Gorilla Republic: Deutschland: Part 4
2nd July 2024
That night at home, Banou lost all hope. Her words had failed to spark Mapacha’s interest in the job. She could hardly fathom her own relentless pursuit of wealth. The irony of her vast fortune was lost on her. The swift transition from hand-to-mouth existence to wild success in just a few months, with practically no repercussions except for Mapacha getting shot, did little to quell her criminal inclinations. This realisation flooded her with shame. Her mind replayed her conversation with Gwafa in Tangier, always returning to the same questions.
Was she truly a criminal at heart?
Was she so brazen as to commit crimes at will?
Why did crime keep calling her back?
For months, she had juggled living a legitimate life and running a business, which had turned into a lucrative venture. Now, she owned a home in a desirable part of town and had more money than she could spend in her lifetime. But she had to admit to herself that she was bored. Alcohol had been her vice to mask her darker desires, but now she was a teetotaler. Her interest in men, except for Makhlouf, had faded, and she had not done the business since her criminal life began. She had briefly considered taking a lover, but it did not appeal to her. At the top of her imported, large Alfred Hendricks wardrobe lay a dark blue shoe box that held her true desire. Her gun. She was furious at Mzee Tembo for giving it to her, for teaching her how to use it, for the thrill she felt when wielding it and for the power it symbolised when she fired it. And now, she wanted to hold it, intimidate others, and see them squirm and tremble.
Sigh.
“Banou, você é um criminoso. (Banou, you are a criminal.)”
It was a struggle to step into her small yard and light a Gitane to dull her senses. Her resolve was firm. Somehow, she would convince Mapacha to take the job.
**
The next day, Banou prayed and waited for a miracle. Her determination sharpened into a plan to manipulate Mapacha. Preoccupied, she became scattered and inattentive. When Madam Sudi came to collect her new dress, Banou barely acknowledged her. Her usual charm was absent. After a few other meetings, she retreated to her 'outer office' to indulge in her beloved nectar and cigarettes, her mind devising cunning plans. Lost in thought, she did not notice Dieynaba approaching.
“Excusez-moi, Madame. (Pardon me, madam.)”
Banou snapped back to reality, her eyes focusing sharply on Die. She admired her appearance and the hint of Europe in her French accent.
“Yes, what is it?”
She winced inwardly at her own harsh tone, seeing how it affected Die.
“There is a French-Arab man here to see you. His name is Gwafa.”
Excitement washed over her, banishing her worries.
“Erm, yes, send him in.”
Gwafa strolled in casually, a Gauloises trailing smoke, wearing old-school flying pants and a white T-shirt with 'Electric Ladyland' scribbled on it wearing his favourite aviators.
“Boa tarde, Vossa Alteza (Good afternoon, Your Highness),” he greeted her with a tiny bow.
She smirked and leapt into his outstretched arms.
“I can see you are trying to work my nerves, Frenchie.”
Die, thinking this was a private moment, discreetly retreated.
“Hi Gwafa, I missed you,” she said mellifluously.
“Hey, I missed you too. How are you doing?”
“I am great." He appraised her. “You look great. How is business?”
“Come, sit here next to me,” she invited him.
She poured him a glass of juice and sighed as she sat down.
“Business is OK. It is busy season.”
“Yes, I can see it is busy. Your shop is tres magnifique.”
“Thank you, Gwafa. Now tell me, where have you been? I was looking for you.”
“I was back home dealing with family matters. Bina told me you visited.”
“Bina?” Banou inflected. "So that is your girlfriend’s name?”
Gwafa chuckled.
“No, she is just a friend visiting from France.”
Technically true, but their affair was intense and complicated.
“She seemed jealous. I think she insulted me.”
He snorted, sipping his juice.
“Yeah, she has a sharp and crude tongue.”
“So, how was home?”
“Same old. Boumédiène, politics, family, the Atlas...”
His voice trailed off as he noticed her half-listening.
“...but this is not why you wanted to see me, Banou. What is going on?”
Embarrassed, she leaned back and lit a fresh cigarette.
“Does something always have to be the matter, Gwafa? Maybe I just missed you.”
“No, Banou. We both know that is not you. Out with it. This is about another job, isn't it?”
“What? Is that what Mapacha told you?”
He looked serious.
“No, I have not seen him yet. But I know you. So, what is the job?”
She sighed loudly, relaxed, and explained the situation, detailing the call and the events that followed. Gwafa listened intently, asking questions for clarification.
“So Makhlouf reached out to you from so far away? He must really want this job done. Going to Europe for a Moroccan crime boss—who comes up with this stuff?”
“Apparently, we do.”
“No, Banou. You do. ‘We’ is still early in this conversation. I must admit, it sounds exciting.”
She sensed his enthusiasm.
“Does that mean you are in?”
“Unfortunately, I am not. I am on assignment for the Canadians, a big diplomatic job, travelling across West and North Africa for the next couple of weeks. Sorry.”
Her heart sank.
“Gwafa, stop teasing me. You tempt me and then break my heart?”
She half-smiled.
“The timing is just wrong. You know, I would love to be in Europe with you and the others.”
“So, what am I going to do? I have tried convincing Mapacha, but he will not listen.”
“From where I am sitting, you have three choices. Wait for the boss to come back, and he will rush to Europe in a matter of days. Or, go back to Mapacha and convince him somehow, but that is tough. Or, call Makhlouf and tell him you cannot raise a crew.”
“Merda! (Shit!)” she cursed.
“Hey, no need for that. If you really want this job, make Mapacha understand and make it make sense to him.”
Her gaze wandered, lost in thought. After an hour of gossip and laughter, Gwafa left. Despite the good spirits, Banou was right back where she started, with the added bonus of contemplative disarray.