 
### The Law of Diminishing returns

### Published by Violet Augusta at Smashwords

### Copyright 2015 Violet Augusta

### ***

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

### This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only*. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

### *If the author did not charge a fee for downloading this book, please share it and encourage your friends to download their own copy. Thank you for respecting these rules.

### Chapter One

God, it was a beautiful day. The sun was streaming through the car window, washing over Meg's skin, filling every pore with memories of so many good things that had happened in her life. She was thoroughly enjoying the experience. In fact, Meg was so overwhelmed with the nostalgia of childhood summers spent barefoot in the sun that she nearly ran through the light that had changed from yellow to red. Fortunately, twenty-three years of driving had programmed a sort of automotive muscle memory into her system so that she no longer needed all aspects of her brain to function while she drove, not while she was _alone_ in the car anyway. The way she drove when she was by herself was her secret holdout from the recklessness of youth, a time when fear was reserved for such mundane matters as wearing the right thing or dating the right boy.

When the children were with her, it was a different story. Like most parents, she imagined that she held the future of three individuals with the potential to change the world in her hands. With the menu of news and reality programming available twenty-four/seven/three-sixty-five, one could not help but ingest at least a few of the heart-wrenching stories of mothers or fathers responsible for their own children's accidental deaths. Just to reinforce the point, the minister at church on Sunday had talked about a ten and one half month old child who had drowned in his own bathtub. At first Meg had wondered at the way he had chosen to describe the age of the baby. Why ten and one half months and not simply ten months or less than a year? But after further consideration, she realized how incredibly valuable each day of that baby's life became when it ended. To the family involved, ten and one half months was probably too general a reference to the time they'd had to spend with their child. Three hundred and fifteen days, four hours and thirty-five minutes might be a more appropriate measure for their hearts and minds.

Meg had spent the rest of the service trying to get her mind around what must have been the parent's overwhelming guilt, because someone – certainly not the child- must have been to blame. Everyone would pay emotionally, but when it came right down to it, one of the parents would have to bear the burden of this life-changing, life-ending event. Knowing that her husband would never forgive her were they ever to be in the same situation, she vowed never to be that person if she could help it. The critical component of that vow, however, was, _if she could help it_. What if she couldn't? What if the blessings and good fortune that had befallen her since the day she was born ran dry? What if good karma was not an eternal spring, but a bucket from which she had ladled her last sip? Meg thought about these things a lot. At the moment, however, she refocused, waving apologetically at the driver in front of her for whom she had left very little room to turn.

In a few minutes, she pulled into the carpool line in her usual position, not too early so the kids would have a few minutes to socialize, and not too late so they could make the drive across town in time for Jenny's riding lesson. Putting the car in park, she took out a granola bar for Sam and cheese and crackers for Jenny, as well as juice boxes for both before picking up remnants of yesterday's activities, Sam's soccer cleats, wrappers from their snacks, and even a very nasty looking Sippy cup her two-year old, Emma, had wedged between the seats. With a quick toss, she relocated them to the back of the Suburban. The congealed clots inside Emma's cup convinced her that this one was heading directly for the trashcan when they got home... the second one she'd had to get rid of this week.

Meg had often watched other parents doing the same thing, organizing for optimum capacity and cleaning to avoid the smelly, sticky mess that otherwise ensued. How did other families get by without the benefit of a large, gas-guzzling beast of a car to serve as suitcase and dining hall in addition to transportation she wondered? Betsy McGill caught her eye. She was taking drinks out of a small cooler that was plugged into the cigarette lighter in her van. Meg made a mental note to look into buying one too so that her children's drinks would be icy cold rather than the tepid temperature they achieved after her thirty minute drive from home to school.

When the final bell sounded, children began to trickle and then stream out of the lower school doors. The Jameswell Country Day School was comprised of three distinct schools to accommodate students at all stages, from pre-kindergartners to high school seniors. There were also ample facilities for sports, arts, technology and specialized academics. If someone could dream up a new "need" for the school, there was a parent ready and willing to donate their financial resources for the small, yet seemingly invaluable reward of having their name emblazoned on the structure for all to see and appreciate.

Meg waited in the Jones Memorial Lower School Foyer for her two oldest children. Jenny was the first to arrive with her throng of friends and followers. A six-year-old with unsurpassed charm and charisma, she broke into a wide grin when she saw her mother, brushing past a second grader trying to compliment her on some thing or another, running directly to where her mother stood. Jenny threw her arms around Meg who eagerly hugged back, proudly taking her daughter's hand as they weaved through the crowd to locate Sam.

Together they found him hunkered down against the hallway wall with two boys discussing chess strategy over an almost empty board. Jenny greeted her brother brightly, but Sam, who was advising one of his friends, clearly to the chagrin of the other, ignored her, complaining instead to his mother, "Why did you have to come so early Mom?" After some cajoling, Meg dragged Sam off and the three of them made it back to the vehicle just as the carpool police were about to start reprimanding the parents who took too long to gather up their children. While waiting for the first line of cars to pull out, Meg could see in the rearview mirror Sam's brow furrow as other student's waved madly and shouted their greetings to Jenny as they passed. Even the teachers seemed genuinely sad to see the girl go for the day.

Meg tried to remember how many compliments she had received regarding her oldest daughter in the past week alone. There were the usual feedback mechanisms - the parent-teacher conference, the piano lesson, the riding lesson, the dance lesson, all of which elicited the same comments: "excellent", "unbelievable", "fantastic". Then there were the compliments from other parents - "Her eyes are amazing", "She's a natural born leader", "Is she always this good?" Even random strangers seemed compelled to let Meg know how beautiful and special her daughter was, as if they could sense the brightness that burned inside her. They were right, of course. Jenny was special, excelling at everything she attempted, bright, athletic, coordinated, with a unique ability to communicate with both children and adults. One of Meg's favorite voyeuristic pleasures was to watch Jenny converse with an adult, to see the amazement that inevitably found its way to their face as it dawned on them that they were, indeed, speaking with a child.

Sam was a treasure in his own right, but noticeably different from Jenny in most ways other than looks. She was bright, but Sam was quite possibly brilliant. Young relative to his peers, he surpassed the other students in his third grade class in almost every subject. And although he was well liked, he seemed to have more of his mother's social sensitivities, able to interact perfectly well with a group of boys, but preferring the comfort and camaraderie of a select few. Girls were still out of the question, of course, particularly his sister, Jenny. The only females with whom Sam chose to have anything to do with were his little sister Emma, and his mother... sometimes. Meg missed the days when Sam would light up at the sight of her. These days, he was stingy with his public displays of affection, allowing his mother to shower him with hugs and kisses only in the sanctity of his room as she tucked him in for the night. She clung to the last vestiges of motherhood ritual, when Sam allowed Meg to sit on the bed, stroke his hair, and sing to her son before he drifted off to sleep.

After a twenty-minute drive across town, Meg turned right onto the long gravel road that led to the Princeton Riding Academy. She wasn't exactly sure why they had enrolled Jenny in the first place, but at his point, they were well entrenched in the riding lifestyle. As soon as Meg turned off the engine, Jenny cast off her clothes, changed into her riding britches, and pulled on her boots by stamping on the floor and pressing her feet against her brother's seat as she struggled to get them on, eliciting the all-too-familiar response of, "Jenny! Stop kicking my seat!" Shrugging, she slid carelessly across him in order to throw open the door, and run to the barn.

"Bye, Jenny," Meg called as the girl disappeared with a single backward glance. "Have a good time and remember to keep your heels down!"

Sam used to take lessons at the academy as well until he decided, after only five sessions, that he'd learned all there was to learn, a theme that would repeat itself throughout his childhood, from guitar lessons to computer programming class. Meg was not a _tiger mom_. If her children did not enjoy the activity, that was the end of it, it was all about exposure, not longevity or perfection. She knew from experience that the drive for perfection comes from within.

Sam and Meg followed Jenny into the stable after gathering up the things they had brought to entertain themselves during the one-hour lesson. For Sam, it was a backpack stuffed with homework and books, and for Meg her mobile phone and some cross-stitching. While Sam threw himself down on a bench in the viewing area and carefully extracted his homework, Meg greeted the other, mothers in the room including Ann Miller who was there with three of her six children. Even after almost a year of this routine Meg couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as she pulled out her cross-stitching and quietly worked while Ann spent the hour chasing after and tending to the needs of her children. It was the same at all of the children's activities; inevitably someone would strike up a conversation with Meg and learn that she in fact had three children. The inquirer would look surprised and ask where, then, was the missing child to which Meg always explained that Emma was at home with her nanny having her afternoon nap, which seemed reasonable enough. It was also, of course, easier for her not to have to chase Emma away from the horses or keep her from scooping up the manure-filled sawdust as if it were sand. In most cases, the follow up question was, "Oh, what do you do?" for what mother would have a nanny unless she worked? Truth was, Meg didn't really _need_ a nanny at the moment; it was just a service, like many other things in her life, to which she had become accustomed As for what she did, Meg would explain her current role as a second career law student as minimally as she could, most times leaving out any description of the subject or degree title, just as she would often refer to her nanny as a _babysitter_ to make it sound less pretentious.

This afternoon, Meg and Ann discussed the upcoming horse show and details of their roles in providing refreshments for the event. Juice and paper products were the easy way out, but Meg usually took them unless she was feeling particularly domestic. It was a benefit of signing up early. The last parent to sign up usually got stuck with the most labor-intensive item, like fruit salad perhaps. Sam interrupted their conversation to ask to borrow his mother's phone to play an electronic game. Meg agreed with some hesitation as she thought of all of the electronic products that Sam owned and never used simply because they were out of sight and consequently out of mind. The upside was that it gave her the opportunity to check Sam's homework briefly while he concentrated on the game. She had learned not to correct or point out any errors herself since Sam preferred to have his mistakes identified by his teacher, _not_ his mother, but she was still responsible for acknowledging whether or not he had completed his assignment, all of which seemed reasonable to Meg. She disagreed with the mothers who had their children erase and re-do their homework, because, Meg felt, it interfered with their ability to learn from their mistakes. Besides, Sam did not really make mistakes.

With the hour drawing to a close, Meg gathered up her belongings and went to the barn door to collect Jenny, acknowledging the compliments from Jenny's coach about her "fantastic" performance during the lesson with a gentle smile as she took her child's hand and walked towards the car. Sam followed, backpack in one hand, cell phone in the other. Meg had only five hours left in the day to prepare for her big trip tomorrow and there was still much to be done.

The drive home was used to review Sam and Jenny's to-do list for the evening including homework and chores, neither of which took much time for either child since most of the chores were assigned to the nanny, Chloe, who had been with the Stanley family since shortly after Jenny was born. Meg had learned to value the many outstanding contributions the girl had made in their lives while humoring some of the other less notable "attempts". Besides, she did not want her children to be spoiled...that would never do.

Once they arrived home, Jenny threw her riding boots and related paraphernalia in a pile in the mudroom, nearly tripping Sam who was trying to read and walk at the same time.

"I thought I heard the troops," Chloe said brightly, helping Meg with the armload she had carried from the car. "Emma's still napping, although I expect that the commotion those two are making will wake her up."

"Kids, go downstairs if you want to watch television while Emma is sleeping," Meg said, knowing that Chloe was right.

"But Mom, Emma's not sleeping!" countered Sam, and sure enough, looking up, Meg saw Emma groggily sitting on the carpet at the upper staircase landing, blanket in hand.

Meg emptied her arms on the kitchen table and hopped up the stairs two at a time to greet her baby.

"Hello, Emma!" she cried. "Did you have a nice sleep? Mommy thought about you all afternoon. Give me a big hug".

As Emma leaned into her mother's outstretched arms, Meg drank in the warmth of the little girl's skin as she squeezed her daughter tightly and looked down the stairs to see Sam and Jenny sinking in to the sofa to unwind after finally agreeing on a show to watch. Other than her impending and dreaded law school final exams, life was good.

### Chapter Two

Ten thousand miles away in the West African nation of Cote d'Ivoire, or Ivory Coast as it is known to the non-French speaking world, the day was not quite so beautiful, the rainy season having come early. The torrential downpours typically arrived in May like an uninvited guest, staying through October when the sun finally pushed them away for its chance to bake and scorch the earth once again. It was only April.

Vatusia awoke this morning to the sound of rain, _again_. Lying on her mat, eyes still closed, she visualized the path of each droplet as it hit the roof, pooling at one of the gaps created in the metal by time and the elements, waiting its turn to squeeze through and plummet to the puddle in her hut below. She had already done her best to mend the failing roof with materials she'd found during the dry months, but her financial and physical resources did not provide for purchasing and installing the corrugated metal that would keep her and her boy dry.

Opening her eyes, she sat up to see for herself, pondering several options that might remedy the situation until she could find a more permanent solution. It had long been her way to identify a problem and then find a way to fix it. Without a husband or extended family, she had never relied on anyone but herself. Although there were many things Vatusia was not able to do, when it came to her son, she usually managed to find a way because she had to. Anjani was special, and today he would be sixteen years old, more than a man by local standards.

Vatusia rose quickly, motivated by the many tasks she had yet to accomplish before the celebration she had planned for Anjani's birthday this evening, hastily undressing and wiping herself with a cloth to remove the layer of moisture and sweat that blanketed her body each night. Staying dry was a constant battle for most people here, but for Vatusia the situation was compounded by her porous roof and the dense foliage surrounding her hut. Most people chose to live in the village, where much of the jungle had been cleared, but Vatusia was willing to trade the additional humidity and inconvenience of her location for the privacy it afforded. At her home she felt secluded, which in turn, allowed her to feel safe.

Vatusia selected her orange dress, the color enhancing her smooth brown skin and reflecting in her deep brown eyes, knowing that she would need to change into another one of her six dresses when she returned from her errands. There had never been a rainy day when she had not returned home at least partially covered in mud, a situation that she accepted as just another part of her routine. Many women in her area wore pants and skirts in addition to the more traditional tunic dress, but Vatusia preferred dresses.

Vatusia's hairstyle also differentiated her from most women in her village who kept their hair short. In contrast, she had let hers grow long, twisting it up into a bun when she worked at home alone, but always letting it down to fall loosely over the scars on her face when others were around. Even her son had never really seen his mother with her hair up and out of her face. Her grooming habits, among other things, had led the people in her village to speculate and whisper behind her back, but if it kept them away from her that was fine with Vatusia, finding the silver lining in most any cloud. She was not what one might consider a "cheery" optimist, but in her heart Vatusia believed that things would always work out... eventually.

That morning the wet weather allowed Vatusia to collect fresh rainwater for her breakfast rather than having to make a trip to the well. Crushing some cocoa beans with a pestle, and adding water, she stirred the mixture to make her morning cocoa. Coffee, being the dominant crop, was another option, but she had never liked it cold and, although most villagers had electricity as part of a recent local public works program, her hut was too remote to benefit from those services. Now, combining rice and banana to make a thick cereal, Vatusia ate her meal alone, enjoying the peace of the morning, the usual cacophony of bird calls and coos having been quieted by the rain. When she was finished, she washed out her bowl and cup with soap and a straw sponge, wiped them dry and returned them to the single shelf that ran the length of the left interior hut wall. Clean up was always immediate as anything left dirty or moist could invite disaster into one's home in the form of local pests, particularly the West African ants, which loved to dine upon any remaining morsel of food, rotting wood, or even mold particles.

With only a single room to attend to, it did not take Vatusia long to finish her morning chores, which she completed by wrapping a new shirt she had woven especially for Anjani in a piece of colorful fabric she had saved for the occasion. After securing it with a length of twine, she gathered her satchel containing food and water and set out on the northern trail, bound for the Christian missionary school near Korhogo where she would meet her son.

The path was well worn, undulating over the hilly terrain. Most times Vatusia could see only the rain forest around her, but recent "harvesting" of the forest provided several spots where, as she reached the peak, she could look out over the land. If her soul had allowed her to bear a grudge, she would have hated the forest, but it did not. There had been several times in her life, during the deepest moments of despair, when she let her mind wander past the farthest point in the tree line, an area where she had never been. She had heard of the big cities and modern amenities that lay beyond, but wasn't sure if the images those descriptions conjured were real or imagined.

Like many locals, the Christian missionary complex, more commonly called the Baptist Center, had been Vatusia's first exposure to any lifestyle outside of her village. The history of the area was vague, as little about the Cote d'Ivoire had been written or passed down orally. Only later in life had she learned of the significant role foreigners played in her country's history for many centuries, including the fact that the first documented accounts of the Ivory Coast had been made by outsiders in 1637 when France made its initial contact through missionaries. Early religious endeavors were limited because of the inhospitable coastline and the settlers' fear of both the culture and the inhabitants, but a series of invasions and occupations led the country to its status as a French protectorate and later, a French colony, allowing missionary efforts to expand. That was when the original structures of the current complex had been erected.

It had not been an easy life for the early missionaries in her area. Although more and more explorers, trading companies, and soldiers gradually extended French control inland, towards Korhogo, acceptance of outsiders, or as the French termed it, "pacification," was not accomplished until 1915, nearly three hundred years after initial attempts. Vatusia's homeland was never known for its political stability or human rights. She understood all too well how the first missionaries might have shuttered at the brutality inherent in the customs and traditions of her ancestors, dispensing their of form of justice as though they had been chosen by God to carry out his will.

Today however, she was determined not to let the past, recent or distant, interfere with the joy of seeing her son. Vatusia climbed the last few steps to where the path ascended a small ravine, pushing her way through the foliage into the clearing, finally in sight of her destination. Carefully drawing the inside fabric of the bottom of her dress up to wipe the sweat from her face and neck, and congratulating herself for the minimal mud spatter, Vatusia hesitated for a moment at the perimeter of the complex, uncertain about Anjani's location at this time of day. She did not keep track of time precisely, but knowing that it was not quite noon, she decided to stop at the office to find the director and pastor, Ernest, or his wife Jeannie.

The Baptist Center was comprised of several small buildings anchored in the middle by a simple chapel seating fifty when filled to capacity. All of the floors were dirt except for the missionary's home, which was elevated to keep floodwater from reaching the personal possessions and luxuries that had been transported from their home in the United States over the years. They would, Vatusia hoped as she headed toward the house, be able to locate Anjani for her quickly. It had been two weeks since her last visit, two weeks of being unable to express the love and affection she desperately needed to share with her son... her reason for living. After knocking several times, despite her natural impulse not to intrude in the lives of others, the door opened abruptly. A short old woman named Beti greeted Vatusia, her brow dripping with sweat, she wiped her forehead with the crook of her arm as she smiled in recognition. A long-time employee hired by the Templetons to cook and clean, Vatusia knew Beti to be a good and decent woman and while she had not supported Vatusia during her darkest times, neither had she opposed her. Most importantly, Beti had been a good friend to Anjani in her absence, whether out of guilt or fondness, she did not know nor did she care.

Beti told Vatusia about the special trip that Jeannie had arranged for Anjani to the village. They had set out early, she said, and would therefore return very soon, knowing that his mother would be arriving around lunchtime. Directing Vatusia to the small building next to the chapel where she could wait inside and enjoy the coolness of a fan, Beti said, "You look like you could use a drink of water, girl." Ashamed of the way she must look after her long walk, Vatusia unconsciously checked her hair to make sure that it covered the sides of her face.

"I'm all right, Beti," she said as she started toward the office. "Just happy to see my boy is all."

Next door, Vatusia found Ernest sitting at a desk, working at his prize possession, his computer, which had somehow survived all the disasters that had befallen the center since the Templetons had arrived. She didn't really understand it, but knew that it was how Ernest and Jeannie were able to communicate with their own people in the United States. Vatusia had never thought much about the couple and their life before Africa but wondered now, as she entered the room why she couldn't show more love towards the people who rescued Anjani from the life he would have had with her alone. She knew that she should love them and that she probably did, but could not will herself to show them... not now anyway.

Ernest was not a stranger to life in West Africa. The son of missionaries, Ernest had spent his childhood in several of the sixteen nations that made up the region, first among the towering peaks of the Guinea Highlands in the northwest where the locals scraped a living from the forests and the granite, schist, and quartzite which could be harvested from the ground, and next, in Liberia, where the Cavally River often evaporated in the dry season, wreaking havoc during the wet season as torrential rains flooded its banks, and finally in Mali with the Dogon people.

The Dogon had made the biggest impression on Ernest's young life. The physical beauty of the cliffs of Bandiagara near Timbuktu, with Dogon villages tottering precariously on the sides of the escarpment were one thing, but the villagers' ability to make a life out of the scarce resources available to them was the most direct and dramatic influence that strengthened his bond with West Africa. Unfortunately, when he was seven, his mother's illness had forced them to relocate in the United States to be close to extended family, friends, and the medical attention that she required. As Ernest's mother suffered through her six-year battle with cancer, Ernest adapted to his new environment in Oregon with ease, his understanding of and appreciation for life and the opportunities afforded, deepening.

After his mother's death, Ernest met his future wife, who was, at that time, serving as a volunteer grief counselor at the university. Jeannie had helped Ernest free himself from the notion that he had abandoned his mother during her greatest time of need by going off to college. Their relationship grew into love with plans for marriage following graduation, Jeannie understanding that, at some point, Ernest would follow his parent's calling to share their faith with those in other countries. The Vietnam War intervened briefly in their lives, but after two years of harrowing, yet injury-free service, Ernest returned home to continue his study of theology and marry the love of his life. Based on Ernest's history in West Africa, it was no surprise to the couple when they received their first assignment there. The Ivory Coast would be Ernest and Jeannie Templeton's new home.

_Educate the local congregation to better their understanding of the Christian faith,_ was their mission, one that was complicated by the reality of life in Korhogo. Throughout his childhood in West Africa, Ernest could not remember witnessing such a primitive level of existence. The shocking depth of human need cried out for immediate attention, for more than education alone. Ernest wondered if he had not seen it before because, in those days, he had worn the rose colored lenses of youth, or because social justice, health and human welfare had sunk to new lows as he was growing up in the United States? Either way, it was upon their faith that the Templetons based their decision to alter the mission and the services they provided --Vatusia and Anjani had been the catalyst.

The mother and son's situation had broken Jeannie's heart when she first met them seven years ago. Jeannie had made a special trip back to the U.S. to ask for private donations as well as approval from the church to change some of the policies for the Christian education program back at the center in order to accommodate Anjani, who had started attending the school that same year at nine years of age. Later, he would become the first and only full-time boarder at the school and serve as the impetus for more frequent visits from healthcare providers who agreed to come at the Templeton's request.

One might have thought the positive impact of having more regular medical attention, not just for Anjani, but anyone else in the congregation who might need it would have swayed public sentiment toward the mother and son, but it had not. The village had not been happy with the shift from church and part-time educational facility to boarding school, primarily because the center was not designed to accommodate village children on a full-time basis, the government providing a local school for that purpose. Many villagers felt jealousy towards Anjani, as their children were not invited to be schooled at the center but the "sick" boy was. The congregation of the Templeton's church, a subset of villagers, learned to deal with Anjani by simply ignoring the fact that he was there, and while it went against their teachings of love and acceptance, Jeannie and Ernest were forced to accept the congregation's attitude in turn.

Now that she'd located him, Vatusia cleared her throat. Ernest turned in his chair, shot a glance at the doorway, and rose as he identified the visitor, his hand, from habit, already on his holster.

"It's so wonderful to see you, Vatusia!" he exclaimed, his voice bright and his rigid stance softening. "It's been too long. I know that Anjani must be jumping out of his skin to see you! Please come in and sit down."

Vatusia moved towards a bench that a carpenter in the village had made for the Templetons after the last time the complex had been pillaged. She recognized his craftwork by the markings he had carved on the bench legs, which included a blessing that meant, "May all who sit here enjoy long life". "How was your journey?" Earnest asked, retaking his seat. "Not too wet yet this morning compared to the past few days, was it?"

"It was all right," she assured him, sitting stiffly on the bench. "I just want to see Anjani. Beti says that he is in the village. I hope nothing has happened. Did he forget I was coming?" she added, the hurt in her voice betraying her unemotional facade.

"Quite the contrary" said Ernest cheerily, countering her gravity. "He's spoken of nothing else for the last week, ever since we told him you were coming on his birthday and taking him home for a special celebration. Jeannie took Anjani into the village at his request. I guess he wanted to make one last tour of Korhogo before he lea..."

Ernest's voice trailed off as he realized his mistake. Speaking of Anjani's impending move to the United States was probably more than Vatusia could handle right now, although he rarely saw any evidence of emotion below her tough but pleasant exterior. Breaking through her façade, to expose her true feelings, was not something Ernest wanted to do today. That would be a mission for another day, once Anjani was gone.

Thankfully, the full impact of his words did not seem to sink in before the office door swung open and Anjani rushed in, crying, "Maman!"

The moment was a perfect reflection of the scene Vatusia had created and replayed over and over in her mind's eye. She felt Anjani's strength as his cheek met hers and his arms enveloped her in a hug, smelling the detergent in his shirt as she nestled her face in his shoulder, no longer needing to bend down to embrace him. He was a grown boy, a young man, even taller than she now. With dismay, Vatusia realized that she was already thinking of their goodbye, even as she was greeting him. She warned herself not to ruin their day. With a wide grin she cupped Anjani's chin with her hand, extending her arm to inspect him fully.

"Boy, you have grown even more!" she told him, adding with mock distain, "What do you think you are doing getting taller than your maman? I won't have it!"

"I am the same as the last time you saw me!" countered Anjani with an accent mirroring the cut and dry English of the Templetons but with a slight French lilt, as he shook hands with Ernest.

Ernest and Jeannie had been working diligently the past several weeks to prepare Anjani for his upcoming sojourn to the United States, apprising him of local customs and traditions that were not necessarily followed in the village or the mission such as looking the person you were greeting directly in the eye, something that might show disrespect in the village depending upon the status of the person to whom one spoke.

Anjani was learning well, just as he had since his first day nine years ago. Back then, not only would none of the villagers look Anjani in the eye, but were horrified to learn that their children were to sit in the same classroom together. Jeannie had finessed the situation by creating a special section in the classroom for the boy. In fact, the cordoned off area did nothing to prevent Anjani from interacting with the other children, but it _was_ a physical separation that provided the parents some degree of comfort.

Comfort was rarely in Vatusia's repertoire of feelings. While she understood the need to provide her child with educational opportunities, every time she said goodbye to Anjani after making the twenty-four-mile walk from their home together, she felt uneasy. "Anjani suffers from mental illness" were the words used by Dr. Francois so many years ago. She did not like the word "schizophrenia" but it was better than being "possessed by demons," which was how the villagers characterized him.

Now Vatusia smiled at her son and said, "No son, you _have_ grown. But now we must go if we are to have enough time to get you back tomorrow for your long trip to the United States".

"Let me find Jeannie to say goodbye" Anjani replied.

"Goodbyes are for tomorrow, but yes, let's find Jeannie," the mother replied.

Together they encountered Jeannie as she emerged from the structure that served as the infirmary, an often-used facility at the center. After greeting Vatusia, she handed Anjani a large manila envelope, which he carefully opened, checking each baggie inside to make sure they contained the correct pills. It was confusing to him when the supplier of the medication changed, as the size, shape and color of the pill would often change as well. As a result, in order to avoid mistakes, he made a habit of carefully inspecting each pill and label any time he administered his own medication while away from the facility. The transaction did not bother Anjani or Jeannie at all, but Vatusia could not help but feel embarrassed and guilty all over again for passing this disease to her child. Smoothing the creases in her bright orange tunic, she kicked the dirt self-consciously.

"See you tomorrow, Jeannie" Anjani said as he embraced her. And then, turning, took his mother's hand, and walked away toward the path home.

After waving goodbye, Jeannie stood for a moment, letting her gaze track the mother and son until they disappeared into the jungle, before hurrying into the office to discuss important matters about Anjani's trip with Ernest. During their trip to the market in Korhogo, Jeannie had heard unsettling news of increased rebel activity in the area. Jeannie and Ernest were no strangers to the tenuous nature of their existence as missionaries and they had also been on the short end of the bad-timing stick before. Even their arrival in the Ivory Coast had been fraught with delays and governmental red tape. Fearing the same for Anjani and his departure, Ernest had used the relationships he had built during his life in West Africa to locate a connection in Abidjan who was to smooth the way.

Unfortunately, the news that Jeannie brought meant a potential shake-up in personnel. Ernest clicked on the radio and tuned in to the BBC News. West Africa was not always the subject of reporting, not for lack of news, since there was _always_ news of unrest, but because reporters were often detained by rebels or even police and, as a consequence, accurate reports were hard to come by. After half-heartedly listening to forty minutes of other news, their full attention was garnered with the following report: "And now a shocking new report from the Ibrahima Doumbia of the Ivorian Movement for Human Rights (MIDH) who say that there have been numerous executions, arrests and disappearances in the main city, Abidjan, and other government-controlled areas in the south since a military uprising shortly before dawn yesterday." There was not much detail other than the chilling report that, in addition to attacks on foreigners in Abidjan, mobs had forced many West African nationals to flee their homes. Ernest rolled his eyes in disgust. It was times like these when he questioned the benevolence of mankind. Joining hands, the couple said a short prayer for their friends and contacts in Abidjan, after which Ernest settled in for a long night of e-mail communications to check on the extent of the uprising, the status of their plans and the likelihood of a successful extraction of Anjani to the United States.

Meanwhile, Anjani and Vatusia picked up their pace in order to reach home before nightfall, oblivious to the unfolding events that threatened their plans. Anjani gently released the grip on his mother's hand in order to lead the way and navigate the path as it narrowed. Unsnapping the sheath on his belt, he removed his knife and began purposefully swiping left and right to clear the vines that draped and strangled the trees lining their way, although, in his mind's eye, he could see the foliage twisting and surging all around him, daring him to stop so that it could take hold of his feet and viciously overcome his body until he was pulled down into the forest floor and made one with the jungle. Fortunately, the combination of medications he had recently ingested and the psycho-education he had received from the mission's visiting psychiatrist since his diagnosis had taught Anjani how to keep the visions at bay as he trudged on, one foot in front of the other.

To the casual observer, Anjani was a bright, attractive, unassuming teenage boy with excellent manners who approached challenges with confidence. However his mother, able as she was to sense the energy required to battle his demons on a daily basis, was always beset with guilt, knowing that there was nothing she could do to help him personally. Life, thanks to his genetic heritage, was a battle he must fight alone, over and over again.

"Maman", Anjani said, looking back at his mother as he wiped the sweat from his face with the crook of his elbow. "Jeannie thinks that her cousin in North Carolina can help me with my university applications when the time comes. She said that she used to teach at a place that specializes in educating people about health and the mind".

"Ha!" Vatusia snorted. "You can teach people about the mind better than they can teach you I think!" But then, realizing that Anjani did not deserve to witness any of her bitter feelings about losing her son while he pursued an education in America, added, "but that is very nice of Jeannie. She and Ernest have done too much for us already. I will be in debt to them for two lifetimes if we are not careful!"

The walk finished quickly for them both as they used the time to review the meticulous plans laid out by the Templetons. Anjani would live in the parsonage of the church in Arizona that sponsored Jeannie and Ernest with the Reverend Butler and his wife whose youngest child, having departed for college earlier in the year, had left a room empty for Anjani. The local high school would accept him as a senior based on the glowing recommendations from the missionary's academic director and standardized testing results. The Templeton's Arizona friends and family would help the Butlers make sure that Anjani was well looked after.

Vatusia would never forget how stubbornly she had resisted Anjani and the Templetons fight to convince her that this was the proper thing to do. Ultimately it was Jeannie, with her mother's instinct, who had appealed to just the right spot in Vatusia's heart, arguing that Anjani would, thanks to the villagers' lack of understanding of mental illness, always have to work hard to fit in if he stayed, wasting his talent. And Vatusia knew from personal experience that it was true. The locals would never allow Anjani to be one of them. He needed continued education in a stable and nurturing environment with proper, regular medical attention. "And over this you have control, Vatusia" had been Jeannie's closing argument, delivered in a prophetic tone.

It had worked. In all of the scenarios that Vatusia could imagine for Anjani's future, none of them had turned out well if they involved him remaining in the village with its centuries-old prejudice towards mental illness, or women for that matter. Nor did she have access to the educational and medical resources that Anjani needed. In other words, as Jeannie had gently pointed out, she was incapable of helping her son progress any further here. Letting go seemed her only option.

### Chapter Three

Back in the states, Meg having just tucked the kids into bed for the night, traversed her spacious home, collecting discarded toys and books as well as the many clothes that had been shed during the mad dash that was their evening routine. Since stopping full-time work, Meg's household chores could be spread out more evenly throughout the day, but she was still exhausted by the time she was finished with her family duties and able to focus on herself. Tonight her goal was to have the house ready and her bags packed by ten so that she could be in bed with plenty of time to tend to her husband.

Jeff couldn't have been a better match for Meg. Their love was both comfortable and passionate, a rare combination based on what Meg knew of her friends' marital arrangements. Jeff was a handsome, stable man who let Meg be whoever she chose to be, no matter how many times she shifted course. He had opinions, but usually expressed them without patronizing Meg. When she thought about it, Jeff was the one aspect of her life she did not seek to improve. There was no need to tinker with a good thing.

Bath time was slow, all three children still being at an age where they sought out their parents' attention. Based on her friends' accounts, Meg figured she had a year tops before she lost her son to the dark side of puberty. The girls on the other hand would enjoy her company for a bit longer, she hoped. When, with Jeff's help, Sam, Jenny, and Emma were tucked into bed by nine, the two of them were free to pad quietly down the stairs and into the master bedroom.

Meg guessed it would be a passionate night, with her impending long weekend away, but she had had no idea how far Jeff would go to entice her. Not only had he picked up his dirty clothes, normally left in a heap on the bathroom floor, but he had also removed his old coffee cups and stacked his reading materials neatly on the bookcase.

Meg proceeded directly to the bathroom to freshen up, and after brushing her hair, paused to look at herself in the mirror. So this was what forty looks and feels like. Once their family grew to include children, Meg had rarely stopped to ponder her own future, only that of her children since, although there was not much to complain about there was always something to improve. She heard the door click as Jeff locked it, the final signal that romance would ensue. The banter of CNN switched to Van Morrison, a regular on the Adult Alternative Music station they had come to use as a backdrop to lovemaking. Shedding her clothes, Meg entered the bedroom as naked as God had delivered her.

An hour later, Meg was up putting a few last things into her suitcase, there being no need to worry about disturbing Jeff who was stretched across the bed, fast asleep. Marital bliss experienced, her thoughts turned to the "girl's weekend" ahead. Las Vegas had been her friend Kat's idea, reasoning that Meg needed to experience something out of the ordinary, but she was wise to her friend, knowing Kat was anxious to escape the bible-belt ways of North Carolina for a while. The birthday outing had turned into more of a production than she had planned, primarily because Kat was using Meg's birthday as an excuse to get friends together for some serious adventure, masked as rest and relaxation. Not that Meg blamed her. Meg was fairly certain that the stoic, terse ways of her friend's husband carried over to the bedroom as well as other aspects of the couple's life. Kat on the other hand was a risk-taker, making them the classic odd couple it seemed, and leaving Kat with a life that was more constrained than her free spirit desired.

Kat had arranged for three of Meg's friends from North Carolina to attend as well as one of her own friends from Seattle whom Meg had never met. The agenda included lots of gambling, spa time, limousines, shows, and general sightseeing. Meg hadn't been to Vegas since she was a child, and now, apparently, there was a great deal more to the town than the arcade at _Circus Circus_. Meg finally climbed back into bed shortly before midnight nestling in against her husband's body, grateful for the comfort.

The flight to Las Vegas in the morning was long but fun. The five North Carolinian's would fly out together but Meg's return flight would return half a day earlier than that of her friends so that she could catch Jenny's horseshow on Sunday. In the meantime, it felt good to be drinking a Bloody Mary as the group collectively imagined what their spouses were doing at home to manage the chaos that would no doubt ensue when the motherless households came to life.

Upon arrival at the Las Vegas International Airport, the women waited for their bags while Kat called her friend Cassidy to see if her flight from Seattle had landed. Taking the first flight out had paid off, both landing on-schedule. By the time the porter had collected their bags, Cassidy was wheeling hers up to the carousel where the group waited. Dropping the handle of her suitcase, she gave Kat a huge hug, kissing her once on each cheek.

"This is Meg, my best friend, well my _only_ friend other than you really, dear Cassidy," Kat began the introductions, "a devoted mother of three and the most over-qualified homemaker you will ever meet. These other fine ladies are Jane, not plain in the least. But we are going to have to work hard to break her out of her tight-assed accountant ways."

Kat raised her eyebrows at Jane as if daring her to contradict the assessment, but Jane just rolled her eyes and let her continue.

"MaryAnn, another hard-working mama with a home business representing several lines of high-end fashion," Kat added, sotto voce, "Or so she says." And then, without missing a beat, she finished with, "and lastly sweet Tildy. Don't you just love these southern names? Tildy has one lovely little girl who is in Jenny's grade and also has her own catering business. Maybe she can give the chefs here some advice on southern comfort food."

"Thanks for the intro", interrupted Jane, shaking Cassidy's hand, then retrieving her bag and placing it on the porter's cart with the rest of them, "but this tight-assed accountant can introduce herself. Come on. We are off to paradise."

The Bellagio Hotel had been Jane's choice, dictated in good part by the fact that she had accumulated so many airline and frequent traveler miles that they were able to significantly subsidize their stay, which made it easier for Meg, at least, to justify all of the extras they had planned. Jane and Meg got the nicest room. Not one of the high-roller suites but gorgeously decadent nonetheless. Mary Ann and Tildy took the one adjoining so that they were able to benefit from the suite's amenities, as well, and Kat and Cassidy seemed satisfied with a very nice room about halfway along the immense hallway. As she looked down from the forty-first floor after unpacking most of her things, Meg noticed how dramatically The Strip had changed since her childhood. Everything seemed bigger and shinier, except for the prostitutes, she thought with disdain. As far as she was concerned, no matter where women like that operated, there was no glamour to it.

The first day was to be all about checking off the friends' to-do lists. There would be a quick trip to the Bellagio craps tables on their way to lunch at Yellowtail, followed by shopping and spa time. Dinner was a tough choice but the group had finally agreed, after a flurry of e-mails and a non-consensus vote, on the Aureole at the Mandalay Bay hotel.

The telltale chime of a text received nudged Meg from her window gazing to announce that Kat wanted them to meet at the tables in fifteen minutes.

"We're supposed to pick up Mary Ann and Tildy on our way," Meg added. "The lunch reservation is at one so she wants to get down there with enough time for at least an hour of gambling before food."

"I think the time change is going to do me in before we even get through the first day," Jane lamented. "I'm already starving".

"Suck it up, Jane," Meg retorted. "You can have some liquid appetizers while we gamble away our family's life savings."

Of course the gambling comment was sarcasm. Meg knew that Jane was about as frugal with her own money as she was her clients' and Meg herself was not much of a gambler. Their primary role, she knew, would be keeping the others company when they were at the tables.

As instructed, Meg and Jane arrived in the casino with Mary Ann and Tildy in tow. None were surprised to find Kat and Cassidy already perched on stools at the most obvious blackjack table in the center of a raised portion of the floor, drinks in hand. Cassidy waved as she saw the group of four approaching.

"Hi guys!" she called out. "I talked Kat into a few quick hands of blackjack before we move into the serious stuff. It's the only game I really know".

"Not a problem" said Jane, the one who normally acted as the collective mouthpiece when the friends were together. "But now that the birthday girl is here, let's move over to a spot that's got room for all of us. Just meet us over there when you've spent all your money. Text us if you can't find us".

"Sounds good" Kat and Cassidy responded in unison.

"Jinx, you owe me a cocktail!" Kat blurted out.

"You all don't drink too much!" Tildy said. "Kat needs to teach me how to play craps before she gets loopy. Baby needs new shoes"

When they settled on a craps table near the Keno section, the dealer shift was just changing and a very patient looking, middle-aged woman was about to take over.

"She doesn't look very nice" Mary Ann whispered as they approached the table.

"None of them do," Meg responded. "I don't think _nice_ is in their job description".

"Nice" was, however, a word she would definitely use to describe her friends Mary Ann and Tildy. They had been the two women who had reached out to her when she was going through a particularly low time after her son was born and she was making the transition from career woman to career woman and mom, not too smoothly as she remembered. One day she had been working full time as a project manager at a chemical engineering plant, and the next, found her in the county hospital delivering her first child. Thinking back, she had to admit that she was better at project management than labor. What a noisy customer she had been. All the advance reading and advice from family and friends had done little to prepare her and her attentive husband for the changes that followed.

Still, it had been worth it. Sam was perfection, eight on the APGAR, but never anything less than a ten after that. Unfortunately, something had happened to Meg during the process of childbirth. It was difficult for her to describe, because the effects were emotional, but the source seemed deeply physical in nature. Meg had felt as if all of the fantastic and medically amazing changes that transpire in the human body during pregnancy remained in her body when Sam emerged, refusing to be expelled as part of the natural process of childbirth. Excess hormones and fluids left to float through her system without discretion or direction had washed over her at the most inappropriate times, turning happy maternal feelings ugly.

Release from the hospital had been typical. After being poked, prodded and awoken every few hours for two days, the newly formed family of three had made their way back to their home to find the nursery waiting with its welcoming colors and comforting amenities. Free to sit back in her rocker and nurse Sam, Jeff and Meg marveled at the gift that God had given them. But strange emotions had continued to lurk beneath the tranquil surface of Meg's exterior. For many weeks only Jeff knew how unhinged she had become, the woman who was used to having it all under control, experiencing waves of emotion that burst through unexpectedly like flotsam through a damn.

Jeff had proven his mettle however by responding to her panicked calls in the middle of the day demanding his return from work, insisting that she "just couldn't do it alone", despite the option of family and friends who were on-call to help her out as needed. Reflecting on it all now, she still could not make sense of why, in her mind, only Jeff could assist her with the tremendous responsibility known as "Sam". In fact, she hadn't made sense of a lot of things regarding her maternal experience until Mary Ann and Tildy, each in their own way, had entered Meg's well-guarded circle of trust.

