by M A Moore
They always began by introducing themselves, “My name is…. Buy something Lady, so my family can eat tonight.” The despair was palpable. Mike had warned them to buy with their heads not their hearts. Amy wandered through the market aimlessly for a half hour, but she couldn’t take it any longer. She took refuge from the shops with Mike who waited under the shade of the sole acacia tree.
“There is so much despair here,” she whispered. "Opulence and despair -what a horrible combination.”
Mike tried to explain, “We have a phrase in Africa- TIA- This is Africa. We have our problems. Some are left over from the European colonial era of which my ancestors were contributors. Others are the growing pains of a people who never knew anything but tribal tradition and the law of the jungle - the fittest will survive. Africa is an emerging force in the world. All of us haven’t found our way yet.”
Amy nodded. She admired his use of the pronoun “we”. She could feel his real sense of connection to the land and the animals and the people here in Africa.
A cell phone, the one that laid dormant in her purple bag since the border crossing into Zimbabwe began to vibrate in her pocket.
“Excuse me please.” Amy walked around the side of the bus. “Hello.”
“Amy Mohr?”
“Yes.”
“Robert Widdon died this morning while trying to cross illegally into Zambia.” Amy’s face lost all its color.
“I want to see the body,” she replied.
“It is not pretty.”
“I can handle not pretty.”
“I’ll have to get back to you.” The caller hung up.
Amy was in shock. The only thing she knew at this point was that she needed a positive identification. She couldn’t go back to his mother without being absolutely sure.
Mike looked at her face as he came around from the other side of the bus and stopped cold. “What is it, Amy?”
“Nothing.” She replied in a whisper. Only the pallor of her skin reflected the growing abyss she felt herself falling into.
“Let me help you, Amy. I can help you,” Mike pleaded in a tone that matched hers.
“Later,” she answered in a toneless voice as she mounted the steps to the bus. She sat staring blankly out the window. The rest of her traveling companions soon began boarding with their purchases. He would find her later that night after the group’s farewell dinner.
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The farewell celebration was lively and spirited with the wine and champagne flowing freely. Amy attended but remained quiet and on the sidelines. Maxine asked if she was all right, and Amy admitted that her stomach felt queasy. She picked at her meal and barely touched her wine. She retreated early to her room. Her digestive system was not the problem.
A member of the housekeeping staff delivered a note to her door in a sealed envelope. Before she could read it, another knock came. She looked through the security peephole and saw Mike with a can of ginger ale. She undid the safety chain.
“I brought you something that may calm your stomach.” Gastrointestinal problems were the bane of every program director. He walked in without an invitation and made her sit down on the edge of the bed.
“My stomach is fine, Mike” she stated flatly. The unopened envelope was still in her hand. He placed the can on the end table next to her, and extended his arm. She passed him the envelope.
He opened it and read the contents out loud. “Tomorrow afternoon. Livingstone Central Police Station in Zambia.”
He folded up the note and put it back in the envelope. “What does it mean?” he asked her, demanding rather than requesting an answer.
Amy knew she had to tell him at least part of the real reason she was here. She would not be able to get there alone. “I actually came to southern Africa to find my cousin Robert. He’s my aunt’s only child and he has been missing for a couple of months. The phone call this morning told me he died while crossing the border into Zambia. I need to get to the police station tomorrow to identify the body.”
Mike exhaled. He hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was a start. “Toomey can get the others to the airport in Kasane for the flight back to Johannesburg. A new tour manager is waiting there to take them on to Durban. Tomorrow I'll drive you to the police station myself.”
Amy merely nodded.
Later that evening Mike was able to contact Bonner and advise him of the situation. He said that their intelligence about Widdon did not include a death notice. In fact he was seen in Harare, Zimbabwe, the day before. He recommended that he let Amy identify the body, and if it was Widdon to get her on the next plane out of the country. Mike agreed.
