London
“I loved you immediately. I loved you for who you are—no expectations, no pretenses, just absolute love.”
—London Berkeley
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” I ask her, a smile warming my face. “I always thought I did. I thought I felt it with your daddy. But, now, I know that it was attraction, desire, maybe even lust at first sight.” I shake my head. “You don’t need to know what all that means just yet—not until you’re of college age at least. Don’t get me wrong; love followed very shortly after, probably sooner than it does for most. But can I say that I loved him the first time I laid eyes on him? I don’t think so.
“But that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in love at first sight—because I do. I’ve felt it. Truly one hundred percent felt it. With you. The very moment I saw you with your round cheeks and thoughtful expression, you permeated every open crevice in my heart to the point of bursting. I loved you immediately. I loved you for who you are—no expectations, no pretenses, just absolute love.
“I’ve dreamed about you every night since the first time I saw you, and each night, I’ve grown to love you even more—beyond the realm of what I thought was possible. I love you now. I love you tomorrow. I love you always.”
I lean in and kiss her forehead, surprised to feel sticky wetness against my lips. I pull back, wiping my lips against the back of my hand. I panic when a trail of redness is left upon my skin. I look at her, and my heart shatters. Blood is leaking from every pore of her skin. Her tears are crimson.
I scream—wild, abandoned, desperate.
Please don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!
Her body goes limp. I yank her to my chest, tightly clutching her against me. Rocking her, I cry.
I bolt up, my body drenched with sweat. It takes me a moment to get my bearings and register the incessant pounding against the hotel door.
I wrap the bedsheet around me and make my way toward the door. Opening it, I find Oliver with his fist in the air, held up, ready to bang it against the door again. He quickly drops his arm and looks me up and down, panic in his eyes.
“Hell! Are you all right?” His eyes squint in assessment.
I don’t answer him right away, still groggy from sleep.
“You were screaming, love. I could hear you in my room next door.”
“I…” I look back toward my empty bed, as if it holds the answers, and then I face Oliver again. “I was having a bad dream.”
He looks like he wants to inquire about the dream, but he doesn’t. “Okay. Still want to grab some breakfast before we go to the airport?”
“Yes, let me just grab a quick shower, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
The water in the shower is lukewarm at best. I release a sigh.
I just want a hot shower.
I can’t complain, I suppose. The water does its job, washing the nightmare off my body and carrying it down the drain.
I put on the outfit I washed in the sink yesterday. My white T-shirt can no longer be categorized as white. Maybe tan? Orangey yellow? Regardless of the color, it will be the first thing to be dropped in the trash when I get home. A white garment is no match for the dust that is always in the air here. My constant sweat and sunscreen residue haven’t done it any favors either.
I pull my hair in a ponytail, swipe some sunscreen on my face, grab my small bag, and head downstairs. I find Oliver sitting at a table, concentrating on his phone.
We said our good-byes to Abdu yesterday. He’s already off on another job.
“Feeling better?” Oliver asks.
“Much.”
The waiter comes by, and I opt for just a coffee.
“Not even going to venture out of your comfort zone for your last meal?” He chuckles. “Sticking to the protein bar?”
Truth is, I’m still so shaken from my dream that I don’t feel like eating much of anything. “I can’t risk the explosive diarrhea on the plane,” I answer instead.
My response gets a vibrant laugh from Oliver, which was my intention. I’m going to miss him. He’s become a wonderful friend.
“A princess till the end.” He grins.
“Did you have any doubt?”
Oliver finishes eating his breakfast of rice, beans, and nyama choma, which is grilled meat. We grab a taxi to the airport.
“So, are you glad to be going home?” I ask him.
“Sure. I’ll only be home for a bit to see my mum, and then I’ll be back at it.”
“Where are you going to next?”
“I don’t know. But something will come about. It always does.” He shrugs. “How about you? What are your plans after this?”
“I have no idea,” I answer honestly. “I can’t wait to see Loïc, but other than that, I haven’t a clue. What am I supposed to do after this? What job could possibly be as meaningful as this one?”
“Ah, there are stories everywhere, love. You don’t have to travel around the world to find a tale that needs to be told.”
“Is that why you stay so close to home?” I chuckle.
“You know I travel for the women,” he says, his expression cocky. “A bit of a letdown this time around if I’m being honest.”
I let out a laugh. “You’re a jerk.”
