Ojimbo and the Tembo

Ojimbo and the Tembo

-L.R. Claude

Cover Design:

Heidi Hobe Dailey

Ebook Edition

Copyright L.R. Claude

A Special Thanks to:

My Son for always being my reason to aspire

to be a better person

May you find:

Smiles in the flowers and faces in the clouds,

Comfort in thunder and love that abounds,

Laughter in the raindrops and joy in the trees,

Warmth in the sunlight and faith in the breeze

-Carol M. Dailey

Chapter 1

Let me tell you about a boy names Ojimbo, a tale of how a small meek teen that hardly weighs sixty kilos has managed to carry an entire continent as he worked his way from Africa to England. This boy has quite a good story and for those that seem to soak in what he has to say. I was skeptical about the walking for days through a desert, his run in with elephants, sailing with pirates, and wrestling with sharks, it all seemed a little far-fetched for me to believe all of this from some bush kid, at first. Ojimbo had caught the ears of high end scholars; he’s spoken about conservancy and about truly having encounters with elephants in his homeland. Through the good deeds of good people that believed in his tale he has traveled all the way from South Africa to England. Ojimbo is of small frame, he has a thin face and high cheek bones, but his small body carried him thousands of miles and held the strength to endure more than the journey he set out for.

I was beginning my career in finance when I decided to join a mate of mine for a guest lecture that was gathering a rather illustrious crowd at a speaking hall at the University. I was young and motivated when I decided to go into trading stocks and bonds. I was aware of the abilities that having a high paying job could afford me and I said cheers to plenty of late nights of studying and examinations. My name is Peter Bateman and I was raised on the outskirts of London, I love the busy streets, football days and the busy goings on of all the people all the time. My story fails in comparison to what I am about to tell you. As I stated; I joined a mate at the University to attend a lecture by a guest speaker, we were to visit a pub afterwards so even if the speaker bored us to tears, a few pints after would bring us right back to our formidable selves, and the tab was on him for my going.

The guest was just a mid-teen boy, he was thin framed and a meek looking fellow. The reason the boy was being hosted was for his struggle and his purpose, he was telling his story in many places, most places he was merely camping out of random people’s homes and some of those people were helping to book lecture halls for him to stand up and tell his story to larger and larger crowds. Ojimbo Clarke was a small teen; he was passionate as he spoke in broken English about his home and his journey from it. Ojimbo was very rigid when he spoke; he leaned forward on a podium and spoke into a microphone to amplify his soft voice, he stood tall and statuesque as he narrated his tale. Ojimbo was wearing a red and white plaid shirt, khaki pants, and dirty white sneakers, he had narrow shoulders and long fingers that held him to the podium as he spoke, he looked timid staring out at the people staring back at him, but he felt compelled to continue to speak.

After listening to Ojimbo’s story I hardly felt changed, this boy had been through hades and back and has had his entire life changed, and here he was, standing up in front of a few dozen chaps and speaking passionately, thousands of miles from his home. I didn’t really stray far from home, even for my collegiate experience of briskly walking through large arches between university buildings and clock towers. Ojimbo had traveled from the southeast portions of Africa; leaving behind his tribe and family to find himself, he has also taught many as well. This smaller dark skinned young man might only be able to carry a few jugs of water at a time, but somehow he has also carried his continent.

My parents were loving adults, in my youth they taught me how to be a courteous neighbor and to always care for the elderly. School taught me about geography and what it might be like in many other countries. I remember meeting a Yank when I was a young adult, the bloke called a few men Limey’s while in a pub one afternoon and they shared some pints and that was that. London is a magnificent people market, many people come and go and few stop for long but you can always spot the tourists and travelers, people with bags on their shoulders or milling around and standing in the way asking directions to Big Ben, or even in their dreadful accents trying to impersonate the song that is our native language. Anyways, I rode some of the railways at the metro stations to some of the adjacent counties with mates and pals back in school, we all had our small adventures through our childhood and further dreams of exploring more of this globe as we aged and once our finances afforded us more of the grand luxuries from our dreams.

Ojimbo looked like some Zulu lion hunting tribesman, he was almost midnight dark in skin, his eyes were a dull yellow, and he had sharp cheekbones and choppy English when he spoke. I disregarded the small framed bloke when I took my seat, I didn’t mean to be rude but if he wasn’t going to offer some tips for making a thousand percent return on an investment, then I was wasting my time. Some of the local journals had written columns about this lad, he had spoken in many cities and walked to almost everywhere he needed to go. By the time Ojimbo had gotten near our city, his fellow man had fed him, clothed him, sheltered him, and many people went out of their way to taxi him to many of his destinations. After I heard Ojimbo speak; I wasn’t moved to help, I had a little scratch and didn’t feel that it would be better off in anyone else’s hands than mine but I still felt the philanthropic needles poke at my heart. Ojimbo spoke passionately about his home, he had a fire in his heart and a slight tremble in his voice but he still stood tall and delivered his message.

