  Because of this, the king held him in great esteem.” 

“There came a day when the enemies of the king had grown strong.  News came that the warriors of his enemies were coming to devour the kingdom and the wise king knew that he could not overcome them.”

“To Kuyu he said, ‘Here is my greatest treasure, the gifts of a far away land, nothing like this has ever been seen in our world.  To you I entrust this tribute, given to me in honor of the richness of the land.  Take this treasure and keep it safe from the uneducated men that would try to destroy my kingdom.  Vow to me, with your life, that you will preserve my honor throughout your generations by keeping these objects safe from those who would disrespect them.’”

“Kuyu vowed that he and his family, through all generations, would preserve the king’s honor, and hold sacred their vow to keep the treasure safe.  The family of Kuyu fled along with the rest of his people, who eventually migrated south to a fine land of rich soil in the shadow of the volcanoes.  They carried the King’s tribute on their backs and did not let any strangers know of its existence.  The tribute was safe in this new land and the Tiburu Tribe grew strong and honorable, knowing that a vow from a man’s heart is the most valuable thing he can possess.  The Tiburu people took possession of the land, which they inhabited and made fruitful.  The secret of the king’s treasure was shown to the eldest son of the family of Kuyu, now a symbol of an honorable man’s duty, to make vows sacred and keep them with his whole heart.  Each son of Kuyu who became an elder renewed the vow of his ancestor to keep the Tribute safe as a symbol of the honorable heart of a Tiburu man.” 

Kobi’s grandfather looked sad as he said, “My own father was killed keeping this vow.  The ignorant white men came and ripped our homes apart; taking whatever they wanted for themselves.  The white man is possessed by the devil of greed, thus he robs without discrimination.  The man who shot my father held the King’s tribute in his profane hands and laughed as my father died.” 

“Since then, the Tiburu have honored my father as a man who died keeping his vow.  The Tribute was lost to us, but we kept our honor.  This honor has preserved our people and made us strong during times of change.  The last century changed every part of African life, but the Tiburu have adapted and prevailed.  The time will come when you, too, Kobi, will be an educated man and will come before your people to dedicate yourself to honor, the keeping of your vows, and the welfare of your people.  It is a great thing to be the descendant of so many honorable men.”

Kobi remembered the sun on his grandfather’s face that afternoon as he told the story.  For Kobi it had been a moment out of time, when for an instant, he had joined with all the Tiburu men before him who had kept that vow.

Sighing and settling uncomfortably into the airline seat he took up the brochure produced by the British Museum, where he read the history according to British archaeologists. 

 

In the eighth year of her reign as Pharaoh of Egypt (1465 BCE), Queen Hatshepsut sent a fleet of five ships under the leadership of her Chancellor, Senenmet, to the Land of Punt to establish trade relationships.  Included in the tribute to the King of Punt was a small golden statue of the God Amon, whom the Egyptians believed to make his home in Punt.  The statue of a golden serpent on a pedestal was small enough to fit in a man’s hand.  Along with the serpent, she also sent a small stone stele inscribed with the story of her direct descent from the God Amon, whom she claimed had destined her to rule as Pharaoh over Egypt.  It was recorded by Senenmet that the King of Punt greatly valued these objects for their beauty, as well as for their artisanship.  They exemplified skills the people of Punt did not possess. 

To this day, it remains unknown what happened to the fabled Land of Punt and its Kings.  Curiously, the Tiburu people of Central Kenya tell a legend which claims that the last King of Punt entrusted Hatshepsut’s gift to a favorite general, and enjoined that man to vow that he and his family would guard this treasure with their lives. 

Over the course of time, the Land of Punt disappeared, or rather became something else, and Punt was forgotten by all, except select scholars deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics who found references to the mysterious land.  The people of Punt, whom it is suspected, eventually became the Bantu tribes of Africa, migrated south into the rest of Africa.  So, also, did the tribute, kept by one family, who guarded it with their lives to the end of all generations. 

No one knows whether this legend is true, but two objects, a statuette of a Serpent, and a stone Stele were in the possession of this Tiburu family until they passed into British hands in the 1880’s.  They were given to our Museum by the estate of Sir Henry Waite in 1939.  With the hardships of World War II, the museum had little time to investigate the gift and consequently it was stored in the basement archives until the current time.

The true and startling value of these particular objects went unknown until August 2004 when international philanthropist Alexander Levasseur began efforts to get the tribute returned to the Tiburu people of Kenya.  Because of Levasseur’s interest, the museum staff began to investigate the nature of the Tiburu objects.  When the objects were unearthed from the museum vaults they were seen to be of great historical interest, since most existing references to queen Hatshepsut were all but obliterated by her successors.  The well-preserved Stele told a story that gave further credibility to the tale of the Queen Who Declared Herself King, and was of great interests to Egyptologists around the world. 

