Page 40 of Eternally London

“Please, call me London.”

“London, miss.” He nods with a wide grin. “Shall we retrieve your bag?”

We find my luggage, and I don’t fail to notice the small chuckle when Abdu sees that I brought three suitcases. I know it’s silly, and I look foolish. But I’ve never been to Africa, and I didn’t know what I’d need. Loïc urged me to consolidate before we left home, but I refused.

“Your partner is waiting outside, Miss London.”

“My partner?” I inquire.

“Yes, the photographer, miss.”

“Oh, right. Great.”

I follow Abdu outside. The temperature is similar to what it was at home when I left. I’m guessing eighty degrees, maybe a little more. But the humidity is suffocating.

“It’s so humid here,” I say to Abdu. “So much moisture in the air, it’s sticky.”

“Oh, yes.” He looks to me as he pulls two of my suitcases. “Every day this week, there’s rain. And there’s always moisture from the ocean.”

Yuck.

Abdu stops at a vehicle that I’m assuming is his. “Mr. Oliver, this is Miss London,” he says by way of introduction.

A tall, blond, and very tan man leans against the car, smoking. He stands to meet me. “Hello there. You must be the writer. I’m the one who’ll be taking the pictures.”

“Wonderful. London.” I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oliver.” He takes my hand in his and blows out a plume of smoke. “The pleasure’s all mine, love.”

His hand is hot and sticky. As soon as he releases my hand, I wipe off the wetness against my skirt as casually as I can.

“Do I hear an Australian accent?” I ask.

“Yep. Born and raised Aussie. Nowadays though, I spend most of my time elsewhere.”

I can’t help but smile. “I know another Australian guy named Oliver. We’re actually quite close.”

“Oh, yeah?” Oliver drops his cigarette butt on the ground.

“Yes, he’s my male Siri.” I smile, thinking of my love-hate relationship with the voice that comes from my phone.

Oliver nods, as if he understands, but I’m positive he has no idea what I’m talking about and doesn’t want to be rude.

We’ll be spending the night in Dar. I quickly call Loïc as Abdu checks into the hotel. We’re seven hours ahead here, so it’s almost eleven in the morning for Loïc. I had my cell provider turn on my international calling, and I’ve been told that it’s actually relatively easy to get a cell signal in many parts of this country. I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t be. I guess I had this childhood notion that Africa consisted solely of safaris and wandering elephants, giraffes, and tribesmen. There are parts with local tribes and safari areas, but clearly, there’s so much more.

Dar is a huge metropolitan area with large buildings and lots of people. We drove through some of it on the way to the hotel, and just like any other big city, there are some nice parts and some more run-down areas.

Loïc is spending a few more hours with the Dixons before he flies back to Tennessee. He’s happy I made it safely, but I hear the nervousness in his voice. I assure him that Abdu is an excellent guide. We don’t talk long because Abdu waves me over, and I know we have a lot to go over tonight.

After I drop my stuff in my room, I head over to Abdu’s to go over the details of tomorrow.

We sit around the small table in his room. He offers Oliver and me a Safari, a local beer in a brown glass bottle. Oliver gladly takes one. I stick to my bottled water.

“I know you both have been briefed about the story. Though I thought it would be wise to go over the basics to ensure that we all have the same information.”

I start recording with my recorder while I pull out my phone and start typing in my Notes app.

“As you know, we are going to be traveling for a few weeks. There might be a series of stories that result from our trip. So, Miss London, you will write all the stories you feel are important, and, Mr. Oliver, you will take many pictures with the final goal being to bring awareness to the horrible persecution of people with albinism in Africa.

---