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“I can’t believe you all knew and never said a thing to me!” Zara yelled at her Mog drinking buddies, attracting the attention of the other patrons in Tuku.
“It’s not a big deal,” Brenda muttered. She blew her unruly curls from out of her eyes. “His wife’s not that great.”
“I like Pauline! And you know what? She actually is pretty great. I had lunch with her a couple of weeks ago. I’d rather be friends with her than sleep with Des! Curt. Whatever the hell his name is!”
Brenda huffed.
“Not that I even have that option. I wish I had met her first.”
“Hang on,” Ian said. His Australian accent was stronger after a few beers. “Is the problem that Desmond’s married? Or is it only that you like his wife? Would you give a shit if you didn’t know her?”
“Of course, I would!” Zara said, even louder than before.
“Keep it down,” Brenda said.
The other people in the bar noticed Zara yelling. They peered over at her from their various table groupings and nooks. With little to do besides work, people got their entertainment wherever they could find it. Gossip and eavesdropping were fair game. Most of the people didn’t bother pretending to not listen.
“My point is,” Ian said, leaning toward her and getting a little into Zara’s face, “you’re fine with turning a blind eye when it suits you. This particular time, you happen to mind.”
“What do you mean?” Zara asked.
Brenda sighed and then added to Ian’s statement, “Zara, you ignore certain things that you’d rather not know about. Stuff only ever bothers you when you’re forced to deal with it. And now, for once, you’re choosing to deal with it. Usually, you choose to look away—like with your friend, Jenny, the one who has that Nairobi club. She’s a madam! Everyone knows this! Yet, you claim ignorance and invite her to events, and then she works her girls at those events. Thank god she’s banned from most things now.
“Oh, and remember that guy Jim, the one you worked with in Bangkok? He was most definitely not separated from his wife. Everyone but you saw through that charade.
“Claiming ignorance this time would be pretty damned rich. It’s not like you ever checked anything. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Zara! You never even bothered to learn his full name. Curt Desmond is not a hard name to learn. And you’re not a naïve twenty-two-year-old. You’re what, thirty-four, thirty-five? Grow up!”
“Get off your high horse, Zara,” Ian said. “We all blur the lines and maybe even dick around from time to time. Sure, Desmond dicks around more than others. No one is judging you for being a side hustle. So, don’t judge us for not doing whatever it is you think we should have done. It’s all relative. It’s about where you draw the line.”
In all her years of living a nomadic life, moving from one assignment to the next, Zara chose to keep relationships casual. This made life simpler, but simpler didn’t mean sleazy. Regardless of what Ian and Brenda thought, she had rules. Not hooking up with married men was one of them. It wasn’t a hard rule to follow. Some of the married men on short-term assignments in Asia and Africa cheated. Most of them were open about it because a lot of women on these assignments didn’t care. She had expected the same from Des—Curt—in which case she would have passed on him. To be fair, she never did ask him outright. She had assumed he was single based on his lack of wedding ring and not having a telltale wedding ring tan line.
“Fine. This is where I draw the line,” Zara said after chugging the last of her beer.
She slammed down the empty bottle and got up to return to her shipping container. As she was heading out of Tuku, Curt walked in. She tried to weave a path through the tables to avoid him, but he came right up to her. He started to speak but she put up a hand to stop him.
“I have nothing to say to you and I don’t give a fuck about anything you have to say.”
Curt looked dumbfounded. You are such an idiot, she thought. As she walked away, she could hear Ian speaking.
“Bad luck, mate. She knows about the wife. Knows her too, apparently.”
#
Zara stood in the outdoor, common kitchen shared by neighboring containers. Every four-container group had a shared kitchen. Given the limited choices at the three canteens on the base, people often preferred to cook their own meals in these kitchens. They would bring back suitcases of food—mostly dry or canned goods—from Nairobi every few weeks when they had their leave time.
Having to borrow a container each trip, Zara did not have that option. Feeling hungry, she opened the fridge door and contemplated taking something. That would be mean, she thought. I can’t steal someone else’s food, not on top of what I’ve done already. She shut the door and went into the given week’s borrowed container.
After a hot shower to wash away the day and at least part of the sand, Zara laid on the bed and tried to relax. Her telecom radio buzzed. She didn’t answer. She knew who was calling and she didn’t need to talk to him. She turned off the radio.
This was against safety protocol. The radio was the sole on-base telecom system. Phone lines and cell phones were too easy to tap. The radio was the only way to communicate with others on the base. It was also the emergency contact system. I’ll keep it off for this one night. Nothing’s going to happen to me.
Thirty minutes later, she turned the radio back on. Having it off was a bad idea. Given the two car bombs that went off in downtown Mogadishu about two weeks ago, she shouldn’t be lax on security measures. Being inside the base was safer than in the city, but the attack on the base itself on January 1st was a reminder that she wasn’t in an impenetrable fortress. I’m starting a new chapter and I’m going to be smarter about things, starting right now. No more carelessness.
