Snakepit by Moses Isegawa

delivered in cash. What Bat did not realize was just how fierce the competition was between the two princes. It almost soured an otherwise fine journey.
    Bat had arrived in a good mood. Victoria had moved out, and it was now up to Babit to move in, although her parents opposed the idea, preferring to see her married first. As he contemplated while treading on the ubiquitous sand, he hoped that Babit’s parents would relent. He even wished that Babit had come along to see this sand and the cities placed in its midst. He wished she could see the palace where the delegation did business under ceilings high as a pylon, in rooms uncluttered as an empty warehouse.
    It was here that Bat began to feel that he had been wasting time, that he should already have made his fortune. The prince who seemed more eager to get his tender accepted invited him to his home. They went by helicopter, a white capsule with luxurious fittings. It brought back memories of General Bazooka’s Avenger. It felt like he was standing on a very high hill, looking down at a gargantuan city wrapped in sand, with vertigo pulling him down to the bottom at a dizzying pace. Do I want to take the offer? Do I have a choice? Is this how it goes down: an offer is presented to you, and you take it and wait for the men with guns who come or do not come? Is there any way out of this? Before this I did not know how I would make my money, at least not the details. But this is blackmail, an insult, not the clean deal I dreamed of where everybody would be happy with the results.
    Bat’s host was a large bearded man with big eyes, a hooked nose, a serious face. Wrapped in brown flowing robes billowing like a full sail, he resembled an Old Testament prophet burning with zeal as he talked about his business empire: shares in American corporations, houses in New York, Montego Bay, Buckingham, the Spanish coast.
    â€œI plan to carve for myself a chunk of Africa and South America,” he declared. “They are the continents of the future where everything goes.”
    And I am the grease that is supposed to facilitate the process, Bat thought morosely, no better than General Bazooka or the other goondas, sliding down the slimy walls of the snakepit without a hand- or foothold. And if I refuse, I will face the threat of death or disappearance.
    The helicopter landed somewhere in the desert. It looked as if they had not moved at all: it was still sand, curvaceous and glossy like something made out of burnished glass or sanded wood.
    â€œWith a foothold in Uganda I will be able to buy one hundred islands in Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania and develop tourism. Ultimately, I intend to build a string of hotels on the Kenyan coast and compete with the Italian mafia. At the moment, they are having it all their way. It is simply not fair. Arabs came to the coast first. Mombasa, Malindi and Lamu are Arab towns. I want to claim them from the Kenyan government. If all my plans go well, I will become the most influential businessman in East Africa and leave the wranglings over the Saudi throne to my brothers.”
    Bat did not know whether to believe his ears or not. He knew that the first Arabs on the East African coast had come from Arabia fleeing persecution. It just seemed strange that somebody wanted to claim their heritage fourteen hundred years later. Did this man want to take over East Africa? With the petrol dollars gushing from the Middle East, eagerly lent to dictators and anybody the European and American banks thought could guarantee payment and a healthy interest rate, maybe the man was not deluded.
    â€œI have never failed to close a deal. I win, no matter what it takes. I want us to be friends because we will be seeing a lot of each other. My generosity has never been spurned. My brother knows this. Everybody else does. I have already made a decision. The usual rate is ten percent commission, which comes to five million dollars. I have arranged for my men to give