A/N: Just a bit tentative to post this. I saw the movie last night ... and well ... gutted I never saw it sooner. A muse has stuck stubbonly in my head. I need to churn it out.
Please let me know what you think. Good? Bad? Ugly?
Kudos.
Update: A big thanks to my beta MissBubbles :)
To Be Loved
Whilst helping a Leprosy-stricken village in Tanzania 2007, Jennifer West is suddenly thrown into the middle of a war and caught in a place she never imagined. She longs to return, till someone holds her back …
"Down in their hearts, wise men know this truth: the only way to help yourself
is to help others." - Elbert Hubbard
October 3rd, 2007 Tanzania
"Not long now, Jen," grinned Niall to the woman beside him. "Just four more hours."
Just?
Jennifer groaned and lolled her face against the Jeep window. Outside, the red landscape of Tanzania rolled past. Women walked by with capering children, balancing baskets on their heads. In the distance, a scarlet sun hung low in the sky.
"S'going to be dark when we get there," she yawned.
"You know what that means," Niall continued in his frustrating impish manner. "Mosquitoes."
Jennifer, too tired to react, rolled up her sweater and cushioned it beneath her shoulder.
"Good thing we had all those jabs then."
"Yup."
Niall checked the wing mirror and saw the five other jeeps behind. He dissected the portly form of Carl, the group leader, looking wan behind the steering wheel. It had been a long, hot and uneventful drive from the small city of Dodoma. Before that, the group of twenty members suffered an exhausting seven hour bus ride from the Dar es Salaam's dusty airport. Much to Jennifer's horror, Niall had eagerly roused the other members into singing drinking songs, which had lasted several hours. Then, if things couldn't get any worse, he had started playing bingo. Jennifer normally wouldn't have minded, but the jetlag was making her as tolerant as a bag of wasps.
Now, as she savoured the cool glass of the window pressing against her skin, she thought of the thirteen-hour long flight from Ulster, Northern Ireland. It seemed incredible that this morning, she was packing her suitcase and listening to Michael Jackson on Radio 1 and now, she was rattling around in a battered Jeep in the Tanzanian wilderness.
She was on a mission. The group was called TLM or The Leprosy Mission and after six-months of meticulous planning, Carl had formalised a project in a small village called Samaria that was riddled with lepers to build five houses. These would replace the inadequate housing that they presently lived in, which were constantly being damaged by the rains.
Shame and superstition had prevented the locals from seeking professional medical care, believing themselves to be 'outcasts' from the world. The root of this stigma was a mystery.
But all that was about to change, Jennifer mused with a small smile. Yes. It was.
Change.
Soon, darkness began to fall, and the sky became filled with stars. More stars than Jennifer had ever seen. Niall had fallen silent, and she sensed that he too, regarded the new surroundings with awe. The hours flew by, and Jennifer felt the swift jerk of the Jeep swerving off the dirt-road. Primitive mud-huts and young children were illuminated in the harsh lights of the jeep.
They were here.
"Jenn."
Someone was tapping her shoulder. She awoke to find Niall smiling at her, his slate eyes drooped with fatigue.
"We're here."
She nodded, gathered her bag and opened the door.
The night air was balmy, filled with the chirruping of crickets; loud, twittering, unseen phantoms in the stretching wilderness. The smell of plants and wood smoke floated on the wind, along with the –
"Mosquitoes!" she exclaimed, swatting several away.
She heard Niall chuckle as he unloaded suitcases and bags from the jeep's boot. More jeeps arrived, parking up beside Niall's, their tyres caked with mud.
Carl materialised, scratching his bald head. He looked utterly exhausted.
"Well, this is home for the next sixteen days," he said, as locals began to surround them, pointing excitedly at their entourage. Their chatter made Jennifer glow inside … they were no longer outcasts. A young boy with a bandaged face ran up to gaze at them, wide eyed; the children had never seen white men before.
"It'll be worth it, Carl," she replied, watching this.
"Just as long as we don't have to listen to Niall singing," Carl added, before approaching the village leader, an old man with a long beard. "I'd rather have leprosy any day."
----
October 3rd 1181, Jerusalem
"More water, sire?"
