When William was done massaging my shoulders and back, he folded his arms around me, sandwiching me within them. It felt so safe and comforting and perfect, I didn’t want to breathe. In silence, he rested his chin against my shoulder. A minute later, I gave one of those post-crying hiccuppy shudders. I tried to joke about it.
“Can we stay like this for, oh, another hour or so?” When he laughed, I could feel the vibration. A moment later, he pulled his arms back and gave my shoulders one last squeeze.
“I’m making it up to you,” he said. “When we’re in Libreville for the COS conference.”
I swiveled around to face him and we smiled at each other. The old William had returned. I wanted to hurl myself back into his arms and tell him how much I missed him, how ungrounded and emotional I’d been feeling lately. But the best thing was that I realized I didn’t have to say any of it right then. We had time.
“I’m going to visit Kaia in her village next weekend,” I offered shyly. “I told her I’d be backup support for a sticky situation she’s trying to solve.”
“Good for you. Good for Kaia, too. The first-year volunteers can use our help.”
My foot hit something with a thunk and I looked down at my upended coffee cup.
“Whoops,” we said at the same time, which made us laugh.
“My fault,” William said. “I put the cup there. Let me go make you another.”
“Will you stick around for a second cup too?” I asked. “Or do you not want to keep Jenny waiting?”
What a big girl I was, saying her name, acknowledging her presence in William’s village, his house (please, God, not his bed) so calmly. In reward, he smiled.
“A second cup of coffee with you would be great.”
We rose and wandered back toward my house. I looked around in wonderment, as if aware of the beauty for the first time.
“You’re right,” I told him. “It is a nice day.”
The kind of day that made you think, no matter how everything otherwise felt, that maybe things would turn out all right after all.
Chapter 29
“Another pancake?” Kaia asked, gesturing to the frying pan on her propane stove.
I looked up from my plate, where all my attention had been riveted over the past five minutes. “There’s more? Omigosh, yes, I’ll take another.”
She brought over the pan and slid the fluffy, golden pancake onto my plate. “These are just amazing,” I told her. “They’re like what you’d find in a nice restaurant.”
“Aww, thanks.” She flashed me a shy smile. “I think it’s the yogurt I use in place of fresh milk or buttermilk. Since there is no fresh milk or buttermilk.”
I poured the syrup she’d created using thinned strawberry preserves and butter (canned wasn’t too bad, in the end), necessary since pancake syrup didn’t exist in Gabon. Atop it I heaped a dollop of her homemade yogurt, as firm and luscious as whipped cream. Last came a sprinkling of toasted chopped nuts that carried a hint of both savory and sweet.
“Lance told me you were the culinary queen of the province,” I said between bites. “Now I understand why.”
“Breakfast food is my forte. Dinners, not so much.”
“Dang. I’d have come to your village earlier for weekend brunch, had I known.”
She laughed. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. Which makes up for the fact that accommodations here leave something to be desired.”
It was such an anomaly, this crappy house of hers, more rustic than even Henry or William’s homes, and the buttery, delicious smell wafting from the stove. The main room’s mud-and-wattle walls had oversized cracks through which morning light filtered through. Kaia, however, was pragmatic about it all.
“It brings more light into this room by day, which is nice for a living room. The bedroom, where the cracks have been patched, is dark by day. But I prefer that for its privacy.”
“My house in the Ogooué Ivindo was horrible,” I told her. “Nothing to complain about next to this, mind you. But I kept having break-ins. Once they broke in while I was asleep in my bed. I don’t think I had a single good night’s sleep in that house after that.”
Kaia cocked her head. “I didn’t know that about you. For some reason I thought you were posted in Oyem your first year and transferred to Bitam after that.”
“Nope. I lived in Makokou.”
A curious expression crossed her face, as though she’d bit into something sour that she’d thought would be sweet. “I thought a volunteer named Keisha was the English teacher in Makokou.”
“Both of us were. She taught at the mission collège and I taught at the lycée.”
“Which of you had a student named Calixte?”
