Page 42 of Eternally London

“Wait!” I look around. “There’s nothing here.”

“You go in the grass, love.” Oliver chuckles.

“What? Don’t you have buildings with bathrooms that travelers can use? Maybe at a gas station?”

“No, sorry, miss. You just go in the grass.” Abdu closes his car door.

“Seriously?” I say more to myself than anyone.

“Seriously,” Oliver answers with a satisfied grin as he exits the vehicle.

Sure enough, Oliver and Abdu both stand in the tall grass at the side of the road. I can’t see what they’re actually doing, but anyone driving by would know that they were peeing.

Oh my God. Are you freaking serious?

I sit in the car, contemplating my choices, and quickly realize that I don’t have many. If I wasn’t about to pee my pants, I’d power through, but I suppose peeing my pants would be worse than peeing in the grass. I look in my backpack to find a package of tissues. I grab it and get out of the car.

I try to ignore Oliver, who is clearly shaking the urine off his junk. Even the tall grass can’t hide that motion.

I walk a good six car lengths away before I decide to venture into the grass. “Please don’t let me see a snake. Please don’t let me see a snake,” I chant quietly. That’s all I need—for my butt to be bitten by a poisonous snake.

I squat down, do my business, and then leave my tissue on the ground.Sorry, Earth, but I’m not transporting that with me.

As I’m pulling up my pants, a bus full of people drives by. A cloud of dirt descends on me, getting into my mouth. I spit as much of it out as I can.

Oliver leans against the car, smoking, with a giant smirk on his face, watching me as I walk back.

“Everything good, love?”

“Wonderful.” I offer a fake smile and get in the car.

Several miles down the road, we pass the same bus that sprayed me with dirt. It’s pulled to the side of the road, and the passengers are lined up in the grass, clearly urinating.

“Need another rest stop, love?” Oliver asks with a chuckle.

“Nope, I’m good.”

We pass a few small communities consisting of mainly mud houses before we get to Lindi a couple of hours later.

“Lindi is a small ocean town,” Abdu says. “Most people here are fishermen, farmers, or shop owners, or they work in the sawmills. The hospital is right outside of town.”

As I listen to Abdu, I watch African women walking through town, carrying large baskets on their heads. I’m increasingly nervous as we near the hospital. This is so unlike anything I’ve ever done. I want to do these people justice with my retelling of their stories.

We park in front of the hospital.

“Abdu, why are there bars on the windows?” I ask.

“To protect the patients inside. Men like to break in at night to cut off limbs. The hospital is a target.”

We’re introduced to Dr. Gyasi, who runs the hospital, which could be more accurately described as a large room full of beds. I smile through our initial greetings, trying not to let the smell get to me. It reeks of rotten blood, dirt, and body odor. It makes me feel queasy.

A small movement catches my eye, and my attention is drawn to a little albino baby, sitting in a bed nearby. I excuse myself and walk over to her.

I crouch down next to her bed. “Hi, I’m London.”

I know she doesn’t understand me, but I talk to her just the same. She clutches an empty water bottle, as if it were a baby doll.

“I like your bottle,” I say with a smile, motioning toward the container.

---