They had been there to answer the inevitable questions all new mothers often face, such as the best way to swaddle a baby, or which diaper rash ointment is most effective. Mary Ann had been the first person since Meg's mother departed that she trusted to care for Sam while she ran short errands, and Tildy's deliveries of home-cooked meals had been heaven sent. With time, of course, the vestiges of pregnancy worked their way out of her system for the most part. Hormones, tears, sore muscles and baby weight faded and were shed, and although she had not known it then, a mild case of post-partum depression had been survived. So now, Meg wanted to return the favor and help them have some fun in Vegas.

Meg had a bit of experience at the craps table, but only enough to know that she could not teach her friends the nuanced strategies or etiquette of the game. Once, when she was a young manager working for a start-up biotech firm in Silicon Valley, she had accompanied a friend to the craps table during a management meeting in South Lake Tahoe. Late nights and countless cocktails had unlocked the secrets of her friend's family life, particularly how her father, a gambling connoisseur and card counter, had raised her to know the games and wagers inside and out, proven by her ability to turn Meg's twenty-dollar bill into two hundred within an hour. But since the game held no interest for Meg other than that of financial reward, she had subsequently forgotten everything her friend had tried to teach her.

"Let's hang out over here and wait for Cassidy and Kat," Meg said, leading the others to the bar. "I don't want your first foray into the Vegas gambling world to be a bad experience, which is what you'll get if I'm your guide." Forty-five minutes and two rounds later, the stragglers arrived, chips in hand.

"We couldn't leave. The cards were smokin' hot!" exclaimed Cassidy excitedly, while Kat, her lower lip protruding in a big beautiful pout that would have drawn any man watching the scene in like metal to a magnet announced "it was Cass's heat... not mine" as she unceremoniously clapped the chips down on the bar in front of Cassidy.

Truth be told, mused Meg, Kat _was_ a lot like a magnet, either attracting or repelling most people. There was typically no middle ground from what Meg had witnessed. In Meg's case, she was attracted. She liked Kat's tell-it-like-it-is frankness and openness to alternate ideas, which wasn't always a characteristic of her other, proper Southern friends, and was one of the reasons that the two of them had developed an easy friendship, one in which they could feel comfortable talking about anything and everything, and then go for weeks without talking at all.

"All righty then..." Meg announced in an alcohol-enhanced drawl as they paid for their drinks, "Kat's going to teach y'all how to play craps".

The closer they came to the tables, the thicker the air was filled with smoke, creating a film noir atmosphere which Cassidy contributed to by begging a light from a fellow smoker. Taking a deep drag and exhaling theatrically, she announced, "When in Rome," before gathering them in a semi-circle and explaining the game.

"When the dice are hot, there's a certain camaraderie and excitement," she said when her lecture was drowned out by the screams of the patrons at the roulette table. "On the other hand, when the dice are cold, it can be like a mausoleum. We're going to win together! But because the game moves really quickly and they speak a whole different language, I'm thinking that you ladies can pony up some money that I can play for you the first couple of times and then, if you want to, you can start betting on your own. Sound good?"

After the initial thrill and subsequent highs and lows of what felt like 500 bets at the craps table, the group was ready for a change of venue. "Don't we have dinner reservations at Aureole?" Tildy, who as a caterer was quite interested in sampling the purportedly amazing quality and variety of food in Vegas, inquired.

"Oh shit! We had lunch reservations at Yellowtail, remember?" Jane blurted out. "And it's already past six."

Collectively they viewed their wrists and one by one began to giggle. "I cannot believe that all of us lost track of time so completely," declared Meg. "I don't usually miss meals". Like the others, she made a joke of it, but was annoyed when the group elected her to finesse the mistake with the host at Yellowtail.

"There were too many loser sevens at that table," complained Cassidy as the maître d escorted them to their table at Aureole. "I really should have taught you guys about craps superstitions beforehand. I'm sure it was because all of you said the word 'seven' at least once while we were playing. That's bad luck! It was a good thing I had more than one bet working at a time. Craps has the widest variety of bets in the casino you know."

"No, we didn't know," said Meg, her mood lightening now that she had soothed the Yellowtail host through her expert diplomacy. "That's why we hired you!"

As they perused the menu, Cassidy unceremoniously dumped her winnings onto the table while Jane, ever the accountant, wrapped her elegant arm around the chips and pulled them toward her like a stickman at the craps table pulling in the dice. Before the waiter had come to take their order, Jane had tallied the pot. "That's eighty-seven dollars per person, Cassidy," she said. "You more than quadrupled our money! Not bad".

After they'd ordered, the group got up to inspect the four story tower of wine housed in a stainless steel skyscraper within the restaurant. "Un-fricking believable" exclaimed Cassidy. "I love wine, but this is insane!"

"Of course it's insane... it's Vegas!" agreed Kat. "I heard that they built it based on some scene from the movie _Mission Impossible_. Check out the girl being lifted by that hoist to get a bottle towards the top". As they dined, the friends did their part in keeping the "wine angels," as they were called, busy retrieving bottles, their glasses rarely empty.

"I would so love to stay here all night," MaryAnn drawled as their server cleared the last dessert plate, "but I am afraid that I can only keep my eyes open for another few minutes".

"What? It's only 10:30!" exclaimed Kat. "We haven't even been to a club yet!"

"I'm with MaryAnn," said Jane. "I'm fairly certain I just drank an entire bottle of wine by myself and that, my friends, is not good on top of everything else I've consumed!"

After a bit of whining and several attempts to cajole the sleepyheads into staying up for at least a brief trip to a dance club, Jane, Tildy and MaryAnn paid their portion of the bill and headed up to the rooms. "We promise to be night owls tomorrow" MaryAnn apologized as they walked, somewhat unsteadily, away.

"OK," exhaled Kat as soon as they had ordered after dinner drinks, "now that the frumps are gone, how is your life _really_ going Meg? Is old Jeff still as good in the sack as he used to be? According to _you_ of course... I make it a habit never to dabble in other people's husbands".

Under normal circumstances, Meg realized, this question would be out of bounds, but with only Kat and Cassidy left at the table, and the wine impairing her normal filters, she felt uninhibited. Before Meg answered, she nonchalantly dipped her thumb and forefinger into her drink, extracted the cherry, drew it to her lips and let it dangle above her parted lips before it disappeared provocatively into her mouth.

"While you know that Jeff would never approve of me talking about our sex life, I think I can say without offending anyone that our relationship continues to reach new heights" Meg replied with a sly smile, satisfied that she'd said neither too much nor too little.

It was true, but Jeff would absolutely wilt, Meg knew, if he so much as guessed that Meg had shared any of the intimate details of their life together. It was assumed that she would always walk the line, sharing enough to engage in a conversation with her very good, but gossip-dependent friends, and at the same time, maintaining her husband's confidence. It usually worked.

Tonight however felt different. Meg didn't know if it was the time and place, the presence of two very open-minded women willing to listen, or her hormones, but she was ready to talk. For the next however many minutes or hours, which, she wasn't sure, Meg poured out her feelings about her doubts, insecurities and most important, her unfulfilled desires. It was a long, uninterrupted diatribe until Kat, who had been slouching back against the velveteen banquette, leaned forward and rolled her eyes dramatically.

"What the fuck, Meg! I can't fucking believe you..." she spit out. "You're a piece of work. You have the perfect fucking husband, the perfect kids, a huge fucking brain, basically any career or job you want, or you don't have to fucking work at all."

Meg was startled, struggling to determine whether Kat was serious or not, expecting the sympathetic response she usually provided when Kat poured her heart out to her. She looked over at Cassidy who shrugged her shoulders and looked away, obviously bored with the whole conversation. She let Kat's words sink in before excusing herself, navigating her way to the powder room by placing her hand on a chair back here and a railing there to maintain her balance. Meg's tears had a mind of their own and often refused to stop once they had started, so she was happy to discover before returning to the table, that she would not cry. When she returned to the table, she found Kat and Cassidy with their heads together, leaning in, talking quietly.

"Listen," Kat said before Meg had a chance to initiate the response she had prepared, "I didn't mean to come off so strong. Cassidy's got a heads up on a private club just a few blocks down on the strip. Let's check it out and you can yell at me on the way."

And although it had been Meg's plan to stay only long enough to straighten Kat out in a way that would avoid any misunderstandings or bad feelings, she decided that a change of venue might be a good idea...

The warm air swept over the trio like a sandstorm filling their eyes and nostrils with heat as they emerged from the air-conditioned oasis. It would have been pitch black at this time of night were it not for the millions of lights making Las Vegas a shining neon star in the desert. The street was littered with flyers showcasing various girls headlining the entertainment at their club or just providing good old-fashioned Vegas-style entertainment, no club required.

As they walked, Meg re-launched the response that Kat had interrupted in the casino. "So Kat..." she began, assuming a light-heartedness she did not feel. "I know that you think that my life is easy and I shouldn't complain, but if you remember, it was you who started the conversation, so if you don't want to know about something, don't ask!"

"Meg, my sweet, I was asking about your sex life," Kat reassured her with a smile, "but no matter. I do care about your _life_ too. I just think that you have far too much angst for a person who has so much going for them. Why don't you spend more time appreciating what you have and less worrying about what you haven't got or haven't done yet or trying to influence how your kids will turn out?"

When she slurred her words, Meg realized for the first time just how drunk the three of them had become, which was confirmed when a very tall, very well-dressed transvestite brushed by them, nearly knocking Cassidy, who had the inside position, off her axis. Meg found herself laughing, the other two joining in her laughter, yet the dynamic between them had changed, no longer funny or good-natured.

It took much longer to get to the club than it should have as they weaved along the crowded strip, but by the time they located it, the long walk helped them overcome the awkward exchange in the restaurant and they were once again in good spirits and ready for action. There was no line at the door, but there was a very large bouncer whose eyes lingered on the most feminine parts of their anatomies a bit too long.

"Where did you hear about this club?" Meg asked Cassidy as they squeezed by the bouncer who made no effort to move out of the way as he motioned them in. When Cassidy mentioned a show called _Real Sex_ , Meg reminded herself that she wasn't in Kansas anymore, although by the time they left the place, as hazy as her recollections were, she rather wished she had been.

After what seemed like one of the longest days of her life, she laid her head on the soft pillow of her hotel room bed. Meg ticked through the list of sexual activities she had witnessed over the course of the evening: girl on boy (of course), girl on girl (not surprising), boy on boy (equal opportunity), and people on animals (a woman and a snake in a cage at the far corner of the club). She looked over to Jane's bed to see her friend's silhouette outlined by the covers. At least Jane, and presumably Tildy and Mary Ann, were safe and sound. Her last thought before drifting uneasily off to sleep was whether she had made the right call having Kat and Cassidy deposit her at the hotel lobby before they continued on with an even later late-night extension of their sojourn. They were after all, she told herself unconvincingly, big girls.

Kat was surprisingly chipper when the friends, less Cassidy, reconvened for late breakfast by the pool. She was also unabashedly cool, almost proud, of cavorting with Cassidy after the others had called it quits the night before. "I don't know why you all even come to Vegas if you're not going to truly _experience_ it!" she teased. "Cassidy and I met some really great locals who told us about an after-hours party tonight. Remember, you girls promised you'd stay up late tonight, so are you up for it?"

"Um, I would have to say _probably_ ," Jane said. "You remember that it is our night to pick the entertainment, right, Kat? And we already got tickets to see the ventriloquist at the Mirage at eight".

"Sure," Kat responded "but I mean after that, if that guy doesn't put us all to sleep first. Don't look at me like that, Tildy, I'm just teasing. Y'all made a fine choice. I'll try to get more details from our new Vegas friends and fill you in later, how's that? Now, who else has a massage appointment?"

As they were finishing breakfast, Cassidy materialized looking like a very weak version of herself, seemingly content to settle in a chaise lounge by the pool, nursing a cup of coffee, when the others headed off to the spa. Meg had asked Kat if she was all right. "Now that we're alone," Kat whispered once they had entered the sanctity of the spa's _Tranquil_ room, "I can respond to your comment about Cassidy".

Disrobing and entering the water, Kat proceeded to tell Meg about Cassidy's dalliance with a woman. "She kind of came to Vegas to see if her curiosity was more than curiosity," she said, then turned to look directly at Meg and added, "and to celebrate your birthday of course."

"Of course" Meg replied. "Did you know about her _interests_ shall we say, prior to this?"

"I guess in a way I did," responded Kat. "There has always been a sort of sexual tension between us. Not just us, but of course that's the tension I noticed the most. And – and then last night..."

It was a bombshell Meg had not expected, but even so her response took her by surprise.

"You mean you cheated on Marc?" she demanded.

"Of course I didn't cheat on Marc!" Kat stated emphatically, her voice rising. "Meg, I don't need your approval, but I really thought that you would be a little more open-minded."

Kat leaned back against the edge of the pool and closed her eyes. "I – I don't feel as though I broke any vows," she stammered defensively. "We were just dancing really suggestively in the club and one thing led to another. So we kissed. So she felt me up. So I enjoyed it. So what?"

For several minutes the only sound in the room was water bubbling up from the jets. Meg's mind raced as she considered what she had just heard and debated asking Kat about her definition of _cheating_ , but her initial response thawed as she processed her friend's experience. Kat didn't need judgment, but she clearly did need a friend. Finding Kat's hand under water, Meg held it tight, remaining silent.

"I just feel like I deserve a little pleasure," Kat said in a low voice, smiling sadly to acknowledge Meg's gesture. "Unfortunately, I don't find it at home".

It was, Meg realized, a confession that warranted far more consideration than a snap judgment and although she found it unnerving, she was determined not to show it, particularly since that night was to be her last in Vegas. Tomorrow she would return to her everyday life, leaving before her friends so she could attend to her maternal obligations, namely Jenny's horse show, perhaps leaving before she had figured out the root of the angst that seemed to possess Kat. But during dinner at Trader Vic's that night, the presence of her friends seemed to settle Meg as she looked around the table, acknowledging the wonderful souls who had gathered to celebrate her birthday. Even Cassidy seemed to have found comfort in their circle, congratulating the girls for selecting a truly entertaining show, like a sergeant praising her troops. She was however clearly ready to move on when she announced her latest coup.

"Kat and I met the girl who handles the high rollers here in the Bellagio," she said, "and she is off tonight, which means... we get to party like the high rollers tonight in our suite!"

Everyone except Kat, who was uncharacteristically reserved, agreed that this was an opportunity they couldn't pass up, and even Meg was enthusiastic, if for no other reason than that it would be a distraction for Kat, although why she thought her friend in need of a distraction like that, she was not sure.

The off duty high roller host's name was Olivia and her authority at the Bellagio seemed to have no end. Small and petite with intense, almost black eyes, the long-haired beauty facilitated a transformation of their room which was enlarged by opening the adjoining door to the next suite. Meg had heard of the high roller suites but she had obviously not thought big enough. Olivia also delivered on the food and beverage which was not difficult since the rooms each came with a stocked bar and kitchen, and were also equipped with a full sound system and DJ mixing equipment among other things. Like their suite, the view of the city was transformed, ugly cement structures now draped in darkness and highlighted by flattering, glittering light, suddenly stunning to behold.

As Kat and Cassidy's new acquaintances made their way into the suite, Meg realized she had, once again, misjudged her friends. She had expected some seedy bartenders or showgirls to show up... maybe even an off duty cop, based on the crowd the three of them had seen at the club the previous night, but these were well-paid professionals from legitimate establishments and shows. There was even a well known, though not to her, hip-hop star on the rise in her suite.

"Are you OK with all of this?" Kat asked as she and Meg stood on one of the balconies, admiring the view. "I know it's a little late to ask but I didn't want to make any assumptions..."

"You really don't have to walk on eggshells around me Kat" Meg said, "I'm not a prude. I think I even surprised myself today with what a hardline stance I seem to have regarding fidelity. You do what you need to do and I will be there to support you but I know you'll always want me to say what I really think, right?"

Meg was amazed that a party like this was not only condoned, but also sponsored by the hotel. The crowd thickened a bit, but Olivia seemed to know everyone and things never got out of control, from Meg's perspective anyway. There were a few tense moments when illegal drug use by a few of the guests ruffled Jane's feathers. Understandably so, in Meg's mind, as Jane had the reputation of her practice to uphold and, quite frankly, Meg did not feel like having a potential arrest associated with her name either, even if the user was a complete stranger. She guessed though that Olivia would never let something like a drug bust happen in her hotel, and was proved right when the illicit activity was quietly sidelined. "Out of sight, out of mind," was Olivia's only comment on the matter.

Meg, Tildy, Mary Ann and Jane gathered around a coffee table, drinks in hand toasting Meg's birthday and anything else that came to mind. Olivia stopped by to ask Meg if she would like to guest DJ a few songs of her choice, suggesting with a wink that she throw in any words of wisdom in honor of her birthday. Alcohol flowed and so did the words as Meg lost inhibition, penning lyrics to a rap she knew she'd never have the guts to perform. She began laughing hysterically as she re-read what she'd written. Jane grabbed the cocktail napkin, trying to decipher the drunken scribbles, she read out loud,

Have to laugh at my own jokes and I never get no tokes cuz the kids are coming home so mommy just can't roam.

I'm a country club wife and I'll never have a life of my own.

Dreams put on hold to try to fit the mold so it only stands to reason that I'm shut down for the season of my prime.

I'm a country club wife and I'll never have a life of my own.

"Oh my god, Meg! You are so oppressed." Jane managed to get out after erupting into laughter herself. "And you wrote it on a cocktail napkin. Can you say, _rich people problems_?" Meg appreciated Jane's ability to put things into perspective. "How about you just ask them to play some of your favorite '80's music and leave it at that?" Jane concluded.

Laughter subsiding, Meg took Jane's advice, tossed the napkin in the trashcan and presented the DJ with a song list, which he accepted with a raised eyebrow barely visible over his sunglasses. Meg doubted he even knew the tunes but with modern technology, he would soon. Realizing that she had not seen Kat in a while, nor Cassidy for that matter, Meg set off to find them -not that she was checking up on them-- just checking in, she told herself.

After a few stops to freshen her drink and talk to new guests, Meg made her way back to her own suite through the adjoining door. She had not been back since the beginning of the party and wasn't even sure if the party had expanded to reach it. Two men standing in the foyer between the doors were talking quietly, but scurried away guiltily as she made her way into the room. It took her a few minutes to take in the surroundings, which somehow seemed different until she realized it was probably the lighting, which was now set to a sultry, warm amber rather than the bright fluorescent white she and Jane had switched on during their stay. The music from the next room could still be heard but was somewhat filtered through the half-opened door. As her eyes adjusted, she identified the back of Cassidy's head leaning against the coach, distinguished by her long amber tresses. A woman she did not recognize straddled her, enormous breasts barely contained by an exposed bustier, heaving as she rocked back and forth against Cassidy. Moments seemed like an eternity, as Meg took in the scene, thankful that at least she had not discovered Kat as the second part of the equation. The unknown woman seemed to take no notice of Meg, whispering something in Cassidy's ear, inducing a guttural moan, which the stranger silenced with a full-mouthed kiss.

Quickly turning to leave the room, Meg felt as though she had just emerged from an alternate universe. Her heart pounded as she used her palms to steady herself, leaning back against the wall of the main suite. Embarrassed to find that she was somewhat aroused by what she had witnessed and even more humiliated when she noticed that the men who had been watching the show before now had their eyes trained on her with perverse grins fixed on their faces, Meg made a beeline to the balcony. The warm air that enveloped her was not refreshing, but it was comforting, and a welcome escape from the atmosphere inside. Suddenly overcome by the need to orient herself, she took out her phone and dialed Jeff whose chit-chat about the children was sufficient to bring her back to her own reality.

Meg's sleep that night was not sound, despite Jeff's reassuring words. The familiar emptiness that always seemed to spread as she was about to attain a major goal or reach a significant milestone was imminent. It would, she knew, be hard to shake. No one would ever feel sorry for her, as evidenced by the responses to her attempts to share her feelings with friends lately, but somehow that didn't matter. She was good at everything... including self pity.

At the airport, Meg proceeded cautiously past the security agent at the checkpoint, careful not to draw attention to herself, not being in the mood for a secondary check this morning. Her legs ached from the massive quantity of alcohol that was still working its way out of her system. The cold, hard ground felt soothing as she removed her sandals, placed them in the bin, and gave them a nudge onto the x-ray conveyor belt. The four-inch Jimmy Choos she'd been wearing throughout their escapades had not helped matters. The limos were nice for the really long distances, but just walking through some of the hotel lobbies and even to their suites had felt like a good mile. Collecting her belongings, she thanked the unsmiling agent-- for what, she was not sure.

With an hour to spare before her flight, Meg stopped at the newsstand to reflect on her literary choices. She could buy a new book, but she was not ready to make the emotional commitment that usually required. She could read up on the latest Hollywood gossip, but it seemed that most of those topics had already been covered with her girlfriends over the past few days. She decided to get the paper so she could catch up on what had transpired in the real world as she had lost herself in a true break from it. Even if she did not hit the significant news stories, there was always the crossword puzzle to keep her busy for a while.

After purchasing the paper, some water, and a snack, she settled into a chair at the far end of the terminal. The news was filled with events in the Middle East. With American troops fighting on Iraqi soil, she knew that the US press would devote significant time and attention to the matter, but it made her uncomfortable to think of all the other areas of suffering and unrest in the world. Perhaps it was the decadence of the weekend she had just spent with her friends, but as she watched other flights arrive and depart, she found herself thinking of a recent e-mail from her aunt and uncle, Jeannie and Ernest who had chosen to continue the missionary work of Ernest's father in the Ivory Coast of Africa. In the most recent communication, they had prayed for transportation to take them to safety once it was apparent that the fighting would not stop and that U.S. citizens, no matter their purpose in the country, were not safe in their homes.

There was so much that Meg tried not to take for granted, but it had been a long time since she had even inquired about the status of her own relatives. Sparked by feelings of guilt about having run through more money in the last three days than the entire amount she had pledged to Jeannie and Ernest over the past few years, she fired off an email from her PDA, asking her dad about the Templetons before gathering her belongings and making her way to her gate.

When she travelled with her children, Meg could tolerate noise and activity but with her head still heavy from the previous night she was thankful to be seated next to two businessmen who both seemed content to remain silent through the entire flight. After stowing her bag, and snapping her seat belt into the buckle, Meg closed her eyes, and fell asleep, stirred only by the pilot's announcement that they were about to land. Groggy from her nap, Meg switched on her phone as the plane touched down to find the following e-mails forwarded from her dad. Curious, she read as she deplaned and made her way to baggage claim.

Subject: A week in September

Date: 9/22/2002 3:38:42 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Greetings, It is time to bring you up to date on how God is blessing us in difficult days. We have had many good days as God provided several work teams to help us in the ministry. Since we last wrote you, the roof has been put on the print shop. Praise Him. But there were problems, too.

Wednesday morning David Houlding, a dorm dad at ICA, was jogging on the school track when he suddenly fell to the ground. Some African workers nearby ran to help him and call the ICA nurses who performed CPR and tried other measures to revive David while he was transported to the clinic in town where the doctor determined that nothing more could be done for him. Pray for his wife, Dorothy, and his three children who have lost a husband and father, and for the twenty boys at ICA to whom he was known as Uncle Dave. Everyone at ICA is having difficulty processing this, as you can imagine.

Yesterday we had planned to go to Abidjan and run a variety of errands today before waiting for a nine member work team to arrive from North Syracuse on Sunday in order to bring them up to Korhogo and the ministry we planned to share. But God had other plans. We awoke yesterday to the news that there was shooting in the town, Korhogo, about six miles from us, and soon after that, that a coup was in progress. The first thing we did was to e-mail North Syracuse and cancel their trip. We were disappointed and so were they. We have had some unsettled times during these last two days. The rebels have taken Korhogo and Bouake and shooting still continues in both cities. The government forces have taken over Abidjan and things are calm in the seaport. Word has it that the government forces are on their way to Bouake and eventually up farther north to Korhogo. We are far enough out of town that we do not hear the gunfire. However during this whole time, nine Peace Corps workers have been trapped in a house in Korhogo where the fighting has been so close that the smoke has been coming in their windows. Then this morning a bullet came through the roof and just missed one of the young people. At this point, realizing that they needed to relocate, they phoned us. Right now they are walking through the bush toward us, led by one of our African friends. We expect them soon--all nine of them!! This must be the "team" we are to have this week! And we already had the food for a team of nine!!

30 minutes later: They have arrived after two and a half hours of walking through the back country paths, sunburned but happy to be out of the constant danger in town. Pray for all of us as we protect these volunteers, one of whom is seventy years old, and let us be sensitive to God's leading in their lives. Pray that he will soften their hearts and that the friendship and fellowship we offer them will be accepted so we can share the Lord with them. It really is exciting to be part of God's work on this earth. Oh, yes, you can pray for our safety and that of this country. Our African friends are very concerned about what is happening to their country. We trust that this will be settled with a minimum of bloodshed. Already the ex-leader of Cote d'Ivoire, Robert Guei, has been shot and killed during this uprising. We are under a curfew from 6 pm to 8 am. Last night everything was quiet out our way--good for sleeping, and yesterday, when so much was happening in Korhogo, God sent a heavy, steady rain all day long--a bit unusual in this part of the world. I am sure it helped dampen the spirits of some of the rebels. God has his way of showing that he is in control.

Thank you for your prayers. We know we can count on you. We will try to keep you posted.

In Him, Jeannie and Ernest

Subject: A week in September - Saturday

Date: 9/22/2002 5:51:41 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

The Friday edition was late coming out because our e-mail has been doing crazy things--like sending stuff to cyberspace. But we are going to try again with the Saturday edition. At 4:10 am, we awoke to the sound of sporadic gun fire--the first we had ever heard from our house in Torogo. Ernest, being the expert on gunfire from his days in Nam, assured me that it was far away and, I chose to believe him. The gunshots continued for the next three or four hours, coming from the barricade on the outskirts of Korhogo, about four kilometers from us. African staff arrived for work, and willingly left at the end of their shift, hoping to get home soon and protect their families from whatever. They said that no stores were open, and we could testify to the fact that there was no traffic. The usually busy road to the south of the country which goes right by our house was quiet except for an occasional 4x4 which sped by, vehicles that we soon realized were cars which the rebels had commandeered. Word came that their destination was a big barricade just to the south of us, toward Bouake. Since the night before, we had been in periodic contact with two Americans who, having been in Korhogo on business, had been caught in the nicest hotel in town where they continued to be well taken care of until the staff began to talk about the fact that they expected the rebels to come in and make demands on the establishment whereupon Ernest, in conjunction with the Embassy, of course, organized their rescue. Two of our African friends rode their motor bikes into town as far as possible, and then walked them the rest of the way on back streets, looking over the situation. When they arrived at the hotel, they put the Americans on the bikes with them and took off for our house, and managed to bypass the military barricades to reach us.

In mid-afternoon Ernest took our old van and three African men and left to collect a Peace Corp volunteer who was out in her village, and two young girls visiting her from the States, traveling the most remote back roads. While they were gone a group of vehicles loaded with rebels, many with arms in view, and the last big truck packed with new recruits not yet in uniform, gathered at the corner of our property. After much noise and commotion, the rebel caravan must have finalized their plans because they sped off heading south. It was almost dark when Ernest returned with his load, and although we were both relieved at the success of his mission, we must presently provide meals for twenty-three.

However, there is a sweet spirit amongst us and they are very open to discussions about "religion" and the Lord. Please continue to pray for each of them.

Until later, Jeannie

Subject: A week in September - Sunday

Date: 9/22/2002 7:32:59 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Hello again, It is late Sunday evening and time to bring you up to date again. We awoke this morning from a very good night's sleep only to hear that we had missed all the activity. The guards said that about two in the morning, fifteen trucks, loaded with rebel troops raced by our house going south. When the workers came to the dispensary, they said that there had been lots of shooting in town and many, many barricades. No one was out and about although people were starting to run low on food. One of the print shop workers, who lives nearby, came by this morning and agreed to go to the next village in search of food where he found twenty-five pounds of flour--a welcome sight--and some other things we needed. Later in the day he came by with some fresh meat and the news that there was more at the butcher "shop" in his village. So we sent him back with money and instructions and he brought us a hindquarter of beef. That will help the menu planning!! During our morning service in our living room, we received a phone call from the Embassy. Actually we chat several times a day, but this morning she was quite harried and needed information about all of us Americans, both on our station and in other parts of the Korhogo area. She said that the decision had been made not to evacuate Abidjan, but that they were still contemplating the possibility of moving us out of the north and gave me several assignments to help her contact people in the area and send her the information. As we were finishing dinner, another Peace Corps volunteer arrived, escorted from his village by an African friend who wanted him here with the other Americans. Now we are up to twenty-four guests, which makes preparing meals a real operation, which takes most of our time.

Late this afternoon a Frenchman in town who is coordinating possible contingency plans of the French, Germans and Americans here in Korhogo contacted us. He asked for more specific information about each of us and I spent some time getting it together and e-mailed to him. Then, later this evening, the Embassy called again and said that, although there has been no time set for an evacuation, we should all pack just in case. Their decision will be made based on the following: if it is safer to stay put than to move, we will stay, but if it comes to the point where it is more dangerous to stay than to move, they will come and get us. Needless to say we are staying at the moment and anticipate a good night's sleep. The Embassy reminded us again that their first priority is to protect American citizens in Bouake and Korhogo.

The Lord is giving peace to each of us. After our "service" this morning when several of those of us who are missionaries were called out to take care of one thing or another, two others debriefed the Peace Corps volunteers who had attended. Each one shared their fears and concerns and then they prayed for one another. It has been great to see the general atmosphere of faith and peace--so different from our experience with another group of Peace Corps two years ago. Many of these people are from Christian backgrounds, and some are even involved in churches now. When we can't see ahead, we can trust our Lord, who can. Thank you for praying for us. We do not know what tomorrow holds, but we know He holds tomorrow in His hands.

Lovingly, Jeannie and Ernest

Subject: A week in September - Monday

Date: 9/23/2002 6:53:50 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Dear Friends,

It is Monday night, 9:30 pm. Ernest started the day with a big job before him—to plan how to find and recover the five last Peace Corps volunteers in the Korhogo area. This had come as a request from the director of the Peace Corps, and Ernest is not one to turn down a challenge. Armed with lists and maps, he and two of the volunteers planned out their strategy which was facilitated when he found three men who were willing to ride their motorbikes to the various villages and bring them in. Ernest talked to one of the workers here on the station, the African director of the village health program, asking if he could provide two more men willing to go out to the villages and was told that a better idea might be to obtain permission from the rebels to drive a truck to the villages and get them. He made a phone call and soon a "military" vehicle, a hijacked Mitsubishi 4x4, arrived at the dispensary gate. When one of our African workers went to check, he discovered that the driver was one of the rebels in Korhogo, a local man, who is a friend of a friend of the workers here. The rebel offered to run escort for the mission truck, as well as to pay for the fuel to go out to get the Peace Corps volunteers. While they were gone, one of the men returned on his motorbike bringing a volunteer from a village and a couple of hours later, the mission truck and its escort returned with three of the remaining four young people. However, because of a miscommunication, they had missed one of the girls, so the vehicle, African driver and one Peace Corps man who knew the location returned to get her. By now all of the guards at the checkpoints knew them and they were able to continue the trip without the escort. At 5:35 pm they still had not returned, and since darkness falls soon after six, Ernest and I, with butterflies in our stomachs, stopped and prayed for their safety and speedy return. As we said Amen we heard a car engine--a very rare sound these days, and going out the door, found that they had returned safe and sound. Praise the Lord.

Now there are twenty-nine Americans living on this compound and eating at our table. This is a major operation that only God can oversee. He keeps us on our knees! All day long we have been talking with various Embassy personnel. The situation seems to be getting more volatile, although in our little corner of the country it is very quiet. There is still no road traffic since the rebels have branched out and taken more towns in the area. What will happen next? No one knows. Please pray with us that we will have peace of mind and the ability to think clearly. We love you and are so glad you are praying.

In Him, Jeannie and Ernest

Subject: A week in September - Tuesday

Date: 9/24/2002 6:05:22 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Good evening. I am writing earlier tonight and hopefully I can get in bed earlier too. It has been a quiet day in our part of the world because there is still no road traffic. But the people who came out to work here say that some parts of Korhogo have been subject to lots of gunfire all through last night and today. We sent an African friend out to M'Bengui, a four hour round trip on motorcycle over very bad rainy season roads. He returned with still another Peace Corps volunteer on the cycle with him--making our number thirty. Most of the excitement of today was news that came to us from Ferke where the rebels have established themselves. There was much shooting all through the night and into today. As you probably have been hearing, Bouake was the battlefield last night, and today between the government troops and the rebels. There was also shooting at ICA where the students and staff have been trapped since last Thursday. As I read the description of the gunfire, I was amazed that nothing or no one was hit as the shots went right across the middle of the campus. We have a marvelous God who loves and cares a lot about us.

Of course, the big news was that 200 US troops have been deployed here in the country. When our group heard that news just before dinnertime tonight, the atmosphere lightened significantly. We really don't know what this means, but it seems to us just another indication that God is in control. This morning one of the Christian boys from the next village came by. We have known Aven since we first arrived. He was eight or ten then, and now he is in his early twenties. A few days ago the rebels appeared in his village and told him to join them or they would shoot him, which was really no choice at all. He came today to say good-bye although he only had a few minutes before he had to report back and move out with his group. He assumed he was going to Bouake, but let me tell you, he is one scared kid. I am sure that he is typical of many new recruits in the rebel force. No matter how we feel about one side or another we must pray for Aven and the many others like him. This evening we are awaiting a phone call from the Embassy with the news that ICA's evacuation is complete, but our hopes are growing dim since it is already nearly nine. When an ICA staff person called at a bout six-thirty, he said they were expecting the troops momentarily but that there was heavy gunfire in the area. Keep praying for them, as they are right in the combat zone. We will be in touch again as news breaks.

Sincerely, Jeannie and Ernest

Subject: A week in September - Wednesday

Date: 9/25/2002 7:51:50 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Greetings,

As you probably saw on your news today, the students and staff have been evacuated from ICA and are on their way to the American planes that are waiting to take them to their next destination, probably out of the country. The French military came in and secured the area for them to leave by car with a military escort. Our CNN coverage showed them actually in the cars and moving down the road. It was exciting to recognize the people in the vehicles. We are so glad they are on their way to safety. Sad to say, others of our friends and colleagues are still stranded in Bouake under fire where they have been without electricity or water for a few days. We were hoping, and so were they, that they would be evacuated at the same time. But evidently that will be a future operation.

It is still very quiet here, thankfully. The traffic is non-existent although normally this is a very busy road, a main artery to Abidjan. But today we did not even see any rebel vehicles, nothing but a little foot traffic and a few motorbikes. There was more shooting in town last night, but not a lot, and although we've been told that there was even some just beyond a nearby village, we slept through it. A few of our workers come each day, but not all of them. Some do not feel that it is safe to leave their homes, and we do not blame them. The market was open in town today, and one of the houseboys was able to get fresh vegetables. We still have not gotten any bread. Making bread for thirty people is a big job. We have all made many new friends this week. One woman said that she feels like she is living someone else's life. This whole thing is really bizarre!

Today Lydia had to move a woman in labor to the hospital because there were complications. The Korhogo hospital is not open, the doctors and nurses having left and sent their patients home several days ago, so she needed to get the patient to Ferke to the hospital, all of which made it necessary for her to get permission from the rebels to take her. I assume they escorted her all the way. Lydia did not go, but a mission employee who was the patient's family member drove the dispensary truck, which has not come back, but we are under the curfew. The people stranded here with us have several work projects. Two women helped Lydia with this patient throughout the day, while others helped me check the Cebaara Bible, and several of the men are working with Darryl putting the roof on his house. Just as they attached the last piece of tarpaper, the rain started. Of course almost everyone helps cook and clean, a constant chore.

So far our food is holding out. We are getting low on flour again, and a few other things, but that just stimulates our creative juices to find menus that we can make. We wonder if, when this is all over, we will be able to replenish our supplies. Will there be any food in the stores? In spite of all of these unknowns we feel much more relaxed today. I think knowing that the ICA people are safe has a lot to do with it. We certainly don't know what the future holds for us, but as we watch God perform little miracles-like bringing the rain AFTER the roof was on-we know he will take care of us when it comes to the big things as well.

Thank you so much for praying. We know that people around the world are joining you and it makes all the difference. You all are part of the solution. Keep up the good work.

Love, Jeannie and Ernest

Meg sat down in baggage claim to finish the e-mails, intensely impacted by the realization of what her Aunt and Uncle and the people they cared about were going through in another part of the world. In the middle of the noisy, crowded airport, Meg said a quiet prayer before driving to Jenny's horseshow, her eyes red from crying. 

### Chapter Four

"When inner shock is at its height, it robs a man of reflection and clarity of vision.

In such a state of mind, it is of course impossible to act with presence of mind.

Then the right thing is to keep still until composure is regained."

-Chinese Proverbial Wisdom

The dirt felt warm and soft under Vatusia's feet as she padded from her hut to the wooden shed she used to store her non-perishable food items. Her supplies lasted longer now that she was only cooking for one but it was time to make a trip to the market after she had finished selling fabric in Korhogo tomorrow. She hoped that it would be open and that they would have what she needed, particularly since Jeannie had told her that the last trip they made from the ministry center had ended unsuccessfully because none of the sellers felt safe going out with the increased gunfire and rebel traffic through the village. Besides, hardly a truck had made it through to deliver supplies in over a week.

The unrest spreading through the country had delayed Anjani's departure by a week as well, and Vatusia was thankful that Ernest had stayed with Anjani in Abidjan until his flight was able to depart for the United States, particularly since, more than once, airline personnel had required him to give his seat up to a U.S. citizen trying to return home. Eventually, although the U.S. based airline he was travelling on was giving U.S. citizens priority due to the extenuating circumstances of civil unrest, Anjani had obtained a seat and she had received notification from Ernest that Anjani had landed safely in Arizona.

Vatusia did not feel as much of an impact from the rebel fighting as others did. She knew that the Templetons were often called upon to help their government or other charitable organizations when there was specific trouble. Because they were responsible for the care and feeding of a much larger group of people, they suffered more from supply shortages and power outages, and they were particularly panicked when the lines of communication with the world outside of Korhogo were severed.

Vatusia, on the other hand, was used to being isolated. Although since Anjani's departure a few months ago, she had increased her trips to the Templeton's center to once a week, primarily to check in with Anjani via their computer, a much faster process than waiting weeks for Anjani's letters to be delivered and much less expensive. Most of her time was devoted to acquiring the basic necessities of her existence including food, water and maintaining her shelter. Any time left was spent on her passion, weaving, through which, she was able to earn enough to provide a meager allowance for Anjani in the United States and to sustain herself.

As a girl in her village, Vatusia learned how to use a drop spindle to turn cotton into thread. The metamorphosis of cotton into cloth continued as the more experienced women dipped the thread into vats of indigo, orange, and almost every other color of the rainbow, creating beautiful shades by knowing just how long to leave each to soak. Stories that were passed down about this craft told of how their ancestors first learned how to weave by watching a spider work its magic as it created a web. Now the most artfully woven cloth was saved for use in special occasions such as births, weddings and burials, although the advent of improved looms allowed almost everyone access to beautiful handmade cloth as well.

Vatusia had struggled with her first attempts at weaving on her own, without the support of the women in her village. She had obviously used looms, passing the shuttle to and fro through the network of threads the frame held in place, but she had never built one. The equipment makers in her village were usually men who would work together as a team to construct the frame, attaching treadles with pulleys and other supporting equipment for the bobbins and skein winders. On her first attempt to weave by herself, Vatusia started much as she imagined her ancestors had with a makeshift, handheld device, but finding it too unwieldy, had ultimately managed to build her own, frame and all, skillfully piecing together discarded, recycled and purchased components. Each new piece of cloth brought an opportunity to tweak and improve the loom until, by about the tenth piece of fabric, she was finally satisfied with her creation.

It felt good to be able to create something beautiful from nothing. She had a vision in her mind's eye before she began, the colors speaking to her as she crafted each piece of art, the richness and purity of yellow like the yoke of an egg, the fertility and health of green like a strong blade of grass, dictating the pattern. In her village there were rules as to the colors and patterns that could be used for the cloth, based on its purpose and intended recipient, but in her home, on her own, Vatusia let her imagination go with a the freedom which was ultimately reflected in the exquisite beauty of her cloth which was like none other in the market place.

Today Vatusia was working on a large order of scarves for Jeannie. She did not know all of the details, but Jeannie had spoken with her cousin in the States, the same cousin, a woman named Meg, who had expressed interest in Anjani's college education. Jeannie felt that Vatusia's scarves would sell very well in the indigenous craft fairs that were held in and around Meg's town where underprivileged women from a variety of third world countries were encouraged to sell their wares. Vatusia did not know what "indigenous" meant, but the price Jeannie offered was more than double what she could get in the closest market, in addition to the fact that she could sell more due to an increased clientele. It also seemed certain that the escalating violence would limit her ability to sell her fabric in the Korhogo market, so selling to Meg was a stroke of very good luck indeed.

Then there was the matter of Anjani. Vatusia did not want to disappoint Jeannie's cousin Meg for his sake. While she was conflicted when it came to another woman's interest in her son's life, she did not want to close the door on a college education for him just yet since, in less than one year, if all went well, Anjani would graduate from the American primary education system with a high school degree. If he did not stay in school, Ernest told her that U.S. law required that he return to the Ivory Coast immediately. Vatusia was already sick with loneliness for him, but she also hated the idea of what he would face in Korhogo, or any village in the Ivory Coast. An arbitrary village council decision could send him back to the dreaded Rehabilitation Center, or equally frightening, the rebels could demand his participation in their violent campaign. As it was, there were very few males between the ages of twelve and twenty-five who had not been forced into duty by the rebels or the military. Realizing that she had no real option, Vatusia worked harder than ever on her weaving in order to make a good impression on this American woman who had the power to do so much for Anjani.

