A Piece of the Core

By Anne W. Smallidge

Zelda is fifty years old when she takes a major step in her life. She quits her job, rents her house, sells her car and says goodbye to her three young adult children and their children, and joins the Peace Corps.

The time is 1980 when Zelda travels to Africa, a completely different part of this planet. To the other side of the world, the developing world where she experiences many challenges.

She is assigned to a tiny village upriver, two hundred miles from the capitol, where the local people had never before known a white person. Her two room house was not yet completed, so she stays in the home of the dresser dispenser, Barbar, and his family for several days.

She does not know the Mandinka language well enough to understand what is being said. She meets the next door neighbor, Kumba, who becomes her best friend. Neither know the others language.

Once a week she worked in the maternal/infant health clinic when the trek team arrives from Bansang. She is disturbed by the way her counterpart, Ida treats the mothers. It appears to Zelda that Ida is charging for the free service.

Her little two room house had no running water nor does she have a well. Kumba carries water from the river and pours it into Zeldas jardinire. She uses chlorine tablets to purify the river water.

She has no toilet or latrine for a few days. So, she has to run to Barbars latrine a few houses away until a latrine is dug and a bamboo fence surrounding it is built.

She does not mind using candles, although her neighbors are not happy when she uses more than one at a time. It is extravagant and unnecessary. .

On her way to Karnataka she purchases a bamboo bed, four bamboo chairs, and a straw mattress from a roadside furniture maker. This furnishes her home.

Thee of the young boys bring a baby monkey to her. She reluctantly accepts it once the boys bring an orange crate, from god knows where, to use as a bed for the little thing. She names him Sangio, the Mandinka word for rain. Sangio gives her much pleasure in this difficult place.
A long story ensures with a sad ending.


On night while on her way to Karantaba the ambulance she is riding in completely drops into a sink hole. A torrential rain is beating down in the middle of the bush. Zelda and the other eight passengers crawl out. The ambulance lies deep in the hole, sideways, with the drivers side door facing up and out. They are stranded in knee deep water in the middle of the bush with a newborn baby and mother, and several others who had been discharged from the hospital in Bansang. They are rescued by Farkamou, and his tractor.

Zelda meets people she never forgets.

Zelda loses a great deal of weight due to the lack of available food, extreme heat and loneliness. She becomes infected with every scratch or cut.

Zelda is transferred to a less environmentally challenging. assignment. To Jambanjelly, nearer to the sea.

In Jambanjelly, she becomes a part of the village and the family she lives with, the Chief and his three wives.

There is a coup detet, and Zelda is evacuated to Senegal with the other volunteers. And returned in a week.

This book covers the first year of Zeldas time in The Gambia.
It ends on a New Years Eve night with several of her Peace Corps and Gambian friends on a deserted quiet beach which stretched forever into the night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 10, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462815340

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

JANUARY 1980 MAINE

Zelda took a long, hard look at the two suitcases lying in the middle of her bedroom floor. Scotch plaid nylon, purchased with Green Stamps for that other time when she’d tried to see the world. Five, six, one hundred years ago.

I can’t decide whether to take the sleeping bag and fill half the allowed luggage with it, or leave it here.

What will you do with a sleeping bag in African heat? Jon asked, as he slouched against the door.

But Fred gave it to me especially for this trip. It was on the suggested list of things to take. She looked again at the amount of space it took. Her eyes had shadows under them.

How does one pack for two years, anyway? The snow piled up outside. Swirling whiteness like frozen feathers danced. The time was reaching midnight.

You could help me, you know, she said as she brushed past him into the hallway.

You’re getting uptight, Mom. Take it easy. I didn’t ask you to leave for two years, you know. I’ll have no part of helping you pack, then you won’t be able to blame me if it ends up in a bad scene. His nineteen year old, six foot stature nearly filled the doorway.

She stopped in the hallway and stared at the kitchen, her back toward him.

Perhaps I shouldn’t go, she said in a quiet voice, still facing the wall. They stood like two statues frozen by the storm.

He brushed his hair from his forehead.

Too late to have cold feet now. It’ll be fine. Go to bed. You’ll feel more like packing in the morning. The plane doesn’t leave till four in the afternoon, right?