Chapter 17
Until 2012 Livingstone was the capital of the Southern Province of Zambia lying 10 km (6.2 mi) to the north of the Zambezi River. it is a tourism center for Victoria Falls and a border town with road and rail connections to Zimbabwe which lies on the other side of the falls.
The next morning the group met on the back terrace of the hotel and waited for the bus to take them to Kasane’s airport. Amy was late and members of the tour voiced their concern.
Mike gathered them together. “Amy’s stomach problem has gotten a bit worse. Her life is not in danger, but she cannot get on an airplane today or maybe even tomorrow. Toomey will escort you to Kasane and your plane to Johannesburg. Another representative will meet you there and take you on to Durban. I am going to stay here and make sure Amy is okay.”
The group nodded in understanding. James asked, “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Mike shook his head. “I have already taken care of rearranging her itinerary. She just needs to stay near a bathroom and keep drinking fluids. She should be fine in a day or so. Maybe she can meet you in Durban when she feels fit to travel.”
After they got on the bus and left, Mike headed back to Amy’s room. She waited for him with her bags packed. Mike took her around to the service area parking lot and loaded their suitcases into the jeep that Bonner had supplied for their use. If it was Widdon’s body at the morgue, he would take both himself and Amy on to the Livingstone airport and fly to Johannesburg from there.
Neither of them spoke as Mike took them over the bridge and through emigration out of Zimbabwe and into Zambia. The lines were short and Amy stood at Mike’s side and followed his lead. The town of Livingstone was only a twenty minute ride away and neither of them was in the mood for conversation. The police station was a modern brick building only a couple of stories high. Amy showed no emotion as she walked into the morgue and the coroner met her. Mike remained by her side.
Before the coroner removed the sheet covering the body, he warned her.
“This man’s car crashed while he was trying to cross the border not far from here. His passport identified him as Robert Widdon. His body went through the windshield of the vehicle and he suffered severe disfigurement. Are you sure you want to do this madam?”
Amy nodded. He pulled back the shroud. Swelling and bruises had turned the visage into a grotesque imitation of a human face. The hair was blond and the corpse had a full beard. The body had on the clothes Amy had last seen her cousin wearing. Amy pursed her lips and took the body’s right hand in both of hers. If she had any emotional reaction, she hid it behind a stony mask. Mike had to look away. He felt unwell himself at the moment. He had seen plenty of dead men when he fought in the bush wars. Some of those bodies suffered damage at least as great as this one. He wasn’t sure why this corpse affected him so intensely.
Amy pulled up the sleeve of the shirt covering the body's right wrist and turned its hand over.
“He wore a silver watch on this arm. Do you have it? I would like to return it to his mother.”
“I think there is a fancy timepiece in his personal effects. You are welcome to any of them except the passport. As next of kin, what do you wish us to do with the body?”
“Please have
it cremated, and then scatter the ashes. I won’t be staying around to collect them.”
The coroner nodded and pulled the sheet back over the body. Mike and Amy left the morgue. In the medical examiner’s office Amy signed papers authorizing the disposal of the body and she took possession of the watch that Amy recognized as the gift Aunt Martha had given her son for his last birthday. Mike led her out of the police station and on to the parking lot.
Once they got near the jeep Mike said, “I’m so sorry, Amy. I’ll get you on the next plane back to Johannesburg so you can go home.”
Amy looked into Mike’s concerned continence and appreciated his sincerity. Her sapphire eyes did not blink. “It wasn’t him." She stopped to take a breath. "The clothes were his and so is the watch, but it’s not him.”
She turned and slid into the passenger seat. Mike walked around the other side and got behind the steering wheel.
“How can you be so sure?” Mike asked as he started the engine and put the jeep in gear.
“Robert and I grew up together. I was his babysitter when he was a kid. He has a scar on his right wrist that I am responsible for giving him. The scar was missing, and I won’t be leaving Africa until I find him or what's left of him.”
