She had given up smoking cigarettes for her husband. She had agreed to relocate to the United States for him. She loved him, and she was willing to give up a great deal to be with him. But Maria Corneja knew now that she could not give this up for him.
The field.
The woman had flown from Madrid to Gaborone. Within ten minutes of landing, she and a handful of fellow tourists were headed to Maun on board a two-prop British plane, a Saab 340. The trip took a half hour. The single landing strip was located outside of Maun. It was nestled in a flat region of short grasses. There was a modern, three-story control tower as well as a separate wooden tower on the opposite side of the runway. This was for sharpshooters. The marksman watched for herds as well as solitary animals that might wander onto the tarmac. If a herd were spotted, the man in the tower would fire until they left. Usually it took just one shot for the lead animal to turn and run. The rest of the animals invariably followed. If it were a single animal, it could be sick or old. If it did not leave, the sentry would shoot it with a tranquilizer dart. Then it was netted by a tractor that was parked behind the tower. The animal was hauled off the strip and taken to a local refuge for evaluation.
Tourists who came to the region by air were not bused to the heart of Maun.
They had to take individual taxis. The Ministry of Works, Transport, and Communications had given this route to the family that owned the land on which the airstrip was built. The
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family decided to open a taxi service. This gave the drivers ten minutes or so to talk to the new arrivals. They took pictures of the foreigners as they stepped off the plane, sold them mementos, and offered their services as personal tour guides.
Maria had intended to rent a car at the airport. Instead, she ended up with a driver named Paris Lebbard. The airport taxi stand was located near the airport car rental. Lebbard had stepped in front of Maria as she approached. He introduced himself with a smile and a bow. He said that he would charge her less than a rental car. He also told her that he would guarantee the safety of a woman traveling alone and could point out things that the tour books missed.
Maria looked him over. Paris was a very dark-skinned wisp of a man in his early twenties. He was dressed in a white shortsleeve shirt, tan shorts, and sandals. He wore a black kerchief and sunglasses. He spoke impeccable English, French, and Spanish. Maria had an idea. She decided to give him a short trial. She asked him to drive her to Maun. If she were impressed, she said, she would hire him. If not, he would have to drive her back to the car rental, free of charge.
He accepted the offer enthusiastically.
'You will hire me,' he said. 'I will make this trip even more special for you. Plus,' he added, 'I can take pictures with you in them. They will not just be scenery and animals.'
On the way to town, Maria learned that Lebbard had been educated by missionaries. He was a boyhood friend of the grandson of the man who owned the taxi company. She was a good judge of character. He seemed sincere, hardworking, and honest. When they neared Maun Center, Maria told him that she would be delighted to take him up on his offer to drive her around.
Paris was elated. He told her that the minimum engagement was five hours for a total of fifty American dollars. She accepted. He told her that for an extra fifty dollars, she could have him for the entire following day. She said she would think about it.
The shiny black cab reached the busy heart of the village. It pulled up to a crowded taxi stand on the side of the market.
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Maria got out. So did Lebbard, who stood beside the cab on his cell phone. The young man was eager to relay the news to his dispatcher, that he would be staying with his fare for the rest of the day, possibly for the following day.
While he called, the driver reassured the woman that she would learn a lot and that she would also be very safe with him.
'No wild animals and no wild Botswana men will bother you,' the young man had insisted with a back and forth wave of his index finger. He told her he carried a .38 in the glove compartment and a rifle in the trunk.
While Lebbard made his call, Maria was eager to get to work. She began walking around the market. The plane carrying the American bishop was not due for another ninety minutes. Right now, she wanted to familiarize herself with the area. See for herself what the police presence was like. What the streets were like. Whether it would be easy to get in and out of here in a cab or on foot. Whether back doors were locked and how many children there were. Where they played, in case there was gunfire. Whether the kids had bicycles. Whether there were adult bicycles in case she needed one.
Maria Corneja moved with the litheness and power of a natural athlete. She stood slightly under five foot seven inches but seemed taller because of the way she held her head. It was set high and confident, her square jaw forward ever so slightly. She looked like a Spanish princess surveying her realm. Her brown eyes were clear and steady, her nose straight, and her thin-lipped mouth set. Her long brown hair hung down her dark neck. Wearing jeans, a black blouse, and a green windbreaker, Maria did not stand out among the more exotically dressed mix of international tourists.
The bazaar was a tourist attraction, with renovated cobble streets and stalls made of handmade fabrics. It was nicknamed Old Maun, and it was set in the heart of a small but modern city. It was approximately 300 feet wide and 700 or 800 feet long. Hundreds of years ago, this had probably been a caravan stop on a trade route. A convenient stop on an L-shaped bend in the Thamalakane River. The town simply grew up around
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it and remained. Today, the bazaar was crowded with visitors and locals, including a few roaming beggars. They reminded Maria of the homeless people she had seen in places like Calcutta and Mexico City. They were not just poor and unkempt, they looked sickly and broken. She put money in the paper bag of one woman who passed.