“Yep. This was a good trip. I’ll miss ya.”
“Me, too. I friend requested you. Make sure to accept me next time you’re on.” I think back to our conversation over dinner last night where he told me that he was over social media, and I made him promise to get back on it, so we could keep up with each other.
“Yep,” he says.
“I’m serious.”
“Oh, I know.”
We arrive at the airport, and the second the taxi pulls away, my hands start to tremble. I say my good-byes to Oliver before he heads off to check in with a different airline. I pull in calming breaths as I head toward the ticket counter.
In two days, I’ll be home with Loïc. Two days. I should be over-the-moon excited, but instead, the closer I get to the counter, the more I want to cry. I stop in the middle of the large space. I have to get myself together.
Get your boarding pass.
Go through security.
Board the plane.
Go home.
I repeat the steps under my breath. It all sounds so easy. I’m less than two days away from clean clothes, a hot shower, good food, and first-world plumbing. I’m less than two days away from Loïc.
Loïc.
I picture his face. I imagine how amazing his arms will feel around me. I use these images to give me strength to go forward. Yet, still, I don’t move.
I can’t.
Because I’m less than two hours away from leaving her forever.
And I know, just as I knew the moment I saw her, that leaving her will never be an option.
“I didn’t get on my flight,” I repeat into my phone. “I need you to come here.”
Loïc is clearly confused, and I don’t blame him.
These past few weeks, I kept our conversations very neutral. I had to. I needed the emotional break that my phone calls with Loïc provided. I didn’t want to explain the brutality and despair I’d seen over the phone. I talked about the food, the scenery, and my travel buddies, Oliver and Abdu. Loïc spoke about his job, our friends, and our family.
I didn’t even tell him about her. What could I have said that would have given my feelings sufficient meaning? I needed time to process what I would say to him about her…about all of them when I returned home to allow him to truly understand. But, now, I need him to get it, and the only way for him to genuinely grasp everything is to see her. He has to come here.
“No, I’m fine. I’m great,” I reassure him.
His questions sound increasingly concerned. I try to decide what I should tell him now. I don’t want to explain everything because I want him to feel it the way I did. But I can’t leave him to worry during two days of travel until he arrives.
“Listen, I don’t want to explain everything now because I want you to experience it the way I did, firsthand. I don’t want you to worry. I found someone you need to meet.”
I give Loïc a long list of items that I need him to bring—clothes, supplies, and odds and ends that I want to deliver to some of the people I’ve met on my trip. I know I’ll be here for a while, so I try to think of everything I could possibly require over the next few months.
The long list only sparks Loïc’s curiosity more. He still sounds so confused and concerned.
So, I tell him, “Loïc, I found our daughter.”
Though it takes every ounce of willpower I have, I don’t return to Lindi to visit her. Instead, I stay in Dar es Salaam and use the five days it takes Loïc to get everything situated at home—to get his meetings covered, shop for my list, pack, and travel—to finish my articles for the magazine and get the ball moving on the adoption.
I naively thought that the adoption process would be easier than it is. My dad reached out to his lawyer friends and found me a great lawyer who specializes in out-of-country adoptions, specifically with African countries. Our lawyer seems to think that, if everything goes smoothly, we’re still looking at six months before we can bring her home. Half of a year seems like an eternity, but from some of the reading I’ve been doing online, sometimes, it takes up to two years for an African adoption to go through. In comparison, six months would be a gift.
I stand in the open lobby of the airport as the hot wind blows through the space. I watch the exit the arrivals come through like a hawk. My lip stings where I’ve been gnawing on it for the past hour.
Finally, I see him. My chest tightens as I run toward him, so anxious to be with him again. I jump into his arms, wrapping my feet around his waist. He holds me so tightly, burying his face against the side of my neck.
“God, I missed you,” he says against my skin.
“I missed you, too.”
We stand in this embrace for a while. I don’t want him to let me go, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to either. Eventually, he lifts his head, so he can see me. He scans my face, as if he’s taking in the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, his gaze bursting with adoration.
I can’t wait another second, and I crash my lips against his. I kiss him frantically, desperately.
“I love you. I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
In time, we pull our faces away from one another’s, and I drop my feet and stand. We grab Loïc’s bags and catch a taxi back to the hotel. I have so much to tell him, but instead, I just hold his hand and stare into his eyes in the backseat of the taxi. If I wasn’t so deep into Loïc, I might have complained about the pungent smell of body odor and sweat that existed in the cab, but I barely register it. Instead, the only thought that holds space in my mind is how very much I love this man.
