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Awakening: Volume 1 of the Vanquisher Series
Chapter 8: Now This Was Some Bullshit

Chapter 8: Now This Was Some Bullshit

As one who was once married to the founder of Sharmandi, Anana had had to keep up with politics and state affairs for decades making her an expert in both Dorbenese and Sharmandian politics. Hell, the woman was alive even before Dorben became Dorben.

The frown on Anana’s wrinkled face deepened. “What’s he doing here?”

Narvari wondered the same thing. What was a Dorbenese minister doing in her house? Something clicked in Narvari’s mind. She had only met with the Nnadago yesterday.

Did this have anything to do with their meeting? No, it didn’t make sense. If that were the case, the minister would be seeing Governor Andaga instead. Not her.

She may be the captain of the WPU but she wasn’t directly involved in governance. She was a soldier, not a politician.

Tsalaga breathed heavily as if he had just run an entire marathon instead of just climbing three short steps.

“Miss Shar.” The plump face of the politician broke into a wide rehearsed grin. “It is such an honor to meet you.”

The minister stretched out a fat hand towards Narvari. She stared at the hand like it was a serpent but she eventually took it and gave it a firm shake.

“It is a surprise to see you here, minister. Do you need direction to Governor Andaga’s residence?”

Tsalaga howled in laughter like he had heard the funniest joke in the world. “Of course not. I know where Andaga lives. I only came to see you.”

“What for?” Anana asked loudly.

Tsalaga turned his attention towards Anana. Narvari didn’t think the man could have a wider smile, but he did. How all that smiling did not burn the fat on his face was beyond her.

“Goodness, aren’t I a lucky man today,” said Tsalaga approaching Anana. “Forgive my manners, Madam Anabo Shar.”

Narvari almost gaped. Anabo Shar? Really?

Her grandmother’s real name was Anabo but everyone in Sharmandi called her Anana. It was a perfect play on words since Anana literally meant our mother. That was exactly what Anana was. She was the mother of Sharmandi.

Some of the older folks in Sharmandi did call her Anabo. It was her name after all. But who would dare call her Anabo Shar? Was this minister dumb or something? Wasn’t he Kirriba too? Didn’t he know that Anana never used her late husband’s last name and that it was insulting to confer a last name on one who never chose it?

The minister may have a last name, but his name, Tsalaga, implied he was half Kirriba. Did this man know nothing about his own culture? Or at least before coming here, did he not do his research that Anabo was simply Anabo and not Anabo Shar? This minister’s ignorance was already a sign that he was here to talk about nonsense.

“It is such an honor to meet you.” The minister stretched his hand to Anana but she just glared at him, perhaps wondering why the minister called her by her late husband’s name.

“What do you want?” Anana asked instead. “Just because you can freely travel to Sharmandi doesn’t mean you can freely come to my house.”

Tsalaga chuckled. It seemed the man was not easily phased by hostility. He must be used to it. “I came here to discuss something important with Miss Shar.”

Narvari glanced at Anana and the expression in the old woman’s eyes told Narvari to be careful.

“What do you want to discuss?” Narvari asked before Anana could say anything.

“Oh, surely we can’t talk here. Why don’t we go inside?”

“Hmm,” said Narvari. Honestly, she was curious about what this man wanted to talk about. “Alright then. But they stay outside.” She glared at the bodyguards.

Tsalaga smiled. “Of course.”

Narvari walked her grandmother back inside the house while Tsalaga followed.

“You have a lovely home,” said Tsalaga looking around with admiration.

Their five-bedroom house was indeed beautiful. It was too big for them though, she would admit. Anana retired to her bedroom while Narvari stayed in the large living room with the minister.

“So what do you want?” She went straight to the point as soon as they were both settled in one of the plush red sofas.

“I heard about the illegal hunting in Kirriba Plains.”

“You did, huh?”

“Yes.” The minister nodded. “It worries me, you know?”

“I’m sure it does.” Narvari smiled wryly. “Do you know how those poachers passed the border patrol in the first place?”

The minister paused, clearly startled by the question. But he quickly regained his composure with a smile. “Well, of course not,” he said. “Actually, I’m here to offer a resolution. I fear this issue could spoil Dorben’s friendship with Sharmandi and I most definitely do not want that.”

“Ah, I see,” said Narvari, considering the minister’s words carefully. Now she was more intrigued to know why Tsalaga would come to her instead of Governor Andaga. “I’m listening.”

Tsalaga adjusted himself in his seat. He cleared his throat. “Kirriba Plains is flourishing with many species. Hunting is a big industry in our part of the world and with the right connections, we can earn a lot of money for our countries.”