She took the few steps to reach him and leaned her head on his shoulder for a few seconds. Patting his back she left him and moved toward her bed.

Goodnight, Mom, sleep well, he said.

She stripped off her jeans, pulled on a flannel nightgown and fell into bed. She lay on her back in the Queen Anne’s bed that had seen her through so many transitions. Staring at the white, empty ceiling she listened to the harsh, angry island storm rip around her snug, five room bungalow.

This is the last night I’ll sleep on this bed for two years, she thought. The last night I’ll hear these angry, snowy winds. What on earth am I doing? She’d asked that of herself at least once every day for two months. Why does a fifty year old woman choose to quit an interesting, well paid position, sell her new car, rent her lovely house on the most beautiful island on the east coast and join the Peace Corps?

The answer escaped her now. It was getting late and she was too tired. She’d figured it all out once or twice, but the answer kept escaping her, and she had repeatedly reviewed it. But, tonight she was exhausted. She slept fitfully, dreaming that she’d drowned in the brook where she’d played as a child.

The phone rang as she swam up from a murky, dark sleep. Lifting the receiver, her head still stuffed in the pillow she mumbled Hello.

It’s eight o’clock. Fred’s voice was there, bringing her up to the surface from the bottom of the brook.

Thanks, she said.

You’re welcome. Are you getting up? He sounded reserved.

Yes, are you?

I am, he answered.

Am what? she asked.

Up, came the answer, quickly from his end.

Good, she waited for a response. Nothing.

Fred, she said, quietly, are you okay?

Certainly. Have you looked out the window? There’s at least three feet of snow. Skiing this weekend! Want to go?

I have a date, thanks.

That’s right. I forgot. Fred’s silence resumed. Then, I’ll pick you up at two o’clock. That will give us time to see everyone for a drink at the airport, okay?

I’ll be ready, she said and hung up.

She rolled out of bed, grimacing at the suitcases as she passed them on her way to the bathroom. The window looked out onto her snow covered back yard that gradually climbed the eastern mountain.

Her village was surrounded by mountains, humps as subtle as a young woman’s breasts. Mounds of thick evergreen trees. Pinecones and needles blanketed the skin of the supple mounds. Eternal semi-darkness and subdued silence reigned.

Zelda had grown up in this village of two hundred houses. The streams that ran off the rugged rocks of the mountains were as familiar to her as every inch of the rugged coast that embraced the south side. She knew the brook that ran from the crest of the northern mountain and cascaded down its pink granite side into the lake. Some days, as a child she’d follow its journey. She’d pretend she was a leaf falling in the autumn splendor. That red maple one that twirled a spiral down into the flashing stream and flirted with the rocks jutting up from its multicolored pebble floor. Zelda would run along beside the stream and crash into the pine trees and stumble over ledges, never losing sight of her leaf. It would swirl and twirl down from the mountain and empty calmly into the lake. The leaf would float out toward the center of the lake and she’d walk along the path by the shore. The forest thick and the brilliant colors of the maple, elm, and birch heightened Zelda’s senses as the pungent odor of decaying leaves wafted up from her footsteps. Silence sang in her ears, pierced only by the chatter of a scolding chipmunk or the scream of a blue jay. Once or twice she spotted a doe as it drank from the clear, sparkling lakeside. Its graceful neck stretched down toward the water, its mouth dipped into the coolness. At the sound of the twig snapping beneath Zelda’s worn-out sneakers, its head would jerk up, alert and alarmed. Its white ears would point straight up and the huge brown eyes would stare directly into Zelda’s. Its white short tail would snap up and instantaneously its whole body would turn gracefully and race through the thick underbrush.

Zelda’s heart always doubled its beat in her chubby, young chest whenever she’d see a deer. She’d sneak quietly along the path for awhile, hoping to see another deer.

She would follow the stream that ran through the thick forest where it crested the village. There, at the end of their journey, was the sea. The harbor wore diamonds on this fall day. There were only a few boats now, as they had been stored in boathouses for the long and difficult winter. Zelda would stand on the beach alone on the brilliant October day and watch her leaf, herself, swirl bravely into the harbor and, eventually, out into the open Atlantic ocean.

