by M A Moore
“What’s the matter?” Mike asked, concerned that his charge was in trouble once again. She hadn’t seen him approach.
“Just a charlie horse.” She limped over to the side of the pool. “I need to put some weight on it and work it out.” The water was up to her chest, and she couldn’t get enough leverage with her arms to make it out of the water.
"Turn your back to me," Mike ordered. He used both hands to grab hold under her shoulders and picked her up with ease. He set her down on the edge of the pool. Amy lifted her legs out of the water and started massaging her calf as water drained off her and formed a puddle where she sat. Mike knelt down on one knee in front of her.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.” She pushed her thumbs into the muscle, but the cramp would not go away. Mike took the offending leg in his hands and pressed the hard knot with the tips of his fingers. The spasm released, but the pain was so intense Amy thought she was going to faint. She closed her eyes and let her forehead fall on Mike’s shoulder as she tried to catch her breath.
He waited until she lifted her head and opened her eyes. “Do you think you can stand now?”
“Yes,” she replied between shallow gulps of air. He helped her up and she tentatively put pressure on her right foot. The calf muscle was tender, but it accepted some weight. She hobbled over to a nearby chair and fell down into it. He pulled another in front of her and put her right ankle over her left thigh. Pressing his left hand into her knee, he started flexing the bottom of her foot. He pressed the sole towards and away from her knee to stretch the offending calf muscle. Meanwhile she reached for her cover up and threw it over her head. She pulled it over her hips, but not before Mike noticed old red scars on her right thigh. They looked like bite marks.
“There are reasons why people do not swim alone,” Mike began his lecture, still flexing her foot.
“I was not alone. You were here.” Mike started to protest, but Amy continued. “Paul, James and company were standing guard on me before you came. “ Amy looked up to see the foursome leaving the pool area now that she was in safe hands.
“We're all watching out for you, Amy.”
“I know that.” She hesitated. “But I am more used to being thrown to the lions than being protected.”
Mike focused his gaze on her shin continuing to flex her foot forward and back as he said half in jest, “We men are trained to look after our womenfolk.”
Amy pursed her lips, the corners of her mouth turned up in a pained smile. The calf was still sore and the muscle threatened to start cramping again. “I guess that’s true -at least in theory.” She took a couple of shallow breaths before continuing. “When a woman enters a man’s domain -and physics is definitely male territory -the game changes. It’s okay as long as she is the student that a man can mentor. But when she becomes competition for grant money and promotions, she is now considered an invading enemy and vulnerable prey.”
Mike stopped flexing her foot, and angled his chair so that he could put her right ankle over his own thigh and started massaging the calf. He looked into her eyes to gauge her emotion. They weren’t angry or hostile. They were just resigned. “Is that why you retired?”
“Partly I guess.” Amy picked up her leg with her hands and put the foot on the ground. Wet hair framed her face and she used her fingers to brush it out of her eyes. “I also got bored. I wasn’t doing physics anymore, I was teaching physics - it's not nearly as much fun.”
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.” Amy stood up and put some weight on her foot. She straightened her back and took a few steps. “Much better.”
“You could be dehydrated. Make sure you drink plenty of water this evening.
"Yes, sir," Amy replied to his command.
Mike furled his brow and pursed his lips. "Do you want me to carry you back to your room?”
“No. Please, no.” Amy laughed and Mike grinned. “Just escort me to the main house. I seem to have lost the rest of my body guards.”
Chapter 15
Africa’s Welcoming People- Its wildlife is thrilling, its scenery magnificent. But it’s the people who make a visit to southern Africa truly unforgettable. Local families will invite you around their table during a home-hosted dinner in Victoria Falls. – from a southern African tour company brochure.
Mike did not join them at the family-hosted dinner. He said he had work to do. Toomey put the seven of them in a hotel van and drove them to the home of Jordan and Charlotta. They lived off the main road in the town of Victoria Falls in a neighborhood of cinderblock structures set up in orderly rows. Along the way they passed a beauty shop and a barber identified only by the signs in the window. A simple iron cross marked the Catholic Church. Its larger size distinguished it from the rest. The residences had the same basic design only the landscaping surrounding them made them unique.
Jordan met them on the walkway and welcomed them to his home. He was a tall, well-built man with a wide smile. He looked healthier and more robust than most of the people working at the hotel. His house was like all the rest except for the mango trees that grew on either side of the front door. The entrance brought them directly into the dining room.
“Please take a seat anywhere,” Jordan gestured with his hands in welcome.
A lace tablecloth covered the Formica tabletop surrounded by folding chairs for up to ten people to sit in. The curtains across the only window were also lace and a sign on the wall said, ‘Education to Freedom’. Amy thought that Jordan seemed a bit nervous. I guess I would be too, she commiserated- inviting complete strangers from another culture into my house.
Paul and Linda handed the two bags of groceries over to Jordan.
“A thank you gift,” Paul said.
Jordan called out in a language Amy did not understand, but sounded familiar. A stately woman wearing native garb in shades of red and black came from a back room and took the sacks with her.
