I groaned as I rolled away from Alice and felt around under the heap of clothes I used as a makeshift pillow. I breathed a sigh of relief when my fingers found my flashlight. My sigh turned into a groan when I saw that each LED bulb glowed no brighter than a dying firefly.Damn it! I forgot to turn it off before I fell asleep. In an instinctive reaction, I shook the flashlight as if that would be enough to wake up a few extra sleeping electrons. I examined my light for the traitor it had become. The Chinese manufactured flashlight carried a guaranteed battery life of twenty-five hours. No way the charge should exhaust itself after a few hours of sleep. Friggin' imports. My little light was almost useless. A dozen lightning bugs would’ve shed more light.Hauling myself out of the sleeping bag turned out to be a real chore. My stiff muscles protested every move I made and my back was killing me. Payback for not having an air mattress. The atmosphere in the tent was rather brisk, a polite. Neither needed to tell the other that it had been a close call. This was Nigeria during the '66 Civil War; if Julia had been of the wrong tribe, they would both have been beaten, he killed, she raped, then both thrown to the crocodiles in the local river. She was a Chieftain's daughter, and he did know; that was why they were here, a few miles out in the bush, hoping for a last quiet meeting. Both knew the affair had to end. The young white man knew now what racial discrimination was like.Julia's family had been very civilised about the matter. The letter, an invitation, was not to be ignored - best 'bib & tucker' and then drive to the house in the compound to the north of the city. It was an evening and a meal that would be imprinted on his mind forever. Civil, yes; welcome, hardly. Sven felt that Julia's two brothers had been told to behave. This was a wealthy family - all English University education, Julia as well, unusual in the '60's for a woman in an African family. Yes, they.
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