by V. K. Powell
“They can’t afford to take anything for granted. They have to work every day just to survive.” As Zak spoke, her eyes sparked with intensity. Her usually throaty voice pitched an octave higher and words flowed from her effortlessly. “A middle class is just beginning to develop in Africa. You’re usually rich or poor, and the rich want to keep it that way. Danger is inherent in that type of unbalanced socioeconomic environment, not to mention the government’s corrupt attempts to bilk everyone.”
“I was right. You are passionate about this place. It’s good to know you have that kind of energy about something. I was beginning to worry about your soul, Ninja.” Sara smiled and nudged Zak with her shoulder. “Careful or I’ll start to think you’re a nice person.”
“Ndugu, ndugu!” A dust cloud moved toward the platform from across the savannah, a voice calling from somewhere inside it. “Ndugu.”
She and Zak stood and looked toward the approaching vehicle. “What’s he saying?”
“He says ‘sister’ in Swahili. That’s Ben, our ride.”
The rust-colored Jeep was still skidding to a stop when a young man vaulted out the driver’s door and charged toward Zak. He was tall and lanky, like Zak, well toned but not muscular. His complexion was deep brown and powdered with dust from the road. The red plaid shuka wrapped around his waist complemented his high cheekbones, forehead, and bead-braided hair.
“Jambo! You are home.” He grabbed Zak in a bear hug, swept her off her feet, and swung her around like she was a featherweight.
“Ben, I can’t breathe.”
He released her but they danced around, throwing fake punches at each other like kids on a playground. So this was Zak Chambers unrestrained. Her cheeks glowed pink with excitement. The blue of her eyes seemed to blend with the endless sky. Her brimming smile was genuine, the small gap between her front teeth making her appear almost childlike. Vitality oozed from her like heat from the blazing sun. She was exquisite. When the pair’s enthusiasm finally waned and they stood simply staring at one another, Sara cleared her throat and stepped forward.
“Oh, yeah, Ben, this is Ms. Sara Ambrosini, my client for the day. Sara, Ben Owenga.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Owenga.”
“Ms. Sara Ambrosini. I am called Ben.” The heavily accented consonants of his language sounded warm and welcoming. Its rhythm was almost musical. “Just Ben.”
“And I’m Sara.” She sensed the young man’s kindness and liked him immediately. “You and Zak are friends?”
Zak shot her a cautionary glance, her lapse into celebration passed. “That will have to wait. We need to go.” She was obviously not thrilled about Sara’s question. But she wouldn’t be able to muzzle everyone on the African continent, and Sara could be patient when necessary.
“And where exactly are we going?”
“To our village. You are guests.” Ben smiled, his teeth shining like a nightlight against his dark complexion.
As Ben and Zak loaded their luggage and supplies, Sara thought how fortunate that she’d be spending her first night immersed in the culture. She was anxious to find out about life in the rural areas where her school would be located. Surely the people of Ben’s village had retained some of the traditional ways of life, even if they’d modernized others.
One thing that had definitely not been upgraded was the roads, if they could be called roads at all. They had no regulatory markings, no names or speed-limit signs. The dirt path Ben followed was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass, but they hadn’t seen another car since they left the airstrip thirty minutes ago. Every bump, ridge, and rut in the road jarred her like a jackhammer. No spot on the well-worn backseat offered a suitable cushion. She gripped the door handles on either side, trying to stabilize herself while Zak and Ben engaged in an animated conversation in Swahili, apparently oblivious to any discomfort.
Ben turned toward her. “You like African massage?”
“Massage?” It felt more like torture.
“Yes, no charge.” His hearty laughter filled the vehicle and Sara smiled in spite of her aching bottom. As hot air swirled in through the open windows, bringing a fresh coat of orange dust, she searched the vehicle’s gauge panel for an air-conditioning control with no success. She was suddenly very glad Rikki had chosen not to accompany her. If the rest of their trip was anything like this, it would’ve been difficult to remain optimistic with Rikki’s constant complaints.
