Mists of the Serengeti(94)

I clasped my hand over hers. We were sitting on the terrace, overlooking the river, with a haze of lavender and roses around us. It was incredible to think that I had survived a whole year without Lily. A lot of it had to do with the beautiful woman sitting across from me.

“Hey.” I couldn’t stand the sadness on her face. “I forgot to show you something.” I turned on my phone and played a video for her.

“Oh, my God.” She smiled. “It’s Bahati. And Olonana. But Olonana’s limping. I guess he never completely recovered from his encounter with K.K.? What are they doing?”

“It’s a Maasai ceremony. Bahati is getting his warrior name.” I watched the clip with her and explained what was happening.

“And that’s what Bahati is wearing?” She laughed. “Designer jeans, designer T-shirt, and an elaborate tribal headdress.”

“He’s straddling two worlds, and they’re both equally valid. I don’t think he’ll ever turn his back on either. It’s who he is, and he’s proud of it.”

“Oh, and there’s Lonyoki, their shaman! What’s he saying?” She strained to catch his words. “What warrior name did he just give Bahati?”

“Damn if I know.” I chuckled. “He still goes by Bahati. He said it’s too much of a hassle to change everything on his social media.”

“So, he’s okay? He’s made up with his father, but he still gets to do what he loves?” she asked, as Olonana and Bahati stood side by side for pictures.

“I guess Olonana figured he has enough kids to let one slip out of the boma. I think he’s rather proud of Bahati for finding his own way.” I put my phone away, and we finished the rest of our breakfast.

We were about to head back inside when I spotted something floating by in the river. Well, what they liked to call a river. I called it a wading pool. It was barely a foot deep, and the water was so clear, you could see the stones at the bottom. Maybe it turned into a real river farther along, or when it rained. When I thought of a river, I thought of crocodiles lolling on the banks.

“Rodel, there’s a rubber ducky bobbing in the water.”

“Oh, God.” She slapped her forehead. “I completely forgot. There’s a rubber duck race for charity, today. I volunteered to help.” She glanced at her watch and grabbed my hand. “Come on. We can still make it.”

Throngs of people were already lined up on the footbridges that spanned the river. Some of them were in the water, trousers rolled over their knees, as bright rubber ducks got launched off one bridge and made their way serenely toward them.

“The suspense is real, Rodel. I’m not sure I can handle the tension.”

“Go sponsor a duck.” She pushed me toward the table next to hers. “I’m going to be a while.”

I would never, ever in a hundred years have thought I’d say the words that came out of my mouth next, but I said them. For her.

“I’d like to sponsor a rubber ducky, please.”

“That’ll be ten quid.” One of the volunteers took my money and handed me a duck. “Good luck, mate.”

I held the little plastic toy in the palm of my hand. It stared back at me with its orange beak. “All right, little fellow. Show me what you’ve got.” I found a spot to launch my duck off. People seemed to just part for me. I took it as a good sign. My duck was a badass. Rodel waved at me madly as I stood there, towering over everyone else on the bridge.

“Don’t let me down in front of my woman,” I said to my duck, as I held it over the water, waiting for the next launch signal.

“Excuse me, sir.” A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop right away.”

I turned around to face a solemn policeman, with a baton in his hand.

“We’ve just received a complaint,” he said. “Apparently, there’s an ancient bylaw which says that the river and village green cannot be used on Sundays for fund-raising purposes.”

I scanned the area and noticed police cars all around us. Uniformed officers were pulling people away from the bridges and scooping yellow, plastic birds out of the water. Rodel was folding away her table.

“No rubber ducky race?” I asked.

“I’d advise you to let it go, or face arrest.”

For a moment, I considered letting my little duck go.

Run. Swim free, my friend.

I could claim I misunderstood the policeman’s instructions. But I pulled my duck out of the water and straightened. “It’s a little heavy-handed, don’t you think?”

“Just doing my job.” He seemed embarrassed.

“Everything all right?” Rodel walked up to us and stopped by my side.

“He won’t let me play with my rubber ducky, Rodel.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled at the officer and started pulling me away from him. “I’ve got him.”

I held on to my duck as she steered me toward a tearoom across the bridge.

“This is your solution to the atrocity we just witnessed?” I had to stoop to enter the establishment. “A tea party?”

She ignored me as the waitress sat us down at a table by the window. We watched the police drag the ducks away in fishing nets and lock them up in their vehicles.