Rhinoceros Summer Read online

  Abiba smiled at Paul and returned to her seat, coffee unpoured. “I not think so,” she said.

  Mr. Compton roared with laughter. “Abiba! You stay exactly as you are. I don’t ever want to see you not giving Paul hell!”

  Paul looked back and forth between Mr. Compton and Abiba, then returned to his eggs. He grabbed the salt and pepper and vigorously shook them over his plate. Abiba pursed her lips and remained silent but gave Mr. Compton a slight nod.

  “What happened to the resort phone?” Caleb asked.

  Lydia tensed and felt Paul’s glance before speaking.

  “In for repairs.”

  “I need to keep in contact with the Department. They’re expecting a report.”

  “Sorry, not gonna happen,” Paul said.

  Caleb seemed to levitate in his seat until Abiba rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not good enough.”

  Between sips of coffee Paul said, “At Owl Point you can use the satellite phone—on condition you reimburse the charges. Of course, you could save everyone some trouble and deliver your report to the Department in person.”

  “Not gonna happen. You’re stuck with me for the duration,” Caleb said. Abiba’s hand still rested on his shoulder, though that did nothing to keep the color in his face from deepening.

  Paul shrugged. “Thought so.” He stood up from the table. “We leave in two hours. Make sure you don’t hold us up.” He moved to stand behind Lydia. “This is going to be the safari of a lifetime. We may not have a video camera anymore, but this girl here is going to capture it all in photographs.”

  At his brief touch, Lydia began trembling and hated herself for her cowardice. Any other woman in her books wouldn’t stand for this, would instead have swept the dishes to the floor, thrown over the table, stomped the food into mush, splintered a chair across Paul’s manipulations.

  She was not yet that woman and feared she might never be.

  “Make sure you take everything you need. We’ll be gone for a month, with only one run back to the resort for supplies.” He stooped over Lydia so that for a moment she thought he was going to wrap his arms around her. Instead, he lifted her camera bag from the floor and tucked it in his arm.

  Her camera in his hands.

  “I’ll pack this safely in the car,” Paul said.

  “Pack in M’soko’s car,” Abiba said.

  “No, I don’t think—”

  “Please.” Lydia squeaked. She could feel all eyes around the table look at her. Her face burned as she took a deep breath and continued. “The car M’soko is driving has more room for my camera equipment. It was hard for me to take pictures during the last—”

  A glass shattered against the wood floor and drowned out Lydia’s voice. Caleb swore as he bent to pick up the broken pieces. Muna came over with a dishrag.

  Lydia despaired at Paul’s possession of her equipment. Her response had been instinctual—anything to not get separated from her camera. She would not, could not, leave without the pictures she had already taken, no matter that she knew she should.

  “I would like to ride with M’soko.” She tried to make it sound confident, not a question but a command.

  Paul didn’t act like he heard. He seemed too occupied watching Caleb and Abiba pick up the broken glass. She gathered the strength to plead again.

  “Fine,” Paul said. “You’re the star who’s going to capture what’ll make Blue Nile Safari famous.” He raised his voice loud enough for the whole table to hear. “You get whatever you want. Billy and I will provide the appropriate setting for you to work your magic.”

  3

  Muna and M’soko made happy conversation in Swahili during the long drive to Owl Point. Lydia looked out of the backseat window. It was just the three of them in the car, with the other members of the safari broken up between two additional Land Cruisers. She wanted to ask M’soko to stop for pictures more than a dozen times, but there was little point in that since Paul had purposely packed the camera in the other car. Having thought to find her way to the airport seemed rather naïve now.

  “Do you think my bag will be okay with Paul?” she asked M’soko during one of the rare moments of silence between him and Muna.

  He glanced at her through the rearview mirror and gave an encouraging smile. “He needs you and the camera.”

  Muna said something low in Swahili. M’soko shook his head no, but Muna turned in the front seat and said, “You get camera returned. We will help.”

  About midday the Land Cruisers were forced to stop when the dense trees on either side of the dirt road made it impossible to maneuver around a troupe of snoozing baboons. M’soko rolled down the windows and shut off the engine. The car was close enough to smell the berries the baboons had been feasting on.

