Robin and Marian were sitting at a table at The Thorn Tree Cafe in central Nairobi, outside the New Stanley Hotel. Not that they were staying there. That would have been a bit too extravagant - it was a five star hotel, and one of the best in the City, in fact. But they had been to the coffee bar before, for a quiet drink or a snack, and to enjoy the atmosphere. Robin could imagine it in the ‘colonial’ days, when there would have been rattan chairs on the pavement outside the hotel, rather than the present green plastic ones. In those days, it would have been rather grand, rather expensive, and rather up-market, frequented by white settlers with time and money to spend. It was still quite a centre of social activity, and a good spot from which to observe the bustle of a once grand, but now rather neglected, capital city.
Their so-called gap year was going fast. After graduating, they had spent a leisurely month at home, planning their trip to Africa and relaxing after the stress of their exams. They had decided to start in Kenya and work their way south, without any particular target in view, apart from seeing as much as they could, without rushing, of an enormous continent. Their only commitments were teaching at a few selected schools and colleges during their trip. Marian was to teach English, and Robin was committed to giving some basic tuition in computer skills at a couple of senior schools and further education colleges.
Which was why they were in Nairobi. They had been there nearly a month already, undertaking their lecturing commitments. They were enjoying it.
“I can’t get over how tremendously rewarding it is,” commented Marian. “We are made so welcome, and the kids listen with such wrapped attention - almost enjoyment. I’m so glad we came.”
Robin sipped his iced coffee. “I can’t believe teaching is as easy as this back in the UK,” responded Robin, “judging by what you read in the papers about our inner city schools. But here, they actually seem to want to learn.”
“It’s interesting that we both find the same attitude. I’m teaching youngsters at Secondary school, and you’re lecturing senior pupils at Technical College, but they all seem to have the same hunger for knowledge.”
“We also represent something of a curiosity value as well, don’t forget,” said Robin. “It’s not often they get graduates from Oxford giving them lessons here.”
“I suppose that’s true,” agreed Marian. “But it’s very gratifying, just the same.”
“I’m afraid my lectures about computers have had to be watered down quite a bit,” said Robin. “There isn’t the same level of basic knowledge as I was expecting, and not so many computers about, either. But all my classes are so keen; I somehow wish we could do more.”
“It must be even more basic, I should think, ‘up-country’ as they say,” pondered Marian.
“I imagine you’re right,” agreed Robin. “Some of the village schools don’t have computers at all worth speaking about, so I’ve heard.”
“Perhaps not even much in the way of a reliable electricity supply,” suggested Marian.
“It would be nice to be able to provide one for every school, wouldn’t it? It would eventually help the whole country get into the 21st century.”
“There are other countries on this continent much worse off than this one,” said Marian.
They chatted on, as they always did when together, happy and relaxed in one another’s company.
“I do wish we could stay here, you know,” said Marian longingly, looking over her shoulder. “This hotel looks simply wonderful inside. It would give us so much more time to look at all the shops - there are some wonderful things we could take home as gifts for our parents, judging from a quick look at the shops round the corner the other day.”
“Perhaps on the way back at the end of our tour, if you’d really like to,” responded Robin. “We could spoil ourselves!”
“We are already planning to do that at Livingstone,” Marian reminded him. “We shouldn’t waste money, you know.”
The fact was that they could easily have afforded to stay there if they had really wanted to, as Robin’s settlement from Microsoft, plus the income from a couple of other computer programmes he had marketed since, had actually brought him considerable sums of money. And Robin knew that his aunt was to leave him quite well of as well, although he had taken his father’s advice and not yet confided in Marian. But they were on their gap year, so they thought it only right to behave like every other back-packer doing the same thing.
Robin had been lucky so far, but he couldn’t be sure how long that would last, or how well he would do in the future. The world of computers was a fast moving one, and it was not enough just to keep up with it. To make a living from it, one had to keep ahead of everyone else.
Which is why he had determined to complete his degree course, in spite of pressure from Rupert and others.