“I did.” The mention of his name sent a ripple of anxiety through me. “Why?”
“Because he’s my farmer Albert’s nephew. The problem kid.”
Of all the shitty coincidences.
“Oh, God,” I breathed. “He was a problem for me too. In a big way.”
We stared at each other in dismay. My mind scrambled to reconfigure all the variables. “How did you know he’d been a student in Makokou?” I asked.
“Because the first day I met him, he asked me, sort of furtively, whether I knew the Peace Corps woman who’d taught English in Makokou last year. Two volunteers named Keisha and Rich had COS’d the day our group arrived in country. I’d heard they’d taught in Makokou. It didn’t cross my mind there were more of you teaching there. Calixte didn’t mention you by name, and once I explained no, the English teacher went back to the U.S., he seemed satisfied. Even relieved. We didn’t talk about it again.”
“He hasn’t posed any risk to your safety in any way, has he? Or made you feel uncomfortable?”
“No.” She looked puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
“We just had some, I don’t know, bad vibes between us.”
Kaia looked worried. “This isn’t a deal breaker for you, is it? You’ll still come with me?”
“Of course I will!” I pushed away my own unease. I was no newbie teacher. I was approaching the final lap of a two-year assignment and I’d never felt more on top of things. “I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We’ll both be fine.”
The problem, she explained as we cleaned up after breakfast, was that Calixte had been trying to strong-arm his uncle, her farmer Albert, saying the fish were big enough, and that they should harvest. The rural Gabonese tended to harvest the fish early, whisk the inferior end result off to market or smoke them dry and sell those—the stacks of smelly, desiccated fish one saw at every market in the country. These were tossed into sauces to add flavor and substance to a sauce devoid of other protein or meat. But they held little meat, little nutrition. A fat, mature grilled tilapia, however, could feed and nourish a family of four. There were risks to delaying a harvest, however: greater losses if the bigger fish became sick and died, the pond corrupted, or the fish stolen.
“It’s hard for us to sell the big picture when so few guarantees exist.” Kaia washed the last plate and set it on the draining rack. “I get it. Life is so risky here, by nature. Low risk, the tried-and-true, an inferior product that provides sustenance—they prefer this. ‘Good enough’ is what they aim for. Winning them over to the Peace Corps’ method is hard.”
I finished drying the plates. “Do you think your farmer would follow your advice if Calixte weren’t pressuring him?”
“I do. He has a progressive streak that’s great to see. The good news is that Calixte is only there temporarily. He’ll be gone in a matter of weeks, once he finishes his military training. But these are crucial weeks. If I can get Albert to not cave in this month, we’ll be set. I keep telling him the results will be so worth it.”
“All right. Sounds like our goal is clear. Ignore the kid and support your farmer.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Well, today Calixte is outnumbered.”
We drove to her farmer’s fish pond on Kaia�
�s motorcycle. Kaia cut the engine and in the newfound silence I could hear the high whine of millions of insects that charged toward us. They dove for our ears, our mouths, the corners of our eyes, as I slapped them away frantically. Kaia grinned and offered me a spare rolled bandanna, the human equivalent of a horse’s tail.
Ahead of us lay the pond, surrounded by open, scrubby land. Two men stood, examining the pond’s contents. Correction: one man and one teenager. Calixte.
The pancakes leapt around in my stomach.
He’s still just a kid, I reminded myself. He had no power over me. None.
Kaia called out a greeting to Albert. He and Calixte turned at the sound of her voice.
The entertainment was mine, this time, as I watched Calixte react to my presence. He froze in confusion, as if questioning whether his eyes were seeing double Kaias. But Kaia and I bore little resemblance to each other beyond being young white American women. It sank in finally. Surprisingly, no predatory pleasure replaced the shock on his face. In spite of the fact that Calixte belonged here and I didn’t, he seemed distinctly uneasy. Then he seemed to switch gears and act as though he didn’t know me.
Kaia introduced me to Albert, a mild-mannered Gabonese man in his early forties who had intelligent eyes and a friendly smile. “Un plaisir,” he said, shaking my hand.