  A slight breeze rustled their fur, but they did not otherwise move in their slumber, except for a twitch of muscle here and there, like movements in a dream. Some of the baboons lay entangled in each other, resting together in a way Lydia envied for its simple intimacy. Others lay spread-eagled in various positions, separate, but not alone. M’soko explained baboons were some of the worst offenders when it came to emulating human behaviors like in-fighting, jealousies, dominance battles. But none of that seemed present with this group at the moment.

  M’soko occasionally honked the horn to help speedup the baboons. Some opened a sleepy eye or two, and stretched or didn’t move, as if the horn were, after all, only the snooze button on an alarm clock that could safely be ignored.

  After many minutes, maneuvering, and honks, M’soko drove their caravan around the troupe and continued their trek along the dusty, rutted road.

  Lydia sipped her water canteen, relishing its ability to strip her mouth of dust as they passed through shallow valleys and over tree-covered hills. Shrubs grew underneath the tree cover and patches of grass filled in the rest. Small dirt tracks formed bald curving lines through the dirt and showed where previous vehicles had cut into the vegetation.

  M’soko said, “Miombo woodlands,” and pointed forward through the dusty windshield. He gave names and descriptions of the animals and landscape, repeating it in both Swahili and English for Lydia’s benefit. She tried to wrap her mouth around the new sounds. Muna and M’soko rewarded her attempts with good-natured laughter.

  They stopped and made a makeshift fly camp that night and arrived at Owl Point the next day. It sat at the top of a cleared ridge, its tents and cooking area arranged on a small plateau. In the afternoon light, Lydia noticed each tent had an incredible view of the surrounding landscape. How had she not seen this before?

  She longed to take pictures of the staff as they finished setting up camp, but Paul had not yet returned the camera bag. She wandered around and noticed how the light interacted with the sound and motion of the tents’ billowing canvas to create shadows against a lit-up landscape of golden grass. Groups of dark-colored animals littered a valley a few miles away, but Lydia didn’t recognize them by name. Perfect moments, perfect lighting, perfect shapes and shadows that she could only commit to memory.

  A touch on her shoulder broke through Lydia’s thoughts. She turned to find Muna standing with the camera bag in her outstretched hands. Hands that had probably scrubbed thousands of dishes, washed the camp’s laundry, tied up mosquito netting, brushed M’soko’s forehead. Hands that now held her camera out to her.

  “Thank you,” Lydia said. Her stomach constricted as she took the bag. “This is…”

  Muna smiled and shook her head. “This is nothing.”

  “Why is he—Why did Paul take my camera?”

  “Why Paul do anything?” Muna shook her head again. “I was not here in the beginning. But M’soko told me some. About Neela and Caleb.”

  “Neela?”

  “Abiba’s binti, uh, her child?”

  “Daughter?”

  “Yes. They were…maziwa udungu. Abiba gave milk to both when babies. But Paul made Neela leave and Caleb and her finished.”

 
; “But why?”

  Muna shrugged her shoulders. “M’soko will not say. Abiba does not like it when I ask. But M’soko say he know Caleb fear Paul.”

  Suddenly Lydia had a terrible thought. “Are you going to get in trouble for bringing me the camera?”

  A twinkle appeared in Muna’s eyes as she smiled. “M’soko take and give to me to take to you. M’soko…” Muna stopped and looked toward the ground. “Paul not bother me none unless he want too much trouble.”

  A shout from the food tent drew Muna’s attention. “I must finish cooking. Dinner is ready soon.”

  She left Lydia standing in the dirt with her camera and unanswered questions. Lydia checked through the bag. Everything seemed intact, but there was only one way to be sure.

  The camera felt light in her hands as she withdrew it and set up her lens. For the next hour, until dinner was officially served, Lydia concentrated on practicing her aperture and shutter speed techniques. Playing around with different effects, she tried to capture those perfect light and shadow moments before they were lost to the darkness. She did not lose herself in her work but kept an eye out to avoid Mr. Compton, Caleb, Paul—anyone who might comment on her sudden repossession of the camera.

