Vanilla Republic

© 2011 Robert Leslie Fisher. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 1/24/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4389-8195-6 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4389-8192-5 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009904219

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Cover design by Jason Lyons Showing overview of Sembeke

Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Postscript 2006

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction. All the events described concern a fictitious country, Sembeke. All the characters are either fictitious or are used in a fictitious way and any resemblance to actual people, events, or locales is unintentional, coincidental, or used in a fictitious way. Any real incidents described such as President George W. Bush’s landing on an aircraft carrier similarly are used in a fictitious way.

Prologue

August 28, 2004

She walked up behind him sitting at his desk and she raised her hand. There was a flash of steel in the dim light. Her hand came down and then it went up like a hammer, maybe a dozen or more times. He slumped over and then she left.

I read the lines over slowly, again and again, asking myself Could Caroline really have done this? I keep hoping perhaps it is only a nightmare from which I will soon awaken when suddenly I startle from the sound of a door flying open. I look up and see the door to the hearing room open and Beth, stepping out into the hallway. She is a biology teacher from California and my best friend among the PCVs who went with me to Sembeke in 2002. She spots me looking down at the witness affidavit and smiles, You Okay, Richard?

I guess so. I was just reading over this witness statement, I answer, looking up at her. I notice she is wearing a dress, medium blue and with an empire waist I haven’t seen before. She has a matching blue shawl around her shoulders to keep out the cold from the powerful air conditioning. Pretty dress, I say admiringly.

She smiles, Thanks. It’s new.

All done? I ask eagerly.

She nods. I can go home now. She is visibly weary from her ordeal. And then she looks at me. And you? she asks hesitantly.

I don’t know, I shake my head. I’ll tell them what I know about Caroline and…. my eyes lose focus as memories flash through my mind.

It must be so hard, Caroline’s death, and…, Beth’s voice trails off. She grabs my hand and squeezes it. I’ll wait for you, she said softly, eyes searching mine.

I’ll visit you, I promise, when I get out of here. I look at her and smile as I suddenly am pulled back into the present by the firm grip of her hand. I realize now how pretty she is; albeit a bit plump; she reminds me of a young Kathy Bates, an actress I have long admired.

Monsieur, a uniformed court officer speaks in a sharp and commanding tone to me. The court is ready for you.

I put the affidavit back in the manila folder with my other papers. I feel my hand clutching them tightly as I follow the officer, turning my head to catch a last glimpse of Beth. She is crossing her fingers before the hearing room door shuts behind me.

Chapter One

May 2, 2002

"Well, we’re going now, Richard. You’ll remember to wash the dishes.

Yes, dear, I said, absentmindedly, distracted by an article on the sports pages about the New York Yankees.

Nancy, kiss your dad, Eleanor called out to our daughter who was fiddling with her cell phone.

Nancy ignored her.

What am I going to do with that child? Eleanor looked at me as if I were able to answer that question.

I’ll give her a kiss, I said amiably; walked over to Nancy who looked up as if to say, ‘if you’re not here to fix my cell phone, like, don’t even bother’. I leaned over, kissed her, and stepped away.

I got it, I got it, Nancy said out loud to no one is particular.

Got what dear? Eleanor asked.

Nancy solved whatever problem she was trying to solve, I said.

I can answer for myself, dad, Nancy gave me that injured look that kids use to tell us parents that we don’t seem to get the fact that they are all grown up.

Yes, I said. But….

Enough of this, my wife said, exasperated. Nancy, are you ready, now?

Yes, Mom. And, then she turned to me and gave me a big kiss on the cheek before marching out to the car." I blew her a kiss.

I forgot to take the car in, I called out to Eleanor, suddenly remembering the recall notice.

Oh, you mean on the recall?

Yeah, to fix the problem in the steering column, I answered.

Eleanor fixed me with that gaze that said, How did he ever get through life, he’s so absentminded?

You could take the other car, I offered.

I don’t like driving that car, Eleanor protested. It’s very large and I don’t feel comfortable in it. We’ll manage.

Mom, are you coming? My daughter demanded as Eleanor strode toward me into the house.

Well, you better be going. I’ll see you gals next week, I said quietly

Eleanor sighed, Yes, and kissed me on the mouth.

I love you, I said.

I love you, too. And she picked up her suitcase and walked out the door.

