Having dug down to a reasonable depth, Professor Dawkins, with Peggy and Sue close by, started removing small clumps of dirt from what appeared to be a skeleton. After hours of careful removal of dirt (by this time, the Three Mummies, hearing the excited shouts, joined in) from the specimen; cautious not to disturb a single part of their historic find. It was at that very moment they realized: They had uncovered, undisturbed for centuries, perhaps, the remains of an all in-tact skeleton.
Awed by its perfect condition, pictures, and other means of documenting the discovery was quickly put into place. As expected, the smug members of the Zambia National Heritage Conservation Commission, learning of this historical discovery, were on hand, smiling and nodding at the cameras as if it were their discovery—not the Iowa dirt diggers. “Their actions were enough to convert the Pope to Islam,” thought Charlie.
Much later, after all the usual grandstanding of Zambian government officials was over, Allison noticed something unusual about the skeleton. Not only in near-perfect condition, if the person were alive today, standing at her full height, she would reach a height somewhere between five feet and five inches or maybe five feet and seven inches tall.
Scientifically, no one living during that period of ancient history was that tall. Especially women as far as scientist knew. Not only was the rib cage in immaculate condition, seemingly longer than normal; possibly to protect what must have been an unusual large set of lungs. On the left side of the skeleton, there was present an extra rib. Having twenty-five ribs; not twenty-four as all humans have.
News of this find was soon out. The expected International Media frenzy quickly got under way. As if the earlier dog and pony show was not enough---at least U.S. Ambassador-in-waiting, Rob Porter had the courtesy and good sense to wait until the initial excitement died down to make his appearance, offering, on behalf of the entire U. S. nation his congratulations of their success.
“Now,” he said. “Your visit to the embassy will call for a double celebration. Your presence here in Zambia which is, an honor for the Zambian people to celebrate. And your historical find of a very rare ancient artifact, the first of its kind in centuries.”
That evening while taking a hot shower to wash off the dirt and grime, Allison began taking inventory of her own body. Thinking about the skeleton with an extra rib, she had, always assumed she had twenty-four ribs like everyone else. But had she ever checked? Knowing the answer was: “No. It is just something we humans never think about or see a need to do. A doctor? Only if I am sick.” So, skeptically, Allison decided to do so. Oh, my God! she screamed. “I have an extra rib on my left side just like the skeleton we unearthed. I had always assumed my rib cage was no different than rib cages of all human beings.”
A single alien, or perhaps more than one alien must have managed to escape or was forced to leave the partially destroyed planet Zorbus as punishment many centuries ago, ending up on planet Earth. Was that possible? Aliens delivered to planet Earth by the same ‘ghost’ ship observed entering Zorbus’s atmosphere after planet Zorbus’s nuclear meltdown. The ‘ghost’ ship couldn’t possibly be from our solar system. So, it must have come from another galaxy, not the Milky Way. How the aliens must have suffered living in a primitive time; having just arrived from a well-advanced society.
The ancient skeleton displayed no signs of degeneration from lack of wholesome food or recreational exercise. What did they eat? Assuming ‘it’ was more than just one? How did they cope living among savages having never advanced any further than working with their hands, using stone tools, and killing animals for food. “Did these strange aliens, if they were aliens, eventually die out or were their children’s survivors? Is it possible the offspring from these earlier arrivals survived and are living today among us? Was I not the first to land on this planet?” Many questions; but no answers.
22
Charlie and Sara
The first stop on Sara and her fellow travelers’ agenda: Blantyre, the second largest city in Malawi with a population exceeding 800,000. The Republic of Malawi is a landlocked country, bordering Tanzania, Zambia, and Mozambique. A really narrow country, about the size of Pennsylvania.
