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“Let’s cross over,” Tilly said to Pauline as they walked the shelter dogs. “I think the sun is too strong for these guys.”
“Good idea. Let’s give them a little water too.”
Tilly nodded in agreement as they moved to the shaded side of the road. At over 5,400 feet above sea level, Nairobi didn’t have a hot and humid climate, but the sun was intense. Panting heavily, the young dogs were feeling the dry heat as well as the thinness of the high-altitude air. Pauline offered them water, which they eagerly lapped up from a portable bowl.
“That’s better, isn’t it? You are such cutie pies!” Pauline said to the dogs, petting them.
“Why don’t you adopt one? You’re wonderful with them, with all of the dogs. You know, we got Lottie and Simba from here.”
“I don’t think that would make their lives any better. They’re in a more stable environment here than they would be with me.”
This gave Tilly pause. She never liked Pauline’s husband. She didn’t see him that often, but when she did, she found him rude and abrasive toward Pauline. He criticized her and would make jokes at Pauline’s expense. She heard a lot of snarky comments from Curt. Not once did she hear him say anything nice about Pauline.
Tilly knew the marriage was strained, but now she was concerned. She regarded Pauline, who, in shorts and a tank top, didn’t have any visible bruises or other signs of harm. She was walking and moving without any issues. There were no physical indications of abuse. There’s more than one way to hurt a person, Tilly thought.
“What do you mean?” she said. “Are you...are...I’m just going to come out and say it. Are you not safe at home?”
“No! Jesus! Nothing like that!” Pauline was aghast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give that impression. It’s a little bit tense when Curt is home. We fight...with our words...but we do fight a lot. I wouldn’t expose an animal to that. They pick up on those things, you know.”
“That they do,” Tilly said. She wasn’t completely convinced by Pauline’s explanation. “Listen, I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, and I’m not going to pry.”
“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
“But...keep in mind that there is more than one way for someone to be abusive. Promise me you’ll tell me if you need anything.”
“I promise.”
Tilly didn’t feel assured but decided to let it go. She didn’t know why Pauline stayed with Curt. It’s her decision to make, she reminded herself. I can’t want it for her, no matter how much of a dick he is.
Pauline resumed talking to the dogs, “Plus, getting out here is good for me. Thank you, you sweet, fluffy pups, for giving me something to do. I’ve got nothing else.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I have very little going on since I’m not working. I used to be an industry leader. I led two global departments. Hell, I was the breadwinner. And now? Zilch. This is not where I expected to be career-wise at thirty-seven. So, what do I do? I try to fill my time with arts and crafts, and I’m not exactly skilled at any of that. There is nothing for me here.”
“Okay, first, let’s start heading back. We need to get these two back to the kennels,” Tilly said, leading the way back toward the animal shelter where they volunteered every week. “Second—”
“I guess I sound pretty pathetic. I should be more than just a job.”
“Second,” Tilly said with emphasis. “You do have options here. You’re not empty handed. Third, you already are so much more than just a job. Fourth, you’re pretty good at pottery, especially with the potter’s wheel. Finally, there isn’t anything wrong with wanting to get back into your career. Don’t you have an interview coming up soon?”
“It’s two weeks from tomorrow. And you’re right, I should lighten up. I need to present myself as positive.”
“I know it’s hard to not feel demoralized. But yes! Be positive! I know it’s an effort, but who knows? This interview could lead to something.”
“I hope so.”
“Don’t think I’m babbling to make you feel better. I get it; I do. You are driven. You need a purpose in your life. I’m a little envious of that. I have no idea what I want to do with my own life.”
“Really?” Pauline gave Tilly a curious look.
“Really. I’m bored. I feel like I’m aimlessly adrift. I have zero purpose these days.”
“What about your blog? You could launch something off that.”
Tilly felt a sharp pang of regret. “Sadly for me, the days of bloggers getting book deals are long gone. I missed my chance back when it was all the rage. Now, I’ll never know if my blog could have led to publication or become something big.”
