Into Africa by Kerry Mcdonald

Author:Kerry Mcdonald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Level 4 Press, Inc.
Published: 2020-07-30T08:43:27+00:00

18

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Later, David regained consciousness. He lay in his hut, his breathing heavy. Baraka stood over him, wiping his brow. Then she bent down and gave him a sip of hot tea. Janet, Goma, and Henry sat in a semicircle around him on rough, wooden stools. A few Africans and Arabs, including Susi, and a large group of African girls filled the remaining space in the room. Outside, hundreds of Africans remained in place, their earlier excitement now dimmed.

This was not the first time they had seen Livingstone fall or lose consciousness. Many of them had stood vigil outside his hut before, wondering if he would ever wake again. They had watched him through his open windows and open front entrance, lying motionless as if he were already dead, Baraka and Susi attending him. When he woke up, he always looked weaker, and in recent weeks, he had grown even more frail, remaining in his bed for days on end.

Sometimes, he’d sit up and lean his back against a dried buffalo skin hanging against the wall. He’d ask Baraka or Susi to bring him his pen and his diary. With shaking hands, he’d scribble a few notes. Kalulu would then bring him food, meat cakes from the Arab cooks nearby, that he always refused. He’d ask for some tea and continue to write for an hour or two until he was spent.

He looked around the room and smiled at those whom he knew closest to him, the African girls especially, and Kalulu and Susi. He knew Kalulu would try to feed him whenever he woke up, but he was never hungry, and he couldn’t chew with most of his teeth gone, fallen out from malnutrition in his prior travels. He turned to the sound of waves crashing along the shore of the lake. He knew evening would soon be approaching and wanted to sit up and look at the sunset.

Then, he noticed the strangers in his room sitting right next to him, a white man in a chalked white helmet, a woman with red hair almost breathing on him, an African man in long dreadlocks. He heard the sounds of guns firing from earlier and saw a procession of strangers floating toward him and waving an American flag. He looked at his clothes and remembered he had dressed and the sound of Kalulu’s voice.

“Somebody coming. A white man.”

No, this was not a dream. He didn’t have the fever. And for once, he didn’t have any pain. He sat up.

“David?” Janet whispered to him. “David?” she repeated. Then she bent down and fingered her necklace. “You sent this to me over a year ago.”

It all came back to him. Kalulu had gotten through. His envelope had reached her. He had kept himself alive, hoping and praying for her to arrive, and deep down inside, he knew she would. He had foreseen this would happen, and now it was true. He straightened. His eyes flew open. Some of his strength began to return and he shouted.

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