The work consumed Vatusia. Tonight, like most nights, she did not notice the time until the last light of the evening faded into darkness as she passed the shuttle through the loom one last time before rising. Her back and shoulders stiff from the work, she swung her arms in circles as she crossed the room to light a lamp, finding that she could not remember whether or not she had eaten lunch. The days were, she realized, starting to blend together like the colors in her fabric. Mixing a bit of this and a pinch of that together in her small pantry, she could almost hear Anjani laugh, hear him tell her that she needed to take care of herself to stay strong while he was gone. Anjani was an insightful child...correction, _man_. No one knew the challenges of her life more than he did.

She soon finished her meager meal and nightly chores. The weather was unseasonably cool which made sleeping easy for her, physically anyway. Now, if she could just shut off her mind. It was so hard to wonder about Anjani without having seen his new home herself. At least when they were separated while he was in school, she could picture him; in the classroom, his head resting against his hand as he read an assignment, in the dining hall, cautiously poking at his food as he tried some new item that the Templetons had imported from the US; or in his sleeping quarters, his eyes closed as he lay on his mat for a well-earned night of sleep. But she knew nothing of Arizona and this void in her experience made it easy for strange, unwelcome ideas about Anjani's new life to creep in. She looked over to her pile of fabric, only able to make out the outline in the darkness. She would be two days ahead of schedule, but she would travel to the Templetons tomorrow. She had plenty of fabric to trade for the information she craved about her son.

The walk to the Templetons had been the most tense she had experienced, reminding her of when, on one occasion, she had gone searching for Anjani at the Rehabilitation Center. Several times she had to hide herself off the path after hearing shouting nearby which was unusual as the trail she took did not lead to any major villages and would only be used if someone were trying to circumnavigate the normal arteries of travel. Only once was her caution actually warranted when, as she ducked out of site behind a thicket of young trees, two boys who looked to be about Anjani's age, ran down the path in the opposite direction. Friend or foe, she did not want to find out. They did not seem to be armed with guns, but Vatusia could see large machetes dangling from their hands like extended appendages. Her heart had stopped until she reminded herself that one of them could not be Anjani who was safe now in the US.

When she arrived at the mission, there was tension, as well and Vatusia noticed many unfamiliar faces, none of them Ivorian. Just as she reached the office, Ernest came rushing out, his furrowed brow relaxing as he almost ran into her.

"So sorry, Vatusia!" Ernest apologized. "It's good to see you. We've been hoping that you would check in. It's been crazy here and we've had reports that the insanity is spreading farther out from the cities and villages. I have to run to help gather up some Peace Corps volunteers now, but please wait inside. I'll tell Jeannie you're here."

And with that, he sprinted off, even though Vatusia had not uttered a single word. But because she knew that Ernest was a very important, resourceful man and that many people depended on him, she did not begrudge his speedy departure.

Inside the office, books had been left open, maps unfurled and piles of paper were everywhere. It looked like Beti had not been in to tidy up in some time. Even the computer was open and seeing it, Vatusia found herself longing to contact Anjani. Since his diagnosis, she and he had made regular communications part of their routine. Whereas a normal mother and son might go for days without a meaningful conversation, part of Anjani's non-medical treatment was what Dr. Francois called "psychosocial," explaining to her that she must help Anjani mature socially and emotionally on a daily basis through a combination of psychotherapy techniques. As he grew, he assured her, Anjani would be able to take an increasing amount of responsibility for his own development through self-help methods but his bond with his mother would always remain strong.

Vatusia knew that there would be someone in Arizona to provide therapy, but she had not heard any real detail yet on how he was progressing except that Anjani had reported feeling very comfortable in the Butler's home. Vatusia could only imagine the amenities he was enjoying including air "conditioning", beds, toilets, consistent electricity and water, and paved roads. The first few emails she had received were dominated by detailed explanations of the new luxuries, such as how fresh water was poured out onto the arid soil to make grass grow for purely ornamental reasons. "Not a cow in sight!" he had remarked. Or how the ground in the Butler's home was covered with layer upon layer, cement, wood, and carpet, any one of which would have been better than the dirt to which he was accustomed.

The adjustment at school had been slightly less comfortable but was still going well according to both Anjani and the Butlers. They had met with the high school administration several times before and after Anjani's arrival to try to facilitate the smoothest transition possible. New routines, no matter how well prepared he was, caused Anjani some degree of stress, which could lead to increased symptoms. Vatusia had been relieved to find out that the high school employed a social worker trained in basic psychiatric techniques. In addition, he would be visiting a medical clinic weekly where a doctor would monitor his medications.

"Oh, Vatusia!" Jeannie exclaimed, throwing open the door. "I'm so glad you came early this week. Things have been so hectic around here, but we were worried about you out on your own." And when Vatusia assured her she was fine, "It's everyone else I'm worried about, actually. It seems as though so many people have lost their sense of right and wrong. We keep hearing reports of atrocities being committed in the name of the rebellion as well as by the military in the name of protecting the people. One of our employees saw two of the boys who have recently joined the rebel movement heading down the path towards your home. Did you see them?"

"Yes" Vatusia answered "but they did not see me."

"I'm so glad because they were sent to gather resources by any means necessary," Jeannie told her. "Beti knows their mothers and thinks they are good boys but when someone and their family is threatened with violence like so many others have been, I am not so sure how they will behave. Please be extra cautious!"

"Now," she said as she popped back up from the chair, her frenetic energy charging the air, "I need you to talk to Anjani. No. Don't worry. There's nothing wrong, not with him anyway. Actually, that's why the Butlers called. Everyone in their town now feels like they know you because they've been following the news of what's been happening here in the Ivory Coast via the Internet and the BBC and anyone else who is reporting it... certainly not the major US media outlets." Jeannie added as a mumbled aside. "Anjani's Contemporary World Problems class has even started following the Ivory Coast news as a class project. The trouble is that Anjani doesn't know how to respond to all the questions he's getting about how you are, where you are, how you are fighting off the military and/or rebels, which side you are on, etc. He really wants to talk to you in person."

Vatusia's heart pinched as she thought of Anjani needing her, wanting to talk to her and being so far away.

"Of course I want to talk to him too, but I cannot pay you for the call and I will not take any more charity from you and Ernest," Vatusia said.

"I've already thought of that," Jeannie told her. "I need a new bed cover for one of the beds in the bunkroom. With all of these unexpected guests, I've run short. You can pay us with your handiwork if that suits you. As a matter of fact, I know from my cousin Meg that your pieces are more valuable than one phone call, so I will offer you sixty minutes for a bed cover and you may use it as you choose. Now let's make that call."

It was a relief, Vatusia found, to know that she could actually pay for a service herself so she felt proud this time, instead of guilty, as she watched Jeannie dial the number. With the time difference, she calculated that Anjani should just be getting ready to go to school. Jeannie buzzed around the office typing on the keyboard, organizing, filing and eventually leaving with another stack of papers as Vatusia and Anjani caught up with each other. After about thirty minutes, both mother and son felt calmer, knowing the other was safe, having shared a few details of one another's life to tide them over until the next time they could talk or e-mail.

In addition to his classes at the high school, Anjani had begun participating in the Butler's church youth group. It was the friends he'd made there who were the most help in his acclimation at the school. Every day they met for lunch in the cafeteria. For Anjani, this was a way to briefly anchor himself in the swirling ocean that was his day. He was not the only black face at the school and the wardrobe the Butlers had provided through the church rummage department seemed appropriate enough. What he'd tried to articulate to his mother was how strange it felt to _not_ stand out, he found it difficult because it was not like anything he had ever known. Even with the benevolence of the Templetons, the village children who had attended his school at the Center were cruel in the way that they ignored and shunned Anjani. In Arizona, he felt like just another student in a sea of students. The teachers were each different, some amicable, some serious, but all treated him with dignity and respect. The students outside of his church youth group who reached out to him were friendly, asking him to join in class projects, or participate in extracurricular events, making it easy for him to fulfill his promise to his mother that he would work at embracing his new "normal" identity.

However, Anjani also shared additional news that alarmed Vatusia initially. Even though they were only a short way into the school year, Anjani's class was already thinking about and planning for graduation. As he described the dances, parties, trips and pageantry that would be involved, primarily in the second half of the year, Vatusia immediately thought of the costs, and wondered how much weaving she could accomplish in just a few months. Fortunately Anjani allayed her fears by explaining how the school handled students without the financial resources for graduation.

The second alarm bell went off in her mind when Anjani brought up college. Counselors visited their homeroom fairly regularly to share information about the process, from how to make out applications to scheduling visits to local junior colleges, colleges and universities. Anjani was thrilled with the opportunities, which seemed limitless, and marveled at the fact that some seniors had already started the enrollment process during the summer, applying for "early decision" at their favorite choices, all of which had made Anjani desperate to have his mother speak with Jeannie's cousin Meg about her offer to help.

"Maman, please!" he had begged. "Everyone here goes to college in some form. I am just getting used to it here. I love you, but I don't want to go back to the Cote d'Ivoire yet. Please let me stay!"

Vatusia had agreed to try to let him further his education, but made no promises as to when, suggesting instead that he learn all that he could about college requirements and the process so that, if and when he was able to apply, he would be ready and not be a burden to Miss Meg, the Butlers, or the college counselors.

The rest of Anjani's news filled her heart with warmth and pride. She could tell that he was having a life changing experience and felt comforted that any anxiety from the changes were being dealt with from a psychological standpoint. His medication and regular psychotherapy were helping him manage his illness to the point of having fewer symptoms than ever before. If only, she thought, she could be there to experience it with him. She had reassured Anjani that she was safe and that the fighting was not impacting her, primarily because she travelled to Korhogo less and less as she sold to Jeannie's cousin more and more. But in her heart, she was not sure. Jeannie and Ernest had a lifetime of experience all over Africa, not just the Cote d'Ivorie, and their worry was palpable.

Vatusia hung up the phone and left the office to locate Jeannie, who she found busily preparing lunch with some of the Peace Corps guests. Everyone at the Center was expected to pitch in and help, no matter what his or her role in the outside world, company president or plantation worker. Vatusia had always liked that approach, as it seemed quite fair.

"I wrote down the minutes on the pad by your phone," she told Jeannie, who was busily chopping onions.

"Oh that's fine, but in the future, you don't have to," Jeannie told her, wiping her hands on her apron. "The phone bill will tell me the length of the call next time. Can you stay for lunch?"

Vatusia had decided to squeeze in a trip to the Korhogo market to barter the last few pieces of fabric that remained after filling Meg's order for supplies, not wanting to have to return to the market again until things settled down.

"No thank you," she said, "but I did want to give you the work I did for Meg, I left it in the office, and," she added, lowering her gaze, her unbound hair sweeping forward as if to follow, "to ask you if she had mentioned Anjani?" If the moment seemed awkward for Vatusia, it did not appear to be for Jeannie.

"Yes, she did. Let me just finish up with the gals here and I'll meet you back in the office," Jeannie replied before Vatusia had even raised her eyes. "Wait for me there, but grab a sandwich from the icebox before you go. We made up a pile of them for all the people who are coming and going and I'm afraid we made too many. Please don't let them go to waste!"

As Jeannie turned her attention back to the table where she had been chopping to provide marching orders for her helpers, Vatusia opened the icebox and withdrew a saran wrapped sandwich. Unsure of the contents, but happy nonetheless to have something to tide her over until she returned home, Vatusia was grateful for Jeannie's way of providing without making her feel like the subject of charity.

Jeannie followed Vatusia into the office a few minutes later, still wearing her apron, heading directly to a large box that was already labeled and ready for shipping. She waited while Vatusia neatly piled her work inside, patting them as she did so. Representing so many hours of labor, she realized, it was like saying goodbye to loved ones.

"Perfect!" said Jeannie approvingly. "I'm starting to get good at this packaging thing. Meg tells me these are the best sellers at their markets. Congratulations! Remember me when you are famous" Jeannie added, chuckling.

As she turned to pick up the tape, she hesitated briefly, as though just remembering Vatusia's question.

"Meg also told me that she is still very interested in sponsoring Anjani to attend college," she said. " I am so sorry that I didn't bring it up myself. I know that it's hard for you to ask, but honestly, with the way things are, I'm surprised I remember to brush my teeth."

Jeannie often said things that made no real sense to Vatusia, but knowing that her intentions were always good, she responded with a hesitant smile.

"Anjani has been talking a lot about how the other students in his grade are making preparations now," she began. "I'm just afraid that if I don't follow all the rules and procedures properly, they will send him back here in the summer."

"Listen," Jeannie said, taking her by the arms reassuringly and looking directly into her eyes. "We will all do everything we can to help. There are many things that can be done if we use the proper channels, both here and in the US. Anjani is not the first student to study abroad from the Ivory Coast. It _is_ possible, and we will make it happen for you and for him. He is our best student after all!"

And then, as though suddenly struck with an idea, she returned to the desk.

"I'm going to e-mail Meg right now and hopefully have a plan for you by the time you visit again," she said. "When are you going to come back next by the way?"

"I'm not sure," Vatusia told her. "I've gone through all of the thread I have so there's a lot of work to do before I have enough for another shipment to Meg."

"OK, but just remember that you don't have to have weavings to give you an excuse to come back," Jeannie told her. "If there is anything that makes you nervous out there or if you just want to e-mail Anjani, head our way. It's very dangerous for everyone here right now."

After agreeing to return within seven days, Vatusia packed up the last few items she had to trade and headed to the Korhogo market. Her thoughts raced, jumping from one possible scenario to another as she thought about how both of their lives were changing. Vatusia was so absorbed that she arrived at the market without really remembering how she got there, her feet on a mission of their own, leaving her mind to wander. She was pleased when the women manning her friend's stall welcomed her in to trade and sell with them. Within an hour she had sold or bartered for what she came with. Thanking them Vatusia went to the other side of the market to find one or two more items she had to buy outright. Not all of the vendors were open and selling, many having been scared away by the gunfire and rebel activity from the previous days.

Vatusia's cross-market traverse paid off, however since the vendor she needed was there. Laden with fresh supplies, Vatusia was finally able to head home after a very long day. Stopping at a familiar clearing in the trail, Vatusia slipped her hand in her pocket to retrieve the sandwich she had been carrying all day. It was hot and compressed into an amorphous shape but the flavor was good and the baked bread was a treat she rarely bothered with, especially when the weather was warm. Sipping water from her flask, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. It was so hot that now, out of sight from the villagers on her secluded trail, she pulled her hair up and away from her face, securing it with a hair pin she kept in her pocket. Her scars exposed, Vatusia ran her fingers over them absent mindedly, as if checking to see if they had miraculously disappeared, and then continued on as she always did, arriving home a bit after the sun set, the moon guiding her final steps across familiar ground.

Other than putting away her perishable supplies, Vatusia skipped her normal evening chores and fell straight into a dream-filled sleep in which she heard Anjani, who appeared as a man with a baby's face, crying. "Maman, Maman!!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to reach her and failed. Vatusia stretched out her arms as far as she could but her body was laying on top of soft, loose ground that gave way like quicksand below her each time she attempted to move closer to him. She was aware of the same thing happening to him on the other side of the deep, narrow ravine that separated them. Each time he reached out towards her, he slipped farther and farther until the entire ledge below him gave way. She gasped, unable to scream, hot tears exploding from her eyes as she saw him dangling about fifteen feet below her on the other side of the gap, his waist cinched painfully by a rope at one end and secured to a tree at the top of the ravine on the other end. She recognized the cruel limbs and smooth bark of the Detention and Rehabilitation Center trees.

Drying the tears that were still wet on her pillow when she woke up, Vatusia determined to work, more earnestly than ever on a new batch of colorful fabric. Anything to solve Anjani's educational dilemma and keep him safe in a distant land far from the people of this culture where no one seemed to respect him or value his humanity.

Vatusia was working at the loom when she heard an all-too-familiar voice, and saw a man, ten years older than when she had seen him last, standing in the doorway.

"You're a hard woman to find Vatusia" Laurent said. "I thought that maybe you had found a man, but I should have known that you could not be satisfied after me. Lucky for you I am back."

Nearly paralyzed with dread, Vatusia stood up, and backed into the corner, knowing that there was nowhere to go and no one to hear her scream.

### Chapter Five

Most days Meg truly believed that her marriage was idyllic. Those were the good days, full of compromise and harmony. Today however, her exchange with Jeff had left her feeling dull and hollow, down to the cheap rubber flip-flops in which she stood. Rather than a sense of calm and accomplishment in her familial duties, she felt lost. Busying herself with an attempt to remove a rust stain that had been on the white porcelain sink top since they moved in, she began to fear that, if she let herself, she might stand in that same spot, transfixed by her lack of feeling, indefinitely. She listened intently for a sign, a knock at the door, a telephone ring, anything, until finally, still scrubbing, she told herself to snap out of it. Whatever funk she was in, she told herself, she certainly didn't want to know what real depression was like, and that she needed to reassess her situation.

Jeff was so particular regarding matters of the home that her domestic reign had turned out to be nothing like what she'd envisioned when she quit working full time to be at home. Instead of a trail-blazing, self-reliant caretaker, she felt like an emasculated choirboy made to sing soprano for the pleasure of the king, which was, perhaps, a harsh comparison but one that suited her at the moment. Grabbing her purse and keys, she headed out to the car. Since Chloe would not be back from picking up Emma from preschool for another hour, for the moment, at least, she answered to no one.

Meg pressed all four power buttons simultaneously, until every window in the car was down, and once she'd left the neighborhood, turned the volume up on an alternative music station, relishing the sound combined with the wind on her face. In small ways of course, like having a few too many drinks or watching porn with her husband, she liked to break the rules. Today she pulled into the local gas station that served as a market for those who weren't willing to drive to the much larger chain store, and bought herself a package of cigarettes.

Back in the car, she had no sooner taken her first drag when her mobile phone rang with Kat's ringtone.

"Hey stranger" Meg said with forced cheerfulness. "How's my girl?"

"Not great actually" Kat responded in a less than enthusiastic tone. "You have time to talk?"

"As a matter of fact, I was just wishing you were sitting next to me while I smoke this vile cigarette" Meg admitted. "Why don't I pick you up in ten," she added, making it in eight to find Kat waiting on her front steps like a schoolgirl waiting for the bus.

"What's up?" Meg inquired tentatively, noticing how poorly Kat looked on closer inspection as she buckled herself into Meg's car.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that my husband has fallen out of love with me, if you can call what we had together 'love' in the first place," Kat responded listlessly.

"Oh shit, what happened?" asked Meg, which was all the encouragement Kat needed to tell her how she had gone a bit too far in detailing her activities regarding the trip to Las Vegas. It had, apparently, brought out a lot of pent up hurt and anger that Tom had been harboring for a long time, judging from the heated and spiteful exchange that had followed. Kat was, she explained, not certain whether either of them could fully recover from what was said and done.

"Why'd you bring it up Kat?" Meg asked. She pulled into the Tanglenook Park entrance, turning left down a quaint looking lane, the trees draping and arching into one another from opposing sides to form an ethereal canopy with shards of light poking their way through the dense foliage. Putting the car in park on the side of the road, Meg took off her sunglasses and turned to face her friend, waiting for her response.

"I'm really not sure," Kat admitted. "I think I just wanted to provoke a reaction from Tom, or, maybe, if I'm being really honest with myself. I just couldn't leave well enough alone".

"Did you think how Tom might react to the news of you being with another woman sexually?" Meg asked. The two were always honest with each other, as evidenced by their sometimes-contentious discussions while in Vegas about this and other subjects, but that didn't mean the discussions always ended well. Meg had second thoughts about the bluntness of her question as soon as it left her lips, particularly when she saw tears form in Kat's eyes.

"I thought I was entitled to feel good," she gulped as Meg put her arms around her. "But Tom pointed out how selfish that is and how we were supposed to be a team and that that was the whole point of being married and that if we're not going to be a team, then why are we married? And I was so pissed off that he was pissed off that I couldn't hear his words, you know? I mean I heard them, but I couldn't admit that he might be right."

When it was apparent that Kat had gotten out what she needed to say, Meg answered thoughtfully, "I think we both need to do some work evaluating what has made us so focused on ourselves lately. I mean there are so many people in this world who just accept the way things are and live their lives... why do we have to make things so hard?" Realizing she was thinking more of herself than Kat, Meg refocused, "I know this might pain you, but I really think you should get back to Tom as quickly as possible and apologize. I don't know where you want to end up with him, but if you have the slightest notion that you want to stay in your marriage, then grovel. Based on what you've told me, you've said some pretty hurtful things that can't be taken back. Anyway, that's my advice."

"You're probably right, Meg. If I'd thought things through in the first place, this wouldn't be happening."

"I'm not sure about that," answered Meg tentatively, not wanting to upset her friend any more than she had to. "What I mean is that I feel like you and Tom have been due for a serious conversation for a while now, don't you think? You haven't been happy, have you?"

Meg couldn't tell from her expression how Kat was going to respond, and was not surprised when Kat closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. "Do you mind if we just drive for a little while before you drop me off? " she said.

After twenty minutes of skirting farms and vineyards via pastoral country roads, Meg pointed her car back in the direction of home, dropping Kat on the way. And although Kat remained veiled in a morose gloom when they parted, Meg felt their relationship, at least, had remained in tact. She wasn't so sure about Kat and Tom's, but she had no control over that.

Chloe and Emma were already home when she pulled up, as evidenced by the extra car in the driveway, but Meg wasn't ready to put on a happy face even though greeting Emma after preschool was one of her favorite times of the day. Emma could be so chatty when the news was fresh, but she disliked repeating it, so Daddy usually didn't get any information directly from her by the time he arrived home. But today she would let Jeff have it, whether he deserved it or not.

Parking the car in the driveway, she headed out toward the lake near their house, texting Chloe as she walked so she wouldn't wonder when she noticed Meg's car. Normally everything Meg did had a purpose so it felt strange to amble down the sidewalk, but her life didn't normally include so much drama either. The potential break up of a friend's marriage and the activities in Las Vegas leading up to it were serious. Perhaps, she thought, this was what a mid-life crisis felt like. The good news was that, if she packed as much into the second half of her life as she did the first, she was in good shape. The problem was that her goals and priorities didn't seem as clear as they once had.

Meg had always considered her childhood to have been somewhere between happily average and happily great. The youngest of four siblings, she had been a content, well-adjusted child, neither starved for attention nor showered with it. Her parents were hard working folks who cared about their children and their community, providing excellent examples of living the American dream. Education was a family priority, which Meg's parents shared with their children in a variety of ways from support of formal classroom learning to exposure to the arts, culture, and travel. Almost everything Meg had experienced as a child interested her, so choosing activities was often the subject of great consternation. In most cases she would end the predicament by doing exactly what her older sister, someone she considered well worth emulating, had done.

By her senior year in high school, Meg had joined so many clubs and participated in so many sports and activities that her parents had to look through the yearbook to figure out what she had done. As a freshman, she lettered in Volleyball, graduating as the team captain. Cheerleading, debate team, ski club, key club, student government, and valedictorian status, among other activities, helped her get into the college of her choice. At the time, she was also geographically desirable, coming from the West but wanting to study elsewhere when most all of her classmates wanted to stay closer to home. Meg loved her peers, but most of them were far from ambitious in terms of educational goals.

The travelling Meg's family had enjoyed during her childhood had been much more basic than that of most of her friends, whose families would often pick a destination like Hawaii or Mexico where they stayed in fairly luxurious package lodgings while her parents usually chose to stay either in Motel 6 or went camping. Later in life, Meg realized that she had had no idea what "upscale" meant as a child and was confident that she was a better person for it, although, once she was a parent herself, circumstances had conspired to make her children all too familiar with private school and country club living. How odd, she thought, that now she sometimes lamented the privilege she and Jeff had worked hard to afford their family.

It was because of those back-road family adventures, the six of them crammed into the station wagon with not a seat belt in sight, that Meg and her siblings had developed an appreciation for the various ways in which Americans lived, from the opulence of the Hearst castle, shining like a jewel on the beautiful yet rugged California coast, to the squalor and desperation they saw in the Indian reservations they visited as they traversed the country via old Route 66. By the time Meg moved away from home, she had seen every state in the country and visited all of the continents save Africa which was, perhaps, why it interested her the most.

Meg's great aunt and uncle had been missionaries in Africa for as long as she'd known them, visiting the US only occasionally for important milestones such as weddings and funerals. She didn't know them well, but her parents were financially, emotionally, and spiritually supportive of their efforts, so there was often news of their doings. When their son and daughter-in-law, Meg's aunt and uncle, had joined their ministry in West Africa, Meg, who had been twenty-four at the time, had attended the farewell gathering. New to the working world herself, she could not imagine giving up the comforts available in the US, nor the benefits a career would provide. And although she did not support the concept of trying to influence individual religious beliefs, she appreciated the humanitarian accomplishments of church outreach programs, and was glad to join her parents in supporting the missionary efforts financially.

As far as her own career was concerned, Meg's tendency to over-achieve intensified over the years. With a Bachelor of Science in Engineering from a good school, combined with being female, she landed a highly desirable job at a tech firm in the Research Triangle area of North Carolina with ease where she threw all of her time and energy into her work, just as vigorously as she had thrown it into her studies in school. If there was a project that needed completing, Meg completed it. If there was a team-building event, she participated. If the department needed a representative for an event, she volunteered. Meg was a true company darling.

Meg's love life was a bit more conflicted than the straightforward, nose-to-the-grindstone approach she took with her career, however. There had been plenty of "boys" from whom to choose in college. Unfortunately, the type she attracted didn't seem to like competing for attention with all of her other interests. Continuing the pattern she developed in High School, Meg explored and participated in every opportunity she could while at Duke, from "A", Alpha Phi sorority, to "Z", an internship at Zeta Corporation, all of which didn't leave a lot of time for relationships. After a few years of dating that went nowhere, and a proliferation of weddings to attend, she had begun to realize that a serious relationship might be something worth working on in earnest.

It hadn't taken much of an effort to expand her courtship horizons, particularly since she had already determined that networking would be key to her continued upward mobility and many of her college friends had stayed in the area and added new friends to their pool of acquaintances as well. There were several failed attempts, one even ending with a marriage proposal, but none were right. Her parents had set the bar high for how a lifelong relationship should look, but she found that measuring up was not something that could be judged overnight. She was twenty-eight before she met and fell in love with Jeff.

Based on her efforts on behalf of her company for the United Way, Meg had been thrilled when she was asked to join the area Board of Directors as a junior member. Helping local charities was rewarding, but it was the inner workings of the organizations with which she dealt that really sparked her interest. In college while travelling abroad with friends one summer, Meg had met a man who was having a monumental impact through his charitable works repairing lives devastated by the Bosnian conflict. She and her friends had been so impressed with the positive effect he was having that her friend Liza had even taken a year off of school to go back and join his organization.

Meg was inspired by the good deeds, but the inefficiency of his organization would have driven her crazy had she been involved. Based on Liza's reports, there was so much red tape and paperwork involved in the tasks they were trying to accomplish that they often felt as if they were being punished for their humanitarian work, particularly since general administration was usually neglected in the process. Letters containing checks were left lying on the desk, unopened for so long that many donors gave up and cancelled their payments. In typical Meg fashion, upon hearing these reports, she had enlisted her "Process Design" class to put the considerable intelligence of the group to the test, a practical challenge which had earned her an A, as well as resulting in a vastly improved infrastructure at the agency.

After that effort, Meg assumed the United Way Board would be another process improvement challenge to tackle. Updating policies and procedures was the first item on the docket, a boring yet satisfying goal to achieve over the next calendar year. But it was her committee-mate, Jeff, who ended up providing the real satisfaction. Long after they were married, Jeff would still tease her by saying, "It's process improvement time!" whenever he was in the mood for romance.

Looking back, Meg marveled at the myriad of components that had fallen into place to make their lives together a reality. To set their courtship in motion, they had both been uninvolved at the same time, which neither had been for any length of time in their adult lives. Their temperaments matched, their mutual and varied interests meshed and their chemistry was scintillating. Even the in-laws seemed agreeable. By thirty, they were married and both Meg's career at an engineering firm and Jeff's at a biotech company were progressing rapidly, all of which, however, had not come without sacrifice. Jeff's allegiance was the first to be tested when he was asked to relocate to the western part of the state to head up research and development efforts for a new product which had meant leaving Meg's job. But with a baby on the way, she was not sure how her career would fit into the picture anyway, so the decision was made, the corporate test passed.

Her first-born, Sam, had resulted in an exercise in humility for them both, two intelligent, successful adults being brought to their knees by a tiny being even before he was born. In typical Meg fashion, the coffee table had been stacked with reading materials regarding pregnancy, childbirth and child development, complete with reading assignments for him. According to Meg's plan, Jeff was going to be a participative father, whether she went back to work or not. It turned out that, although Jeff's intention was to take part, his preference was to learn by trial and error, so when it came time to discuss the relative merits of amniocentesis, for example, he was no help to Meg. In response, she would typically canvas her network of mothers, and arrive at her own opinion after reluctantly giving up on the notion that child rearing would be a completely joint venture. "Mother knows best" was Jeff's line.

Meg had tried hard to carry off the perfect pregnancy but tiny roadblocks took a toll on her once bulletproof self-esteem. There was the gestational diabetes, which she equated to an overweight person's disease, followed by her obstetrician's gentle suggestion that she slow the pace of her weight gain. Her sister had warned her of a family predisposition for Melasma during pregnancy but she had ignored her until unwanted dark brown spots began appearing around her cheeks and jaw line. Meg was utterly humbled to think of all the women, now and throughout time, who had gone through childbirth with so much more grace than she had, even with all of the modern conveniences and technologies at her disposal.

Twenty-three hours of labor wreaked havoc on Meg physically, and Jeff emotionally, but the reward, a perfect baby boy named Sam Everson, was worth it. They beamed with pride as they shared Sam with his anxious relatives and friends, reality not setting in until Meg's two-day stay at the hospital came to a close. Leaving the support of nurses and doctors behind, they returned to their home as a family of three, a very green and untested family of three.

Sam had been a champ, sleeping in longer and longer stints until, after a few weeks, Meg and Jeff were finally able to resume their normal seven hour nights. Breast-feeding, however, was not Sam's forte. Now, unconsciously cupping her hand under her breast, Meg remembered the excruciating pain she had endured as Sam took his time learning how to latch on properly. She hadn't cared how embarrassing it felt to sit on a couch in a stranger's house, breast raw and exposed, babe in arms because she would have endured anything to be a proper mom for Sam, and her reading had convinced her that breast feeding was essential to a baby's health. Jeff had sat by her side, taking notes from the lactation consultant as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and she loved him for it. He might not always follow the path she would have laid for him, but all in all he was turning out to be an excellent father.

With the first few weeks of parenting under her belt and a mild case of post partum depression, Meg was back on track, following a plan to become the perfect mother/baby team. Her plan to produce the best possible environment for baby Sam included hiking along the Blue Ridge Parkway, tending to a garden that produced fresh fruits and vegetables for future baby food, listening to classical music and reading classics aloud. When there was time, she worked on herself as well. Breastfeeding was an excellent metabolic boost, which she supplemented by re-toning her core muscles with Pilates and yoga in front of the TV while Sam napped. Meg was thrilled to be finished with her gestational diabetes, but when the mask of pregnancy did not leave so willingly, she embarked on a regime of skin lightening treatments even though she was accustomed to nature having provided her with a flawless complexion

Life was quite a bit different with a new baby in a new town, one that was definitely more rural in Western North Carolina, although there was still access to cultural events and activities and the family was even closer to the natural beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains that she, Jeff and Sam loved. Meg was obsessed with afternoon walks with Sam in the fall of his first year. As she strolled through her neighborhood now, she remembered the way it felt to have the sun on her face and the crisp mountain air swirling past her. Movement made Sam happy so, bundling him in his stroller, she would walk for hours with only his face exposed.

During that time in her life, Meg felt safe and incredibly blessed, finding that so many of the clichés she had heard were true. Everything _did_ change once you were responsible for more than your own life. But she was also feeling unfulfilled, which led to guilt. How could she have a wonderful husband and child and still feel a nagging emptiness inside? For quite a few months Meg had been able to quell her increasing unease with the everyday tasks, but shortly after Sam's first birthday she had broken down and re-entered the working world in an attempt to fill the void.

The process of returning to work after relocating and the birth of a child was arduous and not without setbacks. Finding the right job had been the easiest of the tasks. A local engineering firm was in need of a project manager. Meg was overqualified, but the work seemed interesting, did not involve travel, and as usual, the management liked her. The real challenge was finding the right childcare. In the end, knowing that her guilt would correlate to her satisfaction that Sam was being well provided for, she and Jeff settled on the Hesterfield Academy. Somehow the name made it feel less like a daycare and more like they were sending their gifted one year old off to day school. The first few months were rough on Meg; her heartstrings plucked each time Sam's big brown eyes welled up with tears as she set him on the lap of one of the caregivers. Eventually it became a habit, of course, but it was never easy.

The new job went well and Meg, Jeff, and Sam settled into a routine until Jenny came along. Far more prepared, and less anxious, Meg and Jeff navigated their second child's birth a bit more smoothly than the first. Meg's engineering firm wanted her to stay, so they shifted her project load to allow for extended maternity leave. She loved her job, but it was such a relief to Meg when she was able to say goodbye to the Hesterfield Academy. No more tearful goodbyes every morning. She had Sam and Jenny all to herself, all day, or at least until Jeff was able to tear himself away from the office. Besides she had a plan, which was to begin interviewing for a full time nanny now that there were two babies needing care.

The idea of someone who was not _her_ at home alone with _her_ children unsupervised was terrifying at first, but Sam was starting to talk so at least she had some comfort thinking that if anything went wrong during the day, he could spill the beans when she got home. After countless interviews and a false start with a promising candidate who turned out to be unable to show up to work regularly, they found Chloe. Meg was still counseling friends who asked for her advice on childcare to choose their children's nanny carefully as it could cause either untold amounts of stress or comfort depending upon the person one selected. In Chloe's case, fortunately, it worked its way from the former to the latter.

Chloe was a no-nonsense girl in her early twenties with ice blue eyes and beautiful wavy red hair, someone who was never mistaken for Sam and Jenny's mother, given their brown eyes and light blond hair. While she loved to gab with her "country" friends as she called them, having spent her whole life in a neighboring rural community with no intention of leaving, she was not big on drama. At first, Meg had mistaken that for low ambition and was a bit concerned, but as their familiarity grew, she realized that Chloe's ambition was to be the best nanny that she could be, and Meg approved.

As was true in any relationship, Meg and Chloe had their differences, but in the end, they were both level headed and respected one another. With a few memorable exceptions, differences were resolved without emotion or hurt feelings. Most importantly, the kids loved Chloe in a way that made Meg happy rather than jealous. Come to think of it, the fact that there was no chemistry between Chloe and Jeff was also an important bonus. So the year flew by as Meg went back to work and the children grew, Chloe busily snapping photos and shooting videos capturing Sam and Jenny's milestones for posterity.

Then, following the pattern Meg seemed to be establishing for herself, a life with meaning became busy but unfulfilled. At first, she thought that minor personal improvements might be the ticket, but after talking Jeff into a cup size breast enhancement, which didn't take much coercion, and whitening her teeth to the Hollywood "z" level, she still felt the same, although she garnered far more lust-filled second looks than even she was used to receiving. Shifting focus to her job, Meg looked down the career path to see a pretty unexciting landscape. As a result, she did some soul searching and decided to change direction.

Meanwhile time was flying by, and as Jeff received promotion after promotion, Meg decided to boost her own market appeal. Combining a Master of Business Administration degree with her engineering background would, she felt, open doors to higher level positions, possibly even outside the realm of engineering. As it turned out however, a shift from engineering to business was not in the immediate future. Instead, Meg was asked to fill a city alderman seat left vacant by the death of a beloved patriarch of the city. She was nominated by the board and approved, serving three months of the late alderman's term, followed by a second full term by election, still amazed that the constituents had elected a non-career politician with so little experience. When asked, most voters indicated that their primary reason for backing her was the fact that she was well known for her support of local non-profit organizations. Whatever the reason, Meg was happy for their confidence in her abilities and carried out her term with pride.

Her dalliance in politics did not prevent Meg from filling her schedule with other personal and professional endeavors such as earning a spot on the national women's sporting clays team, continuing her work on three local non-profit boards, and teaching a software computer automated design class at the vocational college in town. Her friends told her she was "crazy busy", but she did not find their assessment credible, having realized by now that most people did not have her tolerance for a heavy workload. It was entertaining and fulfilling while leaving enough flexibility to be with her family, which was important because she and Jeff were expecting their third child.

After Emma was born, Meg scaled back. With Sam about to start school, she wanted to try being the mom who had time to visit the classroom and read or bake cookies rather than the mother who didn't even have time to look at her e-mails. That fall, she did not seek reelection, nor did she teach any more classes, but stayed at home with Chloe and the kids, basking in the love of her three little delights. Even with a nanny and after shedding most of her commitments, there had been so many times that the process of raising children had driven her to the edge. Raw with emotions and flushed with hormones, she would cry with self-pity about how hard it all was, followed by disgust when she thought of all the others who, although in much tougher circumstances, were stronger mothers than she seemed able to be. People always seemed to criticize her for being too perfect, considering it a compliment. "If they only knew what is was like to be driven to it but never achieve it because you don't understand what _it_ is," she lamented.

Now, deciding not to go down that all-too-familiar road of self-pity, Meg quickened her pace to a near-jog, and thought about the most recent e-mails from her aunt and uncle in Africa, as well as the plight of her friend Kat. Both parties needed her help, she just wasn't quite sure what, if anything, she could do yet. Meg checked her watch, perspiration glistening on her forearm as she approached the house. She only had a few minutes before she'd have to leave to get Sam and Jenny, but she was anxious to check on something first. After greeting Chloe, she swept up Emma from her chair where she had been enjoying a snack, explaining that she was going to "borrow" her youngest for a few minutes. Carrying her into her office, Meg powered on her PC with the press of a button and plopped her on her desk chair. Emma always seemed to enjoy her time in Meg's office, normally the forbidden zone when Meg was home trying to study for law school, her latest passion. After giving Emma a thrill, by whirling the chair around several times, she told her that she was going to check on Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ernest, even though she knew that the names meant little to the child and sent her on a mission to find two green books on the shelves, a task which would allow Meg a few minutes to find what she was looking for.

Meg scrolled through the slew of e-mails she'd received when she got home from Vegas, thinking that she remembered seeing a link to the US State Department in one of the messages. After a few minutes of searching, Meg found it. The website loaded with the following message under the heading:

"Warning"

"Most of the country is not in government control and is effectively in rebel hands. The political situation is messy and the standoff is likely to continue for some time. Events are fluid, crime is on the rise and public health is deteriorating."

"Any travel north of Yamoussoukro and west of Daloa is frankly dangerous. Travel in the remaining sector still under government control, which includes the capital Abidjan is, by contrast relatively trouble-free but subject to change without notice."

Meg's heart sank. She and Jeff needed to talk.

### Chapter Six

"Dua la kuku halimpati mwewe"

Translation: A chicken's prayer doesn't affect a hawk.

Vatusia understood this Swahili saying well, referring as it did to the helplessness of the powerless in the hands of their oppressors. Some day she would ask Jeannie why her prayers had no effect on victimizers. "Surely oppression is a sin?" she thought to herself.

Now was the time, she decided, to stop spinning her wheels and to start planning for her future. For the last sixteen years, Vatusia had not allowed herself a single thought regarding her own well being while busy making the safety of her son her life's work. She would continue to worry about him, probably for the rest of her life, but with Anjani securely settled in his new temporary home in the United States, she needed a new focus. The past was painful, but as she lay curled on her side, the stink of Laurent still clinging to the fabric of her mat, Vatusia let her mind wander. Perhaps if she allowed herself to think of the past, she could move beyond it. It would be hard, but perhaps...

The forest had never been a happy place for Vatusia. As a child she made trips under its dark canopy only when circumstances required it. One of the cruel boys in the village had told her that her mother had lived there like a wild animal, sleeping on the ground or in the trees, foraging for food. There were so many rumors and stories about her mother, who had died before she was old enough to remember her, that Vatusia did not think she would ever know which were true and which were not, particularly since the people of her village were known to stretch facts beyond recognition.

Mathilde, the village matriarch, had become Vatusia's official mother after she had been taken from her mother, according to village law or custom about which she was not sure, hours after her birth, leaving the woman who had bourn her alone in the forest to heal herself. Vatusia knew what it was like to be separated from one's child but she could not imagine what it must have been like for her mother to have been abandoned after the physical and emotional trauma of childbirth. In fact, simply to think about their shared experience made her nauseous. Now, sitting up on her mat, she hiked up the skirt she had hastily donned as soon as Laurent had left high enough to sit cross-legged, her stomach settling a bit as she did.

She understood all too well now why her new mother, Mathilde, had chosen her name, an Ivorian name that meant, "They leave us behind." During her childhood, all Vatusia knew of her history was pieced together from mean spirited taunts of children and the whisperings of old women careless about what a curious young girl might overhear. Later Beti, who had been softened by time and the ministry of the Templetons, was able to fill many of the gaps in her understanding, but understanding provided no comfort. Vatusia's life had turned her hard on the inside in every regard except where Anjani was concerned, although the face she presented to the world reflected a gentleness of spirit and aura of optimism she did not often actually feel.

"The first cruel words cut into your belly like cold steel" Vatusia had once told Anjani when he came home crying because a bully's jeers, "They suck the air from your lungs and spin your senses. But then the bubbling and sickness inside settle a bit and form a thick paste that not only seals the wound of the words from the inside out, but your blood pumps slower and your vision steadies until a sort of cure reaches up through your veins and into your heart so it no longer feels the hurt."

And although her words calmed him, she had wondered, mopping up his tears, how it was that she had any heartbeat at all, considering the cruelty she herself had endured.