Narvari’s face remained expressionless. She could already tell where the conversation was going. She was sure Tsalaga wasn’t really interested in earning money for their countries. But she listened anyway.

“Perhaps if Sharmandi opens up a small portion of Kirriba Plains to hunters, you can tax them. You get money, they get their hunt. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“I doubt those animals would think of it as a win-win for everyone.” Narvari looked pointedly at the minister. It wasn’t that she was against hunting. It would be hypocritical of her since the economy of Sharmandi also thrived on animal farming. But Kirriba Plains was home to many endangered species such as the bazwu. The only reason those animals still existed in the first place was because the Kirriba resolved to protect them. Without the protection of WPU, those animals would have been hunted to extinction.

Narvari continued, “Kirriba Plains is a reserve. I’m sure you already know that. Besides, we already earn a lot of money from the plains through tourism.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Of course, I know that. But I also know you can earn even more money in the hunting industry,” said the minister. “Kirriba Plains is vast. All I’m asking is a rather small portion for the hunters.”

“You mean poachers.”

“These are only a few bad nuts. I assure you my government will deal with them.”

“Like how your government dealt with the last five raids?” Narvari glared at the minister. “Again, how did those poachers get past your border patrol?” Did this man think she was stupid or something? Wait, was that why he came to her? Narvari clenched her fist so tightly that she was sure the blood had stopped circulating through her fingers. But she was too angry to care.

“Why are you even talking to me about this anyway?” she asked. “You should see the governor. The Nnadago has the situation under control so that might not even matter.”

A crease formed on Tsalaga’s thick forehead. “The Nnadago? It was invoked? By who?”

Narvari grinned. “That would be me.”

Tsalaga opened his mouth to say something but froze. He gripped his gold cane with both hands. He bowed his head as if deep in thought. What was going on in that big head of his? Narvari wondered.

Tsalaga cleared his throat. “Well, with this kind of power to invoke the Nnadago, is it any wonder why I came to you then?” Tsalaga flashed a smile. This man really knew how to regain his composure.

“I’m not a politician, Mr. Politician,” said Narvari. “I’m merely a captain of the Wildlife Protection Unit. I don’t know what kind of power you think I have. But you are sorely mistaken.”

Tsalaga chuckled. No, the man actually burst into hysterical laughter.

“You must be joking,” he said. “Yes, you may not be the governor, nor a member of the governing body of Sharmandi. But you are a Shar.” He paused as if to make that sink in. “You are the granddaughter of the father of Sharmandi. You may be young, but I know you are highly respected in this country, Miss Shar. And it’s for good reason. You remind everyone of your grandfather.”

“What’s your point?”

Tsalaga smiled. It was one of those smiles people made when they knew they had achieved a goal. “You invoked the Nnadago and they listened. All I’m saying is that you, Narvari Shar, have the power to convince Andaga and the House of Representatives to open Kirriba Plains for a few days. They will listen to you. You have more power than you imagine, Miss Shar.”

Narvari narrowed her eyes. Why is he so interested in this issue anyway? Did Tsalaga Nokubenda know what was going on? Did he have anything to do with those foreign poachers who kept targeting their bazwu?

Her instincts told her that the minister knew something. Behind that nonchalant exterior the man had forged, Narvari could see the desperation beneath it. Did he know the person sending all those mercenaries to the plains?

Narvari asked, “What do you know about those poachers with the emblem of the crow?”

The smile froze on Tsalaga’s face but he quickly masked it by laughing awkwardly. “What do you mean? I don’t know anyone. I’m simply making an observation that will help us all.”

“Is that right? How so?”

“Think of all the money you will earn for Sharmandi.”

“Sharmandi has money. A lot of it.”

Tsalaga paused as if he had not expected to hear that.

Narvari wasn’t even making this up nor was she bragging about Sharmandi’s prosperity. Thanks to her grandfather, and subsequent visionary governors, Sharmandi forged a strong society built on the principles of solidarity, community, and family. With its abundant natural resources and vibrant tourism industry, Sharmandi was one of the happiest and most prosperous places in the world.

Unlike most African countries rich in natural resources and yet riddled with poverty due to the greed of a few people, Sharmandi had done well to translate its resources into both economic and social development for all of its approximately three thousand people.

A Canadian tourist Narvari once met aptly put it, “Sharmandi is like Iceland but with more sunshine and extroverts.”

They paid a lot in taxes; in return, they had free health care, free education, good housing, high income, and so much more. Things that sounded like a luxury to most Africans. To the Kirriba this was no luxury. This was simply what life was supposed to be in a society where people cared about each other.

