Stiletto Safari (9 page)

Wearily I put my bags down. In addition to the standard hooks in the wall, the teacher’s alcove had some dusty-looking shelves and a single set of drawers. Slowly I unzipped my bag. My clothes looked ridiculously beautiful and out of place in my new surroundings.

Carefully I started pulling out my dresses. One thing was for sure: there was no chance I’d be wearing them here. Still, I thought it best to at least try to hang them rather than leave them in my bag to be crushed.

When Gabi saw the first dress, she shrieked. Slightly annoyed, I looked down at her. Her eyes were huge and she looked completely awestruck.

“Do you like the dress, Gabi?”

Gabi just nodded; she seemed completely speechless.

For the next fifteen minutes, Gabi sat transfixed on my sad-looking little bed while I continued my unpacking. When she saw my heels come out, she stared in complete disbelief. Hopping off the bed, she crouched down on the floor to have a closer look at my snakeskin stilettos. She stared at them from all angles before gingerly picking one up and turning it over in her tiny hands. With a great degree of caution, she touched the tip of the heel with her finger and looked up at me incredulously.

“They’re shoes, Gabi. You wear them when you want to dress up. Like when you’re going to a party.”

Gabi shook her head in disbelief. I might as well have said, “I’m from the moon and these are my moon shoes.”

With my unpacking done, it was time to face the principal. It was the last thing I felt like doing. As miserable as my bed looked, all I wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position. It was going to be a very, very long month.

Chapter 15

G

abi led the way out of the dorm toward a little cottage.

The African sky had turned from sharp blue to blood red, and it was already starting to feel cooler. I shivered in my little shorts and tank top and cursed myself for not even thinking of changing into something more appropriate.

When we reached the principal’s cottage, Gabi backed away from the door. Stealing myself to be polite, I rapped on the fly screen door. Seconds later a small African man who looked to be in his late fifties greeted me.

“Zara, it is very nice to meet you. My name is Nelson,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Come in, come in.”

Turning, I said, “Thank you, Gabi,” and watched as she darted off toward some other children who looked about her age.

Inside, the teacher’s cottage was cramped. A tiny table was in the center of the main room. Heaving bookshelves lined the walls, and the books gave off a distinctly musty smell. At the end of the room was an ugly kitchenette and sink.

“Please have a seat.” Nelson pointed to the only armchair in the room. It was squashed against one of the bookshelves and like the kitchenette bench was a horrible shade of yellow. It was a far cry from the chesterfields at Harvey & Rose.

Cautiously I sat down. Any minute I expected a pile of haphazardly stacked books to fall on my head. Still, at least I’d probably die quickly rather than being killed slowly by sixty little girls.

“Coffee or tea? I have Kenyan coffee, green tea, or bushman’s tea, which tends to be a bit of an acquired taste.”

“Coffee, please.” Coffee was actually not really what I felt like—something stronger would have been much better—but I wanted to appear polite, especially as I was going to have to tell Nelson I’d be leaving in a month.

Nelson busied himself while I surveyed the shelves. Finally, to break the silence, I noted, “You’ve got quite an eclectic mix here—everything from
Wuthering Heights
,
French for Beginners
, and
History’s Turning Points
to
The Analysis and Use of Financial Statements
.”

“Yes, it’s quite a range, isn’t it? Most of our books are actually castoffs from the lodge. It’s amazing what people leave behind—all sorts of things including books, clothes, and cameras. The lodge hangs on to them for a couple of months, and if no one claims them, we get them for the school.”

“The lodge?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

Nelson was on his way over with my coffee. “A drop of Amarula, perhaps?”

Seeing my confusion he added, “Amarula is the spirit of Africa. Quite literally, actually. It’s made from Marula fruit and tastes like…let’s see…a bit like caramel. It’s very good with coffee.”

“Sure, a splash would be nice. I haven’t heard of Amarula before.”

“Ah. Not many people have, but you know, it’s a surprisingly popular drink even in your country. In fact, it has won many awards. Do you know how we first came to drink it?”

I shook my head.