“If you can earn good money without a degree,” went the argument, “why bother with it. If it was me,” said Freddy, not for the first time, “I’d jack it in and get on with life.”
But Robin knew better than that. There was still so much to be learnt, and Oxford was one of the best places to learn it. He had already decided to set up on his own, if he could, and not after all to go into computer graphics in the advertising world, although this would be an interesting fallback if he had to. His tutors had encouraged him as best they could, and now he had a double first, he felt the world was at his feet. Some of the Dons had tried to persuade him to stay on at Oxford and work for a PhD, but he had decided that, for the time being at least, he wanted to get away from academia. And yet, here he was in Africa, teaching eager young Kenyans how computers worked and how to use them.
A softly spoken young African interrupted Robin’s thoughts.
“Can I offer you both another coffee? Or perhaps something stronger?”
Robin and Marian looked up to see a tall, dignified and smartly dressed young African man, with a broad smile, standing at the side of their table. Robin had noticed him hovering near the cafe for some time, and had hoped that the youth was not intent on any trouble. Robin was aware of the high levels of crime in the city. But people often loitered around the Thorn Tree. With its famous acacia thorn tree message board, it was one of Africa’s best-known meeting places.
“I should perhaps introduce myself first,” he said, apologetically. “My name is Bwonqa Mbele, and I have had the pleasure of being at all your lectures, sir,” he said to Robin.
The couple noticed how courteous and well spoken he was, and Robin’s fears were immediately dispelled
“Please join us,” said Robin, “This is my partner, Marian Maidment,” he said, introducing them.
The young black man solemnly shook her proffered hand and gave a slight bow of his head.
“If you’re sure I’m not interrupting or intruding,” he said, “I would very much like to join you for a short while.”
He pulled up a third chair to the table and motioned to the hovering waiter.
“I must explain myself,” he said when they had ordered. “I have been enthralled by your lectures, sir,” he continued, “and had so many questions I wanted to ask, but dared not for fear of wasting your time and the time of my fellow students.”
“Never worry about wasting my time,” said Robin. “I’m here to help as many of you as I can during my short stay.” He looked across at Marian. “I should say ‘our’ stay,” he corrected himself. “Marian and I are both graduates from Oxford, and she is teaching English during our travels in Africa, while I teach about computers.”
“Computers are a mystery to me,” said the young African, “although thanks to you, not such a great mystery as they were. But the more I learn of what they can do, the more I wonder if they can really help with a serious problem I face.”
“What sort of problem?” asked Robin.
“Before I tell you that, sir, I must tell you a little about myself, if I may, otherwise you will not understand my question.”
“Please don’t call me sir,” pleaded Robin. “You make me feel a hundred years old! And please do tell me how you think I may be able help.”
The waiter arrived with their new drinks, and cleared away the empty glasses.
“There are three things you should know straight away,” said Bwonqa, when the man had left them. “First of all, I am from Zimbabwe, not Kenya. Second, I know nothing about computers or mathematics, because I come from a farming background and had only a basic education at our village church school. I am not a full-time student here, but I heard about your lectures and managed to enrol specially for them. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the information I seek is to help right a most grievous wrong, and not to commit any crime - without telling you that, you will think I am little better than a modern robber. A good friend of mine is also trying to put right this injustice, but he is at risk of getting on the wrong side of the law in Zimbabwe, and ending up in one of their terrible prisons. If I can find a different solution to this problem, which we share, then I shall help him to avoid that fate at the same time.”
“This sounds quite serious,” commented Marian, frowning. “Do tell us more, and I’m sure we will help all we can, providing you are not asking us to break the law.”
Robin nodded. “And you think the answer to this problem rests in computers?” he asked.
“That’s what I hope to learn from you,” replied Bwonqa. “I want to know if the use of computers can help, and if so, how it might be arranged. They say you are a clever man with computers and have already invented things for them. Perhaps you can invent something which will help me and my good friend.”
“Tell us about your friend,” suggested Marian.
“My friend is in Nairobi too,” replied Bwonqa, “You shall meet him. But first, let me see if you can help.”
