Bono wouldn't come here. The PRF is the only true celebrities in Sierra Leone. Outside Africa, their thugs with guns, but inside Africa they finance healthcare, food, and work. They were brutal, but smart enough to be useful to the people. Being born in Haiti, John Paul Baptist's family is very familiar to a life under militia control.
John walks the streets. He's in an old white shirt already set with sweat stains, beat up pants, and shoes that are starting to get clammy. He's thankful his old black hat that's giving his head some shade.
He's noticed that people are looking at his suitcase and guitar case more than him. He feels like Antonio Banderas in Desperado, although having anything but a guitar inside his case would be suicide. He turns the corner and sees a street vendor selling non-brand name cigarettes, water, sunglasses, cheap lighters, playing cards, and mint gum. All on a dirty folding table.
He drops his suitcase and guitar case in front of the table. "How much for the sunglasses and water," John asks.
"Six dollars," the vendor answers.
"Six dollars for this and this," John asks again holding the items in his hands, assuming showing the vendor would correct the math.
The vendor laughs a little. "Yes my friend."
John pulls out four crumbled Leone dollar bills. The vendor frowns, taking the glasses from John's hand and replacing it with a pack of gum. "Two dollars…two," the vendor replies. As John pays, the vendor says, "I thought you were American."
John smiles and answers, "Je suis haïtienne."
The vendor looks John over, but John smiles through it. "Haitian?"
"Oh, vous savez créole?"
"A little….Krio and English…," the vendor smiles as he puts the money in his pocket.
"Ok, have a good one." John pockets his goods, grabs his suitcase and walks away, calmly. He continues to smile at the people that pass him by. He knows. He can feel it; the PRF's eyes are upon him.
John walks into the lobby of "the Sunrise," the only decent hotel in the town. Adepero Bayo is at the bar wearing a simple white cotton dress and old plastic slippers. As she turns and smiles at him, he's reminded of how beautiful she is; short soft hair, dark brown skin like chocolate, and a model's smile.
"Asita! Adebowale!" She runs to him as he quickly drops his case. They hug and kiss. "I missed you my husband."
He's immediately reminded that her accent is amazing as well. "Chioma…I forgot how beautiful you are." He smiles as they look into each other eye's, he can't help himself from getting lost into her hazel eyes.
They kiss briefly before they hug again. He whispers through his grinned smile, "I was followed. Watch my six." He doesn't need to ask her what she sees. She's been trained to isolate messages through millions of digital code. She could find a small boy hiding behind a car outside the hotel.
She pulls away and plays with his scruffy and untrimmed beard. "Do you want to see my cousin's baby? She's with him upstairs."
Code words, she's worried and wants to know if they need to grab the weapons their liaison smuggled. "She can wait."
With the saddest expression he's ever seen, she tears. "I love you, Asita."
He wipes her tears away and kisses her. He says, "I love you too, Chioma."
They take their time with the next kiss. Other guests in the lobby have to start to look away, the only good sign that their act is working and going as planned.