After the speech I was almost dying of thirst. My mate Thomas and I slid out of the back hall as people stood and cheered for the speaker, I attended because Thomas said the first round was on him if I joined him, he went because he was finishing up at the university and as an elective, he opted to listen to the chap speak and tongue click whatever for two hours and call it a night. Thomas and I discussed our standpoints about the lecture, we debated if the kid actually did all that the columns in the papers said he did. Thomas and I were skeptical as to how the boy traveled: from the South African villages and plains, up through the continent, through Egypt, and without papers or proof of who he was, guest lectured in his broken English to dozens of large institutions all over Europe, it seemed a little far-fetched for either of us to believe.

Thomas and I parted ways once the late hours passed in the pub, we had a few pints, shared some laughs, and even entertained an intelligent bit of conversation pertaining to the lecture we attended and everything we had heard. Thomas hailed a taxi and as the light drizzle of the rain muffled some of the cars motoring passed, I walked toward the bus stop to wait for the late night shuttle. The bus box was a simple three sided glass enclosure, it shielded enough of the weather to stave off much of the cold or rain while waiting, it sat between two overhead street lamps so there was sufficient light for safety to anyone waiting for a motor coach. As I stepped closer and closer to the motor box to see someone laying on the bench inside, inconsiderate seeing’s how many people come and go from these boxes whilst waiting for a shuttle to their home. The drizzle in the air became illuminated as it fell under the street lamps, the forming puddles on the ground reflected the lights from many different angles and rippled in the back lights of cars that drove through them while heading back to their home, splashing outwards onto the street, then gathering back to make puddles again.

I stepped just inside the motor box to catch a small bit of reprieve from the rain, cars still zipped by, the splashing spread across the wet pavement. I did my best to avoid making eye contact with the homeless person sleeping on the bench; there are homes or boxes under bridges for these people to live, not in the way of hard working society. Over my left shoulder I saw the pile of person covered in a dark makeshift blanket. I kept my eyes trained over my left shoulder to prepare myself in case this bum wanted to try and roll me for my billfold. Through the corner of my eye I could see a person lying on the bench sat up, the mound rose up and caused my hands to begin to clench without my intent.

You can sit a soft voice with thick accent broke the sound of the rain dripping overhead. The interruption startled me enough to turn my head but quickly whip it back forward. I was in my youth, making good money, on my way to a life of wealth and beautiful woman to accompany me on holidays, the last thing I wanted to do was get stabbed over a few pieces of paper in my pocket. I shook my head in response to the question that was posed to me. My heart beat harshly in my chest, I stared at the rippling puddles, slowing in their motion, so did my heart beat a little. The quick actions of the mound rising just to my left replayed in my mind, flash after flash until I realized I recognized what I saw, and heard. I recognized the red and white plaid shirt, it was just the collar under the makeshift blanket but the collar, coupled with the thick accent, made me realize it was Ojimbo lying on the bench.

I sat down beside Ojimbo, I explained that I attended the days lecture; Ojimbo properly introduced himself, as did I. He pulled his coat up towards his neck, there was a bit of a chill in the air and as he yawned I could hear the shutter in his voice because of the lower temperatures. I broke my silent stature and had to ask; is it all true? his chin was resting towards his chest, he must have been exhausted to have almost fallen back asleep in such a fast moment, his head jerked upright, I apologized for surprising him. It is true Ojimbo assured me. I miss my mother, my home, it is far far from me Ojimbo continued speaking to me; I could feel my guard begin to ease, I still had many questions but the shuttle was rounding the corner. I was at an imposition, I hated being stuck, like when a beggar pins you down and you just don’t want to give them any of the money you worked for, even if you can afford a few pounds.

The shuttle drew close and the sense of dread struck me; my small voice of compassion in my mind began to speak, I stepped towards the opening in the motor box, the few millimeters I moved made the noise of the rain turn to a siren in my ears. I let my heavy head hang, and without rehearsal my mouth let out an invitation to join me for a dry place to sleep. Are you certain my friend? the broken English emerged over the rain; I turned to see his white teeth appear from his dark presence in the shadow of his coat. I stretched out my open hand to help the newly acquainted associate to his feet, the man hardly pulled nor weighted much as he steadied himself with my assistance. My mother told me, do not pull someone down to pull you up Ojimbo said as he stepped closer to the opening I was standing in. I suspected that he had learned to navigate buses and such fairly well, I had heard that he traveled from South Africa on his own wind and ended here so far away in jolly old (England.)

