The Devil's Hill

Ngumi Kibera

Description

Dani is gifted in all ways, yet he lives under the shadow of his hero, an old friend and a school dropout. The day he discovers a heap of money and a gun under a trap door in his friend�s house, he realised his friend was no longer a mere bully but a member of a dangerous gang wanted for various crimes ranging from smuggling diamonds, carjacking to murder. This becomes the beginning of a nightmare that nearly costs Dani his life as well as that of another of his friends, Zack.

Sujets

• Young Adult

Informations

• Publié par: Longhorn Publishers
• Date de parution: 29 décembre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 6
• EAN13: 9789966316806
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

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The Devil’s Hill
Ngumi Kibera
Published by Sasa Sema Publications An imprint of Longhorn Publishers
Longhorn Kenya Ltd., Funzi Road, Industrial Area, P.O. Box 18033-00500, Nairobi, Kenya.
Longhorn Uganda Ltd., Plot 731 Mawanda Road, Kamwokya P.O. Box 24745, Kampala, Uganda.
Longhorn Publishers (T) Ltd., Kinondoni Plot No. 4 Block 37B, Kawawa Road Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.
© Ngumi Kibera, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
First published 2012
ISBN 978 9966 36 236 0
Cover illustration by Tuf
Printed by Printwell Ltd., off Enterprise Road, Industrial Area, P.O. Box 5216 - 00506, Nairobi, Kenya.
Foreword
The National Book Development Council of Kenya (NBDCK) is a Kenyan non-governmental organisation made up of stakeholders from the book and education sectors. It is mandated to promote the love of reading, the importance of books and quality education.
In November 2010, the NBDCK partnered with the Canadian Organisation for Development through Education (CODE) to introduce in Kenya the Burt Award for African Literature, which involves identification, development and distribution of quality storybooks targeting the youth, and awarding the author. The purpose of the Burt Award titles such as The Devil’s Hill is to avail to the reader quality, engaging and enjoyable books whose content is portrayed in an environment the reader can easily identify with thereby arousing his/her interest to read and to continue reading. This sharpens the reader’s English language and comprehension skills, leading to a better understanding of the other subjects.
The NBDCK would like to thank Bill Burt for sponsoring and allowing the Burt Award for African Literature to be introduced in Kenya. Special thanks also go to the panel of judges for their professional input into this project.
Finally, this foreword would be incomplete without recognising the important role played by all the NBDCK stakeholders whose continued support and involvement in the running of NBDCK has ensured the success of the first Burt Award in Kenya.
Ruth K. Odondi
Chief Executive Officer National Book Development Council of Kenya
Acknowledgement
The Burt Award for African Literature recognises excellence in young adult fiction from African countries. It supports the writing and publication of high quality, culturally relevant books and ensures their distribution to schools and libraries to help develop young people’s literacy skills and foster their love of reading. The Burt Award is generously sponsored by a Canadian philanthropist, Bill Burt, and is part of the ongoing literacy programmes of the National Book Development Council of Kenya, and CODE, a Canadian NGO supporting development through education for over fifty years.
C HAPTER 1
The Escapades
The year: 1975
U juzi Secondary School was a collection of unplanned buildings; some built of stone, others of wood. Being the only high school for miles, it was simply known as Sec or Hi .
This morning was a dull quiet one – the sort that stretches on and on like chewing gum. Except for the droning voices as students recited lessons, while others read James Hadley Chase titles hidden under their desks, not much else was happening.
In form one B, the headmaster was pacing up and down, clasping and unclasping a piece of wooden ruler. The ruler was originally a metre long, the type used by draftsmen. His was only a foot long now, having broken it piece by piece over time while ‘straightening’ stubborn backs.
The headmaster went on reciting what he called the simple rules of algebra , but few students agreed with that description. Stevee, for one, had enough trouble with the straight-addition maths let alone algebra with its ominous signs and numbers. Unable to bear the headmaster’s meaningless chatter, Stevee’s attention wandered around the classroom, settling on one of the boys. He was short and plump, and his waist was so high that it was a wonder his lungs had enough space to breathe. When he walked, it was as if he was on high heels, an observation which gave the other boys endless pleasure just imitating him. They called him Mwinjoyo or Happiness , and as far as they were concerned, it was as apt a name as any.
