SITA
He didn't resist, he was easygoing, but I sensed he did it with care as though we discussed it earlier, and how did he do it? he did it by strolling into my room five minutes after I left him under the mango tree.
My room was better now, the floor had a grey rug that matched the grey paint of the floor. We would stay in the neighborhood for four good weeks, that's long enough, so, I knew I needed a good room.
"Looks like you did this today," He touched the wall, "Nice color."
I smiled. I had nothing to offer him because we had yet to hear from the so-called welfare team who arrived before us. He sat on the wooden sofa and crossed his legs.
"I requested the wall be repainted because the old paint was wickedly old and dirty," I replied.
He smiled and looked around. "A nice room you have here, ours isn't any better."
That was compliant enough, though I was expecting him to speak to me not like a friend-zoned fellow, but like someone with an extra interest, maybe lustful, I just couldn't stop craving for him.
"You can request for a better room, and the wall, I can get it painted and get you a rug for the floor to enhance warmth in the night." I grinned at him, my eyes calling for something far from mere conversation.
"No, the room is good with the paint and the floor, but the space, it's just ridiculous." He lowered his voice, "It's almost a hall."
I laughed, not just at his exaggeration, but how suddenly he had learned to speak like regular Africans. I've never heard white people sound a little African in their words, or, was he adjusting his accent so I wouldn't have issues understanding him?
"Do you need a third person?" I asked.
"Not just third, that room would fit ten people at the same time," he snapped his fingers.
"It's not just for you and your brother," Ambrose's voice came from the doorpost, he shifted the curtain and walked into my room. "Please, permit me to be part of your conversation."
He had been eavesdropping all the while, and to make it worse, he walked into my room without knocking, just a sudden speech to announce his presence.
On a normal day, I would shun his kind of person and have him leave, but I had to be cool for Alessandro's sake. He raised a plastic bag he had hidden behind him.
"Talaah!" he sounded like a kindergarten kid, "I brought juice and cookies."
I chuckled and made space for him to sit at the edge of the bed. He lowered his package to the center table and sat down, "Where is your friend?" he asked Alessandro.
"Dave, he is walking to and fro with his assistant," Alessandro replied.
"Maybe someone should remind him that the guy assigned to the both of you is a personal assistant, not a guide, and I must remind you that strolling outside of camp is not recommended because you might get lost in the jungle out there," Ambrose said.
Alessandro said nothing in response. I made for the plastic bag. I didn't need it but I knew they were waiting for me to do what ladies do when a package lands in her room. I had the right to share it amongst us, and the right to keep it to myself.
"This is good," I whispered. "Where did you get it?"
I tossed a cookie pack at Alessandro, and the other at Ambrose. There were two other packs left in the plastic bag.
I fished the juice out of the plastic bag and placed it on the table. Cookie and juice were not the kind of meal I wanted at the moment, but that's what was on the desk.
"Are you there?" I said, I had yet to ask my assistant of her name, so, I had no choice but to live like a Pa with too many wives and too many children.
"Yes." She answered and walked into my room. I passed her the plastic bag. Ambrose wouldn't like to share his packs of cookies with a personal assistant, but I gave no damn what face he made when I passed the remaining pack to my assistant.
"We need cups, get us cups from the welfare." He ordered her.
"Wait, what's your name?" I asked.
"Just call me Maa." She said and walked off.
"That name is funny, isn't it?" Ambrose asked.
He might be one of those who believe European names with ridiculous meanings sound better than meaningful African names. At least, so far, I knew how African names were given. They were given based on the event surrounding the birth of the baby, and many times, based on the wish of the granny, but European names are names you think of casually and place on kids just because of the sound.
"That's a lot easier," Alessandro said. He had torn open his cookie pack and picked one of the cookies. I watched him take a bite and chew with care. Cookies here are a bit harder than the normal kind of cookies, and bread here is the French sort that is hard and riddled with ridiculous taste, not the excess milk and sugar you see in Anglophone countries.
"So, I am here to discuss our next move." Said Ambrose, "Food would be ready as soon as possible, and after lunch, we will run entry and the outreach would begin."
"Have you informed the villagers?" I asked.
"Long ago." He replied.
"The clinic over there, there are no nurses there yet." Said Alessandro.
"We have our team of nurses with our supplies who would assist you and the rest of the doctors in dealing with nearly a hundred patients with severe injuries and other problems." He replied Alessandro.
"Very good, but we need to be a lot faster." Said Alessandro. "Else, we will do more amputation on those with bullet injuries."
Ambrose laughed and turned to me. "I forgot to tell you that Alessandro here, is both surgeon and orthopedist."