Do-Gooder Page 3

  Chapter 4

  HENRY HADN’T mentioned Mrs. Okono was gorgeous or that there was no Mr. Okono. A small, slender African woman, about the same age as my mom, she appeared almost delicate when she met Henry and me in front of her tiny house. She had a round face, with wide cheekbones and huge dark eyes. A broad multicolored scarf covered her hair. “I worried you would not make it tonight. It is not good to be on the road so late at night,” she chided in a lyrical, accented voice, even as she waved us into her house. She focused her attention on me. “You are Isaiah, yes?”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said.

  “You look like your father with that hair the color of sunset and that smile. So handsome.” The warmth and affection in her tone made me wonder about her relationship with Chuck. All poetic about his hair? Yeah, that totally screamed romance. It might have been her way, but I definitely picked up on a vibe. Henry had mentioned she was one of Chuck’s friends. I didn’t know how I felt about the idea of my father being “friends” with this woman. I wasn’t one of those kids who had the eternal hope that his parents would get back together, but it should have been weird, right, meeting someone you suspected was your dad’s girlfriend before actually meeting your dad?

  “We had to stop and pick up supplies at the university,” Henry said. He sniffed the air and turned on Mrs. Okono with a grin. “Ndolé?”

  “Of course.” Her huge smile made her even more beautiful. “I knew you would be back, and it is your favorite meal.”

  “Mrs. O, you are a goddess among women.” Henry pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek. While what he said had been over-the-top, true affection glowed in his eyes when he looked at the woman. Like she was a favorite aunt or something.

  I’d never heard of ndolé, but if it was the source of the delicious aroma, I was more than ready to give it a try. My mouth watered at the scent of exotic spices and roasting meat.

  Mrs. Okono and Henry bustled around, setting a small table for dinner. Because there wasn’t enough room for me to help without getting in the way, I sat on the worn love seat in what passed for a living room in her house. The familiarity in the way Henry and Mrs. Okono moved together as they pulled out plates and eating utensils told me this was a common thing for them. It reminded me of the way my mom and I moved together when we did chores.

  The space might have been limited—I could totally see why we’d be sleeping outside—but it felt like a home. A cross hung on one wall. Brightly colored pottery pieces sat on the counter, and a small bookcase held an assortment of books and photos. Everything was clean and tidy and colorful.

  Mrs. Okono invited me to the table and served heaping portions of rice and ndolé, which turned out to be a spicy stew of vegetables and meat. I was pretty sure the meat wasn’t chicken or beef, but I wouldn’t ask.

  “Goat,” Henry said when he saw me eyeing a bite of meat on the tines of my fork.

  I did my best not to show my relief as I ate the forkful. I could handle goat. Had it been python or something equally exotic, maybe not so much. “It’s fantastic,” I told Mrs. Okono, using a piece of thick flatbread to sop up some of the hearty broth.

  Her plate only had rice and vegetables.

  “Aren’t you having any?” I asked, scooping up another bite of stew-covered flatbread.

  “There is not much,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “And two young men need to eat well.”

  Henry’s fork dropped. “Oh, hey, Mrs. O, there’s enough to share.” He went to scoop some of the stew onto her plate.

  She waved him aside. “Do not be ridiculous. I have plenty, and it is a special treat for you and Isaiah. And,” she said, standing up, “I have another treat for you.” Mrs. Okono crossed the room to one of the bookshelves. She carried back a stack of three books and handed them to Henry. “For you.”

  Henry took one look at the books and dropped them next to his plate before jumping up. He grabbed Mrs. Okono up into another huge hug and whirled her around. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  She giggled like a little girl even as she pressed her hand to her scarf to keep it on her head. When her feet touched the ground, she batted at his arm. “You are welcome.”

  One was a dingy, well-worn book called African Mammals: A Zoological Study. Another was a newer, glossier field guide to African wildlife. The third was The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Seriously? I handed the novel to Henry when he sat back into his chair.

  “It was my favorite book before… I mean, when I was younger.” He shrugged.

