BY JEFFREY FEBI

An entry in The Crocodile Prize

THERE WAS an abrupt scream. And Mihi stopped in his track. He turned slowly with his heavy load and there was no one in sight.

His heart jumped! And beat faster. Then his body started shaking in panic. The sudden rush of blood forced out sweat and compelled him to do something.

He quickly but carefully lowered his sun-dried coffee beans in the tightly packed, used white 20kg flour bag on the ground and ran downhill calling loudly.

“Somolieeeeee! Somolieeeee!” He didn’t hear his quivered voice echoed across the jungle yonder.

Somolie, a short and thin but tough guy with really strong arms hanging from broad shoulders that defined his physique, could easily be hidden from his view by tall grasses; but he was not certain.

He stopped at a spot where some Kunai grasses have been bent under the weight of something. He stepped forward, carefully, and called out.

A desperate voice responded and he moved closer to the edge of a cliff. Then peered over and saw Somolie hanging desperately onto some vines and small branches.

Mihi breathed a deep sigh. And for the first time ever saw Somolie’s bald head. It was smooth and shiny, even under the cliff’s shadow. Mihi called down and asked if Somolie was alright. The response was positive.

Somolie’s cap was missing and he dreaded the thought of losing it. He looked down and spotted his coffee bag. Fortunately, it had landed on a cluster of wild tiny species of bamboo that were growing there. And realised it was safer where it had landed than he was.

Somolie carefully climbed down, then retrieved his coffee bag. He managed to drag his bag back up to where a vine which Mihi threw down had landed.

When Somolie and his coffee bag were safely up on the track, they sat down to rest.

It wasn’t the first time for such to have occurred. Many others have lost stuff including store goods such as cartons of SP Brown beer to the fast flowing river below. Men, women and children had all had their share of experiences on this steep stretch of Kuipi track; a shortcut over the Kuipi Mountain which constituted one half of a rather unforgiving gorge.

It is a major track and its users call it their highway. Upon it tonnes of garden food, coffee beans, store goods, building materials, and even coffins with corpses have been transported for years - after their only road became impassable to vehicles due to continuing neglect.

Mihi broke the silence. “You’re lucky!” And pointed to a spot further down and remarked. “If it had been there; it’s a plummet to certain death”.

Somolie agreed with a weary nod as a vivid recollection of a recent fatal fall he had witnessed flashed across his mind.

Then he slowly stood up and caressed his bottom. “It hurts”, he groaned. “Something has scratched my bottom”, he continued, then jokingly checked his private parts to ensure their wellbeing. “All intact!” he declared with a grin, and ensured his cap sat well on his head.

Mihi let out a stifled laugh. He didn’t want to offend Somolie, but he really wanted to laugh. The sight of Somolie hanging like a bald cuscus was funny. He bowed his head to conceal his beaming face.

Then Somolie started laughing. Mihi burst into laughter and they laughed together. Somolie managed to explain between laughs that he stepped aside to urinate and lost his balance. Then he threw his coffee bag and jumped after it.

After a good long laugh, Somolie shouldered his bag and followed Mihi up the track. They had to reach the top, which seemed further still, before the sun gathered all its strength.

As he was slowly climbing, Somolie began to sing a song; with a voice that seemed devoid of shock.

They call us camels. They call us white horses.
They call us semi-trailers. They call us many names.
Names of things we don’t know much of.

We’re they who walk with the strength of our fathers.
Those bygone men who had tamed angry rivers,
Appeased bellowing clouds and walked with mists.

Our coffee beans shall not go to waste!
Our coffee beans shall not go to waste!
O no – no - no; shall not go to waste!

Mihi joined and they sang with a certain pride that sent the song speeding downhill on the wings of a determined breeze.

Far below, an army of white bags in a long and winding line resembling a herd of camels on a journey came into view. When the song reached them, hearts were touched and moved. Many repeated the chorus and the gorge reverberated with their inspiration.

It is their song and they loved it. It inspires strength which they need in order to climb Kuipi; and confidence to walk shamelessly with their loads through villages (whose inhabitants ridicule and call them names) along the road.

And they continued singing their hearts out - husbands, wives and their children.