Mists of the Serengeti(29)
“I’ve seen two so far. The lion and the buffalo.” I missed Mo in that instant—so much that it suddenly hurt to breathe. I’d been so wrapped up in my goals, I’d let the important things slip. I had my cottage, but I would never have the memory of going on a safari with Mo.
“I’m sure we’ll see elephants, closer to the forest, but leopards tend to be shy, and rhinos have dwindled from all the poaching,” said Jack. “Rhino horns are in high demand, mostly due to the myth about their medicinal value. Truth is, you might as well chew on your own nails for all the difference it makes.”
“Rhino horns. Albino body parts. You ever wonder who starts these myths and how they gain their power?”
“We all want magic, Rodel. We want to wake up rich. Or healthy. Or beautiful. We want to make the person we love stay with us, live with us, die with us. We want that house, that job, that promotion. And so we create the myths, we live them, and we believe them. Until something better comes along, something that suits us better. Truth is that you and I are creating a myth ourselves. With Scholastica and the other children. We think if we get them to Wanza, we’ll save them. And, yes, they’ll be safer, but it’s still a lie. Because it will just keep them cut off from the rest of the world. Eventually, they’ll have to leave, and the world will still be the world. They might be better equipped to handle it, not quite as vulnerable, but they will still be targets.”
“I know.” I followed the swooping flight of a brightly plumed bird before turning to him. “I know it’s not a solution. Nothing will change until the superstitions about them disappear. And who knows when that will be? I don’t have the answers, Jack, but sometimes the only things that keep us from falling off the edge are necessary lies. The kind we tell ourselves, so we can keep going.”
“Necessary lies,” Jack repeated. He took his eyes off the road and glanced at me.
Suddenly, we weren’t talking about the kids anymore. We were talking about the sweet, necessary lies we could tell each other in that moment. We could pretend—exchange phone numbers, promise to stay in touch, to visit, to remember birthdays—just to allow ourselves a taste of whatever was beating hard and fast between us. It would be like sucking on chili pepper candy balls. It would buzz and sting when it was gone, but it would be so, so good. And maybe that was it—the allure of something wild and indulgent to jump-start us back to life. Except we were not those people. We were Jack and Ro. And the last thing we needed was to connect and then let go of yet another person.
I turned away and gazed out of the window as we approached the lake. It sat like a shimmering jewel in the center of the crater.
“A pink lake?” I asked.
“Look again,” said Jack.
“Flamingos!” I exclaimed, as they came into view.
Thousands of pink-feathered birds lined the shore. Their serpentine necks dipped in and out of the water, as if pecking at their tall, slender reflections.
“You’ll get a better view through there.” Jack slid the roof open, and I scooted to the back so I could stick my head out.
As Jack drove closer to the shore, the flamingos scattered around us, like pink petals in the wind. Some soared into the air, unfolding their wings and displaying the red plumage beneath.
My heart lifted with unexpected gladness, for Mo. That she’d seen this incredible sight, that she hadn’t listened when I’d lectured her about finding a real job or renting a real apartment. She had packed so much into her life, living every single day on her own terms, it was as if she’d known there was no time to waste. Some people are like that. They listen to their inner voice even if it’s mad and feral and doesn’t make sense to the rest of us.
It was short, Mo. But it was full and bursting with flavor.
Are you talking about my life or those chili pepper candy balls?
I laughed as the flamingos danced around me, honking like geese. They were so close that I could see the yellow of their eyes and the curve of their beaks. The sky was a stark blue now, except for a few salt clouds whipped up from the lake. It was much warmer and my skin felt sated from the sun.
“Ha!” I thumped the roof with my fist, loving the wind in my hair. “It’s a beautiful day!” I called to the birds.
We left them behind and passed swamps and marshes where hippos wallowed in thick, wet mud pools. A pack of narrow hipped hyenas circled the remains of a kill. They nipped at the black-backed jackals that were encroaching on them. Vultures and Marabou Storks hovered above, looking to get in on the action. Two gray-crowned cranes watched a group of aggressive buffaloes chase a lion around the water hole.
Jack veered off the dirt track and stopped the car. A few minutes later, he popped up beside me and handed me a set of binoculars.
“See that group of birds over there?” He waited for me to spot them. They had creamy white throats, and were picking at the ground with their bills. “They’re Kori Bustards. The males are amongst the world’s heaviest flying birds. Now look up into that tree. The tall one with the branch extending off to the right.”
He stood behind me, his chest to my back, pointing it out. His other hand rested on my shoulder, warm and heavy.
It took me few minutes to find what he wanted me to see.
“A cheetah,” I said.
It was stretched out on the branch, eyes closed, tail flicking away the flies hovering around it.