If anyone would do the hurting, it would be me.
“I love your mouth.” He groaned in pleasure. Sliding away from my lips, he reached into the nightstand drawer for a foil packet. A tug on both knots released my arms. With a kiss to each wrist, he made sure I was okay. While he rubbed my skin, he kissed me deeply. Our kiss was sloppy, wet, and perfect. I tangled my hands into his hair and pulled him closer to me, using the momentum to roll us over. My hips lined up with his and my thighs straddled him.
“The thing you should know about my pirates.” I held his hands down on the mattress. “The captain is a woman. She’s the one in charge and giving orders.” I rolled my hips, feeling his erection glide against my slickness.
Kai smiled. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He thrust against me, the tip of him rubbing my clitoris.
I released his hands and lifted up, guiding him into me.
“It shouldn’t.” I rocked above him.
His hands came up to my breasts, supporting them while rubbing his thumbs over my nipples.
Closing my eyes, I let myself find my rhythm that would bring me to the edge. I guided one of his hands to where we joined. He pressed a finger against my clit, knowing what I needed.
I slowed and found the angle where he hit my g-spot with each thrust. Hovering in the place between pleasure and orgasm, I opened my eyes, finding his gaze locked on my face. The passion in his eyes pushed me over the edge. With each wave of bliss, I fell for the beautiful, disheveled man beneath me again and again.
Kai grabbed my hips, continuing our rhythm. “Can you go for another?” He reached between us, seeking to extend my gratification.
I could have another. Double Dutch became my new favorite thing.
THE HEADLIGHTS OF the Rover created a narrow path of light along the evening road while we drove in silence. Outside of Accra, few lights brightened the dark night. Even little towns like Somanya settled into almost complete darkness at night, lit only with the occasional bright bulb in a chop bar or roadside business. I leaned against the doorframe and looked up at the stars, letting my hair whip around my face with the warm air while we drove to Accra from a week spent along the Volta River, feeling a million miles from the pollution and noise of the capital. Conversations and events from the weekend clogged my thoughts.
While Kai met with Chinese managers of a local textile factory further north near the dam, I sat in the shade by our resort’s pool next to the river and wrote. His stunt on my birthday inspired my writing again. I squirmed on my lounge chair, recalling how he bound me with my own scarves.
Across the pool a loud commotion broke out near the restaurant. Raised voices in English carried over to the pool area. I shaded my eyes with my hand. A large, white man, his face red with anger, stood with a piece of paper clenched in his hand, shouting at the waiter, Simon.
“You stupid, ignorant boy,” the American raged at the waiter, who was decades past being a boy.
The waiter wasn’t yelling or even raising his voice when he responded.
Whatever had been spoken further inflamed the screaming American. He stepped closer and jammed his finger into Simon’s chest. Expletives and spit spewed from the older man’s mouth.
What could be so terrible he’d react that way?
I stood and adjusted my caftan, intending to interrupt the verbal barrage.
“No, miss. Do not go over there,” Afua, one of the managers, cautioned me. “That man is nasty and will say terrible things to you, too.”
My American woman sensibilities told me to jump in and stop what I was witnessing. Afua, as a Ghanaian, on the other hand, let men be men, fighting their own battles. I gaped at both the ugly man and Afua, my gaze bounced between them as if watching a tennis match.
“But … he shouldn’t speak to Simon, or anyone, that way.”
“Yes, miss. He is a bad man, but he has nothing to do with us. There is nothing we can do.”
I pushed my sunglasses up into my hair. “Nothing?”
She frowned and continued, “No. He will leave and be the same elsewhere. Maybe in his country this is normal.”
I studied her face, not understanding how or why she could remain disengaged. The shouting ended with the man throwing cedis on the table and floor, then stomping away. When he passed the pool, he made eye contact with me. “No one in this damn country has a brain. It was better when Europeans ran this Godforsaken continent, then things got done and you didn’t have to deal with the natives.”
I blinked, stunned he’d addressed me as if I’d agree and support him. I opened my mouth to speak, but Afua cut me off with a hand on my arm. She frowned again and subtly shook her head to stop me. Out of respect, I didn’t speak my mind to him. In the end, she was right. He’d be an asshole no matter what I said. I turned away, not acknowledging his words with a response.
When I told Kai the story later at dinner, he listened with a sad expression, letting me vent on and on about the rude American.
“I’m sorry you’re upset.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand where it sat on the table between us.
“Upset? Try infuriated.”
“Why?”
“Because he was horribly insulting to Simon and Afua.”
“Do you think he’s the first foreigner to say those things to them?”
“No,” I said, defeated. “I wanted to slap him.”
He grinned at me. “I would’ve enjoyed witnessing that. I’m sure you can hold your own in brawls and bar fights.”
“And with ugly Obruni.”
“Ah, yes. Obruni can be an insult, as well as a general name for foreigners.”
“I figured.” I scrunched my mouth to the side.
He sighed. “Today was an ugly day all around. I hit a wall at the factory—the Great Wall of China. The Chinese completely shut down talks with our group. Very frustrating.” His fist slammed down on the table, jostling the flatware and glasses.
I’d never seen Kai frustrated or angry.
