The Dangerous Bridge

By Timothy Epupa Ngenge

An ex-service man of the famous British West African Frontier Force comes back to devote himself as a benevolent worker. James Walker Gray realises he needs a youngman to help facilitate his work. This is how he comes in contact with Ekema or Otto Von Wilhem, a much respected Mokpe man, for help. Otto finds a suitable young fellow for the Grays. At first, Ikome is apprehensive of his new white family, but when it dawns on him that he can use his position beside the white man to his own advantage, he changes his name to Frederick Lugard (Lord). The villages around the Ekona plantations have never suffered like this. Tribal chiefs are blackmailed, white men are manipulated and many reputable men are thrown to disgrace. Some, like the considerable Otto Von Wilhelm, are imprisoned. Lugard skillfully keeps himself in the good books of the white men until the day he pulls out his gun, and all hell breaks loose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Living Books Publishing
• Release date: Sep 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370163083

Timothy Epupa Ngenge

Timothy Epupa Ngenge is a Jurist, Preacher, and motivational Speaker based in Douala, Cameroon. His poems are a regular feature in Voices: The Wisconsin Review of African Literature. He is the coordinator of SEEDS, an organization that works to counter pessimism by helping young Africans realize their potential. Timothy Epupa Ngenge is the award-winning author of SONS OF EVE, with whom he won 09 international awards.

Book preview

Part 1

CHAPTER ONE

Even men and women of ripe age who had seen so many great and small things in the long seasons of their lives had never seen the big trees of the forest change in size. They were not there when these huge trees sprouted; they would not be around when the primeval giants fall. This was not the case with the shallow rooted rubber trees of the white man’s plantation that rose to great heights in the rainy seasons and fell underneath the tall grass during the storms. These trees fell with a great splash into one of the many streams that flowed through the big farms.

The natives waded through the shallow waters of the stream in complete silence. Their eyes could not leave the massive structure that lay above their heads. Every individual who carried an animal across the shoulder, as a few did, lumbered to the other bank without any chance of freely turning his eyes upward to the treacherous pass that seemed to cruelly invite them. Since the construction of this plantation bridge by the Germans in 1909, very few Kameruner or Cameroonians had crossed over it.

The Mokpe men of Ekona Mbenge had buried one of their beloved brothers who died during the building of this particular bridge. He accidentally fell on the rocks below. The brutal and untimely death of the young man defamed the structure: it was considered as a malicious scheme by the white man to wipe out the Mokpe population.

These men of Ekona Mbenge had sworn to outsmart such a racial plot. They climbed down the slope and moved across the water. It was

better feeling the wet rocks with their bare feet than falling head-down on them from the giant-upper way. When the white man’s bridge did not exist, it was in this self-same manner that these men and their fathers before them had always gone across this stream.

In her husband's favourite lounger, Sally Gray dozed outside in the veranda of the big farm-house. The imposing structure, built in 1902, was painted in white and green that appropriately matched the well-kept yard. Leaves rustled everywhere and birds chirped in the far foliage. She was in Cameroon yet the images of rural Scotland persisted deep within her. This woman was spending her second day in Africa in the company of her husband, James Gray, the first British volunteer to work in the villages around the Ekona plantations. December, for the first time, meant other things: no winter snow; no family gathering around a Christmas pudding; but fortunately, she could sit outside in a light dress in spite of the harsh tropical heat, with no fear of having her heart frozen.

The previous day which was her first day in the continent, she and her husband visited other farm-houses, admired the beauty of their own compound and the magnificent garden behind. Tropical fruits, exotic flowers and the nearby stream had all given her a different impression of this land. Stories of vengeful bands of African natives attacking European settlers and their property that she once read in a Scottish newspaper faded away. She had dropped herself on a lovely corner of the earth.

On this second day, Sally had very little to discover. She closed her eyes for her mind to wander across the oceans and continents to home.

There seemed a great noise in the distance like a hullabaloo. The disorderly shouts or cries that seemed to take away the beauty of this land came from the direction of the stream. The woman became tensed as the chants or screams developed. When it became apparent that the big noise came towards their home, she hurriedly ran into the living room and bolted the massive oak door.

On the way to their annual elephant dance in a far-away village, the Mokpe dancers of Ekona Mbenge had decided to come down this way to please the friendly white man who lived across the stream of the evil bridge. This particular individual was seen, more or less, as a brother. For the short time he had spent in Africa no Mokpe ceremony in the near-by villages had passed without his active presence. The villagers saw him as a brother who was mistakenly born in a foreign skin. Information had reached Ekona Mbenge about the arrival of the white man’s wife. They therefore wished to express their heart-felt respect and appreciation for this couple. James Gray had been very instrumental in improving the lives of all those around the big Ekona plantations.

Out of the water they went on to dry land, and their wet feet in contact with brown dust, became black like those of men who walked on charcoal dust. On the other side of the bridge or the structure of death, they were no longer cautious. The men sang out their joy and danced towards the farmhouse.

They were disappointed to meet the door of the big house closed with no one around to welcome them. One very clever fellow who was held in high repute by the friends talked of how the white men had achieved dominance because they operated like bats. He hinted that they would at times sleep all day long and work only at night to conceal whatever they were doing. At such words the other dancers hoped the occupants could be forced to jump out of their deceptive sleep to see them. They sang at the top of their voices and danced like men who had collectively swallowed a double dose of the herb of agitation. The door stood firmly closed.

