AFRICA

Dusty, dirty, hot, Africa. * (Note:  Hi all. I just want to make sure I clarify this again, up front, as it still seems to be receiving a lot of confusion. I want to make something very clear; I am a South AFRICAN. I am using a stereotype here for the sake of the character. This is a stereotype held by many, many, many foreigners, and it is necessary here for the character and her growth. She is from London, she has bought into the stereotype, and this is important for her journey in the book. I, the author, am in no way hating on MY own HOME. I am using a commonly held stereotype here for the sake of story and character. That's all. Hope you enjoy the book. If you choose to stop reading because of the opening statement, that's also okay. JOX)

I was in Africa and I was standing- alone I might add- on some dusty excuse for a 'landing strip' in the middle of nowhere with nothing but my bags to keep me company.

I glanced down at them and smiled. My best friend, Clayton, had bought them for me before leaving, he'd thought there was a certain humorous irony in going to Africa with genuine zebra skin designer luggage. But despite looking the part, these bags were no more accustomed to their current surroundings as my once white shoes were. No, they were more at home on the smooth tarred loveliness of Oxford Street in London, or the shinny tiled floors of fave shopping haven Selfridges and the polished wooden floors of Bouijous night –club (The place to be seen)

There wasn't a whiff of a cloud in the sky and the sun was beating down so relentlessly that it was causing the flat horizon to ripple and buckle like a dessert mirage. If only there was a real Oasis over that heat haze- preferably one with a poolside bar and Cosmopolitan cocktails on tap, or better yet, cocktails served by hot Sheiks wearing nothing but sarongs and sandals.

I surveyed my surroundings over the rim of my sunglasses; the only bit of shade I could see was that being provided by a small thorny tree standing by the side of the dusty runway. I needed shade; it was hot and I was beginning to sweat, and socialites don't sweat. Especially when there're paparazzi around, there's nothing worse than opening a magazine and seeing your shiny forehead starring back at you. But there were no paparazzi in sight–at least I couldn't see any. I yanked at my heavy bags and began dragging them across the ground.

The small thorny tree barely provided more than a small sliver of dappled shade, but it was better than nothing. I propped my bags up against it and sat. The dry bark was rough against my skin and normally I would have pulled away, but I was physically exhausted, thirstier than I'd ever been before and I welcomed the back support.

This guy better pick me up soon!!

I glanced down at my watch; he was already five minutes late, which was totally unacceptable, especially considering my current location.

Surely, it wasn't safe for me to be sitting here in the middle of Africa- I could be eaten by lions, pecked at by hungry vultures or worse, chocked to death by a giant snake. But on the up- side, if I did meet my untimely, grizzly demise, at least my father would be sorry for shipping me off to this continent- that's if he could pry himself away from his office anyway. Unlikely though. If I did die he'd probably send his PA Priscilla to my funeral. I have a better relationship with her than my own father.

I suddenly felt that all too familiar pain in my stomach. Like a hard punch in the gut that leaves you momentarily breathless. This pain had been my constant and unwelcome companion for the last thirteen years, and it was always accompanied by an even more unwelcome thought...

Things would have been so different if mom was still alive.

I quickly pushed the thought from my consiousness, I had too. Thoughts about her and what my life might have looked like were just too painful-

But hey! Whatever! Life's tough and crappy and you have to get up and move on and drink Champagne to make it more bearable. That's what I constantly tell myself anyway. But over the last couple of years, it felt like this was becoming harder and harder to believe, no matter how many times I told it to myself. 

I looked at my watch again, 7 minutes late! I hate being alone, it always makes me feel so... lonely. So I pulled out my phone and started messaging my BFF Clayton.

Message to Clayton

OMG Clay- I'm in hell. Red, sandy hell. I'm expecting some cloven hooved creature to jump out from behind a rock with a flaming pitchfork. I'm sitting under a thorny tree in the middle of nowhere and my shoes are getting ruined. My dad was totally out of order for sending me here. There must be a law against shipping your only child away? How you babe? Have you hooked up with Jose yet? Keep me posted, I'm so jealous you guys are going to Blake's party tonight. 

XX

I pressed send and waited. But the blasted green progress bar stopped midway. I tapped the phone a few times, but it didn't budge.  I held it up in the air hoping to get better reception, but the stubborn bar wouldn't even move a mini-micro-millimeter. I begged and pleaded with it for a moment, before it pulled me the middle finger as the bright red exclamation mark flew onto screen. 'Unable to send message."

Please don't tell me they don't have cell phone reception in this country?

I took a deep breath, the air actually felt warm as it went into my nose and slid down my throat. It was getting hotter, and more unpleasant by the second. It certainly couldn't get any worse than this---

 "OOOUUUCH", I jumped as I felt a sharp pain in my neck.

And again! But this time the pain was coming from my back, and then my elbow. Back again. Elbow. Arm. Neck. What the hell was going on? I glanced down at my arms and that's when I saw them.

Ants the size of small rats were scurrying up and down my arm. I turned and saw that they had come from the tree; an angry marching line was making their way down the trunk and onto my arm.

I was simultaneously repulsed and terrified. Gripped by panic I jumped around and swatted myself wildly, but they continued their assault on me. There was one in my dress now; a painful nip on my stomach confirmed it. I slapped my stomach, and any other part of my body that was under hostile attack. But to no avail, they were all inside my dress now; I could feel them making a trail of painful bites down my stomach. I grabbed at my dress and pulled it over my head, using it to swat my body, over and over again. I jumped around in my underwear like a woman possessed trying to rid myself of the ugly vermin, until finally I succeeded. I watched as the last one dropped to the floor and twitched its final twitch before going still.

