by Rula Sinara
“I assume you heard,” he said, tucking the radio away. Yes, she had overheard, but she didn’t know everyone’s radio code names. “Mugi said that Pippa insisted we pass through there. She’ll stay an extra night so we can meet up with her.”
“Okay, then. Tell me what I can do to help,” she said, getting out of the jeep.
“You can eat something.”
“I mean in the way of a tent or digging in posts or whatever.”
He laughed as he lifted two folding camp chairs out of the back and set them in the shade.
“Tent? Who needs a tent?”
“Are you serious? What about things that slither and crawl? Or mosquitoes? Or lions.” She had no problem with camping, so long as it involved a hermetically sealed tent or a cot to keep her off the ground. She shuddered at the idea of something crawling up her shirt or nibbling at her hair. Or having her for a late-night snack.
“You’ll be safe and I have insect repellant. I’ll keep a campfire going and I’m a light sleeper. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve done this many times and I’m always prepared.”
He unlocked a long metal case that was bolted down in the back of the jeep, opened it and waited for her to peer in.
“Oh.”
A couple of rifles lay on their sides, one that looked a little different with a box of feathered darts next to it. She assumed it was for tranquilizing, but the other...that was the real thing. A box labeled bullets was tucked next to it.
“Only for emergencies,” he said, closing the lid.
“I’m glad you keep that locked up.”
“Always. Safety is a priority.”
“That’s what my dad says. He had to be extra careful with his handgun when we were growing up. Especially with Chad.”
“You know how to use one?”
“You know my dad. He made us learn how. Just target shooting and gun safety. Guess what my law school acceptance gift was? He said that if I was going to live in a big city alone, I needed a gun. It’s locked up in a safe at home. I hate them. They make me uneasy, even if I do know how to use mine if my life was threatened.”
“Good to know.”
“But I’ve never shot at anything fast. Especially, not in my sleep.”
“I was messing with you. I have a small tent in the back and you’re welcome to use it. I have to warn you, though. You’ll miss out on sleeping under a spectacular night sky.”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“You look at the stars all you want.”
He opened the cooler and handed her a sandwich. “There’s fruit here, as well. Take your pick. You can stay in the jeep or stretch your legs. I recommend stretching your legs.” He took his sandwich, sat in a camp chair and crossed his ankles far in front of him.
Maddie peeked in the cooler. Okay. She really did need to eat. Her stomach was beginning to sound like a hyena in heat.
“Oh, my gosh. This is peanut butter,” she said, going around and sitting next to him. “I’m in heaven.” She sank her teeth in. Who’d have thought? A good old peanut butter sandwich while surrounded by the wilds of Africa. She felt like she was sitting in one of those giant, domed, surround-sound theaters she’d been to in a museum once.
“My mother packed the food. She remembered about you and peanut butter.” Haki chuckled as he took another bite of his.
“I eat everything now, but yes, back then, I was culinarily cautious, if that’s a term.” When they’d first moved to Kenya, she hadn’t been too keen on trying different foods. Peanut butter sandwiches had been one of the few things she’d eat.
Haki finished his sandwich faster than she ever could and went back to the cooler. He took out two bananas and tossed her one. She fumbled the catch and caught it in her lap.
“Why were you so anxious to leave, Mads?”
There it was again. Mads. He remained standing and looked out on the grasses and pockets of trees. Mount Kilimanjaro lifted its snowcap to the sky southwest of where they sat, Mount Kenya rose to the northeast and the echoes of elephant trumpeting seemed to come from all directions. She chewed slowly and took in the surroundings that had once been so much more familiar to her. He looked down when she didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to or if she should.
“You could have gone to any of the universities here. Or you could have returned more often, or at least have moved back to work after law school.”
“Why haven’t you left?”
“What do you mean? Why would I leave this?”
She laid her banana peel on the arm of her chair and got up to stand with him. A family of giraffes sauntered along the tree line just over the ridge, then stopped for a taste. Beneath them, a herd of gazelle grazed silently. Only their backs rose above the grass blades, like domes of tumbled citrine. Why would anyone leave this?
“I must admit, this is probably one of the most beautiful spots I’ve seen,” she said. Maybe he’d forget his question. “It’s as if all of it is right here. Everything people think of when they envision the savannah.”
“It is.” He squinted at the horizon. His mind was churning. She could tell from the subtle movement of his jaw, the way his temple flinched with every thought. He’d looked the same when he was fifteen and his serious nature had been topped with the usual angst and worries.
“A little louder,” she whispered.
“Hmm?” He turned his face toward her.
“You’re talking very loudly in your head. A bit louder and I won’t feel as if I’m not worth sharing with.”
He smiled, then reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. The way his fingertips skimmed her neck made her hyperaware and seemed to snap the faraway look from his eyes. He put his arm around her.
“Come here.”
