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The Malian airship gliding over Atlanta was a grand colorful sight, especially for a dreary, damp winter day. Its red and green striped body, dangling tassels and swirling Arabic lettering hinted at exotic intentions for the drab dressed Freedonians staring upward at its arrival. But the innards revealed a more mundane reality. The passengers were just as conventionally dressed as those below, a collection of various folk returning from business in Europe and Africa with a few returning Freedonian vacationers sprinkled among them.
Famara fidgeted in his first class seat, constantly adjusting his collar to hide his lower face. He looked about at the other passengers then tried to pull his collar higher. He realized what he was doing and he grinned. He’d been among the Tuaregs so long he felt exposed without a veil covering his face. He relaxed, looking about the cabin at his fellow passengers. He didn’t expect to see anyone following him, but he was successful because he never took anything for granted. It was especially important that he didn’t on this mission. His purpose was that important.
The airship eased into the mooring high above the main terminal. The landing crew tossed the docking ropes to the waiting dock crew who secured the aircraft before extending the gateway. Famara took his satchel from below his seat then joined the shuffling procession to the exit door. The passengers nodded or tipped their hats absently to the lovely sepia skin woman welcoming them to Atlanta, the jewel of Freedonia, as it was described. Famara looked into her eyes, imagining her with braided hair, her head covered by a royal blue wrap, large golden earrings and an amber necklace embracing her neck. He shook his head embarrassed; his missed Kande. Their last day was spent lovemaking, her desperation worrying him. He assured her he would return but in reality his fate was in the hands of the ancestors.
"Sir, are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he replied. "I was...distracted."
She seemed to sense the meaning of his words. Her smile widened.
"I like your accent," she replied. "Where are you from?"
Her attention increased his embarrassment.
'Far away," he replied, and then rushed past her.
It was a long walk down the spiraling stairway which led into the bustling main terminal. Freedonia was a young vital nation and it showed in the confident attitude of its people. It’s new president, Frederick Douglass, took full advantage of the peace that existed between the country and its neighbors after the short but bloody Reunion War. Many southern families that fled the region years ago in fear of retaliation from freed black laborers had returned to a land much changed from when the left, a country where prosperity touched everyone, not just a privileged few. Vice President Tubman worked diligently through her network of diplomats and spies to spread Freedonia’s influence beyond North America, especially among the counties and kingdoms on the African continent. The Elders took note and were pleased.
After securing his baggage Famara worked his way though the crowd then stepped out into the damp chilly air He. wondered at the abundance of such a precious thing as water in this land. It was so different from his home, yet some things were too familiar. He took a moment to acclimate himself before setting off on the task given to him. First, he would locate the home of Pierre LaRue. Second, he would secure a weapon. Third, he would take back what belonged to his people.
Famara studied the road signs at the intersection. He stood on the corner of Peachtree Street and Edgewood Street, precisely where the Elders instructed him to begin his journey. For a moment he stood motionless, acclimating himself to this new environment. He still was not used to men and women that resembled him in hue dressed similar to Europeans. But then they weren't like him. Their circumstances brought them to this land long ago; whatever they retained of their homelands was hidden under layers wool and cotton. Freedonia was young in terms of nations, born from the same fire of liberty that spawned there French and Haitian Revolutions. Despite its youth Freedonia prospered and now it held an object in its possession that would increase its prestige even more. Famara planned to retrieve it before its value was discovered.
The streets bustled with horse drawn carriages, steam walkers and the occasional steam car chugging noisily here and there. He was familiar with the vehicles although he did not trust them. Once he visited Dahomey and was forced to ride in one of them. It was a most terrible experience; give him a good horse or better yet a camel and he could travel the world.
He reached inside his jacket then extracted an object which resembled a pocket watch but was much more. He studied it for a moment, the directions of the compass engraved on the golden cover in Arabic. He opened the cover revealing a single needle spinning furiously. He wound the device and the needle slowed. After a few more turns in stopped. Famara whispered a prayer then waited. The needle vibrated then turned to his left. As soon as it ceased whirling he felt a thumping in the palm of his hand. The compass watch was setting the pace at which he was to walk to arrive at his destination at the appointed time.
He followed needles directions, turning here and there when need be. A number of yellow steam cars pulled alongside him offering him a ride for a fee but he refused them. No one needed to know his destination except him. Soon the busy avenues gave way to narrow quiet streets bordered by huge barren white oaks and concrete sidewalks. Majestic homes rested behind the trees, some of them gated others open and inviting. Though they differed from the home of wealthy merchants of Djenne, Gao, and Zaria, their opulence was clear. These were the homes of those with wealth. He knew he was on track.
The compass watch ceased thumping. Famara looked at the house across the street from where he stood; an imposing red brick mansion built in French Provencal style. This was it, his destination. There was a large transport wagon parked before it. Two burly workers unloaded it, carrying tables, chairs and other objects through the iron gates. If his information was correct, Mr. LaRue was having a party that night and Famara possessed a perfume scented invitation in his pocket insuring his participation. He now knew his destination. He took the compass watch from his pocket and rewound it. The needle pointed south and thumped out a faster pace. It was time he saw about gathering the other items he would need for the party.