Owen Sheers: The Dust Diaries

As they waited on the balcony for their car to arrive Mr Pruen also retired to his room, but returned again just as they were taking their leave of the Governor. He had a brown leather-bound book in his hand, which he held before him as he approached Arthur.

‘It was very interesting to meet you, Father Cripps. I wish you well on your mission.’ He took Arthur’s hand and shook it, then placed the book in it. ‘A copy of my book. I always try to travel with a few. I’d like you to have it. Never know, may come in useful.’

He let go of his hand and Arthur thanked him as the headlights of their car swept and trembled up the rough track towards the house. The four of them made their way down the exterior steps into the garden, and at the bottom of the steps thev all shook hands once more. With a crunch of tyres over stone the car pulled up outside the garden wall and Frank and Arthur walked down the path, through the jasmine and honeysuckle, the cicadas loud in their ears as the footsteps of the two men behind them receded up the stone steps back into the house. As he got into the car Arthur noticed how its headlights lit the beach at the end of the track, spotlighting the waves, bowing again and again in their beams like actors at the end of a play.

After his prayers that night Arthur had looked through the pages of Mr Pruen’s book, lying on his bed with a flickering kerosene lamp beside him. There were sketches of animals, traps, how to build a bush dwelling, descriptions of sicknesses and their bush cures, and a daunting appendix listing the supplies considered necessary for ‘one person travelling in Central Africa for one year’. He skimmed over the lists, noting Pruen’s advice after some of the items. From ‘Personal Supplies’:

One tent, 8ft. or 9ft. square, with fly, and extra ceiling inside of dark green baize

One canvas camp bedstead, with unjointed poles

One Willesden canvas bag, open at one end only for bedstead

One very easy folding chair

One ribbed hair mattress

Two small pillows

Four pillow cases

Two pair of sheets

Six blankets

Mosquito net, arranged on cane ribs, in shape like the hood of a perambulator, but 2ft 3in wide, and half instead of one-quarter circle. It should have a linen fringe all around and tuck in.

One dressing case, well fitted

One India-rubber camp bath, whalebone ribs

One ebonite flask

One bull’s-eye lantern

Four dozen boxes of matches

One luminous match box-case

Six ‘Charity’ or ‘Art’ blankets (two for servants, two for headmen, two for sick porters)

Two policeman’s capes, for messengers in rainy season (N. B. Tents, blankets, etc., must be lent ; on no account given as presents, or they will be bartered for food or drink at the first opportunity).

From’The Outfitter’:

Clothes pegs, half gross. (Very necessary articles, usually forgotten)

Alarum — No wild animal will enter a tent at night where an alarum is ticking. A luminous face (which shines well after exposure to the brilliant African sunshine) is useful.

Two tweed suits, unlined

Two canvas suits for marching and hunting

Two flannel suits

Flannel shirts with good collar-bands but no collars

Three travelling caps

Two helmets (both good and cheap in Zanzibar)

Brown-leather, broad-toed, thick-soled boots

Strong, thick-soled slippers

Comfortable, easy slippers

Two pairs thin cork soles

One pair of lasts for boots

Spare laces

Linen towels

Turkish towels

Six pyjama suits

He put the book down, wondering why anyone would need six pyjama suits and leaving the lists that followed for ‘Cooking Appliances’, ‘Scientific Instruments’, ‘The Luncheon Basket’, ‘Groceries’ and ‘Packing Cases’ unread.

Turning off the lamp, he pulled the side of his mosquito net down and tucked it under his mattress. A short gust of air blew in from the open window above his bed, indenting the net and briefly cooling his skin. It was still hot and he was sweating despite his decision to abandon his one pyjama suit and sleep naked. He lay there for a moment, listening to the night outside: the turning of the sea’s pages, the hush and fizz of the waves on the shore, the sudden screeching and confusion of two cats fighting, then silence. Just his breath in the sparse room. Turning onto his side, he thought of his small packing case in the corner, and of how his belongings compared to Mr Pruen’s recommended supplies. Two suits now (counting his purchase this afternoon), some notebooks, pencils and one pen, his Bible and Book of Common Prayer, a photograph of his mother (also called Charlotte — he had thought of her when introduced to the girl tonight), an old hat, some shirts, underwear, a pair of boots and not much else. He rolled onto his back again, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. The whine of a mosquito caught inside his net swung loud then quiet then loud in his ear, and he wondered, once again, if he was prepared for what lay ahead. Or, as he thought of the Princess’s story, for what he had left behind.

♦

That had all been just over a week ago, but already Zanzibar seemed far away to him, already that visit was organising itself into memories and so much of what he had thought and seen there had been lost or altered. But at least now he would know if he was prepared, because the journey was over, and he was here. Snatches of conversation in the corridor outside his door confirmed that the Hertzog had been allowed into harbour and they would be disembarking soon. He considered going up on deck to take a look, but he was tired and he knew he would be needing his sleep over the next few days, so turning onto his side, he pulled the thin pillow over his exposed ear and tried to get another hour’s rest, or at least back to the half-waking thoughts of a poem that had been drifting in his mind before he had woken. It was a poem he had been working on throughout the voyage, a version of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, and there on the inside of his eyelids he could still see the imprint of the lines he had formed in his semiconscious state. They were just about tangible and he tried to call them back once more, but like the ridges on a sand dune, they disintegrated under his touch, slipping away, edging back from language towards images again. Orpheus at the lip of the cave, turning and condemning himself with every degree of his turn. And there behind him, Eurydice, his lover, willing him not to, and at the same time drinking in every molecule of his being before she is tugged back to her darkness. Yes, he had the image, but not the words. They had gone, silting somewhere in his sleep. He hoped they would surface again, somehow they had felt right.

Turning onto his back again, he opened his eyes. Above him the same dimly lit patch of ceiling that he had woken up to for the past month came into focus, its cheap paint blistered with damp. From Naples, through the Suez Canal, Aden, Zanzibar, and now Beira Bay, Portuguese Mozambique. In all these places he had woken up to this sight. All his dreams ended here, in this damp patch of ceiling inches above his head. But he had chosen this, to travel steerage rather than in the more spacious cabins of 2nd or ist class. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way, despite both his brother William’s protestations and the concerns of the church committee, both of whom were dismayed by his choice. Once on board, though, he’d soon realised that he was still relatively well off, at least compared to the native passengers, who were restricted to the open deck accommodation.

He had taken a look at their quarters on the second day out of Aden, and was disgusted at what he found. The men (they were all men) were Somalis picked up to work on the Rhodesian railways. They were crouched beneath an ageing green canvas stretched above them as an improvised roof. The rain, spray and sea wind all blew through holes in the material, giving the cramped collection of dark arms, legs and heads a persistent skin of moisture, slick on their bodies. The area was completely inadequate, the space having been reduced to make room for extra cargo, and he went straight to the German captain of the ship and complained, demanding he take some action to improve the conditions for these men. To his credit the captain listened and agreed with him that something ought to be done, though Arthur was aware of an irritation in his manner running beneath the smooth surface of his words. When he returned in a couple of days the canvas had been replaced, and a number of the men had been moved to other quarters further along the starboard side of the ship. But the situation still frustrated him. The divide in comfort was a gross insult and Arthur made sure to take half his food there every day for the rest of the voyage. And he made sure the captain knew that he did.