It had been a day, not long after Anjani was born, when Beti had first shared what Vatusia assumed was the most reliable information she had ever heard about her mother. "Your real Maman was sick when she held you like you hold him," Beti had said. "Hear what I say, child. She was sick in the head. Your grandparents had to leave the village after your Maman got sick because they were both so ashamed."

Beti had not stopped there. Vatusia would never forget how bluntly she had told her that the village doctor advised everyone that head-sick people were demons and that if they were allowed to live in the village, everyone there would be susceptible to possession.

"I used to play with your mother until they told me I couldn't," Beti had told her, cradling Anjani in her thick arms. "They came and took her away to chain her to a tree in the jungle. Some women would go and bring her food but only throw it to her so they didn't have to get too close. It was one of the boys who set her free against the will of the villagers because he had been using her to do things that no other girl in the village would let him do. What choice did she have chained to that tree?" Only then had Beti's voice cracked with emotion as she struggled to regain her composure to tell Vatusia the rest of what she knew, including her mother's disappearance, followed by her reemergence a few months later "fat with a baby-- about to pop."

That baby, Vatusia knew now, had been her. And because Mathilde had been determined that she not share the same fate as her mother, she had asked the village doctor to perform a cleansing ceremony to keep away the demons when she was about to come of age. "Of course he agreed with the dominant witch," Vatusia thought as she remembered back to the terrifying day. Three one inch cuts on each side of her face starting at her cheekbone and moving back toward her ear, just enough to release the evil inside her head. Mathilde was instructed to apply a compound and salve that would prevent infection but insure scaring so that everyone inside and out of the village would know that Vatusia had been born of a demon, but had subsequently been cut open to allow him to escape.

The end result of this, as Mathilde had intended, was not just a message to the villagers in general, but a warning to any male who came near her after that. Touch Vatusia and risk your soul. But as Vatusia had learned through many hard lessons in her life, human nature is a complicated thing. Instead of warding off the males of the village, she became a tempting target as she came of age, her virginity unique in a village that encouraged young girls to be snatched up in marriage as soon as they were fertile, often to men two, three or four times their age. The older Vatusia became the more tantalizing she was to the opposite sex. She stayed out of sight and to herself as much as she could, but the village was small and there was no place to hide at night.

At first, when a boy or man would try to touch her while she was sleeping, she would wake up screaming and run to Mathilde for help, but eventually Mathilde, having her own man to attend to, grew tired of this and began sending her back to her hut alone. Vatusia continued to turn to Mathilde for protection, even though it was rarely given, until the first time she interrupted something she wished she had never seen... then, she did not go back for help ever again. Instead, she would not sleep at night, not a deep sleep anyway, and would come up with new and clever ways to make a man leave her alone. Sometimes it was a plop of feces placed in the entrance to her room, or a pile of bloody rags left on top of her mat that stunk of death as she hid in the darkness of a corner hugging her knees to her chest, praying for the intruder to be repulsed. How silly she was, she thought now, to have believed that a repulsive person could be repulsed by her schemes. Child's tricks had not been effective in an adult game. Eventually her ingenuity no longer worked as a deterrent to the persistent suitors determined to steal her pride, so she would fight until she couldn't any more.

There was one man who seemed gentler than the others using tender words to lure her to the devil's side. He would come to her room and tell her how he would take care of her and how he would keep the other males in the village away if she would let him do the things he wanted to do with her. He would protect her and in turn, she would not fight back until she would come to like his attention. Three times her silence seemed to convince him that she had succumbed, but three times she fought back, keeping him at bay until eventually she had been too tired to resist. Even now, she remembered the feelings of hatred, powerlessness and pain, but at least the others had stopped bothering her.

Whether the village knew her shame or just assumed it, she was not sure. Mathilde must have known because, even though she never lifted a finger to protect Vatusia, she said she could no longer be responsible for her now that she had been with the devil. "Worthy girls were able to keep the devil away," she told Vatusia. "Worthy girls have parents who care for them," Vatusia had thought angrily, knowing better than to say the words aloud lest she feel the switch against her backside. Mathilde allowed her to stay in her room for now since she had no other use for it anyway, but she would have to raise herself the rest of the way. And so it was that only Vatusia was surprised when her belly began to grow larger.

"What was his name?" Vatusia had asked after it was clear that Beti was finished with her recollections of Vatusia's mother. "The boy who set her free," she added.

"You mean your papa?" Beti said, looking closely at Vatusia as if to judge her reaction. "His name was Laurent."

And with that Beti had smiled sadly, picked up the shawl she had left on a stool and left.

Vatusia had thought she had replaced her rage with an overwhelming love for her new baby boy, but suddenly she had felt the monster escape its chains again. Hatred, pure and hot and real had pulsed through her. Barely able to get poor sleeping Anjani to his mat, before silent sobs heaved from her chest. She almost felt it again now, remembering how she had sunk to the ground and curled into a ball to control the convulsions that wracked her body. "Evil man!" she had wanted to scream then and now. Her prayer to God at that moment had been simple, "take me away from this".

Eventually exhaustion had given way to fitful sleep filled with dreams of inadequacy. In the most disturbing, Anjani was crying to be fed, but when she gave him her breast, Laurent appeared, ripping the boy away, casting him aside, and taking what she offered for himself. When she had awoken to Anjani's typical morning coos, her face still swollen from crying, she found that nothing had changed. Despite Beti's revelation, she would carry on... _they_ would carry on. Vatusia would be the mother to Anjani she'd never been allowed to have.

For five years she had lived like a prisoner on the meager rations of food she and Anjani were offered from the village. In exchange, she was trained as a weaver and expected to produce fabric for use by the community or sometimes for sale in the market in distant Korhogo. Once, the women had asked her to go with them because they needed someone strong to help carry the stacks of fabric but Vatusia had refused, saying that she did not want to leave Anjani for that long. The women had cursed her, but had not forced her to go, her isolation deepened.

Vatusia also continued to endure visits by Laurent although they became less frequent when he married and started his own family. Her hatred did not diminish but she was able to push it so far down inside herself that she could sometimes blot it out completely by imagining what a good life for her and Anjani would be like. She wasn't sure exactly what that good life was, the picture in her mind would shift from visions of an extravagant life to a simple one, but she knew it involved free will for both of them, a new start somewhere else where no one knew of their shared legacy.

Birthdays in Vatusia's village were not celebrated as in the United States, but milestones such as her own coming of age ceremony were. While other girls in her village had received feasts and symbolic gifts on their special day, Vatusia was given scars, so it was reasonable that she had dreaded any village ceremony. One day, shortly after the rainy season ended in the year her son had become ten, the village leaders decided that Anjani had reached just such a milestone. The tribal doctor had been consulted regarding the likelihood that Anjani would become "sick in the head" like his grandmother, and not surprisingly, his prescription had been a cleansing. It was agreed that the same approach had worked for Vatusia, who was headstrong, but not head-sick in their estimation. Had they consulted Vatusia in advance, she would not have allowed it to happen, but they did not. Instead, they tricked her by taking him as he collected water for his mother, one of the chores she had given him as the man of their family. When Anjani had not returned within the usual time allotment, Vatusia began to worry, making the rounds, asking others if they had seen him only to be met with averted eyes and vague answers until, filled with terror, she began to search frantically for Mathilde.

Shouting was not unheard of in her village, but no one had ever heard Vatusia scream before except when she had given birth. This time they were screams of rage. Mathilde had emerged from her hut, not immune to showing kindness, initially she had been gentle with her words, but the more she explained how the village must be protected from potential demons, the wilder Vatusia had become. Her patience exceeded by Vatusia's newfound impertinence, Mathilde had responded authoritatively, "What's done is done. Anjani must be tested to make sure that he is free from demons before he may return, otherwise it is not safe for any of us."

Vatusia had paced like a caged animal, her frustration mounting, and although knowing her words would elicit some physical response from her _mother_ , she had hissed... "Witch! Where have you taken him?" Smack! The force of Mathilde's open hand had knocked her to the ground, one ear ringing from the sting of the slap, the other hearing the words she would never forget, "The center for prayer and forgiveness in Kelkro is where he is, where we should have sent you and your mother if it had existed then. You will see him in seven days _if_ he is clean." The villagers, who had gathered to observe the spectacle, retreated, leaving Vatusia alone on the ground.

Cursing Mathilde and the entire village, Vatusia had made her plans, vowing never to give up on Anjani as her grandparents had given up on her mother. Even if he were sick, she would protect him from their barbaric ways. She had rarely ventured more than a few miles from her village since, before Anjani, she was too young and too vulnerable to go alone or unprotected, and once he was born, she had not wanted to be apart from him which presented a problem now as she contemplated how to retrieve him. Driven by a sense of overwhelming dread, Vatusia had decided she would set out before dawn, realizing that time was her enemy. An attempt to sleep had been futile, tormented by dreams with vivid images of her child in need, a dense fog shrouding him from her view but his shrieks piercing her ears like an arrow through her heart. In the dream, after waving her arms back and forth madly in the air to try to clear a path in the fog, she saw him on the other side of a pond in which she stood, her feet sinking in the thick silt, the water at her shins. "Anjani!" she called and found that she was no longer in her dream but engulfed by the darkness of her room. Drenched with sweat, she rose, washed her face and dressed in her hut for the last time. It was dark but she had dared not light a lamp for fear it would draw attention to her. She needed to be out of sight and out of the villagers' minds forever after.

As she stowed eight thin rolls of her best fabric in her satchel, Vatusia had felt relieved that it was Friday and not Monday. On Sundays the women of the village met to gather all of their weaving work together to be sold at Monday's market in Korhogo. These women, who were expert barterers, would bring back the proceeds to be doled out based on which pieces had garnered the most money, all except for Vatusia. The entirety of her proceeds had gone directly to Mathilde as payment for her room and the food she and Anjani were given. For this reason, she was not sure how much her eight pieces would fetch, but based on what other women said, she thought it would be a decent amount. Taking a few pots and other items she would not be able to carry, she formed them into a human-shaped lump under her blanket, hoping this ploy would allow her enough time to get a head start if anyone tried to follow her. Vatusia was unsure as to whether anyone in the village would even look for her once they discovered her absence but she would be careful nonetheless.

Friday meant that a few of the men would be setting out before the sun rose to get to Korhogo by sunrise. On this day, any of the extra chickens, cocoa, mangoes or bananas would be sold at market. Vatusia heard the familiar squawk of the chickens as they were marshaled together to be beheaded before the men's journey. She had never paid much attention to their timing prior to this, but figured that she had a few more minutes before they would be leaving down the south path for the village. She was ready. There was nothing sentimental to her about leaving the place where she was born and raised. On the contrary, she had dreamed of being free of Mathilde and Laurent in particular for longer than she could remember. As for the others, they had provided some degree of companionship over the years but her outcast status had never allowed anyone the chance to form a real relationship.

Taking one last look around, she emerged from her hut, and staying close to the walls to avoid being seen, wedged herself between the reeds of bamboo about twenty meters from the path entrance, knowing that the darkness would help her remain unnoticed but that it would also make it important for her to stay close on the heels of the men she must follow to reach her destination.

Although most of her attention had been consumed by wondering what Anjani was doing right then, and the knowledge that he must be frightened, she was surprised by how different the land looked as they went in and out of forests and jungles and up and down hills that felt like mountains. Her legs had started to burn as the first rays of sunlight began to pop up over the horizon. As she rounded a corner, the tree cover ended abruptly and the path merged with a dirt road. She was sure they must be close to Korhogo now as the men would need to be set up for market by the time day had completely dawned. Hanging back, she had let the men cross the street and hurry down a road with a whitewashed sign indicating that Korhogo was in one direction and Abidjan in the other.

If she were to get to Anjani, according to what Mathilde had told her, she must get enough money to ride a bus. She did not trust Mathilde, but she did not think she should ask anyone else about Kelkro. If it truly were a "center for prayer and forgiveness," her inquiries combined with the scars on her face would be likely to raise suspicions. Smoothing her hair with her hands, she had pulled the length of it taut against the sides of her face, hiding her scars to the best of her ability, and joined a group of women who were just arriving on a bus and were clamoring down the road to the market.

Chattering like schoolgirls, the brightly dressed women made their way to the heart of the market where they proceeded to set up their shops near a busy artery of traffic but with enough room for customers to stop and admire their work. Vatusia had been relieved to find that they were selling dresses constructed of fabric very similar to that which she wove. As the women went about unpacking and setting up their wares, Vatusia assessed the group, trying to determine the best person to approach to be included in the group. As luck would have it, the woman that Vatusia approached, apparently one of the decision-makers of her group, told her that, for a small percentage of profits, they would allow Vatusia, for one day only, to sell her fabric to the people who came to buy their dresses. Her idea was to market them as headscarves to coordinate with the dresses.

Borrowing scissors, Vatusia had been able to make thirty-two scarves from her fabric rolls thanks largely to the other women who had nudged customers to try Vatusia's scarves with their dresses. Had Vatusia not been worried sick about Anjani, she might have actually enjoyed the experience, the sense of empowerment a tiny counter to the extreme sense of powerlessness she felt from losing her son. By lunchtime, when the market closed for a break, she had sold twenty-one of her scarves. The women retreated to the shade, unfolding their knapsacks to expose delicious looking lunches of tropical fruit and rice patties, which they shared with a grateful Vatusia.

Since the market was only open for another hour after lunch, as most of the vendors required a good half to quarter day to get home, Vatusia did not sell all of her scarves, but that was fine because she had wanted to offer the women who helped her a token of her gratitude anyway and this was all that she had to give. She presented them timidly, but the ladies insisted that she keep them. "Those whose palm-kernels were cracked for them by a benevolent spirit should not forget to be humble" one of the older women said as she took one of the scarves and tied it around Vatusia's head, her gaze lingering on Vatusia's scars as her hair shifted to expose them.

"Your scarves helped our dresses sell themselves today! Where will you go now?" she had inquired with so much kindness in her eyes that Vatusia had decided to trust her, saying, "I will go to Kelkro".

The woman's face had darkened, and Vatusia's spirit along with it, but she provided vital information. Kelkro was not a village but rather simply a clearing tucked away in a jungle, not easy to find by design. Adding, "Kelkro is not far from our town of Bouake. If you make it back our way, stop and find us. Your work is good."

Vatusia had smiled sadly, turned her back on the first people to show her kindness, and headed toward the bus, agreeing to seek them out if she could but knowing that the task at hand made the prospect of seeing the women again remote.

The road the bus navigated had been bumpy and muddy, and Vatusia could tell that they had been descending the mountains towards Bouake by the steep pitch, although she had never made the journey herself. Prior to boarding, she had asked the driver to stop at the village closest to Kelkro rather than Kelkro itself, not wanting to draw any attention to her mission. With every kilometer, she had felt closer to Anjani, making it incredibly difficult for her to stay in her seat. Finally, the bus brakes had squeaked to a halt and the engine shuttered as the driver deposited Vatusia at her destination, exhausted.

It had been such a long day, rising as she had before the sun, walking to Korhogo, and working in the market. Her muscles screamed and the sun had gone down, but she had rested on the bus and eaten at the market so she could not stop until she found Anjani. Vatusia's uncharted journey had continued, faced with a thick jungle forest on either side of the road, she plunged into a thicket, heading in the direction of far off screams, steeling herself against the terror in her heart. She had pushed on for hours, the moonlight offering brief assistance as the clouds passed through the night sky. When she could move no farther, she fell to the ground and remained there, about to succumb to her hopeless situation, creatures slithering and crawling around her, but Vatusia, too weak to deter them.

"A deaf ear is followed by death and an ear that listens by blessings," Mathilde would say, following the adage with a slap to the side of her head when Vatusia had not followed orders to her liking. She thought of that experience as she drifted in and out of wakefulness, wondering if the sounds she heard were real or imagined, until she heard a specific cry again. It had been louder this time, and it was frightening, but she knew one thing for certain, it was not her son. Her senses had come to life, as had the day, for now she could see the clearing ahead where a man was sprawled at the foot of a tree to which he appeared to be tethered by a chain around his ankle. And he had not been alone. Straining her eyes, Vatusia had seen other shapes at the bases of other trees, some lying flat on the ground and others curled up so tightly they looked like mounds of dirt on the ground. Vatusia had crept slowly around the clearing, staying just outside the perimeter of the tree line until someone snarled, "Who sent you here to spy on me?"

"Are you talking to your invisible rebels again, Amadou?" said another, and suddenly there was movement as man after man rose to peer in Vatusia's direction. And then she had heard it, Anjani's voice, calling weakly, "Maman, I am here."

"Anjani!" she had cried. Ignoring any potential danger, she had run to him. His body was cold and he winced as she dropped to her knees and cradled him as gently as she could in her arms like an infant, joy and panic competing for her attention. Gathering her wits, Vatusia glanced around tentatively, afraid to make eye contact. There were not just males at the center. A woman, chained to the tree nearest Anjani, had begun to weep pitifully, sending a chill down Vatusia's spine as she thought of her own mother – of herself. Still clasping Anjani in her arms she took in her surroundings more fully and saw that her unexpected visit seemed to have ignited a firestorm of activity. People were stirring and chattering to themselves or each other.

"We must leave here," Vatusia had whispered authoritatively, more to convince herself than anyone else that she must take action quickly. She worked for one day and one night to free her son, resting only to wipe the sweat from her eyes or to check on Anjani, who remained listless as a result of his cleansing. Many words had been spoken during that day and night between Vatusia and the other _prisoners_ , a word more fitting than the euphemistic term of _patient_ that others used. She would have freed them all if she could have, but she was only one woman, barely able to care for herself and her son. She and Anjani would never be free of the memory of it all but she had hoped that some day they would all find peace. Finally, she had bent the young sapling tree far enough to free Anjani of the chain that anchored him and made her way back in the direction of the road from which she had come, this time reunited with her son.

Vatusia had still been young at this turning point in her life, and had not been taught much about finding food for herself or her child, but that year, she learned. For more than one season she and Anjani had lived on the outskirts of villages, surviving by learning to harvest food from the jungle based on the examples of the villagers she would shadow. Sometimes she was forced to beg, the shame wearing heavy on her conscience, but the benefit of feeding her child overriding all else. Yet somehow Anjani had grown stronger and begun to thrive as a resilient six year old would, adapting and treating their daily life like an adventure. Time passed with the two of them living as nomads until a stroke of good fortune brought them back to Bouake and the friends Vatusia had made at the market on her way to retrieve Anjani.

The brief encounter in Bouake gave Vatusia three things that she had desperately needed, encouragement, employment, and shelter. The women were so surprised to see Vatusia with the son they feared she would never see again, that they had cheered her as a hero and a mother better than any other, which in turn led to the job and a home. A French family, the Monserats, living in a cluster of other French expatriates, was there to work for a cocoa export company and was in need of a housekeeper with childcare skills as well. When told of the opportunity, Vatusia had immediately assumed the family would reject her based on Anjani's condition and her lack of experience, but the women had personally recommended her to the Monserats, which resulted in an offer of employment.

Much to her surprise, life had been good with the foreigners who had little patience for the views and prejudices of the villagers outside their compound. Vatusia cleaned and ran errands in exchange for a place to live adjacent to the family. The lodging had been small but comfortable, consisting of one small room with two beds to sleep on, clean and dry, instead of mats on the floor where she and Anjani were accustomed to sleeping, and an outhouse in the back. After learning that she was a skilled weaver, Madam Monserat had seen that she was supplied with weaving materials, which she made such good use of that soon her creations were being purchased by their foreign friends. The family had not been _warm_ , but they were supportive, tolerating Anjani's boyish ways. And because they believed that all children should be educated, when they learned that Anjani had not yet attended primary school, they purchased a uniform and supplies and enrolled him in the local village school. As for their own children, they attended a boarding school in France, visiting only when school holidays and breaks allowed them enough time to make the trip. Even with such short visits, Madam Monserat was not comfortable having her children with her, considering the Ivory Coast a very dangerous place.

Two years of relative stability passed by, years in which Vatusia was lulled into a satisfying life of food, shelter, family and friendship. Anjani had initially done well, but perhaps because of the effort necessary to catch up with the other children his age, he began to have nightmares and then mood shifts in which his normally sunny disposition would slide suddenly into rage over the slightest frustration. According to the teacher he had begun lashing out at other children physically and frequently sat and rocked in the corner when she punished him. The family for whom Vatusia worked noticed as well, and scheduled an appointment for Anjani at the clinic sixty miles away. Monsieur Monserat would drive him in for a medical and psychological examination in two weeks to coincide with other errands he had at the clinic.

Finally, only eight more days before Vatusia could have handled Anjani's issues on her own terms with the help of trained medical doctors at the clinic, local village officials had paid an uninvited visit to the Monserat home, shattering their complacent existence and changing the course of their life once again. School officials had notified the officials of his symptoms. Unaware of his previous experience there, they had informed Vatusia that Anjani would be taken to Kelkro for evaluation as party of standard evaluation procedures. As with Anjani's first experience at Kelkro, the terms were conditional. If he were found to be possessed, he would be cleansed, and if the cleansing were successful, he would be returned home, otherwise, he would remain at the detention center indefinitely. Vatusia was instructed to prepare a small bag for Anjani and report with him to the village official the next day, after which he would be taken, alone, to Kelkro for a weeklong evaluation.

Anjani had shared very few details of his first cleansing with Vatusia. He would sometimes speak of the other patients but went no farther. Knowing how painful the experience had been, Vatusia had never pressed him. She did not think she could bear to know based on the brokenness off his body and the sadness of his spirit when she had found him. For months after leaving Kelkro, he was a shadow, following his mother from place to place, his normally positive, buoyant presence an outline of what it had been.

The shock of the news that he was to be returned to that terrible place shifted quickly to rage for Vatusia and to despair for Anjani. As soon as the officials left, Anjani ran to his mother and threw his arms around her waist, burying his face in the folds of her garment, his tears hot through the fabric. Even now, thinking back on the pivotal day, she felt her face flush and teeth clench as anger flooded her body.

"You will never go there again," she had told Anjani, prying his arms from around her waist, and holding his hands as she looked in his eyes. She did not care how sick he might become; cows and pigs were treated better than the people at Kelkro.

Anjani had not spoken for the rest of the day and night. He lay on his side atop his bed clasping a long stick he used for hunting frogs in one hand, sharp end pointed toward the door, and propping his head up with the other hand. He looked more like a predator waiting for it's prey than a boy, his eyes narrowed to slits, flinching at any noise he heard, weapon ready, whether it be a distant bird calling to its mate, or Monsieur Monserat, shuffling by their room. As for Vatusia, she could do little more than sit silent on her bed, racking her brain for a solution to their predicament.

Vatusia had not asked for help, although she was never so ready to accept it as she was that day. Brilliant ideas on how to remedy the situation had eluded her... fleeing seemed the only possible solution. She had prayed and begun to pack. Monsieur and Madam Monserat presented themselves at Vatusia's door later that evening to hear the details of the official's visit in Vatusia's own words. Normally disinterested in adult conversations, Anjani had stood at attention, stick poised and senses heightened, listening to every word, refusing to move from his mother's side, which Madam obviously found highly disconcerting.

After some discussion, Monsieur Monserat insisted on intervening, explaining that while it was important for him to remain in good standing with the local officials for the sake of his company, he could not in good conscience let Anjani be taken away because of what he referred to with scorn as "primitive customs." After all, he had reminded Vatusia, it was he and his wife who had insisted upon Anjani attending the school that ultimately turned him over to the officials. And although both of them seemed somewhat skeptical of the treatment that Vatusia described as happening at Kelkro, it was their view that a child of eight should not be separated from his family for any reason, let alone being chained to a tree, or worse. He would, he said, help Anjani and Vatusia leave Bouake but he would need to work out the details of where they would go. Regardless, all agreed it would need to happen first thing in the morning.

Vatusia had spent another night without sleep, lying beside Anjani in his small bed, smoothing his hair and singing softly in his ear until the morning when they loaded up their meager possessions and climbed into the Monserat's car, pulling away from the French compound shortly after the sun peered over the trees, their destination a medical clinic on the other side of Korhogo where Anjani could receive proper medical treatment. She had been anxious and sad to leave the first place that provided she and Anjani comfort, but she feared the alternative more than anything.

Later Vatusia remembered every detail of their experience at the Korhogo clinic. The halls had not sparkled, but they were clean and the personnel dressed in white, a color she had rarely seen worn in her village or anywhere else for that matter. Some areas were even cooled by machines, eliciting a sensation the staff described as "goose bumps" on her skin, accustomed as she was to tropical heat. The amount of electricity in one room of the clinic exceeded that of her entire village. Rows of outlets lined the walls, exuding cords and wires hooked to electronic devices with lights that blinked like bush babies glaring from the trees.

A very kind young doctor named Francois, on loan from the Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) organization, had approached them, chatting nonchalantly as he asked probing questions about Anjani's health, obviously more comfortable with mental illness than anyone else Vatusia had ever met. Satisfied that she and Anjani were in good hands, the Monserats had returned home to deal with the local officials who would no doubt have questions about the mother and son's disappearance. Even now, as she continued to let her mind wander down the path of memories, she felt overwhelming gratitude toward the couple who had done so little for them in their own minds, yet their attitudes and actions had bolstered Vatusia, allowing her to feel decent again, providing work and a home to her and Anjani when they had none, introducing Anjani to school, facilitating Anjani's escape from near certain incarceration at the center, and most importantly, respecting their humanity.

After their initial introduction, Dr. Francois had explained that, in order to be accurate, a mental health evaluation needed to take place over time. He also felt that Anjani should be stabilized before they began, by which he explained that the boy needed to feel comfortable in his surroundings. The clinic social worker had helped Vatusia find a place to sleep when she outstayed her maximum allotment of nights at the clinic in a hostel run by an International charity, which was conveniently located nearby. At times, she had been allowed to sit with Anjani during his sessions, and other times, when she was not, she would crouch down next to the door listening, not for specific words, but to make sure Anjani was never too distressed. She had been encouraged when he seemed to return to his old self with each passing day, but she also worried about the future, knowing that their time here must come to an end eventually and they would be forced to make their way outside of the clinic.

When the final diagnosis of schizophrenia was made, Vatusia was calm, stories of her mother's fate and proclamations by village elders that her son was possessed by demons having perhaps desensitized her to the possibilities. Dr. Francois noted that studies were not conclusive but that the disease was most likely hereditary, which fit with their family history, or at least what little they knew of it. Anjani was young to have demonstrated the symptoms that he did; however, he explained, traumatic events were often triggers to schizophrenic behavior. His time at Kelkro, followed by the threat of having to return to that environment, was a likely catalyst. Dr. Francois had said that Anjani was not alone. Approximately 1% of the world's population suffered from some form of schizophrenia and while it could not be cured, about 90% of those suffering from the affliction were able to lead a highly functioning life.

Vatusia had not understood everything that Dr. Francois explained, but "no cure" stuck in her mind. She laughed out loud now, sitting on her mat, thinking back on her own naiveté, how silly she had been to think that Anjani would walk out of the clinic restored to the boy he was – the boy he would never be again. She thanked God now (she would have thanked God then, she imagined, but she had not yet been introduced) for Dr. Francois, considering all of the times that she had employed the techniques he taught her to diffuse Anjani's "attacks". He had made special arrangements to keep her and Anjani around for several days after the diagnosis so that Vatusia could learn everything she could about his mental illness and how to handle it, including administering medication, teaching Anjani stress management techniques, and monitoring symptoms. It was a lot to absorb, but it was her son's life- her son's fate.

Dr. Francois had learned a lot about Anjani and Vatusia through his efforts to diagnose and treat him, so it was with great care that he brought up the subject of where she and Anjani would live now. Stability would be an important factor in Anjani's ongoing treatment, he knew, however village interference seemed to get in the way of any attempts to achieve it. For this reason, Dr. Francois had been so pleased with himself and the solution he had formulated. He had hoped that Vatusia would realize she had to accept it. Only a short distance from Korhogo was a Baptist Center run by an American couple, Jeannie and Ernest Templeton, the most caring and competent people Dr. Francois knew in the IC, so he was sure that they would welcome Anjani and Vatusia if they could. It would be the perfect situation, as it would allow him, or some other doctor, to provide the on-going medical attention Anjani needed, and since Vatusia realized that the alternative was to live as nomads once again, which would not serve either Anjani's mental or physical health, the choice was simple. They would take Dr. Francois' offer and go to see what the Templetons had to offer at the Baptist Center.

When the situation was explained to them, the American missionaries had graciously made their normal sojourn to the clinic a week early to hear Dr. Francois' proposal in its entirety. He wanted time to explain Anjani's health status to them. He would leave it to Vatusia to decide if and when she shared any other details of their life with the Templetons. As expected, the Templetons agreed with Dr. Francois' idea, unable to turn the mother and son away. Armed with information about initial treatment and medications, they had driven Vatusia and her son back to the Baptist Center. Vatusia remembered feeling like a child, she and Anjani sitting in the backseat of a personal automobile for the first time, the sun beating down on the car so strong and hot that she instinctively rolled down the windows before Jeannie could tell her to wait for the air-conditioning. The dust had billowed through the crack the second it opened, but rather than scold, Jeannie had laughed in her good natured way and rolled down her window too, commenting that fresh African air was better than "conditioned" air anyway.

In general, Vatusia and Anjani's transition to life with the Templetons had gone smoothly. The only real hurdle had been finding a place of her own that was close enough to maintain regular attendance at the Center's school for Anjani, yet far enough away from the local people to maintain their privacy. Vatusia did not want the past to find them and so, although the Baptist Center did not normally board students, they had made room for Anjani so that he could attend their school while Vatusia prepared decent accommodations.

Vatusia had done what she always did and made the best of a bad situation. Within four weeks of living like a scavenger, she had found enough raw materials in the dumps around the Center and the market to wash and recycle into weavings, which she then sold or bartered. As before, the weaving skills she had been honing since childhood proved helpful, and her work sold quickly, allowing her to accumulate enough money to build a humble shelter in the jungle about thirty-eight kilometers from the Baptist Center.

Working without stop, her fingers often numb from the intricate gesticulations required of the craft, her humble home was transformed into a modest and perhaps even comfortable home, by her own standards, as she turned her weaving to profit. In time, it wasn't just the villagers frequenting the market who appreciated Vatusia's talent. When Jeannie laid eyes on her handiwork for the first time, she was immediately impressed, commissioning custom items for her family and later, the Baptist Center. Jeannie also proposed sending Vatusia's work to her niece in the United States who was involved with a charitable organization selling the crafts of indigenous peoples at church bazaars. Vatusia did not know what a bazaar was, but the money and supplies it afforded allowed her to pay for Anjani's medications in addition to the necessities of life, and so she was agreeable. Life had seemed good at that moment in time. Anjani was attending school with access to medical attention, they had a roof over their heads, and for the moment, Laurent was nowhere to be found.

That was Vatusia's past, long ago locked away in the vaults of her mind, the good and the bad. She felt lighter now that she had allowed herself to remember; her re-lived memories finally free to float away like clouds in the breeze, less of a burden. Enjoying the feeling, breathing in a deep, slow, meditative breath, she rose on the exhale filled with new strength and conviction. Anjani was in a place where he was being allowed to express all his talents, and somehow, for her, life went on without him...she would make it worth living.

### Chapter Seven

Subject: Hard to fathom...

Sent: 10/02/2002 8:18 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: meg@gmail.com

Hi Aunt Jeannie,

Dad forwarded the e-mails about your chaotic September. We are praying that things have settled down. You and Uncle Ernest do SO much for the people of Ivory Coast, and for both our government and theirs I might add! It was fortunate that the students got back to the US safely and really good also that you've been reporting back to us as the news coverage here has all but faded into oblivion. One of the students mentioned you guys by name... that was neat. The news media just doesn't seem to care for very long even when many of us here in the states have a stake in what is going on over there, in addition to the fact that people are losing their lives.

How are your friends in Bouake? Did they end up staying, or have to evacuate? What is the food situation? Can we send you anything? I would love to send a care package if you think it would get through. Speaking of packages, I did receive the last shipment of Vatusia's weavings. I wasn't sure how reliable the mail would be on your end, but it arrived in time for the county fair, so that was perfect, and the fabric is even more beautiful than those in the last shipment. How is she doing? You will have to tell me how her son is getting along in Arizona with all your old pals. He is living with the Butler's, right? Jeff and I are still interested in helping in whatever way we can with his education and with enabling him to stay in the US, away from the unrest.

I know you have been through things like this before, but PLEASE be careful. Tell Uncle Ernest not to take any unnecessary risks (like that will stop him!). I miss you guys and hope for the best.

Love you,

Meg and Family

Oh, by the way, I am attaching a few pictures of the kids. Hopefully you'll get to meet them in person before they are boring old adults

Meg finished the e-mail and hit send just as the screaming in the great room grew too loud to ignore. Shutting down the PC, she headed out to face whatever drama had unfolded while she was sequestered in the office, relieved to find that nothing too bad had happened. Emma had toddled off with the remote, no doubt hiding it in some obscure location, affording Jenny the opportunity to put her finger directly on the TV channel control button. Of course, Sam and Jenny's taste in television shows were polar opposites so there stood Jenny, hand on hip, finger on the button, not budging from her show. Somehow Meg was able to negotiate an agreement. Neither Sam nor Jenny was thrilled, but at least the screaming stopped.

With all three kids momentarily placated, Meg headed back toward the office to finish up her last bar review and to tidy up for the night, pausing briefly to scoop up a pile of quarters that Jeff had deposited on a side table like a horse deposits its business in the street. She had no idea what he did every day to produce so many "coin plops" as she liked to call them. The change from coffee and a paper probably, but he seemed to enjoy emptying his pockets wherever he happened to be standing, even though the last thing they needed was Emma to swallow one of the coins. She had given up nagging him about it; instead, she just took care of it, again. Oh well, she thought, let the good go unrewarded as long as the bad goes unpunished.

About forty-five minutes into her review, Sam came into the office, startling her, as she hadn't seen him approaching through the French doors.

"Everything OK, bud?" she inquired, swiveling her desk chair around to face him completely.

"Yep" was his typical nine-year-old boy response, but then surprised her by adding an atypical bit of praise. "I just wanted to say thanks for the dinner. It was really good."

Out of the hundred things a parent might anticipate their child saying, that was not one. It wasn't the first time Sam had shown such consideration... Meg was hoping it was the beginning of a lifelong trend.

Her heart swollen with pride and happiness, she rose from the chair, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a huge squeeze. "That is for being such a wonderful son, and, you are more than welcome. You know that it is always my pleasure to serve you". They both laughed at the inside joke, one of the classic Meg-the-Mom lines that she used, sometimes with sarcasm and sometimes with honesty. Tonight, it was honesty.

When Jeff got home, the kids greeted him with their usual wild enthusiasm. Jeff got an earful about Jenny's pierced ear-drama and Sam's cleverly functioning robot built in science class. Little Emma, desperate to find something interesting to tell her father, danced around in frustration saying "me, me, me," until Meg, figuring out her plight, whispered a suggestion of what to tell daddy in her ear. Visibly relieved, Emma produced an adorable stammered account of the new DVD that she and Chloe had rented at the library, eliciting gales of laughter from the whole family. It was the beginning of an ordinary evening, but somehow, perhaps because her mind was still on Africa, Meg found herself thankful for the normalcy of it all.

Later, as she and Jeff were unwinding in bed, the kids fast asleep, she said "This is a whole lot of work, but it is so worth it, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about, Meg?" Jeff said, looking up from the crossword puzzle.

"Us, our family, our lives" she answered pensively, realizing that with all that was going on in their lives right now, the bar examine for her, another promotion for him, the kids' activities, he might not find it easy to follow her line of thought

"Oh" he pondered momentarily, "hell yes. Only it's more the 'so worth it' part than the 'whole lotta work'.

Meg _did_ make it really easy on Jeff. Her constant drive to improve herself was a pretty sweet deal for him she figured. Being as wrapped up in her own affairs kept her out of his hair. In addition, Chloe's help around the house and with the kids kept Meg in an infinitely better mood than she'd been in when she had Sam in daycare.

Jeff offered her the puzzle, "I did the _downs_ ; you may do the _acrosses_ ... They're always easier".

"You are such an idiot" Meg told him, making a dramatic production of grabbing the paper from him. Even with a caring husband lounging at her side, three adorable, loving children tucked in bed upstairs and a long list of accomplishments under her belt, Meg couldn't help being distracted by what she would do with her life next. It was rare that she just _let_ things happen because she preferred to _make_ them happen. She'd done all she cared to do with her physical self, for the moment, glancing down to appreciate the breast feeding-enhanced D cup she had maintained through augmentation after Emma was born, and she couldn't really work on her next career much until she passed the bar exam.

Meg sipped absent-mindedly from the glass of red wine on her bedside table as she filled in thirteen across with S-K-I-T, to describe a comedy routine. Jeff was right, the across clues were easier, not to mention it was Tuesday, the second simplest puzzle-day of the week. Meg pulled back the covers and straddled Jeff playfully, newspaper in hand.

"I'm done..." she said in her sultriest tone, waving the paper in front of his face.

"I'm not," he said as he tossed the paper to the ground and grabbed her hips, cupping her ass in both hands.

"Hey, I am not the Charmin" Meg quipped.

"Oh my god, you are so corny!" were the last words he uttered for the evening. Her sexual cravings satisfied, Meg fell asleep, peacefully at first, but as the night went on, fitfully, her dreams overtaken by images of cruelty and unrest in Africa.

The next day, other than studying for the bar, as usual, Meg had only one other item on her calendar. She and her friends had started a tradition of getting together at their country club for a pre-holiday luncheon. With families and careers, it seemed that they never had a chance to get together once Thanksgiving hit, particularly with Tildy's catering business, so it made sense for them to celebrate with each other early.

MaryAnn appeared dressed to the nines, as usual, in a trendy outfit from one of the lines she represented and Jane was uncharacteristically late, almost panting when she sat down to join the other three at their corner table.

"I am so sorry, ladies!" she began apologetically. "Violet forgot her lunch. I didn't get the message until a few minutes ago so, needless to say, I am amazing to be here now."

"Fast and modest, that's why we love you" said Meg.

"This is a dramatically different environment than our last gathering," said MaryAnn, changing the topic. "I still can't believe that we were in Las Vegas celebrating your big birthday just a month ago, Meg!"

Meg doubted that MaryAnn would ever go back either. She hadn't come right out and said it, but she was pretty sure that MaryAnn now thought the devil lived in Las Vegas.

"I know... easy come, easy go with those birthdays," she said not wanting to dwell on any of the tawdry events that transpired during their outing. She had told Jane a little bit about Cassidy and Kat's adventure but thought it best to keep it vague when it came to Tildy and MaryAnn, given the potential with those two for a bit of bible-belt prejudice if they knew the extent of the debauchery that had taken place.

"How is Kat?" said Jane, looking inquisitively toward Meg who frowned as a reminder that they had agreed not to talk about Kat and Vegas. "I was helping her with a tax issue yesterday and she looked really awful... I'm wondering about her health. She looks like she hasn't been eating or sleeping, bless her heart."

"I'm not sure what's going on to be honest" Meg replied. "I really need to check in with her I guess. Thanks for letting me know."

After lunch was finished and the presents exchanged, the four gathered their things and headed toward the parking lot. It felt really good to have friends that she cared about, Meg thought, even if they didn't see each other all that much these days and she never really shared her neurotic thoughts with them.

"I almost forgot." Tildy called to Meg before closing her car door. "Kick that test's hiney next week girl!"

"It's just a practice exam," Meg called back. "The real one is in February, but I'll try. Next time you see me I'll have a much better idea of whether I will be a lawyer or not."

With a glass or two of wine under her belt, Meg wasn't quite ready to go home, so she dialed Kat's number before she started up her car. "Hi there! Are you finished reviewing the piece for your editor?" Meg asked, the reason Kat had given for not joining them for lunch today. Hearing that she was close to finishing, Meg headed to Kat's office for a brief but informative visit. Apparently a trial separation was inevitable. Tom had already made plans to move into a furnished rental apartment while the two evaluated their situation. The thought of it had initially thrown Kat into emotional turmoil, convinced that she could not survive without him at one moment, and then relieved and excited at the prospect of potential freedom the next. But after talking through how their separation would work, Kat claimed that she felt a bit more stable, able to see how they would navigate the next several months. Meg had to give Tom credit for at least one thing. He might be boring, but he had a level head. Meg left, grateful that her friend was coping, and thankful that, most days, at least, her own marriage was still a source of joy and strength.

Later that night, Meg and Jeff talked about facilitating and possibly underwriting Anjani's college education. While they still had three kids of their own to put through school, Meg was certain that it was the right thing to do. Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ernest had never pressured her to become involved with Anjani and Vatusia in any way, but she could tell from their comments how much they thought of the boy and his mother and how dire their situation was given the present political situation. Meg's own experience with a mentoring program had demonstrated the positive results a stable home and solid education could elicit. Thankfully, Jeff agreed.

Subject: re: Hard to fathom...

Sent: 11/21/2002 7:18 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Meg,

Hello, sweet girl. Thanks for your greetings. As I'm sure your dad told you, we did have to evacuate the Baptist Center for three longs weeks in October. It was a devastating blow to our work on bible translation but even more so to the psyche of all the volunteers who live and work here but who are not used to the turmoil that this long conflict has caused. Our friends in Bouake were evacuated as well but they had to follow their own path to temporary safety while we were able to take refuge in Abengourou near the border of Ghana. Uncle Ernest has an old military buddy there whose home is like a fortress. As you can imagine, we are just now resuming a little bit of normalcy in our everyday life. All of our American interns have returned to the safety of their homes in the U.S. but a new batch will be coming soon to help us with our work when the US State Department says that it is safe to travel.

It's been a while since your e-mail so I hope you didn't send any food. Only the good Lord would know where it ended up. The shipping expenses are excessive since they are based on the weight of the food and roads have opened back up to commerce for the most part so we are fine. We were even able to get a turkey for our own Thanksgiving celebration that we plan to hold here in a few days. I must say it's something I look forward to celebrating every year.

