Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter from here to Timbuktu.
A/N: Note that this story differs from Pottermore's descriptions of magical schools in Africa because I disagree with JK Rowling's map of only 11 schools of magic in the world and, more importantly, because I wrote it before that writing was released. In the Animagus-Verse, the Uagadou School of Magic in Uganda serves only the Swahili-speaking nations of East Africa, while Al-Sahil serves the French-speaking nations, among others. Since the fanon version of (for example) the Wizengamot is already pretty AU, I don't think this is much of a stretch.
(And why JKR chose to place a school whose name comes from historical Mali in Uganda, I have no idea.)
Chapter 7: Do Think About Elephants
Al-Sahil School of Magic, Mali
On the Niger River, midway from Timbuktu to Bamako
1 September 1995
A sandstorm swept towards Al-Sahil from the north. It was one of those sandstorms that always seemed to come on the same schedule, springing up from nowhere in a matter of minutes, swirling like a giant dust devil across the sand, and vanishing just as quickly, depositing a group of wizards in its wake—not that the muggles ever noticed.
This particular sandstorm was bringing a large group of local students—that is, mostly from within Mali, from the pickup point in Timbuktu. The swirl of sand surged forward until it stopped just outside the school gates and deposited its 'passengers' there, but more than just a mode of transport, it was a signpost visible from a great distance—a way for other groups of students to see how close they were to the school, and for some, to make sure they were on track.
The students at Al-Sahil came in different ways, some by train or boat or caravan. The more bookish students made a game out of spotting as many countries' students arriving as possible as they approached, and a good deal more were scanning the horizon for the particular mode of transport of their friends from some country or other.
These eclectic methods of travel reflected the school itself. Al-Sahil School of Magic was a sprawling patchwork of buildings that had been enlarged three times by the French colonial wizards since its origins in the early Islamic period: once in 1885, once in 1908, and again in 1919. Today, at more than twice the size of Hogwarts, Al-Sahil was one of the largest schools of magic in the world. Its students came from everywhere from Mauritania to Madagascar, and they all seemed to come in different ways. Students from the drier countries, like Mali, Mauritania, and Niger, travelled by sandstorm. Those from the West African coast took a train in a complicated series of connections put in between the various colonial powers in the late 1800s. The Zairean students came riding a caravan of magical elephants, bred for centuries for use by wizards who were unsatisfied with the way their muggle cousins handled the noble beasts. And no one was quite sure how the Malagasy contingent got there. They always just seemed to appear out of nowhere when you had your back turned. It was a little unsettling.
On the dry terrain, the riders of the elephant caravan from Zaire, Rwanda, and Burundi could see a long way. The sandstorm was visible as a golden column in the distance, and the train was a black line on the horizon. A tall, thin, seventh-year girl on the back of an elephant near the rear of the caravan shielded her eyes and gazed out of the column of dust, trying to gauge its distance and direction.
"Was that the sandstorm from Timbuktu, Jacqueline?" she asked in heavily-accented French, turning to glance at her two year-mates riding behind her.
"How should I know?" the shortest of the three girls said. "I can never tell out here."
The girl in front sighed. "I think we're going to be late. How is Kimpa doing?"
"Are we there yet?" came the sleepy reply from the girl in question.
"Almost, Kimpa. I can see the school from here. We need to pick up the pace, though."
"Don't worry, Rosalie," Kimpa assured her. "The caravan leaders know what they're doing. We'll get there."
Rosalie just looked on nervously from her perch on the elephant's neck, keeping an uneasy grip on her guiding pole.
Kimpa Muamba, Rosalie Mukasonga, and Jacqueline Rufyikiri had been nearly inseparable since their first year at Al-Sahil, and their bond had grown even closer as they supported each other through the East African War, constantly waiting and worrying to hear word of their families whilst trying to keep up with their studies. Kimpa was normally the one who drove the elephant for the three of them ever since their fourth year, being by far the best at it, but she didn't feel up to it this time. She had gone home from school last June only to be nearly die of the Ebola virus that was still ravaging Zaire. The outbreak that Kinani Ngeze had unleashed on Central Africa with his nundu had been held back for a time, and the teachers had thought it safe to send the students home, but then it broke through the quarantine measures in July and decimated the already-weakened magical community. Some of the girls' friends had died. Some were still at home sick or in quarantine. And even those who had been cured of the virus, like Kimpa, still struggled with the aftermath.
Kimpa suffered lingering joint and muscle pain and fatigue; she walked stiffly, and she had slept for a good part of the journey, leaning against Jacqueline's chest—not an easy feat on the back of an elephant. Such symptoms would normally be easily treatable for witches and wizards, but nothing was ever so simple when a nundu was involved. Kimpa was, at this point, trying to fully wake up so she wouldn't be dead on her feet when they got to the school, and Jacqueline offered her a canteen of water, which she drank greedily.
