Mists of The Serengeti

by Leylah Attar

  “You ever wonder what we’d find if we could pick up the threads back to the point where things unravel, where paths cross, and lives pivot, and people come together?” I took her hand as we rejoined our guests.

  That night, the lights blazed on until dawn in an old, red barn at the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro.

  MO EMERSON FLIPPED through the travel magazine as she sat in the optometrist’s waiting room. Dr. Nasmo’s office was in the lower level of Kilimani Mall, across from the food court. Her appointment had been a few weeks earlier, but she’d been away with her friend Gabriel, so she had rescheduled.

  And what a day I picked, she thought. Through the glass doors of Dr. Nasmo’s office, Mo could see a crowd of people gathered around a makeshift podium.

  “What’s going on out there today?” she asked Christine, the receptionist.

  “Some kind of political meeting. A convention for supporters of John Lazaro.”

  “Who’s he?” Mo had seen his name on posters and signs around Amosha, but she hadn’t paid any attention. The elections were coming up in October, but her volunteering gig would be over by then. She didn’t know where she’d go next, but that was the thrill of it. She could close her eyes and point to the map for the start of a new adventure. The possibilities were endless. Mo thrived on the adrenaline rush of the unexpected. It made her feel more vibrant, more alive than anything else could. It was the one thing her sister, Ro, could never understand. And yet, if anyone gave her hell over her choices, Ro was the first one to step in and defend her.

  “John Lazaro?” Christine looked up from her desk. “If you ask me, he’s a dirty politician, but he’s rich and powerful, and he’s been making all the right promises.”

  “Hmm.” Mo went back to the article she was reading:

  Get Paid To Travel: Become A Travel Photographer.

  Yes, she nodded, talking herself into her brilliant new calling. She was no photographer, but she could learn. And then she wouldn’t have to mooch off her parents when she fell short, halfway around the world. Well, maybe just one last time—for a good camera. And lenses. And some classes. But after that, watch out, world.

  She got her cell phone out and snapped a picture of the resources listed in the article. She would have torn the page off, but she liked Dr. Nasmo too much for that. He was a sweetheart, and someone she looked up to. She’d met him at the orphanage in Wanza. He toured a lot of the rural areas, giving free eye exams and glasses, but it was his work with the albino children that he claimed was the most rewarding. Mo had witnessed the joy of it herself, the first time she’d seen the expression on a child’s face, when the whole world had come into sharp, clear focus. Naturally, he was the first person she thought of when she realized she’d neglected her own checkups for way too long.

  The door to Dr. Nasmo’s office rattled as a young woman tried to make her way in with a stroller.

  “Here.” Mo held the door for her. There was a little boy, fast asleep in the stroller.

  The woman thanked her and checked in with Christine. “Hi, I’m here to get fitted for contact lenses. My name is Zara Ayadi.”

  “Thank you.” Christine checked her name off. “Please have a seat. Dr. Nasmo is running a little late today. He’s with a client, but he’ll be done soon.”

  Zara sat next to Mo and turned her stroller so she could keep an eye on her son.

  “Batman fan?” asked Mo. The little boy’s face was painted in the trademark black and yellow logo.

  “Not really. Isa doesn’t know Batman from The Joker.” His mother laughed. “There’s free face painting for the kids today. This is what he picked.” She slipped one of her flip-flops off and massaged her foot.

  “How long until the big day?” asked Mo.

  “A few more weeks.” Zara rubbed her pregnant belly.

  The shrill ring of the office phone jarred Isa from his sleep. He opened his eyes and blinked, trying to orient himself.

  “Dr. Nasmo’s office,” Christine answered. “Lea, how many times have I told you not to call me on the work phone? Are you in the mall?” She listened for a few ticks and sighed. “Okay. No, it’s fine. I’ll see you at home. But for God’s sake, hold on tight when you’re on his motorbike. No, you don’t. You read books on the back of that steel contraption. It’s not safe. Just humor me, okay? Yeah. Love you too.” She put the phone down and rolled her eyes. “Sisters,” she said to Mo. “She was supposed to meet me today, but she’s decided to go off with her boyfriend.”