Sara and her sightseeing group, on arrival in Blantyre checked into the Protea Hotel Ryalls, an internationally recognized, four-star Marriott hotel. Blantyre is the ‘unofficial’ capital of the Republic of Malawi, also known as the center of finance and commerce. [Lilongwe is Malawi’s largest city, with a population nearing one million, considered the official and political Capital—the group's next stop—a city more laid back than Blantyre. Lilongwe is also the location of the American Embassy. Lilongwe, Malawi is divided into two sections: Old Town and New Town. Old Town has bustling stores and restaurants. New Town residents of foreign embassies and consulates, the International Aid Organization, and International Corporate Headquarters.]
International tourists enjoy visiting lakes, mountains, and Malawi’s National Park and Wildlife Reserves. In its colonial time, Blantyre traded in ivory. At one time, it was highly segregated and organized along South Africa’s apartheid lines. Today, Blantyre’s agricultural mix includes coffee, tea, and corn (maize), with lite industries: like shoe manufacturing, noted in the traveler’s brochure provided to all visiting tourists. It is the least developed of all the independent African nations. The fourth poorest country in the world.
The average worker makes less than two dollars a day. The literacy rate among males: 70%. Females, 55%. Disparity attributed to women being treated as second-class citizens—little or no status other than homemakers. The Blantyre/Malawi population rates number nine in the world’s number of HIV/AIDS cases. HIV/AIDS cases in Zambia, in comparison to other African Nations, are rated number seven.
The Malawi geographical area is rampart with communicable diseases. Protozoal (Parasitic disease), diarrhea, hepatitis, typhoid, malaria, plague, Schistosomiasis (parasitic worms), and rabies. Only nine percent of the population have electricity. The electrical system in Malawi works on a 220–240-volt, fifty-cycle system compared to America’s 110/220, 60-cycle system. Each hotel guest at the Protea Hotel Ryalls is provided a British-made Converter, to convert hair dryers and other miscellaneous electrical sources from 220 volts to 110 volts, a 220/110 converter is a must if you are going to be using a 110-volt appliance. The country’s dealing in corruption is a legend. Certainly not safe to go out at night alone; barely safe to go out as a group, during the day.
Sara’s traveling friends were disgusted with the Blantyre locals who accosted them at every turn. Begging for money. Security checkpoints staffed by sloppy guards were everywhere. The thieving guards made it clear: “If you wanted to pass with the least amount of hassle, a bribe, or Baksheesh (‘Baksheesh’ is the word commonly used in the East and Mid-east and parts of Africa instead of ‘bribe’) is necessary.” Men, drunk in the middle of the day, loitered around the streets, making obscene calls to the girls. Prostitutes, male and female, at every corner, soliciting customers. Paying no heed to the fact that the AIDS virus was destroying the country—they did not seem to care.
Filth everywhere you turned. Pedestrians are seen all over, using the streets to relieve themselves. The smells were unbearable. The group of girls were forced to eat practically every meal in the hotel as restaurants and shops near the hotel were dirty, with locals expressing dislike for white people. There was little or no police protection.
One evening, the girls let their guard down, breaking their decision to eat at the hotel only, determined to throw caution out of the window, deciding to go out and eat in a local restaurant. Mary, a member of the group, just sitting down at a corner table, loudly blurted out: “Do not order any of the soups no matter how tempting they are.”
“Why?” said Sara.
“Malawi has a large population of albinos. An anomaly found in the appearance of some people considered a rare hereditary condition—causing the absence of pigmentation in hair, eyes, and skin—making the person look white.”
“Unfortunately, in this country and several other African nations, it is not a plus. Many albinos are often brutally attacked. Some albinos are captured and auctioned off to those who practice witchcraft; sometimes called witch doctors. A cruel practice, having gotten worse over the years, body parts, not used by the witch doctor are sold to local families to eat. With some of the body parts ending up in restaurants like this one, used to make soup and, perhaps, other dishes.”
“Thanks for sharing, Mary. A little late, don’t you think? Now, what in the hell are we supposed to order?”
“Let me see,” spoke up Angie. “Maybe I will order some scrambled eggs and toast. How bad can that be?” “Well, if your eggs come out looking like those the guy next to us ordered, I would be very concerned! Are eggs supposed to be grey?” she asked.
