niversal measure of distance in Africa. "Family?"
"Yes. Why wouldn't I have a family?"
The conversation went on like that for another few minutes until Josh got the hint and shut up. The humid air poured through his open window, not having much of a cooling effect but keeping things bearable as long as their speed stayed over fifty kilometers an hour.
The villages they passed were nothing more than collections of small, round buildings spaced out over green hills and surrounded by farmland. Kids chased their vehicle, shouting, laughing, and holding out their hands for a gift they seemed to know they wouldn't get. Josh wondered if they did that to everyone who drove by or if it was his pale skin that attracted them.
The only buildings with any permanence seemed to be the bunker-like funeral homes. It had been one thing to read about the thirty percent AIDS rate but another to see the cinder-block monuments to the virus dotting the otherwise beautiful countryside.
Gideon slowed as they came to a village of concrete-and-thatch houses. Two were on fire, sending black smoke rising into the still air. The former Save the Children vehicle that had passed them earlier was parked a t t he edge of the road, with the man in back covering twenty or so soldiers as they dragged people screaming from their homes. Josh turned around in the seat, but in a few moments, the village was lost in the distance and smoke. Like it had never existed.
"What the hell was that all about?"
"Rebels."
"They looked like farmers."
"And what would you know of this?"
Josh fell silent again, staring out at the increasingly remote countryside, thinking about what he had just seen and, for the second time in his twenty-six years, pondering death. It was a subject that had been so efficiently swept under the rug in Americ a a s though it were a rare disease that would someday be conquered.
After only a few hours in Africa, hints of death's presence seemed to be everywhere. In fact, it was hard to see anything else.
Chapter 8.
Over the course of the punishing seven-hour drive, the landscape had transformed. The dry, open plains had been taken over by jagged, grass-covered hills that rose hundreds of feet into a sky that had turned nearly black with clouds. What sunlight remained was slipping in sideways from the distant horizon, causing the endless carpet of vegetation to glow an otherworldly shade of green.
Josh stepped from the Land Cruiser, taking a deep breath of the humid air and trying to drive away the nausea that had replaced exhaustion over the last hour. A quick glance at his watch suggested it was early morning in Kentucky, and he guessed that his disoriented body clock was still working on the assumption that he wasn't a million miles from home.
"Who's in charge?" he asked as Gideon walked to the front of the vehicle. This sto p h adn't been the African's idea, and he clearly wasn't happy about it.
"You are."
Josh let out a frustrated laugh. Getting a straight answer out of his new assistant might turn out to be the biggest challenge of his new job. Josh had been expecting a smart, enthusiastic guide who could teach him to maneuver effortlessly through the complicated politics, culture, and languages in the country. Someone who had dedicated his life to helping his people. Someone Josh would form an immediate and lasting friendship with.
Of those qualities, Gideon seemed to have one: He was clearly no idiot. What his motivations or interests were, though, was a mystery. And the chance that Josh would feel anything but wariness toward him seemed remote at this point. On the other hand, he'd only been in the country for a few hours. No point in setting any of his impressions in concrete yet.
"I know I'm in charge, Gideon. What I meant was, where's the foreman? Where are the agricultural experts?"
The African shrugged thick shoulders, his face unmoving except for the reflection of the boiling clouds in his glasses. It was a surprisingly
"Yes. Why wouldn't I have a family?"
The conversation went on like that for another few minutes until Josh got the hint and shut up. The humid air poured through his open window, not having much of a cooling effect but keeping things bearable as long as their speed stayed over fifty kilometers an hour.
The villages they passed were nothing more than collections of small, round buildings spaced out over green hills and surrounded by farmland. Kids chased their vehicle, shouting, laughing, and holding out their hands for a gift they seemed to know they wouldn't get. Josh wondered if they did that to everyone who drove by or if it was his pale skin that attracted them.
The only buildings with any permanence seemed to be the bunker-like funeral homes. It had been one thing to read about the thirty percent AIDS rate but another to see the cinder-block monuments to the virus dotting the otherwise beautiful countryside.
Gideon slowed as they came to a village of concrete-and-thatch houses. Two were on fire, sending black smoke rising into the still air. The former Save the Children vehicle that had passed them earlier was parked a t t he edge of the road, with the man in back covering twenty or so soldiers as they dragged people screaming from their homes. Josh turned around in the seat, but in a few moments, the village was lost in the distance and smoke. Like it had never existed.
"What the hell was that all about?"
"Rebels."
"They looked like farmers."
"And what would you know of this?"
Josh fell silent again, staring out at the increasingly remote countryside, thinking about what he had just seen and, for the second time in his twenty-six years, pondering death. It was a subject that had been so efficiently swept under the rug in Americ a a s though it were a rare disease that would someday be conquered.
After only a few hours in Africa, hints of death's presence seemed to be everywhere. In fact, it was hard to see anything else.
Chapter 8.
Over the course of the punishing seven-hour drive, the landscape had transformed. The dry, open plains had been taken over by jagged, grass-covered hills that rose hundreds of feet into a sky that had turned nearly black with clouds. What sunlight remained was slipping in sideways from the distant horizon, causing the endless carpet of vegetation to glow an otherworldly shade of green.
Josh stepped from the Land Cruiser, taking a deep breath of the humid air and trying to drive away the nausea that had replaced exhaustion over the last hour. A quick glance at his watch suggested it was early morning in Kentucky, and he guessed that his disoriented body clock was still working on the assumption that he wasn't a million miles from home.
"Who's in charge?" he asked as Gideon walked to the front of the vehicle. This sto p h adn't been the African's idea, and he clearly wasn't happy about it.
"You are."
Josh let out a frustrated laugh. Getting a straight answer out of his new assistant might turn out to be the biggest challenge of his new job. Josh had been expecting a smart, enthusiastic guide who could teach him to maneuver effortlessly through the complicated politics, culture, and languages in the country. Someone who had dedicated his life to helping his people. Someone Josh would form an immediate and lasting friendship with.
Of those qualities, Gideon seemed to have one: He was clearly no idiot. What his motivations or interests were, though, was a mystery. And the chance that Josh would feel anything but wariness toward him seemed remote at this point. On the other hand, he'd only been in the country for a few hours. No point in setting any of his impressions in concrete yet.
"I know I'm in charge, Gideon. What I meant was, where's the foreman? Where are the agricultural experts?"
The African shrugged thick shoulders, his face unmoving except for the reflection of the boiling clouds in his glasses. It was a surprisingly
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