The second my hotel room door is closed behind us, Loïc’s lips collide with mine—hot and needy. He pushes me against the wall. His hands slide beneath my shirt, burning my skin with his touch. I groan as he explores.
I rip his shirt off over his head.
He tugs mine off.
I unbutton my pants and step out of them.
Loïc removes everything from the waist down as well.
He reaches one hand behind my back and unsnaps my bra, allowing it to fall.
His lips leave mine, and he scans my body as I take in his in turn. His eyes are clouded with love, lust, and raw desire, and I know my own are a mirror reflection of his.
“I love you, babe,” he says as he lifts one of my legs up, cradling it in his elbow and pushing it toward the wall.
“I love you, too,” I say on a moan as he enters me.
My head rolls back against the wall as Loïc moves inside me.
He takes us to magical places.
After we reunite against the entry wall, we take a shower. Then, we make love again in the bed. This time is much less frantic, more relaxed. We leisurely enjoy each other’s bodies in all the ways that we missed while I was gone.
“Ah,” I sigh loudly. Very content, I lie back, snuggled atop Loïc’s outstretched arm.
“Good for you?” he asks with a smile.
“The best. And you?”
“The best,” he answers before kissing the top of my head. “So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” he says with a smirk, “do you want to tell me everything that’s been going on?”
So, I do. I tell him about the people I’ve met—men, women, and children. I tell him about the horrors these kind human beings have lived through. Tears roll down my cheeks as I tell him story after story. As I retell each one, I see the subject of the story perfectly in my mind—their abused and severed bodies, their fear, their sadness, their heartache, and finally, their hope as a smile graces each of their faces. These people have lost so much but have managed to keep the goodness in their hearts.
Loïc holds me as I cry, reliving the nightmare of these people’s experiences.
Then, I tell him about the baby girl.
“I love her, Loïc. Down to the very core of my soul, I love her. She was the first person with albinism that I met on this journey, and her sweet little face has been with me the entire time. I think about her all day long. I worry about her. I dream about her. I can’t leave here without her.” I shake my head. Now sitting up, I face Loïc. “I want you to meet her and see what I see. I hope you feel the same way I do because something inside me truly believes that she was always meant to be mine. To be ours.”
“I’m sure I will. I feel like I could already love her because your adoration for her is so strong. Your love is infectious in the best of ways.” He smiles sweetly.
“And you’d be okay with adopting?” I ask.
“You know I am. I told you that we’d have a family one way or another, London.”
“I know,” I agree. “I never thought adoption would satisfy me as a mother until I saw her. Now, I know that I couldn’t love her more if she were biologically my own.”
I fill him in on the steps already in place for the adoption. So many court-ordered forms to be signed, visas, a home study, documentation, and a passport. I’d feel more overwhelmed if I didn’t have the best team available on my side. I tell Loïc about the lawyer my dad found us and what the lawyer said.
It’s a lot to take in—everything that goes along with an international adoption. I am pleased with the amount of progress that’s taken place in less than a week’s time.
“I just can’t go home. I want to stay in one of the hotels in her town, so I can see her every day. I have to make sure she’s okay and being taken care of. She’s so little and fragile. There are evil people out there who see her as a winning lotto ticket. In reality, I don’t know what I can personally do to protect her. But I know I can’t leave her. You know? I just pray she stays safe until we can get her out of here and take her home.”
And, once again, six months sounds so very long.
“Well, I can’t wait to meet her.” A genuine smile graces his face. “You’ve changed. You’re different,” he tells me.
“I have? Good different?”
“Yeah, definitely.” He nods. “You were right all along. This trip was great for you. I hated every second of it, of course”—he chuckles—“but you needed it.”
“I think I needed a purpose, something bigger than my personal struggles, to focus on. At the end of the day, if I’m never able to have biological children, I still live a blessed life. You know?”
“I do know.” He pulls me back down into his arms.
His thumb trails lightly up and down my arm as we become lost in thought. The sun leaves the sky outside the hotel window, and the city glows from the streetlights.
At some point, I fall asleep with a light heart. I have Loïc, and tomorrow, he’ll get to meet our baby girl.
Life truly works in mysterious, marvelous ways.