Save your shipping fees for receiving Vatusia's fabrics. That is more important. She is doing well, always putting up a brave front, although the stress of being apart from Anjani is starting to show. Ernest and I tried to get her to evacuate with us to Abengourou, but she refused. She is a very proud woman. I don't think she'd realized and/or thought through the fact that, without having her own computer or mobile phone, she would be out of touch with Anjani as long as we were gone. She was actually at the Baptist Center waiting for us when we returned. Meg, I can tell you, it was one of the most pathetic things I have seen, even though she tried hard not to show it. She didn't want to use our guesthouse without our explicit permission, even though she has stayed there many times throughout the years when visiting Anjani at the center, so she slept for two days under the porch awning. She was about to head back to her hut when we pulled up late in the afternoon a couple of weeks ago, and once we went inside, kept pacing around the office as poor Ernest did his best the get the Internet connection up and running so she could see if Anjani had sent any e-mails, which of course, good boy that he is, he had. I guess that is one of the unforeseen issues that we will all have to deal with as we continue to navigate this situation together.

Anyway, I could go on forever but I have lots to do today. I did want to let you know that Vatusia is coming back in a few days with another load of fabric for you. It has been dry here so she has been able to set up her loom outside and work at a very fast pace. I am going to give her your e-mail address so the two of you can communicate directly. I think it's time you get to know one another, especially if you are going to help her son with his college education. There are not two souls on earth more deserving than they. Or if there are, I have yet to meet them.

Anjani is staying with the Butlers, the ones with the miniature schnauzer who almost bit through your finger. They are so happy to have him. What a model student he is turning out to be. I think he even has a girlfriend now, so I would say the acclimation process is well underway.

Thank you for keeping us in your prayers. May the lord watch over all of us.

Love,

Aunt Jeannie

Subject: Introduction

Sent: 11/27/2002 1:55 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Vatusia@mission.com

Miss Meg,

I am Vatusia. This is to introduce me to you so I can thank you very much for your help with my boy. I am not writing English since Anjani left for United States. Many times I will have Jeannie help me with e-mails, but she is very busy. The fighting here was bad for them to stay but they are returned. Jeannie says this helps me practice English too. Anjani many times make me practice English writing and talking. I think he is good. I like it, but many days I do not talk to anyone so it is hard to practice. Now that we e-mail I will try hard.

Thank you also for selling my fabric in United States. What colors do they like? I can make anything you like. Please tell me what they like and if they like simple fabric or sewing skirts or blouses or other things. I send some money to Anjani and keep some money for travel. Travel takes many money.

Jeannie and Ernest invite me to eat a traditional United States meal today. They say Thanksgiving. They are good people.

Anjani is my life so you help my life and you are blessed.

I end with what we say here many times. Découragement n'est pas Ivoirien. It means a real Ivorian does not despair.

-Miss Vatusia

Subject: re: Introduction

Sent: 12/02/2002 11:03 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: meg@gmail.com

Hello Miss Vatusia!

It was so nice to get your e-mail last week at Thanksgiving. I read it to my family before we ate our meal. We were all thankful that you, Aunt Jeannie, Uncle Ernest and everyone else we know there are safe. Did you eat turkey? If so, did you like it? We did and everyone here in my family loves it.

I have three children, Emma is 4, Jenny is 7 and Sam is 9 now. I am attaching a picture so you can see them. I don't have any recent pictures with me and my husband Jeff in them too, but I will try to take one so you can see all of us. Aunt Jeannie says that Anjani has a girlfriend in Arizona now and that he is doing well in school. You must be so proud of him! Aunt Jeannie does not tell me much about you and Anjani, so maybe you can.

Our Christmas holiday break is coming up soon. Everyone is very excited to have two weeks off from school and Jeff and I will take time off from work too. I should say "winter break", which would be politically correct, but here in North Carolina, which is often called the Bible Belt, there are so many Christians and so few of other religious faiths that it is pretty common to use "Christmas break". I am probably telling you too many strange things. Maybe Jeannie or Ernest can explain sometime

The kids and I are working on a package of goodies and decorations for Anjani. The Butler family LOVES Christmas. He is a preacher, after all. I know you must miss seeing your son. Do you celebrate Christmas? What is your weather like? We sometimes get snow. Have you seen snow before? I am thinking maybe not if you've never left the Ivory Coast.

I will sign off for now but look forward to more e-mails and also to receiving your next box of hand-crafted fabrics before our holiday church bazaar. I must tell you that the varied colors and patterns you are creating are fantastic. Everyone seems to have his or her own favorites. They all sell so just keep doing what you are doing! I'm not sure about other items, but if you'd like to try, feel free. We might be able to charge more if we sell more than raw fabric and scarves. So, yes, I would encourage it and I'll let you know how it works out.

Best Regards and Happy Holidays if I don't talk to you before then...

Meg

P.S. Your English is really good, much better than my French!

Subject: College

Sent: 1/27/2003 11:35 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Vatusia@mission.com

Miss Meg,

I got to the center early today so I could have time to e-mail and have Jeannie help me understand everything you wrote last time. There were many papers I saw you sent to Templetons. They help me with them. Anjani is happy with your help. He also did not have school for two weeks so I went to Baptist Center many days to e-mail him. He sends pictures and makes me write long e-mails to practice English and tells me my mistakes. It was true what you said about Christmas at the Butler house. In the pictures I could see it. I do not celebrate Christmas here to answer you. The Templetons tell us about it in the village and many people do celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ and we all know about it but I do not celebrate anything like that because I celebrate every day. I hope I do not offend them.

I made many skirts and blouses this time. They are small and large but you will tell me how I can change them. I spend most of my time weaving or making the preparations for weaving. I do not leave my area except visit Templetons so I can e-mail Anjani and you and to bring weavings. I also go to the market to buy supplies and to sell if I have extra fabric, but now I do not.

I have only seen snow in books Anjani brought back to me to help me learn English. It gets very wet here for many months, but never very cold. I think I would like to feel cold but maybe not. Maybe I would change my ideas when I feel it. I do eat turkey from the Templetons. I do like it. It tastes like our chickens but I do not get to eat them often. I like most food they have me try because I like to try new foods. Most things I eat are the same every day. I also tried some special food for Christmas from the Templetons. I think Jeannie likes Christmas very much.

The papers I filled out with the Templetons are finished now. Do you think your University in North Carolina will be good for Anjani? The Butlers say his teachers say yes. How much will it cost? I ask the Templetons and they do not know. They say that you were a teacher at a sister school there and so that the cost may be different. I hope you will tell me soon. I do not want Anjani to be disappointed. I am planning now for trip to Arizona in May for graduation. I don't know what to do with Anjani when I go back home so I hope we know soon. Visas take many weeks here but Jeannie and Ernest help.

Your children are beautiful angels. I hope they know me and Anjani. I will end now. Jeannie is here and I will have her check this e-mail. Do you speak French?

Découragement n'est pas Ivoirien.

-Vatusia

Subject: Vatusia

Sent: 1/27/2003 11:42 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Meg,

Hello dear girl. I see that you and Vatusia are getting along nicely. She is amazingly fluent in English, isn't she? I go over her letters to check for grammatical errors but don't change much. I figure that as long as you understand it, you'll be fine. Anjani is also very good with language. Rev. Butler tells me he is trying to learn Spanish too since there are so many Spanish speakers in the U.S. I think his girlfriend speaks Spanish too.

Speaking of his girlfriend, I wanted to let you know that Vatusia is very sensitive about subjects like that. I saw your last e-mail in which you talked about Anjani having a girlfriend, and think that is the reason she became very agitated. That is certainly not a taboo subject as far as we are concerned, but for some reason she is not comfortable talking about it. I thought you might like to know that so you can decide if/how you pursue your line of questioning in the future! Regarding her own situation with men, I think she would be even more upset to be questioned. There were rumors from some of the villagers who work here at the Baptist Center about a man bothering Vatusia but it's hard to say how much of that kind of talk may be idle gossip. Vatusia knows she can confide in us if she has a problem, but I still don't think she feels comfortable doing so. She never wants to be a burden and all of her focus is always on Anjani, which is also where I think you can be a big help because it may be easier for her to share with a stranger in a distant country than with us. Besides, she does not consider you a stranger since you have played such a big role in allowing Anjani to spend his senior year in America by selling so much of Vatusia's work. Good for you!

Anjani has sent Vatusia a picture of his girlfriend, but I don't know if she realizes that it is a romantic attachment and not just plutonic. She was so happy for him to have friends since everyone here avoided him like the plague. It warms our hearts, too.

I need to get some things done around here and it's about lunchtime. We have a delegation from the Peace Corps consulting with Ernest about our water filtration system and how they might implement our model in other villages. It's pretty exciting! The PC kids seem younger and younger all the time but they are very skilled.

Oh, yes, I will scan and e-mail the documents for Anjani's college application so you can get started with them and then I'll mail them so you'll have the originals. Has Anjani e-mailed the essay portion to you yet? If not, I will remind him. I know he has spent a lot of time working on it with the college counselor there in Arizona. Everyone has been so supportive of him at the high school. It makes me sad in a way to think of the contrast between the reactions of people, particularly children, here and there, but we try to lead them to the path of Jesus Christ and his doctrines of tolerance and forgiveness. Incredibly enough, many still think that mental illness is caused by demonic possession. It is like the difference between life during the Old and New Testament. We hope that Anjani is the example that demonstrates otherwise when he returns with an education and an understanding of Western culture.

You and the family are in our prayers,

Love,

Aunt Jeannie

Subject: University!

Sent: 02/07/2002 10:08 AM Eastern Daylight Time

Cc: Templeton@mission.com

From: meg@gmail.com

Vatusia,

First, I am so happy to tell you that Anjani has been accepted by the university here in North Carolina! You should be very proud because it is not easy for someone from outside of the state to be accepted but his excellent grades and letters of recommendation helped. I have been working with the dean (head) of the undergraduate department that I think would best suit Anjani to see about various fellowship opportunities that would eliminate, or greatly reduce the cost of tuition for you and Anjani. Dean McGill is aware of your special circumstances so I think the fact that he has been accepted means that there will be some form of tuition reduction. I will probably need to work with Anjani directly because there will be more applications and telephone interviews involved with the fellowships that the dean feels he might receive. Is that OK with you?

Regarding Anjani's travels, I am not sure what to tell you yet. Let me talk to Aunt Jeannie and the university about Anjani's visa status now that he has been accepted into a post--secondary learning institution. I am guessing that it is going to be more of a cost issue than anything when deciding whether he returns to the Ivory Coast with you after high school graduation. There is sometimes an orientation program specifically for the recipients of fellowship programs, which start in August, a week or two before the regular orientation. So you could take him home for a couple of months, or he may be eligible for some sort of summer work/study program if buying another round trip airline ticket will be a problem.

Please e-mail back and let me know how you are receiving this news. Never having had a child go off to college, I can only imagine how you must have mixed feelings. At least you will see him in a few short months though AND he will get an excellent education, which could open many doors for his future!! I understand he wants to go into medicine and specialize in studies of the mind. What a wonderful and appropriate choice!

I am copying Aunt Jeannie on this e-mail so she knows the good news too. I am assuming that you would like to be the one to tell Anjani about his acceptance? If not, let me know and I will do it. He should be receiving a packet in the mail at the Butler's house too, but it will probably take a few days. My friend at the University Admissions Office was kind enough to call as soon as she knew.

By the way, no, I do not speak French, but your rapid mastery of the English language gives me hope that maybe I could and should! Also, the skirts were a big hit. I would probably continue with a mix of 50% skirts, 10% scarves and 40% raw fabric going into the spring.

I can't wait to hear from you and to know how Anjani received the news!! So many exclamation points in this e-mail... I hope you know what they mean

Your Friend,

Meg

Subject: Your help

Sent: 2/12/2003 9:16 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: anjaniicman@gmail.com

Miss Meg,

One thousand thanks to you and your family! I received a letter from the university in North Carolina today, welcoming me to their school. Last year, I could not have imagined this, but you and many others have opened my eyes to just how many things I had never imagined. (I hope this is clear!)

Not many of the students in Arizona attend college in the East so they don't know much about it. I am excited to hear from you many of the details but I have also researched the school, of course. It will be very good for my studies. My friend Leticia may try to apply too now that she knows I will go. I hope she is as lucky as I am!

I need to go now but did not want to wait another minute before saying, "thank you" again and again. I hope you can feel my happiness. Please send my good wishes to your family too. I hope to meet them some day.

I know that I will have more work for the fellowship so I will keep studying and preparing for that with my counselor to do my best.

Your friend forever,

Anjani

Subject: College

Sent: 2/13/2003 2:35 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Vatusia@mission.com

Miss Meg,

Sorry I am so late to send my e-mail back. The rain did not stop for four days. I changed my day to visit Jeannie and Ernest because of the weather making the path so I could not go. I did not hear your news until today. I tried to call Anjani with Jeannie's help but he was not home and the time difference is not good. Mrs. Butler talked on the phone and said that Anjani did receive the letter from university. She said he is smiling and smiling with the news so I know he is happy. Again I am in your debt. Please accept my shipment as a gift to you and your husband. You are right that I do not know how to feel about university. I only thought about Anjani coming home. This made me very happy thinking of having him in our home again to see and touch and smell and hear. I miss him very much. This is where I think the exclamation point Jeannie did explain would go. But I also think about the lives of the men in Cote d Ivoire. I do not know many who were born here who are still good. I know one or two who are decent. Anjani is good. He would not fit here and when I think to our past I know he never did fit here. I cannot be happy here without him but I will be happy for him there and this will do.

Découragement n'est pas Ivoirien.

-Vatusia

Subject: Checking in

Sent: 03/18/2003 10:23 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: meg@gmail.com

Vatusia,

You are a wonderful lady. The box you sent was so special. Each of us loved the items you made especially for us... we will treasure them forever! Emma drew a picture of herself in the dress you made. I am including a scan of that along with a picture I took of all of us wearing your gifts. The rest will go to the church bazaar. Thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept more than the individual gifts. I will apply it to some of Anjani's costs... do not give it another thought.

The paperwork for university is finalized and the financial aid has been approved which makes a big difference in the amount that Jeff and I will cover for Anjani's tuition. It will be very reasonable so do not worry. Anjani has passed through to the final round for the fellowship, too, so this may be an even greater savings once we know for sure.

I am starting a new job very soon. I passed an exam that they use in the United States to qualify people for practicing law so I am very happy. I have been working for quite a while on this task. My job will be working with a law firm. I will specialize in working with US expatriates and foreign nationals and their legal issues. You and Anjani inspired me (as well as Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ernest)! Perhaps I can help the two of you some day if you need it. My first case will be to work with a young couple who met in the Peace Corps and are thinking about getting married and continuing to live abroad. Love can be complicated by the law and geographical borders.

I know you are struggling right now with Anjani's absence but think about the trip coming up. We are excited about your visit to the United States. Aunt Jeannie said that she booked your tickets last week. I am going to talk to her about the details of the trip soon. If we can work it out, would it be OK if my family and I attend Anjani's graduation with you in Arizona? We would love to meet you and Anjani and to see Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ernest again.

Your friend,

Meg

Subject: IC status

Sent: 03/28/2003 8:08 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: meg@gmail.com

Aunt Jeannie,

Jeff and I have been scouring the news to try to get updates on the situation in the IC with such scanty results that I told him I was just going to go to the source! How are you and how is it going at the Baptist Center? Is it true that the Ivory Coast is forming a new government? Does Uncle Ernest know and/or trust any of the people involved?

We are cautiously optimistic for you but are wondering what you think...

Love you,

Meg

Subject: Diarra cabinet

Sent: 4/1/2003 11:09 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Meg,

You are thoughtful to keep watch over us. We are praying that God has a hand in the recent activities of the government because it does seem promising. After the rebellion we endured here in the north last September, we thought we'd seen the worst of it, but then the same thing happened to our friends in Daloa just a few months ago around Christmas time. Peace talks in Paris are wonderful, but bringing that peace back to the Ivory Coast with them is what the leaders need to focus on.

To answer your questions, if all goes as planned, we will have a new government soon that will include nine members from the rebel groups. Ernest and I agree that the success of this will depend on who the prime minister selects and whether the rebel groups agree with his selections. I fear that the evil they have already done combined with the way they have ignored previous agreements such as the ceasefire orders, does not bode well. But still, we are encouraged and hopeful.

Our friends from Daloa will be returning to their mission work there in a few days so they will be able to tell us how things to the west of us are going.

We hear from Anjani regularly. It is such a thrill to know that so much is going on in his life! Uncle Ernest and I are still planning to attend the graduation in June unless God in his wisdom decides that we are needed here. However, I am praying that we can go because I don't know that Vatusia can or should go on her own. We are working on backup plans in case we are unable to leave.

Vatusia said that you might go to graduation as well... It would be so wonderful to see you and Jeff and the kids again. Please keep us posted. It would be added incentive to overcome any obstacles thrown in front of us here!

Love,

Aunt Jeannie

Subject: Anjani and visas

Sent: 04/20/2003 2:13 PM Eastern Daylight Time

Cc: Templeton@mission.com

From: meg@gmail.com

Vatusia,

Greetings! Once again, I am copying Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ernest so they know the status of my efforts to figure out the best way to keep Anjani in school here in the U.S. The university in NC is Student and Exchange Visitor Program (SEVP) certified, which is good because it is the best way to maintain his F Visa. The only bad news is that our counsel here STRONGLY suggests that Anjani remain in the US after graduating from high school in June. We do not have many requests for travel between the IC and US in our office, but our contacts at the US State Department say that because the IC is currently in such political and civil turmoil, visa processing on both ends is slow to non-existent.

If Anjani were to go back to the IC, he would take the chance of not being able to return to the US prior to the start of the semester in August, all of which brings me to some more good news: Anjani received the fellowship! Congratulations for having such a phenomenal son! It will provide not only reduced tuition, but also opportunities for funded research as an undergraduate and automatic acceptance into the work/study program. Anjani can start working on campus as early as June.

I know that you were hoping to take Anjani home with you, Vatusia, so please remember that this is still an option. If it is important to you that he returns, we will do our best to get Anjani to the IC and back again by late July since his fellowship requires he arrive two weeks prior to the start of school in August.

Whatever you decide, we are thrilled to be meeting you in June and to help Anjani celebrate his high school graduation. You have much to be proud of!

Meg

Before they'd even settled into their airplane seats, Jenny and Sam were recklessly yanking at the zippers of their backpacks as if it were a race to tear them open and expose the contents. Meg loved stuffing them with goodies designed to both please and entertain. Emma sat next to her dad, across the aisle playing with the pull-down tray in front of her, much to the chagrin of the passenger who'd just realized he was the lucky winner of a seat in front of a five year old.

"Cool! I got a new DS game!" marveled Sam, holding up his prize for all to see. Jenny frowned for a moment as she looked past the assorted coloring and activity books she had extracted until she found what she was looking for, her hand emerging with the treasure. "Me too!" she said brightly, DS game in hand.

And so the flight went, Meg tending to the older two as Jeff patiently switched back and forth between scolding and doting on Emma, depending on her behavior at the moment. When they emerged from the plane, the hot dry desert wind whipped Meg's once perfectly coiffed hair this way and that around her face. She gently peeled away a piece of hair that had become lodged in her freshly applied lip-gloss, announcing to the kids "This is not the same as North Carolina hot, is it kids? I bet they haven't seen rain in months". "I love the desert," Sam responded, smirking, "they have awesome snakes." Emma's eyes darted down around her feet as she moved between her mom and dad, squeezing Jeff's hand tight and grabbing her mom's purse when she found both hands to be occupied. "I don't like snakes on the ground" Emma responded with childlike wisdom, "I like them in a book".

Before they'd even reached the entrance to baggage claim, Meg spied Aunt Jeannie waving her arms wildly from behind the security stanchion, with Uncle Ernest waiting patiently by her side. The whole family turned their heads to follow Meg's gaze like curious meerkats sensing activity. "I don't see Anjani or Vatusia, but that is your Great-aunt Jeannie and Great-uncle Ernest," Meg explained, "and you know who that is..." she smiled as her three children broke out into a run towards their grandparents, squealing and squeezing through their fellow disembarking passengers as they went.

Eventually the whole group convened around the baggage to exchange hugs and well wishes. Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ernest were actually there at the airport to pick up Lisa, their daughter, and her family who would be arriving on the next flight from Los Angeles. "Gram Bird", the name coined by Meg's kids based on her unique name of Birdie, and "Pop Jack", Meg's dad, were there to collect them, a very pleasant surprise to Meg, who hugged her parents affectionately after the kids had all had their turn.

"It's so nice that so many of us can gather together for this event. It feels like a family reunion!" Aunt Jeannie exclaimed cheerily.

"Well you don't get to the States often enough Jeannie," said Birdie "and we certainly haven't been able to visit you in the Ivory Coast with all that's been going on. It feels like there is never going to be a good time!"

"The Lord finds a way to protect us," responded Jeannie, "but I would not want to be responsible for bringing anyone else into that environment just to see us."

Once the bags were gathered, Birdie led Meg and her family curbside where Pop Jack was waiting after retrieving the car. Conversation was lighthearted during the ride, as the children caught their grandparents up on all the current activities and events in their lives.

"I'm so glad you guys are here," said Meg, still marveling that they'd been able to keep the trip a secret from her.

"Well, it was pretty last minute," confessed her father, "so it wasn't that hard to come up with the plan and keep it a secret. Hope you don't mind, but we've booked a room at the same hotel," he added with a coy smile.

"Yay!" exclaimed Sam who seemed to have been ignoring their conversation up until that point.

"Have you met Vatusia and Anjani yet?" Meg asked. "I don't know why, but I expected to see them with you at the airport."

"Oh yes. We met them last night at the Butler's" Birdie chimed in. "Just lovely, both of them. Martha Butler has been having a sort of open house I understand, almost every evening to accommodate the family members coming in to see Jeannie and Ernest. They were there. We just arrived yesterday ourselves."

"Ernest and Jeannie are staying with your cousin Michael while they're here" added Meg's father, pulling into the hotel parking lot.

While Jeff and Sam checked in, Meg took the girls through the lobby to take a look at the expansive pool in the courtyard.

"This is the best pool I've ever seen!" Jenny shouted, "They have two diving boards and a slide! Can we swim?" Emma nodded her head agreeably as she stood next to her sister. "Why not," Meg answered, "we _are_ on vacation after all".

The family settled in to the hotel, eventually joined at the pool by Birdie and Jack who provided much welcomed supervision for the three kids while Jeff and Meg relaxed. "Well, they weren't perfect on the plane, but the old backpack trick certainly helped" Meg said to Jeff. Jeff, who had his eyes closed behind his sunglasses as he reclined on the chaise lounge, rolled his head towards Meg, lifting his glasses so he could look her in the eye. "Seriously Meg? They were superb travelers! You are never going to stamp out sibling rivalry completely you know. If you could, someone would have done it by now." Meg was quiet but he knew she agreed by the faint smile that appeared on her face.

"Do you think we should be doing language classes outside of Jameswell Academy for Jenny and Sam?" Meg questioned, her mind suddenly humming with ways to improve life for her children. "Meg darling" Jeff said sarcastically, "we are on vacation. Our children are healthy and happy and really enjoying your parents right now. Give it a rest." But didn't he know by now that she could not? "Fine" she said, taking her thoughts back inside her head. "French for Jenny and Chinese for Sam" she decided. Emma could decide for herself when she turned 10

They enjoyed the rest of the afternoon, lounging and snacking and spending time together in the pool... an uncharacteristic, unstructured start to their vacation. Meg was thankful for the added surprise of her parents' presence. She relished their company, finding a familiar comfort in having them around and it was, she knew, good for the kids to spend as much time as they could with them, gleaning bits of wisdom from their interactions. The fact that Jeff got along well with them too was an added bonus.

As Birdie had predicted, the Butlers invited them all to their house for dinner that evening to spend time with Jeannie, Ernest, Vatusia and Anjani. Martha, the consummate preacher's wife, had a lovely buffet prepared with something for everyone. When Meg and family arrived, the children immediately dispersed to play with cousins they had not seen in ages and two large Afghan dogs that ruled the backyard while Jeff went to catch up with Ernest, who was holding court with Pat Butler by the kitchen counter, leaving Meg, momentarily, alone. Setting down the bottle of wine she'd brought as a hostess gift for Martha and Pat on the entryway table, she turned away from the hubbub of the kitchen towards the living room, and there she saw Vatusia and Anjani for the first time.

At the risk of being rude, Meg held her a gaze a few moments beyond what felt proper before approaching and introducing herself. It was obvious their bond was strong by their interactions, Vatusia periodically ending a phrase by caressing his cheek with the back of her hand or touching his shoulder in a nurturing, motherly fashion. They spoke quietly and confidently in the most beautiful French she had heard. It sounded warm and kind, unlike the overly enunciated, yet undecipherable French she was used to hearing. Vatusia was petite, her brown almond shaped eyes framed by long black lashes on her perfectly proportioned face. Her hair was striking, falling in long, coarse spirals like segments of neatly knotted rope. In contrast, Anjani was tall and lanky, his hair cropped close to his head. His face was handsome, similar to Vatusia's in shape, but his eyes were round with flecks of gold scattered through a brown base.

Eventually, the pair noticed Meg and popped from their seats like popcorn kernels in hot oil. "Hello, I'm Meg Stanley," she blurted a bit too formally. Anjani stepped forward first, extending his hand confidently while he introduced himself. Obviously coached in the traditions of US culture, Vatusia followed the example of her son, reaching out her hand to Meg tentatively and looking over at her son for approval, which Meg found so endearing that she took her hand in both of hers, clasped them warmly and laughed. "Well done!" Meg congratulated as the three of them united in laughter.

When the rest of the family eventually joined them, the ice broken in the most jovial of manners, the balance of the evening proceeded quickly and easily. Introductions were made and stories exchanged, primarily about Anjani's time in the United States but also about the more serious nature of the civil unrest and violence the Templeton's faced in the Ivory Coast. Towards the end of the evening, Meg and Vatusia were sitting on the couch when Anjani entered the room with his girlfriend, Leticia. Meg had not noticed her arrive, which wasn't surprising based on the constant flow of visitors in and out of the Butler's home, but she did notice that the minute the girl, a pretty brunette with distinctively Hispanic features, entered the room, Vatusia became alert, drawing back her shoulders in a way that made her neck look long and regal. She was, quite suddenly, Meg realized, an imposing motherly figure.

Leticia seemed nice enough to Meg, after overcoming her original negative first impression when she spied a tattoo of a ladybug inked imprecisely above the young woman's ankle. Anjani was clearly smitten, keeping a gentle hand on her lower back as he shepherded her through the crowd of friends and acquaintances, making introductions. According to the Butlers, Leticia's academic record spoke for itself. She was a darling among the faculty and was obviously quite outgoing based on the composure with which she greeted so many strangers, not to mention Vatusia whom she had met the day before. Observing the two women closely, Meg came to the conclusion that they were still evaluating one another, although Anjani seemed optimistic that his mother's iciness towards Leticia would thaw in time, if allowed the time.

Once the novelty of the evening had worn off, Jeff returned to the living room with three tired children just as Vatusia rose to address the departing guests.

"I am full of thanks beyond the English words I know," she told them with a level of composure fitting an experienced public speaker. "I feel hope for me and Anjani." Then she opened her hands as if in evangelical prayer added, "Aberewa hwe abofra ma ofifir se nna abofra so hwe aberewa ma nese tutu."

"What does it mean?" said Birdie, asking the question on everyone's mind.

Ernest translated, glancing at Vatusia with a knowing smile as he did. "Roughly, Vatusia is saying that the woman looks after the child to grow its teeth and the young one in turn looks after the old woman when she loses her teeth."

Obviously considering her last statement a farewell closing, and not the introduction to a discussion of meaning, Vatusia made her way to the stairs where Anjani was waiting.

"See you and Anjani tomorrow I hope!" said Meg after her. Vatusia turned to smile and wave kindly.

Back at the hotel, the kids safely tucked into their hotel room beds after much discussion of "growing teeth", Meg could not resist overanalyzing the interactions as usual. " I feel like Vatusia is a bit overwhelmed and yet she handles it all so philosophically," she observed as she watched Jeff brush his teeth. "I mean, imagine if Sam were schizophrenic and we had no means to help him with therapy or medication and yet he was our only hope for the future with no retirement, no social security or 401ks. She has got to be so relieved on the one hand that he's getting everything he needs with an education to boot, but on the other hand, when is she going to see him again? The market here for her work is good, but only on a limited basis. It's not like she's going to be able to afford to see him very often at all... I feel for her."

"I actually don't think that you and I will ever be able to truly understand what she and Anjani have been through and how they feel about it," Jeff replied thoughtfully. "We've never been in survival mode and it sounds like they have never really been in anything but."

The next day was a busy one for the Butlers as they prepared to honor several seniors in the congregation with a post-graduation party. Meg helped in any way she could, picking up flowers for the centerpieces with her mom, while the kids, her dad and her husband painted banners to hang on the church reception hall walls. Vatusia and Jeannie also assisted by adding some traditional Ivorian touches such as yam chips and plantain bread. Eventually, they all took a break when Birdie and Meg came back from a caffeine run.

"I thought you guys were flush in coffee beans over there" Jeff said to Jeannie. "Don't you want some fro-yo or some other silly food fad we have here that you don't?"

"Oh we have coffee all right," Jeannie responded, smiling impishly as she waited in anticipation for Vatusia's reaction as she took her first sip, "but steamed cow's milk takes it to a whole different level."

"It is very delicious" Vatusia agreed, smiling appreciatively as she had, Meg noted, in response to most all the new experiences she had encountered recently.

Meg sat down next to Vatusia and Jane, smiling and sipping her drink while the kids gorged on nuts, scones and fancy de-caffeinated beverages at the other end of the hall. "Speaking of new things Vatusia," Meg interjected as Aunt Jeannie looked up from her drink in anticipation, "what's your impression of Leticia?" Jeannie had warned Meg about Vatusia's disdain for talking about personal matters, but Meg felt that this was different, something she'd be dealing with one way or another, so why not with the support of other women she could trust? Vatusia, unaccustomed to having anyone to talk things through with, contemplated for a few moments before answering. Meg liked the way Vatusia took her time, never rushing to blurt out her thoughts. Logically, she knew it probably had to do with the translation taking place in her head back and forth between French and English, but the overall impression was that Vatusia gave the speaker's questions careful consideration before responding.

In a way the impression was correct this time. Vatusia was a million miles away, considering her childhood in the village with Mathilde, the woman who had taken her in... _rescued_ her. Mathilde's role as matriarch gave her the powerful responsibility of approving all relationships and marriages in the village. Parents played a role, but it was primarily to determine how much dowry would be given and received, to strike an acceptable deal between families. Vatusia had been marked as unworthy when she was scarred but also when Laurent had forced himself on her, the secret of which she could no longer hide when Anjani was born. It was with a flood of relief that she realized now that Mathilde would not be able to control her son's destiny any more. The beliefs Mathilde and others had fostered and encouraged among the villagers had kept her son isolated and friendless in the Ivory Coast, but here, he was surrounded by people who cared for him and perhaps even loved him. Jeannie looked surprised when Vatusia answered Meg with a smile.

"Leticia is a beautiful name" she began. "I wonder what it means in her language."

"Names here don't usually have meanings like Ivorian names, Vatusia" Jeannie replied. "I'm thinking that Ernest and I didn't do a very good job of preparing you for how different things are here..." her voice trailing off.

"Power to the child to decide what its name will mean. That is good," Vatusia said unfazed, taking a tentative sip from the still steaming coffee. "At home, when Anjani was not at school, he was with me. He is my son, but he was also my _compagnon_ , she added, looking quizzically at Jeannie for help with the translation."

"Companion," Jeannie said, "it sounds almost the same in French and English".

"Yes, companion" Vatusia corrected herself. "We talked about everything and we talked about nothing. But here, it has been Anjani who talks when we are together and it is Anjani who does not have time to talk. We are no longer equal. He shares more thoughts than I have to share but he has less time to do that now. I used to know everything that touched his heart. Now I only guess."

Meg wanted desperately to jump into problem solving mode to help her new friend address the myriad emotions and challenges that were facing her, but this was, she realized, Vatusia's issue, Vatusia's life, one she must learn to handle her own way. Meg could feel a hazy, yet distinct boundary separating them, and so, for the moment she left the comforting to Jeannie who knew her better, watching as Jeannie reached across the reception hall table and patted Vatusia's hand.

"You will always know him" Jeannie said gently "no matter where he goes or how long he is gone, just like you will always know the Lord and he will always know you."

In that moment, Meg made a decision to deepen her relationship with Vatusia because, clearly, she was someone worth knowing. Unlike the challenges that Meg and her friends seemed to invent to keep life more interesting, Vatusia's issues were real and unavoidable. Meg felt more than a twinge of guilt when she thought of all of the things she took for granted on a regular basis and the relatively meaningless things she made a priority in her life.

After graduation night, Meg and her family had three days to rest, relax and explore with the family and friends who remained. Gram Birdie and Pop Jack had said goodbye already, heading off to their next adventure with hugs and kisses for all. Jeannie, Ernest, and Vatusia would be returning to Africa in two weeks, and Anjani had four weeks until his university work-study program started in North Carolina. Meg and Jeff had offered to host Anjani for the two-week period he would have between his mother leaving Arizona and his campus housing becoming available. They found transportation for him through a web site designed to connect students who want to share rides and the cost of fuel. As Jeannie said, "The Lord was making a plan for Anjani".

Once the others were gone, Anjani proved to be such a skilled big brother figure, establishing a great rapport with Emma, Jenny and Sam, that Meg told Vatusia that if things didn't work out for Anjani at university, he could have Chloe's job as nanny. She was pleased when she saw that Vatusia understood the joke, but a little nervous too when Jenny threatened to tell Chloe what her mom had offered.

Meg sat by the pool, adjusting her bikini bottoms to check her tan lines. "Oh bother," she thought as the all too familiar symptoms of a yeast infection became apparent. Now she'd have to get to the drug store and make her apologies to Jeff for having to abstain for a while before remembering that lovemaking was probably out for a few more days anyway while they shared their hotel room with the kids. She looked over at Vatusia who had chosen to sit under the umbrella to avoid the harsh Arizona sun and wondered what women in her country did when they encountered this sort of "female" problem or any physical problem for that matter.

"Your children appear to love the water," Vatusia said, as Meg joined her, setting down the book she had been reading. "Anjani seems to be learning to like it too," Vatusia continued just as Jenny performed a perfect cannonball, jumping from Anjani's shoulders high above the water.

And then the question and answer session began to flow, initiated by Meg at first:

"Can he swim?" Meg asked.

"Not that I know" answered Vatusia.

"Do you?" Meg asked, and when Vatusia shook her head, "Would you like to learn?"

"No, thank you," Vatusia replied. "We do not swim for pleasure where I live."

And so it went back and forth like a friendly tennis match for most of the afternoon, the two women getting to know one another through their simple inquiries and responses, each seeming to give and take equally. The subject matter moved from swimming to living and loving and everything in between. By the time they headed back to their rooms to dress for dinner, Meg felt certain that the barrier she had sensed between them had dissipated. In fact, the honesty and depth of their interaction was unlike any other she'd experienced with another woman and she sensed that Vatusia felt the same. Last week, the future of her son had been held in the hands of a stranger. Today, it belonged in the hands of a friend.

To the kid's delight, Anjani chose T.G.I. Fridays for dinner that evening. While he had eaten most meals at home with the Butlers since he'd arrived in the U.S., he had, it seemed, had several occasions to try dining out.

"Maman, you will love the way they cook pomme de terre and oignons," he told his mother, clearly enjoying a chance to introduce someone else to the wonders of American cuisine. Dinner tonight was Meg and Jeff's treat for the Ivorian contingent, her aunt and uncle, Anjani and Vatusia. They had also included Leticia in the invitation but she was unable to attend due to family commitments of her own.

"I'm sorry that Leticia couldn't attend tonight, Anjani," Meg said as they waited for their order. "We like her very much. I'm sure she's been a great friend to have here."

"Leticia has been the first girl to know me," he said, turning to include his mother in the conversation. "She was not afraid of where I came from, the color of my skin or the pills that I have to take. I don't trust many people myself so it must have been God's hand that brought us together. Unfortunately for me, she is going to school at a university in California so we will not see one another for some time."

Vatusia squeezed his hand sympathetically, knowing the pain of separation first hand, and Jeannie added, "God has a path for you, as you said Anjani. Trust in his wisdom."

Trust had been mentioned several times that evening already, and Meg could see that this time it had triggered memories for Vatusia, although she never could have guessed that the other woman was remembering a boy who had been chained to a tree and left to rot, surrounded by raving lunatics, a boy who had never known a friend his age because he was branded a demon, someone who struggled with mental illness, a boy for whom, understandably, it was not easy to trust. As Vatusia told Meg later, Anjani's boyhood experiences were a constant reminder as to why she must support and nurture any relationship he developed, as long as it was healthy. She could not afford to be jealous or petty. Her son would need good friends in his life... peers, not just watchful adults like Jeannie and Ernest or Meg and Jeff. Vatusia had actually thanked Meg for letting her share these memories, explaining how if was a relief to expel the negative feelings rather than to carry them around like a rock around her neck.

Feeling as though she'd inadvertently started the dinner conversation down a somber path, Meg dug her phone out of her purse and flipped through her stored e-mails while the others discussed the menu and dinner orders. Finally finding what she was looking for, Meg interrupted them.

"Anjani," she said in an upbeat tone, "the university fellowship panel was so impressed with your application essay. I'm not sure everyone here got a chance to hear about it or read it. Is it OK if I share? I'd love the kids to know more about your educational plans." Anjani, who had been quietly discussing menu options with his mother, looked indecisive, so Meg followed up, "If you don't want me to read some of it, why don't you just tell us about it?"

Journaling had been an important technique Dr. Francois had suggested as part of Anjani's on-going mental health maintenance. The daily practice, which he forced himself to write in English in order to learn the nuances of the language, had benefitted his writing skills dramatically. Whereas schizophrenics are often emotionally disconnected, Anjani was able to channel his emotion onto paper. Later, he would reflect upon those emotions, linking them to events in the real world, the end result demonstrating profound insights and excellent writing skills.

"Well," Anjani began, "my future plans seem to change all the time, but I can tell you what I wrote about. Human nature was the topic. Time does not change it, as witnessed by history, so I speculated that human behavior must evolve even if our nature does not."

Sam, the only child who seemed to be paying attention spoke up eagerly. "So you mean if people want to act a certain way just because that's the feeling they have, they shouldn't necessarily... or automatically anyway." Anjani beamed. "Yes, Sam, you're right! Excellent interpretation," he said. "So my plan at the moment is to help the mentally ill in the Ivory Coast. My people's impulse is to shun them but I know that we should not. To do that requires bringing mental illness out of the darkness because what might be unpleasant and difficult to stomach but is unseen can be easily ignored or overlooked. That is also human nature."

The adults around the table nodded in agreement, and Ernest muttered, "Amen," while Vatusia's expression was difficult to read. Meg imagined that the thought of Anjani going back to the Ivory Coast to change her people's behavior towards mental illness must terrify her, but she knew her well enough by now to be certain that she knew that her son would cross each bridge as his journey brought him to it and that she planned on being right there to help him if she could.

"Anjani is an amazing young man," Jeff said as Meg climbed into bed beside him. "He's definitely a good influence on Sam."

"Oh my gosh, that reminds me," Meg said in a low voice. "I was going to tell you about some of the things Vatusia shared. They were unbelievable and horrifying."

And with that, she proceeded to tell Jeff about Vatusia's life in the Ivory Coast and how she and Anjani had lived through the social isolation, violence and political turmoil that surrounded them.

"I mean, the amazing thing is" Meg concluded, interrupting herself with a yawn "that Vatusia considers herself to be relatively fortunate, even after everything she's been through. She said that most people of the Ivory Coast expect to lose a loved one before their time. The fact that she and Anjani have gotten this far makes her feel blessed. I wonder how she maintains that amazing attitude?"

"I really don't know and I hope I never have to know," Jeff told her, kissing Meg affectionately before closing his eyes and falling asleep with ease.

Unable to sleep herself, however, Meg got up without disturbing Jeff to check on the kids. Sam seemed to be asleep but his Gameboy was still on, the music caught in a loop of an eerily cheerful jingle as his character moved round and round on the screen, Sam's finger still pressing a key. After skillfully removing his ear-buds, one at a time without waking him, she placed his device in the charger on the wall, walked to the window, and drew back the curtain to expose the stars shining brilliantly in the desert sky.

What, she wondered, was wrong with her? Ticking down through all of the things that had caused her stress and anxiety over her lifetime, she then stacked them up against what little she knew of Vatusia and her experiences and found herself wondering why Vatusia should appear to be happy with what she had, while she never seemed to be.

"Oh shit, another self-improvement project," she grumbled under her breath. "Isn't this what Oprah talks about all the time... living in the moment, being your best self? Oh well. At least if I finish this project, I may never have to undertake another one again. I'll be cured of my compulsion."

But as she returned to bed, she realized that she could tell herself that, but she really didn't believe it.

### Chapter Eight

"Misfortune does not restrict his visits to one day." ~Ghanaian Proverb

It was June and the weather in Korhogo was scorching. "Africa hot" was a term Vatusia had heard someone use in Arizona, a comment she had found ironic as she struggled with the desert heat. The heat at home _was_ different though, like wearing a heavy, wet blanket. Unlike Arizona, there were no air-conditioned stores or fast food restaurants to offer respite.

The flight home from the United States was long, but the ride from the airport was even longer. Vatusia felt lucky to be with Jeannie and Ernest. They had established so many contacts over the years; they seemed to have a friend at every turn to help the trio navigate their way back to the Baptist Center. There had been a ceasefire agreement in May, signed by the government and the rebels, but the damage to the infrastructure from earlier fighting and basic neglect was evident. The calm felt fleeting to Vatusia as the military and rebel convoys passed them on the road, their eyes still full of hate and vengeance. Every time Jeannie would see an armed group approaching, she would say a semi-audible prayer asking for safe passage as if the Lord controlled the fingers on the triggers.