  Muna served dinner under the last few rays of sunlight streaming through the mosquito nets. It was an informal enough setting that the staff ate together. Paul and Billy sat on the other side of the tent, forming plans for the next day. Caleb and M’soko sat at the table.

  Lydia helped Muna set out the bowls of food. When Muna sat down on a nearby bench with her plate of food, Lydia sat next to her. Between the last safari, the time at the resort, and Muna returning the camera, Lydia felt like she could trust Muna enough to ask for help.

  They spoke quietly together, teaching each other a new Swahili or English word and laughing at the other’s attempts.

  Halfway through dinner, Lydia asked Muna, “Would you mind if we shared a tent? You don’t have to. I know you get a tent to yourself. I just thought…” Lydia turned back to the food on her plate.

  “No. Is fine. I like to share tent with you.” She made a gesture with her hands like two heads touching each other. “M’soko must sleep in guide tent. We talk all night and giggle, I think. And maybe,” Muna tilted her head towards where Paul and Mr. Compton sat discussing the scouting they would do the next day, “make plans. I will ask.” She motioned M’soko over from his seat at the table. He came with a smile on his lips and touched the tips of Muna’s fingers with his own before also giving Lydia a welcoming smile.

  “We need bed moved. Lydia and I will share tent.”

  M’soko crinkled his brow, said something in Swahili, then turned to motion Caleb over from his position at the table. The worry on Caleb’s face intensified as he rose from the table, as if he had been staring and waiting for M’soko’s signal.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, staring only at Lydia.

  She couldn’t stop the heat rising to her cheeks.

  “She share tent with me,” Muna said.

  “We need to move in an extra bed,” M’soko said.

  “Please, I don’t mean to make so much trouble. It’s okay, I can stay with Abiba.” Lydia looked at M’soko and Muna as she spoke. It was hard to look into Caleb’s eyes, blue like his father’s.

  Caleb spoke to M’soko. He knew she must not understand, but he continued in Swahili for a few moments. She regretted asking to sleep in Muna’s tent now that it seemed so complicated.

  “We’ll go now and set it up,” Caleb said in English.

  Muna’s tent sat near the edge of camp and barely fit the extra twin bed Lydia found empty and waiting for her after dinner. She imagined the two men lifting it in, careful not to disturb Muna’s side. Her small suitcase already waited for her. A thin wooden chest of drawers at the foot of the bed would store the clothes she’d brought from the resort.

  The space between the wooden planked floor and the mattress seemed the safest spot for her camera at the moment. Paul either had not noticed or chosen to ignore that Lydia not only had the camera back but had changed the sleeping arrangements. She felt a rush of gratitude toward Muna and M’soko.

  “I bring down nets now,” Muna said as she entered the tent behind Lydia. “Before insects arrive.”

  Muna unrolled the gauze and canvas that would soon enclose the tent in a thin likeness of four solid walls. Maybe only canvas and mosquito netting separated Lydia from all that was wild and threatening outside, but she felt safer at that moment than at any other time since arriving in Tanzania.

  After unrolling and tying down the netting and zipping up the tent, Muna moved to Lydia’s mattress and turned down the sheets. “No please, you don’t have to do that,” Lydia said.

  Muna took out a small packet and placed it on Lydia’s pillow, sending out a clean lavender smell throughout the small tent. “I do this for me and friend,” Muna said.

  “Thank you.” Lydia held back tears.

  “We need one another.” Muna folded a throw blanket across the bed and motioned for Lydia to sit.

  “You’ve already done more for me—I don’t see how I could return the favor.”

  “Your pictures could save Blue Nile Safari. It could save M’soko’s job. My job. But tell me.” Muna moved to sit on her own bed. “What happened when you first come to Tanzania?”

  Lydia poured out everything. Paul’s initial phone calls, how Lydia and her parents had believed this trip was missionary related, what happened at the airport, all the way through Paul pulling the phone out of the wall.

  When she finished, a quiet peace entered the now shadowed tent, leaving only the sounds of animals and a few people still closing up camp for the night. She waited for Muna’s response. But Muna just sat there, cross-legged on top of the bed sheets, head bowed over her lap so that Lydia could see the line of skin that marked the part in Muna’s brown hair.

