The Garden of Burning Sand (34 page)

Below Catherine’s signature was a date: July 20, 1996. She had written the letter less than two weeks before she died. Zoe carefully folded the pages and placed them back in the envelope. Her face was a mess; it seemed she had an endless reservoir of tears. She saw Joseph walking toward her across the grass, clad in a long-sleeve shirt and jeans.

“Hey,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I was wondering when you were going to get up.”

“I’m on vacation,” he replied with a lilt that died quickly. “What’s the matter?”

She hesitated and then handed him her mother’s letter. She watched as he read it, worrying that he would judge her for considering Catherine’s offer.

When he reached the end, he regarded her reflectively. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. What should I be thinking?”

He gave her a serious look. “That you’d be a fool not to say yes.”

Her eyes went wide. “What about us? I love you. I don’t want to let this go.”

“Then don’t,” he said softly.

She was incredulous. “You’d come with me to the United States?”

He shook his head. “I can’t be Inspector General in America.”

“What are you saying?”

A smile rose upon his lips. “How often did your mother visit Africa?”

That night, Zoe asked Joseph if he wanted to go for a swim. He declined with a laugh, saying it was too cold. So she went alone. She threw on pants and a shirt over her one-piece suit, slid her iPhone into her pocket, and strolled barefoot across the grass to the pool. The hotel was lit warmly by lamplight, but the grounds around the pool lay in shadow.

No one was about when she dived into the frigid water. She stroked to the far side and back again, doing ten laps. Afterward, she climbed out of the pool and wrapped her shivering body in a towel. In time, she found her iPhone in her pants. She typed two emails beneath the canopy of stars. The first she sent to Monica Kingsley:

The second she sent to her father:

She dressed again and followed the short path that led to the river. The sand was cold on her bare feet, and the boat launch was deserted. She knelt down at the water’s edge and placed her fingers in the gentle current of the Zambezi. Words came to her then, and she spoke them to the night and the river and the land beneath her.

“I’m going home for a while. But I’ll be back.”

I could not have written
The Garden of Burning Sand
without the help of many people around the world. My wife deserves the greatest credit—both for infusing the concept with her own sense of inspiration and for enduring (once again) the seemingly endless litany of days when I was absent either in body or in spirit during the research, writing, and editing of the book. With small children in the home, this was no easy task. Marcy, without your love, encouragement and faith, many of the best things in my life—including this novel—would not exist.

Just as most of the narrative is located in southern Africa, so are the majority of people to whom I owe gratitude. In Zambia, I wish to thank the amazing team of lawyers and social workers at the International Justice Mission (www.ijm.org) for giving me a tutorial of the law of child sexual assault and for your gracious hospitality during my time in the office. I continue to be inspired by your devotion to the work of justice and your commitment to care for the needs of the poorest victims of violence, young and old.

Many thanks to Eric and Holly Nelson and Elizabeth Bailey of Special Hope Network (www.specialhopenetwork.com) for educating me about the plight of Zambian children with special needs and for devoting your lives to meet those needs. Thanks to Wesley Ngwenya for giving
me an insider’s tour of Lusaka and Livingstone and for sharing your stories with me. I could never have gotten Zambia right without your help. Thanks also to Allen and Marcia Craig, Dan and Kate Bridges, and the Nelsons for opening your homes to me and for bearing with my incessant questions about expat life in Africa.

I wish to extend special thanks to the experts I interviewed during my research in Zambia—Dr. Jonathan Mwansa at UTH; two VSU officers from the Zambia Police; Brenda at YWCA; Clotilda, Lucy and three former sex workers at the Tasintha Programme; Professor N.K. Nkanza of Nkanza Laboratories; Namuchana Mushabati at Women and Law in southern Africa; friends at USAID and CDC; and Rob and Kay Baer. Without your knowledge of medicine, law enforcement, forensic evidence, prostitution, gender-based violence, and the cultural context of southern Africa, I could never have written this book.