  I took another bite of the ndolé and didn’t say anything as he traced the title with a finger. He put the book in one of the cargo pockets of his shorts and turned his attention to the other two books. He flipped through African Mammals, stopping occasionally to read a caption.

  “Eat.” Mrs. Okono reached across the small table and shut the book. “Reading can wait. Your food will not.”

  “Where did you get them?” Henry asked. He stirred his rice and stew but didn’t take a bite, his mind clearly on the gifts in front of him.

  “I have my ways. You have such a thirst for learning, how could I not pick up a few things?” Her smile was so full of maternal pride, Henry practically glowed.

  “You like to read?” I asked around a bite of rice.

  He shrugged.

  “Do not be so modest.” Mrs. Okono looked at me and said, as though confiding a big secret, “He is so smart. I do not think your father could do without him anymore. He learns so much, so fast. Henry will be running the camp soon.”

  “I just like to know stuff,” Henry said to his plate. The tips of his ears grew red.

  My mind started to wander as Henry and Mrs. Okono talked of people and places I didn’t know. I didn’t realize that my eyes had closed until Henry took the last piece of flatbread from my hand. My head jerked up, and I blinked blindly at Mrs. Okono’s smiling face. I turned to see Henry standing next to me.

  “Come on,” he said, pulling at my elbow. “We’d better get to the cots. You’re about to crash.”

  I stumbled to my feet and had to hold on to Henry’s arm to keep from dropping back into the chair. “Sorry,” I muttered to Mrs. Okono. “I didn’t mean to—” I broke off with a yawn that Henry echoed.

  “Wow,” he said, “all that driving must have gotten to me too.”

  “You boys go, get some sleep.” Mrs. Okono stood up as well and led us back out the front. Complete darkness had settled around us, and there weren’t enough buildings to give up much light. If it weren’t for the grip Henry still maintained on my elbow, I would have tripped over the deep ruts probably created by cars that had driven up and parked there over time.

  The space Henry had described as a lean-to looked to me like an attached carport made up of a couple of sheets of plywood. It would keep the rain off of us and maybe deter some animals, but not much else. Two cots that looked like old Army castoffs lined the space, with a contraption draping mosquito netting above each one.

  “Not exactly the Ritz,” I mumbled. “Not even a Super 8.”

  “And yet, compared to some of the places I’ve been, it’s a resort.”

  I squinted at Henry but couldn’t read his face in the dark.

  I sat on one of the cots, ready to let unconsciousness claim me. I barely managed to stay upright. “I need my bag.” My tongue felt thick, and I couldn’t seem to remember how to make my mouth work.

  “I’ll get it,” Henry said. He reached under the opposite cot and pulled out a small lantern. The minute Henry and the light disappeared from sight, gravity got the better of me. From one second to the next, I was out.

  I WOKE up wet. Sweat drenched my entire body. Kind of gross, actually. Nausea churned in my gut, and my joints ached. I jerked upright, moaning when my head spun.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Henry sat up on his cot, the mosquito netting shoved behind him.

  I might have gotten a little sidetracked at the sight of Henry’s bare chest. Mayb
e. He had some seriously defined muscles. Not bulky—he was too thin for bulk—but seriously ripped. The concerned expression on his face, when I finally dragged my eyes up that far, distracted me from my ogling. And reminded me that I felt like crap.

  I could actually feel the blood drain from my face. Shakiness, nausea, sweating. All were symptoms of hypoglycemia. I yanked the monitor from my belt. It took a very shaky moment for the numbers on the little screen to come into focus. I blinked. My glucose level was fine. Stupid to panic. It took longer than an overnight to mess me up that much.

  “Isaiah, are you okay?” Henry shifted from his cot until he sat next to me.

  “I’m fine. Just, you know, a little out of it, I guess.”

  “Jet lag?” he asked. He didn’t sound convinced. His eyes continued to scan me, no doubt looking for signs of something more serious.

