Africa

The sun was blazing high in the cloudless blue sky, and the air outside was hot and dusty. The rugged road that they were traveling on stretched far into the horizon and they were miles away from civilization. Eric Forman strained to make out the words on yet another broken down sign a couple of meters ahead, only to sigh in disappointment as they zoomed past and he found it defaced yet again.

Despite having lived in Wisconsin his whole life, Eric found himself adapting to Africa in no time at all. From the very first day that he had first set foot in the continent three months ago, Eric had felt a magnetic pull from the land. Here, in Africa, he was no one, had no past, and he could be anyone. For the first time in his life, he felt free. Free from the parameters that were thrust upon him since childhood, of being Red and Kitty Forman's son. Or Donna Pinciotti's skinny boyfriend. Or Steven Hyde's forgettable best friend. He had always been defined by the people around him, and the thing was that he didn't even know that he had any shackles on until he stepped off the plane and breathed in the chalky air, and felt them all fall off.

It wasn't all romance though, and Eric had learnt to have no illusions about the rawness of Africa, which he had come face-to-face with mere hours after he left the airport all those weeks ago.

At present though, Eric had more pressing issues affecting him, namely, that the air-conditioning in their small jeep had finally puttered and died, and the spinning wheels were throwing sand and stone up into the open window. Breathing was difficult because the vehicle was belching diesel fumes and Eric was feeling the beginnings of a headache start.

"How much further?" he asked Baako.

"About an hour or so till we clear the border, and then another hour or two from there."

Eric had met the Christian missionary two weeks ago. He had arrived at the village that Eric was stationed at with a wide smile and to spread the word of the Lord. Although he had never been particularly religious himself — his Sundays were spent being dragged to church by the skin of his teeth or threatened with a foot up his ass — Eric bonded fairly quickly with the man, taken in by the portly man's easy manner and fluency in the English language.

Baako was from Ghana, far to the west, and Ghana being the richest country in Africa, was also more open to influences from the more developed countries in the world, in particular, the Western powers. The story was that Baako was baptized by the English priest whom he had met back in Ghana a decade ago and had been traveling all around Africa to spread the Christian faith ever since.

Eric had loved where his sponsorship program had set him up. The people there were used to foreigners, and as such, most of them were already exposed to and had a relatively strong command of English. There was another fellow American posted there with him, an aid worker with the United Nations who was fluent in Swahili, and it was through her nightly tutoring that Eric was able to pick up the language as fast as he did.

His program requirements were centered around teaching, but along with his newfound awareness that his boundaries were truly limitless here, Eric was fascinated with African culture and their way of life. Outside of his teaching hours, he immersed himself in their daily activities and stood out from his predecessors and other volunteers alike, by how much a part of them he was willing to become. He tended to their livestock when they tended to their livestock; went trading with them when they went trading; ate with them; drank with them; and farmed with them.

Cropping was no easy task, and especially not when the principal crop where he was at was sugarcane. It was heavy and bulky, and cutting them down was grueling business. At first, his enthusiasm to help far out-shadowed his ability to do so, and the first week he was there, he struggled under the toil of physical labor. As the weeks went by, slowly but surely, his body caught up with his relentless will to perform and he was able to keep up with the strongest of them for the most physically intense work.

Through their nightly talks over changaa, an alcoholic beverage distilled from millet and maize that was favored by the people in that region, he learnt that Baako was headed to Ethiopia next. There were a great many villages in Ethiopia who were incredibly keen for an education but were being denied the privilege for its government was less willing to open the country to aid. Eric was intrigued by the stories Baako told him of the Ethiopians and was spurred by a desire to see more and learn more about the continent that had already captured much of his heart. Add that to the fact that he felt that he was in an actual position to help, and could make a difference, created a pull that he could not resist nor ignore.

And so he packed up and traveled with the Christian African man to Ethiopia.

"Will we have trouble crossing the border?"

Baako flashed him a toothy grin. "Not if we slip them a couple of American dollars along with our passports."

Eric nodded in understanding. He rifled around in his backpack and pulled out a bandana that he used to tie around his nose and mouth in an attempt to block out the fumes and dust.

