It’s nearly an eight-hour flight but the airport is surprisingly nice, and I’m starting to think Jonathan’s warnings were overly dramatic when I see a line of guys with machine guns against the wall.
My tour guide, Simon, also carries a machine gun. He is ostensibly the best money can buy. “Welcome to Somalia,” he says. “I hope you’re wearing a bulletproof vest.”
I stare at him and then he laughs. “Just a joke,” he says. “But also not. Make no mistake. Nothing about Mogadishu is like the United States. Remember that, please. It might save your life.”
I dismiss my nerves. I don’t care what I have to endure today as long as it ends in Josh’s tent when it’s all said and done.
I’m led to a series of armored SUVs. He nods toward the one in the center where four guards with AK-47s stand waiting. “All this is for me?” I ask.
He gives me a small nod. “Anything is possible in Somalia,” he says. “You have to be prepared for all circumstances.” I take a deep breath, pop a Dramamine in my mouth since I’m not allowed to ride up front, and climb aboard.
For twenty minutes, we bounce over the streets of Mogadishu, which doesn’t seem that different from other African cities aside from the stunning number of buildings that are missing half their facades. “Bombs,” says Simon.
At a checkpoint, we stop. Money is exchanged and I see the guards looking back toward the vehicle. “It’s okay,” Simon assures me. “They won’t do anything. They just want to see who’s here.”
I’m relieved when we finally leave the city behind, whether or not I should be. The rubble turns into dirt and shrubbery, desolate under the rapidly dimming sky.
We’re driving fast it seems to me, given the state of the roads. When we hit a pot hole the entire truck bounces so hard my head hits the roof. “We don’t like to be out this late,” Simon explains. “If you think this is fast, you should see us on the way back.”
There is only one moment when I am truly scared: another roadblock, but this time there is a great deal of yelling between the first car and the guards. Slowly, the men in the first car climb out and each has his finger on the trigger of a gun. “Get down, lady,” says the guard behind me and I do.
I remain on the floor until well after we’ve passed the checkpoint. Maybe Jonathan wasn’t being dramatic after all.
After another thirty minutes, we reach Dooha. I know we’re nearing something when I see people shuffling along the sides of the road, looking up through the haze of dust at our cars’ approach.
There are guards at the gates who let us pass after a moment’s conversation, and inside it becomes another world entirely. A small city of tents and people staring as we drive past.
Simon tells me to stay put while he checks things out. He and one of the guards descend and no one seems at all surprised by the sudden arrival of two men carrying machine guns.
After a moment, he opens my door. “The staff is in the canteen,” he says. “This is your stop.”
I’m both thrilled and terrified. It now seems like I should have asked Josh first. What if he isn’t even here? But I think of the way he surprised me in Paris. How thrilled I was, how busy I was, and how nothing but him mattered once he arrived. Is this really so different? I take my backpack from one of the guards, thank Simon, and descend to find a woman standing there in a sarong with a shawl over her head. She looks me over from head to toe and seems to find me lacking. “This way,” she says with a frown.
The canteen is in a large tent, just as the hospital was—one room with long tables. She points to a group in the corner in scrubs and walks away with a shrug. I’m nervous, feeling awkward, but then I spy Josh and it all falls away. He’s in scrubs, listening intently to the woman across from him and nodding. My heart swells until I notice Sabine, the pretty nurse, sits beside him. I try not to let it bother me.
One of them turns. And then they all turn. They are blinking, staring, astonished. And Josh looks the most astonished of them all.
“Surprise,” I say weakly, hoisting my backpack further onto my shoulder.
For all the low moments we’ve had since we met, I’ve never seen him look less happy to see me than he does now. He does not smile as he rises and moves to stand in front of me, as if he wants to block me from view. For the first time I wonder if he might be ashamed to have his colleagues know about me. It was one thing in New York, or in Paris, among strangers. But these are people he likes and respects…and I’m me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his jaw tight, his voice low enough not to be overheard. Behind us his companions return to their conversation, but they keep sneaking peeks at us.
I feel little and stupid. Like a teenage girl with a crush. The horrifying realization that he doesn’t want me here hits hard. The possibility that he’s been lying—or I’ve been lying to myself—follows right on its heels. I look back over at the table and see Sabine watching us with a level of interest that is hardly impartial. Is he as interested in her as she clearly is in him? The mere suggestion of it is enough to make my stomach tighten painfully. “I thought it was obvious when I said ‘surprise’，” I reply, trying to sound casual and in control when I’m anything but. I try to step backward but he’s holding me in place, his hands on my biceps.
His eyes fall closed and his tongue darts out to tap his upper lip. He’s either thinking or he’s praying for patience, perhaps both.
He glances over his shoulder at his colleagues and then starts pulling me toward the exit. “Come on,” he snaps.
His grasp on my arm is iron-tight and I allow myself to be pulled, but my heart is shattering. It’s obvious he wants me out of here as quickly and quietly as possible and it really fucking hurts. I thought he was different. I thought there was something between us, and of course I was wrong because I’m always wrong.
We get outside the canteen and I try to pull away from him. “Let me go,” I choke out. “I get it. I’m leaving. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”
“Leaving?” he asks with an angry laugh. “You’re in one of the most dangerous places in the world, at nightfall. Where the fuck are you going to go?”
It doesn’t matter. It feels as if nothing matters. I can only remember one other time in my life when I’ve felt this empty, this lost, this broken. The last time it happened, I grew from the experience and came out stronger at the other end. But I don’t want to learn and grow again. I don’t want to have to rebound from another loss.
Reluctantly, I recall Simon’s haste to be off the road and admit to myself Josh is probably right, which means I’m stuck here until daylight with someone who wishes I hadn’t come.
He pulls me past armed guards to a long line of tents and then unzips one of them and tugs me inside. It’s tall enough for us both to stand in, but there’s not much to it: a cot on the right, a small desk at the back with some kind of hanging rack with shelves for his clothes.
If I weren’t so upset at the moment, I’d marvel that anyone manages to live like this. No wonder he was so horrified by the excesses of Hawaii.