  “I’m sure that’s it.” I ignored my queasy stomach and pushed aside the mosquito netting, looking for my backpack. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  A flash of red caught my eye. My backpack sat under the cot by my feet. I lifted the bag and—“Holy shit!” I tossed the bag across the small enclosure and swung my legs up onto the cot. There, where it had apparently nestled in for the night under my bag, was the biggest fucking spider I had ever seen. Nightmarishly big. Huge. As big as my hand at full spread. As big as a fricking pie. A furry fricking pie. Rust-colored fur encased its freakishly large body. “What the fuck is that?”

  I didn’t appreciate the gales of laughter coming from him. On the whole, spiders and bugs didn’t bother me. But when the spider was big enough to crush my skull, I got a little squeamish.

  Henry stood up and reached for the mutant arachnid.

  “Don’t touch it!” I may have squealed like a girl. Maybe.

  “It won’t hurt you. Unless you’re allergic to spider bites, a bite from this guy wouldn’t do more than irritate your skin for a couple of days.”

  “Screw that. If that thing bit me, it could take a finger. Or maybe an arm.” I scooted back on the cot until I hit the plywood board of the wall. I was pretty sure, if it came down to it, I could break through the cheap particleboard to get out. I thought it might have become necessary when Henry actually picked it up. Its legs, no exaggeration, were as long and thick as my fingers and wriggled madly as Henry turned it so that I could see its face.

  “It’s a giant baboon spider. Its mouth isn’t big enough to do more than take a nip.”

  A shudder wracked my body. “Get that thing away from me. Or get me a shotgun.”

  “You’d shoot a spider?”

  “Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t try and stomp on it.” My voice cracked. “Come on, Hank. Get rid of that thing, will you?”

  “Not if you keep calling me Hank.” Despite the words, he took the spider out of the lean-to.

  I checked out the floor to make sure there were no more creepy-crawlies and got off the cot. “Hey, do you think there’s any chance that I can get a shower or wash up? I’m getting a little ripe here.”

  I looked up and Henry was gone. “Hank?” A foggy mist hovered over the ground. It was still early and cooler than it had been yesterday afternoon, but incredible humidity still thickened the air. “Henry?”

  Movement by the Range Rover drew my eye. Henry stared down at the ground behind the vehicle.

  I walked over to him. “Hey, what’s up?” I looked down. Footprints showed clear in the mud, footprints that didn’t match my running shoes or Henry’s hiking boots. “You think someone tried to steal something?”

  Shaking his head, Henry looked up. “Probably not. Most likely someone wondering who was here.” Despite his words, he kept scanning the Range Rover as if looking for additional clues. Henry unlocked the back. As far as I could tell, all of the boxes looked the same as they had when we’d loaded them. Maybe one or two had shifted a couple of inches, but the difference could have been caused by the sudden stops and the potholes the day before.

  “Everything looks okay,” he said, shutting the hatchback. “What did you ask a minute ago?”

  “Oh, I wondered if there was somewhere I could clean up.”

  Henry scratched his head, and I realized his ponytail had come out. His dark hair, disheveled from sleep, hung to his shoulders. Was it weird that I wanted to brush it out for him?

  “There’s not a shower or anything. You should be able to wash up in Mrs. O’s bathroom, but try not to use any more water than you have to. Clean water is limited, and the plumbing can be a bit unpredictable. When we get to the camp, there will be an actual shower you can use. It won’t be hot and it won’t be long, but it’ll get you clean.”

  Nodding, I headed back to the tent. I lifted my backpack up and shook it, listening for any kind of scurrying movements. It seemed safe enough, so I headed around the house. I hesitated outside the door. I didn’t want to just walk in, but if Mrs. Okono was asleep still, I didn’t want to wake her. She came into view, looking much the same as she had the night before. She wore a brightly patterned dress, and a colored scarf held back her hair.

  “Come in, Isaiah,” she said, opening the door. “I think you want to clean up, yes? Right through there.” She pointed to the only door on the inside of the house.

  “Thanks.”