Vatusia noted that Jeannie prayed a lot more here in the IC than she did in Arizona, but she never seemed to complain, a trait Vatusia found worthy of emulating. Mathilde, the village matriarch and Vatusia's only mother figure, had been a complainer. She and the other women in the village would compete to see who had the most despair to share, reveling in pathetic glory the days their burden seemed the heaviest. Vatusia's refusal to participate in this type of communal petulance isolated, but also insulated her from the village community. Meg had described something similar as a "bitchfest," a word whose proper application Vatusia hoped to demonstrate to Meg someday. Their friendship had blossomed so quickly, its lasting effects surprised her. She had felt friendly with the women of Bouake who had helped her on her way to Kelkro, but this was different. There was a lingering mutual interest in Meg's life, a true caring for her wellbeing and a genuine desire to share her presence. Vatusia believed in her heart that Meg felt the same about her.

Vatusia had found no joy in joining the discussions of pain and suffering in which Mathilde and her friends had so often engaged so when she found the Baptist Center, with its central message of hope, it was a welcomed change, a beacon. Hope had nurtured her in childhood when kind words were scarce, hope had seen her through the trials of raising Anjani, and now she must acknowledge the embers of hope that she kindled for her own future.

Vatusia stayed close to the Templetons for the first few months after their return, visiting at least twice a week to check in with Anjani and Meg about college life, and, at Meg's urging, what Vatusia now referred to as "her business." Life returned to normal, for the most part. The Templetons continued their work with biblical translations, educating the local youth and providing other general clergy services such as baptisms, bible study and marriage ceremonies for those who had converted to Christianity. They also continued to be the hub of activity for volunteer and peacekeeping missions, hosting Peace Corp staff and visiting dignitaries from one organization or another, so many that Vatusia could not keep them straight.

With her son safely enrolled in college thousands of miles away from his fragile homeland, medicated and treated for his mental illness, clothed and sheltered, Vatusia should have felt settled, but she did not. She considered it a very strange twist of the mind indeed that the time she used to spend on maternal angst had actually been constructive and somewhat soothing. After a long day at the loom, she would have run through every scenario of harm that could befall her son and developed a strategy to thwart it. Now her mind was a vacuum. The possibilities for Anjani in the future seemed so limitless that she could not even imagine them. Instead, her thoughts turned to her own situation, again and again, and with this, she was not comfortable. Anjani was the primary purpose in her life. For him, she could climb the tallest trees, tackle tigers, and survive physical and verbal injustices, but then he had been a child. Now he was an adult, by African _and_ American standards, no longer needing or wanting that sort of care.

Meg told Vatusia about the "empty nest syndrome" in one of their email exchanges, and how it was quite common in the US for parents to experience it when their homes, once filled with children, were suddenly left empty. While Vatusia did not always understand Meg's own emotional issues, she did appreciate the fact that Meg seemed to understand her. The simple fact that Meg did not judge her for being born of a mentally ill mother and for bearing a schizophrenic son was enough, but add to it the plethora of actions Meg had taken to support Anjani and Vatusia... it was overwhelming.

Just this week a package had arrived from Meg that included, as usual, a handwritten letter from Anjani, which she treasured and kept in a box wrapped in plastic and tucked away in a pot on her dish rack. At the bottom of the box, under the magazines containing "Folkware Sewing Patterns", Vatusia found another smaller box with the picture of a person with wires coming from their ears, holding an electronic device. She thought she recognized it as something that one of Meg's children owned, maybe Jenny or Sam or both, but it looked a bit different. Vatusia opened the box, carefully extracting the components to avoid breaking anything, not knowing how fragile it might be. The note from Meg said, "Here's something to do while you weave" as if she'd sensed Vatusia's need from across the ocean. There were four cases labeled _, Little Women, Moby Dick, George Gershwin Presents Porgy and Bess,_ and _Cake-Prolonging the Magic._ Meg had kindly worked out a long-term checkout policy with her local library, at least that's what she told Vatusia, so she wouldn't consider them gifts. Jeannie and Ernest had offered books, but she could not read while she wove and had little light by which to read at night, so Meg's approach was a welcome suggestion for filling the void.

The months that followed brought more CDs, which Vatusia listened to, learned from and enjoyed, but they also delivered an unwelcomed visitor. It was an unseasonably hot spring day so Vatusia had decided to make an extra effort and relocate her loom and weaving supplies to a shaded area about twenty meters from her hut where, without so much thick vegetation, there was more breeze, making it easier to work. It was nearing dusk when an unfamiliar movement caught Vatusia's eye. She removed the CD player earphones to expand her sensory awareness, placing them silently in her lap. She could no longer see any movement but she did hear something or someone in her hut, the chair being shoved across the floor, the clean plates she'd left on the rack being jostled, water being ladled from her vat to a cup.

Being alone and vulnerable, she knew that her best means of defense was being difficult to find, off the well-worn path where anyone she met was either lost or would have to look very hard to find her. The Templetons rarely made their way here to find her unless it was an emergency and with Anjani in the US, she couldn't imagine what that would be. She had no other friends who visited. Only one other person had found her before, the thought triggered a release of adrenaline. Getting up with a jerk, she was just able to catch the CD player she had set in her lap before it hit the ground. If it _were_ Laurent, he would not, she knew, end his search at the hut. Moving stealthily through the bamboo, she was reminded of her quest to free Anjani from the Rehabilitation Center. Crouching, she waited, hoping her brightly colored dress was hidden from view. Thankfully, the darkness came quickly, and the moon was only a sliver of its former self.

She continued to hear noise in her hut for about an hour as she waited in the jungle, shifting her weight from leg to leg every so often to avoid cramping, not wanting to sit for fear she would not be able to run quickly if discovered. Finally, she heard the door open and close, followed by a shout. _"Mousso lodeh! Vous sentez une odeur rance,"_ confirmation that it was indeed Laurent, combining Diaoula and French dialects to spit out an unflattering female reference and tell her she smelled rancid. Finally, satisfied that his vulgar burst of anger indicated he would go, she sat down and fell asleep leaning against a tree.

The oncoming lights awakened Vatusia, drawing her gaze toward them like a moth to flame. As she turned to face them, a sense of calm – or was it numbness-- settled over her to be gradually replaced by anticipation when she heard the sound of a horn and felt the whoosh of air as the car sped past her. She wanted to be angry with the driver, who had nearly run her over, but she did not have time, for soon, more vehicles were whizzing by her in every direction as though she were at the center of conjoining spokes of a bicycle, turning her anger to fear.

Time seemed to fast forward in front of her eyes, as dawn broke with an angry rash of red, she saw that she was in the middle of a busy highway in an otherwise vacant desert with car after car whipping past, one knocking her down again, as she rose unsteadily from the ground. And then it was quiet except for the roar of a single motor, much more familiar to her, like the sound of an Ivorian Jeep. Still on the ground, unable to move, she heard _his_ voice.

"Don't you ever run from _me_ ," Laurent told her. "You are mine when I want you, but I don't want you now. Look at you,"

He was standing over her, one hand resting on the stock of a semi-automatic rifle. Looking down warily she saw that she was naked; blood caked at her cuts and abrasions, a metallic taste in her mouth. Laurent laughed, and got back in the Jeep, motioning the driver to head on, his laughter ringing in her ears as she closed her eyes once again, forcing the nightmare to end.

When she woke in the morning, Vatusia was damp and stiff, her skin sore with the sting of insects. She approached her hut cautiously, picking up a loom shuttle as she passed her equipment in case she needed to defend herself, but the hut was empty. She wanted to be strong and resilient just as she had been every other time she had had to deal with her father, the father of her son and her serial rapist, but her fortitude faltered. After picking up a shard from one of the CDs Laurent had apparently shattered in his rage, she clenched it tightly in her fist until her hand bled, before crumpling to the ground. Alone in her hut, Vatusia did not move for the rest of the day and well into the next night when, at last, she emerged from her catatonic state, finally releasing her grip on her makeshift weapon, the dried blood cementing it to her hand like glue. Vatusia rose to her feet slowly and used the last bit of water Laurent had not used or wasted to wet her lips, wash her hands and face, and fall back onto her mat, this time in a deep dreamless sleep.

Avoiding Laurent was Vatusia's new focus from that day on, however, she refused to let it disrupt her trips to the Baptist Center. To date, Laurent had not shown his face there, knowing that employees like Beti would have him escorted away immediately since he was known for his violence, not just against women, but against anyone he bore a grudge. News at the center was bad, violence having erupting again in the west and the north. Vatusia focused on her work but also obeyed Jeannie and Ernest's request that she visit them more frequently and stay the night if she ever felt endangered. The market was only open sporadically as distrustful rebels and military alike imposed fines, fees and abuses to those who dared travel on the customary transportation routes. Korhogo and the surrounding villages were being cut off one by one.

Vatusia sat in the Templeton's office, typing out her concerns to Meg and her love to Anjani. She was trying to be strong for him but the tension that she sensed at the Baptist Center made her very nervous.

"Oh good, you're here," Ernest said as he entered the office, Jeannie following close behind, and closing the door behind her.

"We need to talk dear," Jeannie told her. "We have some very serious news".

And with that she proceeded to explain that they were leaving the Ivory Coast. The United States government could no longer provide protection or any services whatsoever, for that matter. Ernest had been contacted personally by the State Department, with a request that he help extract all US citizens, including his own family and staff. By the end of May, the Baptist Center would be shut down and UN Peacekeeping forces would be deployed.

The "plans," of which Jeannie then went on to speak, involved Vatusia. The Templetons were no strangers to evacuations, but this time, their departure would be permanent. They had prayed together, both agreeing that it was God's will for them to move on to a new chapter in their lives back in the United States.

"I am getting too old for this!" Jeannie explained as she began to pack office supplies "I don't even expect to get half of our belongings back so I want to make sure we get these things to the health center in Korhogo so at least we'll know they will be used for God's work, not the devil's. We are working very hard, dear, to get you a visa so you can join us. I hope you know that," she added as tears filled her eyes, but Vatusia did not feel hope.

Within the week, Vatusia had moved some of her things to the Baptist Center to be closer to Jeannie and Ernest in case they needed her for an unplanned evacuation or for additional information or interviews for her visa. More importantly, she went there to avoid Laurent, although she said nothing of this to Jeannie. And she also needed to be able to use their Internet and telephone connections more frequently as she tried to map out a plan amidst the uncertainty.

"It's just that we are having no luck through our normal channels, " Jeanine continued, wiping her eye with the back of her hand as she once again became teary. "The government offices are shutting down. Meg has been using her own connections through her law firm, but that's not working either. We're about out of ideas."

Unable to hold back any longer, Jeanine slumped down in her chair and buried her head in her hands, sobbing while Vatusia hurried to put her arms around her shoulders.

"You have done so much for me already," she whispered. "It's going to be OK."

The full impact of their departure and her own inability to leave would not sink in for a few days. At this moment, Vatusia was appreciating the love she felt _from_ and that she'd finally allowed herself to feel _towards_ good friends, friends who had cared for and educated her son when no one else would.

The harsh news delivered, Jeanine and Ernest included a communication plan for Vatusia on their Herculean "to do" list, refusing to leave her completely cut off from Anjani or from themselves. They had, after all, firsthand experience regarding how easy it was for an individual to disappear completely in the Ivory Coast, never to resurface. And because they had become so close to Vatusia, they could not let that happen. According to their contacts, the offices of the Red Cross would remain open in Korhogo indefinitely, as long as they could keep staff, supplies and power, so the Templetons told the staff there about Vatusia and her situation. Based on their endorsement, the director agreed to welcome her whenever she needed help. Most of the fighting seemed to occur in the north and the west so her back-up instructions were to travel south to Bouake to find the Catholic Church there. Ernest's friend, Father James, would be able to help her with Internet or phone communications if Korhogo were no longer an option.

With little sleep under their belts, the Templetons drove off on a muggy Monday afternoon, the last of the buildings shuttered and locked. Vatusia was not there to see them leave, but she felt the loss from her hut. She had not realized until then how much of a connection had been forged between, not only her and the Templetons, but also her and the Baptist Center in general. She felt proud to maintain her independence, but the Center had served as an escape, an oasis when she needed it most, filling the void that had been lost when she cut ties with the village that had ruthlessly condemned her son to suffer in the jungle. In her heart she knew that she was not meant to live alone.

As the weeks passed, Vatusia stockpiled her work for fear of venturing away from her home, stacking the fabric in beautiful arrays, the Templetons having left her with enough supplies to last her a year if needed. She also buried many other things so that her hut would not be a tempting target if soldiers or rebels were to come upon it. At first Vatusia did not notice the effect of the UN Peacekeeping mission, but by November, the fact that the Ivorian air force was attacking rebel strongholds in and around Korhogo, was hard to ignore. The small radio she kept by her side at all times reported that French forces entered the fray when nine of their troops were killed, but even more violence ensued including anti-French protests in the streets in the larger cities. It was reported that a newly imposed UN embargo was making distribution almost impossible as shipments were delayed due to searches for arms and other contraband. Prices skyrocketed as goods were prohibited from moving in or out of the country, let alone within the Cote d'Ivoire.

A major consequence of staying put for Vatusia was that she could not communicate with her son, although she took solace in knowing that he was well looked after by the university and friends and that he was in a much safer place. By summer, Vatusia had traveled to Korhogo twice. Both trips were necessary but took their toll as she struggled to maintain her connection with and support of Anjani. The first time, Vatusia had hauled over 35 kilos of her work with her, not even the entire amount of product she had created. With too little cash to pay for postage to the United States up front, she was forced to sell at the market hoping to earn enough money for the shipping and supplies she needed. With a hopeful heart, she searched for the women from Bouake who had welcomed her to their stall in the past, but did not find them in their usual location. How nice it would have been to reconnect with a friend, or at least a friendly human being. Instead, to her misfortune, Laurent happened by as she stood in the market bartering with a woman over a skirt.

She had thanked Jesus that the woman had been there, refusing to leave before completing the transaction, rather than leaving her standing alone and exposed, although eventually she realized, she would be alone and exposed, an accurate description of how she felt most days anyway. She nervously tracked Laurent while she continued to barter, noticing how he hung back, grabbing his male companion by the arm and whispering something into his ear, which caused the man to turn and stare her up and down in a vulgar manner. Vatusia shuddered, but continued to talk to the customer about the quality and craftsmanship of the skirt, hoping she would not leave her yet, afraid of what the two men would do if she did. And then, to her relief, she heard the other man say, "We must go," to Laurent, allowing her to breathe a deep sigh even though Laurent called back, tauntingly, "I am going to fight for our village, but I will be back for you, Vatusia. Don't you doubt that."

It was a very difficult decision to make the second trip to Korhogo, particularly after encountering Laurent the last time. The radio had spoken of tortures and executions labeled as "rebel action" but more likely based in ethnic in-fighting unleashed by the conflict. She worried about the IC military _and_ rebels since a single woman traveling alone was not safe from either, but because it had been over a month since she had communicated with Anjani she decided she must take the risk. Determining it was better to travel light and avoid the market this time, she only carried enough of her work to ship to Meg in the United States. Without the Templetons there to serve as middlemen, the money no longer came directly to Vatusia, but into the bank account they'd established for Anjani at university so there would be no cash for her from this trip. Thankfully, the Red Cross director did not charge for her time on the computer or phone, which was particularly fortunate when she found that her e-mail account was brimming with news.

The first e-mails were, as she might have expected, from Anjani, writing to her in a journalistic way about what his days were like, describing new experiences in the most beautiful detail, so clearly that she could see everything in her mind's eye. What he wrote for her was simple, yet elegant. Pride filled her soul and she was transported away from the chair in which she sat, away from the dirty, sad village, crawling with thieves, torturers, and small-minded people who could not see the goodness that shone in her son. She had continued to read her e-mails chronologically, as she usually did, so they could unfold like a story without spoiling the ending, but as she scrolled back up she noticed unfamiliar e-mail addresses in the preview pane to the left as well as an atypical pattern of senders with Anjani absent. Her mother's sixth sense aroused, she skipped to the last e-mail he had written in which he spoke of a new friend he had made, the challenging yet intriguing nature of his most difficult course, and of the party he would attend that evening in honor of a fall tradition at the university. "You are in my thoughts always Maman!" he ended his e-mail as he did every one he had sent her since he left.

Still unsettled, she scrolled up further to the unfamiliar sender. The extension was that of the university's health center. It read:

_Subject: Patient Status – Anjani Macon_

Sent: 10/20/2004 1:15 AM Eastern Daylight Time

Cc: Templeton@mission.com; meg@gmail.com

From: medadmin@ncsu.edu

Dear Ms. Macon,

We are writing to inform you that your son, Anjani Macon, is currently receiving treatment at the University medical facility. Because your son is a legal adult, we are not required to communicate sensitive patient data per our HIPPA-defined guidelines. However, based on a release signed by the patient and provided by his university therapist, we are communicating all treatment information with you as well as the emergency medical contacts noted in the patient documentation.

Attending physician: Dr. Marc Jacobsen (336-764-2222)

Psychiatric physician: Dr. Daniella Foster (336-764-2213)

Overview: Patient arrived in altered state with rapid pulse and elevated blood pressure. The patient was diagnosed with a psychotic episode most likely caused by multiple factors, including but not limited to 1) the combination of prescribed medication and alcohol, 2) the discontinuation of prescribed medication and continued alcohol use. The psychosis was evidenced by delusions, hallucinations and reported personality change. A note from the attending psychiatric physician regarding his current condition is included below:

Based on examination and explanation of circumstances provided by the individuals accompanying him, Mr. Macon has suffered a psychotic episode. Mr. Macon is now stabilized physically, and is resting. Mr. Macon's mental status has yet to be determined. You may contact me at 336-764-2213 for updates regarding his condition. – Dr. Foster

Sincerely,

University Health Center Administration

Vatusia held her breath and waited for the world to stop spinning so she could figure out what to do, but it did not. A bus tooted in the distance and an equipment cart bumped noisily down the hallway outside the door. If the problem were her own, she could return to the tidy filing system she had created as a coping mechanism when she was just a girl, storing her emotions and reactions so they could be hidden away from the rest of the world and accessed later if they needed to be revisited, but she still wore her heart on her sleeve when it came to Anjani. The tears welled in her eyes as she quickly jumped back to the top of her inbox to an e-mail with the most current date. Slightly relieved to find that it was from Anjani, she took a deep breath, opened it and read.

Subject: I am well

Sent: 11/11/2004 7:05 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: maconanjani@ncsu.edu

Maman,

I am feeling so fine today! The worst now is that you may worry more about me than you ever did before, but you shouldn't. No one tied me to a tree or called me a demon. It has now been proven that I am safe here, even if I am schizophrenic. I know you do not want me to tease you about such important things, but that is how I feel. Even my friends who witnessed me during my "episode" have come back, not afraid of the crazy Anjani. I know I have told you in previous e-mails about how this happened, but I just want to say again Maman, because I know you will wonder how it could have happened since I do not like alcohol. Rest assured that now that I know how it affects me, I do not plan to have it ever again. Besides, I like Pepsi much more!

Maman, I miss you and wish so much that I could know that you know I am safe. I worry about you there in the IC. We don't hear much on the news about the fighting but one of my professors shared a link for the BBC World News in Africa that can be viewed on-line so I learn a little bit this way. I feel like I am the mother now worrying about you my child! Anyway, I am back from Meg and Jeff's house and attending classes. Thankfully there was a "Fall Break" during some of my time away so I only had about seven days of class to make up. Dr. Foster contacted my teachers to let them know about my situation, and so far they don't treat me any differently... nice!!

I will write again soon and hope for a reply even sooner!

You are in my thoughts always Maman,

Your loving son Anjani.

Tears spilling onto the keyboard, Vatusia gave up trying to stop them. A kind-looking young Caucasian woman with white tennis shoes, a Red Cross t-shirt, and a blue UC Berkley visor walked over and handed her a tissue.

"We need to use the computer in a little while if it's OK," the woman said apologetically. Vatusia nodded immediately, accepting the tissue and wiping her eyes as she closed down her account quickly, wary of wearing out her welcome. On any other day she would have left it at that, not one to share personal information with strangers, yet today she felt a sudden, instinctive need to build a case for sympathy in order to ensure continued access to this vital communication link.

"My son has been in the hospital in the United States since the last time I was here," she explained, establishing an instant connection with the woman, who, as it turns out, had recently gone through a prolonged hospitalization of her own family member.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry. Take more time if you need it," she said comfortingly. "I can order the supplies later. My name is Beth, by the way... please let me know if you need anything."

Beth and Vatusia began an easy friendship over the next week. Learning that Vatusia had to walk through rebel-infested territory, Beth had made up a cot for her in the office area, in return for which Vatusia had insisted on picking out a skirt from her small assortment destined for Meg in the US. But the most exciting opportunity that Beth offered came on the third day Vatusia was there. Beth said it had taken some time to check with the university to see if their firewall and other security protocols allowed for it, and to coordinate the timing, but eventually she had been able to connect the mother and son in a way they had yet to experience, through new software called _Skype_. What a joy it was for Vatusia to see Anjani and be able to have a conversation with him as though they were in the same room. She would always treasure his e-mails to which she could refer back like a good book, but seeing his face real-time was proof that he was alive and thriving.

Vatusia also spent hours that week communicating with Meg and Jeannie who had both been highly involved with Anjani and the university in her absence, and were both therefore able to fill in the gaps that Anjani had left in his timeline. An obsessive electronic device checker, Meg had been the first to respond when the university contacted Vatusia and copied Meg and Jeannie back in October. She had been at the office researching immigration law in the Netherlands for a client wanting to bring a contractor on full-time when she saw the e-mail pop up. The university was no more than two hours away, and since Meg found the tone of the e-mail with its statement that his mental status was unclear to be incredibly foreboding, she had immediately cleared her calendar at work and called Chloe to see if she could be with the kids for the evening until Jeff got home.

Arrangements completed, she swung by the house to get an overnight bag, kiss the children, thank Chloe profusely, and make it to the university by nightfall. Meg had no idea what to expect. Vatusia had shared many things about life raising a schizophrenic, but nothing about any psychotic episodes. Only later would she hear from Vatusia about Anjani's breakdown while living with the Monserats and attending the village school. As she drove, Jeff had stayed on the phone with her reading what he'd found on the Internet regarding schizophrenic psychotic episodes so at least she felt somewhat prepared to talk to the medical personnel.

Neither of Anjani's doctors was on duty when she arrived, and visiting hours were over. The nurse at the reception desk was courteous but firm when she informed Meg that she would be unable to visit tonight. As an authorized party, she could, however, be provided with Anjani's latest report, which Meg accepted appreciatively, walking over to a waiting room couch and sinking into it as she leafed through the document. It appeared the doctor had been able to evaluate Anjani's mental status and that he had subsequently recovered his lucidity. Everything she read pointed to improvement and a positive outcome. She quickly punched out an e-mail on her PDA to Jeff, Jeannie and Vatusia, letting them know where she was and what she learned.

As she finished typing and hit "send," she noticed two college age kids watching her and whispering to each other. Never one to beat around the bush, Meg locked eyes with one of their furtive glances and said, "Hi! I'm Meg. You wouldn't happen to be here for Anjani, would you?" And when, looking relieved, they admitted that they were, she added, "I'm a friend of the family, here because his mom can't be. How do you know Anjani?"

Meg stayed for over an hour in the waiting room with the couple who, as it turned out, were the two friends who had brought Anjani to the clinic. Their discussion reminded her of the close bonds one can form during college, when friends often know one another better than family. It appeared, from what they told her, that Anjani had been celebrating at the university fall festival on Friday night and that, although they had never seen him drink alcohol before, he chose to partake that evening. Anjani's friends agreed that the alcohol had little effect on him that evening, however, over the course of the following two days, his demeanor and mood changed, and eventually he had retreated to his room, becoming violent when his roommate tried to turn on the lights or press him for information. Based on his uncharacteristic and erratic behavior, the friends, together with the Resident Advisor, had finally called campus security to help them get Anjani to the medical center.

Thanking them for their friendship and mature response, Meg suggested that they go back to their dorm and get some sleep. She also shared the doctor's assessment since they had not yet been given any information, and suggested that they meet for lunch in the cafeteria the next day. She would stay close and learn as much as she could during her short visit for Vatusia's sake.

The next day, during visiting hours, Meg was able to see Anjani, finding him weak and relatively uncommunicative, but otherwise okay. Before she left to return home, the doctors assured her that any change that she had seen in him was just a readjustment to his medication and that his personality would return to normal soon, but when she and Jeff returned a few days later, Dr. Foster thought that the assimilation back to school would be better if it were delayed a bit more. Happy to accommodate, Jeff and Meg offered their home as an option for rest and relaxation, a plan to which Anjani agreed appreciatively.

Sam, Jenny and Emma were thrilled with their houseguest but were instructed to give Anjani some quiet time too. Chloe was not as excited about having one more mouth to help feed or clean up after, but eventually she warmed to Anjani's charms. Rest and relaxation soon turned to fun and games as his vitality and good nature returned. Halloween was fast approaching and all of the kids wanted his help in picking their costumes, the results of which disguised Sam as a video game character, Jenny a gypsy, and Emma, a princess. Anjani started to catch up with his classes, reading assignments and writing papers, as well as with his friends, spending time reassuring them via e-mail over the family computer, convincing them that he was fine and would be back after fall break, and of course, checking in with his therapist via phone twice a day until after two weeks, refreshed from his respite, Anjani returned to school.

Meg worried about Vatusia the entire time of Anjani's recovery No one had heard from her and she knew that it bothered Anjani not to be able to communicate with his mother at such a critical time. Still, she was very proud of his ability to bounce back and be so emotionally strong, more or less on his own, and remembered to stress this when she and Vatusia finally connected in mid-November via e-mail. Meg spent countless hours on the computer back and forth until, finally, Vatusia said she had to go back to her home and would be out of touch for a while, writing one more e-mail before she cleaned up her cot area and said goodbye to Beth.

Subject: Proud Maman

Sent: 11/22/2004 7:05 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: vatusiamacon@gmail.com

Anjani,

Hello sweet boy! It has been so wonderful to spend time on the computer talking to you in writing and with the Skype. I think my English has improved much from it! Beth says that I can come back and use it again sometimes if the timing with you works. We will have to agree on a time and date or it will not work because you are busy with school and I cannot get here often. Do not worry about my safety, but I know you do, because I worry about you too even though I picture you in a very pretty, safe place. Anything can happen so be vigilant about your health and safety. If you do not hear from me, do not worry. There may be reasons why but do not stop e-mailing to me because I love to hear about your daily life even if it is stored up to be read all at once. Maybe someday I will make a book about all your e-mails.

I am as proud as a mother could be of how you have carried yourself there and are learning to be a man and a scholar. Meg says you are called a sophomore now. That is good I think. I will make you a special sophomore shirt and send it to Meg the next time I can.

Until then, with all the love in my heart,

Maman

Vatusia was particularly cautious when she returned home this time, stopping at the sound of the slightest noise. Once, the rustle of a giant forest hog foraging for its dinner startled her so badly that she sunk to the ground, grasping her chest until the beat of her heart slowed to a normal pace. She was Anjani's mother and she needed to keep herself safe so that she would be able to help him again if he needed it. She had always felt this responsibility; however the uneasiness she now felt was new. Vatusia feared for her own safety. Violence seemed to be such a large part of her people's culture now. Before her trip to the US, this was the only way she knew, but now, after witnessing firsthand how the members of other cultures lived without this everyday fear made her all the more wary.

November through March passed slowly, with Vatusia living like a hermit, going out only to make contact with Anjani, or to mail her packages to Meg, or to get supplies, exuberant as she headed off, anticipating the good news Anjani always seemed to impart, disconsolate as she returned home, feeling the walls of her hut close in around her. Even Vatusia's fabric pallet grew dark and somber, reflecting her mood. Wishing that her communications could be less sporadic, she yearned for a mobile phone, a luxury that Meg and the others she had encountered during her visit to the US had taken for granted.

When spring arrived she felt a renewed sense of optimism. The government declared an "immediate and final end to hostilities", but by June there were reports of widespread massacres of entire villages in the West. Vatusia felt like a naïve child for letting herself believe that the IC could ever be at peace. And then, in July, the inevitable happened, Laurent returned.

He did not return as a whole man however, the crumpled, sweating carcass of what was left of him propped against the post that served as a central support for her abode, waiting for Vatusia when she returned from fetching water one fateful day. Hot and tired herself, she stopped in her tracks, locking eyes as the perspiration beaded above her lips. Laurent was here, she thought, smiling his sickening smile that exposed rotting yellow teeth, yet she felt strangely calm this time... empowered and calm. She would be dragged back into the familiar life she seemed unable to escape, but this time Vatusia had a secret. Her little bird had flown away and the big, bad chicken hawk could not reach him where he was. The cycle of his sadistic pleasures, she vowed, would be broken for them all.

A young man no longer, Laurent had not fared well during his prolonged excursion with the rebels. Two bullet holes marred his already pocked skin on the shoulder and outer bicep and a large gash on his left calf still oozed blood. Vatusia's stomach turned when she noticed the fresh and not-so-fresh scratches on his torso, scratches like the ones she herself had once been forced to make when he had raped her. Unfortunately, the war in the IC was not limited to its men; crimes against women and children were an all to common means of humiliating one's opponent. The demon that was purported to dwell within her son's soul was alive and well in the souls of these men to whom human dignity, let alone human life, meant so little. If she had been a different person, she could easily have loosened the machete sheathed in her skirt and eviscerated Laurent like an animal as she had often dreamt of doing. But she was not that person.

Her countrymen may have abandoned God and his ways but she refused. Human life, even Laurent's, was not hers to take. His judgment day and that of those like him would come and when it did, Vatusia imagined that Hell would be a busy place.

"I see why you need to numb your senses, old man," she said in a clear, steady voice as she noticed that he had thrown her cups and bowls on the floor in a frantic search for alcohol, "but I have nothing for you to drink but water."

"You will have what I tell you to have, you evil woman!" he growled pulling out a gun and firing it into the wall of the hut before aiming it directly at her.

While she did not suffer the level of abuse she had experienced when Laurent was a healthy man, as his injuries healed, he forced himself upon her in his typical, humiliating way, gripping his gun tightly even when he did so, but Vatusia chose not to lose hope, knowing that eventually, he would leave. Apparently, based on mobile phone conversations she overheard, Laurent had deserted his rebel group, an action that would not be forgiven or forgotten. His leg did not smell as bad as it had when he arrived and the wound appeared to be healing, leading Vatusia to believe that he may be able to travel soon. Two weeks later, a total of four after he arrived, her assumptions were confirmed when Laurent left Vatusia's home one morning, never to return. She was finally free again. Little did she know then that he had left behind yet another burden for her to bear. She was pregnant.

Needing to catch up from a month of time away from her loom, Vatusia exhausted herself each day by creating more fabric than ever. She kept up her trips to the Red Cross shelter for mail and communications access but by October felt so run down that she could barely run the shuttle through the loom, let alone travel. She had not had her period since July, but since she was often irregular in her menstrual cycle, did not immediately identify the cause of her weakness. Even the morning sickness was unlike anything she had experienced with Anjani. She could barely keep food down and she knew she must keep drinking water but it was too difficult for her to go the distance to fetch it in her weakened state. At one point, she took her mat and netting with her to the stream and slept there by the water's edge so that she would not have to journey back and forth. She prayed for herself and the soul that was inside her, often dreaming about a small girl who skipped carelessly through the bush, the sun shining on her head. Vatusia also thought of Anjani who would be a junior now. This is how she passed the time until November when the little light that was inside her went out, her pregnancy ended.

Emotionally and physically drained, Vatusia tried to get back to life as usual but her instincts were telling her she would not heal on her own this time. So she managed a trip to the Red Cross shelter... barely. Just a short distance into the walk Vatusia began bleeding again as she had off and on ever since the miscarriage. When she finally made it, Beth took one look at her and gasped to see how she had become a shadow of herself, the scars on her face now prominent as her hair thinned and her cheeks hollowed. Taking her by the arm, Beth guided her to the medical tent where Vatusia spent the next eighteen days in bed.

The doctor there was a young man from Alabama who, despite his southern drawl, reminded her of Anjani with his smooth black skin and lanky appendages. What she did not like was the very personal way in which he had to examine her. It felt wrong for a man who reminded her of her son to be inspecting, poking and prodding in such a way. Fortunately, it was comforting to have Beth there, Vatusia's saving grace. Understanding her reticence, Beth and the doctor came up with a method of team treatment that was suitable to Vatusia. Dr. Evans, the young man from Alabama, did not have a long background in gynecology, but he was certain of what he saw and the fact that Vatusia would need further treatment at a facility with surgical capabilities.

Based on what she understood, her pregnancy was not normal because she had suffered, probably for years without many symptoms, from pelvic inflammatory disease, the most common cause for which was a sexually transmitted infection. The bite and scratch marks on Laurent's flesh popped into her head as she wondered how many other women he had infected. The pelvic infection had scarred much of the tissue surrounding her uterus including the fallopian tubes, which was most likely why she hadn't gotten pregnant from other instances of Laurent's sexual violations. But as it was God's will this time she surmised, a little life had begun to grow outside of her uterus in the fallopian tube, causing the intense pain, weakness and fever she had experienced.

Vatusia wept when Dr. Evans explained that the miscarriage had saved her life, for if the pregnancy had continued to full term, or even weeks more, she would certainly have bled to death. As it was, she had suffered permanent damage to, at a minimum, her fallopian tubes, and had some bleeding into her abdomen that would need to be addressed surgically. The image of the girl she had seen running through the bush in her dreams continued to haunt her at night, a heavy burden of survivor's guilt weighing on her as the movie clip turned to a still photo, placed in the filing cabinet of her mind alongside other seminal life experiences she had endured.

Christmas came and went at the Red Cross Shelter, Beth and Dr. Evans doing their best to spread holiday cheer to the people of her country and themselves. Beth would be returning home soon to do some research with a UC Berkley professor she had kept in touch with since graduation, feeling herself lucky to have stayed safe and sheltered for the most part from the violence that continued to destroy the country.

Vatusia was still not allowed much movement but she could sit up to use the computer. At first, she convinced herself that she should not share any information about her trials with Anjani, but after the first few communications she realized that unless she was honest with her son, everything she said to him rang false and hollow in her own ears. She was most concerned that she had not been able to send Meg any work over the past several months so there was no flow of money to Anjani for tuition or living expenses, but when she read his e-mails, telling her that he could see to himself and to her financially, she felt a huge wave of relief surge over her.

It had taken some time, but Anjani used his winter break efficiently to launch a plan of assistance for his mother with the help of his support team, Jeannie and Ernest, who were eager to use their connections within the Ivory Coast, and Meg, whose newfound professional expertise in international travel and immigration law proved to be a real advantage. The first step was to insure that Vatusia was safe and healthy enough to travel. To address her safety, Ernest was instrumental in having Laurent put on the "persona non grata" list for all US-affiliated entities, which would not completely prevent him from bothering Vatusia again, but might stymie his movements to some degree.

As for Vatusia's health, Anjani was able to find the man who had helped turn things around for him, both physically and mentally, when he was a boy, Dr. Francois. And while he had recently returned to France to practice medicine, he happily made arrangements at the Korhogo medical center where he had earned good will through his efforts caring for the Ivorian people. Korhogo had the most advanced surgical facilities in northern Ivory Coast, which wasn't saying a lot, but was the best option to stabilize and repair the damage that Vatusia had suffered physically. According to a carefully orchestrated plan, a private Jeep, courtesy of Ernest's ex-CIA friend living nearby, would transport Vatusia from the Red Cross Center to the Korhogo medical center. All bills would be paid for by wire with the money that Anjani had been earning working extra hours waiting tables, over and above his work-study program.

The second step was getting Vatusia out of the Ivory Coast, an effort that proved far more problematic than the first. Meg had the evidence she needed to demonstrate that Vatusia had been a victim of on-going sexual abuse and violence, but what she didn't have was a reliable Ivorian government infrastructure to process the application in the U.S. This type of visa would be beneficial because it might be considered to be of indefinite duration. However Meg needed both the IC and the US to approve Vatusia's travel. Fearing the IC was ignoring Vatusia's request based on the claim, Meg withdrew the application and resubmitted it as a ninety-day temporary work visa.

Anjani, Meg, Jeannie and Ernest fretted impatiently for months as Vatusia was transported to Korhogo for surgery and recovery in a nearby hospice, a dirt floored tent with cots and no running water, their plan so close to fruition. Finally, after Vatusia had used all of the resources the medical center could allow for her recuperation and was preparing to return to her hut, the travel visa was approved. The travel conditions could not have been worse, with violent demonstrations between rival parties trapping her there in the north without a chance to return to her home to pack any possessions. And so it happened that, after a miscarriage, two operations and six months away from her home, Vatusia boarded an airplane bound for Charlotte, North Carolina with nothing more than a plastic bag of personal hygiene supplies provided by the medical center and the clothes on her back.

Nothing could have prepared Vatusia for the about-face her life was about to take. Once Anjani, the Stanleys, and the Templetons had gotten involved, she was a spectator in her own life, following doctors orders and loved ones' plans, but without them she would not have survived, she knew. She leaned her head against the small plastic windowpane, looking down at the carpet of clouds below the plane, the pain in her abdomen still present, but diminished. Running her fingers over the spot where one of her scars lie beneath her skirt, she thought of all of the people- previous strangers-- who had helped her in a time of need. Unsure of her future, she prayed that she could return the gift of kindness and dignity that others had extended to her, and tired of hate she asked quietly "and forgive those who trespassed against me Lord."

### Chapter Nine

Most of the final communications Vatusia had with Anjani and Meg had been about travel arrangements and logistics. The long-range plan was still vague, but Meg had assured her that a reunion with her son would be the first order of business, followed by a full health review, something that both Meg and Anjani had insisted upon. Vatusia's first trip to the United States had simply been a visit, but this time, Meg hoped that it would be more, for everyone's sake.

Both Meg and Vatusia would remember the day when mother and son were reunited for the rest of their lives. From Meg's perspective, she had never felt so attached to two people with whom she had spent so little actual time, but their time in Arizona had been a catalyst and her regular e-mails with both Anjani and Vatusia over the last several years had been the cement to a relationship she knew would endure. The three of them had found one another through the ministry of the Templetons – or had it been the hand of God? Jeannie and Ernest would say as much.

United with her son, Vatusia was doing her best to reestablish her relationship, playing the role of a cool, calm and collected _maman_ for her son. Anjani was particularly impressed with her English, which had dramatically improved after six months at the Red Cross Center and medical facility in Korhogo where English was typically the language that visiting staff and medical professionals had in common. Vatusia, in turn, was impressed with her son. Physically, he was far more muscular than the lanky young man she left three years ago, and his increased sense of self-confidence was obvious in his speech and gait. Since he had been hospitalized sophomore year, his medical team had fine-tuned his medication, layering it with new physical therapies, including weight lifting and swimming, neither of which he had ever tried in the IC.

Vatusia's initial impression was that North Carolina was very different from Arizona, the dense forests covering the land, the greenery shaved back here and there to allow for cement structures, brick houses, or wide swathes of tar for roads. It seemed a bit more like her home in the IC. The pace was intentionally slow Vatusia's first few days to accommodate her weakened state and extensive travels, but finally, after allowing enough time for her to settle in, Anjani was delirious with joy to present in person all of the things he had described to his mother in great detail through his e-mails- his classes, his apartment and his friends. But neither the e-mails nor the brief visit to Arizona prepared her—she was overwhelmed. Vatusia had, after all, lived most of her life with dirt beneath her feet and beads of perspiration on her brow. Here she saw an Olympic sized indoor swimming pool, smelled chlorine for the first time, saw a library bigger than the Yamoussoukro IC state capital building, and an apartment so cool and clean she could not believe it was designated for students rather than royalty.

Vatusia's reaction to the university encouraged Meg. Feeling guilty about the length of time it had taken to secure her visa, she had worked even harder on Vatusia's living and employment arrangements, planning everything with the greatest care with input from Anjani, but without Vatusia who had been too ill to communicate at the time. She was therefore nervous when their tour departed the university towards the art district under the auspices of a time-out for tea. Meg led the way towards an impressive building with large picture windows. Anjani played along, stopping at one of the windows to admire an artisan's work calling to his mother "Maman, come look at the quality of this work. Almost as good as something you'd find in the IC, oui?" Vatusia was speechless, recognizing the unmistakable style of her own weaving. Meg and Anjani each took a hand, pushing aside the heavy wooden doors adorned with stained glass to lead her inside. Shimmering glints of light danced through the colored glass upon the floor within as they walked across it. Their eyes darted from one detail of the interior to the next, each nook and cranny of the building embellished in some artistic way, more interesting than the next, from the small ceramic tiles outlining the drinking fountain, each painted with a unique design, to the colorful paint on the ceiling. Vatusia thought it was the most magical place she had ever seen.

"This is the Community School of Arts and Crafts," Meg announced as they neared the Director's door, winking at Anjani as she did so. She knocked and entered after hearing a friendly "come on in". "Hi Andie!" Meg said giving her friend a hug as she rose from behind her desk. " _This_ is Vatusia and her son Anjani," she continued, spinning around and opening her palm toward the pair with dramatic flair. "Vatusia, Andie is your new boss! That is, if you want her to be..." Meg added cautiously. Anjani had warned Meg that it might take some time for his mother to warm up to the idea of working for someone else. In the village, Mathilde had been a taskmaster, forcing Vatusia to work long hours without breaks to fashion garments.

"Yes" said Vatusia immediately, startling everyone in the room.

"But you haven't heard the job yet" Meg said, incredulous.

"I like it here" Vatusia said, finding Anjani's hand and squeezing it, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. "You make good friends and good decisions, Miss Meg".

