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A Fool's Knot

A Fool's Knot is Philip Spiers second African novel set in Kenya and is published by Libros International.

A Fool's Knot is located in the mid-1970s refers to Kenya and various events in the life of the same cast of characters living in the Mission, the first novel by Philip Spiers's. The plot is loosely based on a crime that occurred in the same weekend as the author began to Migwans work on high school in 1974.

A Fool's Knot is a sensitive portrait of John Mwangangi attempt to regain their cultural identity and at the same time, stimulate change. The contradictions encountered in his campaign against the misery of his people, led almost inevitably to conflict. Here the first chapter.

CHAPTER ONE

August 1976

England is now smaller. The sky is smaller. Natural light is softer, paler than memories of the harsh brilliance of tropical sun. There are people everywhere: there is no place here. There no mountains, no clouds, heavy, flat-bottomed in the sky and stretches to the horizon, as if floating on the surface of a lake on earth. There is no distance here. The horizon is near and the sun does not shine.

A tremor of regret, a gap born of shock, approved by the body of Janet. His eyes remained watching mile after mile predictable unnoticed. I was pleased to be home, but this happiness could not outweigh the sadness he felt when leaving the place where had lived happily for two years. Although Migwans already being felt far away, maybe he felt he had more of a home than anywhere else that was known. It had become no more than one stage of his life, transformed by hours in a memory, has survived and overcome. It was over and always finite. How long has been thought as the drums of the road car full of his mother, before starting to live forward instead of looking to the past destroyed? How long before it really new?

She looked at the seat next to him on which rested mess of a plot he had so carefully trained yesterday morning. Protruding below the sash chain associated with newspapers, which had been torn during his long wait in queue after landing in London was a strange series of arrowheads iron barbed wire, cow horns polished and the three legs of a chair without varnish. Linked to one leg, and that weighs on the edge of the seat was a small pumpkin, a simple treasure, which meant more than all the other submissions and all the photographers with whom he had returned. Of all the things he had brought home was the largest recall of everyday life in Migwans an exact replica of those used in every household for transportation and water storage. Buff and use it as a vase of dried flowers. However, projects above and below trinkets and other items was rough but beautiful cane that had been present for staff Munyol. Surely this was something precious.

His eyes were heavy. Lifetime was very hectic two days. It seems that the time had passed too quickly to be noticed, as half of a dream massive recall two memories clear. One was the joy I felt when he learned that John had accepted his invitation to come to the feast Farewell to school. The other, an hour earlier, was the embrace with tears of joy to his mother at the airport. He looked older, Janet thought. David Smythe, the neighbor and childhood friend, who had offered to drive the car of his mother at the airport had changed, she had not seen much in recent years. Has been maintained slightly overweight, Goofy boy who still lives with his parents on the road. But the letters her mother had long referred to the support offered and the jobs they have done for her. Al was less honest. It was both fatter and weaker than before. Both seemed to speak more slowly than I remembered. Was it really? He had traveled to actually thousands of miles to return home with the feeling that had never been out? She was not convinced - of anything, but there are truths that can not be ignored truths locked in the trivialities of life, the very detail that, if accepted, even the dreams feel real. He had just arrived from the airport, where his mother had greeted their arrival as long hugs. She had felt a surprise when the employee parking spoke in Swahili. Janet insisted on paying share with the currencies of English who had faithfully for two years in a small box on the bedside table. Has been erroneously included their Kenyan shilling and the passenger, an Asian, it handed back by saying, "Habari ya Kenya?" With a broad smile on his face. "Well," Janet had responded, taking the coin. The event itself was rather bland, but the real wake of Janet is the swahili seemed strange. It was "foreign" is not what I expected hearing. And how it had been difficult for her to respond in kind. She had asked to speak, but has not been found, and only a "fine" was coming. Already a black face, like a landmark, an unexpected sight is noticed and noted that different. Their roots suburbs, because it shows one.

