“Have you been to Rwanda before?”
He shook his head. “No, but I’ve been to a lot of other places in Africa. Places a lot like this.”
They turned to see Clay approaching from the old and faded terminal building. Outside, a long line of passengers waited along the building’s outer wall, clutching their bags and suitcases. All were waiting to board a smaller turboprop airplane belonging to RwandAir, the country’s solitary airline.
“Everything go okay?”
“Well, okay might be a little relative, but yes.” Clay returned their passports, then folded several forms and tucked them into a pocket. “Fortunately for us, the protocol’s a bit light here.”
“Good.” DeeAnn withdrew two bundles of vegetables from the box, handing one to each of her furry friends. “The rest of this food isn’t going to last long here. We’ll have to find a new supply.”
Caesare nodded. “We’ll need more than that.” He finished lashing down the bags and stepped back to open the rear door for her. “Everyone ready for the field trip?”
Clay nodded, scanning the area one last time before climbing into the front passenger seat.
DeeAnn checked the cords securing the cages before reaching inside to rearrange a pillow for Dulce. “I guess so.”
A few miles outside Kigali, they stopped at a dingy, run-down gas station to fill up the Jeep. The station had two pumps, both looking older than anyone using them, and only one appeared operational.
A short line formed at the single pump and several patrons waited patiently, all dressed in ill-fitting dirty clothing. Some sat on plastic containers or jerry cans, seemingly unaffected by the wait.
Clay and Caesare both climbed out, then stood in front of the vehicle. The air was damp with a soft breeze flowing past. Beneath the Jeep’s thick canopied top, DeeAnn watched the primates finish off a second helping of kale.
Caesare unfolded a map and placed an aerial picture over it, given to him by Will Borger.
“Well, it shouldn’t take long to get there.”
“Good. The sooner, the better,” Clay replied. He studied several Rwandans who were watching them from a distance. “Even with these clothes, I don’t think we’re exactly fitting in.”
Caesare didn’t look up. “What we need is a guide.”
“Hallo,” a voice said from behind them.
Clay and Caesare turned together to see a boy standing near the Jeep, wearing a friendly smile. He was dressed in a colorful but dusty shirt, his hair cropped short. A pair of baggy shorts were held up by a faded belt, all perched atop a pair of dark skinny legs and sandals.
“Are you English?” the boy asked.
Clay and Caesare looked at each other before turning back to the boy.
“American.”
He smiled wider and came closer. “I like America!” The boy’s accent was strong with traces of South African English.
Caesare raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” he nodded excitedly. “Justin Bieber and football!”
With a sad expression, Caesare peered back at Clay. “This is what we’ve become?”
Clay grinned. “Something tells me they don’t have a lot of channels out here.” He stepped forward as the boy turned and scanned the Jeep, paying special attention to Dulce and Dexter. “What’s your name?”
“Jimmy.”
Clay frowned. “What’s your real name?”
At that, the boy paused. “Yves.”
“You live around here, Yves?”
“Yes. Over there.” He pointed at a distant hill, dotted with small houses. “Are you going to the mountains?”
“What makes you think that?” Caesare asked.
Yves shrugged and pointed at Dulce and Dexter.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“And what are you doing around here?”
“I work here.”
“You work here? Doing what?”
The boy smiled. “I help people. With everything.”
Caesare straightened up and looked at DeeAnn, still in the Jeep, who had quietly turned off her vest.
“Do you know someone who can show us the way to the mountains?”
“Yes! My mukuru!”
Yves’s mukuru was his older brother. He was in his mid-teens with a strikingly similar appearance to Yves. Most of the difference between the two was in the extra foot of height.
The teenager was brought back to the station by his younger brother while Clay and Caesare remained, waiting for gas. The older brother was just as friendly and twice as eager.
“I’m Janvier,” he said quickly. “You want to go to the mountains? I can take you.”
Clay and Caesare studied the young man and motioned him behind the vehicle. They spoke in a lower volume.
“How well do you know the way?”
“Very well. I have been many times!”
“How many?”
He paused, thinking. When he answered, Clay couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question. “Fifty?”
“Fifty times?”
“Yes!”
Caesare motioned to DeeAnn who climbed out of the Jeep. Janvier noticed her vest, but promptly met her eyes and smiled.
“We need to go quietly,” Caesare said.
Janvier nodded repeatedly. “Yes. No problem. Everyone goes to mountains quietly.”
“What for?”
“For gorillas.”
“Everyone wants to study the gorillas?”
“No,” DeeAnn replied dryly. “He’s talking about the poachers.”
She peered hard at Janvier. “They go to capture the gorillas. Don’t they?”
The teenager’s expression grew nervous. He shrugged innocently but continued smiling. “I… do not know. I just show the way.”
From where he was standing, Janvier glanced over DeeAnn’s shoulder at the small gorilla in the Jeep. Dulce had left her cage and was crawling curiously onto the backseat. When DeeAnn followed his eyes, she walked back and picked Dulce up, returning her gently to the cage while whispering something.
Janvier continued watching DeeAnn until she returned to them, studying her face and disposition. “You are researcher?”
“Yes. I’m a researcher. But I’m not here to trap anything.”
Janvier either didn’t hear the remark or ignored it. Instead, he looked down at his younger brother Yves and spoke in Kinyarwandan.
The older brother looked back and forth between all three now, lowering his own voice. “You come for the researcher?”
“What do you mean?”
“The woman researcher.” Janvier glanced at DeeAnn. “Like you. The one that died.”
62
“You know about the woman who died? That was thirty years ago.”
Janvier nodded. “Everyone knows about her. She is famous.”
“What else?”
He looked down at his younger brother and made a shooing sound. The smaller Yves nodded and promptly ran back the way they had come.
“She is killed. In the mountains. With the gorillas.”
“You know where?”
“Yes. Her cabin is there. The real one.”
Suddenly, DeeAnn’s expression turned from surprise to astonishment. With wide eyes, she stared at Clay and Caesare.
“Janvier, you’re saying Dian Fossey’s original cabin is still there?”
He nodded again. “Yes. It is blocked. But there is still a way. I can take you.”
DeeAnn took a deep breath and put a hand over her chest. “Oh my God.”
Clay stepped forward. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She shook her head and took several more breaths. “I’m not sure if I want to see that.”
“Janvier, how long does it take to get there? Just near the cabin?”