Oh, she wanted to. A part of her wanted to lean her cheek against his chest and let him tuck her close with his arm. The other part of her kicked and screamed for her to stay in control before damage was done. He’s not for you. Her pulse skittered and her leg muscles tried to ground her in place.
He didn’t pull her in. He pulled her along. Guided her to a specific spot a few yards on the other side of the jeep, put both hands on her shoulders, faced her toward a rise surrounded by trees and gunmetal gray boulders, then let go.
“Right there.” He pointed before folding his arms.
He didn’t have to say any more. She understood. This was it. This was where he felt right. It was as if all the perfect places from all the books they’d read had come together. She couldn’t say how, but it was as if she could hear everything he’d been thinking. She could feel an energy coming off of him that was so powerful it made her want to stay there, too. Right in that spot. That special place, no matter how wild, that made a person feel like they’d found home, like their struggles had bonded them to it. An indescribable tie to the land that was rooted in spirit, rather than logic.
A calling.
She watched his face as he gazed at the rise. He looked like he wanted to capture it somehow. Like he wanted to be there always.
“It’s amazing. Beautiful. Like in the stories we read,” she said. “But how would you make this work? What would you do here?”
“It’s not something that will happen. Just a dream I have from time to time. One that’s not part of the plan.”
The plan. Like the one she felt like she’d be forever chasing. The plan to succeed. To prove herself and have everyone respect her. The plan to show her father that she didn’t need to know what she was doing wrong, because she was doing everything right.
“Why can’t this be part of your plan?”
“Because...” He glanced at her. “Because even if I felt free to live here, I’d be torn. Enough land has been taken away by those who need it—people and animals. Too many businesses ha
ve cropped up, building luxury safari houses or cabins for tourists to escape to. When does it stop? Isn’t it enough that the tribes and herds are competing for land?”
“Camp Jamba Walker caters to tourists, too, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not the same. They cater to a different type. To begin with, it was primarily Mugi and Kesi’s home and what they’re doing with Mac and Tessa there is more than a photo-op. They’re educating. They’re making an effort to raise awareness. Ignorance is everyone’s worst enemy. Ignorance and greed. They’re fighting it. And Mac has spent his life helping track poachers and injured animals or helping behavioral researchers get where they need to be. They’re giving back to the land they live on. Not just coming and going, turning a profit.”
“I get it. Like Camp Busara and others like it, but you give, too, Haki. Every day. Kenya is your home. You’ve never lived anywhere but Busara, except during veterinary school.”
“True. But I went to school to help save the elephants and rhinos and to help fight poaching. I went so that I could help at Busara. What I’d thought of doing out here is...well, let’s just say it would be a disappointment to all. And I can’t do that. Not after what my mother went through to raise me and the guidance and faith Kamau put in me as a father. And I need to set an example for Huru. One where family comes first.”
She stepped closer to him and put her hand on his arm. Her silver bracelets slid down her wrist and pinged delicately against Haki’s skin where it met hers. She knew what disappointing someone was like.
“Haki, I can’t imagine anyone ever being disappointed in you. But do you want to leave Busara because you’re not happy? Is it that you don’t like medicine?” That didn’t make sense. He was so passionate about stopping the killing and saving lives.
“No. I do. In my dream, I’d go back and get my masters and PhD in vet medicine. I’d specialize in disease vectors and parasitology. And I’d create not just a home base here, but a work base from which I’d not only save wildlife, but also provide veterinary care for the herds of goats, cattle, sheep and even dogs on the farms and enkangs. Most of the herdsmen do have guard dogs. Their access to vet care is abysmal.”
She knew the college degrees here differed from those offered in America, where becoming a vet required several years of graduate studies. All Haki needed to practice vet medicine here was a bachelor’s degree, but if he wanted to specialize, he could go for his masters and even a doctorate, the way his father had because he wanted to be involved in the research aspects of Anna’s work at Busara. She was stunned, though. Haki didn’t want to restrict his practice to wildlife medicine, the way he was now.
“You want to help the Masai.”
“And other tribes. Anyone raising animals out here.” His cheeks lifted ever so slightly, as if he was excited but afraid to hope. “There’s a need. And I have this idea that if the people are helped, if they don’t feel forgotten, if they don’t get frustrated or desperate because they’ve not only lost crops, but they’ve lost cattle to illness, then maybe the chances of restoring peace between them and the wildlife will increase. Their relationship could be restored because they’d see that the men outside of their tribes were helping. They’d see that we, not the poachers, have their backs. You have to understand, their cattle are of ultimate significance to them and there was a time when the herds were wiped out by rinderpest. Many were forced to make a life in agriculture. I want to not only provide care, but monitor and research the spread of disease. I would still be able to treat wildlife, too, but it would be starting from scratch. More of a head start than Busara had with its first tent, but still. It’d be a big step back, just to move forward.”