Meg, who had expected a tentative but eventually happy response to her efforts to situate Vatusia near Anjani during her tenure, went from being incredulous to overwhelmed, so touched that her eyes filled with happy tears.

Meg and Anjani toured the facility, catching up on Anjani's latest research project, while Andie and Vatusia went over the details of the opportunity. It was Vatusia's turn to get emotional, especially later after all the specifics had been worked out, and they joined Anjani and Meg in the room with the looms. "Anjani, did you know?" Vatusia questioned her son as she entered the room, wiping a tear with the back of her hand.

"Yes, Maman, I did," he replied. "You know I can't keep things from you for long, but I didn't want to tell you about this just in case..."

Anjani let his sentence trail off, knowing that they both preferred not to think about what their life would have been like had her visa not come through. Vatusia moved slowly through the room, caressing the yarn stretched tautly across the whip beam like a harpist playing her instrument, while Andie continued the explanation she had started in her office.

"We can set your schedule according to what works for you Vatusia, but generally we like to offer two weaving courses during the day and two at night, one introductory and one advanced. We have some experienced students who are really excited to learn not only about your loom techniques, but also your approach to dying yarn and thread and your coloration choices in general."

"Your work was a huge hit with both the artisans and the public, Vatusia," Meg chimed in. "They loved your color choices, particularly during your 'bright' phase. We had to save that last item that is in the window just so we'd have something to show of yours. Everything else has been sold for months."

Later, in the hotel room, Vatusia thought about the strangeness of life as she laid her head back against the lip of the porcelain bathtub in the warm, fragrant water. Her hands traced the scars on her abdomen again as she pictured shoppers entering the Community School of Arts and Crafts gift shop, discussing her weavings while she lay pinned on her mat in her hut, Laurent's forearm bearing weight down on her throat as he forced himself inside her. Her eyes closed as she focused desperately on the brilliant colors flashing through her mind. How ironic that Laurent had unwittingly played some role in the artist she had become.

After her bath, she looked at herself in the mirror and pulled back her hair from her face. There had been mirrors elsewhere, at the Baptist Center, the Red Cross shelter, the airplane bathroom to name a few, but it had been a while since she had been brave enough to look. But now she saw that her improved health was actually visible, her gums no longer bloody, her cheeks, round and smooth once again, and even the scars on her face less visible. It pleased her more than she could ever have imagined that this was the way Anjani saw her now that she was in a safe place, doing what she loved.

A fiercely independent woman, Vatusia had been concerned about how she would support herself in this new environment. The hotel was beautiful and comfortable but since she did not have the means to pay for it, it was necessary to discuss the matter with Anjani. As much as she would rather not impose on her son, she must, she knew, have to ask to live with him until her job at the school started and she was able to find reasonably priced accommodations.

Anjani had cleared his schedule for the next several days to help his mother acclimate and Meg had taken a week of vacation time to do the same so they were both there to meet her for breakfast in a bagel shop, which Anjani assured her she would love. Vatusia felt awkward about bringing up her living arrangements in front of Meg, even though she knew she shouldn't after what they had shared with one another about their lives, so she was relieved when Anjani spoke first.

"So obviously you cannot live in the hotel for too long, Maman," he said. "I thought about you living with me, which I would love, but I think there is an even better opportunity if you want to try for it. One of my professors from freshman year, who leaves each summer to teach in Italy, typically employs a student to 'house sit' for her while she's gone. When I asked her if she would consider an adult, meaning you, she said that would be even better. I thought you would like it because then you wouldn't have to put up with four men as roommates.

So many words... Vatusia thought for a moment before asking what he meant by house sitting, and listened intently when he explained that it meant that she would live in her house free of charge in exchange for taking care of such things as watering the lawn, keeping her indoor plants alive, taking out the trash, dusting and vacuuming.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Anjani added, "she has a cat. I didn't know how you would feel about that."

Vatusia knew what he meant. Companion animals were a luxury in the Ivory Coast. The Templetons had explained how a majority of households in the US kept cats, dogs, fish, reptiles, birds and even pigs as pets in their homes, treating them like family members, instead of food. It reminded Vatusia of a dreadful experience while living with the Monserat family. Mrs. Monserat had "rescued" a kitten from the village streets, thinking that it would be nice to have a pet her girls could play with when they were home from boarding school. Unfortunately, the kitten, probably remembering its mother and siblings, went exploring one evening and never came back. Mrs. Monserat cajoled her husband into looking for the cat, so the three of them, Vatusia included, went back to the spot where she'd found the animal, only to find a barbeque going on in the back alley of a small electronics shop. Mrs. Monserat was horrified. She had never really attempted to acclimate to the Ivorian way of life in the first place, but Vatusia noticed that after this experience, she avoided interacting with the local people even more.

"A cat" Vatusia repeated in a matter-of-fact voice. "I will do it!" and saw, with a flash of pleasure that her son was proud of her once again for her willingness to try these new things without question.

Anjani got out his mobile phone and began dialing the professor. The cell phone was new since the last time she had been in the U.S., and although not uncommon in the Ivory Coast, they did require a reliable source of electricity, which often required a bribe, so neither of them had ever owned one before. In any event, an interview was scheduled for after lunch, Anjani and Meg spending the interim teaching Vatusia about the bus system, getting her a bus pass, and showing her the local supermarket which was so enormous in comparison with the convenience store Vatusia had visited in Arizona. Without thinking, she covered her mouth with both hands to stifle a gasp, shocked by the scale and grandeur, and continued to be amazed, both by the visual and olfactory stimulation, as they pushed a basket from one display of produce to the next. Immediately drawn to the smell of citrus, Vatusia wandered off towards the juicing machine, fascinated by the devise which squeezed each orange and discarded the remains in a bucket.

"Try some" Anjani told her. "That's right," he said as she complied, "drink it all down. You need the vitamins."

They spent nearly two hours in the market talking about the products Vatusia could purchase that would be similar to her customary diet as well as explaining what many of the others were. Anjani had a fairly good idea of what his mother would like to eat and what might cause trouble to her digestive system when consumed too eagerly.

"Go easy on the cheese until you are used to it," he advised. "It's in and on everything here, but you will pay the price if you are overindulgent! No. Don't look at me that way. I'm just trying to help you avoid some of the troubles I had when I first came here."

In addition to the wonders of the store, Vatusia was impressed by how Anjani breezed about in such a large crowd without any of the characteristic symptoms she was used to seeing him exhibit, like checking behind him and around corners cautiously before moving about. As Anjani headed over to the bakery section to find something he wanted Vatusia to try, she pulled Meg aside.

"I don't want to look for trouble where there isn't any," she said, ", but has Anjani always behaved so well in large groups like this since he's been here?"

Meg thought back to the various reports she'd gotten from his counselors over the past several years. "I do remember Anjani switching out of at least one of his really large classes freshmen year," she said. "I think it was chemistry. There were over 200 students crammed into a lecture hall. It was a little much to ask of him his first year at university, but now, as a senior, most of his classes are small anyway, I don't think it's a problem for him at all." Vatusia had so much to discover about her new son, the seemingly symptom free schizophrenic man.

Meg, careful to be helpful but not intrusive, did not attend the interview for the housesitting job which, according to Anjani, his mother "nailed." The professor was thrilled to have an adult rather than a student as a prospective house sitter. That, combined with her relationship with Anjani, one of her favorite students, made his mother a shoo-in. Vatusia even met the cat, Blackie, who emerged briefly during their chat to sniff around her sandals inquisitively and paw possessively at the chair leg on which she sat.

"His name isn't too creative, I know," the professor had said, "but he was already named when I adopted him from the shelter as a two year old, so I didn't want to traumatize him by switching it up."

"Hmm... A black cat!" Vatusia thought. One superstition that the Ivory Coast, and US shared was the association of black cats with bad luck, but she reminded herself that if she had followed local superstitions, she would have abandoned Anjani many years ago. The Lord had placed many challenges to conventional wisdom in her path, and this was another she would step right over. When she leaned down to pet the cat, it arched its back in delight.

"Perfect!" his owner exclaimed. "Blackie has given you his seal of approval."

Since the professor was scheduled to leave for Italy in a matter of days, Anjani helped pack up Vatusia's meager possessions at the hotel and move her into the house that evening in order to ensure enough transition time. Meg had allowed for two more days of vacation just in case the housing or employment did not go smoothly, but now, with Vatusia safely settled, she decided it was time to head home to her own family. After promising they would visit one another soon, Meg left for home on a hot, sticky June day, feeling relief combined with trepidation. Meg was facing a final test now, ninety days to determine whether or not she could obtain a green card for Vatusia, authorizing her to stay in the US. It would, she knew, be a pivotal summer.

As the summer progressed, Meg was relieved to receive positive reports from Anjani regarding his mother's transition to life in the US, and after only two weeks, to receive her first text from Vatusia herself, having used her first paycheck to buy a mobile phone. Mother and son spent most of their free time together in one of two ways, either exploring via public transportation, or convening in what Anjani liked to call his _brain dump sessions_ where he attempted to impart everything he'd learned about US cultural assimilation. Vatusia shared her preference for mutual exploration with Meg, explaining that it allowed her to function in more of a parental role than when Anjani was teaching her through his own experience, but she was also proud when Anjani would share a favorite film or a tip about technology with her as if she were his student.

The start to Meg's summer was hectic. With the kids out of school and her new role as the editor for a legal publication, in addition to her job at the firm, she did not have much free time. Regardless, she made sure that Jeff, her children and her friends got as much of her attention as possible. Her relationship with Kat had deepened since she had become a confidant concerning Kat's marital troubles. Kat and Tom were still in counseling, but living under the same roof, both holding out hope that the relationship was reparable. Kat, in turn, had helped Meg cope with the Vatusia issue, knowing Meg well enough to be certain that she could not be a bystander in the situation. Once Meg had gotten involved with Anjani and Vatusia through the Templetons, she was committed, so Kat counseled her to keep trying with the visa and coordination of the medical care where others, like Jeff, suggested she step back for her own good.

Kat had a "Pearagon" cocktail waiting for her when Meg arrived at the bar, squeezing a quick visit with her friend in between work and Sam's evening baseball game.

"I love the fact that I don't have to make the tough decisions with you" Meg joked, raising the sugar frosted rim of the libation to her lips after clinking glasses and deftly plucking out the piece of tarragon that floated lackadaisically in her glass.

"So what's up with _V_ these days?" Kat asked, never one to dally with pleasantries.

"I cannot wait for you to meet her and call her that to her face" Meg exclaimed. "Coming from you, she probably won't even flinch."

"Oh, don't worry, Miss Stuffy," Kat countered. "You know I can, and will, be on my best behavior if and when I get to meet your saintly friend."

"You joke, Kat, but she _is_ a saint after all that she's been through."

"Hey, I met her son, remember?" Kat replied. "She must be doing something right to produce a total package like that! He's even good with kids. What college age kid gives a shit about them unless they're an elementary education major and even then, my bet is that, after one week in the classroom, they're faking their interest."

"I hear you" Meg answered, taking another sip from her cocktail. "To answer your question, _V_ is doing unbelievably well, maybe too well."

"What do you mean? What's wrong?" Kat prodded.

"It's just that I know I had to get her the hell out of Africa, but I didn't get her out permanently. She has to go back at some point, and the life she's living now is pretty wonderful, even to a pampered American. Think about it," Meg continued. "She's living in the mountains of North Carolina during the summer in a charming little house blocks from her son, whom she adores. She has a job teaching her trade, which she loves. That's pretty idyllic by anyone's standards."

"Oh wow!" Kat responded, draining her glass and raising her finger to the bartender for another, "I haven't really thought about it from that perspective. I mean, you're right. How do you go back to a country where you're more likely to get raped or shot as you are to get a clean glass of water?"

Realizing she had probably painted a dark picture of the Ivory Coast through her stories of Vatusia and Anjani's life, Meg added "Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ernest really liked it there prior to all the civil unrest. It's obviously not everyone's cup of tea, but they worked with good people."

Kat stared at her own neatly manicured fingers wrapped around the stem of her glass. "I'm not ethnocentric, you know that, Meg," she said, "but the whole women's rights issues in some third world countries, or lack thereof, would really drive me insane. I am too far-gone here with what I have and take for granted on a daily basis. I couldn't do it. I could never live there."

"Exactly" agreed Meg, truly concerned when faced with a long-term solution. "What if I've done that to Vatusia? What if she can't do it anymore after this summer?"

"Is there any chance that Vatusia can stay here after August?" Kat questioned, already knowing that if there were a way, Meg would have discovered it.

"If there is, I haven't found it" Meg answered dejectedly.

"You want another?" Kat asked pointing to Meg's near-empty glass.

"No, I've got to be coherent for Sam's baseball game. You want to tag along?"

"Yeah, right," Kat answered. "I love your son, but I hate baseball, especially when the kids can barely hit, throw or catch."

"Oh, you haven't seen them play in a while then," Meg protested. "He's a teenager now, remember? They have gotten so much better! But, listen, about Vatusia... I feel really bad about this, but my experience with her has made it hard to be around KeiKei lately."

KeiKei had been "matched" with Meg three years ago through the local youth mentoring program. KeiKei was yet another way in which she, always an over-achiever, spent her shrinking pool of free moments trying to improve something. At the time, Meg had thought she'd be paired with a child between eight and twelve, which was the norm; however, the agency was trying a new outreach to teen mothers. KeiKei was fifteen and her child had already been nine months old when she and Meg met. Now eighteen and a legal adult, KeiKei had continued her relationship with Meg informally, outside the purview of the program.

"I see Vatusia, this completely selfless person, living for her son, making sacrifices, and most importantly, thanking God for every little good thing that comes their way." Meg continued, "People say, 'Well at least you have your health' something Vatusia and Anjani didn't even have for much of their lives, but they soldiered on and didn't feel sorry for themselves. It's just such a contrast. When I pick up KeiKei and her son John and she's complaining about her subsidized childcare and how long she had to wait in line for her free healthcare and how little WIC money she got this month and then wants to know if she can have the spare change I keep in my cup holder to go buy a soda for herself. I feel frustrated... sometimes even pissed."

Kat rolled her eyes in agreement. She knew that it had broken Meg's heart when KeiKei had dropped out of school this year. Meg had told Kat that her goal with their relationship had always been to get KeiKei to finish high school and avoid another pregnancy. Meg felt like she had failed, but Kat knew that it wasn't for lack of trying, she wasn't her mother, only a mentor.

"That poor kid gets dragged around at all hours of the night, fed non-nutritious food and has little to no positive learning reinforcement," Meg went on. "I just wish that KeiKei could appreciate what she has and not throw something like a free education away so easily!"

And there it was, as Kat suspected, the root of Meg's lamentation.

"You still haven't gotten over that, have you Meg?" Kat said sympathetically. Three years of dealing with the complexities involved with a teen mom living below the poverty level in today's America was more than most people could tolerate, let alone a working, community-aware and -involved mother of three like Meg.

"Vatusia is doing everything she can to break the cycle of violence and abuse she and her family experienced because of their situation," Meg said with a sigh. "I just wish KeiKei would put an ounce of Vatusia's effort towards her own situation, you know?"

"You don't have to see them any more you know" Kat offered, wondering if that was what Meg was thinking.

"I know. I don't really think she gets anything out of our relationship anymore anyway, other than a free meal and rides around town, which is probably cool with her, but not my purpose. I really need to focus on Vatusia and Anjani anyway," Meg concluded. "Then we'll see how things go with KeiKei."

Meg did not know why, but she identified more with Vatusia than she ever would with her "little sister" KeiKei. Was it because it was so much easier to put herself in Vatusia's shoes? She had thought more than once about what it would have been like to be born under different circumstances. It felt odd that KeiKei's world should be more foreign to her than Vatusia's in the Ivory Coast, a country she had never even visited. Perhaps it was a sense of shared core values between Meg and Vatusia that forged a link between them. Meg tried her best to mentor and model, but at the end of the day, KeiKei still took without gratitude and expected without grace, something that Meg could never imagine Vatusia doing. Meg had thought long and hard about this. How could she, or anyone for that matter, instill a basic respect for one's self and all life in another human being when it seemed to be absent? It was a problem Meg had yet to solve, and doubted she ever would. Parting with a promise to be in touch to make plans for Vatusia's impending trip to visit Meg and her family, Meg and Kat went their separate ways.

The year leading up to Vatusia's visit had been a period of transition in the Stanley household, not so much for Meg and Jeff, but for Chloe and the kids. With all three in school full-time each day, Chloe switched to an afternoon-evening-weekend schedule to make up her forty hour work week, helping Meg out by picking up the girls, Emma now in third grade and Jenny in sixth, from the Jameswell Academy and driving all three to activities and social engagements. Sam was attending a public magnet school for gifted children that provided a bus, so at thirteen years old, he was fairly independent, relying on Chloe solely for occasional rides and infrequent meals when Meg wasn't home to cook. He was the first to suggest that the family did not need a "babysitter" anymore, a remark that, unfortunately, Chloe had overheard, resulting in a litany of tears and an hour of Meg's time assuaging her self esteem and fears of being let go. Chloe reminded Meg that she was a _nanny_ , not a _babysitter_ , and that it was a career choice to her, not a job. Meg acknowledged the role that Chloe played in their lives, allowing Meg and Jeff the comfort of leaving their children with someone who truly cared for them.

At eight, Emma was in Meg and Jeff's opinion, a bit young to be on her own after school and certainly during the summer when there were no all-day activities to keep her entertained, so they kept Chloe on, much to Sam's chagrin. It was a serendipitous decision, greatly benefiting the family when Vatusia's visa was secured, as it had allowed Meg the freedom to focus on Anjani and her friend. She had used the flexibility to spend a significant amount of time in Asheville, making arrangements for Vatusia's arrival and serving as a sounding board and counselor to Anjani when his advisor began courting him for a graduate research assistant position. Meg didn't mind the extra effort at all; in fact, she enjoyed it, particularly when her preparations were so well received by Vatusia.

The changes in Meg's life paled in comparison to Vatusia's. Waking in the morning with a clean face and clear throat, she would inspect her body to find no bug bites or other irritations she was accustomed to finding. Vatusia was continually amazed and pleased by the apparent purity of the professor's home and the comforts it afforded. She used the running water sparingly, marveling at its clarity as she cupped it in her hands and splashed it on her face, or watched it flow from the sparkling chrome faucet into her cup. It was difficult for her to flush the toilet without feeling guilty for wasting something so valuable.

The pain in her abdomen and leg subsided after several weeks of antibiotic treatment, along with several persistent skin lesions she'd had for some time. According to the Asheville Clinic she had picked up an infection prior to her trip to the U.S, perhaps related to her surgeries. Without the pain in her leg, Vatusia was able to walk without limping, which in turn, improved the ache she'd been experiencing in her back. Another physical change she experienced was that the chores she did here in Asheville did not seem to involve the normal bumps and bruises she had been accustomed to inflicting on herself in the IC when fetching water from the well or hacking through foliage with a machete to clear the way to the market. Life here in the U.S. was literally painless.

As promised, Anjani and Vatusia boarded a bus one sunny weekend about four weeks into Vatusia's stay to visit Meg and her family. Anjani had not seen the Stanley children for some time, so he jumped at the opportunity to accompany his mother, and Meg, wanting to introduce her friends to the mother and son in grand fashion, decided to have a family barbeque with all the fixings at their home. With five acres of property, a creek, trampoline, and pool, there was plenty to keep the children amused, and a full bar and gourmet spread to entertain the adults. Tildy, Mary Ann, Jane, and Kat, along with their respective families, were all in attendance. Even Kat's husband, Tom, was interested to meet the infamous Vatusia and Anjani. They did not disappoint.

Vatusia, wearing a skirt made from her very best work, was a classic Ivory Coast vision in vibrant orange, a large white lily tucked elegantly behind her ear into the loose curls that framed her face. Anjani on the other hand, looked nothing like an Ivorian man, choosing the southern prep attire of a short-sleeved button down and khaki flat front shorts with flip-flops on his feet. Vatusia was proud to see Meg wear one of her skirts as well, a beautiful mix of blues and purples splashed with yellow, a form fitting purple tank accentuating her curves.

While Vatusia conversed with the women, the focus was on her experience in Asheville. Not even Kat was bold enough to ask the probing questions that were on her mind. How had Vatusia managed life in the IC? How had she raised a schizophrenic child? How had she managed without running water and electricity and a mobile phone? How did a woman manage her personal hygiene? Had she recovered from her miscarriage, sexual abuse, and surgery? And so, the questions in their heads were prolific and candid but the questions they asked were polite and topical.

Across the patio however, Anjani enraptured the men and children like a preacher at a Sunday sermon, holding back nothing when it came to life in the Ivory Coast. The shouts of "gross!" and "disgusting!" attracted the women's attention and soon they were all gathered around Anjani, listening to his tales of medical malady. Jeff's question about Anjani's field of study and the current state of mental health care in the IC had led them to Anjani's diatribe, which ranged from the fact that there was only one doctor for about every ten thousand people, with an even worse proportion if you lived outside of a village, to the ghastly details of botfly maggots which erupt after days of crawling around under one's skin, or worse, eyes. The conversation continued with Anjani's matter of fact delivery of potentially morbid, serious and sad subject matter, appealing to the entire crowd. By the time he concluded, the children were calling him "Dr. Anjani" and the adults congratulated him on his noble quest to return to the IC and work on improved mental health care. All but Meg would put the picture Anjani painted out of their minds tomorrow, but today at least, she and her friends had a very clear idea of the relative ease of life they enjoyed in the US compared with the Cote d'Ivoire.

"I know it's ridiculous to say," Kat admitted, whispering to Meg as each carried a stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen after most of the guests had left, "but Anjani has such a good head on his shoulders, schizophrenic or not, that I can see why the girls were lining up in Arizona! What's his love life like now?"

"That's a really good question," Meg replied. "Last I'd heard, he and Leticia had decided that they would be apart for too long to make their relationship work, but he still seems to be pining for her a bit. I think he may have been waiting to date until after he knew whether he'd be staying on as a research assistant for Dr. Mack. It's looking pretty likely that he will get the position, so perhaps he'll move on now."

"Well if he needs any help finding an eligible gal, let me know," Kat offered, closing the dishwasher door. "I know plenty of twenty-somethings who would match up well!"

Vatusia had gotten along very well with Meg's friends. Crafts, food, and family were always a safe and popular topic in the South and Vatusia was well versed in all three, sharing stories of native foods and first attempts at various American delicacies like hot dogs and apple pie. After only a short time in NC, Vatusia was starting to understand the differences between the hopes and desires of US women and those in the IC, realizing that they were actually very similar, however the ways of dealing with them were very different. Had she known the word in English to describe the American women's attitude, it would have been _entitled_. Women in the U.S. felt they were entitled to achieve their dreams where women in the IC never expected anything positive, that was her impression anyway. On the contrary, they expected at least one family member to die young, to have disease run rampant, and that the violence of a war-torn nation would impact them in some way. They expected a lot, it just wasn't good.

After the barbeque and the weekend visit was over, Meg found herself reflecting more than usual on her healthy, happy kids, great husband, friends and family, career, money, and healthcare... the list was long. Hard work, continuous improvement, these were things she had valued and strived for, but her benchmarks were changing, her experiences with Anjani and Vatusia broadening her perspective. Perhaps, she considered, her achievements felt inconsequential now because they lacked a deeper meaning. It was not too late, Meg concluded, to attempt something on a grander scale.

Unfortunately for all, the summer days passed quickly. Vatusia was reminded of a verse Jeannie had tacked to her bulletin board back at the Baptist Center.

You have placed our iniquities before You, our secret sins in the light of Your presence.

For all our days have declined in Your fury; We have finished our years like a sigh.

As for the days of our life, they contain seventy years, or if due to strength, eighty years, yet their pride is but labor and sorrow; For soon it is gone and we fly away....

She had memorized it, but let it rattle around in her head without meaning until now, as her grasp of the language had become stronger. Where would God lead her now, now that she had given up control of her destiny so completely for her son, she wondered.

Vatusia's students clamored for her advice and attention, all of her classes filled to capacity. Initially uncomfortable with the role of leader, the women, and one man (which made her smile) made her feel at home. Within five weeks of the start of classes, Vatusia considered the Asheville Community Arts and Crafts Center her village. It felt good to work in a positive environment where the people around her considered weaving a privilege and not a drudgery of life, because good was how it had always made Vatusia feel. They shared her love of colors and patterns as well, showing emotion in their work, not just skill, and the conversation was interesting and varied, covering topics like music and travel. Each student seemed to have visited a myriad of exotic places, sharing stories and perceptions. She wondered what they would think of her country, which understandably, not one of them had visited.

Vatusia still dreamed of the little girl in the meadow, but now that she had seen a meadow, even a trout first-hand, together they would explore new and different things, like snowy fields that did not make her feet cold, and oceans with waves that did not drag her under their powerful surf. Many mornings she woke with just a vague, pleasant memory of her dreams, but still, on occasion, Laurent inserted his pockmarked face into her thoughts, and she would wake unrested and unsettled by his presence. Vatusia had always had so much to live for as her son's provider and protector. Now it was different; now she had her own dreams, in which she resented Laurent's intrusion.

The two families exchanged visits as often as they could, knowing, with a sense of foreboding, that although Meg was using all her resources to extend Vatusia's visa past the ninety-day limit, she still had no success. And although Vatusia chose not to follow any news regarding the IC, Meg on the other hand, was obsessed with it. Both Meg and Vatusia kept in touch with Earnest and Jeannie, Vatusia and the Templetons sharing stories of acclimation and of Anjani while Meg pumped them for information about the current state of affairs in the IC about which, thanks to the fact that they had kept in close contact with their friends and former employees who remained there, they were well informed. Since the civil unrest and violence had not subsided, the Templetons counseled Vatusia to find a congregation and to pray for her country and her people, reminding her that it was not too late for them to be forgiven if they would turn against the atrocities and crimes against humanity and towards the ways of Jesus. Vatusia did not think that she could make any difference in the actions of her people but she did not claim to know what God or Jesus could do. "If there is even a chance they can help, it is worth asking" she had told Jeannie.

Eventually the summer session came to a close and the Anjani's professor returned from her time in Italy, very happy with the state of her home and the health and well being of Blackie the cat. Anjani, who had been offered and accepted a research assistant position with Dr. Mack during his senior year, would be staying on in Asheville for a one-year probationary period followed by other opportunities depending upon their findings and whether or not he decided to pursue additional advanced degrees. The position would also afford Anjani the opportunity to do field work in developing nations, beginning with South America the following summer.

Meg was traumatized by the idea of telling Vatusia that she had exhausted all possible avenues regarding her visa but when she finally did, Vatusia was philosophical. She thanked Meg for her diligence and wished that she had not worked so hard on her behalf as she had already gone beyond expectations in providing help for Anjani. "I remember the story your uncle Earnest told me about apples and trees," Vatusia said to Meg, "I understand that this is true with you and your family. I had never known that a person other than family would work so hard for the benefit of another until I met the Templetons. Now I see that you are the same. I am lucky to have met you all."

"Tell me, in all honesty, how worried are you about going back to the IC, to the violence, to Laurent?" Meg asked her.

Vatusia thought for a few moments before answering. "When things are out of my control I cannot worry. I will do what I can for myself and be satisfied with that." With that, the women embraced, determined to be strong for one another, the tears in both of their eyes belying their true feelings.

### Chapter Ten

The trip home was long and hot. The Air France connection required a six-hour layover in New York where the city sweltered in record high heat. Brownouts were affecting many parts of Manhattan, but fortunately for air travelers, the airports were unaffected. Vatusia's second stop, Paris, was approximately six hours as well, but this time the discomfort was caused by the sheer mass of humanity moving through the Charles de Gaulle airport on a summer Saturday afternoon. She was uneasy rubbing up against the sticky exposed skin of the people around her as they pushed Vatusia forward toward the jet-way exit in typical Parisian queuing style. "So many odors!' she thought as the gentleman behind her lifted his arm to wave at someone ahead of them, "Some good, some not so good". She quickly laughed at herself, realizing that soon she would be on her own, with no one to intrude upon her personal space, with no one to annoy her.

As a matter of fact, she was almost alone on the final leg of her trip from Paris to Abidjan, the continued U.S. and Western European advisory against travel to the Cote d'Ivoire based on the political instability obviously having an impact on traffic. The lanky male flight attendant with yellowing teeth and eyes to match offered Vatusia her choice of the remaining seats for which she was thankful since she was returning with far more than she had left with, including a bag containing the over-sized floppy hat Meg's friend Kat had insisted she take. It seemed as though each person with whom she had established a relationship had given her something to take home, although she used the word _home_ half-heartedly now since her heart was still in the U.S. Her students had compiled an astounding assortment of weaving implements not available to her in the IC, including plastic shuttles and dying bins, metal needles and yarn ties and, in return, she had left them with the traditional Ivorian implements she had either crafted herself or taught them how to make.

Meg and her family had given Vatusia the most elaborate gifts, causing Vatusia to blush with embarrassment, the most useful of which was a survival kit Anjani, Meg and Jeff had created comprised of a beautiful leather messenger bag containing such necessities as batteries, communication devices, and first aid treatments. She coveted the new treasure, prepared with love by her son and good friends, but experience reminded her that everything in her possession would be subject to the unscrupulous desires of a lawless society.

By the time she deplaned in Abidjan and went through customs, Vatusia knew that nothing had changed in the IC. After inspecting her possessions and noticing their apparent value, the customs agent demanded a "surtax" from her, money which she paid him, nervously, hoping that there would be no further charges in the airport. She needed to save her cash as there would be many more palms to grease on the rest of her journey home. Happy to escape with one payment, she made her way to the one-room toilet on her way out. There she bolted the door and carefully removed some of the cash that was inside her messenger bag lining and spread it around to other concealed places in her belongings and on her body, praying that she would make it home with at least one of these caches intact.

The Gulf of Guinea, bordering Abidjan, was so beautiful that Vatusia wished she had time to put her toes in the water before boarding the bus for her long ride home. Her time in the U.S. had made her far more appreciative of water as a healing mechanism. Floating in the Stanley's pool or sitting by a river's edge in North Carolina had been a new and liberating feeling. Vatusia trudged up the stairs and onto the packed bus, bound for the north. She had only slept a few hours off and on since leaving North Carolina two days ago, so though the roads were bumpy and the large woman beside her spilled uncomfortably over onto her seat, she leaned her head against the filthy window and slept until a jarring halt woke her.

It was almost dark so Vatusia's senses were a bit off kilter at first but quickly she noticed the woman next to her shoving something under her voluminous buttocks. Looking up, Vatusia witnessed armed rebels boarding the bus. Three of them scoured the bus for "contributions" to their cause, cajoling and poking the passengers as they made their way down the aisle, while two stood guard outside, rifles propped on their hips. An old woman who would not give up the small satchel she used as a coin purse was popped across the face with the butt of a gun, and a beautiful woman and her daughters were removed from the bus for "interrogation," as the husband looked on nervously.

Vatusia deftly twisted her hair into a bun to expose her scars, securing it with a tie she wore around her wrist, using any means available to make herself unappealing. She gave up her bag with the floppy hat and a few other gifts without uttering a word of protest, knowing as she did that they might discover the far more valuable leather messenger bag under her skirt if they were to search more closely. As the men departed and the bus started to move, the man whose wife and daughters had not returned began to panic, running to the front of the bus, insisting that the bus driver reopen the door and wait for them. Once he was out, however, the bus driver slammed the door shut, and drove away, leaving him behind.

Turning her thoughts away from how things would go for the ill-fated family, Vatusia looked at the woman beside her who was retrieving the pocketbook she had hidden beneath her, clearly relieved that the only thing she had lost was the small sack of food she had been carrying. Vatusia was thankful when the bus finally stopped in Korhogo without any additional unscheduled interruptions. It was now three days since she had a proper meal or night's rest.

"One last breath of fresh air," she thought as she descended from the open mountain path to the thick bamboo trail at the forest perimeter near the bottom of the hill. Inside the wall of vines the atmosphere was thick and pungent, trapping her once again. Exhausted from her journey and disappointed because she could not check in with the people she loved and cared for to let them know she was all right, Vatusia was unprepared for what she found when she finally arrived at the place where her hut had been. "Gone," she tried to say, but no words escaped her lips.

Unsure at first if she'd made a mistake, Vatusia retraced her steps back out to the forest path which had nearly disappeared in the overgrowth, thinking that perhaps she had made a wrong turn, but the familiar mahogany and breadfruit trees that served as constant landmarks were still there, disproving her theory. No, she was home, but home was no longer there, which was, she thought glumly, a perfect metaphor. Returning to what had once been her refuge, she saw that beneath the low foliage, the ground was black and charred. Who had burned it and why? She asked herself, her thoughts involuntarily turning to the man who had violated her in so many ways. What folly to even imagine that she could return, after being gone for so many months, to find her home in tact. She cursed herself for being so stupid.

Knowing that she needed to eat and sleep before making a plan, she gathered a few metal items that had not burned in the fire, such as her machete, and used it to make her way to the well. Everything else she used that day came from her messenger bag, a survival kit indeed. Fashioning a hammock from some clothing, she used her plastic dye cups for water storage and the snacks her friends had given her for sustenance. She would not, could not, cry, which meant that she would not, could not allow her mind to think or her soul to feel. Vatusia emptied herself physically and mentally.

She might have slept for days had it not been for the Potto monkeys that had apparently usurped her territory while she was gone. Acting on instinct, Vatusia gathered her belongings, knowing how territorial some monkeys could be, and quickly retreated. It would be useless to tangle with them she surmised and regardless, she didn't see a point to dwelling any longer in the ashes of her home. The greatest loss she felt was towards the wonderful loom she had built by hand. It was like a friend to her and she would miss it and the livelihood it had provided dearly.

Her first stop, she decided, would be the Baptist Center thinking that perhaps, although the Templetons were no longer there, the new tenant, hopefully foreign, would be hospitable. After that, she would head out for Korhogo to see if she could find customers at the old market so that she could save enough money to buy or build her own loom again. The Templetons had given her the contact information for their friend at the embassy, but Vatusia was not keen on traveling all the way back to Abidjan just to use the Internet. Instead, she would see what she could arrange at the Red Cross Center. The volunteers had been so kind to her just a few months ago, she hoped that someone who remembered her remained on staff.

Within a few hours, Vatusia was back at the Baptist Center, hoping to find a place to rest and recuperate before proceeding to Korhogo, perhaps even contact Anjani to let him know she was safely back in the IC. What she found was nothing like the decimation of her own hut, but the condition of the structures would have been a stab in the heart to Ernest and Jeannie after the years they spent maintaining them with tender loving care. So many people had found warmth and hospitality within the compound and so many children had been educated there. Vatusia also knew that many Ivorians had chosen to follow the path of Christianity here so it felt like desecration now to see the vacant buildings looted of their furniture and fixtures, the doors thrown open or ripped off their hinges, the interiors gutted like fish. Upon investigation, it looked as if a foreign aid agency had attempted to use the buildings, but for whatever reason, had left or been driven out. Most foreigners were not familiar with the Ivorian way in the best of times, and Vatusia guessed that now, it was nearly impossible to function for any length of time without bribes, connections, or both.

Meanwhile, the room she had used when visiting Anjani in the past would serve her for the night. There was a well on site and she still had food to eat, but in the morning she set out once again, feeling like a nomad, searching for a home. She prayed to Jesus that the Korhogo market would be open and that, with luck, some of the women who had been so kind to her when she was in need would be there. She also remembered to thank Jesus that she was healthy this time and that Anjani was not with her.

The market buzzed with its normal setup activities as the women unpacked their wares for a long day of work while the men sat and smoked or ate at a makeshift gathering place in the corner. At first Vatusia considered the men lazy and idiotic for not being more involved, but then she noticed the toll that the civil unrest had taken on them. The remaining men were sadly picked over, fat or sickly, missing an appendage or an eye. There weren't even many young boys left, only toddlers and babies. What, she lamented, not for the first time, was her country coming to?

Approaching the area where she had once worked, Vatusia was eager to see her long lost friends. Unable to find them, she circled back and canvassed the entire market again, finally stopping to ask a woman she recognized.

"They are gone," the woman responded in a low voice, her eyes scanning for anyone who might overhear. "The rebels killed them all and it is not safe to ask questions."

Reeling from the news, Vatusia grasped for a nearby crate to prevent her from falling to the ground. Catching her as she wavered, the woman rose and took her arm to guide her to a spot inside the stall next to her, Vatusia following like a child.

"Your friends refused each time the rebels came to take their boys to fight with them," the woman told her, clearing a place for Vatusia to sit on a mat in the shade. "They had already taken the men and teenagers, and now they were coming back for the young boys so the mothers hid them, and when they refused to talk or expose their location, the rebels lined them up and shot them all, one by one. At least they were spared the machete. It was a blessing that they died quickly and their boys were not there to watch."

The woman let Vatusia sit in silence by her side for most of the day until she had sold all but one basket of her fruit, saying "Honey, it's time to go home now," as she prepared to leave. Vatusia gathered her bags, also preparing to leave, unsure of what to say, but the woman took her hand before she did so and placed a piece of breadfruit in it saying, "Eat this, it will make you feel better. It is very sweet."

Still in a daze of disbelief, Vatusia found a store toward the edge of the market which rented out an Internet connected PC. After signing her name on the clipboard hanging next to the CRT and paying the man at the cashier for fifteen minutes, she sat motionless on a stool by the window, watching a spider vigorously working in the corner to build its web, waiting for her turn on the PC. Eventually the cashier barked at her, motioning to the spot that had become available. She took her place in front of the PC, the chair still warm from the previous user, starting with Anjani, then Meg, and finally Jeannie and Ernest, stopping only to wipe the sweat from her brow with her handkerchief. The PC logged out automatically after fifteen minutes, prompting Vatusia to send the e-mail she had hastily concluded, and then, unlike her normal frugal way, she ordered a cup of cocoa with cream, sat back down at the counter, and sipped it slowly.

The following e-mails, sent back in response to those that Vatusia had just delivered, went unanswered:

Subject: You are strong!

Sent: 09/06/2005 7:09 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: maconanjani@ncsu.edu

Maman,

I was so happy to finally hear from you tonight even though the news was not all good! I have been wondering every moment about where you are and what you are doing, and even more importantly, what the people there are doing to make your life easy or difficult. I used to worry that you knew I was safe. Now I worry about you, but trust that you are a strong woman who will find her way. I hoped that you would be happy, creating some beautiful weavings with your loom to send to us here, but it sounds like God has other plans for you, Maman (Yes, I realize that I sound like Jeannie!).

Know that when we are not in contact by e-mails or phone, we are still connected. You have raised me to be strong too so I will wait to hear from you without raising my stress level any more than is necessary or missing my schoolwork... don't worry about that, Maman! Keep safe and use your ingenuity to find a place to stay and a job to do. I will send you money once you have a place to be. I hope that you did not have to use too much of what you took home to bribe the officials (thieves). Perhaps a family like the Monserats will need some help. Your English is perfect. Do not undersell yourself and your abilities. I love you so much. Please contact me again soon if you can.

You are in my thoughts always, Maman,

Your loving son, Anjani.

Subject: We are thinking of you.

Sent: 09/06/2005 7:45 PM Eastern Daylight Time

From: meg@gmail.com

Vatusia,

My heart is breaking for you, but you don't need to hear that from me. You have been through so much more and not only survived, but done very well indeed! I am so impressed with everything about you, and wish I had taken the opportunity to tell you that when you were here. Don't worry about Anjani. I don't think he'll need us, but if he does we are here for him and he knows it. The children will make sure that we see him often. As a matter of fact, he is planning to visit during his fall break. That should be great fun. Maybe we will teach him how to carve a pumpkin... a Halloween tradition I can tell you about some other time. Sam has been talking about colleges already, even though he's only a freshman. I think its Anjani's excellent influence. I know you don't have a place to work yet, but if you find a loom, please send us whatever you can, whenever you can. Andie and everyone else at the Community School of Arts and Crafts wanted me to send you their greetings. They will be sorry to hear you can't weave at the moment, but let's all hope that's temporary.

Vatusia, I know you don't like to take money from me, but I want you to let me know if and when you need it. Based on what's happened so far, I worry that you will run out of your savings and I DO NOT want you to live without money. You know that a loan would be no problem for me and Jeff and we know that you would pay us back. Please let us help if we can.

I will say goodbye for now with the hope that you will get this response before you leave Korhogo.

More soon. We love you Vatusia!

-Meg, Jeff, Sam, Jenny and Emma

P.S. I'll send pictures next time.

Subject: Korhogo

Sent: 009/06/2005 11:15 PM Pacific Standard Time

From: Templeton@mission.com

Vatusia,

This is Ernest first, and then I'll let Jeannie take over. Do you have something to protect yourself? I do not want you wandering around Korhogo, or anywhere in the IC, without something. It will be worth spending the money to buy a small blade if you do not have one already. Be alert, as I know you usually are. I am going to work with my contacts to find you a position somewhere where you will be safer than with the locals. The embassy is running at very low staffing levels and is too far for you to go, I know, but I will check other foreign companies to see if there is something. You should contact the friends you made at the various foreign aid organizations. Was it the Red Cross or the Medecins sans Frontieres with whom you spent so much time recuperating? Be vigilant, be faithful. God will provide.

V,

This is Jeannie. Sweet woman, you did nothing to deserve this! Our thoughts and prayers are with you as you find your way, which I have no doubt you will. We will make sure that things stay well here in the US with Anjani. I know that Meg has never stopped working to try to keep you here and now to bring you back, but she doesn't want to say anything to build your hopes up since the IC bureaucracy makes any simple task impossible. Thank you for telling us about the state of the Baptist Center. God gives and God takes away and it is not for us to feel the loss, but I am human and faulted and so I am sad! Perhaps someday He will grant me the opportunity to see the center in its glory again! For now, however, my prayers are focused on you. You know who to stay away from and how to be a shadow. Now is a good time for both.

Ernest and I love you and God will protect you in His way.