She’d feel an affinity with this place: it was surely part of her and she of it yet she’d watch herself, the leaf, drift out toward that sea and know the adventure was out there and she must go find it. And now years later the day was here for her to embark on that adventure.

*     *     *

She washed her face and brushed her teeth. Putting the toothbrush and paste in the blue nylon backpack, she finished packing.

*     *     *

Zelda stepped down onto the icy sidewalk in front of the airport.

I’ll carry the two big bags if you’ll take this backpack and your purse, Fred said. They walked through the large glass doors together. Fred coughed and Zelda looked quickly at him.

You’re sick. You have a cold.

Yes he said.

Thirteen people said good-bye to her.

Flight 402 is now boarding at gate two, the voice came over the loudspeaker, vaguely drifting through the sounds of the coffee shop.

The procession strayed along behind her and Fred, as the four grandchildren clustered around them. She took Fred’s arm, Will you write?

I’ll send tapes. I won’t write.

Okay. How often? she asked.

Once a month. He took little Ben’s chubby two year old hand and held it.

I’ll settle for that, she said as they reached the gateway.

People stared at the procession and someone asked Jon what the event was.

My mother joined the Peace Corps and is on her way to Africa.

Nanny’s going to Africa, Nanny’s going to Africa! screamed Ben. His little half-sister, Jan, imitated him in tone and gesture, but the words were not quite there.

She kissed them all. Her daughter, Sal; her son, Don; her mom, dad, sister, brother and all the grandchildren.

She kissed Jon and Fred last. Her tall youngest son and Fred her young, confusing love. They all stood at the rope that blocked her from the lobby as she walked toward the plane. She waved, and then turning her back, she entered the plane.

Anna

CHAPTER 2

JANUARY 1980—CALIFORNIA

Soft candlelight bathed the mahogany paneled room. A guitar soloist strummed classical music from the corner beside the lush inside garden. White linen table cloths muted the sounds of silverware and china. Anna sat with her hands caressing the long stemmed wine glass.

He can’t help it if he’s gay, she said to the wine glass.

You talk as if I’m not here. I’m here. Include me in this conversation, please. After all, we are discussing pretty personal things about me. Ron shifted in his seat and casts a sidelong glance at Meri.

Perhaps we don’t need to go into this anymore. Meri said, staring into the glass of white wine. She was an older version of Anna. Only her hands betrayed her otherwise youthful appearance. The knuckles were gnarled with arthritis.

Oh, yes, we do need to go into this further. I want you to know and understand how much Ron and I love each other. I want you to be as happy as we are about that. Anna looked at her reflection in Meri’s face and thought, God, she’s a fine lady. Anna’s honey colored hair flowed down to her shoulders creating a halo effect, candles casting light around her head.

Ron shifted positions once more, cleared his throat, scratched his brown bearded cheek and stared into Anna’s eyes. He wondered how in hell all this had happened. He never should have let it get to this point. This place where Anna and he sat face to face with Meri, saying goodbye to Anna as she flew off to Africa tomorrow, and them trying to explain their relationship.

Meri sat feeling uncomfortable and terribly sad. She didn’t understand homosexuality. She’d never even heard of it when she was growing up except when some of the kids would yell at one of the quiet, scared ones, faggot, or queer and that only meant to Meri being weird or bad. And now, here they sat, she and her daughter, Anna, and the man Anna loved. How much the two of them had gone through together. Meri’s mind was flashing on the days of death which she and Anna had endured together. The day Meri’s husband, Anna’s dad, fell dead, drunk in the driveway. Fifty years old at the time, and her anger at her father never ended to this day. Meri flashed quickly from that day to the day her daughter June, Anna’s sister fell from their cruiser as it made it’s way up the river. Anna had stood like a statue on the flying deck and saw her five year old sister disappear in the wake of the huge turbots.The parents were looking forward when June fell from the deck. Anna had slowly, as if sleep walking, gone forward to where her mom and dad navigated the boat and Anna had said simply, quietly;

June is gone. She won’t be back.

Anna was eight years old.

Life was never the same. So many years of mourning. Now, Anna again had chosen the difficult route.

I do love her, you know, Meri. Ron interrupted her thoughts.

What are your intentions concerning your love for her, Ron? I’m having a hard time understanding any of this.