  The bathroom was a tiny box of a room, smaller than my shower at home, with a basic commode and a sink. I stoppered up the sink and turned on the faucet. The water drizzled out, slightly discolored. Once water filled the basin a couple of inches, I scrubbed up. When I reached the point where I’d taped the tubing for the insulin pump down, I saw that the adhesive had mostly come undone. Peeling the useless tape off, I washed the area carefully with an alcohol wipe—no way was I letting the water actually touch the insertion site—and secured the tube back in place.

  I finished my basin-bath. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but I managed to wash my hair without too much mishap. I got water all over the sink from my attempts to rinse the shampoo using handfuls of water, but on the whole, I called it a success. I felt almost human. The nausea I’d woken with seemed to have disappeared, for which I was grateful. Driving through the wilds of Africa feeling like I was going to hurl didn’t appeal to me at all.

  I had opened the door a couple of inches when I saw the soap’s paper wrapping lying below the sink. I crouched down to pick it up. Mom would skin me alive if I even thought about leaving a host’s bathroom anything less than pristine. I heard shuffling and caught a whiff of something herbal and floral as brightly colored cloth went past the open gap in the door. Beads clicked, and I assumed Mrs. Okono went into her room.

  She spoke to somebody in accented French. Though her voice was low, I still caught most of her words. “You were late. You were almost caught. I told you four hours. You were more than six.” She paused, then made a zipping sound. “Enough. Someone could have been hurt. Next time, no excuses.”

  The back of my thigh cramped, no doubt a result of my awkward position and two days on my ass, and I tumbled into the door, spilling out of the bathroom.

  Mrs. Okono’s voice cut off.

  I grabbed the back of my thigh and stretched my leg out, massaging the knotted muscle.

  “Isaiah?” Mrs. Okono peeked out through the beaded curtain with what looked like a large cell phone in her hand. “Are you hurt?”

  I flexed my feet and looked up at her. “I’m fine. Just a cramp.”

  She looked at me for a long moment before reaching into her room and setting the phone somewhere out of my sight. “Maybe some food will help. It’s going to be another long day.” She held her hand out to me.

  “I’m fine, but thanks.” I stood and tested my weight on my leg. “But I’m totally in favor of breakfast.”

  Chapter 5

  HENRY HAULED in my duffel bag for me so I was able to change into clean clothes. After a breakfast of some kind of cassava porridge and warm hugs from Mrs. Okono, Henry and I were on our way. The going was slo
w, though. Apparently a man leading a string of three goats took precedence over vehicles on the road. He didn’t move over, and there wasn’t enough room for Henry to pass him, so we crawled along until the man and his goats turned onto a small path leading away from the main road. We’d barely increased our speed when we ended up behind a lumber truck loaded down with trees that had to be three feet in diameter. Needless to say, that vehicle didn’t go very fast.

  The pace didn’t seem to bother Henry. He drove as though he had all the time in the world. He even waved at people he saw along the side of the road. Some waved back and others watched us with narrowed eyes. Either way, it didn’t faze him. I, on the other hand, was slowly going out of my mind.

  Yaoundé had been a city. We weren’t anywhere near a city now. The areas we passed through more closely resembled the stereotypical Africa portrayed in those “for the cost of a cup of coffee a day, you could change the life of a child” commercials. Small children with big dark eyes stared at the road, faces serious and bodies that were made up almost entirely of knees and elbows. I was willing to bet that if I went into one of the buildings, there wouldn’t be an ancient television or love seat like I saw at Mrs. Okono’s place. There would probably be one room and a few pallets on the floor for sleeping.

  An hour into the trip, I dug out one of Henry’s animal books in an attempt to keep myself occupied. After another hour I had flipped through all two hundred pages and would now have nightmares starring a couple of the freakier things I’d seen in those pages. Some were cool—a lion is a lion after all—but I could have done without the spectrum of reptiles and amphibians.

  I would have asked to read Perks (I’d seen the movie, so at least it wouldn’t creep me out with seven-foot-long lizards), but Henry must have tucked it away somewhere. Besides, I got the impression that the book meant something to him.