Love In The Jungle (6 page)

I
’d placed a lot of expectations on this trip, but
I could have never anticipated the natural beauty of Togo.

“There are more marshes and lagoons the farther south you
go,” Henri, our French volunteer coordinator and driver, informed us as we
rumbled along a half paved road. Every so often, red dirt flew out from under
the tires, dusting the glass panes and obstructing my view. “The north is
mostly savanna. You can expect a little bit of rain in the next month, then it
will be a dry summer.”

“It’s amazing,” I observed, practically pressed against the
window to take in every inch of the landscape. Gentle rolling hills were
covered in a yellow-green long grass, and I’d already seen dozens of exotic
birds nesting in the roadside trees. Palms, coconut trees, and a number of
other foreign-sounding titles bounced around in my head as my eyes danced
across the greenery. I wanted to learn them all. By the time I left, I wanted
to be able to identify a tree or bush or flower just by looking at the leaves.

Strange. I’d never had an eye for botany before. Grant
already knew most of the plants, nodding along with Henri when he first began
describing the setting. Our driver was the volunteer coordinator for the
region, and after we’d loaded our things into his 70s-era white van, he told us
that he liked to meet volunteers at the airport and drive them to their
village—it was one of the highlights of his job.

I was grateful. Even if he was a Frenchman, Henri was a
lingering sense of familiarity for me. As eager as I was to see the kids and
try the food and everything else that this adventure entailed, I wasn’t ready
to be thrown up a creek without a paddle just yet. I wanted wanderlust. I
wanted to be the fearless voyager. Unfortunately, I was also quickly learning
that I needed to be eased into new situations, something I hadn’t realized
about myself until now.

Grant was the epitome of relaxation. Once we were in the
van, he dispensed with his sweater, swapped his polished leather soles for
comfy brown sandals, and had rolled the sleeves of his button-up shirt up to
his elbows in that ridiculously sexy way… He was calm, cool, and collected.
Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, his arm thrown over the back of
our bench-like seats, he wore his expensive sunglasses and a million-dollar
smile. He was quick to laugh suddenly, which I discovered was a rather
infectious trait.

The combination of my anxiety and excitement melded with his
giddy positivity, sending both of us on a high as we bounced toward our rural
village.

When it seemed we’d finally exhausted all of our questions
about the environment, Henri went for the radio. I tried to hide my smile as he
hummed along with some local tunes, bopping his hands on the steering wheel,
and a quick peek at Grant told me he was also trying not to laugh. Now that I
was out of the airport (all of them, and their tiny planes), having Grant
working alongside me didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Sure, we had this
awkward sexual history hovering over us now, but he seemed like a genuinely
nice guy. He would certainly make the trip away from home easier.

“So what brings you out here?” I asked when he caught me
staring at him, lost in my musings over what a nice guy he was. Damn it. I need
to learn a bit of restraint or I’m going to be embarrassing myself a whole hell
of a lot: it was difficult
not
to stare at Grant. “I mean, I know you’re
volunteering just like me, but what motivated you to do it?”

Even his one-shouldered shrug was effortless. I nibbled my
lower lip when he propped his sunglasses on top of his head, then swiveled in
place to talk directly to me.

“I’ve been the head of my company for a number of years
now,” he explained, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of the way the frizzy bits
of my hair brushed against his fingers on the back of our seat. I shifted so
that they wouldn’t touch anymore, and I could practically feel the butterflies’
wings droop. “I really wanted to find a way to give back that wasn’t just
writing a check, you know? I mean, I specialize in agriculture and well drilling,
and a friend of mine put me in touch with this organization, and I thought
there was no better way to give back than to help people find a permanent
solution to food shortages and clean water initiatives.”

The corners of his lips quirked upward ever-so-slightly when
he undoubtedly noticed the way my mouth was hanging open and I quickly pressed
my lips together. Sexy, funny,
and
community-oriented. Was this guy the
total package or what?