  “I have one of those. A sister, I mean. The boyfriends come and go.” Mo grinned. “It’s the other way around for us. I’m the one ditching her for hot dates.”

  Isa was now wide awake, and fussing to get out of his stroller. He stared at Mo with big, round eyes.

  Someone came out of Dr. Nasmo’s room and stopped at the desk. “I’m all set. He said you can send in the next person.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Christine pulled out a file and got up. “Mo? Dr. Nasmo will see you now.”

  Mo looked at the pregnant woman who was struggling with her toddler. “Why don’t you go first?”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, trying to soothe him with a pacifier.

  “Absolutely.”

  “That’s very kind. Thank you so much!” She gave Mo a grateful smile and followed Christine into Dr. Nasmo’s room.

  “How long will they be?” asked Mo, when Christine returned to her desk.

  “About twenty minutes.”

  “I’m going to get some coffee. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  The door shut behind Mo, as she stepped out. John Lazaro was up on the podium. Flanking the platform, on all sides, were lines of security guards. Their uniforms were different from those of the mall guards, and they were heavily armed.

  Blimey, thought Mo, as she walked past the gathering. He’s not pissing around.

  She scanned the fast food restaurants in the food court and decided to get her coffee from the café upstairs. John Lazaro’s words were blaring over the amplifier, mingled with the chatter of unaffected shoppers and mall music. She preferred her coffee a little less noisy.

  Mo took the elevator upstairs and passed a balloon vendor. He whistled at her and inflated a long, pink balloon in her honor. Mo had that effect on men. She was used to it. Maybe it was the colorful clothes she wore, or the flirty skirts, or the big, fun pieces of jewelry that jangled as she walked. But there were exceptions to the rule. Men who remained unaffected. Like Gabriel Lucas.

  Mo mulled it over as she sat at one of the tables inside the small café and drank her coffee. Gabriel was different. He was intense and broody—an enigma she hadn’t been able to solve. She had first noticed him at the nightclub that all the volunteers from Nima House frequented. It wasn’t just his good looks that set him apart. He wasn’t like any of the other locals. He didn’t talk. He didn’t dance. He just sat there and got rip-roaring drunk.

  Eventually, she learned that he had a daughter and sister in Rutema. There was no work for him there, so he took odd jobs in Amosha. He never said what he did, but he traveled a lot. When he told her that he was going to Dar es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania, Mo had begged to tag along. She wanted to stroll along Oyster Bay, and spend money she didn’t have at the shopping center. It was on that trip Mo learned about Scholastica and the situation with albinos. A friendship developed between the two, and when Gabriel proposed a plan that would work for them both, Mo had agreed.

  Mo finished the rest of her coffee and glanced at her watch.

  Perfect timing.

  She stepped out of the café just as a tall, striking dish of a man, holding a bouquet of bright yellow balloons walked by her.

  Hello. Mo did a double take. She caught a brief glimpse of his profile—square jaw, strong nose, thick, dirty blond hair. Rugged and handsome, with powerful shoulders that bracketed a lean, athletic physique. She couldn’t help but get sucked into the wake of his trail. It wasn’t just the flurry of balloons rustling beh
ind him; it was the whole massive presence of him. The air swirled in his aftermath.

  Damn. Mo inhaled the faint scent of his cologne, as he exited through the main doors. I should hang out at the mall more. She made a mental note to tell Ro about him. He looked like he’d stepped right out of one of her books. Mo wasn’t sure what kind of books Ro was reading these days, but she was certain her sister would have stopped long enough to stare.

  Mo took the elevator to the lower level. The doors opened and closed like they were waiting for an entire busload of seniors to get on and off.

  So slow, thought Mo, as she got in. But still better than that packed escalator.

  She hummed as a piano solo piped through the speakers.

  When the doors opened again, it was to an entirely different set of sounds.

  Gunshots. Screaming. Chaos. Panic.

  All hell had broken loose while she was in the elevator, and Mo found herself smack dab in the middle of it. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew it was bad. She made her way to Dr. Nasmo’s office, but one side of the door was shattered, and she couldn’t see anyone inside. Gunfire rattled through the air, first to the right of her, and then to the left. It was coming from all around.