Nancy was already getting into the car. "In two weeks she’ll be sixteen and we’ve promised her a car of her own," I said to myself. I heard the engine start and the car pulled out of the driveway.

Chapter Two

May 9, 2002

The phone rang at my desk about 5:15 PM just as I was about to wrap up for the evening.

Mr. Furman, my name is Gwen Summers, I’m a nurse at Ellis Hospital. There’s been a serious accident and….

Yes, I’ll be right there, I said automatically.

I don’t remember much about the drive to Schenectady. I remember sitting down with Ms. Summers who told me that a trailer had jackknifed in a freak accident on I-90 and somehow crushed my wife’s car. Both my wife and daughter were killed, my wife Eleanor instantly, most likely. Nancy died of massive internal bleeding on the way to the hospital.

My wife and daughter are, were, Catholic but I elected a closed coffin service at the graveside. Lots of people sent flowers, there were lots of people, and it seemed all of Nancy’s school class turned out including her teachers. Lots of neighbors also. I remember people sobbing. My brother came up to me after the priest had finished his prayers for the deceased and asked me, Richard, what are you going to do now? I immediately blurted out, I think I want to be a teacher. I can be a teacher now.

Chapter Three

August 28, 2004

I am sitting next to a man in a sober dark blue suit, white shirt and conservative tie in a hearing room on the second floor of the Supreme Court of Sembeke. It is a room perhaps fifty feet long by forty feet wide with dark wood paneling. There is a raised platform at the front where three robed bewigged men are sitting behind a high wood desk. Immediately in front of them and below sit two women with laptops. Two tables and hardbacked wooden chairs are a short distance from the platform.

I am shown to a wooden chair at the left where a man dressed in a business suit and wearing a wig is already seated. He looks at me and whispers to me to be quiet as I take my seat. At the other table two other men in business suits are also sitting whispering to each other while up front the robed men are conferring audibly but indistinctly, occasionally smiling or grimacing as they talk. I turn around and notice a uniformed court officer standing at attention, expressionless. The officer who escorted me in has approached the platform and is standing at attention waiting to be recognized.

"What’s happening?’ I ask the suit next to me in French.

I’ll explain later, he whispers sharply. Be quiet now.

I shrug and look out the window where the morning sun is streaming in. I can see part of the square in which the building sits. Across the square is the monument to the Independence of Sembeke, a massive bronze statue given to the country by the Soviet Union in the 1980s before the Soviet Union broke up. Looming behind it is the old French Palais de Gouvernement, now the headquarters of the National Security Agency, referred to by everyone as the Ah-eS-eNn. I can’t see it but the Municipal Police headquarters is in the corner behind me and to the left of the Security Agency. As I gaze at the window I remember the Police Lieutenant’s advice, Be careful. And then, suddenly feeling the chill of his warning, I search in my manila folder for the info sheet that the American consular officials had given all of us Peace Corps Volunteers describing Sembeke’s courts and criminal justice system. I spot the card the Peace Corps gave me when I first went to Sembeke two years earlier. My eyes glance over the information.

Name of Country: Islamic Democratic Republic of Moanjouan-Sembeke and dependencies, but usually referred to as Sembeke. The country consists of a large principal island of nearly 40,000 square miles and several groups of smaller islands nearby in the Indian Ocean about 160 miles off the east coast of Africa.

Population: about 8 million (estimated 2001). Capital and principal city: Ville de Sembeke, usually just Sembeke. (population about 4 million).

Type of Government: Since 1960 when it achieved independence from France, Sembeke has been a self governing republic in the French Community of Nations.

Principal Exports and Ocucupations of People: The majority of people (80%) are subsistence farmers and/or herdsmen. Recently the population of the cities has increased from immigration of farmers in response to difficult conditions in the countryside. Principal crops grown for export include vanilla, pineapples, and other tropical fruits and vegetables. Textiles exports, from the cotton that is extensively cultivated, are also an important source of foreign exchange. Commercially exploitable deposits of copper and other minerals are believed to exist in the mountainous interior.

Demographic Composition of population: The population consists of a mix of Negroid peoples (70%), whites, primarily of Arab and Indian ancestry (25%), and European whites and others (about 5%). The majority of the people are adherents of tribal animist faiths that incorporate some Christian elements. The majority of the people of Arab and Indian ancestry are Moslems while the Europeans are mostly Roman Catholic.