Ron looked at the walls behind Meri. While Anna is in Africa I intend to keep busy and improve my running. Get a different, less consuming job and listen to a lot of good music. I hope to spend time with you at the beach and bike riding. I intend to wait for Anna and be here when she comes home. He looked at Anna and saw her eyes brimmed with tears and pain.

Doesn’t this homosexual thing inhibit any of that? Meri asked.

No, the answer came quickly.

We’ve discussed that, Mom. He has his needs and we are going to deal with it as best we can. It doesn’t interfere with our love for each other.

Are you being realistic, Anna? If he were heterosexual, would you want him to have other women? Meri thought, good God, is this me sitting here saying all this?!

I would handle it in a different way. It’s a different situation. The point is, I love him more than I ever have loved anyone. He’s sensitive, kind, understanding. Everything that’s difficult to find in a man. He makes me happy.

Not always, Anna. He looked down into his empty plate.

Often enough. Anna nibbled on the remainder of her fruit cup.

So, let me be sure I understand this correctly. You both intend to continue your lives for two years separately and then take up where you left off with each other when Anna gets back from the Peace Corps. Meri waited for a response.

Anna stared at the last ripe purple grape and said, That’s my intention.

Yes. Ron said, solemnly.

Then I guess we all have heard the same thing. And I truly hope it works out that way for both of you.

The three of them moved the chairs and stood in unison. Anna hooked her little finger around Ron’s and touched his arm.

Later that evening Ron spoke to Anna, softly, in husky breathless tones. I wanted so much for it to be perfect for you tonight he said as he rolled off her. A layer of sweat bathed his long slender body. He looked as if he’d been bathed in oil, he gleamed from his labor. He lay defeated and limp. She had not moved from her position on her back where she’d lain, ready. She’d coaxed and cajoled him and nothing had happened. How many times in his life he’d felt defeated by this beautiful body of his.

"I’m sorry, Anna, we’ll try later. It’s the anxiety of your going away. You O.K.?

Yes, I’m O.K., I guess. She stared at the ceiling. Her eyelids hadn’t blinked for minutes. She felt empty and cheated.

Will you take a shower with me? I think I want to take a shower and go to sleep.

Yes, sure. He pulled her up from the bed and led her to the shower. It was a slow, gentle, massaging ceremonial shower. And then they slept, spoon fashion.

Meri had gone into her empty house and mixed herself a whiskey on the rocks and wrapped herself tightly in her blue quilted nylon robe. She sat at the kitchen table where one night light glowed. A yellow tone engulfed the room.

Why can’t I sleep?

Why can’t you sleep, you silly ass? Well, one reason may be that your only daughter is going half way around the world tomorrow and will be gone for two years. And that means you’ve lost your best friend, as well a daughter.

Where is the man in your life?

Buried.

So long ago. Life goes on. Where is the man in your life?

Buried . . .

She drank deeply, letting the smooth brown liquid slide down her throat. The warmth of it comforted her.

She finished the drink, got up and walked to the cupboard. Taking a bottle from the shelf over the sink she carried it to the table. Placing the bottle on the table directly in front of her she turned and walked to the refrigerator. She filled the glass with ice cubes and sat down at her place. Checking her watch she saw it was three thirty and she wasn’t the least bit sleepy.

Boy, will I be in great shape for cooking Anna’s last breakfast!

So why are you setting up bar?

Listen, whoever you are, I have a right to do any damn thing I want to do with my life! So, back off!

She poured the whisky over the ice.

Remind you of anyone?

No answer, no reaction.

It’s not easy watching someone destroy himself.

What did you do to help him?

Destroy himself?

No, to NOT destroy himself.

Meri put the glass to her lips and finished it in three large gulps.

I’ve answered that before. I am tired of that question. The answer is always the same. The verdict is never given. I hang here in limbo with a noose around my neck. I have a daughter groping for her sanity. I am lonely and at a loss as how to help her or myself. For some reason, I have been selected by God to carry the burden of failure alone and to my grave. So, leave me be. Let me do what I have to do! Tears burst from her eyes into the ice filled glass. She cried loud and long until the howls sounded like hounds on the hunt. She howled until she could not feel anything except exhaustion. She put her head on the table and fell asleep.

