My story starts in a car traveling up Mt Malema. The green flora slaps against the windows as we speed up a heavily muddied path that I would never call a road. My heart thuds in my chest as I realize what it means that we were basically offroading to get to what will be my home for the next year.

Ungrateful girl. Mother's words mock me for traveling across the world instead of finding something closer to home. She'd have been happy if I worked at a pharmacy for just over minimum wage and never left home.

The car jerks and tosses me against the front seat as we damn near fly over another dip in the path. Instead of slowing down, we seem to pick up speed. 

"What's going on? Is he drunk?“ I ask my guide, a portly man with a bald head and skin like burnt clay. He is the second guide since the city; the first had charmed me with his bright blue eyes and cheerful smile. Enough that I hadn't said a word when he passed me off to baldie. I don't hate the man or blame him, but as the car lurches again and the driver lets out a wild giggle, I'm fucking concerned.