by Renee Topper
#
Kennen, clean and dressed is tying his shoes when she returns. It’s a small space and they are close. He cleans up very well, even shaved the scraggly beard that was trying to grow in. Now that he’s all fresh-faced and smelling good, Aliya does a double take.
“There you are. I was beginning to worry.”
“Beginning?” She calls him out. She’s been feeling him worry about her since the day they met. She takes a moment, lured by the fresh smell of him. She gently touches his cheek and smiles. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
He leans in, a little unsure, but hopeful for more closeness, more of her touch. But he’s nervous, “Are you uh… Are you hungry?”
Aliya nods. She catches herself gazing at him too long. She leans in and kisses him softly on the lips. He can’t move his lips at first but then melts into a long gentle kiss. She pulls away.
“I’m…I’m going to grab a shower and get ready.”
“Sure.” His Irish shows in the pink rushing to his face. “Right. Well I’ll be out of your way...” I’m goin’ down the bar for one and give you some privacy. I figure we can grab something to eat. Sound good?”
“Meet you downstairs.” She closes the door behind him, brings her hand to her head, and pulls her hair for what she’s done.
She walks over to the bureau where Kennen set some sliced papaya for her and a flower.
There is a knock on the door. It’s the concierge with a note for her:
“Meet you in front of your hotel at 10pm tonight. -Rhadi”
She hides the note in her makeshift journal under her pillow.
#
They step outside onto the busy street, full of life, then into a small warmly lit restaurant. As they settle into their mats, the server brings them warm cloths to wash their hands. Kennen opens a cloth. “Let me see your hands.”
“Why?”
“Just let me.”
She holds out her hands. He folds the cloth around them and gently wipes her palms and fingers. Her eyes close, her whole body relaxes in the warmth, into a lingering sensual moment. As the heat escapes, the cloth cools and she opens her eyes to Kennen looking at her lovingly.
“Kennen, we kissed.” She withdraws her hands to her lap.
Feeling her try to slip away into her shell, he makes light and flirts, “You kissed me. Then we kissed.”
“Yes, I did. I don’t know why I did. I’m telling you this because I don’t want to lead you on or hurt you.”
“Okay.”
“Kennen, I’m serious.”
“Okay. But you kissed me first. So, there’s that.”
“Kennen.”
“Aliya, you know how I feel about you. But I’m not a fool. I know you’re all screwed up in the head right now. You’re exhausted and believe it or not you’re human. Most people don’t treat you like you are half the time, including yourself, but you are. Anyways, I’m over the moon you kissed me, I’ve been praying for a kiss from you since I met you. And you did kiss me first. And that gives me hope that maybe someday, there may be something. That maybe somewhere deep inside, we are more than friends.”
Calling his bluff, Aliya raises a glass of wine, “To friends.”
Kennen raises his, “To friends with potential.”
They clink their glasses as the food arrives. Generous ugali, a traditional meal of white cornmeal and peanuts, served with meats, fruits and vegetables and a selection of dipping sauces, they eat with their hands.
“Friendship with … what did you say?”
He repeats, “Friends with Potent…” Before he can finish, she stuffs food in his mouth.
She’s pushing drinks on him, hoping he’ll get tired and pass out, but he’s got that Irish hollow leg and he’s getting rowdier instead of more subdued.
#
They stroll back to the room. As decided earlier, he’ll sleep on the floor. He’s playfully frustrated. She’s got to shake him. He’d try to come along if he knew where she was going. After an hour, he finally falls asleep and she sneaks out.
She exits the lobby to the valet/cab area. Rhadi is there waiting. They hug hello. “Sorry, I’m late.” she apologizes softly, more for the kiss she shared with the man upstairs and now being out with another man than for her tardiness. As they step away from the hotel into the street, Aliya glances over her shoulder, as she hopes, Kennen isn’t there. He’s been her new shadow. Reggie was at home, Kennen here, but having a white shadow with a crush is starting to wear thin for her. And she is a woman and Rhadi is definitely a man. Kennen is lovable, charming and while his muscles have filled out, he is still boyish to her. And she has important work to do.
