Pigment (8 page)
She exits the lobby to the valet/cab area. Rhadi is there waiting. They hug hello. “Sorry, I’m late.” she apologizes softly, more for the kiss she shared with the man upstairs and now being out with another man than for her tardiness. As they step away from the hotel into the street, Aliya glances over her shoulder, as she hopes, Kennen isn’t there. He’s been her new shadow. Reggie was at home, Kennen here, but having a white shadow with a crush is starting to wear thin for her. And she is a woman and Rhadi is definitely a man. Kennen is lovable, charming and while his muscles have filled out, he is still boyish to her. And she has important work to do.
#
They walk briskly, at pace with the city beat. Though some people still leer at her here, there are more distractions, more things to compete for onlooker’s eyes and she is high on the adrenaline and endorphins. When they cross the street, Rhadi places his hand on the small of her back in a natural protective way, but the feeling of his hand there is welcome to her. It sends blood rushing up and down her spine. They go a few blocks on foot. Rhadi hails a cab. They get in and ride out toward the coast and then north along the ocean. As they travel north, the environment grows plusher, more opulent, green and spacious. Like driving from downtown LA through to Bel Air, Aliya thinks. The cab turns right and through bold ornate gates under the sign for the “Sea Cliffs” and drive the windy way to this exclusive and beautiful hotel.
Rhadi opens the door for Aliya and tips the driver. She looks pensive, there is a moment of hesitation that comes over her and she lags as they approach the door. Rhadi senses this. He turns back, takes her porcelain hand in his manly paw, gives her a look of reassurance, and they step inside.
July 5 (later) - 6
It’s beautiful, simple, but it feels rich. They are seated around a table in one of the lounges by the back bar in this highbrow hotel having drinks, and discretely watching the comers and goers. Rhadi speaks softly as he lays out the plans on beverage napkins. He reviews where and when they will meet, who has the materials and so forth. Aliya helps explain some of the details to them. They are about her age, students from Dar University, but they look older than her.
She trusts Rhadi implicitly despite Kennen’s cautions and even though this team is risking a lot, she wishes she knew them better. She can’t call them brothers and sisters. Those terms would be too strong and too religious. While they clearly believe in their mission, they have different gods and they have color.
Lalique, a tall athletic young man of 18 will be the decoy. He’ll draw the attention of security and lure as many of the guards as possible away from the stage.
Karim and Lamar, cousins who look like twins, will fend off the few remaining security guards or anyone who might try to intervene, while Rhadi, Aliya and Shaey storm the target at center stage.
Lamar asks in a voice, seemingly too deep for his small frame, “Who is the target?”
Rhadi leans forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands almost clasped in prayer with his index fingers gently tapping his plump lips. “That’s why we came all the way out here, so you could see him with your own eyes. Look, casually, one at a time. Three o’clock.”
Lamar looks first and turns back to high-five Rhadi “Yes.” Rhadi takes his hand down with a cover smile, “discretely.”
Lamar, “I know man, but that’s Luamke!” Surprised by the high rank and notoriety, the rest of the team looks together to spot Magistrate Luamke. Thankfully, Luamke is far enough away at the bar and so much consumed by his conversation that he doesn’t notice all the eyes on him.
Rhadi pulls their attention back to their circle. “That’s right and we need to keep it quiet if we are going to pull this through. Understand?” Lamar sits back in his seat, getting it. “We will get him for you, Aliya, and everyone with your condition.” His sympathy… his pity, echoes in Aliya’s mind. Even here, in this moment, singled out. Even though its meant in support, and even though its for her cause, it is still isolating, stiflingly so. “Be in your places on time tomorrow morning.” He adds, “in all white.”
The others leave but Rhadi and Aliya remain. She didn’t turn when the others did. Meeting here isn’t the smartest idea. They are far too conspicuous a group. It’s not a typical hangout for a bunch of college kids. They look displaced. But now, her back to Luamke, she turns slightly to see him on the edge of the wide rim of her hat. She studies him thoroughly while Rhadi tells her why he’s been chosen. “Magistrate Luamke is one of the most corrupt officials in Tanzania. His deals with the private foreign corporations lack any transparency. While he himself gets richer and fatter, the people he should be helping have become skeletons, his pawns. Those in his district who have been arrested for crimes against albino people, have never been tried, not one hunter or witch doctor has been tried, let alone prosecuted. But it’s worse than this. He is somehow profiting from the albino trade, if he himself is not responsible for it.
At this, she looks back at Rhadi. “But is it true? Is there proof?”
Rhadi insists, “I believe he is guilty. But even if I don’t have hard evidence to put in your hands right now, he is worth making an example of, to get the attention we need from the media.” Rhadi continues, “But you’re not sure, Aliya. Only you can decide this. You’re nervous. We all are. But we can’t back down now. After all the planning...You out of all of us...If we do this without you, it doesn’t mean half as much. I know it’s hard. Don’t you trust me?”