"Die little shit, die!" I stamped my foot down hard, just in case the ants here were like cats with their multiple lives.

I was gasping for air now, my heart was racing from the fright and excursion and I felt faint under the ruthless sun. Even though logically I knew they were gone, I could still feel them crawling on me- my skin was still burning with the psychosomatic bites of a million demonic ants. I hated bugs, or anything that crawled for that matter. Once I'd found a spider in my bathroom and had called an exterminator to get the thing out.

 I finally managed to calm down and catch my breath; the faintness and skin crawling sensations began to dissipate and that's when I noticed something- or rather, someone. In the flurry  of the attack I hadn't realized that a car had pulled up and a man had climbed out. I finally looked up and noted that he was standing only a few feet away and he was looking at me with bewilderment.

He was hot. Definitely eye candy. He looked like one of the men they used to use in old cigarette ads; wild, rough around the edges and with the ability to wrestle a lion. (Lucky thing I was wearing my pink lace Victoria Secret bra and panty set!)

"Are you here to fetch me?" I asked.

"Are you Zara?" His eyes started flicking about and I could see he was trying not to look directly at me. I smiled to myself, there's nothing hotter than a shy guy.

I nodded, "You know you're late by the way. I could have been eaten alive by these..." I pointed to the tree, "What the hell are these anyway?"

The hottie glanced at the tree quickly and then to his shoes, "Army Ants. They're perfectly harmless."

'Harmless! You call this harmless?" I pointed at my stomach which was now covered in little red marks that zigzagged their way across my skin, "And I've just gone for a Firm and Glow Body Wrap."

Camel Man looked up and met my eyes with a decidedly blank expression.

"A what?"

"Never mind babe, they probably don't have them in Africa."

"My name is Riaan van Rensburg....Not babe." The lashing of sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable; of course I totally ignored it.

"Oooh, that's exotic. Riaan van---, Um what was it again?"

"Rensburg. And it's not exotic. It's Afrikaans."

He quickly turned and walked away from me like he had a giant bug up his arse about something. I mentally sighed; this was the story of my life. If men were cocktails, you would never be able to find one that you actually enjoyed drinking. They were either too sweet, or too bitter, too weak or two strong and sometimes you don't want that curly bit of orange peel that they stick into the glass, that pokes you up the nose when you drink it, sometimes you just want a maraschino cherry instead!! 

"Hey, aren't you going to carry my bags?" I called after him, when he started walking away.

He stopped, turned around and looked me up and down- but not in the way that guys usually looked at me. "I was told that you weren't a guest. And I wasn't meant to treat you like one."

"Not a guest?! And I guess that came from my father. Well you can ignore him, he's just hell bent on torturing me at the moment."

He looked at me again with that blank expression which I simply couldn't read. "I suggest you put your dress back on, it's hot at this time of the day. You'll get sunburnt." He started walking away again.

My jaw actually dropped open and I blinked several times as I took in the meaning of his words. That was a first! No guy had ever told me to put my clothes back on. In fact, most of them were in a terrible, clumsy hurry to get them off.

I watched him move further away from me- he was certainly intriguing. A challenge even. But also seriously challenged in the fashion department. He would need a total make-over if he was ever to look presentable by my standards.

He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and matching khaki shirt, definitely not what you'd see on the High Street, or any other street in London for that matter. But I must say, given our current rural surroundings, it did have a certain Sexy-safari-GI-Joe quality to it. His hair was blonde, messy and he had very blue eyes and a lick of stubble across his jaw. He was a far cry from the well-groomed men that prowled the London scene. The guys I usually hung out with were more your 'Champagne and caviar' types, and he was more your 'Cheap six pack of beer and T-bone steak' type.  

But suddenly I was feeling very hungry and the idea of a medium-rare steak was very appealing...Mmmm, maybe this trip wouldn't be too bad after all. 

I took a deep breath, God, the air here was really dry and it made me long for the interior of a comfortable air-conditioned vehi–

"What the hell is that?" I said, pointing at what looked like it had been a car in its previous life.

 "The car," he said as dryly as the air around us.

"Um... but where's the rest of it?"

The contraption in question looked like a decapitated SUV. It was minimalistic, to say the least; no roof, no side panels, no windows and no seats, just some hard- looking steal benches propped up in the back. 

"It's a game viewing vehicle," he said, while 'graciously' helping me lift my bags up into the car.

I climbed in and settled onto the most uncomfortable seat my bottom had ever had the displeasure of sitting on.

"So I  guess aircon is out of the question?" I asked as I felt a bead of sweat dislodge itself from my hairline and trickle down my forehead.

But Riaan didn't respond, he didn't even look back at me, instead he turned on the ignition and drove on.

Message to Clayton:

Hottie alert! The guy that came to fetch me is a total looker! Maybe I'll hook up with him while I'm here. And it would probably piss my father off too. I'll try get a secret photo of him and send it to u.

Kisses Babe

**PLEASE REMEMBER TO DROP ME A COMMENT BELOW, I AM ALWAYS EAGER TO KNOW WHAT EVERYONE THINKS. JO