“Go ahead,” said Robin, sipping his drink. “I promise not to interrupt.”
The young African took a deep breath, his brow creased in a frown.
“You will have read about the plight of the white farmers in my country,” began Bwonqa. “The Government has plotted to chase them from their land without compensation, and for the land to be given to black people. Many of the new owners are friends or associates of Government Ministers, and almost none of them knows about farming. The result is that the land is producing weeds not crops, and the country has been bankrupted. Millions of people have left for neighbouring countries in an effort to earn a living. Some of the white farmers have stayed in Zimbabwe, in the hope one day of being able to take back possession of their land, but others have also left to start again in other places.”
Bwonqa sighed and shook his head sadly.
“My own father was a farm Manager on a large and very prosperous farm. The owner, a white farmer whose family had lived and worked in Zimbabwe for generations, was among those evicted. His ancestors had dammed the creek and built an irrigation system for the farm, and had laid the foundations of the village where my family lived, together with the families of all the other farm workers. There were shops, a church, the school where I was educated - everything, and the farm owner, Mr. Bartlett, contributed large sums of money to keep everything going. Now he has gone, so has everything else. The farm is barren, the animals have died or been slaughtered for the pot, and the seed corn eaten rather than having been sown. Not that it would have grown, as the soil is dry and arid since the irrigation system failed after the pumps were looted, and the new ‘war veteran’ owners know nothing about farming anyway. Most of them can’t even grow enough food from their plots of land to keep themselves fed, and they certainly have no income to buy extra.”
The young man had tears in his eyes as he continued.
“Before he finally left Zimbabwe, Mr. Bartlett gave the old farmstead and some land around it to my father. My father was an old man, but had spent his life working on the farm, as Mr. Bartlett had done, and indeed as I would have done after leaving school. Not that my father could do anything about taking possession of it, as a local Government Minister from Bulawayo commandeered the place, and moved in and lived there. But my father hoped that, in time, he would be able to claim it legally and perhaps start repairing some of the harm that had been done, to get the farm going again.
“Last year,” continued Bwonqa, “it was learnt that the Minister had decided that he no longer wanted to live in the old house, as he had been given another Government post, so my father gathered together all the legal papers and went to the homestead to claim it for himself. I wasn’t with him, but it seems there was a terrible row, and eventually the Minister called for help from the band of ‘war veterans’, who were always loitering nearby. For some reason, there was a fight, and eventually the men beat my father with sticks and machete. Someone managed to get him to the local clinic, but he died of his injuries.”
The three were silent for a minute.
“What an appalling story,” said Robin.
“We hear about these things, of course,” said Marian, “but I never thought I would hear of such an incident first hand. I am so sorry for you,” she said, reaching out across the table to touch the young man’s arm.
“But I am at a loss to work out what you think we can do,” said Robin.
“I shall come to that now,” said Bwonqa, composing himself. “Legally speaking, the farmstead and the land around it is now mine, but I dare not try to take possession in case I suffer the same fate as my father. In any case, I have no resources to rebuild the farm, even if I could move in, so that is out of the question for the time being. But Mr. Bartlett, as I said, was evicted from his ancestral home without compensation. The farm was worth millions, and he left to start a new life as best he could with virtually nothing. Most of his possessions have been looted, but I believe he still has considerable sums of money in the bank. The laws of Zimbabwe make it impossible for him to take that money out of the country. I would like to try to return that money to him in some way, and secure proper compensation for him.”
Bwonqa looked appealingly at Robin, who sat in stunned silence.
“And you think I may be able to help you do that?” he asked, incredulously.
The young Zimbabwean nodded.
“In God’s name, how?” asked Robin.
“All that money, and more, rests in Zimbabwe’s banks,” said Bwonqa. “Either in the exchequer, or in the accounts of the President and his cronies. Banks have computers, and you are good at computers.”
He sat back, waiting for a reaction.
Robin looked at Marian. She knew what he was thinking. Robin and his friend and potential business partner, Jim Farlow, had already been taking an interest in banking computer systems while they were at Oxford. But this was asking too much, too soon.