Aliya rebuts, her pre-law and debate classes rising to the moment, “That’s not fair.”
“Nothing’s fair, but you need to decide now. Are you in or out? Cause if you’re out, we need to call it off.”
“Call it off? Why?”
“We can’t put everyone at risk. We have it planned for six people. If you are out, we need to call it off and plan something else for another time.”
Aliya is troubled by this new condition and pressure. Put everyone at risk? Look at where we are! She thinks. Rhadi continues to sway her as she puts her focus back on her study.
Luamke is black as ebony. His skin will be in good visible contrast for what they have planned. The symbolism will play out well. He looks proud. Tall stature, but the evidence of too much wining and dining, the jewelry on his fingers, wrists and neck and new custom tailored suit make her stomach turn when she thinks of the fisherman in his constituency trying to feed a family of five on fish head soup for a week. She thinks, if she were ever in a position of power, she could never justify living off of others like that. He lets out a big roar of a laugh and he and his cohorts naturally shift so that Aliya’s attention is pulled to the stern looking businessman across from him.
He’s white, but burnt red from the sun. His jowls protrude over his collar. Were they in earshot, she’d have detected his German accent with Upper Austrian influence. He appears to saunter, a slight lift in his step, as if he is a descendant of mountain dwellers. Definitely German, but he speaks English in a high-pitched voice with a lisp. His German is baritone, firm and controlled, like one would imagine the voice of a Third Reicht commander to sound... What an extremist. She wonders if he knows how odd he is?
Just back from a hunt –- it seems to Aliya that that’s sadly all tourists can to do around here –- he has his manservant bring in the tusks of an elephant he’s butchered only hours ago in the Serengeti. They just flew back in on the private plane. Luamke arranged the whole expedition. This “sport” hunt is illegal now, but if you can grease the right palms, you can kill. This kind of hunting will only get worse. The morally blind souls in positions of power will continue to find ways to make rare creatures, even cultures, extinct. She heard of the plight of the Maasai near Dodome. Forty thousand, an entire populace is being evicted from the land they’ve inhabited since the dawn of homo sapiens, all so the royal family of Dubai can have a private safari adventure camp. She thinks that people who inflict such destruction are the lowest form of being, unworthy of being called animals.
But she is an advocate for righteousness and true justice. She can’t help but wonder if Luamke is deserving of being the target. Has he done enough wrong? What if he hasn’t? She decides Rhadi is right, even if he didn’t do the worst, he’s done enough of the bad. And he will serve this purpose for good, even if he doesn’t know it, whether he agrees with it or not. She reaches under the table and opens the bag Rhadi gave her, like the one he gave each member of their group. Inside is the white scarf she’ll wrap around her head and cover her face and thinks how hot it will be to wear this tomorrow at the rally. And where did Rhadi ever find these? Kilimanjaro?
Aliya takes Rhadi’s hand. He has her answer. He kisses her on the lips, puts money on the table for the bill and they get up to leave.
The white man with Luamke sees the shape of Aliya in her peasant dress under her wide brimmed hat as she and Rhadi walk toward the door. He can’t see her face, only her décolletage to her chin. He sees the pale delicate hands peeking out from her long loose sleeves glowing red with the bright lights shining through the alabaster flesh over red blood.
As Rhadi holds the door for her, she wonders if he was serious, if he really would call the whole thing off if she opted out. Michael always told her, “Never let a man manipulate you. And no matter how you feel about a man, you shouldn’t let him pressure you into anything.” Okay this was an awkward talk in junior high that was more about sex, but the psychology applies. She and Rhadi don’t notice the man leering at her, they are focused on tomorrow and Luamke, even more than each other.
The white man steps away from Luamke, mesmerized by this dainty exquisite creature. He moves toward her, but as Rhadi and Aliya step through the door, she is gone from his sight. He didn’t even see her face, but he will find her. He wipes his sweaty brow with anticipation and is pulled back to the bar by Luamke.
July 6
The curtains are closed tight so that only a thin light beam sleeks in through the crevice. Aliya wakes gently. Kennen is gone. She wipes sleep from her eyes, stretches her muscles grateful for the real bed. She sits up and sees her makeshift journal on the side table. The note from Rhadi is on top. She deflates. She didn’t want Kennen to know. He doesn’t understand and she can’t explain about their action tomorrow. He can’t know that. But she needs him. She needs to decide about Luamke and she needs to know about... There are too many emotions she’s feeling at once. She decides, she didn’t come to Africa to fall in love. Love would be a selfish distraction to her bigger calling, she came to make a difference and she believes she will, so long as she doesn’t get preoccupied. “He must think I slept with Rhadi,” she thinks aloud. He’s jealous. It’s none of his business. She makes excuses. She decides it is best to let him think that.
