B.B.U.S.A. (Buying Back the United States of America) (37 page)

Joyce took the kids to Custer so they could see where the final showdown had taken place. She filled them full of the history of the region and told them all about Miss Louise T. Treolor, in whose cabin they had finally sheltered. The boys were fascinated to know that their great grandmother had even known Miss Lou when she was a little girl, while Miss Lou was living in Challis.

The boys ran around and had their own gun battles up and down the mountain side. Joyce felt it was wise to let the boys finally let go and heal.

Chris and Traykie helped Sarah put together a complete scrapbook on the proceedings regarding the B.B.U.S.A. They researched and found most of the things that Tim had mentioned in his flash drive. They added all the stories about the bomb at J.J.’s in Namibia as well as the death of Natasha in Boise. All the court proceedings were also listed. As Leo had predicted, Bob was mostly cited as the mastermind and major player. When it was finished, no one seemed very interested in looking at it. Yesterday’s news was just history and the world moved on.

The following summer, Sarah planned a reunion at Red Fish Lake. The reunion was to be a time of rejoicing and celebrating friendship. Both Leo and Sarah had come to realize what was really important in their lives – the people they loved. The invitations were simply titled “Friendship Reunion.”

Leo rented five cabins behind the Red Fish Lake Lodge. Their cabin was nearest to the lake. Florin, Vickey, and their five children had the cabin closest to them. Doug and Sylvia shared a cabin. Joyce and Leo’s grandmother Elsie shared a cabin with Ursula. Joyce drove to Boise to meet Ursula’s plane flying in from her stop in Graceland. David shared a cabin with Alex.

Alex looked much better and healthier since his surgery. He had regained most of his balance and started exercising again. He was even able to keep up with his grandsons on a short run down to the docks by Red Fish Lake Lodge. Sarah was pleased to see him revitalized and enjoying life again.

At the reunion, Doug got down on one knee and proposed to Sylvia. She accepted, and they retired early that night.

On the last night they built a big fire at the edge of the water. They grilled steaks and watched the flames toss sparks up in the sky. Their faces were illumined by the warm glow of the fire. Everyone seemed upbeat and positive. They were now openly laughing about the events from the previous year and were bonded for life having shared such harrowing adventures together. They all vowed to have their friendship reunion every other year at the same place.

Leo announced that next summer he was taking his family on a vacation to Africa. Sarah was stunned and the boys were ecstatic. Ursula was thrilled and buzzing with ideas. Leo assured Joyce and Elsie that they were invited too.

When the last goodnight was said and the last person hugged for the last time, everyone returned to their cabins except Leo and his two sons. They walked down the beach and skipped rocks off the surface of the still, mirror-like water. The moon was full, and the pine trees stood proudly on the mountains and hills surrounding the picturesque lake. Mt. Heyburn, with its snowy jagged peaks provided the perfect backdrop to a seemingly perfect evening. Leo hugged his sons, and they all headed back to the cabin to spend what was left of the lovely evening with Sarah, playing family board games in front of the cozy fireplace. Leo felt truly blessed. He was undoubtedly a very fortunate man.

About the Authors

Lessil E. Richards was born in Colorado in 1967. He and his family moved to Namibia in 1972. He learned to speak Afrikaans fluently as he was enrolled in an Afrikaans school for ten years. During those ten years he and his family traveled extensively, visiting more than twenty different countries. He moved back to the United States in 1982 and graduated from Challis High School in 1985. Lessil earned a Bachelor's Degree in Education from Boise State University in 1989. He was involved in real estate for six years and Wildland Firefighting for several seasons, but his passion has always been teaching. He has been a Job Corps Education Math Teacher for the past fifteen years.

Jacqueline E. Richards was born in Salmon Idaho in 1947. The younger of two children, she grew up in Central Idaho and had a passion for horses, fishing, camping and the outdoors. She graduated from High School in 1965, and immediately enrolled at Utah State University as a Political Science Major. After attending a couple of years of college she got married, had Lessil, and moved to Namibia, pioneering the Baha’i Faith. After extensive travels and living in Namibia for ten years she returned to her roots in scenic Central Idaho. She completed a Bachelor's Degree in Secondary Education in 1989 from Boise State University. She has been a full time teacher for the past twenty-three years and shares her passion for reading and writing with her students.

Forthcoming book by the same Authors:

TYPE I JUVENILE DIABETES:
Fact, Fiction, Coincidence or Miracle?
A Book of Hope.

By Lessil Richards and Jacqueline Richards.

One family shares their heartfelt and remarkable journey when their only child is diagnosed with “Type I Juvenile Diabetes” at the tender age of eleven. They are determined to find a life style choice that does not involve daily injections of insulin despite what is considered to be the norm by modern medical expectations. This book explains the normal medical advice and expectations; yet defies them, and provides a guideline and hope for others still suffering with diabetes. This is not a cure, rather a life changing and encouraging look at viable options to avoid daily insulin injections. It may not work for everyone; however, it provides hope and helpful information especially for those who have been recently diagnosed with diabetes. This touching book instills positive changes and encourages a healthier life style. Is their story fact, fiction, coincidence or a miracle?

Currently available:

By Jacqueline Richards and Lessil Richards

This is the amazing true story of the ten years that the authors spent in the country of South-West Africa, now known as Namibia. During the last three years of their stay, Jacquie Richards co-owned a restaurant and boarding house in the sea-side resort town of Swakopmund. This book follows the owners and boarders of J.J.'s through heartfelt trials and tribulations with memories of unique people and captivating experiences. A compelling page-turner that is well worth the read!

Africa

Ten years was I beneath an African sky

Whose beauty’s too great to behold,

I’ve seen vultures fly heard the lion’s cry
Seen nature’s great secrets unfold.