Then after flipping through some other papers I came across the material I was hunting for.

Overview of the Court and Criminal Justice System for PCVs

(This material has been prepared by the consulate of the United States based on published documents and verifiable information in its possession at the time of its preparation. However, the United States Government bears no responsibility for its accuracy or for mistakes due to changes in law since this document was printed in 1998).

The Sembeke courts are modeled after the French system, a legacy of the time before 1960 when Sembeke was a protectorate of France. The penal laws are also based on the Code Napoleon, modified since 1960 by incorporating elements of the Sharia (the Islamic religious law). Property crime laws still on the books are based on a mix of the ancient laws of the pre-colonial state, French law, and the socialist ideas of the now deposed Christian-Marxist regime."

There is no jury system in the criminal courts. A panel of three judges including a President hears all cases coming before the court. When giving testimony, speak to The President whom you address as ‘Monsieur, le President.’ If a question is put to you by one of the other judges, you simply say ‘Sir’.

There is no right of defense against self-incrimination. All witnesses including the defendant are expected to cooperate and answer any questions put to them by the court.

I groaned audibly as I read this eliciting another sharp whisper to be quiet from the suit next to me.

One of the three robed men, presumably the president, called out to summon the next witness. That’s you! the suit next to me said. I rose and was joined by the uniformed officer who escorted me to a seat I only now noticed on a platform slightly below and to the right of the judges facing outward.

State your name, the officer commanded.

Richard Furman, I said softly.

Repeat that, sir, louder this time, so the court can hear you, the robed man nearest me said with a pleasant smile. That’s when I noticed the court stenographer seated to his far left and enough in front that she was barely visible from the witness stand.

Richard Furman. I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer.

I was then ordered to raise my right hand and promise to give true testimony. Merci, the robed man said pleasantly. Be seated, sir.

He shuffled some papers on his desk and then said looking at the room rather than me, "This is an inquest into the circumstances surrounding the death of Mademoiselle Caroline Marie Honfleur des Esseintes, a citizen of Sembeke. This inquest is intended to determine if Ms. Honfleur des Esseintes died as a result of self inflicted injuries or if she was in any way aided in this homicide by others yet to be determined and if any criminal laws of the Republic were violated.

We have before us a motion filed by the counsel for the United States of America, he said nodding in the direction of the suit whom I had sat next to before being called to the stand. The court has considered the request of counsel for the United States of America that in light of the fact that the present witness is scheduled to return soon to his country, the United States of America, he should not be questioned about anything except his whereabouts on the night of 5 August, 2004, when the deceased died. It has been decided to deny that motion in light of the importance of Monsieur Furman’s testimony. He, among all the people with whom she worked, had the closest, may I say, most intimate, relationship with the deceased. Therefore, my colleagues and I are eager to hear fully about this matter and gain a better understanding of the circumstances, social and otherwise, that may have led to the untimely death of this citizen of Sembeke. And now if you would, M. Fearman, tell us what you know, the robed man said looking at me with that same kindly smile.

It’s Furman, your honor, I protested a bit loudly.

Monsieur le President! the officer beside me barked at me.

It’s all right, the Presiding Judge said, still smiling. Please commence at the beginning, Monsieur.

Before I came to Sembeke? I asked.

A suit asked the judge, "If it pleases the court could you ask the witness to describe when he first met the deceased, Mademoiselle des Esseintes? The Presiding Judge looked down at me smiling.

Caroline? I asked, looking back at him. I first met Caroline when we were taken around the lycee by Rats, excuse me, sir, the principal, M. Ansinaratso—Rats is the name we called him among ourselves, sir. I volunteered.

You were speaking about Caroline, monsieur, the Judge reminded me gently.

Yes, Monsieur le President. Caroline is…, was, the school nurse. I will never forget that first encounter. As we approached her little office where she was sitting looking at some medical records she glanced up and rose to greet us, coming around from her office chair. First she bowed deeply to the principal and as we were introduced she bowed slightly in our direction and smiled warmly, welcoming each of us with Bienvenue, enchante to make your acquaintance." I was utterly bewitched by this lady. She was a tall, slender woman with a swan neck, probably about thirty or a bit younger. She moved so gracefully. And I remember her skin, the color of light coffee—café au lait. I guessed she was of mixed European and native ancestry, perhaps because her coloring and features seemed lighter and more European than those of the many other staff we had met.

