Mists of the Serengeti(22)

“We’ll have to stop somewhere for the night,” said Jack. “It will be dark soon. Time to get off the road. We took longer than expected in Baraka.”

Because of my breakdown, I thought.

We were still hours from the farm, driving along the edge of the Ngorongoro Crater, the crown jewel of the Serengeti. Once a gigantic volcano, it had erupted over 3 million years ago and collapsed into a 2,000-foot drop crater. Now the world’s largest intact caldera, it shelters one of the most expansive wildlife havens on earth. Another time I might have paid more attention, but I stared vacantly at the road ahead. I kept thinking of Juma, and how he’d still be alive if Gabriel and Mo had made it—how we’re all connected in strange, mysterious ways. Pull a thread here and a life unravels there.

Jack turned into a campsite as the sun started to set. The sign at the entrance said “Luxury Safari Tents”. Small, dark forms slipped through the grass as the car bounced on the dirt track leading up to the reception. Nights in the Serengeti belonged to the animals, and I was grateful for Jack’s sturdy, enclosed Land Rover.

“Can we get something to eat?” Jack asked at the counter, after we’d checked in.

“Dinner is in a couple of hours, but there are still some snacks from this afternoon in the dining room.”

We headed to the open canvas enclosure and got a table facing the crater. The western sky was turning a pale violet in the sun’s afterglow.

“Would you like something to drink?” one of the staff asked.

“Tea, please,” I replied.

“Coca-Cola,” said Jack.

“I’ll bring them out right away. There is no menu. Please help yourself to the buffet.” The waiter pointed to the table.

I hadn’t thought about food all day, my appetite curbed by the brutal reality of what I’d learned, but my stomach growled as I picked through the leftovers of what must have been afternoon tea. Cucumber sandwiches, little cakes and pastries, sugar-sprinkled cookies.

“Thank you,” I said, when the waiter brought my tea.

I grinned when Jack returned to our table, his plate piled higher than mine.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” But even as I tried to contain it, something broke loose.

“What?”

“This.” I raised my cup and motioned toward the crater. “A fucking tea party in the cradle of Africa.”

At first, he didn’t react. He just looked at me, shocked at having his own words thrown back at him. Then his eyes smiled, and it took a few seconds for the rest of him to catch up.

It felt good to laugh. And have Jack laugh with me. His real laugh was warm and deep, like something that had been unearthed on a sunlit day.

“Not just the cradle of Africa,” he said. “Quite possibly the cradle of mankind. One of the oldest pieces of evidence about mankind’s existence was found out there, in Oldupai Gorge.”

We stared into the space. It was dark now, and so vast that it seemed to stretch out forever.

“Zinjanthropus,” I said. “The Nutcracker Man.”

Jack tilted his head and assessed me. “You’re full of surprises, Rodel Emerson.”

“I’m a teacher.” I shrugged. “And you can call me Ro.”

He sipped his drink straight from the bottle. Coca-Cola by the crater. “I like Rodel,” he said. “I’ve never met a Rodel I didn’t like.”

“Is that a roundabout way of saying you like me?” We both knew he’d never met a Rodel before.

“I’m not a roundabout kind of person.” He put his bottle down and pinned his cat eyes on me. “I like you. I like that you stand your ground and see things through. I like that you can fall, dust yourself off, and get on with it. I like that you have this . . . this innate faith. That no matter how dark it is, you hold out for the light. I like sitting at this table with you, being called out on my own bullshit. I’m sorry if I was harsh earlier. I was pissed about Juma. With his parents for what they did. With the circumstances that go with it. With you for bringing me out here. With myself for not being able to do anything about it. I felt just as powerless as I did the day I lost Lily.”

I stared back, tongue-tied. Jack Warden was an ever-changing enigma. He complimented, apologized, and bared himself, all at once, with a directness and sincerity that left me speechless. My ticker-tape of emotions went haywire around him, regardless of whether he was happy, angry, sad, or contrite.

“I get it,” I replied. It was all I could manage. I hadn’t realized exactly what I’d been asking him to do, but it was clear why he’d shut me out the first time. The last thing Jack needed was someone banging down his door, asking him to shoulder the responsibility of another child’s life, when he believed he had failed his own. What man would willingly face the reality of his worst nightmare yet again?

We finished the rest of our food in silence.

A watchman with a rifle and a flashlight lead us to our tent. It was nothing like the average tent at a camping ground. It sat on large wooden pallets, with a high ceiling supported by wooden beams. There were two beds with small night stands, a trunk full of blankets, and a wardrobe rack to hang our clothes. A connecting door led to a sparse, but functional bathroom.

“Dinner is in an hour. Signal me with your flashlight when you want to be escorted to the dining room,” said the guard.