#
After what felt like the longest week of her life, Zara was finally on the plane back to Nairobi. There had not been room on the UNHAS plane this time, so she was on the European Union’s ECHO humanitarian flight. She had hoped Curt would have gotten on the UNHAS flight, but she knew he would most likely be on this one. She sat low in her seat, trying to make herself invisible. She had no interest in dealing with Curt. She managed to dodge him all week, but avoiding him on the flight would be tricky. She saw Keg Stand coming down the aisle. Her problem could be solved.
“Hey there...” Zara said, wishing she had learned his name. She had meant to learn it from Sebastian, but she kept forgetting to ask. “Come, have a seat.” She gestured to the empty seat next to her.
“No can do,” Keg Stand replied. “Sorry, Zara. I feel for you, but there’s no way I’m getting caught in the middle of your lovers’ quarrel. Leave me out of that shit.”
Jesus, she thought. Does everyone know? She shut her eyes and pressed her hands over her face. She let out a long breath. Oh, yeah. Everyone knows. Everyone.
As Keg Stand passed her, she wished for someone else, anyone at all, to sit next to her. She stared out the airplane window and hoped avoiding eye contact would keep Curt away from her. She had no such luck.
He took the seat next to her. “Listen, I get it. I should have told you that I’m married.”
She didn’t utter a single word. There was no need to encourage conversation. Surely, he would get the hint. She kept facing the window, refusing to acknowledge his presence. Unfortunately, the silent treatment did not deter him. He kept talking.
“All right fine, if you don’t want to keep doing what we’re doing, that’s cool. I respect that.”
Zara snorted. He didn’t know the meaning of the word, let alone know how to treat people with respect. She wished she had noticed that sooner. I’ve been naïve about all of this. No, not naïve. I’ve been flat-out stupid. She shook her head and continued to stare out the window.
The plane started to taxi in preparation for takeoff. Zara figured that would shut him up. Most people, even those who frequently took the flight, braced themselves and kept quiet during takeoff. Rocket-propelled grenades were the firepower of choice for al-Shabaab and were often aimed at aircraft carrying westerners. As a result, taking off from Mog was an extreme exercise to avoid the city and its rooftop rocket launchers. The dramatic maneuver felt like a rollercoaster ride, one with the risk of getting shot down. Either oblivious to or not caring about the impending takeoff, Curt carried on his monologue.
“I want to make sure this stays between us.”
The plane took off and in under a minute it took a sharp right turn toward the ocean. The severe turn, even when expected, was a jolt. Curt smashed into Zara’s side, crushing her arm. She grunted in pain and shoved him off her, still keeping her eyes away from him. He kept on talking as though nothing happened.
“I don’t need my wife to know. And really, does she need to know? It would hurt her. And it seems like we’re done here. Why bother telling her. Right?”
Zara stared out the window at the water. The flight path would keep them over the ocean until they were far enough from Mog to make the gradual ascent back over land. They were flying low. She guessed they were at only 250 feet. The ocean looked close enough to touch. She envisioned pushing Curt into the chummed, shark-infested water. She wished they were in a puddle jumper so she could do that.
“Shut the hell up,” she said. “You are so fucking annoying with the desperate babbling that I want to shove you out of the plane.”
“But—”
“I don’t care, Des, or Curt. I don’t care what your name is. We’re done. As for the rest, I don’t care about your opinion. In fact, you don’t get to have one. You’re the asshole and the asshole doesn’t get a say. So, shut up.”
He finally stopped talking. Taking a look at him for the first time since he sat down, Zara was surprised at what she saw. He was usually well-groomed and a decent dresser, as much as one could be on these missions anyway. Did he get dressed in the dark or something? His shirt was misbuttoned, off by two buttonholes. Sections of his hair stuck out at odd angles, as if he didn’t even try to brush it. His normally bright eyes were dull and sunken. He was an utter mess.
He couldn’t sit still. He kept tapping his feet until he saw that she was watching him. He then played with a pen, clicking it open and closed, until he caught her watching him again. He put the pen away but kept fidgeting. Squirming in his seat, he was a bundle of nerves.
Zara didn’t understand his anxiety. Was he that afraid of his wife? Pauline wasn’t a scary or vindictive person. Zara almost pitied him. Almost. If he was this worried about the consequences, then he shouldn’t have cheated in the first place.
She had her own consequences to face, and those went beyond Mog. She was probably already known in Nairobi as someone who fucks married men, or as an idiot, and possibly both. Either way, this would make life harder in Nairobi. Making female friends in that city was hard enough, especially if you worked in the male-dominated humanitarian aid world. Now, a lot of women wouldn’t trust her, and she couldn’t blame them.
Worst of all, she had hurt Pauline. It was safe to assume she would lose her as a friend. She expected she would lose other friends too. This wasn’t how she wanted to start the next chapter of her life.
#
After the stop in Wajir, they finally arrived at JKIA in Nairobi. Zara hurried across the tarmac and then through the airport. She worried Curt might try to bother her again. Looking back to see if he was following, she saw him and Ian talking to three men. The sight of Ian surprised her, but she focused on the other men. One was the Eastern European, well-dressed creep from the Entebbe airport, the one who had been watching her. Wait a minute, she thought. Is that also the same guy Des was talking to a few weeks ago on the tarmac in Wajir?