He wanted to work more closely with the people, those who needed his care for their animals, the way her mom had decided to branch away from the orthopedic sports-medicine practice her parents owned because she’d wanted to reach out to the children in rural Kenya, in places like the Masai Mara, where they needed medical care and vaccinations. It was wonderful, but Haki had caught her off guard. This was so different than the steep fines and jail time he was pursuing for Masai who came into deadly conflict with elephants.
“See.” He wiped a hand across his short hair. “I told you it would make no sense. It’s nothing but an outlandish theory and one man can’t make that kind of difference anyway. Keep it to yourself, Mads. This stays between us. I mean that.”
He’d called her Mads again. It came out whenever he was being serious or concerned.
“Of course. I won’t say anything. But promise me something. Don’t write this off as some dream. It makes so much sense, Haki. It makes more sense than punishment. It gets to the root. And if I ever had to name one man who could make a difference, it would be you.”
“That bill still has to pass. I explained why. But, thank you. For listening. For keeping all of this to yourself.”
“But this could be what you were meant to do. Your destiny.”
Destiny. Heavy word. She wasn’t sure she knew what her own was.
“We all have our paths in life. Mine doesn’t lead here. Just like yours led you out of Africa once and will again soon.”
He made it sound so bittersweet. She looked back at the rise that overlooked the surrounding boulders, trees and mountain in the distance. She longed to kick off her hiking boots and socks and feel the earth against her feet. He was right, though. Both her home and her career were in America. She didn’t belong here. But then why did this place tug at her, too?
A family of elephants, likely the ones who’d announced their presence earlier, appeared beyond a dried creek bed in the distance and she watched them wind their way toward the juicy leaves of a thicket for lunch.
“They’re the true gardeners of this land. The keepers. The wise ones. They weed and spread seed. They keep things in balance. Even their footprints catch rain so that those smaller than them may drink. And they never forget...not their ancestors, nor those who cause them harm. I still care. I just want to help all animals.”
“Haki, I promised I would keep this to myself, but didn’t you tell Pippa? She’d back you up. She’d defend you if anyone said it wasn’t a good idea. You—both of you—could make this happen.”
Haki began collecting dried sticks. A tiny monkey scampered up the tree with the banana peel hanging from his mouth.
“I brought her here. Once. Started to tell her. Not all of it, but enough. She’s the one who put some sense in my head. It’s too late to go off chasing ideas that could fail. I have to be able to earn an income, and I’d barely scrape by out here, if at all. I have responsibilities to think of, especially if I plan to marry and start a family.”
He was sounding just like her father. Trying to use logic to fix something that was already just right. So right that he couldn’t see it. He felt it, though. He couldn’t hide the faraway look in his eyes or the disappointment that laced his voice. She couldn’t believe Pippa didn’t share his dream. Pippa, who was all about the outdoors. Pippa, the slightly wild child who threw caution to the wind all the time. Apparently, for herself, but not for Haki.
Because as good-hearted as Pippa was, one of them had to be the responsible one.
And it had always been him.
* * *
HAKI REALLY NEEDED to gather enough wood to keep a fire going through the night, but Maddie’s reaction made him want to hike up to the rise where he’d imagined having a home.
“Are you up for a short walk? Up there? There’s a view of the valley from the other side.” He hoped she was because he couldn’t very well leave her down here alone.
“Sure. I’d love to see it.”
He set down the sticks he’d collected thus far and led the way, stopping at a broad boulder. He leaped on top of it in one move, then held his hands out for Maddie. One look and he could tell she saw the way around it would be longer. She
held his wrists as he held hers, and he hoisted her up effortlessly.
“Thanks.”
“Stand over here and look. It’s even more amazing than the view of the valley from Busara.”
She walked to the far side of the small plateau and her lips parted. The breeze lifted her hair, then set it down gently on her shoulders. A glimpse of the old Maddie surfaced, and he wished he had a camera on him so that he could capture her standing there. She looked as dreamy and serene as the landscape that surrounded them. He came up beside her and they both stood quietly, arms grazing every time one of them moved slightly.
The remains of a skeleton, half-sunken in the dirt, sat at the edge of the bank a little ways downstream.
“When the rains come, we rescue elephants and other animals stuck in the mud, which can be like quicksand. Often, with elephants, the herd manages to pull a baby to safety. Then drought hits and some of the very animals we saved meet their deaths anyway. The cycle of life and death. The danger of extremes. But we keep trying. We’re all programmed to survive. All life needs water, so most of the danger lurks down there, near the creek bed. Up here—this very spot—is where I imagined building a house. Just far enough removed from the clinic, down where the jeep is.”
A cheetah was in hot pursuit of a herd of zebras near a dry creek bed in the distance. They watched quietly as the herd wove its way across the length of the valley below. Up here, they couldn’t hear hooves pounding or the hot, panicked breathing as each zebra tried to ditch death. From up here, the herd moved as a single, fluid beast, rushing like a river swollen after a rain. From here, it was all so clear—how even the most subtle change in direction by one was mimicked precisely by the rest. It was hauntingly beautiful.