Ojimbo sat beside me on the shuttle as we passed side streets and tall buildings, he looked out the windows, still in awe of where he was and what he was seeing, he turned to me a few times to see if I was seeing what he was, he had a bright smile on his face. Ojimbo looked ever so much younger with a gleaming smile on his face, experiencing everything as if it was still new and he hadn’t been hardened over by it yet as I had. It was a bit of a putter through the drizzle, I told Ojimbo that my flat was up a lift and of small space, I wasn’t expecting to host or have a guest over but this was a sudden circumstance. Ojimbo told me that he would have even been fine on the bus bench, he is thankful for everything anyone has ever done and without the kindness of everyone he’s ever met, he may not have ever seen the things he has seen.

Ojimbo bows his head a little when he speaks, he seemed to be carrying around a deep burden in his heart, for a man not much older that fourteen or fifteen I’d guess. Ojimbo was ever so much more mature than any of the students I had ever met at school or even in the country. Our final stop had come, I warned Ojimbo we had to still take a lift up but that he’d be able to sleep soon enough. Ojimbo followed close on my heels, from my periphery I could see him looking around and taking in all sorts of sights and smells, he didn’t shutter or hide under his jacket from the rain; it wasn’t an inconvenience to have him. Ojimbo and I made it up to my flat; I let us in while he let his eyes wander the new quarters for the night. I offered the man some tea as I put the kettle on, I had some crackers and meat to snack on while my guest sat with me at my small table and thanked me repeatedly for my kindness. I felt a slight tinge of guilt that I had dismissed him earlier in the day.

Ojimbo had dark brown, almost black skin, his eyes were also dark brown with the yellowed whites, his hands were speckled with bits of scars and scrapes, I thought to imagine how much different our lives were, he was born and raised in a small African tribe while I was born to the city of London, I had meal makers on every street corner, he had to get up early every day and work for something to eat, and even that wasn’t ever a certain. Ojimbo asked if I had any Honey Main graham crackers; I like them very much, I first hand them in Spain he told me. I was several years older than this kid and yet he had already traveled ever so much more of the world than I had, and without the concept of money to fund his mission. I had worlds of questions whirling in my mind, I wanted to pepper him all night to know everything about him but he continued to pop his head up from nearly falling asleep as he sat across from me at my table as we ended the evening.

I woke up mildly early for a Saturday, my usual day to sleep in after a late night at the pub with Thomas or any other friends. I let myself out of my room to discover that the guest I had let sleep on my couch, was not there. I looked around for a moment to discover Ojimbo on his hands and knees wiping not only my kitchen floor, but the six last tenant’s worth of dust bunnies out from under the stove and icebox. I addressed Ojimbo to let him know I was up and ready to see what he needed for the day and to find out where I could take him in the afternoon to continue on with whatever it was that he had planned. I cleared my throat as I turned to enter the kitchen, I found Ojimbo on hands and knees and reaching well under the refrigerator. I asked what he was using to clean with and tried to explain that it wasn’t necessary. My mother, she tells me to work, if I can’t pay for couch to sleep on, or food to eat, I can clean, its ok he told me as he turned to reveal his left hand hidden within a sock.

I felt my eyes open a little wider at the sight of a sock covered in all manner of dust, hair, hardened food particles and whatever else migrates under appliances in a kitchen. I asked my guest turned maid where he managed a sock to use to clean and before I finished saying so. I glanced down to take notice that the bloke was only wearing one. The cheeky devil was using one of his very own socks to clean my grimy nasty kitchen floor. I failed at my attempt to dissuade him from continuing, is OK, I am almost done my friend he responded, he had a smile on his face as he swiped his hands back and forth. I turned myself around and headed back to my dresser for a fresh pair of socks for him. I stepped in behind Ojimbo and lit the skillet, I asked if eggs were ok for our morning meal, most definitely yes please, I like eggs, eggs are good.

I tried not to let my mind wander for a moment but in that instance before I snapped out of it, it almost was akin to having a pet, learning what he did or didn’t eat, trying to judge how much his small frame might eat or not eat. I didn’t really have any zebra or ostrich, or bugs or whatever but I had some eggs. I offered Ojimbo the restroom if he wanted to clean up or anything before I served us breakfast; he parted my presence for a moment as I scraped out a few eggs onto plates for us. Ojimbo and I sat and ate, he nodded and smiled as he ate, he repeatedly expressed his gratitude and appreciation with thank yous and moans to show his enjoyment with his meal. Ojimbo let his lips curl around his fork as he ate, he was a slender boy, he must have been hungry but he ate slow enough to appreciate each bite he took, a lesson I might have to learn.