In addition, the location and fate of the land of Punt is one of history’s great mysteries.  The serpent statue and the stele would appear to be the only existing relics of that great Empire.  Will they be the key to unraveling the fate of these people?  Will the Land of Punt turn out to be Somalia, Ethiopia, Sudan, or some other place heretofore unsuspected?

It is with great gratitude to the people of Kenya that the British Museum has exhibited these exquisite pieces of Egyptian history for the last three months.  Thus, on 15 March 2010, in a ceremony presided over by a Royal Representative, these precious objects will be returned to the Kenyan people.  Representatives of the Royal Historical Society, the British Egyptology Institute, and the Queen’s Treasury of Cultural Objects will accompany Kenyan officials and historians in escorting the treasures to Nairobi, Kenya.  There they will assist in the placing of the Golden Serpent and the Stele of Hatshepsut in the Nairobi Museum of Culture, on proud display for the people of Kenya.

 

Kobi laughed to himself.  The British Museum’s brochure certainly put a good face on the situation.  It didn’t exactly agree with the African’s view of events.

The handing-over ceremonies in London had been long and tedious as ceremonies inevitably were.  Now that they were over, Kobi was aching with fatigue.  While in London he had enjoyed the opportunity to see some of the friends he had made while in school at Oxford, but he really was happy to be going home to his wife, their new son, and the blue skies of Kenya.  Thinking of that joyful homecoming, he drifted in and out of sleep as the aircraft made its way across two continents.

The entire flight was thirteen hours long, including a one-hour layover in Dubai.  At about the time they were leaving United Arab Emirates airspace, Kobi had been informed that they would not be landing in Nairobi as was planned, but instead, were going to Mombasa.  His travel weary mind could barely comprehend the news of a rebel mortar raid on the airport at Nairobi.  Now, the plane was being re-routed to Mombasa. 

Why would rebels shell the runways of one of the most secure air terminals in all of Africa?  What could they hope to gain?  Except, of course to cause inconvenience for everyone flying out of Nairobi.

All he knew was that instead of a two-hour drive to get from Nairobi to his home, the journey was now going to take well over forty-eight hours.  However, the inconvenience was not his alone.  Besides the ancient Tiburu treasure, the plane also carried many dignitaries from the museums and governments of Britain and Kenya.  As a result, the Kenyan officials decided to relocate the ceremony they had been planning in honor of the Frenchman, Mr. Alexander Levasseur, to the airport in Mombasa.  Levasseur was the man who had been almost solely responsible for persuading the British to return the artifacts. 

Levasseur was a mystery to Kobi, and to quite a few other people, it seemed.  He hadn’t been able to discover much about the man from any of his contacts in either England or Kenya.  As rumor had it, Levasseur was a rich exporter operating around the Indian Ocean.  He also had a reputation as an international playboy, occasionally featuring in the gossip magazines.  However, no one really had any idea what he had done to become so rich.  Kobi suspiciously wondered why such a man would spend so much effort on the return of these particular objects and how he had been successful in getting them returned to Kenya.  Especially since the ownership of these artifacts was even more contested than the many other African treasures yet to be returned.

Of course, factions from Ethiopia, Somalia, Yemen, Sudan, and Egypt all claimed the artifacts.  The first four felt that they were the true location of the land of Punt, and were prepared to bring legal suit in the World Court to prove their case.  The latter it seemed wanted the artifacts back because they had originated in Egypt.  The fact that it was Kobi’s family from whom the artifacts had been taken had carried little weight against all of these other claims. 

Kobi felt growing misgivings, gazing through the jet’s window as they flew south toward Kenya.  Too many things felt out of place in this entire operation.  England did not give up her prizes easily and yet, due to the efforts of a mysterious stranger, the artifacts were on their way home.

Mombasa was halfway across the country from his home in Central Kenya and Kobi didn’t know if arrangements had been made for his return to Nairobi along with the artifacts, or if both of them would end up stuck in Mombasa.  Thankfully, there were Tiburu people in positions of power all over Kenya, so Kobi could pull some strings of his own, if he had to, in order to get the crate of artifacts and himself back to Nairobi.  It was irritating.  The bureaucrats would all have to make their speeches taking credit for this ‘great historical triumph’ and then there would be more waiting around.  All Kobi desired at that moment was for the artifacts to be safely returned and for himself to be comfortably tucking into a big plate of his wife’s excellent beef and potato stew.

 

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He must have fallen asleep as the long flight wore on because he awoke to the change in engine noise that indicated that they were beginning the descent into Mombasa.

The oppressive humidity of the Mombasa afternoon began to penetrate his travel rumpled business suit the moment he stepped off the plane.  Waiting on the tarmac, he saw the two essential elements necessary for a ceremony, a lineup of Kenyan dignitaries, and a covey of journalists.  Apparently, to the dignitaries in charge, receiving the artifacts right off the plane was too good of a photo opportunity to miss.  In the middle of the crowd, a head taller than everyone else stood the elegantly dressed Alexander Levasseur.