Sara shifted in her uncomfortable seat and stared at a group of men stretched along the side of the roadway like a conga line. Each one swung either a pick axe or a hoe in time to an inaudible cadence. “What are those men doing?”
“Planting fiber-optic cable whereby the Internet comes,” Ben explained. “Very good work. Start at daybreak, end when night comes.”
“And where are they going?” She motioned toward the steady stream of people walking on both sides of the road. “Is there a festival? They’re carrying bags and baskets full of things.” Sara thought they looked like a colorful parade headed toward a destination far off in the distance.
“Some go to work. Some to sell goods in town. They start very early.”
“Amazing. Even on Sunday?” Sara said, almost to herself.
“Every day.”
When she returned her attention to the inside of the vehicle, Zak was watching her with the amused expression one might give an inquisitive youngster. “We’re almost to the village.”
Within minutes they arrived at the top of a small flat hill overlooking the savannah for miles on either side. Branches of thorn bushes provided a border that encircled several mud huts measuring about five feet tall. A group of men, all adorned with brightly colored wraps and beads, gathered outside the border under an acacia tree that provided the only sliver of shade. Small children chased each other inside the makeshift fence while women sat in the shadows of their huts engrossed in some type of manual activity. Sara was surprised about the cultural detour since Zak had been so anxious to get to their destination.
“We are home,” Ben announced as he parked the jeep and waved his arms proudly toward the meager surroundings. “Karibu. Welcome.”
Sara tried to contain her shock and appear gracious and appreciative as she exited the vehicle. Apparently she failed miserably.
“Close your mouth, Ms. Ambrosini,” Zak whispered from behind her. “Breathe and don’t swat at anything larger than you are.”
She grabbed Zak’s arm and pulled her closer, keeping her voice low. “Where will we sleep?”
“Ben has offered us one of his huts. That’s an honor.”
“One of his huts?”
“Yes, he has three, one for each wife.”
“Surely there’s a hotel or rooming house nearby. I’d hate to inconvenience anyone.” Sara had been camping many times and was quite capable of adapting to most things, but this setup gave new meaning to the term “roughing it.”
Zak seemed to be enjoying her discomfort. “I’m afraid not. Besides, it’s an insult to refuse his invitation.”
“Ebony!” a female screamed. Sara searched for the source and saw a tall, mocha-skinned woman running toward Zak with her arms spread wide. The red garment draped around her body barely covered her ample breasts that nearly escaped with each step. “Ebony.”
“Imani,” Zak whispered, and started running too. As they neared, both stopped within arm’s reach. Imani stared into Zak’s eyes and raised her hands to touch her. Zak backed away slightly, and Imani stepped toward her again. The tension in Zak’s posture seemed to drain away as Imani slowly cupped her cheeks. Neither spoke for several minutes as she explored Zak’s face, head, neck, arms, and hands. The gentleness of her caresses seemed intimate. Sara wanted to look away and give them privacy but couldn’t. When Imani finished her examination, she raised Zak’s arms and placed them around her waist. They hugged like lovers parted for too long, close and tight. The two were obviously good friends. The ache in Sara’s gut made no sense.
/> After what seemed an embarrassing eternity, the women parted and walked toward her arm in arm. Zak introduced them, her gaze leaving Imani for only seconds at a time. “Imani is Ben’s sister. Their father is chief of the village. You’ll meet him later at the celebration.”
The woman was even more striking up close. Though her complexion was lighter than Ben’s, the similarities were obvious. Her skin was flawless, lips full, and eyes the color of a gold cat’s-eye marble. Her dark hair was curly and clipped close to the scalp, similar to Zak’s. And when she smiled, her entire body radiated congeniality. Sara immediately understood Zak’s attraction but not her connection.
This woman’s touch seemed to have transformed Zak. The stiffness that usually resided in her shoulders and back had disappeared, replaced by a more relaxed stance. The woman who resisted physical contact clung to Imani like a lifeline. The eyes that constantly scoured her surroundings for danger now rested solely on the woman at her side. Sara fought a wave of jealousy, wishing she was the object of Zak’s attention.