  Mo dropped to her knees, deafened and disoriented. There was no time to think. She crawled under a table in the food court and covered her ears. Fear, like she’d never known, welled up in her throat, but she swallowed the screams. She jumped as a bullet grazed one of the chairs next to her. She was too open, too exposed.

  Her eyes darted around—past the flurry of feet that were running by her: white trainers, leather sandals, manicured toes, little pink shoes. There was a room beyond the food court, off to the side. No one was coming in or out of it. Mo wasn’t sure if heading there was a good idea, but she knew she had to get as far away from the sound of gunfire as she could.

  She made a dash for it, half rolling, half crawling, until she got to it. It was empty—rows of folding chairs, some toppled over, arranged before a stage. The shuddering sound of her breath echoed around her. She leaned back against the wall, hugging her knees.

  “Over here,” someone said. “Get in here.”

  She looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. Then she spotted a slit in the fabric at the base of the stage. It was an elevated stage, with a skirted bottom to hide the scaffolding. The perfect place to hide.

  “Hello?” Mo crawled inside. It was so dark her eyes took a while to adjust.

  “Shhh,” said a figure sitting on the other side. “Don’t be afraid. My dad will be here soon. He’ll make everything okay. He always does.” It was a little girl, with her hair tied up in a ponytail.

  “Your dad?” Mo swallowed the lump in her throat. The girl couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but her faith in her father was so strong, that she was reassuring a grown woman. “Where’s your dad?”

  “My teacher said he went to drop off the balloons. She told me to go with the other kids, but then he won’t be able to find me. I know he’ll come to get me. He’s always in the front. Right there. See?” She pushed the stage skirt aside and pointed to the chairs.

  “Yellow balloons?” asked Mo. The man with the balloons, that had stopped her in her tracks. “Your father was holding yellow balloons?”

  “Yes! Did you see him?”

  “I did.” Mo sat back. She’d seen him leave the mall, minutes before the chaos erupted. Even if he made it back inside, she had no idea if he’d make it to his daughter unharmed. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  “Why are they doing it?” asked the girl. “What do those bad men want?”

  Mo took a deep breath. She was wrestling with the same question herself. “I wish I knew.”

  They were whispering in the dark, between violent cracks of gunfire. Their insides clenched with each shrill, sporadic barrage of horror. But in-between, they pretended as if they were meeting under different circumstances.

  “What’s your name?” asked Mo.

  “Lily. What’s yours?”

  “Mo.”

  “You’re pretty. I like your glasses. Are you married?” Lily paused at the sound of shattered glass. Something crashed. There was a moment of silence and then the hoarse howling of people. “I think my father should get married,” she continued. “He misses me when I’m away. I know he’s lonely, even though he has Goma.”

  “Who’s Goma?”

  “My great-grandmother. She made me this skirt.” Lily smoothed the circle of her tutu.

  “It’s beautiful.” Mo touched the fabric and felt small, sharp shards of regret assail her. She should have called her parents more. She should have gone home for Christmas. She should have mailed Ro postcards and silly knickknacks. Suddenly, she had the overwhelming need to reach out to her family. Her parents were in Thailand, but Ro would be in her flat. For once, Mo was thankful for the one steady constant in her life—her sister.

  The space under the stage glowed blue as Mo powered up her phone. She noticed a bunch of missed calls. Someone had been trying to reach her, but she had missed them in all the chaos. She dismissed the notifications and dialed Ro’s number. It rang a few times, and then went to voice mail. Mo moved to the other side, away from Lily, and lowered her voice.

  “Ro, I’m in Kilimani Mall. A shit storm just broke out. Something bad is going down. There are gunmen everywhere. I’m hiding under the stage, in some kind of hall. There’s a little girl with me. She’s the only thing keeping me sane.”

  “Who are you talking to?” asked Lily.

  Mo put her hand over the phone and turned to her. “It’s my sister. In England.”

  “Oh. Tell her not to worry. Tell her my father will be here soon and then we’ll be okay.”