#
They walk briskly, at pace with the city beat. Though some people still leer at her here, there are more distractions, more things to compete for onlooker’s eyes and she is high on the adrenaline and endorphins. When they cross the street, Rhadi places his hand on the small of her back in a natural protective way, but the feeling of his hand there is welcome to her. It sends blood rushing up and down her spine. They go a few blocks on foot. Rhadi hails a cab. They get in and ride out toward the coast and then north along the ocean. As they travel north, the environment grows plusher, more opulent, green and spacious. Like driving from downtown LA through to Bel Air, Aliya thinks. The cab turns right and through bold ornate gates under the sign for the “Sea Cliffs” and drive the windy way to this exclusive and beautiful hotel.
Rhadi opens the door for Aliya and tips the driver. She looks pensive, there is a moment of hesitation that comes over her and she lags as they approach the door. Rhadi senses this. He turns back, takes her porcelain hand in his manly paw, gives her a look of reassurance, and they step inside.
17
Sea Cliff Hotel
July 5 (later) - 6
It’s beautiful, simple, but it feels rich. They are seated around a table in one of the lounges by the back bar in this highbrow hotel having drinks, and discretely watching the comers and goers. Rhadi speaks softly as he lays out the plans on beverage napkins. He reviews where and when they will meet, who has the materials and so forth. Aliya helps explain some of the details to them. They are about her age, students from Dar University, but they look older than her.
She trusts Rhadi implicitly despite Kennen’s cautions and even though this team is risking a lot, she wishes she knew them better. She can’t call them brothers and sisters. Those terms would be too strong and too religious. While they clearly believe in their mission, they have different gods and they have color.
Lalique, a tall athletic young man of 18 will be the decoy. He’ll draw the attention of security and lure as many of the guards as possible away from the stage.
Karim and Lamar, cousins who look like twins, will fend off the few remaining security guards or anyone who might try to intervene, while Rhadi, Aliya and Shaey storm the target at center stage.
Lamar asks in a voice, seemingly too deep for his small frame, “Who is the target?”
Rhadi leans forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands almost clasped in prayer with his index fingers gently tapping his plump lips. “That’s why we came all the way out here, so you could see him with your own eyes. Look, casually, one at a time. Three o’clock.”
Lamar looks first and turns back to high-five Rhadi “Yes.” Rhadi takes his hand down with a cover smile, “discretely.”
Lamar, “I know man, but that’s Luamke!” Surprised by the high rank and notoriety, the rest of the team looks together to spot Magistrate Luamke. Thankfully, Luamke is far enough away at the bar and so much consumed by his conversation that he doesn’t notice all the eyes on him.
Rhadi pulls their attention back to their circle. “That’s right and we need to keep it quiet if we are going to pull this through. Understand?” Lamar sits back in his seat, getting it. “We will get him for you, Aliya, and everyone with your condition.” His sympathy… his pity, echoes in Aliya’s mind. Even here, in this mom
ent, singled out. Even though its meant in support, and even though its for her cause, it is still isolating, stiflingly so. “Be in your places on time tomorrow morning.” He adds, “in all white.”
The others leave but Rhadi and Aliya remain. She didn’t turn when the others did. Meeting here isn’t the smartest idea. They are far too conspicuous a group. It’s not a typical hangout for a bunch of college kids. They look displaced. But now, her back to Luamke, she turns slightly to see him on the edge of the wide rim of her hat. She studies him thoroughly while Rhadi tells her why he’s been chosen. “Magistrate Luamke is one of the most corrupt officials in Tanzania. His deals with the private foreign corporations lack any transparency. While he himself gets richer and fatter, the people he should be helping have become skeletons, his pawns. Those in his district who have been arrested for crimes against albino people, have never been tried, not one hunter or witch doctor has been tried, let alone prosecuted. But it’s worse than this. He is somehow profiting from the albino trade, if he himself is not responsible for it.