“No. But animal brains are,” they all shouted at the same time, laughing as they exited the restaurant.
“Our hotel is a member of the International Hotel and Restaurant Association which has strict guidelines concerning food service. We better stick to eating here at the hotel restaurant. At least no one has gotten sick or died from eating the food here, yet.
“After downing a couple of Bloody Mary's, who’s going to care about what the food tastes like?” offered Sara.
The next day, Sara, and her touring group, getting over the shocking failed restaurant adventure, looked forward to an exciting trip around the Blantyre countryside. Visiting national parks, animal reserves, and Blantyre’s best-known tourist sites. Perhaps eating one night at Blantyre’s most popular and best restaurant, located in the Amaryllis Hotel Blantyre, a five-star hotel providing excellent hotel amenities, luxury rooms, and suites. An outside pool, three restaurants serving superb food, a fitness center, and much more. “If we can’t get a reservation, at Amaryllis Hotel, we can go to the Casa Mia Lodge which has another choice of restaurants that reportedly serve excellent food.”
The tour group began their countryside travels on what barely resembled a road, a route full of potholes recommended by their tour guide, ending up badly. About one-third of the way to the lake and lodge, the old vintage French Citron vehicle hit an exceptionally large pothole, breaking the vehicle’s axle. Calls were made for help, but none arrived. Mary Sanford, close friend of Sara, thinking: “Maybe if I use my father’s well-known name among the diplomatic corps, the American Consulate will send someone to help.”
With that thought in mind, Mary called the local American Consulate, requesting some assistance in getting them back to their hotel. Calling the American Consulate in Blantyre was a joke. Mary explaining to the dote answering the phone who she was and what they needed was like talking to a brick wall! After precious minutes, Mary finally managed to get the person on the phone to understand her request: “We need help, you idiot--how hard in that to understand!” Finally, the nincompoop promised to send someone to assist.
Nearly two and a half hours later, help arrived. The exhausted group returned to their hotel, tired, and angry that their scenic trip was a complete bust. Outraged with their travel agent, appalled with the stupid tour guide, the careless taxi driver. And most of all. “I’m disgusted with the entire, snotty, tyrannical, American Consulate staff,” said Mary. An incompetent group comprised of nothing but buffoons— masquerading as human beings.” Men in this same situation, more than likely, would hang around the bar, drinking, relieving their frustration, until the bar closed. But being polite young ladies from polite families, after three drinks, they retired for the evening.
Before retiring for good, Agnes, one of the most outspoken of the group asked: “How in the hell did we end up in this f…ng sewer in the first place? Why did we not go straight to Lilongwe—why stop here?”
“I’m not sure,” added Mary, “but I believe it had something to do with Sara needing to stop by to personally check on her rich father’s investments. Blantyre is, after all, the center of finance and commerce in Malawi, you know.”
They all laughed. “Good one, Mary.”
“The truth is, our tour guide back home recommended the stop; something about ‘you do not want to miss the historic sites in Blantyre,’ a city founded in 1876 by a group of missionaries from the church of Scotland with Blantyre getting its name from David Livingstone’s birthplace in Blantyre, Scotland.”
“Well, when we get back home, I am going to make sure that bitch of a travel agent leaves out that speech and writes off this dump when selling her bullshit to other travelers,” spoke an angry Sara.
Exhausted, Sara was just drifting off to sleep when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Charlie, she answered it on the third ring. But it was not the voice of Charlie she heard. It was her father calling.
“Dad! Is there something wrong?”
Not waiting for his reply, Sara blurted out: “Dad, it’s late. Why are you calling?”
Her father promptly responded “It’s not that late, honey. It’s just after 6:30 here. The time difference between the two countries is only six hours. So, I am guessing it is 12:30 in Blantyre. It doesn’t matter. I just called to ask if you are still going back to Lusaka to meet your new boyfriend?”