A suit interrupted asking the Presiding Judge to query me about Janie Simpson and me. Janie Simpson’s relationship to the witness is relevant to the inquiry because she was romantically linked to M. Yeo. Both Yeo and Mme. des Esseintes, each deceased under suspicious circumstances, were agents of the state security services, and we believe Furman and Simpson were involved in their deaths.

I object to the question, the suit next to me nearly shouted. Monsieur le President, the Republic never charged Simpson in the death of M. Yeo and no testimony given to date shows the relationship of des Esseintes and Yeo. The United States of America takes exception to any attempt by the Republic of Sembeke’s counsel to imply that M. Furman may have induced Mme. Simpson or anyone else to cause M. Yeo’s death. M. Furman did not regard M. Yeo as a rival for the affections of Mme. des Esseintes. Furthermore, the United States of America rejects any suggestion that des Esseintes’ death resulted from Furman’s actions or Simpson’s actions. However, if it pleases the Court, we will allow M. Furman to answer about his relationship with Mme. Simpson.

The Judge turned to confer with his colleagues, and then, a moment or so later, back to me asking me to go back to when I first met Janie Simpson.

Yes, Janie, I repeated, while I searched my memory bank for my first impressions of her. I guess my earliest memory is of Janie coming into the university faculty housing where we were first put up together in Nairobi. Janie showed up at this welcoming reception, wearing shorts, and a tee shirt, and with a big button that said, Hog Power."

Hog Power? Tres amusant, the Judge chuckled. Continue, monsieur.

Janie is a big girl, about six feet tall I guess, and her dad…, father, I mean, is a farmer in Iowa. He raises hogs, maybe corn too. Janie helped her dad on the farm and then went off to school - I forget where - and somewhere along the line decided she wanted to go into the Peace Corps and teach.

How would you describe your relationship to Mme. Simpson?

I didn’t dislike her, Your Honor, Monsieur le President.

I see. And you have nothing to add to that? the President Judge asked.

Well, I can elaborate a bit. We have to go back to the beginning, even before we PCVs arrived in Sembeke. Janie was very close to another PCV named Michelle…, mmm, I hummed as I searched for her last name, Michelle DeAngelo. They roomed together in Nairobi where we trained and shared an apartment in Sembeke as well. Michelle and I didn’t hit it off.

The Judge looked up at me as if to prompt me We argued about things, and she just irritated me, I said.

I see, the Presiding Judge said noncommittally. He was silent for a moment as if trying to decide what to do next.

There was this incident that I think made a big impression on me, I started to say. The Judge looked at me. I hesitated but he urged me to continue.

I had suggested we shop as a group in one of our bull sessions. Initially, I remember Janie reacted somewhat positively to my suggestion. I could understand her supporting my suggestion. Haggling wouldn’t seem foreign to her since she is the daughter of a farmer who probably needed to haggle with other businessmen sometimes. But when her roommate Michelle objected strongly, Janie dropped her support for the idea when no one else except Beth spoke up to support the idea. I made a mental note that Janie blew with the wind and I guess that colored my feelings for her thereafter.

And you had reason to dislike Mademoiselle DiAngello, correct? the Judge interjected.

I already was irritated with Michelle over her wanting to thank the lecturer in Nairobi who lambasted the United States but glossed over Africans’ own contribution to their economic woes. Now I also resented her what I saw as her browbeating the others into rejecting my idea on the specious ground that we were oppressing" the vendors. I think this incident helped fix my view of the members of the group. I suppose it particularly influenced how I saw Janie, rightly or wrongly.

I think now I took the defeat on this issue more seriously than I realized at the time. I saw it as a generational thing. I was being told my ideas were not acceptable because I was the wrong generation. The others lined up against me not because Michelle’s argument was compelling but because she was their contemporary and I was a lot older. Only Beth sided with me. But maybe her saying, Richard is a lot older than most of us emphasized my being of a different generation and worked against me. Still, I appreciated her open support and I guess I’ve liked Beth ever since then.

The Judge studied me for a moment. Why don’t we back up a bit? he finally said. Tell us from the beginning of your time in Africa. Monsieur.

"Nairobi too? I asked.

Oui, Nairobi too, he answered.