At this, she looks back at Rhadi. “But is it true? Is there proof?”
Rhadi insists, “I believe he is guilty. But even if I don’t have hard evidence to put in your hands right now, he is worth making an example of, to get the attention we need from the media.” Rhadi continues, “But you’re not sure, Aliya. Only you can decide this. You’re nervous. We all are. But we can’t back down now. After all the planning...You out of all of us...If we do this without you, it doesn’t mean half as much. I know it’s hard. Don’t you trust me?”
Aliya rebuts, her pre-law and debate classes rising to the moment, “That’s not fair.”
“Nothing’s fair, but you need to decide now. Are you in or out? Cause if you’re out, we need to call it off.”
“Call it off? Why?”
“We can’t put everyone at risk. We have it planned for six people. If you are out, we need to call it off and plan something else for another time.”
Aliya is troubled by this new condition and pressure. Put everyone at risk? Look at where we are! She thinks. Rhadi continues to sway her as she puts her focus back on her study.
Luamke is black as ebony. His skin will be in good visible contrast for what they have planned. The symbolism will play out well. He looks proud. Tall stature, but the evidence of too much wining and dining, the jewelry on his fingers, wrists and neck and new custom tailored suit make her stomach turn when she thinks of the fisherman in his constituency trying to feed a family of five on fish head soup for a week. She thinks, if she were ever in a position of power, she could never justify living off of others like that. He lets out a big roar of a laugh and he and his cohorts naturally shift so that Aliya’s attention is pulled to the stern looking businessman across from him.
He’s white, but burnt red from the sun. His jowls protrude over his collar. Were they in earshot, she’d have detected his German accent with Upper Austrian influence. He appears to saunter, a slight lift in his step, as if he is a descendant of mountain dwellers. Definitely German, but he speaks English in a high-pitched voice with a lisp. His German is baritone, firm and controlled, like one would imagine the voice of a Third Reicht commander to sound... What an extremist. She wonders if he knows how odd he is?
Just back from a hunt –- it seems to Aliya that that’s sadly all tourists can to do around here –- he has his manservant bring in the tusks of an elephant he’s butchered only hours ago in the Serengeti. They just flew back in on the private plane. Luamke arranged the whole expedition. This “sport” hunt is illegal now, but if you can grease the right palms, you can kill. This kind of hunting will only get worse. The morally blind souls in positions of power will continue to find ways to make rare creatures, even cultures, extinct. She heard of the plight of the Maasai near Dodome. Forty thousand, an entire populace is being evicted from the land they’ve inhabited since the dawn of homo sapiens, all so the royal family of Dubai can have a private safari adventure camp. She thinks that people who inflict such destruction are the lowest form of being, unworthy of being called animals.
But she is an advocate for righteousness and true justice. She can’t help but wonder if Luamke is deserving of being the target. Has he done enough wrong? What if he hasn’t? She decides Rhadi is right, even if he didn’t do the worst, he’s done enough of the bad. And he will serve this purpose for good, even if he doesn’t know it, whether he agrees with it or not. She reaches under the table and opens the bag Rhadi gave her, like the one he gave each member of their group. Inside is the white scarf she’ll wrap around her head and cover her face and thinks how hot it will be to wear this tomorrow at the rally. And where did Rhadi ever find these? Kilimanjaro?
Aliya takes Rhadi’s hand. He has her answer. He kisses her on the lips, puts money on the table for the bill and they get up to leave.
The white man with Luamke sees the shape of Aliya in her peasant dress under her wide brimmed hat as she and Rhadi walk toward the door. He can’t see her face, only her décolletage to her chin. He sees the pale delicate hands peeking out from her long loose sleeves glowing red with the bright lights shining through the alabaster flesh over red blood.
As Rhadi holds the door for her, she wonders if he was serious, if he really would call the whole thing off if she opted out. Michael always told her, “Never let a man manipulate you. And no matter how you feel about a man, you shouldn’t let him pressure you into anything.” Okay this was an awkward talk in junior high that was more about sex, but the psychology applies. She and Rhadi don’t notice the man leering at her, they are focused on tomorrow and Luamke, even more than each other.