Some things have to learn. He was sure of that. How long does it take? It asked, thinking back to the hostess on the plane. A young girl of her age, but in Scotland and blonde, began his duties immediately off the plane from Nairobi with confidence direct and clear purpose for lazy Migwans unknown ways timeless. Janet had had the chance to win a seat through a trap door, where there was no front seat and therefore no problem in setting the big bulky package. Carry many trays clip on aircraft seats, the homeowner had approached Janet aisle. He spoke with the courtesy expected after the commands in another language, seemed exaggerated. "You want a tray, madam?" The landlady had told him. Janet lost in thought for a moment, he replied candidly: "No, thank you" that cause the conscious expression of Nice to harden a little girl through words: "But you have something to eat." With the tray so secure in the seat coupe Janet, the housekeeper went to the man sitting beside her. Of course, Janet thought, would not be an issue. If the girl said simply: "Take your tray and then Janet would have understood, but another, more accustomed to "normal" might be offended.

But even where, despite his confusion. As the car traveled south, the city and the country is spent outdoors, but in a single table in the back of Janet's eyes, and try as he could, he could not think of anything else. In this painting, a collage of several scenes, two leafless trees stood out against the cloudless blue cloud. Under a tree was a group of women dressed in colorful clothes, many of them with cardigans, although the sun was high and the day was hot. It stretched before them in bags provided to cover the hard red earth, were piled treated fruit, mangoes, oranges, greens and lemons, guavas, and green tomatoes. Under another tree sat a man, a shoemaker, surrounded by the sandals he had done that day of the tread rubber tires for antique cars. Nearby, quietly in his usual, crazy town, Munyasia, sleep, legged spider which almost merge with the tree roots. The sun was warm, but in an instant the picture was freezing cold and gray. Tools shoemaker lying on the ground beside him, her face hidden in their hands. Women, generally noisy, talking or singing, they were calm and some crying.

How much time, thought Janet, before I forget?

***

Michael's father pressed his foot hard on the accelerator. The sun was low in the sky. I had an appointment with the Chief Migwans that night and had more than sixty miles of travel. As usual, he had fallen asleep. He always stayed in Nairobi. The beds in the center of the mission were too easy to resist. After weeks of discomfort from springs wonder he called his "garbage Migwans hole in the mattress and soft sheets own Center were irresistible. Add to this the likelihood that, for him, waking up usually meant waking with a hangover, and the image becomes clearer. Nairobi is a place he loved and hated. The running hot and cold, a convenience center, cinemas, visits to friends and even enjoyed the occasional drink. Besides there are errands to run, things you buy, the messages they give and still too little time to do everything. He never complete all work in the city, but never sacrifice a game or a long-standing dream of doing more. At the end of the second day was always happy to leave everything behind. Worst of all travel to the city, however, was present, the return trip. The road was hundreds of miles of dust. When driving in town, one would expect the final miles on the smooth asphalt, with its promise of hot shower in the center of the end of everything. But when going home there was the prospect of a bucket of cold water and crunching under your mouth undone.

Michael had a certain reputation. Was aware of this and often plays in their gallery, sometimes consciously. His brothers and priests as parishioners saw as something of an eccentric. It was perhaps only one character too bright, too willing to accept a life of contradictions. Dedicated was certainly, but also ephemeral. Wherever he worked, his positive influence can be traced throughout the community it serves. In Migwans, where he had been pastor for more than five years, who had helped found a school, three elementary schools, Business plans for adult literacy and, last but certainly not least, a football team of the city known as Black Stars in the ranks which included Michael White has always imagined. Especially since he was a commoner, a man positively loved by many. Not only was he a priest and speaks fluent Kikamba, the local language, but also a man who could speak and understand the issues affecting the lives of ordinary people. Some people, however, looked with disgust. Openly criticizing drinking in bars, go dancing at Club Unity and especially to "package" with the bar raised in same dances. Drank too much, smoke too much, swore too much and probably worked too. But his achievements were impossible to ignore, and everyone agrees.