  “Yes, sweetheart.” She held her tears in check as she spoke into the phone again. “We’re going to wait it out. I think it’s safe here, but if I don’t . . . if I don’t make it, I just want to say I love you, Ro. Tell Mum and Dad I love them too. I don’t want you to worry when you listen to this message. We’ll probably laugh at this someday. It’ll be another one of my crazy stories, like when I thought I was going to die on that ferry in Australia.” She paused as urgent footsteps entered the hall. “I have to go now,” she whispered. And then, because it sounded like a goodbye, and she didn’t want her sister to panic, she added, “I’ve taken all the chances, Ro . . .” She trailed off as the footsteps came closer. When they stopped outside, a few feet from the stage, Mo hung up and held her breath.

  “That’s my daddy!” said Lily, springing into action.

  “Wait. We don’t know that for sure. Lily, wait!”

  But Lily slipped out of her grasp.

  For a few tense seconds, Mo sat paralyzed under the stage, waiting for confirmation of a happy reunion between Lily and her father. It never came. There was nothing. Not a sound, not a shuffle. Mo felt the chill of impending doom, crawling down her spine. It wasn’t Lily’s father. Someone else had barged into the hall. Mo had no idea if Lily was face to face with the enemy. All she knew was she couldn’t leave that little girl alone out there. And so Mo crawled out from behind the stage skirt and put on her bravest face.

  Small, insignificant details became suddenly vivid, as if her mind was trying to grab on to things, to keep from slipping over the edge. The dark birthmark on the back of Lily’s ankle. The frayed hem of the man’s jeans. Her gaze swept over his torso. Up, up, she stood, taking Lily’s small hand in hers as she straightened. Then her eyes met the man’s and she gasped.

  “Gabriel?”

  “Mo!” His whole body slackened with relief. “God, Mo.” He embraced her in a tight hug. “I was on the escalator, on my way out, when I saw you take the elevator down. I tried to call you. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Thank God I found you! We need to get out of here.” He started ushering Mo and Lily toward the door.

  “No!” Lily pulled her hand away from Mo’s. “I’m not going anywhere without my daddy. You go.”

/>   “I’m not leaving you,” said Mo. “Why don’t we all just stay?” She turned to Gabriel. She had no idea what he was doing in the mall, but she was relieved to see him. “It’s safe here. We’re away from everything. We can hide under there.” She pointed to the stage. “Let’s just wait it out.”

  “It’s not safe here. Nowhere in the mall is safe. Trust me, Mo. We need to move. Now!”

  Something about Gabriel’s tone gnawed at Mo. “Lily, get back inside and wait for me. I’ll be just a minute.” She waited until Lily disappeared before pulling Gabriel aside. “What’s going on? What’s going on out there?”

  “It’s John Lazaro.” Gabriel’s words were clipped and urgent. Mo knew she was testing his patience—she knew she could trust him, but she wasn’t about to follow him blindly into the chaos. She had a decision to make, not just for herself, but for Lily too.

  “It’s an assassination attempt on John Lazaro,” Gabriel continued. “He’s done some things—lots of things—and the people he did them to want him dead. It’s business and politics, all wrapped up. If Plan A fails, they’ll go to Plan B. Either way, he’s not leaving here alive.”

  “So, let them fight it out. Let’s just wait here. Plan A or Plan B. What does it have to do with us?”

  “Because!” Gabriel clenched his fists. “Because I’m Plan B, Mo. If John Lazaro’s security team gets him out of that food court alive, this whole place blows up.”

  Mo opened her mouth and shut it. “I don’t . . .” She shook her head. “What are you saying, Gabriel? You’re not making any sense. Are you saying you’re involved in this . . . this assassination attempt?” This was her friend. He was a good man. She knew him. And yet, the part of him that had always eluded her, the part of him that had remained an enigma was coming into focus. A weight settled in Mo’s chest. She found it hard to breathe.

  “I tried, Mo,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the look in her eyes. “I worked two jobs. Day in, day out. But I wasn’t getting anywhere. I needed money. I needed money to get Scholastica to Wanza. I needed money to build the house. I needed money to save the kids. Gas money. Food money. I was running short all the time. Then one day, I was sitting at the bar, and someone offered me a job. It was simple. Pick up a shipment and drive it somewhere, no questions asked. I couldn’t believe the amount he paid me. So, I took on another job. And then another. And I haven’t stopped ever since.”