  “I do not understand this way of doing things,” Muna said, her words muffled by her still bowed head. “I do not understand such a man, such a way.” She raised her head to meet Lydia’s eyes. “Do you believe—do you wish to be taking missionary pictures?”

  It became Lydia’s turn to sit on her bed, cross-legged in silence, head bowed at Muna’s simple question. Not simple to answer.

  “I want to take pictures. I don’t really care if it’s for missionaries,” Lydia stopped, realizing this was not an honest answer. “I would prefer not to take missionary pictures. I don’t want my pictures to be for the church, for gaining converts. But I don’t want to take them for Paul either. I want to take them to help people.” She waved out the entrance of the tent. “To maybe make a difference in the world. But mostly I want to take pictures for myself.”

  Speaking these words out loud seemed to release something. Her parents had wanted her to go to Tanzania for religious reasons. Lydia hadn’t cared as long as she got to go.

  Muna nodded in agreement. “In village, before I come work for Paul, we believe in balance of spirits. Missionaries come and say belief evil and they told us how to believe, to work, to live, to have children, to eat. And now nothing left of the village except for church and missionaries.” Muna shrugged. “Some old men go by old way. Not many. And I not want to live either way, old or missionary. I not be second wife, I not be sister’s husband’s wife, I not catch AIDS, I not dress in missionary white and hide in box on Sunday. I not let foreign preacher tell me how much money or crop I give him. He not tell me who I am or what I do.”

  Lydia tried to absorb Muna’s speech and how different her ideas sounded compared to the little she’d read in her foreign missionary books. They described downtrodden women, sin and demon possession, livelihood scraped out of nothing. They devoted chapters to how grateful people were after converting, how much Christianity had done to raise the people’s standard of living. Someone like Muna didn’t exist in those books.

  Muna’s eyes looked out farther than the canvas tent walls could possibly stretch. �
�M’soko teach me English, some German. I get better every day. I know Kiswahili and Kpare already. Soon we set up tour operations. Safari, resort, hunting. Money will preserve Tanzania, but also to the people, to buy KickStart water pumps, to irrigate two-acre farms, to…” She stopped and gave a sheepish smile. “He is my first lover. Maybe last. Hope to be last.”

  Lydia’s grin was rewarded by a tossed pillow.

  “See? So many secrets we know now. I not talk like this since I was schoolgirl in uniform.” Muna shook her head, matching Lydia’s smile. “And you? First lover yet? Caleb is good choice.”

  Lydia could feel the burn in her cheeks and knew from Muna’s laugh that her face had turned a bright shade of red. “Nothing has happened. I mean, nothing is going to…” It was one thing to realize she wanted nothing to do with her parents’ life back home, and then reconciling Muna with all that she thought she knew about Africa. She’d dropped her religion almost by accident, like a bird collecting straw for its nest and taking flight before getting a secure enough hold. She didn’t have the energy to figure out anything else.

  Muna raised her eyebrows. “I see how he does not stare every time he sees you, or how you go stiff when he around.” She pantomimed on the bed and held her arms and legs out like four straight boards, then giggled.

  Lydia groaned and hid her head under the pillow Muna had thrown. She breathed in lavender and took comfort in the natural texture of the pillowcase.

  At the edge of Lydia’s vision she could see Muna trying to compose a serious face. “You no like him?”

  Lydia threw the pillow in answer. Muna squealed and dived under the covers. Lydia laughed at her antics.

  They turned off the lamps and let the dark stillness of the camp settle around their tent like a blanket. Yet while the camp felt still, it was not silent. Insects and animal calls layered the night and made Lydia feel their conversation was safe from human ears. They talked for a long time, switching between schoolgirl topics and serious conversation. They moved from whispers to laughter and back to whispers. Muna talked more about how she’d grown up—going to school and reading things that had changed her and what she wanted. Lydia told her about the M’s, her grandfather, how she felt she needed to prove herself through photography. They talked together in a way that made Lydia feel more comfortable sharing herself than she’d ever felt with the M’s. She could say whatever she wanted without worrying that Muna would use it against her.