He was also proud of its glory and infamy. A story that liked to say that his attitude was summed up Janet had said the previous evening, just before taking the airport. One day, he said, went to Kitui to play football. Since, as usually arrived late, was in a hurry and driving too fast to remember that he approached a stone in the road. The car crashed against the rocks at speed and a tire, simply disintegrated, with the result the car has slipped a shot arrest amid clouds of dust and sand. The catch, of course, was home to the mission. He could not remember what had taken car. About ten minutes later, while trying in vain to lift one side of the car to make a big stone at the point of taking his foot, a group of men came walking along the road and waved for help. However, men simply stood, watched with disbelief at this mzungu, Eastern Europe, dressed in football team hat and Bush, who tried to lift a car. Frustrated, Michael had then shouted his voice off Limerick "You silly buggers, will you come help me change this series of shit?" "Oh, Father Michael," said one man. "No I realized it was you. "

On the night before this particular story, contributed to cleaner air but only slightly. I had planned to take Janet to Nairobi for a final night in town before taking the plane to England. In Nairobi, they could do whatever they wanted, regardless of whether the Bishop of Kitui where people can start talking. Michael had planned everything. They are arrived in the afternoon, leaving time for a wash and a rest before a Chinese meal at Government Road, followed by an hour or two in the Swiss Grill, where they have a dance or two. Janet flight would not leave until half past midnight, he could easily manage both places before your check-in time.

What would have been a great night, in fact, deteriorated into a sad farewell simple with a beer in the Airport Lounge, where neon defective less flicker on beginners, made everyone look thin and ill. The best laid plans can be lost, though doubtless be surprised that the father Michael faint idea proved a dead end. But this time the fault was not theirs. He still enjoyed your night, but events of this morning had taken possession of them. Janet, upset and about to cry at all, laughed a little history, but only a moment to weigh the rest of the day when the sadness, tragedy and disappointment came over all.

This new car and beaten along the road clay as the backbone Migwans spectacular mountains appeared through the twilight. The long journey was almost over. One hundred miles might not at all but on these roads that led to four hours and often longer stings. Was lucky today, unlike a time when he had fixed no less than thirteen puncture their tires with tubes and took more than eight hours to make the trip. But even his repertoire of songs that still singing while driving is almost exhausted. A few minutes later, with darkness starts to fall and the lights of the size in the dark, the car accelerated over the last hill and the only light at night Migwans is in sight. Michael sang in chorus of celebration of "We're here because we are here, but at the end of this trip, including the words are not stained only with resignation, but also with the challenge and concern. Like a butterfly night-light, the car left the road and early career track that leads into the light of the mission house, his home. Mutua, the cook, who had been awaiting the return of Father Michael, went to the kitchen window and waved the car reached the back door.

When Michael came into the house, was welcomed not only by the mutual, but the other two, both not very strange. As Mutua lamp pumping pressure provided the only light in the room, Michael in Kikamba. "These men have waited for," he said.

Michael hopes to see the head of the site Migwans and was the first who has shaken Part of Michael. Then in English, said: "I submit to Bwana Joseph Kamau, who is police chief in the city Kitui.

The second man approached and offered a handshake. "I am pleased to meet you, Father Michael. Thank you for volunteering to go to tonight, Nairobi. It is best to discuss these pressing issues today. "

Michael's father sat in front of two men. In the years since his ordination as a missionary priest who had known hunger, disease and war. He had hunted death and had lived with him. But over the years could not recall the tragedy as sad as that.

About the Author

Philip Spires
Author of Mission, an African novel set in Kenya
http://www.philipspires.co.uk
Michael, a missionary priest, has just killed Munyasya. It was an accident, but Mulonzya, a politician, exploits the tragedy for his own ends. Boniface, a church worker, has just lost his child. He did not make it to the hospital in time, possibly because Michael went to the Mission to retrieve a letter from Janet, a teacher, and the priest’s neighbour. It is Munyasya who has the last laugh, however.

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