I asked my guest where he had to be, he told me that he didn’t want to take up any more space or my time, he wanted to make his way back towards Cairo, he liked the weather more than here, which was still lightly raining. I told Ojimbo that I wanted to ask him a bunch of questions, I had ample plans for the day but hearing his two hour speech wasn’t nearly enough, I wanted to hear everything about where he was from, what it took and how he ended up on my couch. I asked his permission to journal his story, ensuring it wouldn’t be too intrusive to copy down everything he says and try to better get the whole picture. Ojimbo smiled a very large toothy smile; he reached out with both of his hands and shook vigorously while simultaneously bowing his head in thanks.

The speech I had listened to while sitting with my pal Thomas was geared towards elephant conservation. Thomas was finalizing his master’s degree in environmental law; he was making headway towards a career of wealth just as I was. Thomas wants to sit in courtrooms or just in mediation rooms while large corporations feed him large sums of money to make their problems go away. In his pursuit of his degree he had to take classes that were meant for either side of the law, pro or con of one view or another and the University had put up Ojimbo the night prior to his speech. Ojimbo traveled and spoke about how the elephant is a magnificent creature, how compassionate they are and how they symbolize how great and caring this world can be. The university offered courses that detailed how the environment was being altered and affected by our action. Ojimbo had first-hand experience with the large elephants and made for an interesting and cheap guest lecturer, which was why he was asked to speak.

Ojimbo opened up his speech with an old joke he came across on his travels, it was cheesy but because it was an elephant joke he told it anyways. Ojimbo then spoke about how as a boy in his village it was the job of the women to cook and of the children to attend to many chores with the women while the men left for days or weeks at a time to hunt, and then to bring back enough food to cook, eat, and store by drying it over a smoke rack until they needed it again. Ojimbo loved his life in his village, he was part of the Kuzi people, they farmed a small bit of potatoes, peppers and grains to supplement their hunting. Ojimbo had a best friend named Teeta since birth. Ojimbo and Teeta would often feed together from either of their mums; there was no one woman to nurse one baby, any woman that could nurse a baby would nurse all that she could when they needed it.

The tribe in the village all worked together, there was no ownership, there was no big world mentality like there is everywhere else he has traveled. Ojimbo said he learned a lot as he reached further north into Africa, he learned what mine meant and that the more people had, the more they kept it to themselves. Ojimbo often missed his mom Bendu and quoted her very frequently as he spoke, her wisdom and teachings have carried him across a continent and through many countries so she must have been a wise woman. Ojimbo felt it in his heart when it was time to head out for his adventure, his childhood was certainly behind him and he stood tall and stared at manhood before him. Ojimbo stood quietly, he glanced around to take in his surroundings but hardly said much without being asked or spoken to. Ojimbo stood with good posture but he mostly kept his head bowed, it was hard to tell if it was habit to keep the hot African sun from his eyes or if he was just tired from his travels.

I cleared my schedule and asked Ojimbo to stay the rest of the day and night and perhaps another day so I can get as best a picture of everything I could, I was intrigued. I wanted to hear more of his travels, I wanted to take a safari and see some of his own sights with my own eyes. I intended to find a young vixen and head off to faraway lands and make the kind of love you would only hear the sounds of in a jungle. I wanted to chart a yacht and sail to the Cape of Good Hope or East London, a few tanned bodies lying out on the deck with me as we ate fresh seafood from the drink below. I thought it might come in handy having some first-hand descriptions of what types of things I might come across. I still had ample work ahead of me but a fella can dream.

I began taking some small notes in my mind while we headed down to the market to gather up supplies to carry us through the weekend. I set up my laptop and began to organize this stranger’s story. I wasn’t sure what I was going to end up with but the wide eyed, wide smiled face of the stranger was somewhat contagious. I almost cast Ojimbo aside back at the bus stop, it was always dutiful to donate a few pounds to the red kettles but out of the blue I brought this man to my home and was sitting in my living room penning his story. I thought about retiring in the mountains of Italy or Spain, high enough to herd a few sheep and hide away from the hustle and bustle of the city below, perhaps farm enough grapes to press my own wine in the fall. I wanted to spend some time on the Mediterranean, wander around the smaller towns and eat some of the freshest seafood to be pulled from the blue waters. I wanted to meet girls in towns for a while before deciding to look for the kind of girl to make my wife, then sit back and sip wine in the evenings and grow old on large investments I had accumulated.

I encouraged Ojimbo to take a seat on the couch while I sat in my chair and readied myself for a long weekend of writing as he told me his story. I asked him to begin by giving me some background, what types of chores they had each day or tasks that they enjoyed or disliked. Ojimbo raised his eyebrows to some of my inquisitions; chores? Did not like? he tried to figure out what I meant and I stuttered a little trying to explain what I meant by the phrase. I tried to explain what chores were but he rebutted with there are no chores; everyone has work they must do, and didn’t like? We had our games and there were some games we enjoyed and then there was work to be done. I spent just as much time trying to wrap my head around why he didn’t understand some of the terms as I did explaining what they meant. We were from opposite hemispheres,