“That’s… That’s amazing,” I told him, stammering a little as
my face dissolved into a look of stunned disbelief. “I’ve worked in the
corporate world for a long time, and I can’t think of any of the company heads
I know who would give up their time and, well, money to do something like
this.”

“The economy’s been good to me,” Grant insisted, seeming a
little embarrassed about admitting it. “I’ve always wanted to do something
meaningful with me life… Heading into business after my engineering degree
isn’t exactly wandering the off the beaten path, you know? Volunteering gives
me a chance to really help people
and
satisfy my innate need to travel.
So, really, I’m a bit selfish.”

“Ha!” My single bout of laughter was so loud that Henri’s
eyes darted up to the mirror in surprise. My cheeks colored, warming to the
touch, and I cleared my throat. “Hardly selfish. I volunteered because
I
needed an escape… So, if we’re talking selfish, then you’re looking right at
her.”

I gestured to myself as Grant laughed, the skin around his
eyes crinkling in a way that suggested he’d be riddled with laugh-lines when he
was older. Cute.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad,” he stated, raising an
eyebrow at me. “What are you escaping from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Now it was my turn to shrug. What harm would it do to spill
some of my more shameful secrets to the handsome stranger I’d had a one-night
stand with? He didn’t strike me as the judgmental type, but I couldn’t say the
same for Henri, who I’m sure was listening intently from the front seat.

“I got fired from my corporate PR job,” I told him after a
moment’s hesitation. He gave me a knowing nod, his eyes kind, and I felt some
of my fears fade. It had been hard to tell people I’d been fired. I mean,
everyone wants to hear a good quitting story, but when you were forced to
leave, when it wasn’t
your
idea to become unemployed, everyone gets
weird about it. “I guess I just needed a break from everything. I wanted to do
some good for others, since our company was the farthest thing from charitable,
and I wanted to travel a bit too… So, really, if anyone’s selfish, it’s me.”

We hit a particularly rough pothole suddenly, and I let out
an undignified squeal. Henri laughed from the front seat, and I felt my blush
worsening. It had been a long time since I’d seen any signs of civilization on
either side of the van, much less another vehicle. The road had gone from
mostly to sparsely paved, with the bright red dirt taking up the majority of
the lane. The scenery hadn’t changed: still beautiful.

“In my experience,” Grant told me quietly, leaning in as if
to share a precious secret. “People volunteer for their own reasons. You’re far
from selfish, Clara.”

I tried not to shiver at the way he said my name, and we
both exchanged somewhat shy smiles. Before I said something to make an even
bigger idiot of myself, I turned away and busied myself with the landscape.
There was always something to look at beyond the window pane. Chatting about
trees was safe, easy. Pointing out monkeys and birds and the occasional
gazelle-like creature was fun—and less dangerous than failed jobs and
selfishness. He didn’t need to lean in close to me in order to chat about our
surroundings.

Though I wished he did.

****

“Those are officially the coolest
houses I’ve ever seen,” I informed my fellow van riders, pointing at a cluster
of round, but oddly tall, mud huts with straw roofing. Henri chuckled, and I
noticed Grant smiling at me, but not in a way as if to humor me. I felt secure
in my giddiness, my sense of wonder, and it was a miracle the van’s window
wasn’t covered with my nose prints as I strained to keep the cluster of houses
in sight.

“You’ll have one of your own while you’re here,” Henri told
me. We’d slowed since entering the village limits, and I could have sworn I’d
seen a few curious faces poke out of the scattered buildings as we passed. “It
will be on the other side of the establishment with the rest of the volunteers.
Smaller than those… those are for families.”

Past the first cluster of small homes, we entered into what
I could only assume was the central meeting place of the village. With the sun
still high in the sky, people moved to and fro, many of them women, carrying
long branches and baskets of plants with them. The children clustered around
the van, tapping on the windows and smiling, and when I waved back, many turned
to their neighbor and laughed. There were no frowns, no narrowed looks. It
seemed they were all accustomed to volunteers cycling in and out, and I’m sure
Henri’s white van was a familiar sight.

