Charmaine’s stench permeated the entire van. Sarah breathed shallowly and slowly, avoiding any sniff that would carry a blast of the putrid molecules to the smell area in the top of her nose. Over time, her brain would adapt, and the smell would cease to torture her. But it seemed like forever. She stared at the backs of Pieter’s and Tumaini’s heads, atop ramrod stiff necks. They were suffering, too.
Kilimanjaro was shrouded in clouds, despite the brilliant blue sky everywhere else. Off to the right was a boring landscape: miles and miles of flat brown fields. “What are those plants?” she asked.
“Sisal,” Pieter answered.
“Like … what they use to make rugs?”
“Yep.”
Are there enough floors in the universe to use all that straw? Sarah leaned forward. “Tumaini, don’t you have any music to play?”
“Why yes, good idea.” He dug through his backpack while Pieter grasped the wheel to keep the van on the road. “Any requests?”
“Hymns please,” said a small voice from the back seat. The first words Charmaine had uttered that day.
Tumaini popped a cassette into the player and the strains of “Praise the Lord,” filled the vehicle. Charmaine sang along lustily, clapping and singing, and dancing in place, and urged the others to join in.
At midmorning, Tumaini pulled off the road into the parking lot of the Elephant Hotel. Pieter said, “This is an important stop for you, Princess.”
“Why?”
“Last sit-down toilet until we get to Dar es Salaam.”
When Sarah exited the washroom, Pieter was deep in conversation with a giggling young waitress. “Sarah, you must meet my friend Amaya.”
Amaya held out her hand. “Karibu. Do you want something to drink?”
“Coke Zero, please.”
“We’ll have the drinks to go,” said Pieter. “Still a long drive ahead.”
THEY TURNED OFF the highway, wending their way along a winding road up mountain, through a dense forest that disappeared at the crest. On the other side of the ridge was a bucolic panorama: heavily cultivated terraces cascading down into deep valleys, the mountainsides covered with green and gold patchworks of crops. Water falls tumbled down to streams that ran along the valley floor. The scenery was breathtaking, but the route was terrifying, hugging the edges of precipitous cliffs. With each fork, the road became narrower and there were multiple hairpin switchbacks.
The road ended abruptly at the village of Kandu, a hodgepodge collection of mudbrick buildings distributed randomly over the uneven terrain, as though someone had tossed a handful of small stones. Pieter pointed to a dominant structure, the building closest to the road. “That’s the dispensary.” It was also the only building with screened windows. “Volunteer doctors have a weekly clinic. I’m here once a month. It’s supposed to be temporary, until a fulltime medical officer can be assigned, but they’re not having much luck. That unfinished building was supposed to be a delivery room, but they gave up working on it.”
Charmaine would not exit the van, but the others walked up the hill toward the village, with a gaggle of giggling children close behind. Pieter suddenly spun around, crouching, grimacing, growling, deploying fingers like claws. The children shrieked and scattered, and Sarah could not help screaming, herself. Pieter shrugged his shoulders and started back up the path. Slowly, the children gathered behind him, and Pieter repeated the monster performance.
Sarah laughed. “Do you always play this game with them?”
“Ah, this is not just a game. It is a sacred ritual.”
A little boy ran toward them. “There is Hamid.” The child grinned broadly, exaggerating the split in his upper lip.
The younger brother clung shyly to his mother’s leg. She had a baby on her back. A little girl peered shyly around her hip. The woman grasped Sarah’s hand. “Karibu to my house. My name is Keisha. I cook foodie for you.”
Several steaming pots of rice, bananas, greens, and a little chicken were set out on a straw mat that on the ground. Keisha filled plates for her guests, bending over at the hips, in that graceful jackknife posture unique to African women. No stooping or squatting.
Keisha hugged each of the boys as they climbed into the van, sitting in the middle seat with Pieter between them. Sarah claimed the front passenger seat, and Keisha handed her a bulging burlap sack filled with bananas and some other unidentifiable snacks. “I wish you good safari,” she said. “Keep my boys safe.”
Sarah smiled and nodded. “We’ll take good care of them. As if they were our own.”
CHARMAINE RETIRED TO her room at the hotel. Everyone else had supper in the courtyard, by the swimming pool. Pieter cut pizza into small bites for the boys and used a knife and fork to feed himself.
Sarah scoffed, “That’s not the way to eat pizza. Pick up a slice and bite into it.”
“How often do you burn your mouth on hot cheese?”
“Once in a while.”
“Never happens with my technique. I can blow on each piece before I bite.”
Without warning, Hamid jumped into the pool. He couldn’t swim, so he splashed and screamed and bobbed below the surface a couple of times.
Sarah jumped up, ready to plunge in after him. But Pieter just sighed, stepped into the pool and grabbed the boy by the arm. “You can stand up, you know.”
Hamid was tall enough for his head to be well above the surface. Pieter showed the boy how to blow bubbles, then pushed him around the pool, like a toy boat.
Sarah entertained Jamal by showing him some pictures and videos on her cell phone. He giggled especially loudly at one clip.
Pieter looked up. “What’s so funny?”
“Just something I recorded one night, after a couple of beers and nothing better to do. Ants crawling over a slice of banana. Who knew it would be so entertaining?”
Hamid graduated into jumping into the pool and dog paddling to Pieter, over and over. Every time he climbed out of the pool, he would cry out, “Again!” Pieter would move backward, a little more each time, until Hamid swam all the way across the pool.
Sarah’s father had used a similar technique to teach her to swim. He would stand not far from the edge of the pool and coax her to jump in. But he didn’t stay in that spot. He was a moving target, kept moving backwards as she swam. The deception angered her at the time. But in retrospect, she had to concede the efficacy of the method.
Jamal climbed into Sarah’s lap and tapped on her cell phone. “Again.”
Sarah replayed the ant video and Jamal cackled with glee. “Again.”
The cycle repeated over and over until Jamal slipped from her lap, jumped into the pool, and disappeared below the surface. Pieter grabbed him. “I could use some help in here, Princess. He’s too short to stand up.”
“In my clothes?”
“Why not?”
“But … shouldn’t they go to bed soon?”
“Maybe they’ll never have another chance to swim in a pool like this.”
Sarah waded into the water lifted Jamal onto the side of the pool. “Jump,” she commanded. He splashed down into her arms and cried, “Again!”