"Madam, you know that five pounds is too little for a man with a family. I can work for seven pounds, ten shillings...but that is finish."
Robinson brought a fresh pot of tea. "Madam, I know Ali for very long time. He is very good and very safe. I know many people he has worked for. He has an excellent chit book.”
Safe? What did he mean? Certainly it would be safe to have a cook. No one at the meeting today said anything about safety. But, what would it be like for a 20-year-old girl to hire a cook her same age? My mind suddenly filled with terrors far worse than slithering snakes.
Ali did appear safe—and wise and friendly too. And, maybe he could save me money by shopping carefully. "Ali, I can give you six pounds a month but that is all," I said with finality.
"I am sorry, that is not sufficient, Madam. I have already come down from twelve pounds five to seven pounds ten. I cannot do any more. And for that I will even do laundry," he added disdainfully.
"Thank you Ali, but I cannot do any better," I said handing him back his chit book.
"I am too sad, Madam. I am sorry for spoiling your pleasure. Zikomo kwambili, Memsab. He bowed.
"Zikomo, Ali," I said, filled with doubts, ambivalence and second thoughts. We watched him walk away shaking his head slowly. He palavered with Robinson for several minutes.
The intermediary returned. "Ali is too sad that he cannot work for you. He says he would be happy to be near his home again."
I felt that I had made a big mistake. Jan confirmed it. "I sure hope I can find someone as good as him in Karonga," she said.
Robinson poured us some more tea, "Madam, he likes you too much and knows you do not have the money like the Bwanas from U.K. But, he has to live, as well. Maize is not cheap and meat is very dear now...and he has two wives to feed. He says he will work for you for seven pounds only."
I knew that I could not say no, but I reasoned softness could be taken for weakness—an inadvisable way to start an employer-employee relationship. "Tell him I can give him six pounds and five shillings, but that would have to be my absolute last offer. No more!"
He walked back to where Ali was waiting. They chatted, argued and gesticulated, while Jan and I feigned nonchalance, a technique I'd seen Daddy use on car salesmen.
Ali returned, "Madam, I could do this for no one else, but I like you and I want to be near my village. I will work for six pounds and ten shillings, but, I must ask of you two things. First, I must have Fridays off to go to mosque and, if you like my cooking and I show you how I can save you money, you will please give me seven pounds after six months."
By now Jan was caught up in the negotiations. "Don't be crazy, Susan. Don't let him get away for a few shillings a week," she whispered in my ear.
"But what if?”
"What if what? You want to hold out for one with power steering and over-drive at the same price?" Jan had become impatient with me.
I laughed, "Ali we have a deal."
Ali bowed, respectfully, without hint of subservience.
"Miss Susan, you will be happy, wait and see."
As an afterthought, I challenged, "Ali, do you know how to make beef Stroganoff?"
"Oh, yes Madam. Very good. One of my best. It was Mr. Langley's favorite for dinner parties. He was here after the Great War and gave very big parties, indeed. I can make it with goat, just as good as cow and saves money. Just wait and see."
Karonga-bound Jan asked, "Do you know how to make apple pie?"
"Oh, yes Madam. I worked for Irish lady one time, Mrs. Cunningham. She taught me how to make it with some lemon and cinnamon. Makes it very tasty, indeed."
"Golly, Jan, I'll have to invite you down for lunch one day."
Jan scowled, "Yea, we can have fish...they say the fish at Forti is too good."
Chapter 3. First Encounters
The dust-laden net was suffocating, but the constant buzz of mosquito made my protective confinement a rewarding trade-off. My denial could no longer be denied. I tossed and turned, anticipating the pain of separation. Our training had made us one and, in fact, had molded us into a "Corps.” Now, our oneness would be shattered. The platoon, having landed, would be dispersed the length and breath of the country.
I sensed I might never see Jan again. Karonga was so remote we'd be lucky to see each other once a year. I had relied on her to get me through the tough times in training and the first few days in Africa. I hadn't even been able to make the decision to hire Ali without her prodding. I thought of her silly giggle and her quickness in reading my moods. I was going to be alone for the first time in my life.
I was going to a town even the Peace Corps Director had not seen. All he knew was that it was hot and it had fish. How would I deal with the isolation, the solitude, the boredom? What would it be like to be separated from all the others in the group, a group closer than college roommates; some closer than brothers and sisters. Would I have the strength?
In the morning we toured the Queen Elizabeth Hospital—named for a monarch who had never set foot in her protectorate. The rest of the day was spent getting ready for the Ambassador's party. Rumor had it that the new Ambassador was one of L.B.J.'s drinking buddies who made his fortune leasing oil drilling equipment, his expertise in foreign affairs having been limited to European shopping junkets and one African safari during which he had bagged the" big five". The party would be the Ambassador's first official function and the American community anxiously waited to see if his presence would bring glitter to their social life.
An American Ambassador is expected to live in a manner to convey our depth of commitment to even the smallest nation. The Ambassador's residence was secluded behind a high wall, with bits of broken glass embedded on the precipice, a deterrent to the curious and the unfriendly. A contingent of Marines saluted us at the gates. We walked up a circular driveway leading to the portico, where four Marines lined each side of the stairs, resplendent in their dress blues. The Ambassador and his wife greeted us with their Texas smiles, stopping to ask each of us our home state. Already gathered in the courtyard were overdressed men and women, mingling with professional elegance. Ambassador's parties, we were told, were the only events in the country by protocol, began exactly on time; the assembled masses awaited a sign whether the party would end exactly on time, as was also the Ambassadorial prerogative.
Our group clung together, waiting for someone to make the first move. The trouble was that we did not know the protocol. A waiter mingled among us with a tray of drinks. After a few drinks, protocol became apparent. The new Ambassador had firm intentions of bringing Dallas to Blantyre. The smell of barbecuing beef wafted through the evening air. Mrs. Ambassador proudly announced that she had arranged to have the sauce supplied in ten-gallon drums, adding that she had been worried that it would not arrive in time for our reception. Fortunately for all of us, yesterday's flight into Chilaka brought the first ten gallons of Uncle Willie's Barbecue Sauce, "The best in all of Texas!"
Shortly after, the Ambassador introduced the Assistant Minister of Health who gave a short welcoming speech. He addressed with candor the fact that his country had one of the highest infant mortality rates in the world and that efforts to provide basic services such as medications, education and clean water had been thwarted by lack of funds and trained personnel. We were a "beacon light" of better things to come.
The Ambassador spoke next. He was either intoxicated or had a speech impediment unnoticed in our brief welcoming encounter. At any rate, his welcoming words, although somewhat unintelligible, were the expected ones: the great hopes for our efforts, the admiration for our patriotism and willingness to answer President Kennedy's call, a call that his personal friend, Lyndon B. Johnson, intended to continue to all patriotic young Americans.