Owen

(10)

On reaching Blantyre I go straight to the local Peace Corps office. They tell me Rachel is staying in the Goliati village at the outskirts of the town. There is no address. I take a taxi, which leaves me in the vicinity. I am hoping she is home. But how am I going to find her cottage? There are children playing in courtyards. Some women just stare at me with a blank expression as they sweep their courtyards with a hand broom made out of thatch or grind corn to prepare the meal.

American? American?” I keep asking waving my hand.

Finally a teenage girl speaks in broken English and points to a hut. It is similar to mine. I knock on the door. An American girl, but not Rachel, opens the door. She introduces herself as Agnes and says she is a volunteer worker for USAID.

“I’m looking for a PC Volunteer,” I say.

“Is her name Rachel by any chance?” Agnes asks.

“Yes.”

Agnes says Rachel lives a few blocks away, but I wouldn’t find her there.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I took her to the Peace Corps infirmary in Blantyre this morning. She got sick from something she ate. Want to know how to go there?”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Thank you for reading the story. I'd love to hear from you.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.