The Garden of Burning Sand by Corban Addison Page A

given by the Kabwata police was on Chilimbulu Road, not far from East Point—a trendy discotheque known for turning up-and-coming Zambian bands into sensations. They parked outside a multi-story complex of flats and Joseph led Zoe to a ground-floor apartment. The door was slightly ajar, giving them a glimpse of the living area. A man about Zoe’s age was lounging on a couch watching television, while two girls—one adolescent, one younger—and a woman in
chitenge
tended the stove in the kitchen. The air was thick with the aroma of cooking vegetables and
nshima
—Zambian maize.
    The man came to the door when Joseph knocked. He glanced at Joseph and looked at Zoe. She put her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans and stared back at him.
    “I’m Officer Kabuta,” Joseph said in English. “I’m looking for Priscilla Kuwema.”
    “What do you want?” the man asked in a thick Bemba accent.
    “I need to speak with her,” Joseph replied.
    “And the
muzungu
?”
    “She’s with me.”
    The man shrugged and called out to the woman before returning to the couch. The woman frowned and said something to the girls. Then she walked to the door, her face a mask.
    “Are you Priscilla Kuwema?” Joseph asked.
    The woman nodded slowly.
    “You filed a missing-person report at the Kabwata Police Post?”
    “Yes.”
    Joseph took out his camera and displayed the image of the girl. Thewoman stared at the photo, then turned her gaze to the floor. “Where is she?” she asked, looking ashamed.
    “In a safe place.”
    “What happened to her?”
    “Some people found her in Kanyama two nights ago.”
    The woman glanced at the man on the couch.
    “Your husband?” Joseph asked.
    “No, no,” she said, flustered. “My husband is in Kitwe. He works the mines.”
    Joseph raised his eyebrows. “I need to ask you some questions. Can we sit down?”
    The woman hesitated before nodding. She exchanged a few words with the man, her tone apologetic. The man reacted angrily, delivering her a sharp-tongued rebuke. The woman hung her head, and her reply sounded to Zoe like a plea. The man glared at her and stomped out of the apartment, bumping Zoe’s shoulder.
    “I’m sorry.” The woman looked shaken. “He’s my … cousin. He thinks he lives here.”
    She took a deep breath and gestured toward the couch, offering them water or beer.
    “A Mosi would be nice,” Joseph said. “I’ll try to be brief.”
    “Water,” Zoe said when the woman looked at her.
    A minute later, she returned with a beer and a bottle of water, both chilled. She sat on the couch, folded her hands in her lap, and began to speak.
    “I walked with my … cousin to the market. Bright, my eldest, has a boyfriend who lives in the building. He was here with her. Gift, my youngest, was also here. Kuyeya—that is her name, this girl—was in the back room. Bright says she and her boyfriend were only gone a minute. I don’t know if I believe them. They disappear sometimes.Gift told me she went down the street to play. I don’t know why she didn’t take Kuyeya. She usually does.” The woman shrugged. “The door was open when I came home. Kuyeya must have left.”
    “What time was that?” Joseph asked.
    “About nineteen hundred hours. It was after dinner.”
    “And after dark,” Zoe clarified, scanning the apartment with her eyes. Beyond the living room and kitchen, she saw a hallway with three doors, all closed.
    The woman nodded. “None of the neighbors saw her.”
    “Why does Kuyeya live with you?” Zoe asked.
    The woman looked away. “Her mother died two years ago. She has no other family.”
    Zoe traded a glance with Joseph, concealing her frustration. “Where is her father?”
    The woman shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “Kuyeya has light skin.”
    “So did Bella—Kuyeya’s mother.”
    “How did Bella die?” Zoe inquired.
    The woman fidgeted with her hands. “
Va banthu
. The illness came and never went away. I don’t know.” She glanced toward