“I not like these people, we fight them, but not for some years now, better we not stop near their Kraal.” as Nandi pointed to some young warriors.We kept going, only camping far from any signs of human activity, and soon we were at Bulembu, before entering South African territory.The journey from there, up through Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), was uneventful. On passed Bulawayo, Salisbury (now Harare), and to the Mozambique border at Nyampanda.I would have liked to have taken Nandi to the Victoria Falls, but it was too far out of our way.We crossed the River Zambezi at Tete, and it was here, that I made my first mistake. Instead of sticking to the main road heading north, I went northeast, towards where we are now, by Lake Nyasa.We were in the process of setting up evening camp when Nandi stiffened. She stood quite still, just listening.“Get guns ready, I think trouble coming,” she said. Her natural hunting skills had picked up on some natives making a stealthy approach, instead. He employed one secretary: a fifty five year old veteran of someone else's secretarial pool. When she retired, he employed another, through an agency ... someone just as efficient.After a few years, he employed a junior to help her, a kid in her thirties. He was almost never seen by them, or anyone else, but he paid top-plus, wages to have the simplest office jobs in the world done, discreetly. By the time he was thirty, he was a billionaire, and he had produced nothing but patented and patentable ideas.Salli had staged their meeting like a professional stage play. He didn't dress like a billionaire. He was a hick, an ignorant, simple mug, to be taken advantage of. She believed one dressed to impress, he believes one dresses to leave an impression, the impression he wishes to leave. He drove an early model Toyota Corolla for Christ's sake, his mansion was a twenty year old three bedroom brick veneer bungalow at the end of a middle class cul-de-sac in the western suburbs of.
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