Sara nodded, still enthralled with the sudden changes in Zak and the familiar interactions between her and Imani. Surely this relationship ended at friendship. Homosexual activities were taboo in Africa, especially in the more traditional areas. Suddenly she didn’t want to leave Zak here while she traveled deeper into the savannah.
“Let’s go meet everybody,” Zak said, walking toward the interior of the compound.
Children flocked around them, a halo of flies encircling their heads. They pulled on their clothing and laughed as Zak and Imani spoke to them in their native language. The entire village lined up to welcome them. Zak evidently knew many of the older folks and some of the kids. Everyone called her Ebony. When Ben joined the group, he handed Zak her rucksack. She opened it and sat down on the hot ground. Children climbed on her, screaming with delight as she pulled pencils and note paper from the bag and passed them out.
With Zak occupied, Sara sat next to Ben on a thatched rug he’d thrown on the ground. “You’ve known Zak a long time?”
“Oh, yes, miss. She came to us as a child.”
“As a child? I don’t understand.”
“Her family lived in our village three months every year, to help with the medicines. Me, Imani, and Ebony were very young. She is family.” His rhythmic tone was friendly and soothing.
“How did she get the name Ebony?”
“Imani called her as Ebony. She must tell the story.”
While Zak and Imani played with the children, Ben shared tales of growing up with a gangly little white girl as part of their Maasai family. Others gathered around and added their memories of the outgoing, enthusiastic, strong-minded child who wanted to do everything. She struggled with the language but spoke fluent Swahili by her second year. The women taught her to fix meals, string beads for sale at the market, and help build the cow-dung-and-urine huts. The men were reluctant to share their tribal ways, but year after year she returned more determined than ever to learn. Eventually she was allowed to make weapons, use the spear, and tend the herds. At fifteen, the age that Maasai recognize adolescent boys as men, Zak was finally allowed to hunt with the warriors. It was the first time a woman had been allowed to join any Maasai tribe on a hunt. As Sara listened to their stories, her picture of Zak Chambers became clearer.
Her willpower had certainly helped her assimilate with the Maasai. Learning to live off the land surely contributed to her self-sufficiency. Her disdain for wealth and possessions was obvious, as it appeared that everything she needed was in her old rucksack. Zak’s love of this country and its people was ingrained in her as surely as the heat was integral to the environment. Then why the lone-wolf mentality? It was apparent that these people placed a very high value on family and communication. Maybe it was about her birth family.
“So, Zak has been coming here every year since she was a child?” she asked Ben.
“Not for three years now. Until then, every year.”
“What happened?” Even though Sara was sure Zak would think she was snooping, she couldn’t stop herself from asking.
Ben looked at her and his big brown eyes suddenly appeared very sad. He stared out across the savannah. “She must tell the story.” His statement resembled one of Zak’s evasive answers, but from Ben it seemed to convey respect. His affinity for Zak was palpable.
She smiled at him as a group of women and older men gathered around her. “Where are all the young boys?”
“They tend the herd, sometimes very far from village. Come back at night.” He launched into the responsibilities of young men in the tribe as Sara watched Zak and Imani with the children. They were almost like a teaching tag-team, entertaining one minute and instructing the next. Occasionally Imani brushed against Zak’s shoulder or touched her hand, and then their eyes would meet for a second. The more Sara learned about Zak Chambers, the more questions she had.
“Time to make fire.” Ben rose and spoke in Swahili. The women gathered twigs and limbs from the surrounding area and piled them into the fire pit in the center of the enclosure. “Night comes, animals too.”
Sara had been content to listen to stories and watch Zak as the day slipped by. A huge orange sun was dipping across the plains, painting the sky a contrast of red and blue. The vast expanse of earth absorbed the setting evenly and reverently, unlike the jagged gnawing of the city skyline at sunset. She’d never seen an evening so alive, though nothing moved as far as she could see. The enormity of the sunset nearly took her breath. As light slowly faded from the sky, the subtle shifts in color and mood mesmerized her. The sight was magnificent, and she suddenly wanted to share it with someone she cared about.