Anna and Ron found her there, sleeping at the table. They wakened her, gently leading her to the shower.

I’ll take my shower myself, thank you She said.

Ron and Anna cooked French toast in silence.

Meri emerged looking fresh and alive in a sleeveless green linen dress. Shoes matched the dress as did the wide band holding back her long thick gray hair.

I had a visitor last night. She said.

Oh, who? Anna asked, coolly.

Myself, she answered.

They finished eating and left the house, subdued.

The early morning traffic was it’s usual thick snarl as they crossed the Golden Gate bridge and wound through San Francisco to the airport.

Anna left them at the gate. She felt emotionally drained. Turning from the two of them, she listlessly walked down the jet way toward the waiting plane and Dakar, Senegal, West Africa.

Julie

CHAPTER 3

JANUARY 1980 PENNSYLVANIA

Why do you go away from me? Tommy’s lower lip trembled as he tried to control an overwhelming need to cry. Blond curls encased a round twelve-year-old face. Slender nose, and bright blue eyes with black, long lashes.

I’ve told you for a long time that I’d be going away to see more of the world, haven’t I? I’ve tried to be fair with you, Tommy.

Julie sat beside him on the grassy knoll, overlooking the beautiful old estate. It was now a school for children with special needs. She always believed ‘special needs’ covered many unknowns. Special needs; what’s that all about? Doesn’t every child have special needs?

Julie’s thick brown hair curled down to her back and dropped over her forehead into her eyes. Her arms rested on her knees as she plucked the petals from a daisy. She wore jeans and a plaid shirt. She liked sitting up here on this hill with her ‘special needs’ kid. The valley stretched across rolling soft fields where horses grazed. Now and then a huge barn in a stand of tall, old elm trees.

Tommy was assigned to her, one on one. Her duty was to get him ready to reenter his own family and community.

How many more days before you leave me? he asked, as he kicked his heel into the grass.

I’m going tomorrow. I wish you wouldn’t keep saying I’m leaving you. It sounds as if I’m deserting you.

You are. He looked into the earth where his heel had ground a hole. But it’s O.K. I’m just a crazy, no-good kid, anyway. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll just stay crazy, here in this crazy place.

You sure you can’t say that word one more time? Julie threw the stripped daisy down and it flopped across a blade of grass like a dejected child across his bed. She stood up in one supple, slow motion. Stretching, she exposed a tiny portion of her belly. She swung down and grabbed Tommy’s arm, pulling him up.

Come on, I’ll race you to the house. She started running down the hill. He never could resist the challenge of racing her down the hill. He bounded after her, overtook her and met her at the door, panting.

They crashed through the door into the giant hallway. The crystal chandelier tinkled its greeting. The austere hall was empty except for the two of them. They stood surrounded by dark oak walls and a wide, winding staircase. In the large and cold hallway they stood facing each other, flushed from the run, panting like a pair of puppies. Glancing at each other, they quickly looked away. Both stared at the black and white marble tile floor, motionless. As if preparing to dance they stood, poised, knowing it was time to say good-bye.

Julie whispered, You’re not crazy, you know.

I know, he said.

You are going home soon and we will write. I want to share this Peace Corps trip with you, Tommy, more than anyone else. Do you believe that? She moved only her eyes toward him.

I know that. He stood stiffly.

Let’s say good-bye here. I’ll walk you to the dining room door and then be on my way. It’s never easy saying good-bye. Right? She put one arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek, lightly.

Turning away she walked to the door.

Tommy didn’t move. She looked quickly back as she left the hallway. He was still looking at the center of the dining hall.

She stepped into her old red VW and slammed the door. Barren trees lined the straight black road as she drove toward home. The hills in the distance were turning purple in the oncoming evening twilight.

So, I’ll go to the apartment and meet Jeff and we’ll go to the club and not say good-bye to each other, or anyone. She pulled in on her cigarette. It certainly is an extreme step to take to redeem ones’ individuality and escape from an unwanted relationship.

