well toned but not muscular. His complexion was deep brown and powdered with dust from the road. The red plaid shuka wrapped around his waist complemented his high cheekbones, forehead, and bead-braided hair.
“ Jambo! You are home.” He grabbed Zak in a bear hug, swept her off her feet, and swung her around like she was a featherweight.
“Ben, I can’t breathe.”
He released her but they danced around, throwing fake punches at each other like kids on a playground. So this was Zak Chambers unrestrained. Her cheeks glowed pink with excitement. The blue of her eyes seemed to blend with the endless sky. Her brimming smile was genuine, the small gap between her front teeth making her appear almost childlike. Vitality oozed from her like heat from the blazing sun. She was exquisite. When the pair’s enthusiasm finally waned and they stood simply staring at one another, Sara cleared her throat and stepped forward.
“Oh, yeah, Ben, this is Ms. Sara Ambrosini, my client for the day. Sara, Ben Owenga.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Owenga.”
“Ms. Sara Ambrosini. I am called Ben.” The heavily accented consonants of his language sounded warm and welcoming. Its rhythm was almost musical. “Just Ben.”
“And I’m Sara.” She sensed the young man’s kindness and liked him immediately. “You and Zak are friends?”
Zak shot her a cautionary glance, her lapse into celebration passed. “That will have to wait. We need to go.” She was obviously not thrilled about Sara’s question. But she wouldn’t be able to muzzle everyone on the African continent, and Sara could be patient when necessary.
“And where exactly are we going?”
“To our village. You are guests.” Ben smiled, his teeth shining like a nightlight against his dark complexion.
As Ben and Zak loaded their luggage and supplies, Sara thought how fortunate that she’d be spending her first night immersed in the culture. She was anxious to find out about life in the rural areas where her school would be located. Surely the people of Ben’s village had retained some of the traditional ways of life, even if they’d modernized others.
One thing that had definitely not been upgraded was the roads, if they could be called roads at all. They had no regulatory markings, no names or speed-limit signs. The dirt path Ben followed was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass, but they hadn’t seen another car since they left the airstrip thirty minutes ago. Every bump, ridge, and rut in the road jarred her like a jackhammer. No spot on the well-worn backseat offered a suitable cushion. She gripped the door handles on either side, trying to stabilize herself while Zak and Ben engaged in an animated conversation in Swahili, apparently oblivious to any discomfort.
Ben turned toward her. “You like African massage?”
“Massage?” It felt more like torture.
“Yes, no charge.” His hearty laughter filled the vehicle and Sara smiled in spite of her aching bottom. As hot air swirled in through the open windows, bringing a fresh coat of orange dust, she searched the vehicle’s gauge panel for an air-conditioning control with no success. She was suddenly very glad Rikki had chosen not to accompany her. If the rest of their trip was anything like this, it would’ve been difficult to remain optimistic with Rikki’s constant complaints.
Sara shifted in her uncomfortable seat and stared at a group of men stretched along the side of the roadway like a conga line. Each one swung either a pick axe or a hoe in time to an inaudible cadence. “What are those men doing?”
“Planting fiber-optic cable whereby the Internet comes,” Ben explained. “Very good work. Start at daybreak, end when night comes.”
“And where are they going?” She motioned toward the steady stream of people walking on both sides of the road. “Is there a festival? They’re carrying bags and baskets full of things.” Sara thought they looked like a colorful parade headed
“ Jambo! You are home.” He grabbed Zak in a bear hug, swept her off her feet, and swung her around like she was a featherweight.
“Ben, I can’t breathe.”
He released her but they danced around, throwing fake punches at each other like kids on a playground. So this was Zak Chambers unrestrained. Her cheeks glowed pink with excitement. The blue of her eyes seemed to blend with the endless sky. Her brimming smile was genuine, the small gap between her front teeth making her appear almost childlike. Vitality oozed from her like heat from the blazing sun. She was exquisite. When the pair’s enthusiasm finally waned and they stood simply staring at one another, Sara cleared her throat and stepped forward.
“Oh, yeah, Ben, this is Ms. Sara Ambrosini, my client for the day. Sara, Ben Owenga.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Owenga.”
“Ms. Sara Ambrosini. I am called Ben.” The heavily accented consonants of his language sounded warm and welcoming. Its rhythm was almost musical. “Just Ben.”
“And I’m Sara.” She sensed the young man’s kindness and liked him immediately. “You and Zak are friends?”
Zak shot her a cautionary glance, her lapse into celebration passed. “That will have to wait. We need to go.” She was obviously not thrilled about Sara’s question. But she wouldn’t be able to muzzle everyone on the African continent, and Sara could be patient when necessary.
“And where exactly are we going?”
“To our village. You are guests.” Ben smiled, his teeth shining like a nightlight against his dark complexion.
As Ben and Zak loaded their luggage and supplies, Sara thought how fortunate that she’d be spending her first night immersed in the culture. She was anxious to find out about life in the rural areas where her school would be located. Surely the people of Ben’s village had retained some of the traditional ways of life, even if they’d modernized others.
One thing that had definitely not been upgraded was the roads, if they could be called roads at all. They had no regulatory markings, no names or speed-limit signs. The dirt path Ben followed was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass, but they hadn’t seen another car since they left the airstrip thirty minutes ago. Every bump, ridge, and rut in the road jarred her like a jackhammer. No spot on the well-worn backseat offered a suitable cushion. She gripped the door handles on either side, trying to stabilize herself while Zak and Ben engaged in an animated conversation in Swahili, apparently oblivious to any discomfort.
Ben turned toward her. “You like African massage?”
“Massage?” It felt more like torture.
“Yes, no charge.” His hearty laughter filled the vehicle and Sara smiled in spite of her aching bottom. As hot air swirled in through the open windows, bringing a fresh coat of orange dust, she searched the vehicle’s gauge panel for an air-conditioning control with no success. She was suddenly very glad Rikki had chosen not to accompany her. If the rest of their trip was anything like this, it would’ve been difficult to remain optimistic with Rikki’s constant complaints.
Sara shifted in her uncomfortable seat and stared at a group of men stretched along the side of the roadway like a conga line. Each one swung either a pick axe or a hoe in time to an inaudible cadence. “What are those men doing?”
“Planting fiber-optic cable whereby the Internet comes,” Ben explained. “Very good work. Start at daybreak, end when night comes.”
“And where are they going?” She motioned toward the steady stream of people walking on both sides of the road. “Is there a festival? They’re carrying bags and baskets full of things.” Sara thought they looked like a colorful parade headed
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