Mike found a café where they could get something to eat. Amy hadn’t eaten since yesterday and he was sure she was hungry. Much to his surprise he had no appetite. While Amy was in the restroom Mike called Bonner and apprised him of the situation.
“If she won’t leave the area, we can't force her to,” Bonner lamented. “I suggest you head to Harare. That is where our agents spotted him last. I’ll have our people see if there is any new information. I'll be in touch.”
When Amy returned she noticed that Mike had not finished his lunch. “You haven’t eaten much. You all right?”
“I feel like I am coming down with that stomach thing you had.”
“I didn’t have a stomach thing. Remember?”
Mike nodded. “I think we should head to Harare back in Zimbabwe.”
“And why is that?” Amy suspected Mike had contacts he hadn't mentioned.
“It's the last place your cousin was sighted, and it is as good a place as any to start. Harare is almost six hundred kilometers away if we take the most direct route, and we won’t be doing that. It would be better if we crossed the border back into Zimbabwe. This means a couple of days of hard driving, but in the long run I think it will be safer.”
“And where are you getting this information?” Amy asked still unclear as to the source of this unexpected intelligence.
“I have my people just as you have yours.” Mike’s expression told her that if she wanted more on that front, she would have to trade for it. She wasn’t ready to do that yet, so she looked straight ahead not saying a word as they moved out of the parking lot.
Not far from the café Mike stopped and topped off the jeep's fuel tank. He also filled up the two spare petrol containers he found in the back. At a local grocery he picked up water and supplies that would last them a couple of days. The border crossings out of Zambia and back into Zimbabwe were uneventful. Truck traffic caused a delay over the bridge that linked Zambia to Zimbabwe. Amy took the opportunity to look for rainbows in gorge where the waters of Zambezi flowed after going over Victoria Falls. The mists from The Smoke that Thunders rose high that afternoon and the roar was like a freight train, but the sun was at the wrong angle. No rainbows lightened her mood. They crossed the bridge, drove through the town of Victoria Falls and traveled south down the A8 towards Bulawayo. From there they would head east to Harare.
Amy was quiet. After ten minutes of silence, Mike spoke. “You were pretty cool back there. One would think you’ve seen a lot dead bodies.”
Amy shrugged. “I did some consulting work for an engineering firm for a while. I specialized in traffic accident investigation and I saw a few mangled bodies in my time with them.”
“That couldn’t have been pleasant.”
“I've had nicer jobs.”
If Mike thought he could gain her confidence and get her to tell him more of her story, he hoped in vain. They drove on in stony silence. After three hours darkness began to settle in. Twilight doesn't last long in the tropics. Mike pulled the jeep off onto a dirt side road far enough so their vehicle was not visible from the highway.
“We’ll spend the night here -too many things to bump into after the sun sets.” He wasn’t only referring to animals. Roving bands of brigands hijacked cars on this route when it got dark. Mike didn't want to deal with them. “You can have the back seat, I’ll take the front.”
“I’m smaller. Let me take the front.”
Mike wasn't up for an argument. "Fine," was all he said.
Mike passed her a bottle of water and a blanket. “It's going to get cold tonight.”
The air seemed pretty warm to Amy. “Hand me my backpack, I’ll use it for a pillow.”
Mike had no trouble falling asleep. Amy leaned against the driver’s side door using her purple bag to cushion the rough edges. She could almost stretch her legs out straight. Amy sipped on her water limiting her intake. Emptying a full bladder in pitch blackness in the bushes was not a comforting thought. Mike, feet flat on the seat so he fit, mouth open, snored softly. Amy listened to the sounds of the night. Birds called to each other as they settled into the trees to roost until morning. The bushes near the jeep crackled, but she couldn’t see what was there. Neither the darkness nor the animal noises frightened her. She felt strangely at peace here, and fell into a doze lulled by music of the night.