“I didn’t mean that, plus I don’t know how successful any of those books were. I’m talking about something totally different. What do you think about turning your blog into a service?”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone does travel stuff and personal stories. If I want to know where to eat in Malindi or where to stay in Naivasha, I can go to any number of blogs.”—Pauline waved a hand as if to brush off the thought.—“Your blog is different. You have posts that give information people need to set up house, and then maintain that house, and how to do damn near everything! You need to know how invaluable your blog is, especially to people who have never lived overseas before. It’s a literal how-to manual! It saved me, and I bet a lot of others, tons of time and frustration.
“Don’t forget that you’ve been here long enough that you’re an expert. You can expand on all that, and you don’t have to do it for free. You can also offer up some kind of personalized service for people who want additional help.”
Tilly stopped walking and faced Pauline. This had gotten her attention. She had always considered her blog as storytelling. It was a way to share her experiences in Kenya. She hadn’t thought of it as a resource, let alone a paid one. She did help people informally. Perhaps Pauline had a point.
“You’re helping Lauren, right?” Pauline kept up her sales pitch. “I was a Lauren once, and I know you helped me. How many other Laurens have you helped out over the years?”
“A lot, now that I think of it. There have indeed been a lot of Laurens.” Tilly nodded as she spoke. As they reached the animal shelter Tilly paused again before continuing, “I don’t know though. Work permits can be an ordeal to get. In fact, I’m a little worried about what we’re doing here with the shelter. I think we might need permits for volunteering.”
“The government requires permits for volunteering? I didn’t know that.”
They put the dogs back into the young dog and puppy kennels next to the shelter’s modest, two-room office and then walked across the dirt surface—often referred to as rough road—to Tilly’s Land Rover Defender. The tall, boxy vehicle was a few years older than her thirteen-year-old, Ron, loud as hell, and drove like a tractor. It was perfect and she loved it. She had it custom painted sky blue, her favorite color. Dave referred to it as her fourth child. She had a nickname for it—kept secret, even from Dave. That was private between Tilly and her beloved Defender.
“Passenger sits on the other side,” Tilly reminded Pauline, who was reaching for the driver’s side door.
“Duh! Sorry,” Pauline said. She shook her head and walked to the other side of the vehicle. She gestured toward the shelter’s office. “I would do more here if we didn’t live on the other side of town. Karen is a little too far to visit more than once a week. Although, I’ve got the time for a long commute, what with no job and Curt away all the time.”
“Hey, is he here this coming weekend?”
“I’m not sure. I think so, but who knows. He comes back tomorrow night. I can check with him then.”
“Do that. No offense, but I hope he’s away. I’m going for a girls’ weekend in Naivasha with a friend and you should join us!”
“That sounds nice. Let me get back to you.” Pauline sounded like she was on the fence.
“Come on! The woman I’m going with is super cool. We met her last year on a game drive in the Maasai Mara. Remember, I told you how we met this woman who was totally our good luck charm? When she was with us, we saw tons of lions. We also got a great view of the migration. It was the first time we got to see the zebra and wildebeest cross the river, and we’ve been going to the Mara for nine years! Anyway, she’s super nice and a lot of fun. I know you’ll like her—you’ll love her!”
“I’m not blowing you off. I will strongly consider it. I promise.”
“Fair enough. You’ll be at our barbecue in a few weeks, right?”
“Absolutely!”
“Great! Now, strap in. You know this thing doesn’t have airbags.”
Tilly turned the key and the Defender roared to life. It rattled as she drove onto Langata Road, but that was more sound than actual shaking. Pauline was one of the few people who didn’t mind Tilly’s Defender. Outside of her family, most people would prefer a quiet, comfortable car with better shock absorption, or rather, any shock absorption. People complained whenever they rode with her. She did get a cushion custom made for the boot so the dogs would be comfortable when they rode in the back. That was the only upgrade. She figured humans could manage in the factory-standard passenger seats.