Stevee studied Mwinjoyo idly and sudden inspiration hit him. Bristling with energy, he flipped through his untidy exercise book, found a blank page and started drawing the boy. Finally done, he appraised the drawing and decided he was getting better by the day. He plucked the page out and folded it, then he waited until the headmaster faced the blackboard. He passed it to the boy next to him and the boy’s studious face brightened with suppressed laughter. He dug an elbow into the ribs of the next boy and passed on the paper. The boy similarly turned chubby-cheeked with happiness. Soon, half the class was grinning at poor Mwinjoyo’s caricature. Then the bell rang and the headmaster looked up, startled to see the class smiling for the first time that year.
“Easy, isn’t it?” he beamed, glad to see they enjoyed his simple rules of algebra .
“Yes sirrrr!” they roared back, scrambling for the door, eager to go out and play.
Amidst all the commotion, Stevee whispered to another boy. They drifted away unobserved and crossed the playing field to the far end. Still no one was paying them attention. They disappeared around the hedge.
They took a narrow path running alongside the school hedge, then turned into a crop of maize.
In the middle of the lush crop was a carpet of weeds where the ground was too rocky to farm. They sat down amidst the merry weaver birds and Stevee took out two mandazis given to him by one of the many boys he often bullied.
After they had eaten the traditional scones, Stevee took out two cigarette stubs, with an inch or so of tobacco left in each, salvaged from his father’s ashtray. He passed one to the other boy who stared at it pensively while he lit up his and smoked luxuriously.
“Scared, huh?” he challenged and the boy shook his head defensively. Stevee lit it up for him then stretched out on his back. Then an idea struck him and he propped himself up on one elbow looking thoughtful.
“Dani, why don’t we roast some of this maize for lunch, eh? It sure beats trekking all the way home for githeri .”
Dani stared at him as if he had gone mad.
“Are you suggesting we steal the maize?”
“No,” Stevee said sincerely, “unless you want to call these birds thieves as well.”
Dani threw his head back and laughed until he was choking on the bitter smoke. Yes, Stevee had a point. The lunch period had recently been reduced from an hour and a half to barely forty-five minutes. Dani now had to race home, three and a quarter kilometres away, grab a bite, then race back to school with barely a minute to spare before the bell rang. At times he raced home only to find the mixture of maize and beans cooking.
“Give it another fifteen minutes,” his mother would say as Dani glared at the barely-cooked githeri , too angry to respond. Finally, he would race back to school on an empty stomach, only to see the headmaster blocking the classroom door. To enter, he, like other latecomers got caned with an inch-thick stick.
A dull sound from somewhere behind jolted him from his thoughts. He sat up and listened. It was a regular pounding on the ground.
“Listen! What is that?”
Stevee cocked his ears.
“It’s someone digging and slashing bushes,” Stevee shrugged and lay on his back again, this time trying to see how high he could shoot the cigarette smoke.
“I’m not sure about that idea of roasting maize at lunchtime,” Dani said at last, looking around fearfully.
“So what if someone is digging?” Stevee asked lazily. “It only makes it more fun. Meet me here at this spot. There’s plenty of dead wood around and I got matches. Just bring your appetite.”
Dani shrugged helplessly. Roasting stolen maize while dodging some irate farmer armed with a machete was not his idea of fun. Hopefully, he prayed, the farmer would have gone away by lunchtime.
The sudden ringing of the bell sounded amazingly far. Dani and Stevee scrambled to their feet and raced blindly leaving behind a straight path of fallen maize stalks. Dani counted the strokes of the bell as he ran, his hopes fading with each stroke.
“We’ll never make it, Stevee!” he panted as the last of the strokes died out.
The headmaster was an eccentric type, the type hardly seen today. He would ring the bell exactly ten times. Armed with a rubber catapult, he would then chase those boys still lagging out in the field, letting fly rotten fruits from the fig tree as the boys leapt and ducked. When a lucky shot found its mark, it spattered the boy with rotten juice, maggots and all. Later at home, the boy would find no peace either. As soon as his mother saw those permanent red stains on his clothes, she would go screaming for the father to come and see his wayward son. “How many times have I told you not to play with nguyu ?” the man would roar, spanking the boy and pulling his ears until he defied gravity.
Stevee and Dani rounded the far corner and braked hard at the gate. They peeped into the playing field and caught their breath. At the far end, the headmast