"It's going to be hard this year," Jacqueline said bitterly, "so many people being gone. I thought we were out of the woods after the war." She absently rubbed at the curling, rope-like scars on her arms.
"It's always hard times in some country that comes to Al-Sahil," Kimpa said. "Although it was very hard to leave my family this time. I almost didn't come. Especially since I've already had the Red Death. Someone has to tend to the ill." And bury the dead went unspoken.
"You're not in much of a condition to do that, yourself," Rosalie reminded her.
"I know. But I mostly came because Mother and Father kept telling me how important my education was."
"That is true. That's what my uncle always says. It's why I came back last year." This year, of course, it was because she'd managed to avoid the plague so far, and it was safer for her at school.
"I feel for you two," Kimpa said. "Suffering disasters at home for two years in a row must be awful."
"Mm hmm," Rosalie murmured. It was true; there always seemed to be conflict somewhere the vast region that Al-Sahil served—and least in the muggle world, and wizards were never entirely immune to that. With Rosalie hailing from Burundi and Jacqueline from Rwanda, they had been hit especially hard by both the East African War and the plague. Rosalie had lost both of her parents when Ngeze's nundu destroyed the Burundian Ministry, leaving her to live with her uncle, but that had been just the start of her and her friends' trials. At the end of their fifth year, after Jacqueline and Rosalie had said goodbye to Kimpa at Kisangani, they had tried to continue home. The East African War was still raging at the time, and there had been much debate about keeping them at Al-Sahil. Indeed, they both were kept there a while past the end of term with Kimpa staying by their sides out of solidarity, but before long, Edward Grayson's force had liberated Burundi, and Rosalie's family wanted to be close to her. Jacqueline was never considered an at-risk target in the first place, so they both set off for home after that.
Unfortunately, things didn't go as smoothly as they'd hoped, and they got waylaid when they stumbled into the forces fighting Albus Dumbledore's secret advance in Eastern Zaire. In the space of an hour, their guide was killed, their elephant was lost, they were separated from the rest of their caravan, and they were left alone with no hope of making it all the way to Burundi. (There was a big stink this summer after the teachers made a mistake like that two years in a row.) With no other options, Jacqueline led Rosalie out of the frying pan and into the fire in hopes of finding sanctuary, bribing a couple of local smugglers to take them in a boat across Lake Kivu to make it to her older brother's apartment in Gisenyi. It was debatable whether that was more or less dangerous than trying to fend for themselves in Zaire until the war ended: Jacqueline was Hutu, but Rosalie was Tutsi.
And Rosalie happened to look just like the not-entirely-accurate stereotype of a Tutsi that the militias were watching for—one of the few still alive in Gisenyi. Still, she had wept with gratitude to have a friend who was willing to put her life on the line for her and went willingly. It was easily the most dangerous thing either of them had ever done. They'd had to sneak into the city in the dead of night, to a place neither of them had ever seen, and where they weren't even certain Jacqueline's brother was, or how he would react. When they found him, Jacqueline had to threaten to duel him, which probably would have brought the whole city down on their heads, before he agreed to hide Rosalie there.
They kept Rosalie's presence a secret for over a month from the muggle and magical militias while the ICW and RPF forces took back the country city by city. It was just their luck that Gisenyi was the last city to be liberated. They had more close calls than they cared to remember in those last few days when Ngeze himself swept into town, and they both still had nightmares about it.
Jacqueline had watched the Battle of Gisenyi from the bedroom window and described it to Rosalie, who was hiding under the bed, shaking with fear. She saw the duel between Dumbledore, Grayson, and Ngeze as a fireworks show in the distance. The apartment building shook terribly from the erumpent-induced explosions when the dark lord had set off his stampede, and they were lucky it stayed standing. And even Jacqueline had turned and dived under the bed with Rosalie when she heard the nundu's demonic roar.
Their scars had come in the aftermath of the battle. When they tried to dig their way through the rubble to find a witch or wizard who could help them get home, Jacqueline had been attacked by the stinging nettle vines that Ngeze had used on the ICW forces, and that was only the first of many dangers they'd faced that day. The wizarding quarter of Gisenyi was a minefield of conjured attacks and unspent curses. Jacqueline's brother had nearly been killed by a swarm of driver ants, and Rosalie was badly burnt by something that resembled bubotuber pus.
Rosalie shook herself out of her reminiscing. She had an elephant to drive. She inexpertly kicked her heels into the animal's shoulders—not hard, but enough to make it stop and shake its head in protest.
"Whoa!"
"Hey, easy. She's not a horse," Kimpa said.
Rosalie wobbled suddenly and, in a panic, rapped the elephant with her pole several times, harder than she'd intended. The elephant turned around and shook harder, and the inexperienced Rosalie struggled to stay on. But Kimpa reached out fast, steadying her and grabbing the end of the pole at the same time.