"Very well."
A stooped, bearded man poured the water carefully from the jug into a crystal cup. He then passed it to his master, King Baldwin IV, who was sitting at his desk. One able hand carefully scratched away on some parchment whilst the other, bandaged, rested on his lap.
He eyed the cup placed before him.
"For your health," said the man, one of Baldwin's physician's, bowing away
Baldwin merely nodded,
Ah… the unconscious mockery.
Did these bearded physicians ever see past their poultices? Were they so self-righteous that they thought, had he not been king, they would care, tailor and service him as they did now? Beneath their bearded disguises they wore covert smiles, knowing his existence meant increased payment; meant that they could enjoy the comfort of fine wines, silks, food… women. Why should they care if they exaggerated his condition? 'One breath is contagious,' … 'if you sin, you will become a leper,' … and Baldwin's recent favourite: 'if you stare at the condemned, so you will be condemned and fester away.' Beneath his silver mask, he smirked. He was not one to determine God's will. The Heavenly King was and always would be mysterious; silent to him within his silver coffin.
But King Baldwin was wise enough to judge characters for himself… always articulate… never jumping to conclusions. He knew how to separate the goats from the lambs, the calculating from the candid. The latter always earned his highest respect.
He was not one to assume God's will, but the simple motive of love moved kingdoms, ended or saved lives …
He paused in his writing.
He was Jerusalem. And if he fell, so would the people.
"Why then, was he to rot beneath fine-silk and silver?
It was God's choice ….
The muse hung in the air, before drifting away, like the smoke wafting from the incense sticks on his desk. The place was pungent with spices, floating silks and scrolls stacked neatly on shelves or beneath astrology charts. A sheet of marble carpeted the floor; furs and golden veils of the finest silks surrounded his magnificent bed.
The luxuries of a king.
He turned back to his report.
"You may go, Omer,"
The old physician bowed and left the cavernous room. The door closed with a soft thud.
Sunlight filtered through the yellow veils that hung by the windows and Baldwin savoured the heat on his neck. The echoing silence seemed to close in around him, even though he could hear the faint bustle of the city outside – packing up after another day, then waking for the next...
He paused and gazed at his bandaged hand. With his able one, he withdrew the cloth and stared: the flesh was rotting, puckered and sore after years without treatment. Three fingers were missing.
With a sigh that rattled in his lungs, he re-bandaged the hand and continued writing.
-----
October 4th 2007, Samaria
Jennifer woke to the sound of singing.
She had never heard anything like it. Rubbing her eyes, she unzipped her tent, and beheld a group of women clapping and dancing in the centre of the village. Behind them, Carl and four other Project members were drawing up construction plans with the help of several villagers.
"It lives!" declared Niall, as Jennifer emerged from the tent. She jumped at the sound of his voice.
"Why did you let me sleep in?" she asked, frowning.
Paragraph
Niall was fully dressed, holding two mugs of tea. They were flimsy, camping-style cups that often made the liquid taste metallic.
He laughed. "I only got up an hour ago …"
Jennifer eyed his tousled hair and smiled. "Fair enough. The singing acted as my alarm."
"Yeah … they're celebrating our arrival," Niall said, handing Jennifer a cup. "Last night everyone was just too …"
"Shattered?" Jennifer offered. She smiled wryly, scrutinising the women and the men gathered around Carl. The boy with the bandaged head stood with an old woman nearby, staring in her direction. She looked away, hating to be in his eye-line. To distract herself, she sipped her tea but almost spat it out again at the taste that assaulted her tongue. "Jesus, Niall, what's in this?"
Her friend began to laugh. "Arsenic." Upon seeing Jennifer pour the tea onto the parched ground, his smile faded. "Sugar, Jen – err …why are you wasting a perfectly good cup of tea?"
Jennifer sighed; early mornings had never been kind to her. She caught sight of a thin woman, and instantly felt guilty in wasting the tea. "You know I don't take sugar, Niall," she stated awkwardly, scratching her neck. The young man shrugged.
"How many lumps did you put in?"
"Five."
"Five? Who drinks tea with five lumps? You may as well eat a sugar bowl." Her exasperation made Niall grin. She caught his eye, and felt cheered.
