young man came bounding towards the glass door. It was Tony, tall and handsome in washed-out jeans and a casual shirt. His dark, unruly hair was longer than I remembered and his bright eyes contrasted starkly with his tanned face. Gold-rimmed glasses gave Tony an air of learned sophistication, despite the three-day stubble on his chin and cheeks.
Sadness washed over me. It had been seven weeks since Claire’s disappearance and Tony was the only real link. For a brief moment we clung to each other. It was somehow okay to greet him like an old friend, talk to him as if we had been close forever.
“Hi there sis,” Tony finally said and cleared his throat.
“Hi Tony,” I sniffled and peeled myself away.
He turned to more pragmatic matters. “Come, let me push that for you. How was your flight?” We moved.
“Long. We stopped over in Kinshasa for a couple of hours. Thank goodness I had my walkman with me.” I tried to speak in a normal voice.
“Yep, music can be a lifesaver on a long trip. The car is this way.”
I just followed Tony and the clattering trolley down the near-empty parking lot.
“When we landed in South Africa, I saw so many houses with swimming pools. We waited in Johannesburg for over an hour in the transit area. That was quite boring.” I tried to sound carefree.
I opened the zip of my backpack and pushed the walkman inside, parting with my travel companion for the first time since London. But now I had Tony to talk to.
“Yes well, it’s a different lifestyle here,” he said and stopped behind a dirty, blue Toyota Corolla, fumbling for his car keys.
“You mean people in Botswana also have swimming pools in their gardens?”
“Well of course. Not in a village like Palapye, but there are plenty in Gaborone and Francistown.”
I was duly impressed. Imagine, having your own swimming pool!
Tony tossed my bags into the boot of the Toyota and abandoned the trolley. He opened the car door for me and I gratefully plunked myself on the passenger seat. After a few turns around the parking lot, we pulled into a long, straight road through the savannah. The earth was very red and dotted with pale green shrubs. I was tired, but far too excited to sleep.
“Everything is so dusty here. And look at all this red colour,” I said.
“Oh, that’s because of all the iron oxide in the soil and it hasn’t rained yet. It doesn’t rain here in winter,” Tony pointed out. “Nature explodes when the rains come in late spring, or so I’m told. Should be anytime now.” That was curious. It rained a lot in England, especially in winter.
“And here I thought nature had already exploded.”
“Ha, just wait and see. Close your window or the air conditioning won’t kick in.”
I cranked up the handle. “Are we going through Gaborone?”
“No, Bridget, we’ll drive straight to Palapye.” Tony turned left into what had to be the main road, judging by the three dusty cars that passed us. We travelled east now.
“Oh, why is that?” I had been looking forward to seeing Gaborone, where Claire had lived for all those weeks we had been separated.
“We have to get to Palapye before dark. We can go to Gabs soon. On the weekend, perhaps,” Tony said, turned his head and hooted.
Palapye. It was the name of the rural village where Tony now worked at a vocational training centre - close to the Tuli Block - and closer to Claire. At least it was my hope. The Tuli Block, a remote nature reserve, where the Zimbabwean and South African borders met with Botswana’s.
Claire had been so excited to see the elephants there. Staying in Gaborone without her must have become a pain for Tony. Then there must have been all those questions. Questions he had no answers for. At least not yet.
Tony had brought something to eat and drink, because we would be on the road for some time. I opened the brown paper bag with sandwiches and cans of coke.
“So you’re trying to avoid the traffic then?” I asked, taking a sip of foaming coke.
“No, Gabs isn’t that big. There won’t be much traffic around this time.”
“I see. So, why can’t we drive after dark?” I munched on a cheese and ham sandwich, mildly interested and suddenly feeling very tired.
“Because of the cattle and goats. They tend to lumber into the road at night and sleep on the warm tar. Nights can be quite cool around here,” Tony said.
“Really, cattle and goats?”
“Yep, can be dangerous in the dark, if you travel more than 5 miles per hour,” Tony said patiently. I considered the cattle and goats for a moment.
“It’s only early afternoon. Does it take that long to get to Palapye?”
“No, a couple of hours now, but nightfall is much earlier here. We are closer to the equator, you know.” Really?
“Hmm, I see. What about lions and zebras? Do they also run into the road?” I took a swig from my coke to wash down the crumbs.
“Not around here they don’t,” he laughed. “You’ll find wildlife further up north in the Okavango Delta, in the Tuli Block and so on. This here is more farm country.”
“I see.”
Too much information to take in on my first African day.
Some of the coke spilled onto my jeans, when Tony slowed down for some women with bulging blankets wrapped around them, balancing large bundles on their heads. I wiped myself with a paper tissue that Tony handed me and studied the landscape while there was daylight.
All I saw was reddish sand, bushes and grey gravel on either side of the tarred road. Now and again a dilapidated thatched house. The hills in the distance looked inviting. Dreamy somehow.
I wasn’t used to seeing Africa properly yet or I would have noticed the villages, animals and heaps of Shake-Shake cartons next to the road. Shake-Shake was Botswana’s most popular beverage: thick, sour sorghum beer. More food than drink.
Then I began to see wooden poles and wires whizzing past. And fences.
“Why are there are so many fences all along the road?” I asked and yawned.
“That’s to keep the farm animals away from the road,” Tony said. I was confused.
“Didn’t you say they run into the road anyway?”
“The cowherds don’t always keep the gates closed, so it’s better to be on the safe side,” he said. “Friend of mine got into trouble a couple of weeks ago. He hit a cow and had to pay an arm and a leg for it. His car was scrap as well, but he only had a scratch on his forehead.”
“Oh, that’s ... awful.”
“Yes, it is,” Tony agreed and swerved around a pothole.
I couldn’t help wondering how an accident like that would have made the headlines in Cambridge. ‘Young Teacher Hits Cow in Road with Golf GTI. Car and Cow Both Deceased. Farmer Demands Spot Fine from Injured Driver.’
“We are passing through Mochudi. Over there by the hill is a small clinic run by a German doctor, Dr. Ritter.”
Mochudi. I flinched. This was the place where Claire’s car had been found abandoned in a field. Would Tony stop to show me the spot? But he didn’t.
As we headed further east, Tony pointed to a hill with a white building to the right. Dr. Ritter had been in the country with his wife and five children for over ten years. His small but well-equipped hospital was preferable to bigger ones in the cities.
“You looked for Claire in that clinic, of course.” I already knew the answer.