-Jeannie

### Chapter Eleven

The ice-encased tree limbs sparkled with the morning light as Meg drove to work three months after Vatusia had returned to the IC. She felt like a fairy tale character in a storybook as she moved cautiously down the tree-lined street, the boughs arching, both ominous and beautiful, over her head. With the radio off, she could hear the cracking and creaking as the wind tried unsuccessfully to move the normally pliant trees, now resistant in their armor of ice. Very few drivers had ventured out on the slick streets, knowing the handful of winter road maintenance vehicles would be spread thin across the unprepared Carolina town. Vatusia would have been experiencing her first season of snow were she still in Asheville with Anjani, but sadly she was not. Instead Meg was left to imagine what Vatusia was experiencing, which left her troubled. It had been too long since anyone had heard from her, back in September, shortly after she had returned to the Cote d'Ivoire.

At lunch, Meg was scheduled for her monthly Meals In Home delivery shift, the firm for which she worked, being happy to have its employees spend a bit of extra time during their lunch hour to deliver meals to shut-ins. When she got to the commercial kitchen to pick up the meals, there were several names she did not recognize, no doubt due to the weather, she speculated as she and the other volunteers loaded their trunks. Things went smoothly, as she maneuvered her way carefully down one slippery street after another. One last stop at the home of Mr. Akio Fuji and she would be on her way back to the office, just in time for her 1:30pm conference call with the embassy in Peru. Pulling around to the back parking lot at the apartment building per the "Meals In Home" instruction sheet, she grabbed the last foil tin and plastic container and climbed the stairs to apartment "C". Because Mr. Fuji was a new addition to her list, she re-checked the instructions carefully to make sure she didn't knock when she was supposed to ring or leave the food when she was supposed to wait. The people they served could be very picky due to their varying special needs.

It seemed to take a long time, but eventually rustling paper and the sound of footsteps encouraged Meg as she shifted the hot tin back and forth in her hands. Finally, the door opened to expose a small, frail old man, dressed only in white briefs despite the frigid temperature in the apartment, who neither spoke nor made eye contact, but instead turned and led the way into a sparsely furnished living room where he indicated that she set the meal containers on the TV table next to the only easy chair. As she followed, an acrid odor grew stronger and threatened to overwhelm her. She set the food down and covered her nose and mouth unapologetically.

"Mr. Fuji?" she said, trying to make eye contact as, eyelids fluttering uncontrollably, he sank into the chair without responding.

It was then that Meg noticed the open pill bottle lying at his feet, the colorful round orbs spilled across the carpet. Kneeling down, she returned them to the container and asked him if he needed his medicine, aware by now that there were some serious issues here, compounded by the fact that he appeared to be blind or at least visually impaired.

"Do you need to take your medication, Mr. Fuji?" she said, placing the bottle in his outstretched hand and helping him close his fingers around it. He replied in a language she could not understand, but guessed by his name that is was Japanese. The volunteers were only there to provide food, strictly forbidden from administering care, including dispensing medications, so Meg went to the closet and found a robe and blanket which she draped across his shoulders and laid across his lap, and waited for the social worker listed on his instruction sheet to return her call.

Meg called Jeff on her way back to the office, as she often did. She was not allowed to share personal information regarding the meal recipients but that didn't mean she couldn't tell her husband about the experience. She had been struck by Mr. Fuji's solitude, which was particularly poignant to her now as her friend Vatusia suffered through isolation from her friends and family. Later that evening, her conference call complete and her workday coming to a close, Meg reflected on the things that mattered to her. Deep connections outside her immediate family had typically eluded her as her compulsion to improve herself had consumed her time and energy throughout her life. What a trite caricature of a Type-A she must have seemed to her acquaintances.

Still active and fit in her mid-forties, as close to beauty as she needed to come, with an ambitious, successful, doting husband, three kids - each with amazing talents and skills, a rewarding career and challenging interests, parents, family and _friends_ (?) for support, there was no questioning the results of her lifelong efforts or her good fortune. "Balance," she thought, and repeated to herself like a mantra. It was time to shift the focus away from a Meg-centric world. The idea had been brewing for a while, but was now close to fully formulated in her mind. She had always felt strongly about serving her community, but soon, with Jeff's approval, it would get serious, and her community would be global.

### Chapter Twelve

Subject: Here I am

Sent: 12/13/2005 11:35 AM Eastern Daylight Time

From: Vatusia@mission.com

Anjani, Miss Meg, Jeannie, and Ernest,

I am alive and well in Loulo. I have not had time to read the e-mails you all have sent to me because it is my first day of work and this is my first break so I am using it to tell you I am fine first. Later I will answer your questions, one by one. Thank you for leaving my e-mail account Jeannie and Ernest. I was not sure if it would be gone too like the Center is gone. I had not used my account in many months so I had to do some password administration but I think I did it OK because I got to this point. Can you check for me, Ernest? Thank you!

I spent many months going from place to place to find a job that I could do that would let me talk to you, Anjani! Here I do not work every day, but the people are friendly and they let me use the computer for e-mails at my meal break, which I am doing now today for the first time. I will have to tell you more about the work later because, this morning, I have not done much but meet other people and see the facility. These headquarters are very much like a village with a small market, library, café and bar. They also have bunkrooms with beds for rent for the workers since they come and go from all over the world. It is called Temporo Mining Company and it is based in China, but the people I work with are from France. They say it is because the language is easier for the French to understand but I am not so sure because that is why they need me to help translate to English. That is my job, three days each week I will spend the day translating documents and sometimes group phone calls or what they call conference calls. I have this job because all of you helped me to be proficient with English. Thank you!

Loulo is only 120 km north of Korhogo but very different. See if you can find it on a map, Anjani, and you can think of me here like I think of you there in North Carolina. The safety here is strong. Rebels still hide in the mountains but there is a fence all the way around the mine as far as your eyes can see and where you cannot see, they say there are guards hired from Algeria to guard the mine and the people who work here. They said they picked Algerians because they would not be swayed to choose sides for the rebels or the military. They would be loyal to the employer paying them. I see the manager coming to me so I will say good-bye and send my love.

Découragement n'est pas Ivoirien. -Vatusia

Ebbing, flowing, ever changing like the sea, Vatusia vacillated for months after her return to the IC. Forced to return to her nomadic ways, she felt pride and then sorrow, optimism and then loneliness. A doctor might have given her peace of mind knowing that much of her tumult was hormone-based. The surgeries she had endured less than a year ago, included removing her reproductive organs, having forced her body into early menopause, but she did not see a doctor and therefore was not reassured. Instead she cursed herself as weak when, out of the blue, she found herself unable to stop the torrent of tears that flowed regardless of her attempts to shut them off, or the sweat that would cover her body even in the comfort of her air-conditioned office.

Jobs were not easy to come by in the best of times, which these were not. In addition, her inability to trust strangers, kept her from approaching anyone who might connect her with employment. There had, of course, been people she had known at the Red Cross facility and the Monserat home, but in both instances she was disappointed to find that everyone she'd known had packed up and moved home, the unrest being too severe even to allow aid agencies to continue their work. And so Vatusia lived as she had with Anjani, after their escape from Kelkro, moving from place to place, living off the land, spending the money she had brought back from the United States only as a last resort, and then only discreetly to avoid the attention of "evil-doers," as she called them.

There were many close calls with strangers and soldiers, beggars and thieves, but somehow Vatusia managed to survive each episode like a heroine in an epic drama. It was an unforeseen circumstance that led Vatusia to Loulo. One night when she was returning to the porch of a coffee house in a village near Nganon where she planned to sleep after the owner closed the shop, she realized that she had come too soon. Although the shop was dark, the owner was apparently still inside with someone else. As she crouched outside the window in the dark, waiting for them to leave, Vatusia could hear their conversation become louder and louder, and realized, to her disgust, that the owner was trying to have his way with the shop girl, not more than twelve years old, who worked there. He was berating the girl for her resistance and telling her that if she did not comply he would fire her and she would have to be a whore for the new lot of miners that had just arrived, bound for the Temporo Mines.

Without thinking, Vatusia cried out fiercely, "Your wife is coming!" the first thing that popped into her head even though she did not know if the man had a wife or not. Her instinct was to dissuade this man in any way she could, then hid in the shadows, hoping the moonless night would keep her secret. In seconds she heard the crash of the door as it was thrown open and the sounds of someone rushing away, followed by the man shouting angrily into the night "woman, is that you?" Vatusia's distraction seemed to work. After a brief silence, the man, somewhat confused, locked the door and shuffled away down the path, grumbling inaudibly. She felt good about her actions as she laid her self down on the hard porch planks, leaving the girl to live violence-free for another day, and she felt good about the direction she would take in the morning, heading to the Temporo Mines where, thanks to the shopkeeper, she learned others were finding employment.

The girl in her dreams must have approved of Vatusia's exploits because that night, as she slept in the open under the inky black sky, her messenger bag as a pillow, she dreamed that the two of them traveled farther than ever before, this time taking to the air like birds, skimming the trees of the forest as they alternately zoomed and then hovered over the canopy, stopping to inspect anything that struck their fancy and laughing together as they did.

Finding the job in Loulo kept Vatusia tethered to sanity, connecting her once again with her son, the Templetons, and Meg, and allowing her to end her nomadic ways. Reestablishing regular communications was the prescription she needed to deal with the oppressive veil of sadness that had engulfed her in this unfamiliar place. Loulo was a mining town and while not far from Korhogo geographically, its people and economy were far from what she was accustomed. For one thing, they were primarily Muslim, stopping to pray periodically throughout the day, the women wearing head-to-toe clothing even in the hot summer months. Vatusia found however that she did not often mix with the people of Loulo on a regular basis so the differences did not impact her as much as she had expected. The Temporo facility was designed to be self-contained, neither needing nor wanting local involvement if it could be avoided, the Chinese preferring to dictate every aspect of existence at the mine without interference.

The wages she earned were just enough to pay for her bed and meager food rations but left nothing for her object of desire... a plane ticket. Anjani was a senior now; his graduation would be in May. He had already applied for and accepted a place in the graduate program at the same university. Vatusia did not completely understand his degree program, but did know that he would still be pursuing studies of psychology and public policy, and that he was no longer interested in spending years becoming a medical doctor, primarily because he was anxious to get back to his roots and help those who still suffered under the brutal policies of antiquated cultural perceptions. The course he chose to pursue now required him to complete two more years in the U.S. and then another year in the field, the location yet to be determined. Again, Vatusia was torn, happy for Anjani, but inconsolable regarding no plan to rejoin or visit with him.

Without the prospects of seeing her son in the near future and no way to work towards her goal, Vatusia felt trapped at Temporo, working with foreigners who had no interest in getting to know her or any of the other African workers. In her estimation, most were so wrapped up in chasing a financial dream, missing their own families, or simply surviving that they did not take the time to look around and truly see the Cote d'Ivoire, for better or for worse. There had been two kidnapping attempts on the man in charge already. After the second, he had sent his family back to France, but much to his chagrin, losing daily contact with his wife and two small children sent his mood into a downward spiral, which impacted them all. Vatusia knew this because she sat in on most of the calls between the home office in China and Temporo, translating French to English, typically the common language between them.

Vatusia told Anjani and the others that she was safe where she was, but this was only partially true. The Algerians kept the Ivorian rebels and militia at bay, but there was an entire community within the Temporo walls teeming with idle men. She marveled at their weakness, which knew no cultural boundaries, be they African, Asian, European or otherwise. Boredom seemed to breed the desire for action, which they filled with drinking, gambling and imported prostitutes, none of which would have been allowed outside the walls in the Muslim community of Loulo. These men may have respected God's laws in their own countries, but here, they were like deviant children.

Vatusia's bunkhouse was the smallest, housing only women. Had this not been the case, she would not have accepted the conditions. Unfortunately for Vatusia, there were no other women there at the moment since no expatriate single women were inclined to venture to this area of unrest. "Safety in numbers" did not apply to her here. The only women at the mine were a few locals from Loulo hired to cook and clean, arriving before daybreak and departing just after dark. They covered themselves in traditional garb and kept to themselves, eyeing Vatusia with disdain, no doubt thinking the worst of her.

The hardest times were her days off, when the hours would drag on with no one she cared to converse and nowhere she felt safe going except for her occasional visits to the market in Loulo which she undertook now and then simply to maintain her sanity. With no disposable income, she would navigate the aisles, inspecting the goods, but never dwelling too long. Noticing that there were very few artisans, Vatusia wondered if that was typical of the area or if the uncertain times had forced them away from their crafts just as she had been.

She missed her loom! She could have survived indefinitely at Temporo if only she had it with her. Instead, remembering that Anjani kept journals as part of his therapy, Vatusia thought she would try writing as well, with prolific results, enjoying the way the thick paper in the leather-bound book soaked up the ink from her pen as she drew the nib across each page. By May, she had filled both of the books Anjani had given her with the tiniest print she could manage.

Vatusia needed more work and better pay to escape the snare in which she had become entangled in Temporo. Her time on the computer was limited to her lunch break, and she had already asked and been denied any additional time before or after work. The computer network was closely guarded with accounts and passwords and time restrictions. Vatusia's requests for more work hours also fell on deaf ears for, as Chinese management was not shy to point out, they begrudged the French personnel their need for a translator in the budget at all. It was, Vatusia decided, time for her to take a risk, make a geographic move, and try one of Ernest's contacts back in the capital even though she would need to use the entire balance of money she'd saved from the U.S. to get back to Abidjan, as well as all of her strength and cunning since each coup attempt, failed presidency, and military intervention seemed to weaken the Ivorian infrastructure even more, leaving in their wake broken promises, eroded roads, failing power grids, and lawless individuals. Put simply, it was not a country anyone, let alone a woman, would want to traverse alone.

There was no room left in her journal, but Vatusia felt obliged to write something special for Anjani on the twenty-fifth day of May, two thousand and six, squeezing her words into a smidgeon of space in the margins of the final pages, promising herself that she would give it to him someday, when she saw his beautiful smile again. Upon completion of her entry, she walked purposefully from her bunkhouse to the main office, avoiding the many puddles that had formed from the night's heavy rainfall, and at lunchtime emailed Anjani with her very best wishes and congratulations for his accomplishments. Waiting in her inbox were e-mails from Anjani and Meg, both with derivations of the same photo attached: Anjani in his cap and gown, Anjani with the Stanley family, Anjani with his professor, and Anjani with the Dean of his department, as well as Anjani with his friends. Even Leticia had been able to attend, the love interest fading after years apart, but not the friendship. Jeannie and Ernest, living on the budget of retired missionaries, were not able to attend but shared their positive prayers and congratulations with Vatusia and Anjani as well.

Apparently it had been quite a day. Anjani, the boy who her people had branded a demon and tied to a tree had graduated magna cum laude. On one hand, she could never have imagined this and yet on the other, she couldn't imagine Anjani's life any other way. It was her own she needed to work on. Why, she asked herself, had she let herself miss the opportunity to be with her son for this momentous occasion? The risk would have been high, but so would the reward. And so, propelled by Anjani's success, she determined to break free of her depressing, restless existence in Temporo and find a better job in Abidjan, one that would allow her to reunite with Anjani, no matter how long it took.

Many weeks went into planning Vatusia's long trek from the Northern tip of the Cote d'Ivoire to the Gulf of Guinea where the capital, Abidjan, bustles on its busy shores. She could not return the way she came, by bus, for many reasons, but primarily because the roads had been washed out during the long rainy season and there were no men available to rebuild them as they usually did each year. Despite the distance between them, Vatusia called on her old friend Ernest, who although retired, was up to the challenge; in fact he reveled in it. He could not ask his friends to risk their own safety or go out of their way for someone they did not know since hers was only one of the many sad cases of woe in the IC. Instead, Ernest ingeniously pieced together a potpourri of "planes, trains and automobiles" as he called it, to transport Vatusia to Abidjan. Really, it was more like helicopters and armored cars, but the reference was understood.

So it was that on a very rainy August morning, Vatusia lifted her messenger bag, now containing little more than the two journals she'd filled, slung it over her shoulder, and left the Temporo Mining Company for good, she hoped. The gray, dreary day seemed appropriate as she left in search of a rainbow, she thought, smiling to herself, literally feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders as she passed through the gates for the last time. The employees at Temporo for whom she translated were always using metaphors like that, not easy to interpret from one language to another, but she had her secret lunchtime e-mail resources like Anjani to help her.

"Life teaches you things, even when you expect nothing," she told herself as she moved on, conforming to the strict schedule that had been laid out for her as a _ghost_ passenger to Abidjan, unreported and unpaid.

Progressing swiftly, Vatusia arrived in Korhogo on foot by midday, a bit muddy and anxious, but on schedule for her first rendezvous. Directed to the airstrip by a group of girls bearing water jugs, Vatusia found the helicopter she hoped was her ride. Large boxes marked with red crosses were being loaded into the rear of the olive green vehicle as a cheery young woman with a clip board approached her, confirming that she was indeed in the right place, and showing her to a seat inside the craft where she waited until the final boxes had been loaded. When the pilot and his second in command greeted her with no more than a nod and instructions to buckle up and use the mask if she had any issues with the air pressure, Vatusia realized that there would be no special accommodations for her on this journey, for which she was grateful. Everyone involved was already doing more than they could imagine for her. Vatusia's stomach tightened when they lifted off, the helicopter buffeting back and forth in the air as it ascended above the city.

"No violence and strife from here" she thought as her sprits rose along with her body into the atmosphere.

There would be no relaxation on the trip, her senses sharpened by every dip and swerve, her ears, despite the headphones, ringing. It was difficult to tell if day had turned to night, the sky dark from rainclouds from the time they took off to the time they touched down. The pilot's assistant made his way back to help Vatusia remove her safety belt and headphones, for despite Mother Nature, which greeted her with sheets of rain, she had made it to Yamoussoukro in a few hours, a trip that would have taken her days on her own.

Not much was left of the Yamoussoukro Airport. Ernest, an aircraft enthusiast, had told Vatusia about the French attack there after an Ivorian military aircraft bombed a UN peacekeeper base in 2004, killing nine French peacekeepers and one U.S. civilian, in retaliation for which the French had wiped out the airport, two aircraft and several helicopters, which equated to the majority of the Ivorian's air forces. It did not appear to Vatusia that any significant re-building had taken place since the attack, as the structure under which she took shelter was the only building left. Yamoussoukro was a big town, the political capital of the IC. From here, Vatusia would need to find The Basilica of Our Lady of Peace which Ernest told her would not be too difficult as it was purported to be the largest place of Christian worship on Earth.

The airport hangar was eerily empty except for a few armed military personnel who she purposefully avoided as she left the building, determined to find someone else to direct her to the church, and thankful that the rain had lightened to a steady sprinkle. Fortunately, she needed no help finding the Basilica once she exited the airport. Signs obviously erected for the benefit of tourists, pointed the direction to several important landmarks of the city in a number of languages, including the Basilica. Once headed in the right direction, Vatusia saw the outline of the church looming ahead through the clouds in the distance. Even in the rain, it was a beacon rising proudly from the low, grassy plains, dwarfing the structures around it.

Vatusia could tell that it was evening because the street vendors had packed up their carts and gone home, in addition to the fact that her stomach was grumbling. The helicopter ride had not motivated her to eat the lunch she had packed for herself so she took it out now as she walked the final few miles towards the Basilica. As she drew closer, the rain dissipated, allowing her to see her destination in greater detail. The church dome was white but etched in gold like a Faberge egg, topped with a gilded spire. Four smaller domes replicating the larger, dotted a low circular structure that delineated the courtyard within, which was so wide that simply walking across it felt like miles.

Unsure of how well publicized her arrival might be, Vatusia hoped that someone would be left within the church to provide instructions for the night. Deep in thought, she let out a startled gasp when she felt something fleshy move under her sandaled foot. Her first thought was how large the rats must be in Yamoussoukro, immediately followed by horror as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she saw the first of many poor souls huddled under the archway. "Ahhh" was all the boy could muster weakly when Vatusia nearly placed her full weight upon his outstretched arm. He was drenched, but she was unsure whether it was due to the rain or perspiration from the fever from which he appeared to suffer. She bent over him to see if she had done any permanent damage, only to be shouted at to "go away" by another older boy lying beside him.

Withdrawing quickly, Vatusia resumed her original route on the unlit outer edge of the arched pathway. Each time she passed a column she cast a sidelong glance to see if there were truly as many people gathered there as she first thought and each time, her initial impression was confirmed: there were hundreds. Anxiously, she found herself wondering how it could be that the Basilica would have enough room for her if it could not accommodate all these people who needed shelter more than her. Where would she go if no one knew of the arrangements that had been made for her there? Why were all of these people here? These questions and more plagued her final steps to the Basilica doors.

Vatusia found the main entrance locked, but a small sign, displayed in five languages, indicated that after-hours church business should be conducted through the side left door. Relieved to have some instruction, Vatusia proceeded to the left without delay, guided by the light above the door. It was, she found, necessary to lean against the next door she encountered in order to open it, heavy as it was. She was first confronted by a cool, dry atmosphere as the door swung open, the heat and humidity on her own skin casting a steamy aura around her, and then by a nun in full habit who questioned, "Est-ce que je peux vous aider?"

Opening her bag, Vatusia retrieved the letter Ernest had sent her via e-mail and waited anxiously as the nun took her time reading it. Perhaps, Vatusia thought, she should offer to translate in case the nun did not speak English.

With a motion of her hand, the nun beckoned Vatusia to follow, but rather than showing her to her lodgings as expected, the nun sat her down on a pew, a short distance from the door. "Attendre" the nun said simply as she turned to leave. Glad to have a moment to orient herself, Vatusia looked around, dazzled by the interior of the Basilica, which was like nothing she had ever seen before. Gold was something people died for in her country yet here she was in a chapel as big as a futbol stadium, every single surface seemingly covered with the precious metal, including the pews, walls, candlesticks, and even the ceiling, its glitter only broken by the pink, green and blue paint of a delicate border and the rich jewel tones of the stained glass windows that lined the walls. The floor, which her new employer would later tell her had been imported from Italy, was marble, cool to the soles of her feet as she slipped off her sandals to dry them. Pulling her wet hair back with a string and twisting her skirt to wring some water from the fabric, Vatusia closed her eyes and waited to see if she felt God here. He did not come to her, but she knew that did not necessarily mean that he was absent. She could only hope that he was with the children outside.

Now that two thirds of her journey was complete, she appreciated having time to reflect on the miracles of the day and how she had been able to travel so far, so fast thanks to the hand of God and the help of her friends in the U.S., in order to arrive here in a place of beauty she never imagined existed in her country. Another nun, much larger and heavy-set this time and who appeared to be Ivorian, approached her down the long aisle. Sister Fifi had a serious demeanor, but laughed at her own jokes now and then, which put Vatusia a bit more at ease, as she followed her from the ornate nave into rooms behind the Basilica. Sister Fifi explained that most of the nuns and priests were Polish by birth, but that many had lived here since the church was erected in 1990. By now, it was after nine in the evening according to Sister Fifi, so Vatusia had missed dinner, but there was a ration of bread and cocoa on the table next to her bed and a small washroom with a toilet and basin down the hall. Alone in her room on a soft bed, food in her belly, she was comforted, knowing that she would meet her ride tomorrow first thing in the morning and be one step closer to her son.

The next morning, Vatusia was introduced to Reverend Winters, a large, boisterous man with a commanding presence. The nuns at Our Lady of Peace scurried about him, obviously pleased by the attention he provided, unlike the Catholic priests, who rarely acknowledged their presence. His meetings with the local Roman Catholic diocese having gone well, he was in particularly good spirits when he met Vatusia for the first time in the dining hall, it's long, severe wooden tables distinguished in their sparseness from the ornate head table set with linens and china. She was already sitting, appreciating the banana and oatmeal one of the sister's had provided, when Reverend Winters approached, carefully sliding the long bench across from Vatusia back without upsetting the nuns sitting a few meters down, and plopped down. There he sat for a good forty minutes chatting as if they were old friends coming together after a long absence. He did not ask too many questions, which she appreciated, but she did answer when asked, realizing that this was, for all intents and purposes, an interview for a position as a nanny for his daughter who lived in Abidjan while the Reverend and his wife worked to improve the Baptist presence in the area. And since Reverend Winters was far more interested in telling Vatusia about himself and his important duties and obligations than he was in learning about her, the interview went very well indeed. The position was temporary but he could guarantee that it would last a minimum of three years while their daughter attended the American School in Abidjan and would include the responsibility of tutoring the girl in French and the local African dialect.

When he had said his piece, Reverend Winters reached out to touch Vatusia's face, undeterred by her flinch, laying the back of his fingers against the scars on her left cheek like a doting father.

"You are a strong woman Vatusia," he said, "I can tell. You would make a very fine mentor for our daughter. Would you like to try?" Confused by this gentle gesture that followed his narcissistic diatribe, Vatusia put aside any personal concerns and accepted. She needed money.

Upon reflection, Vatusia knew she would normally have been repulsed by his bold invasion of her personal space, but perhaps it was more normal than she had initially thought. There was nothing judgmental in his actions or words and nothing sexual. Reverend Winters seemed to value her skills and abilities for what they were and, most importantly, the family came with the Templeton's endorsement. With cautious optimism, she was moving one step closer to a life with Anjani.

If Reverend Winters was surprised when Vatusia explained that she had no luggage, he did not show it. Instead, he sent her directly to the car to wait while he made his way around the dining hall like a politician, handing out pats on the back, hugs, kisses and handshakes as though they were campaign promises. The car was air-conditioned and roomy, and the driver, of course, sat in the front while Reverend Winters spread out in the second row, leaving Vatusia the entire back seat in which to stretch out. Rested yet anxious, Vatusia paid attention to the details of her trip, from the outstretched hands of the destitute lining the Basilica entrance as they left (had she seen those same hands the night before she wondered?), to the stark contrast of rolling green plains versus dried out plots of land, indicating the relative success of the farmers who tended to them.

Although the car flew an Ivorian and American flag, they were approached by a group of eight to ten boys early in the trip, between Toumodi and Tiassale, their faces masked by scarves tied tightly behind their heads. As the driver slowed to avoid a huge ditch carved out by the rains, Vatusia moved instinctively to the center of the bench seat, away from the windows. Within seconds the driver, producing a handgun, rolled down his window and fired three shots at the boys' feet. Startled, they scattered, away from the bullets, as the driver gunned the engine and raced around the ditch and down the road, the gun still in his hand. "This car has bullet proof windows, Miss," he told her, "but you are correct not to test them."

Reverend Winters readjusted the papers that had slid from his ample lap when the car swerved and continued about his work as though nothing had happened. Vatusia considered his reaction, realizing that he was either a man who was not rattled easily, a man who had visited this country before, or perhaps both.

Fortune smiled on them all as they completed the rest of the journey without any further interruption except for an occasional swerve to avoid hitting a goat or bicyclist. Vatusia felt complacent enough to extract one of her journals from her bag and look over the numbers she had calculated time and time again. Now that Reverend Winters had confirmed the pay that Ernest thought she might receive, the numbers became more real. If she were careful and if airline costs remained the same, or, God willing, went down, she would have enough money for a plane ticket in twenty-nine months.

The car turned off the main highway once the travelers passed the southern section of Abidjan, leaving the flawless, smooth pavement for the quaint tree-lined streets of Bietry. The houses were not visible because of the walls and fences surrounding them, but they were obviously luxurious accommodations. Her lodgings in other places had always felt temporary, the thin plywood walls and tin roofs in need of constant repair, but here they were cement, built to last. Vatusia would understand why after her first monsoon.

When the car pulled up to the gate of a home with the number " _Fifteen_ " emblazoned on the wall, Reverend Winters got out and punched the buttons of a security keypad, his large fingers pushing two at a time, requiring him to start over more than once, eliciting a, "Shit!" each time. Apparently, Vatusia thought, smiling wryly, he was not as pious as he seemed. Finally successful, the Reverend reentered the car for the balance of the short journey up the driveway. After an exchange of bills and a pat on the hood, the car retreated to its home, which Vatusia learned later, was the American Embassy. She had been a guest in a diplomat's car. "How nice!" she thought thankfully, her long trek as a "ghost" ending safely. Her first order of business once her job duties were fulfilled would be to contact Ernest and thank him profusely. Reverend Winters had not mentioned any particulars of her living arrangements but she was hopeful that there would be a computer available to her in the home.

Abidjan was a large city, with many different cultures and peoples living together in close proximity, over five million people in the city proper and another three million in the outlying municipalities. As the financial center of the Ivory Coast, many expatriates made the city their home, working amongst the locals, but living separately for all intents and purposes in their own communes. Reverend Winters lived in the American section, with an American School and American style shops to cater to its inhabitants, which excited Vatusia who was pleased that the job should provide even more acclimation to the American way of life. She stopped herself however when she realized that Anjani might not be in the United States forever and that she had no business thinking that she would ever have more time there than a travel visa allowed.

Vatusia settled in to her new job and way of life easily. At twelve years of age, Natalie, her new charge, was at an awkward but busy stage of life, between being a child and a woman. In Vatusia's culture, Natalie would have had an exponentially greater amount of responsibility by now, perhaps even be promised to a boy for marriage, but she was aware that life in the U.S. was different so was careful not to judge. Natalie was allowed to do as she pleased coming and going with friends as long as her schoolwork and extra language tutoring with Vatusia was complete. So, while both the Reverend and Mrs. Winters were frequently out of town, leaving Vatusia to serve as surrogate parent, she was rarely with Natalie, who had confided in Vatusia that she preferred the busy households of her friends, none of whom were, as she was, an only child. Vatusia understood and did not take offense. There were many times during her own childhood when she had wished for a sibling to share her pain and sorrow, but especially to share her joys.

The added bonus to Natalie's preference for her friends' houses was that it left Natalie's computer free for Vatusia's practically unlimited use. Connectivity in Abidjan was extremely good and the Winters owned their own wireless networking device that allowed access to the Internet with their phones and computers. Vatusia was impressed, and even considered spending some of her savings on a phone of her own, but she would wait. As long as Natalie continued to visit her friends and occupy much of her time elsewhere, there was no need to spend the money yet. Besides, Vatusia already had more time for Anjani than he had for her. Vatusia also appreciated other resources provided by the Winters family, none of which seemed out of the ordinary to them, but were invaluable to her, the best of which was paper and pen. Now she was able to continue the tradition she had begun in Temporo of writing every day, an activity that helped to fill the void that an absence of friends, family and loom created. Twenty-eight months to go.

### Chapter Thirteen

Across the globe, Meg was completing the last step in the process to declare Anjani an "asylee". With Anjani's permission, she had taken a whole new look at her struggle to get an extended visa for Vatusia. Young, bright émigrés like Anjani were looked upon favorably in the immigration and naturalization arena, assuming that they were untainted by whatever issues afflicted their home country. Meg realized that the young man was the key to unlocking the door to citizenship for his mother, not just temporarily, but for permanent citizenship. When the thought first occurred to her, she dismissed it, but after careful research and review of case law, she celebrated her ingenuity and wondered how she could have missed it in the first place. This was something that, at last, she should be able to do.

Anjani would gain an immigrant visa as an asylee from the Cote d'Ivoire based on his mental health status and the danger it would pose to his personal well being if he were returned, even though he didn't really need the visa at the moment as a student. His schizophrenia was well documented, as was the way in which the mentally ill were treated in the Cote d'Ivoire. In fact, as Anjani told Meg one weekend when he visited, a well-respected psychologist from the University of California at Santa Cruz had just completed a study documenting the abhorrent treatment of the mentally ill in Mali and the Ivory Coast. As she thought back now, he probably planted the seed that grew into this magnificent idea when he told her about the study. Once granted the immigrant visa and living in the U.S. as he was, Anjani would be eligible to petition for an immigrant visa for Vatusia as well, allowing her to reside in the U.S. permanently if she chose.

Just a few more weeks and Meg and Anjani would be able to deliver the good news to his mother. Meg wondered how Vatusia would react, given that she seemed fiercely proud of her country and yet so happy with the life she had established in Asheville. How much of that happiness, Meg wondered, had been due to the proximity to Anjani and how much to an appreciation for the United States? Either way, an immigrant visa would give Vatusia a choice, along with unlimited access to her son. Meg had shed many of her previous obligations over the last year, including her teaching, meals at home deliveries, and political involvement, to focus on her pet project, the One World Café.

It had really been a group effort amongst friends, with Tildy, MaryAnn, Kat and Jane bringing their unique talents to opening a non-profit café supporting charitable causes at home and abroad. Her children had helped Meg and friends write the mission statement: "To do good, because we can," and were so pleased with the simplicity and sentiment that they had it emblazoned on all the marketing materials Kat helped to prepare. Jane managed the books, Tildy prepared the menu and helped hire a kitchen staff, and MaryAnn designed and donated the chic aprons that the volunteers wore. The kitchen staff was paid, but all the other positions at the One World Café were on a volunteer basis. The tips provided the bulk of their revenue, as patrons were more than willing to reward the volunteers and the causes over and above the cost of their meal, which Meg made sure, was very reasonable. The café had been open two months now to good reviews both by critics and, the community. There was one paid position that Meg was saving for just the right person, if and when that person chose to make this town her home.

Thrilled that, for once, she was using her compulsion to change and improve beyond herself, Meg balanced her work at the firm, the café, and home as if they were perched on a precision scale, making the necessary adjustment whenever the equilibrium between projects was upset. The kids were happy to help with her efforts at the café, which made life even simpler. Sam's high school friends were keen to use a volunteer job at One World to develop waitperson experience that would eventually lead to paying jobs.

"So they're doing it for selfish reasons," Meg told Jeff, "but at least they're doing it!" Tildy provided excellent training for each new volunteer, no longer needing to supplement with her own catering wait staff. Even Jenny and Emma loved hanging around, particularly after lunch when the extra bits of "charisma crunch" pie were left in the pan and needed "cleaning".

The final steps in preparation for their new resident was to freshen up the basement mother-in-law unit and contact Vatusia once the paperwork was finalized. Meg and Jeff's parents didn't mind their visitor's quarters being usurped, each supporting the cause with their own contribution toward Vatusia's ticket to the United States. Five weeks later, almost twice as long as Meg had anticipated, Anjani received the visa he had requested for his mother. On his first free day, he borrowed his roommate's car and drove to the Stanley's home to make the momentous call, and although unable to reach her at first, was successful in relaying the good news two hours later. Too stunned to react, Vatusia had not said much, simply repeating, "I have a visa" over and over, but Anjani and Meg were gleeful, grinning ear to ear, dancing around the house and pumping their fists. "We did it!" Anjani cheered, falling into Meg's arms, sobbing with relief.

### Chapter Fourteen

Vatusia continued to be numb with disbelief days after the call. For so long she had managed her expectations and suppressed her desires to get through each day, having just this morning counted her savings, realizing that it would be twenty-six more months until she could afford the ticket on her own. She had not hesitated to accept Meg's offer of airfare, which would be delivered to her along with the visa via expedited mail delivery. Of course there would be arrangements to be made with the Winters, but Vatusia felt certain that as long as she found someone of equal skills and abilities to take her place, they would be fine with her early departure. As for how long she would stay, she was not sure, but the ticket was one way, so that decision would be made another day, regardless. The final step to her reunion had been taken and for the first time, it felt so good to be in debt.

### Chapter Fifteen

Subject: Ernest Templeton's graduation to glory

Sent: Monday, January 12, 2012 8:18 PM

From: DTempleton@mission.com

Hear Ye, Hear Ye, Hear Ye All...................................................

We, the family of Ernest Templeton are proud and sad to announce the home-going of our dear dad. In a phone call to Mali, West Africa, his father had said "Hank you need to come home, so I can go home." Hank and Etsy arrived in Arizona to find that their father was indeed getting weaker every day. Soon children and grandchildren began to arrive and four hours after grandson Bud Templeton returned from the mid-east and said, "Grandpa, I'm here" Ernest Templeton slipped quietly from the family gathered here to his new home in the presence of his Lord and Master Jesus Christ.

_Visitation will be held Wednesday evening from six to nine January 24, 2012 at the chapel in the Good Tidings Community Church, and a funeral service will be held at ten Thursday morning, January 25 at the Good Tidings Community Church. A Memorial is being suggested in lieu of flowers. Gifts can be given for the first printing of the Cebaara Bible in Ivory Coast, West Africa. Checks should be made out to Glad Tidings Community Church, designated to the Templeton Memorial. If you have questions, please call Glad Tidings Community Church. Any flowers should be sent to the Amber Rose Funeral Home, and cards and letters to The Templeton Family, 125 W. Anicia Dr., Phoenix, AZ. If you want to contact any of the family members we would love to talk to you._

Thanks for your love, care and prayers,

The Templeton Family

Jeannie, Meg and Vatusia joined arms as they retreated from the crowded church community room to find a quiet place to talk. The service had been emotional, sorrow blending with a joyful celebration of all that Ernest had accomplished during his lifetime. Jeannie was more introspective than usual but obviously appreciative of the crowds that had turned out to honor her husband and life-long love.

It was a beautiful Arizona winter day, the air crisp and the sky bright blue, so the trio ventured outside to the trellis-sheltered courtyard to admire it. Vatusia led Jeannie to a patio table and sat down beside her, wrapping her arms around her, while Meg smiled to see the care that her friend, who had herself needed to be comforted so many times in the past, was providing her Aunt. Vatusia was also thinking of how much things had changed since leaving Abidjan and returning to the United States five years ago. She was thankful to have the resources now to travel and visit as she pleased, making sure that the Templetons were on her itinerary at least two or three times per year.

She and Anjani had recently spent Thanksgiving with Ernest and Jeannie. Aware that his mentor's health was deteriorating, Anjani had wanted to use the few days he had left in the United States to say his farewell to the man who had made such a difference in his life, the only real father figure he had ever known. Vatusia wished that Anjani could be here now for the funeral and memorial service, but she knew that Ernest was proud of the work that Anjani was doing back in West Africa and that he would not have wanted his death to interrupt his efforts.

Vatusia compared the celebration of Ernest's life to the relative emptiness surrounding the death of Anjani's father, _her_ father, who had been captured by the Ivorian military sometime in 2005. Summarily tortured, beaten and executed, he had been someone so despised and feared that there had been no outpouring of emotion upon news of his death, which took two years to reach Vatusia via Anjani. Vatusia had often felt unmitigated rage and disgust towards Laurent, tempted to violate God's law and put an end to his life herself, but relieved that she had never taken matters into her own hands. His demise was his own, as God willed it, she imagined.

The day that Anjani shared the news of Laurent's death, which he heard about on a research trip concerning the treatment of the mentally ill in Africa back in the Cote d'Ivoire, he and Vatusia opened up to one another about how they had each dealt with the circumstances of Laurent's involvement in their lives. Anjani admitted to Vatusia how the indestructible bond of trust and love she had formed between the two of them was the cornerstone of his emotional well being, without which, he would have crumbled. When her world was chaotic and full of pain, rather than isolate him, she had sheltered him in a way that had allowed him to grow and develop normally on his own. And when she scoffed at his flattery, saying, "I am your mother. Of course I would do this for you!" he told her that she was wrong.

"When we conduct our interviews for the research project I'm working on, it's all too common for mother's to be afraid of their children if they are emotionally disturbed," he told her.

"Well, I was always honest with you and you were a good boy Anjani," she told him. "You always have been easy to love you know. And if it had not been for you, my son, I would not be here today... you were... _are_ my reason for life."

"I bet you are missing Anjani" Jeannie broke the silence, "but I am so pleased that he got to see Ernest before he passed. He was like a son to him." Vatusia nodded in response. "I just can't believe after all the work it took to get you out of Africa, that all of our children ended up back there!"

"Making us all so proud," Meg added, "the scholars and the third generation missionaries transforming the world. Sam was so thrilled to be asked to join Anjani's research team this summer."

"You have a very bright son, Meg," Vatusia answered candidly. "They make an excellent team and having your daughter and her husband there Jeannie, back at the Baptist Center, is a comfort beyond words. I owe you both so much."

And it was true. Vatusia knew that she owed so many people so much. After only three months with the Stanley family, the Community School of Arts and Crafts had beckoned Vatusia back to what she loved... Anjani and the loom. Doing what she enjoyed in a community that supported her, as well as being near her family was an elixir, restoring her health and productivity, not to mention her outlook on life. When Anjani finally left North Carolina to pursue his research, Vatusia stayed to follow her own destiny, teaching, weaving and transforming her journals into a series of novels about life in the Cote d'Ivoire.

Back in North Carolina, the funeral behind them, Meg reflected on the death of her uncle, still heavy on her heart, a life that would be missed, a life that made such a difference in the world. Perhaps some day others would say that she would be missed, that she made a difference, that her quest for perfection wasn't all bad. Meg was mellowing with age and experience. She could appreciate things more now, the health and well being of her family, the opportunities she had made for herself, her education, her marriage, the list was long. Meg finished her journal entry, placing the brown leather-bound book that Vatusia had given her to thank her for the role she had played in publishing her first book on the nightstand as Jeff crawled in bed. With a boyish grin, he turned out the lights and whispered into her ear "continuous improvement time!" His breath was warm against her neck.

"You know me so well," Meg cooed, happy and satisfied, for the moment.

### ###

### About the Author

Thank you for taking the time to read my book. I hope you enjoyed it! I also hope that it was not incredibly obvious that this is my first work of fiction. I have a Ph.D. in Information Systems, which has required a large amount of technical writing. While creating and publishing these works I dreamed of being able to use descriptive words and tell stories rather than reporting on dry subject matter.

One Thanksgiving, many years ago, my dad shared some e-mails from his cousin who, along with his wife, was a missionary in West Africa. I tried to read them out loud to my family but broke down before I could finish. Those e-mails, several of which are included in the book, stuck with me and became the catalyst for this story.

Time is precious, so thank you for devoting some to my tale. If you have a few more moments, please leave a review of the book on any of the e-book forums.

Contact me at:

My Smashwords Author Page

or

violet.augusta7@gmail.com

I am using a pen name in homage to two great women, my grandmothers, Violet and Augusta.

Best Regards,

Violet Augusta