They arrived at the Ethiopian village that Baako was headed for with no trouble whatsoever. The people there welcomed him as genuinely as the people back in the first village that he had been staying at. They were excited to learn that he had come to stay with them for awhile and will be holding English lessons for the length of his stay. They spoke Hamer there, an Omotic language different from the Swahili that Eric was used to. Still and all, even with the slight communication mishap here and there, with his natural charm and easygoing ways, Eric was well-liked and warmly accepted.

The days in this new place too, passed uneventfully, and along with livestock, which was vital to their livelihood, Eric learnt that the principal crop there was maize, instead of the sugarcane that he was used to. They were ripe for harvesting during his time there, and the sight of row upon row of golden corn was much to behold. It was a very different process from farming sugarcane that he had helped his villagers to do, but no less demanding.

And so again, he helped with the harvesting, along with the women and children. They were surprised and excited that he was willing to share in their work, and were impressed that he could hold his own among them. The children were kept to lighter work, and they danced around him and delighted in pointing out the finer points of cropping these with a series of hand gestures and miming. Eric was a quick learner, and was soon able to keep up with the men to be more of a help than a hindrance. It was back-breaking work, for like the village before, they lacked the heavy machinery available to farmers in wealthier nations, but they were happy doing it, for they had known no other easier way, and mostly they were simply grateful that the devastating effects of the droughts that plagued them had spared them during this reaping season.

The majority of the villagers' diet consisted of some part of the plant, and though it was rich in some minerals, a heavy reliance of maize in the diet could lead to malnutrition and vitamin deficiency diseases. Night blindness was a consequence, and Eric found that it was prevalent there.

The days blended into one another and Eric was usually seen in the mornings teaching in the open, under the shade of a huge tree, with a makeshift board and a long thin branch as a pointer. The sounds of the children's laughter could be heard often along with the cadence of his deep baritone. He had learnt to modify the pitch of his voice, for after the first few weeks he had spent teaching in Africa, he was out with severe laryngitis, having overstrained the use of his vocal chords at his usual key, as he had needed to speak continuously at a loud enough volume to be heard by a class of forty.

His afternoons he spent with the men, and he found that village work everywhere was much the same: building huts, ploughing the fields in preparation for the next seasonal crop and whatever else that needed to be done for the essentials of food and shelter. After a while, his morning classes in the new village grew again to include the women and men as well, and he went to bed every night with a deep sense of fulfillment.

It had happened early one night.

It was maybe three weeks to a month later, and two women went into labor at the same time. Their cries and grunts could be heard throughout the village.

Eric was sitting at a small table writing a letter home.

Dear Mom,

I'm writing this from a village in southern Ethiopia by candlelight. I bet you find that romantic, but Mom, this is seriously an eyestrain. At this moment there seem to be a couple of women who've decided to go into labor together. There's a village midwife, but I can't help thinking that if you were here you'll be make them pop in no time. But it's just me, so it seems they won't be popping anytime soon—

It would be the last real letter that he wrote back home.

Eric finished his letter a half an hour later, filling his family with details of his life, and being careful to avoid any mention of Donna. He thought it best this way, to make it a clean break. The distance had been hard on their relationship, and he had broken up with her weeks ago, feeling it was best if he left her free to pursue her own dreams.

She had always been a free spirit, and now that he was no longer in Point Place to chain her there, he thought that it was only fair for her to find herself too. He had to admit, when he had first learnt about Randy he had been jealous. And though he was grateful that he was told, he realized that Africa had done something to him. And though he had headed out here because of Donna, it didn't feel much like that at all now.

Now he knew that he had come for himself, to discover himself, and he didn't feel the compulsion to plan his future around Donna's dreams, or the need to make Donna the center of his universe anymore. It was oddly liberating, and for the first time ever, he knew that he would be able to survive without her in his life. They were both too different, he acknowledged, and while he had always craved stability and commitment — and his time in Africa only cemented his need for those — she had never really valued those on her list of priorities.

The two women labored on, and Eric blew out the candles and got ready for bed.

A loud commotion woke him up several hours later. He glanced about him. It was still dark out, and there was a riot of screaming and crying and shouting going on outside. What the hell was going on? Worried, he got out of bed and made for the door.

It flew noisily open before he could get to it and Baako came bursting in, wild-eyed and frantic. He saw Eric out of bed and held up his hands, blocking his way.

"Eric! No! Stay here."

And that was where it all went to hell.