"Anyway, the sooner we start building the better."
He toasted her. "To your health."
She raised her empty cup. "To the village's."
As building got underway, Jennifer began to appreciate their home for the next two weeks. The villagers became part of the project, and were budding helpers, determined to be a part of this vital development. While the project's men and able bodied villagers began building, Jennifer and two other team members, called Claire and Nessa, began to teach the villagers how to treat Leprosy with a medication called MDT - Multiple Drug Treatment.
"It's free," she said to a pregnant woman, who understood some English, "to any Leprosy sufferer in the world. You simply take one of three tablets everyday."
She took a single packet of drugs from her First Aid bag and passed it around the small circle they were sitting in. Behind them, the wall of the first house was being built. The locals examined the tiny tablets with keen interest.
"It safe?" a young man asked her, clad in an over-sized t-shirt.
Jennifer gazed at him and saw that his nose had collapsed; but the hope that shone in his brown eyes was palpable.
"Yes, very safe. If you take each drug over a period of six-months or more, you will be cured."
"They taste nice?" he asked with a smile.
"Not with sugar."
The villagers in the circle laughed. A few children wandered over, attracted by the camaraderie. The boy with the bandaged head was among them. Now that he was close, Jennifer saw that only his eyes were visible; they were a vivid blue.
"Hello," she said kindly, as the children ran about, laughing and joking. Dust rose in clouds from their feet.
He stopped.
Then, to Jennifer's surprise, ran off.
"Do not worry," reassured the pregnant woman beside her. "He is orphan."
Jennifer frowned. "Orphan?"
The woman nodded. "Yes, his father was witch-doctor here. He told us we should live like this. Said there was no cure. He left his wife – also a leper – to die. Now the boy has it."
"Does anyone care for him?"
The woman shrugged. "Some do. Nomusa, village elder, strips his bandage. But you show Christ's love by coming here to build. To help us."
"And to help him."
The woman smiled. "Yes. And him."
Concerns about the boy were driven cleanly from Jennifer's mind at the arrival of two young girls, dressed in brightly coloured skirts. They grabbed handfuls of her long hair, staring at her face with childish wonder.
"They have never seen red hair before," laughed the pregnant woman, and Jennifer sensed she was pleased to be off the subject of the Witch-Doctor's son. "We think it's quite disgusting."
Jennifer exchanged bemused looks with the other team members, before bursting into laughter.
"Really? Oh … well I don't know what to say!"
It wasn't just Jennifer's red hair that kept the villagers interested over the next couple of days. As the houses began to grow, so did the team. Family members and friends from neighbouring villages came to help. Women with children on their backs carried sand and mixed the mortar for building. Throughout all of this, the affects of untreated leprosy were thrown into sharper relief. On the fifth day, Jennifer witnessed Niall's exchange with a fingerless man, as the leper helped Niall build his section of the wall.
"I was humbled," Niall admitted later that evening to Jennifer beside a campfire. "It made me think, 'that is why we are here.'"
His cheeks were flushed from the labour, and his shirt specked with mud. Jennifer, on the other hand, had become rather sunburnt. Her red skin clashed horribly with her hair. The straps of her top were digging painfully into her shoulders.
"You're very quiet tonight."
"Oh … it's the sunburn …" Jennifer remarked.
It was a lie.
Her thoughts were once again occupied by the boy with the bandaged head. His electric blue eyes sliced through her mind. Was he an outcast, in a village of outcasts? Just because of his father? One of God's forgotten children. She was just on a simple mission to help a group of people. She was no professional doctor, nor skilled in the art of building. She was part of a group of twenty able-bodied and dedicated team members and that was enough to make a fulfilling difference, especially on her part.
Jeez, Jennifer thought tiredly, these philosophical thoughts were heavier than a pint of Carling. Who would she be next week? Miss World?
"I … think I might take a lie down, Niall," she murmured.
Niall observed her with concern. "So soon?"
She hated the surprise in his voice. "Yes. I'm tired."
As she stood up, Niall muttered, "you're always tired."
"I heard that."
He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Well it's true. I haven't spoken to you properly for days."