He looked hard at his young and trusting admirer across the table, who was expecting so much of him after suffering at the hands of so much evil. What Bwonqa wanted was plainly illegal, even if it was possible, and Robin knew from what he had said earlier that the man realised that. And yet, he only wanted to right an injustice. In his simple logic, two ‘wrongs’ could be made to equal a ‘right’.
“I understand exactly what you are asking,” said Robin. “And you are right in thinking that it should be possible to break into the banks’ computer systems and move the money back to its rightful owner. But it would be illegal. Breaking into other people’s computers is called ‘hacking’, and there are many clever people who mis-use their skills to hack into computers. Some do it for fun; some do it with malicious intent. They all cause considerable disruption one way or the other, and they are all breaking the law.”
He paused. The young man sitting across the table from him was still looking appealingly, almost eagerly, at Robin, as if willing him to say that he could and would help.
“Breaking into a computer is like breaking into a house or an office,” continued Robin. “In the same way that some houses and office buildings have better security systems than others, so do computers. Those used by banks are the most complex and secure you can find. I am afraid that I am not clever enough to do what you asked, even if I thought it was right.”
Both Robin and Marian were upset to see the deep disappointment etched on the young African’s face, as he slumped back in his chair.
“I’m so sorry,” said Marian. “But perhaps there is some other way we can help?”
“I’m sure there must be something we can do,” agreed Robin. “Let’s talk about it more, and perhaps something will occur to us which you haven’t yet thought of.”
“I can see no other way, frankly,” said Bwonqa. “Short of mounting a bank robbery, or breaking into the homes of the President and his Ministers, using computers has always seemed to me to be the only way to return this stolen property to its rightful owners.”
“You could be right,” agreed Robin, “but even ignoring the legality of that approach, getting into the banks’ computers would be fiendishly difficult. They are among the most complex and sophisticated systems ever developed, although I couldn’t begin to explain to you how they work, I’m afraid. You will simply have to take my word for it that, like their physical security, the computer security systems used by the banks are nigh on impregnable.”
“But you could try?” pleaded the young man. “I know people who could help - people who work in the Government and who work in banks. They could probably give you information that would help you. Like me,” he hesitated, and looked around him. “Like me,” he continued, leaning forward and almost whispering, “they hate our Government, and all that it has done to ruin our lovely country, enough to take the risk.”
“It would certainly take a good deal of inside help if it were to be attempted,” said Robin. “And I’m not saying that what you ask is impossible - it certainly should be possible, given the time and the skills.”
At that moment, they were interrupted by a shout from across the street, loud enough to be heard above the traffic of Kenyatta Avenue.
“Bonkers!” bellowed a young man, waving frantically towards them. “Bonkers! I’ve been looking all over town for you!”
“That’s the friend I was telling you about,” grinned the young African. “He has called me that since we were children together on the farm - he never could pronounce my name!”
Bwonqa Mbele waved the man across the road to join them.
A rather breathless, but obviously very fit man, dodged his way through the traffic, darted across the pavement, dragged a chair to their table and slumped into it, almost in one continuous movement, grinning broadly.
“Let me introduce my very best friend,” said the young African. “This is Will Bartlett, son of the white farmer I was telling you about, and who I hoped you might also be able to help.”
They shook hands all round, and Will, spotting a passing waiter, shouted “Beer!” and held up four fingers.
“Cold lager all right?” he asked Robin and Marian. They nodded.
“Baridi ‘Tusker’,” he shouted after the man, who frowned and said, “Ndiyo, bwana”.
“For goodness sake, Will,” said Bwonqa. “You really must stop behaving like that, and treat people with more courtesy. Your father would never speak like that to a servant.”
“Quite,” replied Will. “And look what happened to my father. Perhaps if the white farmers had stood up for themselves a bit better, we wouldn’t be in this state now.”
“What has happened to your father?” asked Marian, seeking to change the subject. “Your friend here was telling us about his eviction from the farm.”