For Tsalaga Nokubenda, a typical African politician, this very concept must be hard to grasp. These selfish leaders gave their continent a bad reputation making Narvari furious. It took all of her willpower to keep herself in her chair and not drag the man out of her house like livestock.

“Sharmandi has money, that is true,” said Tsalaga, oblivious to the thunderclouds brewing inside Narvari’s. “But one cannot have too much money.” His large brown cheeks jiggled as he chuckled.

Of course, this shameless man thought like that. No wonder Dorben was still poor despite all their natural wealth. It was because they had useless leaders like Tsalaga Nokubenda who thought politics was about stealing from the people rather than serving them.

Narvari didn’t like judging people, but when it came to African politicians, she would be judgmental forever until those bloody psychopaths changed for the better. How was it possible to be so wealthy and yet so poor? This shit never made sense to her.

“Think about it. You recently completed high school, right? We can always sponsor you to any university of your choice in Europe or North America. Or wherever you want. You just name it.”

He smiled at Narvari as if to give her the chance to think about what he had said. Was this man stupid or something? Didn’t she just tell him that she had enough money to do whatever she wanted and that included going to any university of her choice in any part of the world?

Besides, she had no interest in leaving her grandmother behind. If he was trying to bribe her, he should have done his homework. Narvari was not impressed by his laziness.

“I know your family is well to do. But it doesn’t hurt to have a few more zeroes in your account either.”

“You know,” said Narvari with a smile, “you’re right. One cannot have too much money. How much money are we talking about here?”

“Wonderful. I knew you’d come around.” Tsalaga grinned so widely that Narvari feared the man’s cheeks would fall off. “How about this? Why don’t you convince the WPU to stay away from the plains for a few days and we will give you any amount of money you want? That’s a good deal, no?”

Narvari paused thoughtfully. Why does he keep saying ‘we’? It seems he’s not alone in this.

“Tell me, minister, what kind of deal did you strike with those poachers?” Narvari asked. “Did you promise them you could convince Sharmandi to open the plains for hunting? How much did they pay you? Are there other government officials in Dorben involved?”

“This is preposterous,” Tsalaga shouted, hitting his cane against the hard wooden floor. “I will not stand for this.” The minister stood up.

Narvari smirked. Okay, but why are you standing?

He glared at Narvari with such righteous fury that if Narvari herself were not here, she would never have believed that Tsalaga Nokubenda had tried to bribe her in her own home.

Narvari stood to face the minister. “What is it you will not stand for? You passed by the governor and came all the way to my house to bribe me. And for what? So I would help you break the treaty without consequence?”

“Miss Shar-”

“It’s Narvari Shar.” She pointed her index finger at the minister. “You listen to me, minister. Whatever promises you made to those poachers, you better go back and unmake them. Those poachers will never… I repeat… never hunt in Kirriba Plains today, tomorrow, or ever. I assure you.”

Tsalaga’s face paled. “Miss Sh- Narvari Shar, you need to reconsider.”

Why was this man being so desperate? What did he care if Sharmandi refused to have people hunting on their land? How was that his problem?

“That man is dangerous.” His walls broke down completely and Narvari saw the fear on the large man’s face.

“Who? Which man?”

“I…” Tsalaga paused, then cleared his throat. “Look, I shouldn’t be speaking about this. I should go. Just take some time to think about my offer. I wouldn’t offend that man if I were you.”

Narvari ran her hand over her long cornrows as she watched the minister leave.

“Wait.”

The minister halted and Narvari drew closer. As large as Tsalaga was, he was rather tall since Narvari met eye-to-eye with him.

“I know you are working for someone,” Narvari began. She had a feeling it was the same man the mercenary had talked about. “It seems you have illegally given this person access to Kirriba Plains and received payment. How much? I truly don’t care. On the other hand, Sharmandi hasn’t given any permit to any hunter. Meaning you’ve broken the treaty.

“This is a conundrum and you, minister, are well and truly screwed. I suggest you start unscrewing yourself from this situation. But you can’t do that by magically getting us to overlook the broken treaty. No, that will not happen. It will never happen.”

Narvari’s voice dropped to an icy chill. “So here’s what you are going to do and I just might stop the Nnadago from investigating your corrupt ass. I am a Shar after all.”

Tsalaga suddenly became attentive. Narvari continued in her dangerously low tone, “Go tell that ‘dangerous man’ to stay away from the bazwu. He will never have them. And if he tries, I will harvest his guts through his mouth and feed it to him through his anus.”

Narvari smiled at the minister, patting him on the shoulder.

Whoever this so-called dangerous man was, she was not afraid of him. If that man so much as touched a single bazwu, she would rain hell on him and his entire army.