Calixte had to shake hands with me too. In Gabon, it would be seen as unspeakably rude to not greet a visitor in this way. He avoided meeting my eye. “Un plaisir,” he muttered, extending his hand.
Hardly a pleasure, I thought wryly. “Hello, Calixte,” I said in English in my schoolteacher voice as we shook hands.
He squirmed uncomfortably, just like a schoolboy. “Hello, Miss Fiona.”
His uncle cast him a startled look. Calixte ignored him.
“Fiona is my Peace Corps sister,” Kaia told Albert in French. “She lives in Bitam. She’s an English teacher there.”
Albert couldn’t seem to figure out my presence, nor Calixte’s behavior.
“…But I taught last year at the lycée in Makokou,” I added in French.
Albert’s expression cleared. “Ah, so this is how you and my nephew know each other.”
“Yes.” I beamed at him.
“Bien, bien!” Albert looked delighted, his gaze bouncing from me to Calixte, back to me.
“Shall we look?” Kaia gestured to the pond. “I’m eager to see how the tilapia have grown.”
“They’re doing well.” Albert sounded proud.
We congregated along the periphery of the pond. Beneath the water, I could see the tilapia swimming, periodically creating little bubbles as they nipped at the leaves and manioc bits Albert had fed them.
“Ooh, they’re a nice size!” Kaia exclaimed. “This is wonderful.”
“Yes,” Albert said, but hesitated. He seemed to be waiting for Calixte to speak next. A pause rose between them that grew awkward. Kaia and I exchanged puzzled looks.
Albert glanced pointedly at Calixte, whose gaze remained fixed on the fish. Finally Albert spoke again. “My nephew’s opinion is that the fish are big enough, and that we should harvest at this time.”
I decided to plunge in. “Monsieur Albert, Kaia has explained to me the benefits of a few more weeks’ growth. It’s a very sound plan with proven success. Kaia’s way, the Peace Corps’ way, will work for you.” Inspiration struck. “This is why the Minister of Tourism’s son, Essono Christophe, is a strong supporter of all the Peace Corps volunteers and their programs. He is a close friend of mine. He was a great source of help to me last spring.” I let an edge creep into my voice, a warning of sorts to Calixte. “He would not hesitate to help Kaia, in support of this fish-farming method.”
“The Minister of Tourism is a son of the Woleu Ntem.” Albert’s voice was hushed in respect.
“Indeed yes,” I said. “Essono Christophe, too, is a son of the Woleu Ntem.”
“Very good.” Albert turned to Calixte. “This is a strong endorsement.”
Calixte scowled. “Fine,” he muttered to Albert. “We do not harvest this week. This meeting is finished.”
Kaia and I exchanged perplexed glances—was Calixte going to give up so easily? And why was he acting so cowed by my presence? Something didn’t seem right. Then again, it was making my job easier. “I can come back next week, too,” I added slyly. A lie; I’d be in Libreville. But it had the desired effect on Calixte, who shook his head vehemently.
“We do not need to work with two American females,” Calixte said to Albert. He angled his head my way. “She can leave today and not return.”
Albert studied his nephew in confusion. “But… last year,” he said to Calixte in a low voice. “Are you not—?”
“Silence!” Calixte cut off Albert’s words. He looked as if he wanted to hit his uncle. “Last year is last year,” he thundered. “We will not discuss it.”
This was getting more and more perplexing.
Kaia cleared her throat awkwardly. “All right. It sounds as if we are all in agreement that you’ll wait a few more weeks before harvesting. Yes?”
“Yes.” Calixte spoke for his uncle and himself both. “Which means we are finished here.”
He excused himself, brusquely shaking our hands in farewell. He didn’t meet my eyes, which was fine by me. Albert walked Kaia and me back to her motorcycle. He apologized for Calixte’s rudeness and the abruptness of the meeting.
“It’s not a problem,” Kaia assured Albert. “Fiona and I have another farmer to visit this morning anyway. We’ll spend more time together next week, you and I.”