Sally felt alone and helpless in the face of looming disaster: her sole companion was horror. The picture of an armed band of riotous Zulu warriors of South Africa that was once carried in a Scottish newspaper resurfaced in her mind as she trembled to peep through the keyhole. The group had become too excited as some men climbed up trees and others ate green plants. She gently placed two chairs behind the door, and every object that could answer as a convincing barricade went after the chairs. Fright could not let her hands stay on her ears when she raised them to block off the outside noise. Dread kept her eyes open when she attempted a forced sleep. She flung herself into the sleeping room and had two pillows beside her head to ward off the most terrible noise she had ever heard.

Since no response came from the house, the disappointed and half tired men decided to continue their journey. One young man, who had vigorously danced along the roadside, let go the rope that held his goat. The animal ran off into the white man’s compound. Believing there was no one in the house, the men did what no native was authorized to do: enter the yard of a white man uninvited. They threw themselves over the hedge, and dashed for the animal. Their goal was to get hold of the goat and quickly pull out back to the road.

Sally was totally frozen when she heard them talking within the yard. For the first time she regretted her decision to visit Africa. Running across the room, she tripped and fell heavily on the floor. She struggled back to her feet and prayed that the noise of her fall did not reach the ears of the men outside. With the husband’s gun in hand she moved back to the living room, now ready to die by the weapon. She once again peered through the peep-hole but there was no one in sight.  Her relief was short lived as shouts of jubilation came from behind the house where the men had found and caught the goat in the stable.

Fear swept over her anew as the rifle fell on the floor with a loud thud. She threw out a desperate cry and went crashing down half unconscious beside the gun.

The men were visibly alarmed as the looks on their faces could let know, to realize that there was somebody in the house. It was so obvious to them that this individual had taken note of their unlawful presence. None of these men was ready to endure any form of public punishment or spend even one night in the local jail house for trespassing.

The ensuing picture was without description as they ran helter-skelter in all directions to avoid what they believed was imminent arrest. Only the state of the yard could thereafter tell the story of what really happened. Flower beds were trampled over, a few plants were knocked down here and there, and the tightly grown hedge was open in so many places.

Weary and totally worn out the woman forgetfully slept behind her life-barricade like a child with a harmless conception of the world.

CHAPTER TWO

Late in the afternoon James Gray tethered his horse outside the big house. The exhausted man could not understand why the door had to be shut in such a warm and humid afternoon. He went round to the garden but there was no sign of Sally. His flowers and cherished medicinal plants were all in such a state of mess. This man knew at once that something very unusual had happened in his absence.

She heard as if it was in a dream. Her name seemed to echo against a distant hill. The voice was that of her husband who had come back from the day’s work in one of the near-by villages. She hastily pushed aside all that stood between her and the husband. As the door flew open Sally dashed forward and fell into the hands of James. The heavy door swung back against them; the man’s left foot caught it half-way. Nothing could this man understand: what on earth, in this beautiful land could scare his stable and stoic wife to such an extent. He gently kissed her wet cheek and carried her to the centre of the living room.

Sally, are you alright? James asked as his eyes darted from one corner to another. The woman only trembled against her husband as though she had no tongue. Gray could feel her heart beat. When Gray saw his gun loaded and lying on the floor, he knew the matter was more serious than he had thought.

I can’t explain. It is really more than……Words alone cannot…. she sobbed.

I. I really want to know, Sweetheart. Tell me what happened in my absence.

Wild men, she said, trembling in tears.

Gray knew he would make no headway if the woman remained so restless. He quietly led her to the left corner, close to the fireplace and eased her into an armchair. Gray went for two glasses and poured out a drink. Sally sat up and reached out for a glass. As they both sipped at their drink her husband could detect how relaxed his wife had become. It was the right time to talk and ask questions.

I heard you say wild man?

Oh, my dear husband. They were many. They ran all over the place, some even got into the stable.

You mean natives came right into my yard? Gray asked.

Yes, they did. This band of wild men came right in here.

They are friends, not wild men.

No, they came to kill us. I could read it on their determined faces. There was nothing amicable with those natives.

Honey, I want you to understand that if every European is to be killed by the villagers around us, I shall be the last man to die or the only one whose life would be spared.

Jim! Jim! Don’t say that again for the love of your wife. I do not want to believe you have been bewitched.

Not the least, Sweetheart.

You are not yourself to think that such a devilish bunch can have any true liking for you.

I believe it is fear and your lack of affection for these people that make you talk bad about them, my wife.

Jim, I am sure it is lack of common sense that makes you see me as unkind and senselessly terrified.

James Gray sensed the heated twist their discussion had taken. He moved over, glass in hand, and sat by his wife's feet. Sally played with his head that came to rest by her knee. James said:

I love to help these people, but it bites within me to see my wife stand in opposition to them.

No, Jim that is not the case. Her right hand went to her husband’s forehead. I came to Africa because I also felt the urge to help. Your passion is mine.

Then let us put aside our fears and do what is right and just for these people. Gray looked up and saw indecision on the woman’s face. His left hand moved over her right hand that was now on his chest.

I am scared, she said hesitantly.

Of what are you really afraid, my dear wife?

Sally looked outside for a moment; she put her left hand over her eyes and said in a low voice.

Of the natives who came here today.

These people, Gray remarked, are to be approached with love and assistance, not with fear, which can easily evolve to hatred. The woman felt embarrassed. She said:

Rather than stay all alone in this big house I shall henceforth follow you to work. I want to be of help to you.

No, thanks. It is not yet time for you to accompany me because we are still at the primary phase of a road project and it is very tedious at this stage. For the moment there is absolutely nothing a woman can handle.

Jim, I am fed up with all that is happening around me. Now, it is either accompanying you to work or sailing back home to Scotland. The woman was firm in her resolve. Her husband had the message, he complied.

The next day, James could not complete his work: he failed to visit two villages because some strange insects climbed on Sally’s body at the Masuma-Mundame bush-track project site, and