People did indeed manage, but they didn’t like it. On top of the bumpy ride, they didn’t like the way Tilly kept the windows open—generally a big no-no in Nairobi for safety reasons. However, Tilly insisted she needed it. With very little space between the driver’s seat and the door, Tilly, like most Defender owners, liked to prop her arm on the open window ledge. The complaints about the windows stopped once people learned the air conditioning didn’t quite reach the back seats. Pauline, in contrast, had no issues with the Defender. Tilly suspected this was because Pauline hated to drive, but she still gave her points for it.
With one arm resting on the window and her elbow sticking out, she glanced at her friend as she turned onto the Southern Bypass Highway to head back to their side of town. She had taken Pauline, among others, under her wing and guided her through the intricacies of Nairobi. It didn’t feel like work, but this could be an idea worth pursuing. She considered it as she drove them along the highway to return to where they lived north of the city. This could be promising. But is it worth it to go through the hassle of getting a work permit? Who knows how long we’ll stay here? Eventually, the office in Miami or Amsterdam will come calling. Sooner or later, Dave’s going to get an offer he can’t refuse, and it’ll be time to move again.
#
The next day, in the late afternoon, Tilly drove to Eastleigh, also known as Little Mogadishu. Most of Nairobi considered the area dodgy, and none of her friends would dare set foot in the neighborhood. This didn’t bother Tilly. She figured the hype had more to do with animosity toward Somali Kenyans than anything else. She never understood the issue, but, figuring that it wasn’t her quarrel, she didn’t worry about it. Besides, she found amazing deals here, such as the custom-made curtains she came to collect.
She parked her vehicle near Garissa Lodge, the bustling market area. As she locked up, she saw another Defender. It was a Defender 90—similar to her 110, but a little shorter—and it had a red, diplomatic license plate. You don’t see much of that in Little Mogadishu, she thought as she read the plate. 45UN...a WFP prefix number...that’s Curt’s Defender. Another diplomatic car, a black sedan, with a license plate starting with 2CD—Russian Federation—was parked next to it.
A white driver, who had been sitting inside the Russian car, came out to smoke. He glanced at Tilly and nodded as if to greet her. Say hello to your fellow expat, I guess. Looking at all the women clad in dark hijabs and black abaya cloaks, and at the men in their long, shirt-like thawbs, she realized she had forgotten her long cotton shawl. Usually, she covered her head and shoulders out of respect and to blend in a little. Suddenly, she felt very white and western, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now.
She gave a nod and a quick wave to the driver. A Russian, a Canadian, and an American walk into Little Mogadishu...It sounds like the start of a bad joke...This is odd, though. Then again, so is Curt...so, whatever. She locked up the Defender and made her way through the crowded street and to the fabric and curtain seller stalls.
Half an hour later, Tilly returned with the curtains. As she placed them onto the back seat, she could see Curt through the opposite rear passenger window. He didn’t seem to see her. He was arguing with two men, both African, one larger and one smaller. The large man—a full head taller than Curt, who himself was well over six feet tall—was easily triple the width of the smaller man. He was doing all the talking while the smaller one hung back. Curt was red-faced and shaking his head side to side. From across the two-lane road, she wasn’t close enough to make out what they were saying, but she could hear them shouting. That can’t be good.
Meanwhile, the Russian sedan was still there. Two men were standing next to the car now. One was the man she saw before, who she had assumed was the driver. The other, a formally dressed man, was holding a bright orange envelope. Who the hell uses orange envelopes? Is that to match your fancy suit? Curt took the envelope from the man. He shouted something to the African men, put up his hand as if to ward them off, and then got into his Defender.
The scene unsettled Tilly. She would need to talk to Pauline about it, but delicately. Go easy, she chided herself. You pissed her off once before by asking if Curt was beating her. Plus, while this looks weird as hell, it could be nothing. She would make sure to take a sensitive approach at the next chance to talk privately with Pauline. Right now, she needed to get home. It was almost six and close to sundown. As open-minded as she was, even Tilly knew better than to stay in Eastleigh after dark.