Authors: Kate Metz
Stiletto Safari (7 page)
I just couldn’t take my eyes off JoJo’s hair. It was amazing. It looked so totally real. “JoJo, what about someone like Beyonce?” I asked curiously.
“It’s a weave. Do you remember when she had honey-colored hair—didn’t you ever wonder why she never got regrowth? I’m not sure, but apparently each of her weaves costs over $5,000. That’s why her hair always looks amazing.”
I couldn’t believe there was a whole world of hair care out there that I knew nothing about.
D
rinks turned out to be a music industry party in a trendy bar. Waiters and wannabes milled around while the celebs of the evening sipped cocktails on the outdoor terrace. From all the attention she was getting, JoJo was clearly an A-lister. Within moments of arriving, we were surrounded by a crowd of admiring friends and fans. Of course, the fans all wanted pictures with JoJo, and the friends just wanted to gossip and hang out.
Michael arrived as drinks were in full swing. As soon as JoJo clapped eyes on him, her face lit up. It was clear they were an in-love couple. Michael was good-looking in a nerdy way. He was tall and lean like a runner, and wore glasses. He was the only one at the party wearing a suit, and that, coupled with the glasses, made him look distinguished.
Michael had brought a friend. Unlike Michael, he was the epitome of cool. Even though he was dressed down in chinos, loafers, and a linen shirt, he looked like he owned the party. He had piercing blue eyes, perfectly straight white teeth, tanned skin, and dark brown hair. He looked to be in his early thirties. Embarrassingly, my heart fluttered when I saw him and I’m sure I blushed.
Maybe Sal was right; maybe I did need a holiday fling. As a serial monogamist, the world of flings was new to me. But how hard could it be? All I needed was a bit of courage or perhaps just one more cocktail—a strong one.
JoJo must have read my mind, because she promptly introduced us: “Zara Hamilton, please meet Hamish Walters. You two have a lot in common, including both being single.” She gave us a sly wink before turning her attention back to Michael.
“Um, that was an awkward introduction. So, Hamish, how do you know Michael?” Lame, but I was feeling flustered.
Hamish gave me a long, hard stare with his incredible piercing blue eyes before curtly answering in an English accent that he and Michael had met at Cambridge years ago. His voice was sexy. He was definitely fling potential.
I waited for him to ask me why I was in Africa giving me an opportunity to launch into an upbeat version of my volunteer spiel (rah, rah, I’m such a wonderful naturalist/humanitarian/whatever), but he didn’t ask me a single thing. Instead he impatiently looked down at his watch!
Okay, so this whole pick-up thing was much harder than it looked. I wracked my brain for something interesting to say. Absolutely nothing came to mind. Awkwardly I stood there with my mouth slightly agape.
“So I um don’t know much about Africa,” I started. “Annoyingly my luggage was over-weight and I was left with a choice between my guide book and my heels. Of course, I had to bring my heels.” Why I was telling a total stranger this? It was like my mouth was on auto-pilot.
Hamish just looked at me. After a minute or two of heavy silence, he touched my elbow and steered me towards a quiet corner. My heart started pounding. Things were moving faster than expected. Obviously Hamish wanted me too, it was lust at first sight. His lips looked delicious and I wondered how long it would be before I felt them pressed against mine. Intuitively, I could tell he’d be a good kisser.
Hamish inclined his head towards mine. We were so close, almost touching. He smelt divine. Just as I was about to seductively brush his cheek with my lips he spoke.
“Zara, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really can’t imagine we have anything in common. I hope you enjoy your time in Africa. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to make a phone call.”
And with that Hamish walked off leaving me standing on my own like a social leper.
Completely humiliated, I found an unoccupied lounge and sat down. Hamish didn’t even try to get to know me. What an asshole!
The sky had turned a dark hue of blue and there was just the whisper of a breeze. Behind me I could hear the hum of the party pierced by the occasional high-pitched laugh, and in front of me I could see the distant flickering lights of downtown Jo’burg.
