DAKAR, SENEGAL

Mohammad survived. He was pulled out of the hospital and sent via ambulance and then limo with his "wife" Joy and "daughter" Rihanna across the river by ferry and past the Gambian border to Senegal where they rode through the Northwest. And when that car stopped at Joy's designated location they stepped out in front of her beachside condominium. And Rihanna swore she had never seen anything like it. This time she actually took a picture with her phone. The hillside view of all the homes facing the ocean was a sight to drink in. This was Senegal. Where Africa rose to the riches that spilled in from Europe. She looked over to Mohammad who wandered with a hospital cover over his chest where he had been shot. And he stared over the horizon where the sun was setting and where it vanished that instant. The orange golden glow of the globe died into dark navy purple. They missed the fiery sun and were stuck now on the brink of a quiet, deadening night. He looked into the darkness as a cold wind hit them and Joy shouted to her parents who welcomed them from the balcony overlooking the night sky and crashing ocean waves. Rihanna stepped over to Mohammad and grabbed his hand. She knew he could not see her so she was not afraid to cry. She was grateful he lived.

He looked down at her in shock that she was holding his hand. And she hugged him, pressing her warm face into his waist. Joy and her parents urged them to come inside. But the two waited together in silence for a moment. They were frozen, thinking. All was dark and cold but a single star that reflected by itself in the water far below their mountain spot. It glistened. And waved goodbye. Their journey was not over. There was still the task of a good night's sleep. They finally turned and followed Joy and her uppity parents into the house. It was huge. They were rich. And Rihanna was mesmerized by everything inside. But Mohammad, his face blank as a new canvas, resented it all. And resented Joy for her riches. A bias he will never shake no matter how much Joy fell to love him.

A short dinner, a feast really in the humongous family dining room under three golden chandeliers, continued under stark silence. Mohammad ate the food like a wild boar, but said nothing. Rihanna ate Mafe, a stew of chicken, fish and lamb simmered in peanut butter sauce with vegetables including delicious yams, sweet potatoes, juicy carrots, and fresh turnips. The Thiebou Jen was from heaven. Rihanna spiked her fork into the spicy stuffed fish simmered with vegetables in tomato paste, tamarind, and habanero pepper, all served over broken rice. Waiters came in to flood the table with Salatu Niebe, a colorful salad which Joy's relatives adored as they poured into the family gathering celebrating Joy's return.

Because she did not want to cause any worry, Joy never mentioned all the chaos that had recently ensued. What happened happened and she was not ready to tell the truth yet. She would tell her story to her parents in time.

The salatu niebe vanished with its black-eyed peas, native to Africa, its tomatoes, cucumbers and fresh parsley. The Yassa was a spicy dish of chicken and fish marinated in lemon and lime juice and then grilled and caramelized. And as if that was not enough the food dishes stacked like a pyramid to offer the wonderfully divine banana fritters, a dessert of banana batter fried and sprinkled with sugar. All the child relatives could not keep up with Rihanna who devoured them like it was her mission. It was genocide of the banana fritters. Joy and the other adults joined in on the holocaust of the banana fritters and of course wine and cheeses from France were tried and the evening ended much later than Mohammad wanted. Hours before it would end he excused himself and Rihanna wanted to go with him because her stomach hurt. No one had warned her that a life of an empty stomach did not mix well with a single evening of nonstop feasting.

Joy kissed Mohammad on the cheek but he did not return the gesture. He hated the lavishness of this. To whom were her relatives trying to prove themselves? They were desperate in his eyes. Joy's mother led them to the guesthouse that was equally as large and she showed Rihanna and Mohammad to their adjacent bedrooms. She showed them where their bathroom was and they had a gorgeous shower. The rooms could fit all the people of Agbogbloshie, Rihanna thought to herself, truly impressed. Mohammad looked sullen and Joy's mother got the message: he must be tired. She left. And Mohammad stared at his bed. It looked as soft as a cloud. But he decided it was too much and he would not succumb to a lavish lifestyle that ignored the rest of the world and its real needs he walked over to the open window, breathed in some fresh ocean air, then walked over to the lights. Rihanna watched him turn them off. He went beside the bed but sat on the carpet and lay down. He closed his eyes.

Rihanna doubted he could refuse that marshmallow bed, but he started to snore within moments. She watched him sleep. Wishing to lie next to him. But instead she walked across the floor to her room. She turned, staring at his behind around the bed. And slowly, she sighed, wishing to stay with him, but closed the door between their rooms, drowning in her feverish brew low in her twelve year old stomch.