As they settled into their seats the lady returned. Amy looked at her more carefully. She seemed to be in her mid- forties and she was a handsome woman. In her youth she would have been quite a beauty. She still carried herself with great dignity. Jordan introduced her.
“This is my first wife, Charlotta.” She smiled at their group, but said nothing as she sat down.
Jordan spoke as if from a carefully crafted script, “I am going to explain our tribal traditions, and then my wife will tell you about marriage customs and domestic affairs.” His English was good, and his speech well-rehearsed.
“The man is the head of the household. His job is to provide food and shelter for the family, and to protect them from enemies. Please feel free to ask me anything that comes to your minds.”
The group said nothing so Jordan continued his speech.
“We eat with our hands, so the first ritual in a meal is hand washing.”
A teenage girl came in from the back room with a pitcher and basin.
“As head of this household, I am served first. Other male guests follow and then the women. This is my daughter Camille.”
Camille knelt at her father’s seat and poured warm water over his hands. As the only other men, James and Paul came next. Camille then moved to each of the women guests, and lastly to her mother.
The guests were a bit shy, but Maxine finally spoke up. “How many children do you have?” she asked.
Although she addressed her question to Charlotta, it was Jordan who answered.
“I have two sons and my daughter Camille. Our oldest is away at University, Camille studies at our local high school and my youngest child, Vincent, is only eight years old. You will meet Vincent later. He is currently in his room watching television. Not enough housing for families exists here in Victoria Falls. Only single people may stay in the dormitories that the hotel supplies for staff. We rent out rooms to two other families in the area.”
“But you don’t eat as a family?” Debra seemed surprised.
Jordan nodded to Charlotta. She spoke for the first time. “The evening meal is time for Jordan and Charlotta. The children have already eaten, but Camille will join us for tea later.” She had a heavy accent and her command of English was not as strong as Jordan’s.
Camille returned to the room bearing a metal bowl which she presented to her father. Amy, sitting next to him, saw what was in it.
“Fried caterpillars -very high in protein.” Jordan said as he reached in and helped himself. He handed the bowl to Paul on Amy’s right, who took one and stared at it for a while before popping it in his mouth. When the dish came back to Amy she passed it across the table to Maxine. She picked one up and took a tentative bite. The rest she handed to Debra. Meanwhile Camille brought in a bowl of tiny whole fish no longer than Amy’s little finger and a container of peanuts. Amy was aware that she should try one of the fish, but knew it would not end well if she did. The miniature creatures had very large eyes. She stared a bit at the bowl before passing it on.
“You are not eating? Jordan asked Amy with a trace of amusement.
Amy looked at Jordan, and raised her eyebrows. She put on her most endearing smile. “I have trouble eating anything that looks back at me.”
Jordan had the good grace to laugh heartily and then translated for Charlotta who had not understood what she said. Charlotta laughed too. Debra took a small bite of the caterpillar Maxine had passed her, and took the opportunity to shove the rest of it in a pocket of her purse that sat in her lap.
Camille brought metal dishes to each place. Her father was first, as protocol demanded, followed by Paul and James. Amy’s bowl had a large dollop of what looked like polenta with golf ball-sized chunks of both chicken and beef with a little gravy. Jordan explained.
“Every meal has corn porridge. We call it mealy meal. It is a staple of our diet. I will demonstrate how we eat without use of forks or spoons.” As Camille brought out bowls of vegetables Jordan pinched off a piece of the stiff gruel and picked up the meat to take a bite. The meal passed quite pleasantly without much conversation. Although the bowl with the caterpillars stayed on the table along with the fish, no one took another. After they finished, Camille came around again with the pitcher and basin to wash each person’s hands.
“I will tell you about our tribal laws while we have tea.” Mugs of hot ribose tea were passed around the table.
“A man may have as many wives as he can support. This is our tribe’s tradition. However, Charlotta and I are Catholic, so I have only one wife. Charlotta, I now give you permission to speak and tell our guests about domestic arrangements.” Amy could see Charlotta was nervous. It sounded as if she had rehearsed her speech with great care.
“When a man wants to marry a woman in my tribe, it is not the parents who decide if the man is worthy. It is the grandmother who the man must ask permission from. In fact my parents believed that Jordan was interested in my older sister rather than Charlotta. If the grandmother does not think he will make a good husband, the man has no hope of marrying the woman. Mine approved of Jordan and negotiated Charlotta’s bride price in cattle that remain in our village in the bush. After getting my grandmother’s blessing Jordan proposed love to me. Two years later when Jordan had the house built and the cattle delivered, Jordan and Charlotta married. But we wanted to do it right in our uniforms in the church.”
Amy was struck by the fact that Charlotta rarely used the pronoun “I” or “me” to refer to herself. Amy was also confused about the ‘uniforms’ but didn’t know what to ask. Jordan got up and took a framed picture from the set of shelves lining the back wall and passed it around. It was a photograph of Charlotta in a traditional white wedding gown and veil. The meaning of the uniform in the church became clear.
“You were a lovely bride, Charlotta.” Amy commented. Jordan’s chest puffed up in pride, and Charlotta's smile filled her whole face.