"I can't help it if I'm tired, Niall," Jennifer replied, fighting to keep calm. She was easily annoyed when she hadn't had enough sleep. "We came to do a job."
"Is that all you think this is?"
"It is what it is, Niall - to help people."
Niall scowled. "And to help ourselves, by learning from and remembering the experience."
Jennifer rubbed her temples. Now she was getting a headache. "We don't need this – they do."
"Yes … obviously, but –"
"- Their need is greater than ours, Niall," Jennifer interrupted crossly. "Or have you forgotten that?"
She snatched up her bag and pulled on her sweater, accidentally putting her head through one of the sleeves. Niall offered to help but she brushed him aside.
"Fine," he said, hands raised. "I'll let you calm down before you become 'the Cantankerous Monster of Samaria."
His attempt to alleviate the situation only provoked Jennifer's anger further. She said nothing and stormed away. Several villagers watched her go, but she didn't care. Niall was right; she needed to calm down. There was no need to make a scene… but that was how she was: easily angered, but just as easily placated. Just like her mother back home in Ulster.
She leaned against a tree, staring up into the star-strewn sky. The fires crackled in the distance, glowing like orange orbs.
Home. She hadn't thought about it much. The events in Samaria had filled her mind. They were fifteen hours ahead, but somewhere, across the world, her mum was watching the television and enjoying a takeaway with her beloved younger brother, Laurence. She smiled as she remembered them all settling down to watch Coronation Street, the night before she left. They had opened a bottle of Morrisons's champagne, and toasted her participation in the Help Hombolo Mission. Just five days ago.
"Is it true, we share the same moon?"
The voice made her jump. She squinted through the darkness and dissected the silhouette of a small boy from the shadows around him. He could have been a ghost.
The boy.
Catching her breath, she nodded.
"Yes."
The boy moved closer.
"The same stars?"
"Yes."
Her voice was calmer now; determined, perhaps, to question the boy now that he
was here.
"I saw you the other day."
His voice was soft.
"And I saw you…"
She paused, before deciding to act the parent.
"What … what are you doing out here?"
He stared at her with his large, blue eyes. They looked pale in the moonlight.
"Praying."
"Praying?"
"Yes. The tree where you stand was where we were going to build our church. The rains destroyed the last one. God does not favour this patch of land … nor its people."
With a fingerless hand, he pointed to a roughly made crucifix, buried in the ground.
"I pray, but God does not cure me," he continued in his small voice. "You will. Will you help me?"
Jennifer sank to the boy's level.
"Yes," she said. "Of course I will help you."
"You don't give me pity," the boy said, azure eyes searching her face. "You give me hope."
With a single finger, he slowly peeled away the bandages from his face. The skin around his eyes was scabbed and swollen, making them look sunken. His nose was gone, and his mouth was curved upwards like a harelip. His eyes were watering.
"I'm dying," he said.
Jennifer looked away, her tumbling locks concealing the tears in her eyes.
"No … you're going to live."
"Don't cry."
The boy's voice was sharp, endeavouring her to reply quickly in defence.
"I'm not."
She reached out and clasped the boy's hands in her own and slowly he relaxed into her hug, sinking against her chest, his dark, tanned skin a stark contrast against her own; pale and sunburnt.
She could feel the boy's heartbeat, faintly beneath his ragged Nike t-shirt. The forgotten boy… Why should he wear a shirt bearing the logo of a rich, soulless company? A company that owned sweat-shops? What did they know of a little boy's pain?
She closed her eyes. "God gave us freewill and the intelligence to help his world. But I do … what I do. I'm no great shakes you know. Just a girl." She laughed shakily, attempting to inject some humour into the sorrow bricking up inside of her.
The boy spoke, his voice muffled against her mop of russet hair.
"Yes. I believe you…"
Suddenly, an icy blast of wind began to whistle violently through the trees, making the trunks creak ominously. Jennifer's head began to spin, her whole body suddenly weightless, as if she was suspended in water … the world was a swirling plughole of lights, unearthly groans and chill wind. The boy and the muggy night in Tanzania vanished, and Jennifer departed into a world of solid darkness.