She stepped over to the corner of her bedroom, where the windows wrapped around on two sides. She wondered where she was. She had not looked at a map this entire trip. She would ask Siri. Alas Siri was in her pocket she remembered, and she pulled the phone out and said, "Siri, how far away is home?" Siri calculated the distance and said, "Driving distance is nearly 2,000 miles between Dakar, Senegal and Accra, Ghana. You've traveled a long way from home not to know where you are Rihanna. But it's a good thing you know where you're going."

Rihanna didn't know what to make of the distance. She had no knowledge of units. "Is that far?"

"Walking from Accra straight to Dakar not accounting for change in altitude would take 800 hours. Yes. That is far. Good thing you have friends who own cars."

Rihanna could not believe it. 800 hours! She was a world traveler. But then she felt sick she was an incredible distance away from her mom and father. But again she remembered they were probably better off without her. "How much longer until we get to Paris, Siri?"

Siri answered, "A flight from Dakar to Paris takes approximately five hours. Good thing you made a friend with a plane." This made Rihanna smile. Only five hours? That was a piece of cake. The butterflies in her stomach lifted and she giggled and squealed like a child and ran around the room hopping up and down on that soft carpet that tickled her bare feet.

Siri said, "You sound mighty excited before bed. Go take a shower to relax yourself. I'll play you some relaxing coffee table jazz lounge music." Rihanna had no clue what to expect from that. She ran over to the bathroom but had no idea what to do next. How do I turn it on?" she said.

"Turn the knob and step in the shower."

Rihanna felt like an idiot. She took off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She turned the knob and immediately screamed as the cold water fell on her. She jumped out soaking wet. Crossing her legs and crossing her arms over her chest to get warm. "It's freezing!" she shouted. Siri told her it needed time to warm up.

But all of a sudden, the bathroom door opened and Mohammad rush in, face flushed. He saw Rihanna there and she did not scream or anything. He turned his eyes away and apologized. He should have knocked. But to his surprise Rihanna did not respond to that. Instead, she was disappointed she had covered herself at the time he came in. She stood tall and said, "I don't care!" But he threw her a towel and apologized one more time and left the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Now Rihanna felt embarrassed. Why did he leave?

She took her shower to the sound of Siri's jazz and then stepped out in front of the mirror and noticed a body lotion written in French and English. She had only seen a commercial for this type of thing back in Agbogbloshie at the outdoor recycled TV store. She decided to see what it was like, and the moment she pushed down on the handle, the smell of lavender came out. It was so soft she almost wanted to taste it like it was cake frosting. She lathered it on her shoulders, then took off her towel and lathered it onto her chest, then her back, stomach and legs. She looked down and decided she better lather up there, too. Not the best idea she realized because it stung, but she wiped her tush with the lavender frosting lotion and felt good to go. She smelt so good she might as well say goodnight to Mohammad one more time. He would see how much of a lady she was. He would see she was older than her age. He would like that very much.

Rihanna wrapped the towel back around herself and found pink pajamas with pink roses all over. She would never have asked for pink roses if Joy's parents had asked her before purchasing them. But did Mohammad maybe like the color pink? Did boys in general like pink on girls? Maybe he would, she realized. She put the pajamas on and felt they fit her snuggly. She stepped over to the mirror and noticed the steam shower, coconut shampoo, Brazilian coffee conditioner and chocolate-mint body wash did wonders to her hair and skin. She looked like a whole new person in the pink clothes. She could have even said she looked cute.

Rihanna did not normally worry about her appearance. She was never that type of girl. But it would be nice if Mohammad took notice of her in a romantic way. She could see herself marrying him if he asked. They would arrive to Paris and fall in love. She had heard French ate bread and smelly cheese and drink wine all day . . . If that is what he would want out of life she was happy to live that life with him. Live in the country in a small cottage by a bridge over a river. Own a garden, grow every colored plant. They could learn to read together. And they would wait until she was much older than her sister to have babies. Much older. . . She would at least be 18 before that happened. She knelt on the side of the wall looking at the mirror and smiled at the thought. Mohammad's baby. A French baby. Her dimples rose with joy and she smiled at her beautiful new appearance and she rushed over to the door. But she stopped herself. What could she do wrong in this precious moment? She looked to Siri on the bed. Should she ask for advice? No. What does a phone know about relationships?

Rihanna made her decision. She would just walk in. See if he was sleeping. And ask him if he felt lonely. If he said yes she would know he wanted her to come to bed and sleep with him. Her older sister had taught her how these things work. All her older sister's friends talked about sex while she was in earshot back in Agbogbloshie. She may be twelve, but she had the knowledge of a woman who had been around. She was confident she would know what to do.