I closed my eyes and let my body relax into the padded contour of the couch. I wondered what Emi and Sal were doing. Already I missed them. Longingly, I thought of Nick. More than anything I wanted to be wrapped in his arms. I wanted my old life back!
An angry male voice interrupted my thoughts. Turning my head slightly I could see Hamish about ten meters away animatedly speaking on his cell. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he definitely didn’t sound sexy anymore.
Hamish’s loud voice had obviously captured JoJo’s attention because she made her way over to him, cocktail in hand.
As if to satisfy my curiosity the DJ turned the pumping music down and I was able to just make out Hamish and JoJo’s conversation.
“Was that who I think it was?” JoJo enquired sweetly handing Hamish the cocktail.
“Unfortunately,” Hamish responded. He was back to sounding sexy. “She just won’t leave me alone.”
JoJo tut-tutted sympathetically. “Come and join the party. Have some fun. There are plenty of pretty single women here if you’ll just make the effort.”
“With the exception of you, JoJo, I haven’t seen any pretty women.” Hamish sighed.
“Zara is gorgeous,” JoJo replied evenly.
“Definitely not my type,” Hamish replied dismissively. “I don’t need another bimbo in my life.”
Hamish’s words stung me like a slap. Who was he to judge me? He didn’t know me. What an arrogant prick!
JoJo said something I couldn’t hear in response and arm-in-arm she and Hamish moved back to the party.
I closed my eyes in frustration. What was I doing here? I wanted to be home. I didn’t belong in Africa.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” My eyes snapped open to find Hamish peering intently down at me, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Apparently we really do have a lot in common,” he added handing me a glass of wine.
For a moment I just glared at Hamish before getting up and handing him back the glass.
“I can’t imagine we have anything in common,” I haughtily replied.
“I can get you another drink if you’d prefer something else,” he said, offering me an easy smile.
Annoyed, I shook my head. “I really don’t want a drink.”
This time Hamish looked surprised.
As I made my way back to JoJo’s group, I could feel his blue eyes following me.
A
fter my night on the town, the flight to Windhoek felt indecently early. Granted, it was mid morning, but I was jet-lagged and hung over. Looking at my watch I was dismayed to see that I still had an hour to wait for my flight.
Spying an Internet café, I decided to tell the girls about Hamish Walters.
Why hot guys aren’t worth it:
Last night I met a very hot guy, Hamish, at a music industry party. For a second, Sal, I considered your one-night-stand advice. He would have been perfect except that he turned out to be one of the rudest, most arrogant people I’ve ever met.
Before I realized how awful he was I tried seducing him (admittedly not very well), but he completely ignored me before excusing himself to make a phone call. If that wasn’t enough I overheard him say I wasn’t pretty before describing me as a bimbo. The whole situation was beyond humiliating!
It made me realize that hot guys aren’t worth dating. Who wants to date someone who (a) is in love with themself (b) has girls drooling all over them (c) is going to compete for precious bathroom space?
No, what I need is a guy who adores me and wants to please me. Someone who feels lucky to be with me and someone I actually like as a person (and who isn’t facing jail time—don’t suppose there’s any update on Nick, btw?).
On a more positive note, meeting JoJo and Michael was wonderful!!! They are such lovely people and we’ll definitely stay in touch. Hopefully, there will be a TV in the volunteer camp where I can watch JoJo’s debut on African Idol. She’s going to rock it. Apparently, the network is expecting it to be huge.
xxxZ
Just as I was about to log off, Emi replied:
Sounds like a cover to me. Hamish must be gay—how could he not find you gorgeous! No update on Nick yet, but Sal and I will keep you posted.
Looking at my watch, I discovered it was time to go and board my hour-long flight to Windhoek.
In Windhoek I was met by my driver, a bushman who didn’t seem to speak much English. After attempting a few pleasantries and receiving no response, I gave up and just stared out the window.
Namibia was one big, empty wilderness. There were few cars on the road and even fewer houses in sight. Scraggly bushes littered the landscape, and the earth was a deep red. After a while, the monotony of the landscape got to me and I fell asleep.