She smelled coffee as she reached the back door. The sound of Jeff’s guitar drifted out into the hallway as she moved toward the kitchen. He was sitting in the middle of the room on a maple stool, bare feet resting on the rungs. His hair was a mass of dark brown ringlets, long and wild, and beautiful to Julie. Recently she felt sadness whenever she saw him. It was like a dull toothache, always there but not bad enough to extract. Yet she knew inevitably it needed to come out. The method of removal was drastic. It was by way of a two year move to Africa.

He began to sing as she walked into the kitchen. You Are My Sunshine. My Only Sunshine. You Make Me Happy When Skies Are Gray. You’ll Never Know, Dear How Much I Love You. Please Don’t Take My Sunshine Away.

Hi, he said, grinning. His mouth was small with a smiling pout.

Hi, she said, as she dropped her bag on the floor, walked past him, and stepped out of her loafers. Continuing into the living room she unbuttoned her shirt and threw it across the arm of the chair. In the bathroom she dropped her jeans and stepped into the shower, all five feet six inches, one hundred fifteen pounds of her. She stood for ten minutes letting the hot needles prick her breasts, her stomach and her back. Turning to face the hot needles she lifted her face and reveled in it.

Jeff was still perched on the stool as she walked through the kitchen with a towel wrapped around her body. She walked always with her hips pushed forward, moving her body in a supple slouch. Her head tilted to one side and her hazel eyes cast down toward the ground. He strummed the tune, There Goes My Love.

The next day at the Pittsburgh airport at 11:30 a.m. Julie’s mother, father, and Jeff held her briefly. Julie saw Jeff choke back a tear. They all knew she would be very upset with them if they cried.

Have a good trip, Babe, her father said into her hair as he held her briefly.

I love you, Mom, O.K.?

She kissed Jeff ever so lightly and looked at one of his ringlets that dropped over his forehead, touching it with one finger she turned and walked into the plane.

Dakar—Senegal West Africa

CHAPTER 4

JANUARY 1980

As the 747 circled the Dakar airport, eleven of us sat rigid in our seats, staring out at the glaring early morning sun flashing off the sea. Shades of browns—earth, grass, trees, all captured the dryness and the heat of the airport and the stark surroundings. Like many airports in the world this one stretched out on a peninsula, waiting for the plane to plunge into the brilliant, azure sea.

The flight had taken fourteen hours from New York. We’d all met at the J.F.Kennedy Airport. Each straggling in from the four corners of the United States. It wasn’t our first time together. We’d spent nine days of agonizing decision making at the initial introduction to Peace Corps in Maryland, a month before. While at the Maryland meeting some were univited, some decided they were not ready to become part of that adventure and others of us were invited to join the Peace Corps and go to The Gambia, West Africa.

A month later when the door was opened Anna and I blinked out at the early morning landing onto African soil. She grasped the tail of my shirt as a blast of heat hit our faces. We walked out onto the iron grated stairs, leading down to the tarmac. The smell of gas fumes followed us across the cracked cement runway as we all trailed along toward the building.

John, Director of the Peace Corps, The Gambia, stood waiting for us as we walked with all the other passengers into this strange airport, into this strange new land.

Welcome, Welcome, Salaam ali cum, You’re here. Welcome, John said as he hugged each of us. Tall and skinny man. How old? Young. God, everyone is young. Why is everyone so damned young? He towered over the skycaps who grabbed at our luggage. He spoke to them in Wolof which delighted them. Out into the bustling mass of humanity, onto the sidewalk where taxis jostled and filled the streets, John had hailed three taxis which whisked us off through the burning sun-filled air. Sweat trickled down my face and between my breasts.

Don’t you dare leave me one minute, Anna spoke softly into my ear. This is too much!

Julie, Anna, Sein and I sat in the middle seat of a dilapidated Porsche station wagon. We drove into Dakar, ten miles from the airport, eyes glued to the sights. Sea in the distance, heat waves from the tarred road, two story homes were lined along the route. Goats, sheep, chickens, donkeys, and people in flowing robes, all shimmered. Sein squeezed my hand; otherwise very little was said on that initial journey into Africa.

Julie, Anna and I shared a room in a wonderful old French hotel with ceiling fans moving slowly. The room had a small sitting area and we could see the ocean from over the tops of the cream-colored adobe buildings with red tile roofs. Exotic birds floated unfettered over the cobalt blue sea.