“I guess this is it,” I heard Grant murmur, and when I tore
my eyes from the kids, I found him fiddling with his sunglasses, a hesitant
smile on his lips. Without thinking, I reached out and placed my hand on his
knee, giving it what I hoped would be a reassuring squeeze. Then, without
waiting for his response, I popped open the door and slid out. It was easy to
forget about Grant in the heat of the moment, and I soon found myself engulfed
in a sea of children. They tugged at my shorts, my hands, and my backpack
straps. My knee-jerk reaction was to

tense up and hope none of them had picked my pocket, so
imagine my surprise when I learned all they wanted was a hug.

That was something I could happily and freely oblige. Some
were shirtless, while the rest were dressed. Their clothing styles were a decade
or two behind the American norm. One little girl with red barrettes simply
stood beside me and held my hand, her finger in her mouth, she would only look
at me if I wasn’t looking at her—or so she thought, but I noticed her in my
peripherals.

The kids scattered, however, when Henri waved them away. He
spoke to them in rapid French, and most of the kids took off running and
giggling. My little red barrette girl lingered, only letting go of my hands
when Henri crouched down and spoke in soft, gentle French. She nodded, her
fingers still in her mouth, and stumbled off after the rest of them without a
word to me.

“You will learn to set boundaries with them,” he told me,
his accent a little stronger as he transitioned back to English. “They’ll take
up every second of your time if you let them.”

“I don’t mind,” I assured him, adrenaline pumping through
me. Grant had found his way around to our side of the van, his laptop bag strap
resting securely across his broad chest. “They seem sweet.”

“Remember you will be teaching them,” he continued, almost
chastising me. “They must respect you and your space.”

“Do they only speak French?” Grant inquired, asking the
question I’d been thinking. Henri shook his head, and I noticed the people
around us continued on with their day—apparently the arrival of new volunteers
only warranted unrestrained excitement from the kids.

“They speak decent English too,” Henri told us. “Miss Clara
here will be responsible for furthering their education… We’d like them to be
able to move on and find jobs elsewhere, and being trilingual will only make
them more appealing.”

“Makes sense,” I noted, and I suddenly found myself wishing
I spoke French. I’d been able to have a mediocre conversation in Spanish up
until my college years, and then I lost any and all language skills through
lack of use. Maybe brushing up on languages could be my goal after volunteering,
but first I should focus on the present.

“Why don’t I show you to your respective homes?” Henri
suggested. We grabbed our bags from the back of the van, then followed him
through the village. The red-brown dirt carried on from the main road, coating
my shoes and painting my socks.

Beyond the fields of crop and cattle sat eight little round
houses, similar to the ones we’d seen on the way in. They were built strictly
for volunteers, we were told, as a means to give us some privacy and space from
the rest of the village.

“Many love working with the community here, but it can be
tough at first for some,” Henri informed me as we stood to admire the sun-dried
mud—the round walls without a single crack—and straw roofs. “We built the
dormitories here specifically to be separate… I’m told it’s nice to have a
place to recuperate sometimes.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Wouldn’t it
make more sense to put us in the thick of the village? We’d definitely make
friends with everyone faster if we weren’t so far away. Still, when I looked
over my shoulder, sweat starting to trickle down from my hairline and across my
face, I noted that we weren’t terribly far from everyone. The village itself
sat squarely on the other side of the plots of farmland and livestock, and I
could see a few buildings that weren’t houses, but their condition wasn’t as
pristine as our volunteer huts.

“Why don’t you get settled in?” Henri touched my arm gently
to draw my attention back to him. “There will be a big feast tonight to welcome
you, and you can meet with the rest of the volunteers then.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Grant told him, and I nodded my
shared sentiment. Suddenly, my bags felt really heavy. My feet seemed to sink
into the ground, and all I wanted to do was shut myself in a dimly lit room
somewhere and take a few deep breaths.