"Watch it with that," she warned. "Whoa, whoa, easy, girl." Kimpa pulled herself up and leaned forward across Rosalie's shoulder. Reaching down, she rubbed the top of the elephant's head affectionately: "It's alright. She's just new at this. She didn't mean to hurt you. You're doing fine. Keep going." The elephant calmed down and continued plodding on her way. "Remember, the magical elephants know what they're doing," she reminded her friend. "You don't need to stick her with a hook like a common muggle. Berilia here is very intelligent, aren't you, girl?"
Berilia made an approving whistling sound.
"You see? She understands. A kind word and light touch are enough to guide her."
"Yes, just a gentle nudge with the pole, and don't pull on her ears. You told me," Rosalie said. "Sorry, Berilia."
"Often, you won't even need the pole," Kimpa said. "She knows where to go." Indeed, the same space-bending magic that allowed post owls in Europe to never get lost and to deliver their letters faster than the birds could normally fly also allowed the caravan of magical elephants to cross Zaire quicker than ought to have been physically possible. It was even easier on a journey like this because Berilia could move with her herd. The Zairean students needed a whole herd for the caravan, so there was no need to break up the family.
"What would we do without you?" Rosalie asked Kimpa.
"You'd probably still be in Mbandaka," replied with a laugh. "Here, you want me to take over the rest of the way?"
"No, no, I've got it. We're almost there anyway."
"It's really no trouble."
"Relax, Kimpa," Jacqueline said. "You just take it easy. You've taken care of us for so long. Let us take care of you now."
She flashed a weary smile and said, "Thank you. Both of you." Kimpa had been her friends' rock through their hardships over the past two years. When they tried to make their ill-fated journey home a year ago, she had given them extra money, supplies, and maps at her home, and Jacqueline and Rosalie agreed that they never could have made it without her help. Now that she was recovering, though, they were happy to take care of her.
"Almost there," Rosalie said, gazing out across the scrub. "I can see the tower now."
"Good. I'm starving," Jacqueline said.
"There might still be some fruit in the saddlebags."
"No, I think Berilia ate the last of it." She sat in silence for a while as Kimpa settled back against her wearily. "All that death, and they couldn't bring in that dog, Ngeze," she mused quietly. The others nodded. All three of them hated the man pretty thoroughly by now for what he'd done to them and their families.
"Yes, bane of our lives," Rosalie agreed. "I heard a rumour he's headed to Europe."
"I've heard a lot of rumours. The point is, he's still out there."
"Well, if that's where he's going, the ICW will be even busier. They're dealing with two Dark Lords in Britain already, and that's Albus Dumbledore's homeland."
"I hope they fare better than we did. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
"Maybe they will. Edward Grayson's there, too. And I heard a rumour they're already bringing in more people from the ICW."
"Sure, they would act faster when the trouble's in the ICW's backyard," Jacqueline groused.
"I don't know about that," Rosalie said. "My world history is a little rusty. Did they intervene in Britain's last civil war?"
"I…don't remember, either."
"Let's not talk about this," Kimpa cut off the discussion. "Have you thought about what you want to do after graduation?"
Jacqueline tried to shift gears quickly and thought for a minute. "Er…Well…" What did she want to do? Well, she did have one idea. "I guess lately, I've been thinking about becoming an Auror."
Rosalie and Kimpa feel silent. Slowly, both of them turned around and craned their necks to look at her.
"I think I could see that," Kimpa said softly.
"Really?"
"Yes. You're a protector. It's your natural role. I could see it even before the war."
"Huh. I hadn't really thought of it that way."
"Why not?" asked Rosalie. "You were my protector. Weren't you about to take on a whole city for me?"
Jacqueline smiled awkwardly: "I wouldn't put it that way, but I guess so. What about you, Kimpa? Any plans?"
"I've been thinking about becoming a Healer for a while," she answered.
"Oh, you'd definitely be good at that," Rosalie agreed.
"I hope so. Only I haven't decided human or animal yet."
Her friends laughed. "Can't pick just one, can you?" Rosalie said wistfully.
They waited a moment for her to share her plans as well. When she didn't, Jacqueline posed the question directly.
"I don't know," Rosalie said. "You both have big dreams, and I haven't really thought about it. I always just thought I'd do something nice and quiet and…safe. Maybe even just being a homemaker and starting a family."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Kimpa told her. "The world needs mothers just as much as it needs Aurors and Healers. Being true to yourself is more important than trying to follow someone else's dream."
"Thanks," Rosalie whispered.
"Besides, we still have plenty of time to decide," Jaqueline said. "Although…" She gave her an appraising look, "I think you'd make a good teacher."
"You do?" she said in surprise.
"You're certainly good enough at Charms. You're the one who did most of the magic to sneak us into Gisenyi, remember? Disillusionment, magical disguises, repelling charms—you could do it."
"Huh…I've never thought about that before, but…maybe I will."
"Alright, then it's settled," Jacqueline said with a laugh. "I'll fight; Kimpa, you patch me up; and Rosalie, you teach the children."
They all laughed at that. Things were never so certain, but after all they had been through, they could finally begin to dream big.