In South Africa, my thanks go to Arnie, Emay, Abigail, and the team at Oasis for hosting me, showing me Johannesburg, and educating me about HIV/AIDS; to Annatjie Cilliers for instructing me in the clinical aspects of ARV treatment; to Professor Patricia de Witt for giving me a tour of Wits University; to Razelle Viljoen for information about Pretoria East Hospital; to Philip and Sandy Barlow for introducing me to Cape Town; and to Mike and Alyson Guy, Dr. John and Isobel de Gruchy, and the Reverend Barry Wood for your hospitality at Volmoed.

In the United States, I wish to thank Holly Burkhalter at the International Justice Mission for sharing your expertise in congressional procedure, Beltway politics, and foreign aid, and for inspiring me with your passion for justice in the African context. Thanks also to Michelle Conn for opening so many doors within IJM.

Huge thanks to my savvy and compassionate team of agents, editors, and publishers at Creative Trust, Baror International, Quercus
Books, HarperCollins, and publishers around the world for everything you do to support my artistic vision, improve my craft and get my stories into the hands of readers. Special thanks to Dan Raines for brokering connections in Zambia and to Jane Wood and Lorissa Sengara for bringing out the shine in my work.

Last but certainly not least, to my readers, thank you for your messages and notes of encouragement and for your concern for the cause of justice. I write my stories for you.

CORBAN ADDISON’s
debut novel,
A Walk Across the Sun
, was an international bestseller and has been published in 24 countries. In addition to being a writer, Addison is also a litigation attorney who holds degrees in law and engineering. He lives with his family in Virginia. Visit him online at corbanaddison.com.

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www.AuthorTracker.com
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The Garden of Burning Sand
is a work of fiction, but it was inspired by real issues and by my love for Africa and its people. Kuyeya’s story offers an authentic glimpse into the horrifying world of child sexual assault in sub-Saharan Africa. As a father, I am profoundly troubled by this epidemic. My heart breaks for the children who suffer such predation and for the families who agonize with them in the aftermath, wondering whether their wounds can ever be healed. As a lawyer, I am equally troubled that most perpetrators are never punished for their crimes.

There are many reasons for this injustice. Some are cultural and difficult to change. One, however, could be eliminated almost overnight. If every African country had a DNA laboratory, prosecutors like Sarge and Niza could convict more criminals, and girls like Kuyeya would walk the streets in greater safety. In countries like Zambia where doctors, scientists, lawyers, and judges have the skills necessary to employ DNA in the prosecution of rapists and pedophiles, all that is missing is funding and political will.

Kuyeya’s story also highlights the disenfranchisement suffered by African children with intellectual disabilities. In Zambia, four in five children born with an intellectual disability die before their fifth birthday, and disabled girls are more likely to be raped than their non-disabled peers. Again, there are many cultural obstacles to progress on this issue,
but the greatest obstacle is the lack of effective assistance. Although many organizations offer support to people with disabilities, the common practice of lumping intellectual disabilities (i.e. cognitive impairments) in with physical disabilities (e.g. a missing limb) ensures that many of the more difficult cases like Down syndrome and cerebral palsy fall through the cracks. Thankfully, the NGO community is beginning to address this problem, but they need our help.

Much has been said and written about HIV/AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa. I particularly benefited from
Sizwe’s Test
by Jonny Steinberg,
28: Stories of AIDS in Africa
by Stephanie Nolen, and
Africa: Altered States, Ordinary Miracles
by Richard Dowden. Two things struck me as I researched the novel. First, despite the attention the issue has received, the stigma associated with HIV remains entrenched around the world. Second, despite the extraordinary success of PEPFAR and the Global Fund in curbing the AIDS pandemic and saving millions of lives, Western nations, including the United States, are retrenching on AIDS relief at the same time that researchers are telling us that early ARV treatment can dramatically reduce the transmission of the virus. What once seemed impossible—a future without AIDS—is now conceivable. But it will not happen without the ongoing commitment of the rich world to humanitarian aid.

The good news is that private foundations, large net-worth individuals, and charitable organizations are taking up some of the slack left by governments. Indeed, it is possible that the foreign assistance of the future will be dominated by smart, innovative private giving. The source of the funding doesn’t matter. What matters is that we in the developed world maintain the spirit of magnanimity that has defined our relationship with the developing world for generations.

It is up to all of us to ensure that this happens.

Corban Addison

March, 2013

A Walk Across the Sun

The Garden of Burning Sand
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