“Excellent.” Albert slowed his footsteps. “And yet, I don’t know why he was so abrupt,” he said as if to himself.
“I’m grateful he now supports our idea to wait,” Kaia said. “What changed his mind?”
“I don’t know,” Albert said. “Perhaps it is the presence of your Peace Corps sister.” He gestured to me and pride made me rise a bit taller.
Kaia smiled at me warmly. “Thank you, Fiona.”
“Of course, I have heard of you,” Albert told me. “The boy has talked of you. How he was your favored student.”
“Ah. Is that right?” I replied, wondering if it had been my translation of his French that delivered such incorrect information. But it was hard to find any ambiguity in “le plus favorisé.” “I’m surprised he mentioned myself or my class.”
“He speaks of nothing but that time with you,” Albert said. “I understand your closeness.”
I felt like we were talking about two different situations.
“My closeness? With…Calixte?”
“Why, yes.”
“I think you’ve been misinformed. We were not close.”
Albert looked puzzled. “Then why did you come here today?”
“To support Kaia and her projects.” I hesitated. “Perhaps you should share with me what your nephew is saying,” I told Albert.
Albert glanced in the direction Calixte had gone, but he’d disappeared from view.
“The boy told me about your relationship. Your dangerous home, and how he…protected you by night. How the administration at the lycée in Makokou treated him unfairly, because of their jealousy, and found a way to kick him out once you were gone.”
I stared at Albert in gape-mouthed shock. He thought Calixte and I had been lovers, that he’d slept in my bed at night. I felt ill.
“Monsieur Albert, I am afraid you have been misled. This is not the story. Not in the least. Regretfully, I had to kick your nephew out of my class, numerous times, by the end of last year. It was a difficult teaching assignment. When a fellow Peace Corps English teacher, posted in Bitam, had to leave, I was allowed to take over his post. Yes, my house in Makokou had been dangerous. I lived there alone and had troubles. I live with the nuns at the mission, now. It is a much safer place for me.”
He considered this and nodded. “That is much better for a female,” he said. “A woman, all alone. It is not good!”
&n
bsp; “You’re right,” I said, eager to keep the peace, remembering too late Kaia’s own situation.
Albert’s expression grew serious. “He did not protect you, my nephew?”
I shook my head. “Not in any way.”
A sorrowful look crossed Albert’s face. “My nephew has lied to me. This troubles me.”
Had I said too much? A frisson of uneasiness rippled through me.
“You are a good man, Albert,” Kaia said in a soft but confident voice. “A smart worker with great intelligence and wisdom. If Calixte learns to follow your example, he will be fine.”
When Albert smiled at her and nodded, I felt better.
At Kaia’s motorcycle, he shook our hands gravely.
“Goodbye,” he said to me. “Thank you for your information.”
“Goodbye,” I replied. “I wish you the best of luck with your fine fish pond.” And your lying, manipulative nephew, I wanted to add, but of course I didn’t.
Sunday, Kaia drove me to Mitzic, a nearby town, where we snagged a soon-to-depart northbound Regab truck ride for me. While the driver finished his lunch, we sat and drank orange sodas and watched the activity taking place in the town square. We mulled over yesterday’s meeting with Albert and Calixte.
“That was creepy, huh, the story he’d told his uncle about me?” I said.
“Seriously creepy.”
“No wonder Calixte was anxious for the meeting to end fast and get me out of there. So I wouldn’t share the truth. Omigod, what Albert must have thought of me, that I’d been letting his nephew sleep in my bed at night.” I shivered in disgust at the thought.
“Honestly? He didn’t seem fazed by the thought,” Kaia said. “Ironically, our presence as single women alone in this culture strikes him, and other Gabonese, as more scandalous.”
“I’m so sorry I let it segue into that ‘women shouldn’t live alone here’ attitude. That didn’t help you.”
“It’s okay. I’ve heard it before. It’s something a female volunteer in this program has to get used to.” She picked up her soda bottle and studied it. “I have to say, though, it can get lonely, alienating, being a lone female here.”
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