When I awoke, we were approaching a dusty-looking village. The shrubby landscape was punctuated now and then with large umbrella trees. Naively, I’d expected the village to have at least some cute little houses with vegetable gardens and chickens. Instead, it was without exception the poorest place I’d ever seen.
A few skinny women were listlessly sitting in the center of the village. Some were aimlessly bouncing babies on their knees or shooing away flies. Semi-naked children played around them, kicking a flat soccer ball at an imaginary goalpost.
The part of Namibia I was in was notoriously dry, and signs of a recent drought were all around. A few cattle carcasses littered the landscape. The bleached skeletal remains glistened white in the hot afternoon sun.
I simply could not imagine spending the next few months here. Without doubt, this had to be the most depressing place on earth!
We kept driving for a kilometer or two until we reached the clinic. It was tiny, but at least in contrast to the rest of the village it looked clean and orderly. A number of villagers were sitting on the veranda playing cards.
We pulled up in a cloud of dust, and a small crowd curiously looked on as the driver causally threw my expensive LV travel bags to the ground.
Some of the locals pointed at me and started gossiping among themselves. Color rushed to my already hot cheeks. I realized I must look ridiculous to them in my short shorts, white singlet top, oversized Prada sunglasses, orange enamel Hermès cuff and hiking boots.
By now I’d collected a gaggle of children, who were standing excitedly around me gawking. A girl who looked to be about eight pushed a few of the other kids out of the way. Turning around to the crowd with her hands on her hips, she shouted, “One, two, three,” in English and then they all erupted into song. The kids were soon clapping their hands and stamping their feet wildly.
“Ah, I see the welcoming committee got to you before I could,” a deep male voice boomed behind me.
I spun around to see a very tall, very well-built African man dressed in khakis and a white shirt grinning down at me.
“Hello, I’m Ismail, one of the clinic doctors,” he said offering me a big firm hand to shake. “And this is Gabi,” he said, grabbing the lead singer by the waist and throwing her in the air. “Gabi is the unofficial boss of the town, right, Gabi?”
Gabi beamed up at him and nodded.
“And you must be Zara. We’ve been waiting for you. Here, let me take your bags. Please, step into the clinic where it’s ever so slightly cooler.”
Without any effort at all, Ismail scooped up my belongings in one hand and ushered me through the clinic door.
“So how was the drive, Zara? Hot and dusty?”
“Uh-huh,” I managed to squeeze out. I was afraid if I said anything more I’d start to cry. This was so not what I had been expecting and I wanted to get on the first plane back home.
Ismail ushered me into a small office. He gave me a gentle smile and passed me a chilled bottle of water and an ice-cold towel. “Here, this will make you feel better.”
Bizarrely, the towel smelled like eucalyptus oil. I rubbed it over my face and neck. It felt amazingly good on my skin. When I looked down, the towel was stained red from all the dirt.
Slowly I opened the water and took a long sip. I was pondering my next words carefully. I had no intention of staying in this hellhole, but at the same time I wanted to be careful of Ismail’s feelings. This was probably his home, after all.
I started off tentatively, “So, um, Ismail, I don’t know quite how to say this, but I think there’s been some kind of mistake. You see, I’ve never done anything like this before, and honestly, I don’t think here is quite right for me.” I waved my hands expansively toward the wilderness beyond the window.
Ismail started laughing. He laughed and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. His laugh was annoyingly infectious, and I found myself giggling too despite my best attempts to remain serious.
Trying to control myself, I managed to say, “Stop, this isn’t actually funny. I really want to go back to Jo’burg and then home.”
Ismail finally stopped laughing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You just reminded me so much of myself, only you were a lot politer.”
“What are you talking about?” Ismail had lost me.
By now Ismail had regained his composure. “When I arrived here I pretty much had the same reaction, only I said, “Where the fuck is the closest Internet café? I’m booking my ticket home.’”
“But you’re African; isn’t this what all African villages are like?”
Ismail started laughing again. Impatiently I waited for him to stop. “You Americans are all the same. Just because I’m black doesn’t mean I’m African. I’m London born and bred. My feet only touched African soil a few months ago.”