He lounges in one of the old chairs sunning himself with a Red Stripe. She steps in his light, casting her shadow on him. “You should still come to the party tonight if you can or are you gonna sulk? Up to you.” He can’t see her face. Doesn’t want to. His silence is his response. She goes inside and has a bloody mary at the bar.
#
A couple hours later, they travel in silence to Rolf’s Hotel, the Protea on the central coast, about 15 miles south of the Sea Cliff Hotel Aliya was at the evening before. Their scenic approach takes them on a stretch of Barack Obama Drive, the sign of which grabs Aliya’s attention. The air is cooler, the breeze blows up from the water’s edge. It’s a luxury hotel and so, transports them to another world. They feel out of place, but the drinks they had earlier, carry them through the lobby and out the door to the water and along the path to Rolf’s cottage.
Festive lights flicker in the distance and the music lures them in. They bypass the pool entrance to the deck and go around to the cottage front door. There are all walks of life at this party, from dignitaries and artists to press, importers, exporters and as such, it gives the feeling that anything can happen. Aliya and Kennen arrive in their casual party attire. They find Rolf, hosting.
Aliya spots him from the description her father had given her from his stories. Definitive, “Rolf.”
The tall Norwegian bends gracefully, “You must be Aliya.”
“Yes. How’d you know?” She teases with a smile. The odds of him or anyone inviting more than one albino to his party are slim.
Rolf looks her up and down. “What a beautiful creature.” He’s near spellbound but at the same time like a scientist observing a specimen, grazing his hand against the aura of her shoulder. He breaks his own trance. “Are you sure you’re Jalil’s daughter? You’re far too pretty. You can’t be related to that old horse. You must look more like your mother.” His warmth overshadows his having called her “creature,” and she lets him kiss her Euro style on both cheeks, then he addresses her Irish escort, “And you are?”
“Kennen Dunnovan, Sir.”
“Don’t Sir me, Kennen. What are you, British?”
“Irish.”
“Well then, all the more reason not to use words like “sir.”
“You’ve done a load of inspiring work for the refugees...You’re the craic, man.”
“Thanks for noticing. We do what we can. Now, there’s no work here tonight. Understand? From the looks of you two need to unwind.” Rolf grabs two drinks off the serving tray going around and hands them to them.
Aliya chimes in, “Yes. We have strict orders to relax.”
“Then, you must follow them. Make yourselves at home.”
Rolf sees that Mwanza’s Magistrate has come in with his entourage. “You’ll have to excuse me. ’Magistrate looks thirsty.” He nods in his direction as he speaks.
Aliya recognizes him, “Magistrate Luamke.” She speaks his name while wondering what the effing odds are.
Rolf is surprised she’s in the know, “That’s right.”
“I thought you said no work.” she smiles coily.
“For you. For me every night is about survival ...survival of the Burundians. You mingle.” He leans in to Kennen, “There’s half a bottle of Jameson behind the bar, Irish.”
“Good on ya, man.” He puts his arm round him like he would one of his lads back home.
“That’s more like it.”
Aliya, “What did he mean?”
“He means, relax.”
Aliya eyes the Magistrate as Rolf greets him with open arms. How can he be here? How can he be at Rolf’s party -- a man so dedicated to helping the Burundians? This troubles her and it makes her even more confused about what is planned for tomorrow. Maybe Luamke isn’t a bad guy after all. But she also knows that Rhadi is right. He never would have said all those things about him or made him the target for tomorrow if he didn’t deserve it even a little bit.
#
The party extends out to the pool where there is louder music and dancing. Kennen and Aliya finish their second round. Kennen leads a reluctant Aliya to the dance floor. Kennen’s really getting his disco moves on, drawing other partiers on to the dance floor to watch. He looks like he watched Saturday Night Fever twenty times too many or his gran taught him disco and it’s all he knows.
Aliya tries to enjoy it, but she doesn’t want to. She leaves the floor. Kennen watches her settle to a spot at the bar. He keeps dancing.
Aliya takes another drink. She sees the Magistrate not far away talking to the same eccentric looking middle-aged white man from the hotel yesterday, but her attention was so focused on Luamke that she doesn’t recognize him from there. She goes to introduce herself to Luamke, to feel him out for herself.
Her soft determined voice, a tone her mother reared into her, “Magistrate Luamke. Pleasure to meet you. Aliya Scott.” She presents her hand to shake his.
He seems surprised and off put to have an albino woman addressing him directly. The German stands back and ogles her. He’s an eccentric attracted to eccentricities if ever there were one. “Aliya.” he says her name, objectifying her. Aliya ignores him, pushing forward with Luamke. The German’s fingers clench the glass so hard that it should break. Luamke doesn’t take her hand.