“I wonder what he wants from Kenya,” Kobi mused sardonically.  Behind his musings, a thought briefly crossed Kobi’s mind.  There are fewer guards than I would have expected, considering the high rank of the officials waiting on the ground.

The noise of the band and the herd of brightly dressed dignitaries surrounded by the pack of carnivorous journalists made a colorful cacophony in the hazy light of late afternoon.  At the very front of the greeting committee was a rather rotund little man Kobi recognized a distant cousin, Simon Njuguna, an avaricious politician whose sole aspiration was to increase his political power.  Throughout Kenya, Njuguna was known for his vanity as the “Peacock with Two Tails.”

Njuguna was always causing trouble by his efforts to advance his career as a politician.  Kobi’s own grandfather had been the subject of a lengthy lawsuit over the denial of Njuguna’s eligibility for elder status in the tribe.  He was an annoying and very ambitious man who always seemed to be trying to prove his superiority.  If he was here, then Kobi was certain the officious little man would try to claim credit in some way for the retrieval of the treasure.

Once the photos were taken and hands shaken all around, Kobi found himself a place to stand that was out of the way.  It was apparent that he was a very unimportant part of this event.  He felt exhausted and grubby after the long flight.  As the speeches droned on, he turned his back to the ceremony to watch the lightning strikes of a glowering thunderstorm moving across the distant landscape.

A thundershower will put a stop to all this nonsense, he mused.  Right now in Nakuru, on the other side of that storm, my wife will be cooking the evening meal.  If I’m lucky, maybe tomorrow I will be home in time to watch the setting sun with my boy on my lap. 

Slowly he refocused on his immediate surroundings.  Having nothing better to do, he casually watched the wooden crate, carrying his tribe’s precious artifacts, gently being maneuvered onto a cargo truck. 

Suddenly he felt that something was wrong.

What is it?  He wondered.  He was unable to identify what had alarmed him.  Glancing around at the makeshift dais, Kobi saw Njuguna leave the group of dignitaries and walk casually toward the airport terminal building. 

Why is the Peacock leaving?  He wondered.  

Kobi knew his fatigue-dulled mind was preventing him from understanding the situation.  As he frantically scanned the scene trying to make sense of his unease, he noticed Levasseur give a tiny nod in the direction of the plane.  Then things began to happen very fast.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kobi saw a bright red Mattatu; the open three-wheeled bush taxi common throughout Africa, drive up next to the cargo truck.  Somewhat behind, a security van was approaching the Mattatu at high speed, and the driver was yelling something Kobi couldn’t hear. 

Whatever it was, it was the last thing that driver ever said, as a firestorm of bullets smashed through the windshield and silenced him forever.  The gunfire was coming from the Mattatu, which disgorged six men armed with AK-47s.  Through a red filter of shock, Kobi watched the security van driver slowly slump forward over his steering wheel.  He saw the Kenyan Ceremonial Honor Guards, the only armed troops in the area, cut down with a second burst.  The guards didn’t have time to do more than raise their rifles.  Bewildered, Kobi watched as the gunmen now turned their attention on the dignitaries, some of whom were from the top echelon of leaders in his government.  They too fell under the relentless gunfire.

The security van, with its dead driver at the wheel, raced out of control into the mass of wounded and struggling humanity.  Scrambling in all directions, the crowd tried to escape the wayward vehicle, some running each other down in their panic.  Within seconds, the runaway van burst from the crowd, its engine racing wildly, and plowed into the left engine of the airliner, causing an immediate gush of aviation fuel to spill onto the ground.  Seconds later, with a bright ignition, the van burst into flames and the petrol fed fire quickly spread to the giant airliner, causing several large explosions and sending sheets of flaming aviation fuel shooting into the sky. 

One of the gunmen climbed into the driver’s seat of the cargo truck, now loaded with the crate of artifacts, and accelerated away across the tarmac toward the nearest security gate.  A guttural yell from the Mattatu driver spurred the remaining gunmen to pile back into the bush taxi.  In seconds, the Mattatu was speeding toward the gate of the Airport.  The cargo truck slowed down just long enough to let the Mattatu pass in front. 

As quickly as they could, four of the gunmen hanging from the sides of the careening Mattatu opened fire on the two security guards at the Main Gate.  A small firefight raged for several seconds until the gunmen acquired the proper range, where the guard’s rifles became no match for the AK-47s.  With a sudden lurch and a squeal of tires, the Mattatu and the cargo truck were through the security gate and out onto the long narrow road toward Mombasa.

It was a well-coordinated attack.  It had taken six men less than two minutes to kill as many people as possible, steal the crate of artifacts and make good their escape.  Behind the fleeing gunmen, eighteen people lay dead, six of them important dignitaries, with twenty-two wounded, and a once proud airplane, burning fiercely.

 

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Author's Note

I'm aware that this chapter has too much exposition, and if I were rewriting the book I would skip most of this and work the info into later action. I'm wondering about the wisdom of rewriting it and republishing the book after it's been out there for a while. Any thoughts?