“He’s in South Africa now with my mother,” replied Will, “working on a friend’s vineyard in the Western Cape. They seem happy enough, and have their own small bungalow on the estate, but my father is a broken man, really.”
“I have told them,” said Bwonqa, “about the farm and how you have had to leave everything behind. Robin here is a genius with computers, and I was hoping he might be able to help us in some way.”
“And can you?” asked Will.
“Probably not,” replied Robin, and explained why.
“It would certainly help if you could break into the banking computer systems,” said Will, “although from what you say they are virtually impregnable. But although it may seem illegal, taking back from them what the blacks have stolen from you in the first place is certainly not a crime - at least, not in my book.”
“But your way is no better,” said Bwonqa.
“What is your way?” asked Robin.
“I’m trying to gather together the cash, which I shall then take to my old man in plastic bags and suitcases - whatever.”
Bwonqa turned to Robin. “But that is equally illegal, and not at all practical, only Will cannot see that,” he said.
“It’s also proving to be fiendishly difficult,” admitted Will. “For a start, most of my father’s wealth is - or was - tied up in the farm. He had quite a bit deposited in banks, but the Zimbabwean dollar is virtually worthless anywhere in the world, and with inflation running at about 400%, it’s loosing value very quickly. But what I’m trying to do is take the money out through the banks here in Kenya, and transfer it into US dollars. But I know it’s illegal to transfer cash out of Zimbabwe, so if I get caught it means big trouble, I’m afraid.”
“Which is why using the bank’s computer systems would be so much better,” said the young Mbele.
“Not least because we could then get at other people’s deposits as well as my father’s,” said Will. “I would probably draw the line at taking cash from the Zimbabwe Government, because that would hurt the people who are already struggling to survive there, but I would not hesitate to raid the accounts of some of the bloated politicians, or even the President himself, if I could get at them. Theirs is money gained from corruption and through the ruination of the country.”
“You must be careful not to get caught,” said Marian. “Is it worth the risk, bearing in mind how very little you are likely to be able to get hold of?”
“I think so,” replied Will. “At the very least, it’s a form of justice being administered. But of course, my father is by no means the only one. There are over four thousand white farmers who have been kicked off their land, and it would be wonderful to be able to help all of them as well. Using computers to move cash around would make that possible.”
“You make it all sound so easy,” said Robin. “If only it was. But it isn’t, I’m afraid. Breaking into a bank’s computer system is as difficult as breaking into the building itself.”
“I really need to do that, as well,” said Will, “although I know that isn’t a starter! But the fact is that a lot of their wealth isn’t in cash, but in diamonds, mostly obtained illegally from Sierra Leone. And you can’t move them about with a computer!”
“Well, at least you’re being realistic about something,” commented Bwonqa, with a grin.
“I’m also getting very hungry,” said Will. “How about you two? Why don’t you join me and Bonkers for supper?”
“I hadn’t noticed how late it was getting,” said Marian. “It would be good to join you if you’re sure.”
“OK with me,” said Robin. “How about you, Bwonqa?”
“Only on one condition,” replied the Zimbabwean. “And that is that you call me Bonkers, like he does!”
“Right then,” said Will. “I could murder a decent chicken piri-piri and frits, and there’s a place round the corner that’s good, in Banda Street. Not only that, it serves a half decent wine from my father’s place, so let’s go there.”
“And be nice to the waiters, for once,” said Bonkers.
“Promise!” replied Will, as the four of them set off across the busy street, lined with purple-flowering jacaranda trees.
“Just as a matter of interest,” asked Marian, during their relaxed meal, “why are you two here in Nairobi, and not at home in Zimbabwe?”
The two looked at one another, as if wondering whether to share a confidence with the two strangers they had so recently befriended.
“Well,” replied Will, “since you ask, we are following someone. Acting as sort of sleuths, if you like.”
“Sounds intriguing,” said Robin. “Tell us more!”
“Who is it? “asked Marian.
“It’s a chap called Dickson Mawimbi,” replied Bwonqa. “You won’t have heard of him, but he was the local Government Minister in Bulawayo who commandeered the Bartlett’s farm.”