“I’m tired of people exploiting others.”
“Do you think I’m an ugly Obruni?”
“I think you’re beautiful.” He stilled. “Why would you ask?”
“I’ve been here for months, but haven’t given back or volunteered with orphans or AIDs patients, or even made a donation. Aren’t those expected? All I’ve done is eat and shop, and be a tourist.”
Kai sat back in his chair and contemplated me. “Are you feeling guilty?”
“I wasn’t. But after witnessing and overhearing that asshole today, I’ve spent the afternoon wondering if I should be doing more.”
“More of what?”
“More ‘good work’. Helping people, like the missionaries.”
“Missionary work? You?” He smirked. “Saving souls?”
I gave him a sidelong glance. “Given I can’t save even myself, no.”
“It’s an easy hole to be sucked into, deciding everyone here needs to be saved. From what, it depends. Save their souls, save their lives, save their forests, monkeys, rivers … you get the point.”
“You forgot the children.”
“Ah, yes. Save them most of all.”
“Building schools is a noble thing. I could do that.”
“Can you use a hammer? Or make adobe blocks?”
Shaking my head, I whispered, “No.” I sighed. “I’m hopeless.”
“If you’re wanting to do something charitable, do it. Don’t do it out of some misplaced white, European guilt.”
“Like what you do?” My realizations from the afternoon made me feel prickly and defensive.
“You think my motivation is white, European guilt?” he scoffed and crossed his arms, resting his elbows on the table.
“Didn’t you call yourself Robin Hood?”
“I think that was you.”
“Right, yet you’re working for the better good, freeing slaves, or whatever it is you do, out of a sense of honor.”
“And you think
my work has to do with lingering Dutch heritage in Africa?” His voice lowered and held an edge.
“Maybe.”
“You know nothing. I do what I do because it needs to be done.”
“It’s a big assumption on your part.”
“Is it?”
“Afua told me not to confront the American because nothing I said would change him. Made me think really, nothing we do will change anyone or anything.”
He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again with Selah’s theory of being eternally bound by history.” He leaned away from the table. “If everyone was the same as you, trapped in the past, studying musty old sculptures for an exhibit only a tiny percentage of people will see or care about, nothing would ever change in this world. You have to be the catalyst for change.”
“Wow.” I crossed my arms and gripped my biceps. “Nice to hear what you think of my work.”
“Hey, you were the one who said you should be doing more, something important, while you’re here.”
“I did,” I huffed, glaring at him.
He ran his hands over his hair, making it stick up. It had grown shaggier the past several months.
We sat in stiff silence for a few minutes. Or hours. It dragged out like hours. The tension between us thick and spiky while we stared in opposite directions, neither making eye contact nor speaking. I poured the last of the water from my bottle into my glass, stewing over his words and how they made me feel. I was used to people minimizing my work and writing, but hadn’t expected it from Kai.
With his hands resting on the crown of his head and his eyes closed, he finally spoke, “Is this our first fight?”
I waited for him to look at me before replying, “Possibly.”
Chuckling, he rolled his neck side to side. “I’m sorry for what I said about the exhibit. It’ll be hugely attended and important.”
“No, it won’t.” I joined him in laughing. “But thank you for saying so. I’m sorry for what I said.”
He shrugged. “You’re probably right. I was spoiled most of my life. A few years don’t change my position of privilege.”
I leaned across the corner of the table to kiss his cheek.
“What was that for?”
“For apologizing.”
“You aren’t stuck in the past.” He pulled my hand into his lap and entwined our fingers.
I laughed softly. “Oh, but I am. I’m stuck in a past which isn’t even my own.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“Be the change?”
He nodded, kissing the inside of my wrist. “Volunteer with Ursula. From what I’ve seen, the women in the collective mainly sit around and gossip. You’d fit right in.”
He caught my hand so I couldn’t slap him. “So violent. Afua was right to stop you. You might have unleashed real mayhem.”
“I’ll show you some mayhem,” I said, letting my hand drop to his thigh.
“Will this be make-up sex?”
“I suppose.”
He wiggled his eyebrows before turning to find a waiter. “Bill, please!”
FOLLOWING KAI’S ADVICE, I met with Ursula for a late lunch to talk about volunteering.
“Why the sudden interest in helping out?”
“It’s not sudden,” I defended.
“You’ve been here for months.” She peered at me over her glass. “Did you and Kai break up?”
Laughing, I said, “No. Nothing like that.”
“Are you sure? Why the sudden free time?”
“It’s nothing bad, I promise. I realized half my stay is over and I need, no, I aspire to contribute with my remaining time.”
“Tick tock?”
“A little.”
“Why my group?”
I told her Kai’s comment about the gossip and she laughed. “That’s probably true.”
“Honestly? I prefer women over kids. Most volunteering centers around children.”
“Kids are terrifying. You should stay away from them for sure.”
“Stop mocking me. Kids don’t like me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” She paused and studied me. “Okay, maybe it is true. You’re scary.”
I sighed. “So I hear.”
“I’m joking with you. I’ll bring you to the center tomorrow afternoon if you want.”