I pulled my binoculars from the backpack and sat on the window seat watching in utter fascination as the birds caught the breezes, soaring freely.

God almighty, I don’t believe this! They’re too beautiful! I wish I had a bird book. I’ve never seen anything like them!

Anna was lying on her bed watching Julie who was on her haunches picking pieces of instant coffee from her trunk.

I can’t believe you carried instant coffee all the way to Africa, Julie. You must really like it, Anna mused.

I have to have it. I’m addicted. I wish the jar cover hadn’t come off, though. It’s in all my clothes.

I’d be so pissed if that had happened to me. You’re not even sweating. That’s amazing. I’d be so pissed! Wouldn’t you, Zelda?

I would be just a little bit upset! Want some help, Julie?

No, thanks, I’ve got it all, now. She closed the trunk and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out the open window where a peach colored sky hung over the now greening sea. Jesus, it’s too beautiful.

We hadn’t slept on the plane and there was a time difference of six hours between America and West Africa. The bombardment of new stimuli; all these things began to come crashing down on me. I lay on my bed and drifted off, with the hum of voices on the street below and the scream of those glorious sea birds, huge, majestic and pristine to my New England ears, still echoing. I could hear Julie and Anna murmuring in soft voices.

What will it be like? What will it be like? Anna whispered.

We won’t know until we’re there. Actually, we are part way there. More than part way there. We’re in Africa, you know. Feel the heat, smell the food cooking in the street. Hear the street vendors. What’s that? Julie said.

A chanting voice came across the semi darkness, loud and vibrant. It sounded as if it were coming from a cavern, deep and longing.

I sat up, straining toward the open windows. The other two had gone to the window and were looking in both directions.

It’s coming from the building that looks like a church. I’ll bet it’s the Moslem’s call to prayer, Julie said.

This is such a trip! Do you believe this!? Anna put her arm across Julie’s shoulder as they peered out the window. I lay back listening to the beautiful voice calling through the warmth of the night.

Later that evening we all met for dinner at the dining room of the hotel. It was French from it’s chandeliers, to the wine, to the bread. John read the menu to us and we ate our first meal on African soil, together, the eleven of us. Looking dazed.

John said, The beggars will swamp you on the streets, here in Dakar. Be prepared for this but don’t be overly concerned. They won’t harm you. It’s a way of life for them. They have no choice. Hold on to your wallets tightly or you’ll lose them. Tomorrow you’ll have until noon to look around and see the sights before we go on to The Gambia. There’s an open market around the corner and a few excellent French bakeries with chocolates!

I couldn’t get a feel for John. He seemed very much in control. He fascinated me by speaking fluent Wolof and French, and organizing this entry into a new culture for us with such apparent ease. He couldn’t be more than thirty-five years old. He tried to engage Julie in conversation to no avail. Julie, with her hair in her eyes, fingers dipping into the French delicacies.

We slept that night with open windows, slow moving ceiling fan, and the sounds of the city beneath our fourth floor room. I woke at the dawn call to prayer from the mosque. Creeping to the window I looked out over the red roofed city. At the seabird soaring on the pink horizon and felt as if I were still dreaming. I’m in Africa. My family is across that sea, thousands of miles away and I have committed to two years in this place. God, what have I done?

Anna’s low, sultry voice said, Good morning, Zelda. How’d you sleep?

Good. I think I could have slept in the street, last night I was so tired. How about you?

I kept waking and wondering where I was. I still can’t believe I’m here. Honest to God, Zelda, I never thought I’d go through with it. I can’t believe I’m actually in Africa. Aren’t you scared? I’m really scared! Anna had rolled out of bed and in only pink cotton bikinis, her naked Danish six foot body slouched along toward me.

Well, we’re all in the same boat, so we can use each other for support, like we talked about at the orientation, right? I watched Julie stretch herself awake, slip into her robe and step out into the hall toward the bathroom.

That day at noon, we flew out of Dakar in a smaller plane that took us to The Gambia. In an hour we reached the tiny, and only, airport of that country. We were guided through the small modern building and out into the front where flowering trees lined the driveway giving off an overwhelming fragrance in the sweltering air.

Two men greeted John at the customs exit. Both dressed in freshly pressed, tan uniforms. One man taller than the other. The other more handsome than