Chapter Four

In June 2002, I went to Nairobi, Kenya for my PCV training, expecting to be sent to Botswana. The Peace Corps has a longstanding relationship with Botswana, all of whose students study English. There were at least thirty of us in that training contingent besides myself, including Johnny and Louise Nakashima, Henry Gomez, Janie Simpson and Michelle DeAngelo.

The field training was generally interesting and relevant, especially the lecture on how our views of people are conditioned subtly by our attitudes about what they eat. Describe that, the Presiding Judge interrupted me, I’m curious.

The lecturer - I forget his name at the moment, something like Jim Chechua - began by saying how people put down others based on the foods they eat. For example, many Europeans disdainfully call the Scandinavians the herring eaters. The French sneeringly refer to the British as les bifteks because the British like their roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. The British respond that the French are frogs, perhaps because the French like frogs’ legs.

Then Jim picked up what looked like a white milkshake and began to sip. I don’t really care for this drink, he confessed, maybe if you take a whiff you will see why. He invited a bunch of us to come up and sniff it and most of us recoiled, put off by the odor which smelled like something very rotten. It’s a durian milk shake, a very popular beverage in Vietnam and other countries in Southeast Asia. Durian is a fruit highly prized by the people in those countries. But I don’t think most of you will develop a taste for it soon, he laughed.

You know, he continued, you western Europeans like tomatoes and things made with tomato products like pizza and spaghetti Bolognese. An American President even decided tomato ketchup met the nutritional needs of school children for vegetables. But a couple of hundred years ago people in Europe actually believed the tomato was poisonous and wouldn’t touch it. It is not originally European, it was found by the Spanish explorers in the Americas and brought back to Europe. And it was not an instant hit. However, over time people’s attitudes changed and, now, of course, everyone thinks of Italian food when they think of tomatoes!

Long before the Italians ate tomatoes or the Irish ate potatoes the peoples of the Americas were eating potatoes and tomatoes. Yes, and everywhere people eat things that others elsewhere are unfamiliar with and suspicious of. He looked down into a cage of large insects, The people of the so-called Third World eat things westerners cringe at the idea of consuming. He scooped up a large insect from the cage. This is a horned Madagascar cockroach, he said and put it, still alive, in his mouth. We all startled. Don’t worry, he smiled. He is safe to eat, actually. And then after swallowing it, he asked us, Do you like rock lobster tails from South Africa?

Oh yes, came the nearly unanimous reply.

Well, you know the lobsters, they are cousins of spiders. So if you can eat lobsters, why is it so bad to eat their cousins? He looked at us and then continued, Actually, you can safely eat just about any insect. At that he took a handful of termites out of another container, some people in the Congo love termites, especially after they have been cooked properly. Many forms of animal and plant life are edible, either raw or cooked or both, and good sources of nutrients. What we eat is based on what our customs say is good, and these customs are handed down to us by our parents and other respected authority figures in our lives. Originally, however, someone tried the item, finding it tasty and safe.

The Presiding Judge chuckled, So Monsieur, while here in Sembeke, did you learn to enjoy the horned Madagascar cockroach? You don’t have to answer that. The two other judges laughed. The Presiding Judge smiled and looked down at papers on his desk. You were talking about how you came to distrust Michelle DeAngelo and her friend Janie Simpson, two fellow Peace Corps volunteers.

Yes, M. le President, I said a bit sheepishly. One day, maybe a week or so after we began our training in Nairobi, Joseph Mbane, the chief trainer announced that we would be attending a lecture on colonialism and imperialism in Africa, with special attention to the British and French roles in raping Africa of its riches and robbing its people of their dignity and respect.

I was quietly aghast that the United States Government was paying for this but I held my tongue but obviously many of the trainees were keenly interested in hearing about the oppressed people of Africa, judging from the approving murmurs. Mbane escorted us into a small auditorium and introduced us to the lecturer, Mde. Raisa Okongo-Malasere. As we entered, she nodded a greeting and handed us a type-written copy of her lecture before we took our seats. I quickly scanned the material. It discussed the history of Africa pointing out that westerners had a totally wrong idea about the continent. It was not a dark continent full of savages and heathens as European imperialists had characterized it. Advanced civilization had flourished on the continent since the dawn of civilization: in Egypt, as we all knew, but also in Nubia, Benin, Madagascar, across North Africa, in Senegal, Mali, and elsewhere.