“The local people used to watch the elephants. They would go crazy for the ripened Marula fruits and would gorge themselves for days. After a day or two they would become intoxicated. An intoxicated elephant, especially a male, is quite a dangerous thing. They can wreak havoc on villages and in some cases have been known to kill people. So the local people started collecting the fruits just before they fully ripened—beating the elephants to it, so to speak. Of course, an intoxicated man can be just as dangerous as an intoxicated elephant. I don’t know which is worse in the long run.” Nelson shrugged his bone-thin shoulders. “Luckily for the elephants, some of the proceeds from the sale of Amarula are directed to elephant research in Durbin, so through our consumption we are helping one of the world’s most majestic creatures.” He gave a soft, warm chuckle as he handed me a steaming cup of coffee.

Politely I took a sip. The coffee tasted delicious. Smiling at Nelson, who was by now sitting on the hard-backed kitchen chair, I said appreciatively, “This is actually the best coffee I think I’ve ever had. Starbucks should come out with an Amarula range!”

Nelson nodded sagely and sipped on his own coffee.

“So, Nelson, tell me about the lodge you mentioned before. Does the lodge own the school?”

Nelson adjusted his spectacles and sat upright in his chair. “In a manner of speaking, yes. The lodge funded the establishment of both the clinic and the school in return for a private concession.”

“What is a private concession?” I curiously asked.

“Well, the lodge has an exclusive lease over a hundred thousand acres of land. The owners are wealthy South Africans who run a luxury eco-travel business. Only twelve guests in total are allowed into the private concession at a time, and as a consequence they have first-class game-viewing opportunities. The lodge also supports the village by organizing tours. Wealthy tourists come for a taste of village life and often drop by the school or the clinic to see the ‘real’ Africa.”

I noted a hint of disapproval in Nelson’s voice.

“But you don’t think the lodge is a good thing?”

Nelson stroked his chin thoughtfully. “No, it’s not that, Zara. The lodge is a good thing. But like most things in Africa, the situation is complicated. In a village as small and as poor as this one, children would not normally have the opportunity to get an education. The villagers also wouldn’t typically get access to health care. On the other hand, the lodge occupies a very large piece of bushman land, and this has created problems. It is a fragile ecosystem. No doubt you have seen the dead cattle surrounding the village.”

I nodded, cringing. The image of the rotted carcasses seemed indelibly burnt into my memory.

“There were too many cattle in too small a tract of land. When the drought came, there was nowhere for the cattle to go. In the past the bushman would have migrated with the cattle to a water source, but that is impossible now.”

“Is that why they’re building the dams?”

“Yes; the lodge has agreed to fund the works starting next year.”

“What do the villagers think of the lodge?”

Nelson shrugged, “Of course there is politics. Some of the villagers want the lodge to go and others want it to stay.”

“What do you want?” I asked, interested to know the answer.

“Well, of course I have a vested interest. The lodge is, after all, my employer. Overall, I think it is very good for the local community. I’m not from this village originally, but from all accounts the clinic and the school have made a wonderful difference to the village. Over eighty percent of the lodge staff come from this and neighboring villages, so the money they earn from the lodge flows back to the local communities. The lodge also acts as a strategically important wildlife corridor, as it abuts a national park. The wild animals are free to migrate without the risks associated with coming too close to villages or crossing roads. This is important, as tourism makes up such a large part of our economy.

On the downside, I worry that in some ways the lodge acts as a disincentive to the villagers adapting and embracing the modern world. The village tours are predicated on showing tourists ‘traditional’ Africa. This means that the villagers are encouraged to live in the past. So rather than building brick houses, for instance, they continue to make houses of mud and manure. Rather than growing crops, the village men still herd cattle. As I said, it’s a difficult issue—and Africa is a continent full of difficult issues.”

“How far away is the lodge from the village?”

“Oh, only about fifteen kilometers. On your way in today you would have passed the turnoff. While you are with us, you must make a point of visiting the lodge. It is perched high on the escarpment and has quite spectacular views over the valley. From the lounge you feel as though you can see the whole of Africa before you.”

