How I came to write The Mine by K. C. Ryeland

The Story Behind the Story of The Mine by K. C. Ryeland

Having spent several years in West Africa during the turbulent sixties, it occurred to me that many of my fellow countrymen would never have experienced some of the the trials and tribulations of living and working in a country with a culture so dramatically different to that of Western Europe. Therefore, after retiring, I found time to reminisce on some of the things I had experienced whilst in residence there. The most prominent being the almost total absence of any kind of law enforcement (except in the pursuit of illegal gain), a country teetering on the edge of civil war where corruption ruled the daily lives of many and tribalism blighted the lives of millions of its oppressed citizens.

With the advent of online publishers and the convenience of e-books, I decided to write about my time in West Africa and conjure some exciting adventure stories from the memories of that unique experience.
TheMine is littered with typical situations and events that actually occurred, though of course in many instances these have been embellished and made exciting. Because of my position as the manager of a British company dealing in Land-Rovers, Leyland trucks and Massey Ferguson agricultural equipment, I had access to many important people, including military governors, their ADCs, permanent secretaries, senior police officers and all grades of civil servants. Travelling around the country brought me into contact with High Commission staff and of course the largely illiterate private soldiers manning the thousands of road blocks. Some of the characters in the book are, therefore, composites of these people and the situations, such as the advent of civil war and the constant rioting egged on by agent provocateurs from the tribal factions, a reality.

After independence, many of the ex-British colonies in the region flirted with the Eastern Bloc with disastrous results. I well remember seeing scores of brand new Russian jeeps on the docks destined for the army, only to see them a few months later rotting at the side of the roads and in Motor Transport compounds when they had broken down due to their incompatibility with the tropical environment and there being no spare parts available. The deprived and subjugated citizens of the new republic could only watch and wonder at the colossal waste of money and plundering of the treasury by the various military governments as the country lurched from one crisis to another under the continual tribal purges that occurred every time there was a bloody and violent coup.

Therefore, it was with a desire to enlighten and entertain that I embarked upon my stories of Nibana, a fictional West African state shortly after gaining its independence from the British in 1962.

Excerpt from The Mine.

Chief Inspector Bello Akure, Police Sergeant Hassan Rufai and the First Secretary Commercial from the British High Commission, Charles Alexander, are at the Yula rest house.

...On Sunday morning, Bello, Charles and Hassan Rufai met in the dining room of the Yula rest house and ordered their breakfasts. It was only six o’clock and the room was empty. This gave the three colleagues the opportunity of discussing their next move openly.

Bello told the other two that the uranium mine was located three or four hours drive to the south-east of Yula and explained how difficult the track was the last time he and Mike Stevens had traversed it some three years ago. Bello also warned them that the entrance to the mine was, at the time of his last visit, guarded by at least one sentry.

“In order to discover whether the professor and his students are at the mine, it will be necessary to climb up into the hills and view the complex from afar. Mike Stevens and I did that the last time we were here and it was very easy to see if the mine was occupied, even at long range,” assured Bello.

“Fine,” said Charles, “but what do we do if the professor and his colleagues are there and the place is swarming with soldiers or bandits or whoever?”

“Well, I do not think my letter of authority will be much use to us under those circumstances, so if there are just too many of the opposition guarding the professor we will need support. However, if we send for the police from Ugune they may not wish to interfere if there are Obi troops there. Furthermore, it would be difficult to have Usmar police officers from Yula rescue the professor. The Obi police would see it as an incursion into their region; likewise with the army if we requested Usmar soldiers from the Northern Region. It is a real problem and clearly illustrates the evils of tribalism,” said Bello, exasperated with the politics of his country.

“Right, if we need assistance, then the only way to get it is to contact the British Deputy High Commission at Ugune and let the deputy high commissioner sort it out diplomatically with the regional military governor,” declared Charles triumphantly.

Bello looked at Sergeant Rufai and said, “I am afraid he is right. It really is the only way if we are to avoid a serious tribal conflict between the police or the army of the two regions.”
Rufai, simply nodded his approval and said, “But only if we need help to get the white men away from their captors. If we can do it ourselves, then we must do it.”

The three men nodded their agreement and then became silent as the steward approached and served their breakfasts.

After breakfast, Rufai took the Land-Rover into town and purchased fresh fruit from the market, while Bello filled their water bottles with ice-cold water from the kerosene fridge at the rest house. By seven-thirty they were driving along the track that would lead them to the mine.

The day began quite cool, but soon after nine it began to warm up considerably. The dry season had already started and the days were getting hotter as the month wore on. The track, Bello noted with dismay, had not improved one iota since the last time he used it, and in many places it had deteriorated considerably.

The three men had to endure thick, choking dust, loose surfaces, broken bridges over streams and the incursion of the forest on each side of the track. However, despite all the obstacles they made good time and were soon driving through the gently rising strip of grassland at the foot of the Omdu Hills. At just after one in the afternoon, the hottest part of the day, Bello suddenly recognised the area and was able to direct them to the place where, three years ago, he and SDPO Mike Stevens had parked their Land-Rover and climbed up the steep slope to reconnoitre the layout of the mine and its outbuildings. The three men agreed to park the Land-Rover in the small clearing under the same grove of palms, eat some fruit and then tackle the hill on foot after they were suitably refreshed.

Rufai opened the gun cabinet in the back of the Land-Rover and loaded a clip containing ten rounds of ammunition into each magazine of the two Lee-Enfield rifles. Bello checked his Mk IV Webley pistol and unloaded the water canteens.

“What about me? Don’t I get to carry a gun?” protested Charles.

“Oh, well, I am not sure about that, Charles; you are a civilian and a white man, there are strict rules about that sort of thing you know,” said Bello teasingly.

“Oh, come on, give me that spare pistol. I know how to use one. I have been trained properly,” replied Charles, pointing at the Webley lying in the gun cabinet.

“Well, all right, Charles, but do not position yourself behind us, stay in front at all times, do you hear?” replied Bello, still in teasing mode.

“I bet I could outshoot the pair of you on the shooting range. I have medals for my shooting,” said Charles as he took the revolver from Sergeant Rufai.

“Yes, earning medals for shooting on a range is not quite the same as facing a gang of smugglers, rioters or looters, is it, Sergeant Rufai?” retorted Bello.

“When we get back to somewhere civilised, I will challenge you both to a shooting competition with any weapon you care to name,” said Charles checking that the Webley was loaded.

“Right, now let us get up this hill and see if we can detect any sign of the professor and his men,” said Bello, as he handed a canteen of water to each of the two men...

Available in Kindle format from
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