She dialed Rikki’s cell, oblivious to time differences or cost. She was anxious to enjoy this amazing event with her lover. She’d never felt so connected to the enormity of the universe and wanted to experience it with the person who shared her life. With each unanswered ring, her enthusiasm waned. When the message began, Sara hung up.
“It makes you realize how insignificant we are in the big picture, doesn’t it?” Zak stood behind her, watching the last glow of light leak from the sky.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. And it certainly puts things into perspective.”
“We should move closer to the fire. The ceremony is about to start.”
“Ceremony?”
“The traditional Maasai welcome dance. Afterward we’ll eat and rest.”
Every member of the village seemed to have changed from mundane everyday wear to more colorful, festive attire while she watched the sunset. Men on one side of the fire, women on the other, they began a rhythmic humming combined with a chant and echo. The men jumped straight up in the air and the women shook the bead plates around their necks and stomped. Zak sat next to her on the ground and explained the significance of the bright clothing, beads, weaponry, and the purpose of each new performance.
The participants’ bodies rippled with energy and a sense of respect for the perfectly choreographed dances. The drumbeats vibrated deep in Sara’s chest and the chanting called forth images of primitive ancestors performing the same ritual. She was caught up in the culture and revelry and in watching Zak’s reaction. Zak appeared mesmerized. She tapped two sticks against a stone in time to the drums and mouthed the words of both the chant and echo. It was the most animated she’d seen Zak Chambers since meeting her. Life in this place agreed with her. Sara was disappointed when the music and dancing stopped.
Then food was brought to the fire, blessed by the chief, and passed to the elder men first. As they waited their turn, Zak moved closer and whispered, “The meat is guinea fowl, so it’s probably safe.”
The bird tasted like roasted duck and the corn paste was similar to mashed cornbread. The meal was delicious, or maybe she was just starving from the day’s activities. After they finished eating, everyone sat around the fire and sipped from a gourd that passed from person to person. When it was Sara’s turn, Zak said
, “I’d pass on that if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me and I don’t want to seem inhospitable. Besides, I want to try everything.” She took a big gulp and was immediately sorry. The thick iron taste stuck to her tongue and almost gagged her. She could barely swallow without heaving the rancid mixture back up. Her face must’ve been telling because Zak gave her an I-told-you-so grin. When she could speak again, she asked, “What is that?”
“Milk and cow’s blood. It’s a staple and an acquired taste.”
Sara felt the color drain from her face. Her stomach churned as much from the knowledge of what she’d drunk as its actual taste. She watched Zak and Imani down some of the offensive elixir and thought she might faint. They laughed together, then engaged in an animated conversation in Swahili, probably at her expense. After the gourd made its final pass around the circle, the group started to break up. Couples paired off and disappeared into their huts with children in tow. Chief Owenga, Ben, Imani, and Zak huddled together discussing something in Swahili that sounded serious.
Ben handed Zak a folded piece of paper and when she opened it, her entire demeanor changed from relaxed to anxious. Though Sara couldn’t understand Zak’s words, she recognized the angry tone. Imani placed a hand on her arm as if to calm her and nodded in Sara’s direction. They continued in hushed voices until the headlights of two vehicles flashed through the camp.
The Maasai night watchman escorted a short, red-faced man and an African into the compound. “I’m Roger Kamau, the new guide.” He directed his comments to Sara. “I’ve brought two vehicles and the supplies. Randall sends his regards.”
After a round of introductions, Zak offered Roger a seat near the fire to discuss the takeover, as she called it. As Sara listened to Zak explain the preliminary details, she realized their association was being terminated. Maybe she was just feeling helpless out here in the middle of nowhere, but the idea of turning her safety over to this man made her as queasy as drinking cow’s blood.