Listened to Bushmen tell ancient stories so well
Sat spellbound for hours at a time

Seen the stars at night change to first light
Still awed by their rhythm and rhyme.

Heard Hereros sing as their souls took wing
Caught up in their rituals demands

Their dancing feet drummed out the beat

That echoed throughout their lands.

Wild animals run without fear of a gun

Cross bushveldt and salt pans they fly

A termite’s heap is an easy leap

As Springbok go pronking by.

Through waving grass you spot a flash

As a Cheetah slinks after its prey.

The birds’ loud song follows you along

And wonders unfold though the day.

The sun beats down upon parched ground

And rainfall creates marvelous scenes,

But none can compare with a beauty so rare
As that of my American dreams.

East Wind

When the east wind blows, it is the scourge of the country of Namibia, in southwestern Africa. Starting inland, near the low mountains surrounding the capital city of Windhoek, the wind crosses two hundred miles of desert, picking up speed and heat. It swirls and eddies in thermals of sand particles, lifting them thousands of feet in the air. The east wind continues to the coast and only loses its intensity over the cold Atlantic Ocean.

The east wind came screaming into Swakopmund; laying siege to the city, covering everything under crystalline particles of sand. Wind driven sand hit the plastered walls of J.J.’s Restaurant and Boarding House, rattling the glass window panes. The east wind howled around the corners of the building trying to find cracks in which to seep. Miniature sand dunes were forming in the window sills and under the door of my bedroom. So this was the dreaded east wind about which I heard so many stories!

Looking out the window, I could not see the houses across the street; I could only imagine the rows of colorless cottages lining the dirt street that run the two blocks to the Atlantic Ocean. Even the few bright patches of bougainvillea weren’t discernible. The tall Palm Trees must be bent double in this gale. The sand dunes would be shifting near the sea, the salt brush vainly trying to anchor them in their seaward progression.

I wondered if the east wind would extinguish the holiday atmosphere pervading Swakopmund. During high summer, when the inland areas reached their highest temperatures, residents of the interior would pack up their belongings and rent bungalows at the sea. This is the time of Christmas and the one month long summer school holiday. It is a festive occasion filled with fishing, merrymaking, and enjoying the refreshing weather.

The Benguela Current sweeps cold, nutrient-rich water from Antarctica up along the coast of Africa, providing some of the best fishing waters in the world. The prevailing mild winds blow the afternoon mists westward, cooling the coast, sometimes as far as fifty miles inland. But once in a while, nature lets loose the east wind.

The few feet of courtyard between my bedroom and the kitchen of J.J.’s, swirled with biting particles of sand. Dashing through it to the sanctuary of the kitchen, I went straight to the sink to get a cloth and wipe away the sand sticking to my skin. Only after my ablutions did I feel presentable enough to face the customers who would be coming in for supper.

“How long does this east wind usually last?” I asked my partner, Joan Bester. She had lived in Namibia all her life, and, as I was relatively new to the country, I was experiencing something only told to me in what I had assumed were rather tall tales.

“Until it stops,” was Joan’s unhelpful reply. “Sometimes it will only blow for a few hours, sometimes a few days. I hope this is a short one.”

She fanned herself as she stirred one of the big kettles on the restaurant’s stove. Joan had been a beauty in her younger years, but too many years of tasting the excellent food she prepared, coupled with her overindulgence of alcohol and tobacco, had taken their toll. She pushed a damp brown curl back from her pretty face with a pudgy, yellow-stained finger.

“You know people go crazy if the east wind lasts too long,” Joan continued. “I even know of two cases where the people committing the crimes got off scot-free by pleading temporary insanity due to the east wind.”

“Do you think it will affect our boarders?” I asked fearfully. I had enough trouble trying to keep them under some semblance of control at the best of times.

“It just depends on how long it lasts. I already feel hot, tense, and out of sorts.”

By Friday it had blown for three successive days and nights. It was like being a hostage in your own home. You couldn’t open a window for relief from the heat because of the blast of sand particles and dust. Of course, the heat was just as intense outside.

I kept a little bowl of water and a wash cloth behind the counter at the serving station. I would often slip back there and wipe perspiration from my skin and vainly spray deodorant and perfume. Yellow stains appeared around the armpits of the white jackets our African waiters wore. Sweat formed beads on their foreheads that would enlarge until gravity claimed them and a glistening streak raced for their collars. Deodorant was a luxury unknown to them, and apparently to some of our boarders. A raunchy, acrid smell hung in the air.

After dinner most of our boarders chose not to face the howling sand gale and settled down in the lounge for a game of poker. Sometimes I could hear their excited voices carrying to the dining room. The empty beer bottles around their table attested to their raging thirst in the hot airless room.

I took an order to the kitchen and noticed that Joan’s eyes were not tracking well, a sure sign she’d been trying to keep cool by drinking too many drinks laced with cane, a South African equivalent of vodka distilled from molasses. A half-empty fifth sat on the table in front of her.

As I hurried out of the kitchen, I nearly collided with Ernest, Joan’s husband, who had a liter bottle of beer in his hand and was headed for the kitchen to visit his wife. Ernest was the chief engineer at the Uis Tin Mine about eighty miles away. Both Joan and I had previously been living in Uis with our families. My ex-husband, Tom, was the mine geologist at Uis, and Joan and I had been best friends, as were our sons. When the boys completed elementary school in Uis the only choice for their further education would be to send them away to boarding school in a larger city. Neither Joan nor I was willing to send our twelve year old sons away, so together we bought a large old German boarding house in Swakopmund. We turned it into a very nice restaurant and boarding house, where we lived with the boys as they attended school. Both of us had been on the verge of divorce when we made the move to Swakopmund. The idea of starting a business where we could support ourselves, and our children, seemed like a very brave and noble gesture at the time.