She was certain the other two men were the same men from Diani, the large and small duo. Their presence sent a chill up her spine. Watching the interaction, noticing how on edge Curt was, she now understood that his nervousness on the plane had nothing to do with her or with his marriage. Brenda might have a point. Zara had turned a blind eye to several things about Mr. Curtis Desmond, and about a few other men if she was being honest. She should have paid more attention.
The smaller of the men from Diani caught her gaze and nudged his large colleague, who then also started to watch Zara. She quickly turned away, making a beeline for the exit. Glancing at the reflection on the door leading outside to the passenger pick up area, she saw the large one had followed her. Frantically scanning the cars across the road, she spotted her taxi driver, Richard, and sprinted over to him.
“Hello, madam! Please, let me get that,” he said, taking her duffle bag.
Zara caught her breath as Richard put the bag in the trunk. He gestured to her backpack. She shook her head. Her phone was in there. She pulled it out and pretended to make a call, all while staring at the man. He is a freaking giant. Thankfully he stayed near the terminal on the other side of the road. She could handle a face-off as long as she had distance. If he thinks I’m calling someone about this, he might back off. A full minute passed, and then another. Shit. He’s still there. After a total of five long minutes, he turned around and went back inside.
Richard was already in the car and had been patiently waiting for her. He leaned out the window. Before he could ask if she was ready, she got into the front passenger seat. She let out a deep breath and started to relax.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “I was distracted. I’m ready now. Let’s go.”
#
Early the next day, after getting ready for her morning run, Zara got out her phone to contact Pauline. She thought about calling but decided against it. She reasoned that it was too early to call on a Saturday morning, but she knew that was a copout. She sat on her bed and stared at the phone for a few minutes, summoning up the nerve to take action, any action. Woman up, she said to herself. She decided sending a WhatsApp message would be all right, and Pauline might not reply immediately. She wouldn’t mind more time to prepare.
Good morning – I hope I’m not bugging you too early. Was wondering if you were free at all today. Want to grab a coffee?
Zara could see that Pauline was online and was responding right away. So much for buying myself some time. Zara reminded herself that she needed to do this. She didn’t have the right to feel nervous. She was in the wrong. She read Pauline’s reply.
Morning! No worries. I’ve been up. Coffee sounds great! How about Mug n Beanz at Village? 2:30?
That would give Zara plenty of time for a run, shower, and preparation. She still hadn’t figured out what to say, how to say it, or where to start. She was at a loss for words even for the WhatsApp message. She typed, deleted, typed, and then deleted again. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something that sounded normal but not overly cheery given the news she was about to give. Frustrated, she gave up on words and replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
She then made the fifteen-minute drive from her place on Lower Kabete Road to the Sigiria Block section of Karura Forest. This was her favorite place to run. It was pretty and it was safer than running along the side of the roads, most of which didn’t have sidewalks.
This part of the forest was a lot less crowded than the Limuru section and Zara preferred the running trails here. Early, at 6:15 in the morning, the forest was all but empty. There were only three other cars in the parking lot, and all of them were large SUVs. Zara never saw the point in having one of those. Her driving was all in the city and a compact car fit her needs. She wondered how many of Nairobi’s Land Rovers and Toyota Prados ever made it out to the bush. Tilly drove hers out of the city frequently, but she seemed like the exception rather than the rule to Zara.
Looking around to see if anyone was coming, Zara used one of the Land Rovers, a Defender like Tilly’s, to aid in stretching. She propped a foot up on the front bull bar to stretch a calf, then repeated for the other leg. Hearing footsteps, she backed away from the car, not wanting to annoy anyone in case it was the owner approaching. Given the red, diplomatic plates, she didn’t want to piss-off the owner. The person was crossing the parking lot and not going to any of the cars. Wearing a dark blue jumpsuit, which was the typical gardener uniform in Kenya, he most likely worked at one of the houses that bordered the forest. He waved as he passed by, which Zara found a little strange, but she waved back anyway. After all, people were generally friendly in Karura.
She finished her stretching and started her run. She chose a side trail, one that forest management wasn’t in the process of paving yet. She preferred the wild, bumpy terrain. Tense and needing to burn off the nervous anticipation, she picked up her pace. After a few minutes, she was in a deeper part of the forest where the path was barely visible among the fallen leaves and scattered branches on the forest floor. She started to relax. After a few more minutes, she was able to clear her head. Fully in her zone, she followed the winding forest trails, watching the ground ahead for the rocks, small holes, and tree roots along the way. Keeping a comfortable pace as the path took her up and down the gentle, rolling hills of the forest, she started to think about what to say to Pauline.
Her thoughts were interrupted by what sounded like a fellow runner tripping, not unusual given the uneven path. She slowed to a stop and turned around. No one was there. She jogged closer to where she heard the sound. She looked to see if she could spot anyone off to the side of the trail, but she couldn’t see anything through the dense trees and shrubs. She started to panic. Given what happened at the airport yesterday, she couldn’t be too careful. She decided she better keep moving.
As she started to run back, a female bushbuck ran across the trail. Zara laughed in relief. She must have heard the male bushbuck before. She went back to running and organizing her thoughts.