Short Story

Across the Desert – pt II
by M.R. Karugi

Back in the tent, the captor operating the camcorder seemed comfortable with the gadget, maybe he had been a photojournalist in another life, Muhandis thought. The recording took a short while since no words were uttered by the captives. Perhaps insurgent headquarters would edit the same to include their demands. After ensuring the clip was fine for their purposes, he removed the mini-cassette, stowed away the camcorder, picked up his assault rifle, and stepped outside with the mini-cassette in hand. Muffled voices could be heard outside the tent, and shortly after the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves on the sand were heard going farther away from the tent. The short video clip was on its way to be shown to the rest of the world. This made Muhandis feel there was hope in this whole saga, that finally the world would know their fate.

He actually prayed that the messenger would reach his destination without a hitch. The other gunmen hurdled in a corner, conversing in low tones in a language that none of the captives could understand. All the time, two sentry guards kept their rifles trained on the captives, fingers at the trigger, as if anyone would bother trying to escape, Muhandis thought.

By his calculations, if he made a dash for it, movie style, he would not last long in the desert without water. They were very far away from any civilization, but the captors had planned well it seemed, and they were fully stocked on all essentials. No starving or dehydration here.

Surprisingly, they had been very well treated, being allowed time to eat, drink and rest while travelling. Each time they stopped, at tent would be put up, they would be ushered in and the black cloth covering their eyes unbound. They would proceed to be fed and allowed some little time to rest before they were bound again and were on their way.

At night, the same would happen, and they would fall soundly sleep after a heavy meal. It was surprising that one managed to fall asleep under the circumstances, but fatigue levels were usually at the highest by nightfall.

Muhandis shook his head vigorously to keep from falling asleep again. Prior to his journey, he had read all he could about the country he was going to work in, its history, economy, politics, society and all other details. This was to try and mentally prepare for his assignment, never having left his home country before.

Obviously survival skills in the desert had not been part of that repertoire. All his reading however was of no use in the middle of the desert as he faced an uncertain future.

Their captors seemed to be discussing a very serious matter judging from the intensity of the exchanges, wild gestures and contorted facial expressions. An agreement was soon reached. The camera man was now inserting another mini-cassette into the camcorder.

It seemed there was more recording to be done. He then propped the camera on its tripod, but this time moved the whole assembly to one side of the tent, angled to the space between the captives and the door of the tent.

He said something to two other sentries who were huddled near the door. They rummaged through their luggage, and took out a white bed sheet which they spread on the sandy patch between the captives and the tent door.

to be continued ………..

Short Story

Across the Desert – pt I
by M. R. Karugi

The masked gunman prodded Muhandis’ ribs with an AK-47 assault rifle. Muhandis had been dozing due to the stifling heat in the tent and sheer exhaustion. They had travelled for three days and nights across the southern Iraqi desert, and for Muhandis this was too much. Coming from a country on the equator, where temperatures rarely rose beyond 30°C, the desert heat waves were proving to be a real test of his endurance. He had chuckled with glee while watching adventurers on reality TV shows submit themselves to the same endurance tests while trekking in deserts, forests and snow-swept Arctic landscapes.

He was now fully awake and the gunman pointed to the camcorder that had been set up facing the captives. He indicated they should hold aloft their passports for the camera without covering their faces. Two masked gunmen stood on either side of the row of captives, holding their assault rifles across their chests. The short video clip of the captives was to be recorded and sent to the satellite TV stations in the Gulf.

Back in Iborian, Muhandis’ home city in his country Aynek, the news of the captured engineers in Iraq had been reported the previous night. It was not known by then what their nationalities were. Their contracting company wanted to ensure they were unharmed before releasing more details.

The video clip featuring Muhandis and his colleagues was shown on one of the Gulf’s leading regional TV news network, and rapidly spread all over the world in minutes thanks to 24-hour satellite news channels. The clip was picked by the local channels in Iborian late the same evening and the following morning, and Aynekans were treated to all the chilling drama as their day was beginning.

Muhandis was there, a tired smile playing on his lips and his eyes dead centre on the camcorder. The demands of the captors were simple, all foreign contractors were to leave Iraq and stop aiding the Americans in destroying their country.

Muhandis was a chemical engineer. He had worked tirelessly for local petroleum firms in Aynek and risen through the ranks and experience. While surfing the Internet from his office in Iborian, he followed an advertisement link, and stumbled across a job recruiting firm that was recruiting engineers of all cadres. His curiosity was piqued, and he read through the requirements and without a thought, submitted his resume.

One day the following month, his cell phone rang, and Muhandis was startled to see it was an international call. He rarely received these kinds of calls. He thumbed the “answer” button.

“Hallo?” said Muhandis.

“Good morning sir, could I speak to Joe Muhandis?” the voice with a distinct British accent said.

“This is Muhandis, how may I help you?” he replied calmly, still not knowing who was calling.

“My name is Jan Perry calling from Petrochemical Technologies in Kuwaiti City. This is in regard to the application you sent for an engineering job based in Iraq”, explained the caller.

Muhandis was thrown by the reference to Iraq, a country that was virtually at war. He then remembered vaguely filling a form and attaching his CV in reply to the job advertisement. Then it dawned on him that the gentleman was actually calling to offer him a job in Iraq. All this flew through his mind in a fraction of a second.

“Yes, I had applied for the same some time back”, said Muhandis, not sure where this was going.

“Sir, we have an opening and I am calling to discuss the offer with you. Should we agree on the basics, you shall get a technical interview on phone from our Engineering department, and should you qualify, then we shall move to the contract stage. Are you still interested in the job?” asked Mr. Perry.

Muhandis’ heart skipped a beat. When he had applied for the job, he had not given it much thought, and afterwards it had totally slipped his mind. He was not sure that he wanted to leave his home and job, but something seemed to be pulling him in that direction.

“Yes, I’m interested. What are the details of the offer?” said Muhandis.

The recruiting agent went on to outline the job description, remuneration, job location and other contractual issues. Muhandis hang on to every a word. The caller concluded by asking Muhandis to agree for him to send the same details by email. After the call, Muhandis was lost in his thoughts. He had just agreed to the offer for a job in war-torn Iraq, a country that foreigners were avoiding like the plague.

to be continued …………….