The next day I met Ursula outside of the workshops for a tour. In a courtyard sat beehive-shaped kilns and molds along with piles of colored glass bottles waiting to be recycled into the glass beads. Under a thatched roof with open sides, women strung beads together to make bracelets and necklaces.
Everyone warmly welcomed Ursula, inviting us to sit and join them. I couldn’t follow all of their conversations, but I laughed when I understood the gist of the subject. Kai had been right. They laughed and chatted away while they worked. The sound of their giggling reminded me of book club meetings with girlfriends where more wine was consumed than books discussed.
Quietly observing the group, I noticed a handful of the members were younger women, even teenagers. Shy smiles greeted me, and when I made eye contact with them they would giggle and turn away. I could relate to teenage girls; some days I still felt like one. One girl brought over her bin of beads and elastic to my bench. She showed me how to string the beads and then tie off the ends. My fingers weren’t as nimble as the other women, but they encouraged me even after the beads from a bracelet broke free and bounced over the packed dirt of the courtyard.
A couple bracelets made and a wonderful hour spent with the women, Ursula finally dragged me away after the sky darkened.
“You enjoyed yourself?” she asked.
“Very much. When can I return? What can I do to help out?”
Smiling, she said, “Slow down. Come later this week. They liked you. We’ll figure out how to use you best.”
“My bracelets sucked, didn’t they?”
She pinched her thumb and forefinger together. “A little, but I have hope for you.”
I had hope for me, too.
THE HAZY, LATE October sun bounced off the small domestic planes sitting on the hot tarmac at Kotoka Airport. Next to the giant 777s for international flights, they looked miniature and toy-like. Kai had arranged our tickets to Tamale, never telling me the plane flying there had propellers. He crouched when we boarded the minuscule plane. Even with four seats per row, the plane looked tiny by my standards.
“Remind me again how long we have to be inside this tin can?” I asked, taking my window seat.
“This plane is huge compared to ones I’ve flown in with some of my projects.”
“Not helping.”
His eyes crinkled. “Under an hour.”
“And how long would it take to drive?”
“Thinking of changing our plans?” He stuffed my bag into the tiny overhead compartment. “Driving takes at least eight hours, typically longer.”
I tapped my fingers on the narrow armrest.
“Selah?”
“I’m thinking.”
He sat down and buckled his seatbelt. “We’re not driving there. We’ll drive back.”
“How? We don’t have your car.”
“We’ll hire one and visit Kumasi.” He pecked my cheek.
“If we live that long.”
“You’re worse than Cibele. She’s a much better flyer than you.”
Rarely did he mention his daughter. They video chatted often, almost every day. Between us there existed some sort of unspoken rule about talking about her. We didn’t. I wasn’t sure if it was me or him.
“Thanks for the compliment.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “Flying isn’t something to be enjoyed. It’s a means to an end.”
He had the nerve to laugh at me. Interlacing our fingers, he said, “You’ll be fine. Think of the views.”
Once the little plane settled at cruising altitude, the view over Ghana was gorgeous. The deep green hills along the coast and Volta River faded to rolling, sepia-hued land as we headed north to the ar
id land closer to the Sahara.
KOFI MADE ARRANGEMENTS for us to have a driver meet us in Tamale and take us the short distance to Mole National Park.
If I had been excited about Mona Lisa, nothing compared to my anticipation about the elephants. To torture me, Kai scheduled a detour for us to visit the ultra-modern looking Larabanga Mosque outside Tamale. Dark spikes protruded from its fresh white stucco exterior, giving it a surreal appearance unlike any mosque or church I’d ever seen.
Cool.
Interesting.
We took tons of pictures.
Not elephants.
Leaving the mosque, I insisted on sitting up front with the driver to play Spy the Pachyderms as soon as we crossed on to the rough, unpaved red dirt road from the main gate of Mole leading into the park.
I scanned the brush and scraggly trees, awaiting a flash of gray or a tell-tale rustle. At one point I leaned so far forward that when Davis, our driver, hit a pothole, my forehead bumped against the front window. Rubbing the sore spot, I reluctantly slumped in my seat and told Kai, who laughed in the back, to shut it.
Davis stopped the car and I panicked, thinking I’d missed my chance to spot the first elephant. “Where? Where?” I shouted, my head turning almost three-hundred-sixty degrees.
Kai and Davis both laughed at me. “No, Mah-mee, not the elephants. Look …” He gestured out his window. “Warthogs.”
Warthogs?
Seriously?
I hadn’t flown inside a teeny-tiny plane to see warthogs. Still, I leaned over the SUV’s console and observed the furry boars with their snaggle-tusked underbites.
“Hakuna Matata,” I greeted them with a wave.
“That’s Swahili,” Kai corrected me. “Wrong country.”
“I assumed it was Disney-speak.” I turned around to smile at him while he banged his head against his headrest and groaned.
“I’m kidding!” I laughed. “Okay, not the wild gray beasts I came to see. Onward, Davis!”
Davis peered at Kai through the review mirror as he put the SUV into gear and slowly moved forward.
We spotted a few kobs prior to arriving at the park’s only hotel. Their elegant horns reminded me of antelope.
Missionary Position Page 16
