Ahead of the Shadows by A.B. Kyazze

Author:A.B. Kyazze
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: African adult fiction, Cross-cultural romance, single mother, mother-son relationships, intergenerational trauma, Congo, Paris, Darfur war in Sudan, photography
Publisher: Humanity in the Landscape Publishing
Published: 2022-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Lena

Nyala, Darfur (Western Sudan)

August 2003

It was an ochre-coloured landscape. The vehicle shuddered with every crack in the road, weaving around potholes and gullies. The car wasn’t a Land Rover, not even a 4x4. It was an old Toyota with no air conditioning or seatbelts. CWW had no staff here, and no partners. So Lena had no friends, no allies, no base; not yet.

Through a colleague in Nairobi she had contacted a small medical NGO who arranged a driver to meet her at the local airstrip. As they drove, windows down in the heat, Lena was coated with layers of sand and dust. She wore a light white shirt with long sleeves that fluttered in the wind. Even through her khakis, her legs stuck to the plastic seats. She didn’t dare drink much water, in case there was a limited supply ahead. Despite sunglasses, she squinted with the overwhelming brightness of sun on thirsty and cracked land. It felt wide open and exposed, this corner of Sudan.

And it was hot, over 40 degrees. On the edge of the Sahel, the desert was never far away and could easily extend its grip further. Despite the temperature outside, the driver kept the heating blowing in the car. There hadn’t been time to arrange an Arabic interpreter, but Lena soon worked out what was going on through gesture and the few words she and the driver shared: they needed to keep air flowing over the ancient engine, which rattled and jumped unpredictably. It was clear that no one would want to have the car break down in this heat.

When they came into built-up areas, he gently put his hand over the opening of her camera bag. ‘No here,’ he said. ‘No good, no photo.’

She nodded and tried to understand what was unspoken. In the towns, people turned to see the car drive by. If they recognised the vehicle or the driver, they showed no sign. Donkeys moved to the side to let them past; women pulled cloths over their faces, disguising their expressions. Did they want to hide, or were they just shielding themselves against the sand and the dust? It was hard to interpret, in a place where she was so ignorant of both the language and the history.

It was a new and different feeling, being in the field ahead of the team. Everything needed to be negotiated and navigated very carefully. What steps she took or offences she accidentally made would ultimately reflect on CWW’s ability to set up and work here.

She met with members of the medical NGO and arranged for a translator the next day. She stayed with the team at their compound, a broken-down former family home on the edge of Nyala. The building had hard edges of concrete blocks, unprotected against the encroaching desert. No one had painted it or cared for the premises in a long time. It had a rooftop for relaxing on after sunset, but perhaps since alcohol wasn’t allowed, there wasn’t the easy social atmosphere she was used to.

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