Bata (Kubwa) na Casa

Those two liked to joke about the animals that they watch intensely, staring hard and silently and then teasing each other giving characteristics taken from the creatures they study. Casa, a turtle, whose given name is Muhsin, is so called because of his very big feet and splayed way of walking made more because he chooses shoes that are much bigger than his very big feet. Bata, duck in Kiswahili, had a different provenance. Batash they told me was the family name of a famous trading clan who Batashi may have once worked for, had a connection with or been adopted by. Batash is a broker, his success then and now based on his reputation for being good with money. Everyone trusts Batash for money, a necessary and rare attribute for a Zanzibari trader. “You are a casa” said Batash to Muhsin, “you are a bata” said Muhsin to Batash. Bata a diminutive form of Batash. His given name is Mohamed, but there are many so called in Zanzibar so it is good thus to have a familiar name. They had a name for me too, Basset, but that came from another source. Basset, a breed of dog, “sad and rather disappointed” which is how I look because of my down turned mouth and jowly features, but I liked the name because on optimistic days that description fits with my view of my history. Cathryn AlKanaan, the Piss Chippers wife, said always that my glass was half full, another wag, more perceptive, reading from a birthday card bought in a Sandwich shop, said the glass is not big enough.




Batashi was once a driver and very good at that. He could and can run at speed a foot or so from a wobbling bicycle, break through the gears, never has road kill, not even a chicken. He told me he did not like to kill any animal and though he made little of it preferred fruits, berries and roots to any meat and is very much adverse to consuming refined sugar. He told me that he gained his insight into the human condition from a time of working on ships, a common escape for Zanzibari boys. A character I mused from the novels of Joseph Conrad, who wrote of ships and spies.



Muhsin had trained to be a cook and was then the assistant cook at AlKanaan's huts but was not of family. His English is good and self taught. Muhsin is very discreet, very knowledgeable about other peoples business but not at all inclined to opine, approve or disapprove. He grins the best enigmatic cheshire I have ever seen. Bata na Casa discuss matters often under the mango tree at Darijani and come to secret conclusions/



Bata left driving and owned busses which he employed people to drive. The key to any business, so obvious but lost, it to have customers. Without paying customers there is no trade, with customers any other matter can be solved. I cannot do anything at all only arrange for things to be done. Batash sold his bus, sold another, by and by bought and sold without ever owning the wheels at all. One rainy day I borrowed a car from Batash, since by then I had become mzungu mchovu and thus had no shillings of my own. In the three hours I drove on favour Batash changed the car three times, he had bought and sold them all.



The arrival of mobile phones was the event that moved Batash from doing rather well to becoming quite rich. There was no need to meet, no need to see a face, just a conversation since Batash is good for money. All can be done under the mango tree in Darajani. Those sullen layabouts, his school mates are not so lazy, Batash employs them all. I said “You sell on the left ear and buy on the right ear”. Batash like me is left handed and our bond was helped by the mutual recognition of a secret society. The society of Batash is a growing one for in Zanzibar even the most honest is by necessity corrupt, even the most discreet has a version of their business known. Batash can trade with everyone and for sure there will be no record of any conversation. Bata Kubwa, in the tinted car, on the back of a vespa or appearing from one of the many entrances to Darijani. Sometimes and certainly on Friday now that he is older Batash goes to pray in the mosque. 



Batash advised me to go home. Advice or not it was time to go home, to be broke in a country not your own is a sad state of affairs. It has taken over two years in my own country to become decently wealthy again. In this new business I too have not met my customers or my suppliers or anyone I do business with. I too do not exist.



On the park course my golfing partner drove the orb into the pond. Reload. I did the same. Come home, reload.