“Where in America are you from, Aliya?”
“Los Angeles.”
“I was there last year on business. I saw the Lakers play. What brings you to Tanzania?”
“I’m volunteering at Camp Kivuli. Do you know it?”
“I’m surprised you would choose to come here with the way things are for your kind.”
“My kind? Oh, you mean cause it isn’t safe for someone like me to walk in the streets of your district, or for me to sleep in my bed. Or are you referring to the lack of justice for people who murder albinos? I might feel a little safer if you didn’t release the three men who hacked that baby boy to death in Kasulu! Why did you let them go?”
Luamke is about to stump her, “Miss...”
She doesn’t give him a beat, “Or is it true...we’re not real and maybe just don’t know it...Let me tell you Magistrate, I am very real...”
Magistrate is annoyed, but offering the practiced smiles of a politician. “You Americans come here and think you understand Africa. Think you have all the answers. But you don’t.”
She persists, “What’s the question? You don’t protect the children. Letting these criminals go is like saying you approve of them. Do you?”
Luamke responds with a hearty laugh, the white man snorts along, drooling. “How cute she is when she is angry.” Aliya now recognizes him from the hotel, his deep-set, ice blue eyes that are unsettling. Luamke laughs with him saying his name, “Herr Günther”. His hand reaches for her arm. She steps back, something is very off-putting about his energy. But she doesn’t move fast enough, the German’s greasy fingertips stroke her arm.
Rolf swoops in, interrupting, “There you are. Booze got you a little knobby, Aliya?” Rolf grabs her by the elbow and forcefully leads her out beyond the pool.
“I haven’t had too much to drink. I’ve had too much Bullshit.”
“You’re all fire like your father.” He tries to diminish her.
“You would know.” He knows him better than she does after all.
“Yes. I do.” He adds, “He hated being away from you, missing you grow up.”
“He could have come back any time.”
“I see you are the same. Like a bull seeing red and charging at it not always thinking through all the consequences before acting.”
She rolls her eyes. Then... “Maybe.”
“I’ve been at this a long time. There are those who are extremists, those bulls who see red, charge and try to force change on those who’ve been rooted in power for centuries. If you want to make lasting change you can’t be the bull. You have to work with them and convince them they want something more, enough to let the other things go, and find a way to help them get it.”
Rolf wraps his arm around her and rests his hand on her upper arm. She relaxes into his warm shoulder, a gentle embrace. She moves her head to face him, overcome with a thousand emotions. They are nose to nose. She looks at him, tears in her eyes. He leans in to kiss her lips as his hand delves down her back, not a fatherly touch at all.
This sobers Aliya and she pushes him away. “Your bull is bullshit. While you are rubbing peoples backs and suggesting they “give them something they want more,” how many people die? Sometimes force has a greater, longer lasting impression. You should know, you served in the military...”
He cuts her off in an odd parental tone, “Aliya.”
Kennen sees this exchange from the dance floor and charges head-on at Rolf. He’s about to lunge at him when Aliya grabs his arm and stops him, as only she could in that moment. “What was that?” Kennen sneers at Rolf. Aliya stands between them and pulls Kennen’s arm to lead him away from Rolf.
“Come on.” He goes with her, but not easily. The Magistrate and the white man eye Aliya as she exits with Kennen, who then leers back over his shoulder at Rolf. Rolf raises his glass to the Magistrate and they in turn raise theirs with a nod.
#
Aliya is standing looking out over the expanse of water in the moonlight. A gentle breeze blows across the water and graces her dress. She is radiant.
Kennen is captivated by her. He steps closer to her. “You sure you’re all right?”
Aliya exhales. She strokes her arm and feels a greasy residue left there by the German. It’s oily but sticky and she touches it with her fingers and smells it. It’s some kind of linseed oil, she steps out into the water up to her knees and bends over to wash it off, but it doesn’t come off. She immerses herself in the water completely, hoping the water would cool her down and clean her, the salt water at the beach at home always did this for her, rebooted her, and gave her a fresh start. She floats for a long while, while Kennen watches from the shore, holding fast to the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He can’t fight the lull of the booze and nods off into his drink and the sand.
Sometime later, the sun is not up yet, but it hints at rising over the waters edge. He feels cool water drip onto his cheek. He opens his eyes, slowly. Aliya stands over him, the source for the cool salt water that beading onto him. She speaks in a scratchy buy subdued voice, “Let’s go.”
#
Back at their hotel, they give each other a lot of space. Kennen can’t help but be jealous. He’s in love with her, despite all she’s been doing. She can’t have slept with Rhadi, can she? The whiskey lulls his spinning mental wheels to sleep.
