Page 26 of The Secret
Dan seems so self-contained. He doesn’t talk much about his life outside of Congo, and perhaps he wants to forget about it for now. And God do I have some sympathy with that. I have no desire to talk about my shitty upbringing or what happened before I came out here.
April arrives in a flurry of thunderstorms, and one rainy Saturday morning Dan and I grab a ride into town so he can spend the day talking to people, arranging trips, and negotiating transport. I sink down into a seat in the local café and pull out my laptop, clicking to join the Wi-Fi. This is the only place that provides it here—at a cost. My gut churns as I log into my bank account. Drinks, my mobile contract, toiletries, occasional food purchases: Even though I’m careful, it all adds up.I have not been keeping track of this.And sure enough, only a couple of hundred dollars are left on the bottom line.Shit, not even enough to buy a ticket home. I’m going to have to go overdrawn. I’ve never done that before.
I gaze out of the dirty windows at the brown earth of the main street.How can I leave him?But Jesus, I’ve got to go back and earn some cash, probably in the next few days. Why was I ignoring it, hoping it would go away? That’s an epic money management strategy right there. Rolling my eyes at myself, I examine my watch. It’s a precious day off, and Dan is coming to meet me for lunch. I let out a gusty sigh, and the café owner, Jafari, glances over at me with a full, guileless smile.
“Miss Liss! You are not happy today, I think?”
People like Jafari run these amazing places that provide everything in the small towns here. Food, booze, coffee, internet, cash transfer, a poker game, a live chicken: You name it, they do it. So much entrepreneurship, looking after their customers, and particularly the Westerners who, he’s well aware, have more to spend.
I shrug at him. “My money is running out, Jafari.” And he makes a face, nodding as he shifts from behind his counter and slides into the seat opposite me. Any excuse for a sit-down and a chat.
“This is the problem all over the world, I think. The thing everyone struggles with.” He smiles. “No one has enough money.”
And here I am, sitting among all this poverty when I have the option to jump on a plane and head home, sign up for a job, and make more than he’s probably seen in his entire life. Somehow, I want to give him all my money, and see what the entrepreneurial Jafari could do with an injection of cash. I want to help the people who have no clean water or schooling, but I also want to assist people like Jafari too, the enterprising ones who, with the input of a few hundred dollars, could expand their business and do so much more.Why does my father think I’m wasting my time here?
“The balance in my bank account won’t cover my ticket home. I’m sorry to be a whining Westerner,” I say, and his eyes widen.
“Miss Liss, we all have our money problems! Whether it’s a fifty-dollar loan I make to someone or your ticket, it still stops you from doing what you must do. This is why I lend. People think I’m a loan shark, and yes, I am, but I also want to help.” He cocks his head at me. “You, too, are a helper I think. People have to realize their dreams.”
Patting my arm, he says, “If you need to buy a plane ticket, I can give you an advance.” White teeth beam at me, and I laugh—ever the businessman. The interest rates on his loans are astronomical, way more than a Western bank, but they are better than most of his competitors in town.
“What’s this snake lending you money for?” Dan’s voice brings my head up, and my stomach flip-flops as I latch on to slim hips in khaki shorts and a biscuit-colored shirt that makes his tanned skin look edible. He runs a hand across his stubble, a lazy grin curling over his mouth as his other hand lands on Jafari’s shoulder with a squeeze.
Jafari twists his head to look up at him. “Miss Liss can’t afford her ticket home. I was offering to lend her a hand. But I am not offended you call me a snake: Here in Africa, they are revered!”
And he waves his hands so dramatically that Dan laughs, but I shrivel inside. I’ve had no time to prepare what I was going to say to him or think about how soon I might have to go.
Jafari rises from his seat. “I give my place up for the better man.” He winks at me, strolling off to help someone who’s appeared at his serving counter. Dan eases into the chair, frowning.
“What’s this about a ticket home?” He cocks his head.
“I’ve got to go home, Dan,” I say, ripping off the plaster as I wave at my screen. “I haven’t been keeping an eye on my bank account and now I don’t have enough for my flight. In fact, I’ll have to borrow money to get back.” My embarrassment at my lack of funds is deeply ingrained—it’s like that when you’re from a family that thinks that what you earn is everything.
“You can live off me for a while, yeah?” Warm eyes roam my face, and the hope in them makes me blink at him. Does he mean it? God, what a generous offer. But …I can’t do that…can I?
“Living off guys is a bit of a problem for me,” I say, as a shiver runs down my spine. “My father held money over me for years.”
Dan pulls a face like he gets it but doesn’t like it. “Not sure I’m ready for you to go home yet, Liss,” he rumbles, sliding his fingers over the table to trap mine as he stares off out of the window. My stomach starts up like a washing machine. “Not sure I’ll ever be ready.”
OhGod. My hands shake. We haven’t talked about how we feel, what this is. He’s kept his counsel, and I’ve … done what I always do:I’ve been cool. But I like him, I more than like him. Being with him is amazing and …damn it. I am in too deep.
“Not sure I’ll ever want to leave,” I burst out.
Something shifts in his gaze like he’s thinking something through. “Then don’t. Come back to Zimbabwe with me when I’ve finished my thesis.”
Oh, wow. Could I quit my wanderlust life and do that?
13
LISS
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Two weeks later I’m at the airport, my throat on fire with everything I’m holding back. My battered backpack seems out of place on the conveyor belt as the lady efficiently organizes my seat and tags my bag. Dan stands stoically at my side staring off into the distance, blood thrumming in the vein at the base of his neck.I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. Grabbing my boarding pass, I incline my head, and in minutes we are heading away from the desk and toward security, my heart thumping like a piledriver as the tickets-only section draws near.
Dan’s been noncommittal since I told him I needed to go, the early easiness of our interactions morphing into detachment, and I’ve started to loathe this decision, to hate myself.Why do I need to do this exactly?Icouldgo to Zimbabwe with him, after all. My head shrieks at me that I’d be dependent on him in a foreign country, trapped, and at the very least I have to have my own money. My heart screams back that I’m risking the best relationship I’ve ever had.
As we head across the marble floor, his hand finds mine, fingers weaving through, and I squeeze his palm.