The conversation about the lodge was interesting—I was already fantasizing about moving into a luxury eco-villa rather than staying in either the girls’ dorm or the volunteer camp. Now, however, didn’t seem the right time to broach the subject. Instead, I had to sort out this ridiculous teaching fiasco.

“Nelson, you know I’m not a teacher, don’t you? I have no classroom experience at all. And I also have no experience with children. I’m an only child, so I never even had siblings to look after. I understand that you’re incredibly short-staffed at the moment, and I’ve promised Ismail I’ll stay for a month to help out, but after that I’m planning on leaving.”

With the serenity of the Dalai Lama, Nelson solemnly said, “Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Zara, but you have no need to worry. I can see you are a very intelligent woman with a kind heart. I know you will see this through.”

I felt like screaming. Why was no one in this cursed village listening to me?

As if to stymie further conversation on the topic, Nelson looked down at his plastic wristwatch and said, “I have really enjoyed talking with you, Zara, but I’m afraid of keeping you up too late after your long drive here and before your first day of school. Do you have any more questions before retiring for the night?”

Only about a million, I thought to myself. Sighing, I said, “Just a couple.”

Nelson sat back and nodded as if to say “go ahead.”

“First, what are the rules for the dormitory?”

Nelson pressed his fine fingers together and rested his nose on his fingertips for a moment. “The rules are quite simple. The girls must all be in bed by 8:30 sharp. At 8:30 we need to switch the generator off to allow the battery to recharge overnight, so it’s strictly lights out. The girls need to be up and ready for breakfast at 7:00 a.m.”

“What if the girls don’t want to get up at seven—what do I do then?”

Nelson smiled at me like an indulgent and patient parent. “This is not America, Zara. The girls will be up, because if they’re not up they will miss breakfast, and if they miss breakfast they will not be allowed lunch. These children have lived through famine and drought; believe me, they will never miss a meal. They will all be up before 7:00 a.m.”

“Okay, anything else I need to know?”

“All girls are strictly forbidden to leave the dorm after lights out. Underage sex and pregnancy is a very big problem in this country, and the boys and girls are not to mix at night. You haven’t met Mr. Kilwha yet, but he is in charge of the boys’ dorm.”

“So what am I meant to teach tomorrow morning?”

“We put all new teachers in charge of the little ones. It tends to be an easier transition. So tomorrow you will have fifty children in your class ranging between the ages of five and ten. The school curriculum is set by the Namibian government and follows a basic format—English, Geography, History, Maths and Science. Each subject is taught for an hour. You will be in the smallest—and dare I say it, the oldest—classroom. Unfortunately, it can get a little warm, so I highly recommend leaving the windows open to allow the breeze to come through. Here are the textbooks you will need for tomorrow. I’ve marked the relevant chapters.”

Nelson handed me a stack of dog-eared, musty-smelling text books. From the look of things, they were at least twenty years old and had been very well thumbed.

Without missing a beat, Nelson continued, “As you can see, the books are not exactly current, but for our purposes they’re quite adequate. There are several copies to be shared among the children, but these are already in the classroom.”

Sighing, I picked up the stack of books. As tempted as I was to reiterate the fact that I was probably going to be the worst teacher ever, I decided there was little point. I’d agreed to stay the month. Half–heartedly, I gave a feeble smile. “Thanks, Nelson; you’ve been a great help.”

He gave a friendly little chuckle. “You have no need to look so worried, Zara; I can already see that you will make a very fine teacher.”

What misplaced confidence! Rather than correcting him, however, I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally. Suddenly I felt very tired and very, very far from home.

Books in hand, I said goodnight to Nelson. On the short walk back to the girls’ dormitory, it occurred to me that I’d forgotten to ask Nelson what became of the last teacher. Tomorrow I’d ask.

Chapter 16

A

s I entered the dormitory in the dim light, I managed to bang my elbow hard on the doorframe. “Shit!” The word was barely out of my mouth before I heard a few sniggers around me. Great! The “big” girls now knew that the new teacher was a clumsy, swearing idiot.