Love In The Jungle (7 page)

“Let’s see, Grant we have you in bunk one,” Henri said,
conferring with something on his phone and pointing to the little house at the
end of the row, “and Clara we have you in bunk five.”

He gestured to the one directly in front of us, and I tried
not to let my disappointment show over the fact that we were so far away from
each other.

I shook my head. Buck up, Clara. You’re here to volunteer,
not mope like some high school kid because you aren’t sitting next to the guy
you like.

Wait. Not like. Well like, but not
like
like.

Uh oh.

I squared my shoulders and pressed forward, determined not
to let some strange guy I barely knew dictate what I got out of this volunteer
experience. Still, as I strolled toward my new home for the next six months, my
skin prickled. I could practically feel Grant staring holes into the back of my
head, and the feeling didn’t go away, not even when I’d opened the wooden door
and slipped inside.

“S
o how was the flight over? It’s always my least
favorite part about volunteering.”

I held my hand over my mouth, which was full of food, then
gave a quick nod. Yes, I agree, flying is terrible. The woman beside me smiled,
obviously pleased we’d bonded over something, and then pushed some of her pita
bread into the light brown mush that had a similar texture to hummus. Once I’d
swallowed my mouthful, I added more to the sentiment, “I was happy once I had
both feet on the ground for more than five minutes, that’s for sure.”

“Well, this place will definitely ground you,” she told me.
“Herb and I have been here for almost eight months, and it’s the best place
we’ve been yet.”

I nodded again, in no position to doubt the claim. “That’s
great.”

And you know what? I don’t think there’s any reason to doubt
it. I’d only been there a couple of hours, and the queasy, nervous feeling in
the pit of my stomach was finally starting to fade. Sure, I still felt out of
place. Even standing next to Grant and Henri when we’d met with the other
volunteers before dinner, it was like I shouldn’t be there, like my vibe was
throwing off the flow of the whole village.

That was crazy talk, of course. No one scowled at me, local
or volunteer. No one seemed annoyed by my presence. In fact, everyone I’d met
had been spectacularly welcoming—or so I assumed, given I didn’t speak French.
Some of the locals, mostly the younger generation, were eager to test out their
English on me, but the elders, fluent in French and
Kabiyé,
were still a mystery.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to communicate,”
Grant had mused pleasantly. That was the last thing he’d said to me before we
were swept off for our evening meal. Seated in a great circle around a roaring
bonfire, my evening meal consisted of pita bread, shaved beef, my hummus-like
mush, and dusty greens that tasted extremely bitter. The food was plentiful,
with plates and bowls continuously making their way around the circle. Closer
to the fire, clusters of children sat together, their parents and family
watching on from the outer ring.

It surprised me that no one stepped in when
the kids had added things to the fire. Every so often, a little one would grab
a stick or rock and add it to the flames. Back home, someone would have charged
the youngster and dragged him or her away, images of burning toddler flashing
across the worried relative’s mind. But not here. The kids were left to their own
devices—or so I’d been informed, anyway.

My dinner companion was one of the other
volunteers. Gloria, a retired British primary school teacher, had ventured to
the village some eight months ago with her husband Herb. They’d apparently
wanted to do some traveling before they settled in to a blissful retirement in
their cozy English hamlet, and volunteering around the globe had seemed like
the most meaningful way to do it. Gloria was chatty and bold, while her husband
sat beside her, enthralled by the fire, eating every so often, his bare feet
buried in the red dirt.

Two college kids were also volunteering. Tim
and Barry were from Canada, and while I was here to teach English, they were
here to work on mathematics and basic science with the kids.

Which, to be honest, was a major relief. I’d
never been very strong in either subject.

And then there was Grant. Unlike the rest of
the adults, he’d somehow found himself seated amongst the kids inside the
circle. With his ceramic plate on his lap, he leaned in as one of the little
girls beside him whispered in his ear, then tilted his head back in laughter.

“Did you two know each other before coming
here?” Gloria inquired, and I suddenly realized I was smiling along with him. I
cleared my throat and shook my head, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“Just briefly on the plane. It was kind of a
nice surprise that we ended up in the same place.” I wasn’t about to reveal our
recent sexual escapades to the white-haired woman next to me. Gloria studied me
for a moment, the twinkle of flames reflecting in her eyes, and then smirked.

“Ah, I see.”

A clamor broke out amongst the children,
punctuated by the sudden appearance of drums. Then, much to my surprise, song
arose from the outer circle of adults, Herb clapping along with the drum beats.

“I left corporate America and all its
politics to come here,” I told Gloria, leaning in close so she could hear me
over the swelling music. Much to my delight, a few kids had dragged Henri out
of his seat and were encouraging him to dance with them. Grant too bobbed
awkwardly in front of the fire. The music quickened. Gloria caught me staring
at him again—I could tell by the devious little grin on her lips what she was
thinking. “I’m not interested in hopping back into that world while I’m here,
if you get my drift.”

There. That ought to keep her satisfied.

Unfortunately, I must not have sounded very
convincing, because she certainly didn’t look like she believed me. “Of course,
dear.”

“Really—”

Before I could get my protest out, a strong
hand wrapped around my arm. I flinched, surprised, and soon found myself
staring up at Grant’s shadowy features. He wore a playful grin, and a nod
toward the fire told me exactly what he wanted.

Dance with me
.

“But I…” I trailed off, my voice losing its
fight. Oh, what the heck. One more night of flirting couldn’t hurt anyone. I’d
start fresh tomorrow. I’d focus tomorrow.

I swear I will.

Really.

All thoughts of concentration and focus vanished when his
fingers laced through mine, and, surrounded by steady drumbeats and giggling
children, we celebrated our first night in Togo, unable to leave each other’s
side.

And while I was aware that I couldn’t stop smiling, I was
also aware that handholding and dancing did
not
bode well for my resolve
to steer clear of distractions for the next six months.

S.M.S.—save my soul. I’m in trouble.

To be continued...

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