The white man steps away from Luamke, mesmerized by this dainty exquisite creature. He moves toward her, but as Rhadi and Aliya step through the door, she is gone from his sight. He didn’t even see her face, but he will find her. He wipes his sweaty brow with anticipation and is pulled back to the bar by Luamke.
18
Saba Sita
July 6
The curtains are closed tight so that only a thin light beam sleeks in through the crevice. Aliya wakes gently. Kennen is gone. She wipes sleep from her eyes, stretches her muscles grateful for the real bed. She sits up and sees her makeshift journal on the side table. The note from Rhadi is on top. She deflates. She didn’t want Kennen to know. He doesn’t understand and she can’t explain about their action tomorrow. He can’t know that. But she needs him. She needs to decide about Luamke and she needs to know about... There are too many emotions she’s feeling at once. She decides, she didn’t come to Africa to fall in love. Love would be a selfish distraction to her bigger calling, she came to make a difference and she believes she will, so long as she doesn’t get preoccupied. “He must think I slept with Rhadi,” she thinks aloud. He’s jealous. It’s none of his business. She makes excuses. She decides it is best to let him think that.
He lounges in one of the old chairs sunning himself with a Red Stripe. She steps in his light, casting her shadow on him. “You should still come to the party tonight if you can or are you gonna sulk? Up to you.” He can’t see her face. Doesn’t want to. His silence is his response. She goes inside and has a bloody mary at the bar.
#
A couple hours later, they travel in silence to Rolf’s Hotel, the Protea on the central coast, about 15 miles south of the Sea Cliff Hotel Aliya was at the evening before. Their scenic approach takes them on a stretch of Barack Obama Drive, the sign of which grabs Aliya’s attention. The air is cooler, the breeze blows up from the water’s edge. It’s a luxury hotel and so, transports them to another world. They feel out of place, but the drinks they had earlier, carry them through the lobby and out the door to the water and along the path to Rolf’s cottage.
Festive lights flicker in the distance and the music lures them in. They bypass the pool entrance to the deck and go around to the cottage front door. There are all walks of life at this party, from dignitaries and artists to press, importers, exporters and as
such, it gives the feeling that anything can happen. Aliya and Kennen arrive in their casual party attire. They find Rolf, hosting.
Aliya spots him from the description her father had given her from his stories. Definitive, “Rolf.”
The tall Norwegian bends gracefully, “You must be Aliya.”
“Yes. How’d you know?” She teases with a smile. The odds of him or anyone inviting more than one albino to his party are slim.
Rolf looks her up and down. “What a beautiful creature.” He’s near spellbound but at the same time like a scientist observing a specimen, grazing his hand against the aura of her shoulder. He breaks his own trance. “Are you sure you’re Jalil’s daughter? You’re far too pretty. You can’t be related to that old horse. You must look more like your mother.” His warmth overshadows his having called her “creature,” and she lets him kiss her Euro style on both cheeks, then he addresses her Irish escort, “And you are?”
“Kennen Dunnovan, Sir.”
“Don’t Sir me, Kennen. What are you, British?”
“Irish.”
“Well then, all the more reason not to use words like “sir.”
“You’ve done a load of inspiring work for the refugees...You’re the craic, man.”
“Thanks for noticing. We do what we can. Now, there’s no work here tonight. Understand? From the looks of you two need to unwind.” Rolf grabs two drinks off the serving tray going around and hands them to them.
Aliya chimes in, “Yes. We have strict orders to relax.”
“Then, you must follow them. Make yourselves at home.”
Rolf sees that Mwanza’s Magistrate has come in with his entourage. “You’ll have to excuse me. ’Magistrate looks thirsty.” He nods in his direction as he speaks.
Aliya recognizes him, “Magistrate Luamke.” She speaks his name while wondering what the effing odds are.