Charlotta continued, “An uncle of Charlotta has four wives and twenty children. The women of the household take care of everything: preparing the meals, tending the children, cleaning the house. The first wife does this with the help of her daughters and the other wives.” Charlotta warmed up to her topic. “The man does nothing.”
“He must protect the family,” Paul said in defensive of his gender.
“Yes,” Charlotta replied. “Jordan must also protect Charlotta’s mango trees from the elephants.”
“Elephants?” Linda asked, somewhat surprised.
Jordan explained that every night the elephants from the park came looking for water and Charlotta’s mango trees were a very tasty temptation.
“Why don’t you build a fence? James asked earnestly.
“The elephant would just knock it down. I use firecrackers. The game commissioner does not approve, but it is more effective than banging pots.” From his tone of voice and the look that Charlotta gave him, Amy could tell he was more afraid of Charlotta’s wrath if harm came to her mango trees than he was of the game commissioner.
Charlotta continued with her explanation of the household rituals. ‘’Each wife has a bedroom, and the wife he chooses for the night spends it in her husband’s room. The house also has two bedrooms for the children -one for boys and the other for girls.”
“Jordan only has one wife. We know we must educate our children if they are to have a good life. Charlotta made Jordan wait until she finished her schooling before the marriage took place. We do not have more children because we cannot afford to educate them. Education is not free in Zimbabwe. Each child must pay tuition and buy his uniform. If there are too many children the family won't have the money to educate the youngest of them. They will spend their lives in the village taking care of the cattle and serving the older members of the family.”
“We have been told that the unemployment rate is very high here. Where will your children find work?” Maxine asked.
It was Jordan’s turn to answer. “I quit my job with the hotel because my salary became worthless with inflation. I now buy and sell vegetables. We will send our children out of the country, for work and a good life. They will come back when the economy improves and bring more jobs with them. Education is our hope for true freedom,” Jordan stated with authority.
Camille slipped in and sat in an empty chair next to her mother.
Paul looked at Jordan, “Is it permitted to ask Camille some questions?”
“Ask anything you wish,” Jordan replied with a flourish.
Camille was tall and slim and dressed simply in grays and browns with a black turban that covered most of her hair.
“How old are you?” Paul asked.
“Nineteen years,” she replied, eyes downcast modestly.
“What are you studying in school?” asked Amy.
“I want to be a lawyer,” she replied with conviction.
Amy smiled. “Why a lawyer?”
“We need people who understand the law and will convince our nation's leaders to obey it. I want to be that person.”
A van pulled up and blinked its lights. Jordan jumped to his feet and announced, “The family-hosted dinner is now ended.” One could hear the relief in his voice. Camille had evidently touched on a sensitive topic that Jordan wanted to avoid.
Everyone posed for photos. The young son made his appearance and sat on his mother’s lap. Jordan photographed their guests with his smart phone. The tour group took pictures of the family in the kitchen where the lighting was better. Amy liked these people. They didn’t have a lot of material possessions compared to the Americans sharing their table, but they valued family and they were happy.
The guests loaded up the van, and left before the elephants could come in from the park on their nightly search for water and threaten Charlotta’s prized mango trees.
Chapter 16
Traditional African carving of animals and the geometric decoration of utilitarian objects predate the arrival of tourists at the beginning of the 20th century. By the 1930s, masks and drums dominated the market. As
the curio business became more sophisticated, dealers brought samples from elsewhere, and the carvers produced objects that were less directly related to their own lives and customs. -VicFalls.Zimbabwe.co.za
Their time in Zimbabwe was coming to a close. Mike scheduled a farewell dinner for them at the hotel that evening, but the morning was for shopping. A traditional African market sold local arts and crafts next to the Visitor’s Center for the falls. Maybe they were local, or they might be from China. There was really no way to tell. The shops were close by, certainly within walking distance, but Mike had the bus brought around so that the shoppers wouldn’t have to carry their treasures on the return to the hotel.
The kiosks filled a parking lot packed with sand and loose gravel. Everything was more than just a little shabby. Most of the items sat on the ground open to the sky. A great number of better quality soapstone sculptures were available for purchase, but size and weight made it difficult to imagine getting them home. A nearby FedEx office promised safe delivery to anywhere in the world, but Amy thought the cost would be outrageous. A thatched roof covered smaller goods displayed on tarps in the sand with narrow aisles separating each salesman’s inventory.
Amy found it depressing. Young men in thread bare clothes, all incredibly thin, patrolled the space in front of their wares trying to lure the few tourists there into buying something. They all had an unhealthy pallor to their skin and their dull eyes spoke of defeat. Only small walking paths between vendors let prospective buyers look more closely at the goods. It was difficult to say where one man’s territory started and the next began because it was all the same. Carved animals of wood and soapstone dominated. The Big Five came in many forms from pocket size miniatures to three foot giants. Lions, elephants, rhinos, leopards, and Cape buffalo in a variety of interpretations could be found at every turn. Some of the more creative artists combined the heads of them all into one collage. In general the quality of the goods was poor, and the salesmen were aggressive in a desperate, half-hearted way.