“And who was ultimately responsible for the death of Bonkers’ father,” continued Will. “When he left the farm, he came here, as Zimbabwean Ambassador to Kenya in Nairobi. He’s one of the President’s favourite lackeys, which is how he came to be ‘given’ our farm, and why he now has a plum job here.”
“But why have you followed him here?” asked Robin. “You surely can’t be seeking some sort of revenge, can you?”
“Quite honestly, we are at a loss to know how to get justice for all that has happened,” said Bonkers, “but when we heard that Mawimbi was to be sent here, we thought that we would follow just in case we found a way of getting our revenge.”
“So we have been following him about,” said Will. “We know where he lives, where he works, where he likes to eat out, what car he drives - everything.”
“And we know what his wife does all day - where she shops, where she goes to the bank, who she meets for lunch, and all that,” added Bonkers.
“They haven’t been here long, but their life has already developed into a pretty regular pattern,” said Will. “Trouble is, we haven’t worked out how to disrupt this pattern to any advantage.”
“One thing that had occurred to us,” Bonkers went on, “was that we might be able to get at their bank account. His wife goes to the same branch of the Standard Chartered Bank every Thursday to take money out of the cash machine, and although we’ve been really close, we haven’t yet been able to find out what her PIN number is.”
“Not that it would be much use to us if we did discover it, although we do have contacts within the bank. We even thought of trying to rig up some sort of camera to get a picture of her bank card, but that’s a bit risky, even for us,” said Will.
“If only you were able to break into the bank’s computer system,” said Bonkers to Robin, “we could really strip the man clean and pay people back for some of the harm and suffering he has caused. But now we are back to where we started earlier this afternoon,” he sighed.
Robin looked across to Marian, as if trying to judge whether she was thinking along the same lines that he was.
Marian lent forward. “You said earlier on, Bonkers, that you had contacts within the Government and in the banks. What sort of contacts, exactly?” she asked.
Once again, Bonkers and Will exchanged glances, as if trying to judge how far they could trust their new friends.
“Oh, just a few chaps here and there,” said Will.
“I think we should take them into our confidence,” said Bonkers.
“But we know nothing about them,” replied Will. “We only met them for the first time a couple of hours ago,” he protested. “No offence, of course,” he continued, turning to Robin and Marian, “but we need to be a bit careful, that’s all. We’ve already told you about Mawimbi.”
“Quite understand,” replied Robin, “and we’re not in the least offended. As you say, we need to get to know one another a lot better before we can start sharing too many confidences. We would feel exactly the same.”
“So what we need to do then,” said Will, “is get better acquainted, don’t you think? How much longer are you going to be in Nairobi?”
The atmosphere was suddenly more relaxed.
“Well,” said Marian, “only another few weeks, really, until our teaching commitments are completed.”
“Then what will you do? Go on safari, or something?” asked Bonkers.
“We’ve done that, “replied Marian. “It was one of the first things we did when we got here - went to the Masai Mara, and then across to Serengeti in Tanzania and it was truly wonderful.”
“We really are playing things by ear, a bit,” went on Robin. “We have a some more teaching sort-of arranged in Zambia and South Africa over the next couple of months, but even that is tentative and could be put off if we wanted. Until then, we’re tourists, seeing what we can and relaxing a bit after our years at Oxford.”
“What’s top of your agenda?” asked Bonkers.
“We’d like to see Victoria Falls on our way south,” replied Marian.
“Mosi-Oa-Tunya”, said Bonkers. “The smoke that thunders, as the locals say.”
“Certainly well worth a visit,” agreed Will, “but sadly I have to say that the Zambian side is probably now better than the Zimbabwean side, although it used to be the other war round.”
“We rather thought we’d spoil ourselves, and have a couple of days at the Royal Livinstone Hotel,” said Robin.
“Wow, that’s living!” said Will. “Five star, that is!”
“But you can walk across into Zimbabwe from there,” said Bonkers.
“We must meet up again before you go,” said Will. “We’ve been thinking ourselves that we ought to head back h