Free Softly Calls the Serengeti by Frank Coates Page B

Odinga’s words as the megaphone swept past him. It made his chest thump and his ears ring, but he was too dazzled by the great man’s presence to comprehend a word he said.
    Then, quite suddenly, Odinga was gone amid a flurry of personal security guards. A mighty roar of appreciation followed him out. Before the crowd had time to disperse, a man stepped onto the platform and began to address it. Joshua did not recognise him as one of the many Odinga supporters who moved among the Kibera slums promoting their leader as next president, but with his black trousers and crisp white shirt he had an air of authority about him.
    His voice boomed through the megaphone in his hand and across the Kamukungi clearing. ‘My friends,’ he bellowed in Kiswahili. ‘Do you want our brother Raila Odinga to be president of Kenya?’
    â€˜ Yes! ’ the crowd roared.
    â€˜Are you tired of the police and askaris harassing you for tea money?’
    â€˜ Yes! ’
    â€˜Is your landlord charging you too much for your tiny plot?’
    â€˜ Yes! ’
    â€˜Do you demand that the government do something about it?’
    â€˜ Yes! ’
    â€˜Then we must march, my friends! We must march to Uhuru Park and tell the government that we have had enough of all these things. We have had enough of the police taking our money. We have had enough of landlords who cheat us. We demand the government do something about it. No more of this talk, talk and nothing happens. We want action !’
    A general roar of approval erupted.
    â€˜Will you march with me to Uhuru Park, my friends?’
    â€˜ Yes! ’ came the reply and, as a body, the crowd surged forward towards the road leading to Uhuru Park—a venue where many political wars had been fought.
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    It was Charlotte’s second day of research in the Nairobi National Archives. She was tired and had difficulty concentrating. She’d allowed herself a week for research in Nairobi before heading into the field, but that time was half gone and she had barely scratched the surface. The problem was, she kept getting sidetracked by stories that were interesting, but not essential to her thesis. If she didn’t put all those distractions aside, she would never get to the core of her topic.
    It had been much easier with her Master’s thesis on the Maasai. The Maasai had been a pet anthropological topic for decades and there was a wealth of research material in Oxford’s Museum of Natural History. The Luo were another matter. Quite early in their exposure to European influence, they had recognised the benefits of that civilisation and become willing participants and early adopters of a new way of life. Consequently, their cultural heritage wasn’t as widely known or documented. She felt she had formulated a good plan for her thesis, but acquiring the raw information was difficult.
    An important part of a PhD was the ability to develop efficiently a line of reasoning towards a logical conclusion. She tested the words again, picking them apart and appraising them individually before reassembling them. An important part of a PhD is the ability to develop efficiently a line of reasoning towards a logical conclusion . Good. Very good. It reassured her that her head was clear and ready to get back to work. Then she realised they were Professor Hornsby’s words, from his pep talk before she left for Kenya.
    She dropped her face into her hands and let a small groan escape.
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    Scattered around Riley’s desk was the essence of his next novel. He had thought it would be a good story when he’d first read the historical account in Charlotte Manning’s book. Now, with a more complete understanding of the historical perspective, he knew it was a great story. As with his first novel, his research in the National Archives was illuminating the details of the saga; like opening the lens of a camera to throw more light on the subject. Now he