negated. They had blown each other out in the same way you fight a forest fire with dynamite.
Robert should be dead, but there he was alive, and Porter knew he'd chosen the right student.
1998, Uganda
Anne Marie Godfrey looked out the window of her father’s beat up Range Rover. She watched as the last signs of Kenya shrank in the distance. Geert scrutinized her from the rearview mirror. His skin was brown and leathery from his years spent on the continent. In many ways, his exterior matched his interior. Sitting in the passenger seat, his wife, Mosi squeezed his thigh, so he spoke up.
“It won’t be forever, Anne Marie,” he said in his thick Dutch accent.
When he was young, the company he worked for had sent him to the Congo to build a bridge, and he never went home. He had moved around a lot, mostly through central Africa until finally settling down in Kenya where he met Mosi. Anne Marie was his pride and joy, but sometimes shame was a stronger drive.
“I know,” Anne Marie replied in her typical stoic manner. She kept her eyes on the scenery.
It was hard to read her sometimes, and even harder to comfort her. Geert knew that she would have preferred to stay in Kenya; that was where her friends were. Somewhere in there, she had to be sad, or angry or afraid. Or maybe Geert was projecting his guilt.
“You know I did not like my job,” Geert said to his daughter. “I did a lot of things I regret. Bad things.”
Anne Marie finally looked at him. “What did you do?” She asked.
Geert hesitated to answer, and Mosi filled in for him, “That isn’t important. What is done, is done. Now we make things better.”
“Okay,” Anne Marie said.
“Are you angry with me?” Geert asked. “I understand if you are.”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “But Papa, I still love you.”
The trip through Southern Uganda was long, but not as much as the second leg north. They stopped in Kumi, where her father met up with a man. His name was Martin, and he smiled a lot. With him, he had several cases that they struggled to strap onto the roof of the Range Rover. Anne Marie watched the two men heaving and swearing; Geert in Dutch and Martin in French. When the cases were finally secure, Mosi moved to the back seat with Anne Marie. Martin took the passenger seat and the job as navigator.
“The roads ahead are… carié,” Martin explained. “Dangerous and rough. It will take much longer to travel. But we must be there before sundown.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. Geert pushed the Range Rover through ruts, rocks and mud. It felt as if the bouncing and jarring would rattle the teeth from their skulls. Keeping in her seat and holding on tight became exhausting, and Anne Marie’s eyelids sagged. Her mother wrapped an arm around her, using her body to soften the bumps. Miraculously, Anne Marie faded into sleep.
She woke as Mosi slipped out from under her.
“Are we there?” Anne Marie mumbled half asleep.
“Yes,” Mosi replied. “Now close your eyes, it is late. Your Papa will unpack for you.” She draped a coat over Anne Marie and gently pushed her down across the car seat.
The second time Anne Marie woke, it was dark and getting cold. Her father was standing outside holding the door open.
“Hurry, get your coat,” he said and put out his hand to help her out of the car.
The moon was smothered in clouds. The only light came from the car, and that blinked out when the door shut. Geert held his daughter's hand and led her into the darkness. Someone clicked their tongue softly to indicate their position. They found Martin crouched near some bushes.
“Follow close or you’ll get lost,” Martin said in a hushed voice.
They pushed their way through the shrubs, going deeper and deeper into the abyss, until finally they came to a stop. Anne Marie had a sense that they’d reached a clearing. None of
Robert should be dead, but there he was alive, and Porter knew he'd chosen the right student.
1998, Uganda
Anne Marie Godfrey looked out the window of her father’s beat up Range Rover. She watched as the last signs of Kenya shrank in the distance. Geert scrutinized her from the rearview mirror. His skin was brown and leathery from his years spent on the continent. In many ways, his exterior matched his interior. Sitting in the passenger seat, his wife, Mosi squeezed his thigh, so he spoke up.
“It won’t be forever, Anne Marie,” he said in his thick Dutch accent.
When he was young, the company he worked for had sent him to the Congo to build a bridge, and he never went home. He had moved around a lot, mostly through central Africa until finally settling down in Kenya where he met Mosi. Anne Marie was his pride and joy, but sometimes shame was a stronger drive.
“I know,” Anne Marie replied in her typical stoic manner. She kept her eyes on the scenery.
It was hard to read her sometimes, and even harder to comfort her. Geert knew that she would have preferred to stay in Kenya; that was where her friends were. Somewhere in there, she had to be sad, or angry or afraid. Or maybe Geert was projecting his guilt.
“You know I did not like my job,” Geert said to his daughter. “I did a lot of things I regret. Bad things.”
Anne Marie finally looked at him. “What did you do?” She asked.
Geert hesitated to answer, and Mosi filled in for him, “That isn’t important. What is done, is done. Now we make things better.”
“Okay,” Anne Marie said.
“Are you angry with me?” Geert asked. “I understand if you are.”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “But Papa, I still love you.”
The trip through Southern Uganda was long, but not as much as the second leg north. They stopped in Kumi, where her father met up with a man. His name was Martin, and he smiled a lot. With him, he had several cases that they struggled to strap onto the roof of the Range Rover. Anne Marie watched the two men heaving and swearing; Geert in Dutch and Martin in French. When the cases were finally secure, Mosi moved to the back seat with Anne Marie. Martin took the passenger seat and the job as navigator.
“The roads ahead are… carié,” Martin explained. “Dangerous and rough. It will take much longer to travel. But we must be there before sundown.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. Geert pushed the Range Rover through ruts, rocks and mud. It felt as if the bouncing and jarring would rattle the teeth from their skulls. Keeping in her seat and holding on tight became exhausting, and Anne Marie’s eyelids sagged. Her mother wrapped an arm around her, using her body to soften the bumps. Miraculously, Anne Marie faded into sleep.
She woke as Mosi slipped out from under her.
“Are we there?” Anne Marie mumbled half asleep.
“Yes,” Mosi replied. “Now close your eyes, it is late. Your Papa will unpack for you.” She draped a coat over Anne Marie and gently pushed her down across the car seat.
The second time Anne Marie woke, it was dark and getting cold. Her father was standing outside holding the door open.
“Hurry, get your coat,” he said and put out his hand to help her out of the car.
The moon was smothered in clouds. The only light came from the car, and that blinked out when the door shut. Geert held his daughter's hand and led her into the darkness. Someone clicked their tongue softly to indicate their position. They found Martin crouched near some bushes.
“Follow close or you’ll get lost,” Martin said in a hushed voice.
They pushed their way through the shrubs, going deeper and deeper into the abyss, until finally they came to a stop. Anne Marie had a sense that they’d reached a clearing. None of
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