Rihanna put her hands on the door, took a deep breath, thought of what she was going to say and just when she was about to knock on the door, she heard a sound. She stopped. Her smile fell to the floor. She pressed her ear to the door and heard someone open the door to Mohammad's room. . . "Are you asleep, Mo?"

What was Joy doing here? Rihanna pried open the sliding door and spotted Mohammad lying on the floor on one side of the room and Joy peaking her head in through the door across the room.

Leave, Joy. Rihanna did not realize it until it happened, but she clenched her fist. Joy had just taken a shower, too, and she stepped into the room wearing nothing but short lily-white shorts and a skimpy rose-red tank top. Rihanna could tell she was not wearing a bra. Her nipples were showing. Rihanna felt like she wanted to run in there and tell her to get out of Mohammad's room. She would run in and yell at her for conspiring to wake him up out of his long awaited rest. But despite her heavy breathing she could not move.

Rihanna's legs would not carry her because for one thing she was not ready to embarrass herself in trying to compete for a grown man against a grown woman like the distinguished Nurse Joy. Second, she came to the idea that if Mohammad had at all thought about her romantically he would tell Joy to leave. And if she trusted him enough she would close the bedroom door between their rooms, go over to her bed, listen and wait. This was no time to make a decision for him. She would make decisions for him once they were married, but now, in the stage of courtship, she would let him decide. She closed her sliding door slowly and listened to the soft whisperings between Joy and Mohammad. She stepped backward on tippy toes to her bed. Feeling her temperature rise as the two spoke longer and longer. She sat on the floor instead of the bed. And waited. She laid her self down and almost believed they had talked long enough. Which meant Joy was not going to leave. Rihanna was so disappointed that she lay there wondering all the terrible things they could be doing in Mohammad's bedroom. Were Mohammad and Joy already kissing each other?

She was falling deeper into what she might have known was depression, thought about what her older sister and her friends used to say about sex. About the intricate dance between a man and a woman. How a woman pleasured a man in bed. And how he pleasured her. And she could not help but torture herself in her frustration.

Rihanna felt her heart beat wildly. Her adrenaline rushed. She felt her eyes heat up as she was going to cry. Why would not Joy leave already? She could hear them whispering to each other for the longest time. But Rihanna waited. She knew Joy would leave soon. Should she go in and ask what she was doing in there? No. That would not be a good idea. She just had to lie on the carpet and wait. Wait for the sound of the door to open and Joy's footsteps to walk out of Mohammad's room.

Rihanna wanted to consult Siri as a friend. But if she woke Siri up, Siri would definitely be loud enough for Joy and Mohammad to hear she was still awake and Joy might check up on her like a mom. Rihanna would not want that. She was forced to merely lay on her stomach with her face on that stringy carpet. Listening for the sound of the door. Her fingers nervously twiddled the carpet fabric.

After what felt like forever, she turned numb. What was going on? Why was Joy not leaving? What were they doing? And it was then that Rihanna realized how lonely she was. In that room on the floor, she did not have the strength or the willpower to rise up. She was down on herself. And she was in the shadow of the bed so the moon could not even grant its light upon her. Her throat was warm and her frustration grew when she heard their whisperings stop. And afterward there was no door creaking open and shut. Just mere mystery behind the sliding door of Mohammad's room. And in that silence where Rihanna felt her loneliness she recognized how naive she had been. She was angry with herself. How could she have been so stupid?

She let herself wallow in her anger and frustration. She believed she had nothing to contribute to Mohammad's life in Paris anyway. He and Joy would go live in Paris together and she would be put up for adoption. Lost and forgotten. And never see them again except as a backseat guest at their wedding. Just the girl from Ghana who helped them find each other. What a cute story. Mohammad gets to tell their Parisian friends he was just being a hero when he took this foreign girl with malaria to the hospital. And Joy got to be the cute nurse who just happened to bring them food. And voilà. It was love at first sight.

She shriveled into a tiny spec inside the skin of her body. Looking out in the dark through the giant windows that were her eyeballs, seeing tiny dust particles fall like snow across the plains of the carpet. She let her tears exhaust her to sleep, until she could no longer feel the hot knot in her throat hurt her anymore. As her long, naive eyelashes batted into submission and she fell to the power of gravity, she drifted off into the second layer of nighttime, and dreamed a dream. She finally awoke. . .

***