The sharp crack of a nearby branch startled her. A waning gibbous moon was high enough in the sky now to let a little dappled illumination through the leafy canopy. The rustling of bushes alerted Amy to a small herd of impala as they made their way around the jeep. In the diminished light they looked just like the white tail deer that were so common near her place at home. She drifted back to sleep.
The next time she woke she saw a cheetah reclining on the bonnet enjoying the residual heat from the jeep’s engine. It groomed its fur not unlike the feral cats that roamed her woods, and this beast ignored her just as they did. Amy watched in fascination as the feline looked straight at her with its golden eyes, calmly stood up, stretched and yawned. It leapt off the jeep and sauntered into the bushes.
Amy was awake now, and waited impatiently for the dawn. She had no choice but to rely on Mike. Trust was something that needed time, and she didn't have any. She knew he was more complicated than he let on. She wasn’t sure about anyone in this mess she was in. Uncertainty and ignorance filled her with self-doubt. If she was wrong to put her life in Mike's hands, she would just deal with it later.
Chapter 18
Key facts about Malaria
Malaria is a life-threatening disease caused by parasites that are transmitted to people through the bites of infected mosquitoes.
In 2012, malaria caused an estimated 627 000 deaths (with an uncertainty range of 473 000 to 789 000), mostly among African children.
Malaria is preventable and curable.
Increased malaria prevention and control measures are dramatically reducing the malaria burden in many places.
Non-immune travelers from malaria-free areas are very vulnerable to the disease when they get infected.
-World Health Organization Bulletin No.94
At first light Mike hadn’t yet awakened, and Amy was anxious to get moving. She reached over the back of her seat and gave his shoulder a shake. He rolled over and turned his face towards her. Perspiration beaded his forehead and ran down his neck. The front of his shirt was soaking wet. He was burning up. Panic crept into Amy’s chest. With effort she suppressed it and called out his name. He moaned, but did not open up his eyes.
His pack sat beside him, and she rummaged through it. She found a handgun and some extra clips of ammunition, his cell phone, a shaving kit and a spare set of clothes. At the bottom she discovered a prescription bottle labeled Primaquin
, 15mg/day for 14 days. In the vial were a couple dozen small white pills. Primaquin was a medication for malaria. She herself had gotten so sick on malaria prophylactics on her last trip to Africa that she swore she would never take them again. This part of Zimbabwe claimed to be a malaria free zone. She hadn't seen any mosquitoes during the dusk to dawn hours so she supposed Mike was a having a relapse. Amy hid the gun in her own purple sack along with the extra clips. She took his cell phone and removed the battery before returning it to his pack. The lithium power supply she put in hers. He needed medical attention as soon as possible. She drove towards Bulawayo where she hoped she would find some.
As Amy maneuvered the jeep back to the highway, Mike turned on his side and moaned. He was delirious with fever. She wondered if one of the Primaquin tablets would help, but she wasn’t sure if she could even get him to swallow it. Trying might do more harm than good. Driving a manual transmission was not a new experience for her, but she had never had to deal with shifting with her left hand. It took a little experimenting and some grinding of gears before she got them back down to the main road towards civilization.
After about an hour she started seeing hints of habitation. She spotted a small collection of buildings with a faded sign that said Baobab Missionary School and Clinic. Amy pulled the jeep over. Mike hadn’t made any sounds for a while and she was fighting down the creeping edge of panic. A middle-aged woman dressed in a long grey shift that reached to her ankles came out of one of the cinderblock structures to meet her.
“It’s my brother,” the lie coming easily to her lips. “He’s sick. I think he is having a malaria attack.” Amy handed her the vial of Primaquin. “This was in his backpack.”
The woman looked in the back seat. “Help me get him inside. I am Sister Gertrude.”
As the two of them half carried, half dragged Mike into the first building a younger woman in similar gray clothing ran up to open the door. Together, the three of them got him down on an old-fashioned gurney.