The Unbroken Horizon

Chapter One

South Sudan, April 2011

The Rainy Season

Sarah

I woke to a pounding down the sides of my canvas tent, causing its foundation to tremble and shake all around me. The first thought in my sleep-addled, half-Californian brain was Earthquake!

When my mind finally caught up with my racing heart and I remembered where I was, recognition pushed my thin lips open in a rare smile of elation.

Rain.

After five months of relentless heat and dust. So much dust, everywhere. It clung to our patients like plastic wrap. They arrived with chapped skin and lips, as parched as the land around them. At night, no amount of brushing off and shaking of sheets could eliminate the thin layer of grit that inevitably coated my bed. Dust caked the insides of my laptop until one day it just stopped working, and Okot—my nurse-friend, Hiba’s husband and the compound’s wizard logistician—had to rescue it from the dead with his magical touch. 

I heard peals of joyful laughter breaking through the thunderous sound of the rain. I put on a thin bathrobe over my flimsy nightdress (most nights it was so hot I wanted to sleep naked) and lifted the side of my tent to see Mariol and two of his sisters dancing and splashing in the rapidly forming mud puddles.

The nurse in me cringed—knowing all too intimately that mud is host to a cesspool of disease-carrying bacteria—and wanted to shout at them to go home. A dormant child part of me longed to join in. To be that carefree. 

In the moment, I did neither, only tied the flap to the side of the tent and dragged my wicker chair to the entrance so I could enjoy their frolicking and still be somewhat sheltered. The wind was blowing the other direction, so thankfully very little rain was entering the tent.

Mariol grabbed the younger of his two sisters by the wrists and started twirling her. She giggled with glee as her legs flapped like flags in the wind. He threw his head back and howled at the rain as though he were a wolf serenading the moon. His dark skin glistened, and his soaked red shorts clung to his thin frame.

I felt my heart soften, as it always did around Mariol, and the habitual bracing in my stomach relaxed a little. I closed my eyes, remembering the first time I met him, six months before. The small, matchbook plane that had taken me on a cramped and bumpy ride from Juba had just spit me out onto the tarmac. I was tired and crabby from thirty-six sleepless hours of travel. As I teetered unsteadily on my legs, Mariol came up to me and held his hand out, giggling at his own formality.

He tried to keep a straight face as he said in clipped but proper English, My name’s Mariol. Welcome to South Sudan.

I shook his hand and smiled. So pleased to meet you, Mariol. I’m Sarah, I said, before spotting a sign behind him that had my name, Sarah Baum, written in large, block letters.

After that day, Mariol and I became the unlikeliest of friends, thanks to his persistence and unflappable nature.

He and his family lived very close to the plane landing strip (and hence to the bush hospital where I worked, since they were 600 feet apart). His father, Chol, came from a long line of Dinka cattle herders who’d lived on that land for generations, originally drawn to the river that ran through the area.

When the bush hospital had set up camp five years earlier, Chol had taken it in stride. In fact, thanks to his father, then four-year-old Mariol was among the therapeutic feeding center’s first patients, and after that, the boy became a regular fixture on the compound. He learned English from the various international workers who came and went, and because of that his accent and expressions were a motley blend of different cultures.

Mariol’s mother, Aluel, had had a harder time adjusting to the planes and the comings and goings of the staff. Mariol said his mother’s family came from a village nine hours away by foot, and he knew she missed them, along with the relative quiet there. They went back to visit as often as they could.

Soon after my arrival, Mariol discovered my habit of an early morning run and often followed me part of the way, mimicking my short, clopped strides. Although laughing at myself was never my forte, I found that I missed him on days he didn’t show up.

Over time, my normally steel-clad defense mechanisms eroded, and I started seeking out his company on my days off almost as often as he did mine. I learned to identify each of his family’s six cattle by sight—no mean feat for a city girl. I sensed that I needed the joy he brought to my life much more than he needed the entertainment and novelty I brought to his.

*

Small but strong fingers wrapped around mine, pulling me out of my reverie and out of my chair. Sarah, dance, Mariol instructed, pumping my arms up and down, as though trying to infuse joy and life into my stiff limbs. Have fun! You need to get more loose!

I laughed, thinking I could take that many different ways. But it wasn’t the first time I’d been encouraged to loosen up. While others’ observations felt like judgments and only served to further activate my bristliness, Mariol’s unbridled enthusiasm was contagious.

In many ways, he was my alter-ego. His nine years to my thirty-four. His sunniness to my snarkiness. My childhood had been as replete with every creature comfort I could want as it was bereft of any emotional warmth and connection, especially after my father died when I was twelve. A fleet of sullen babysitters raised me, and as an only child, I was perpetually lonely. Mariol’s childhood was the opposite. His family had few material possessions by the subjective standards I was accustomed to, but even without knowing their language, I could tell how much love and care they had for each other.

I shook my head to clear the cloud of childhood memories that had suddenly darkened my mind, and as I did, hundreds of droplets flicked from the tips of my long, black hair. Mariol and his sisters laughed and started doing the same. Their joy was catching. Without thinking, I flung my head back and extended my legs and arms out in an X shape, welcoming the drops pelting down on my face and body as they attempted to cleanse me of the stress of the last five months.

A moment later, however, the myriad tasks requiring my attention came tumbling back into my mind, and I felt the tension return to my shoulders and stomach. I waved goodbye to the children and ducked back into my tent to prepare for the day.

*

Seemingly overnight, blades of grass grew out of the dry earth, and yellow flowers appeared out of nowhere. However, the rains brought their own set of challenges. As the skies continuously poured buckets of water down on us, the whole area became a big, wet marsh.

That’s why they sometimes call this part of Sudan the world’s biggest swamp, Hiba informed me with a smile, and I automatically beamed back at her. I liked all the Sudanese nurses I worked with, but Hiba was my favorite due to her gentle nature and calming presence, as well as our mutual love of Mariol. She came from the same Dinka tribe as he did and was close friends with his mother. In fact, she had been the one to encourage Aluel to bring her oldest son to the bush hospital’s therapeutic program.

A few days later, we were saying reluctant goodbyes to Mariol, who was traveling with his mother to visit her family. Knowing how excited he was and how much Aluel missed her village, I tried to hide my sadness behind forced enthusiasm. The compound wouldn’t be the same without my friend, but the knowledge he was returning the next week cheered me.

As it turned out, we had little time to notice his absence, because we were soon responding to the first malaria outbreak of the season. Jean-Claude, the Belgian head doctor, called the nurses and logistics staff into the large admin office at 7:00 a.m. to inform us of our malaria strategy. I would say discuss, but that wasn’t Jean-Claude’s style. He had more of an authoritarian bent with a very low tolerance for dissenting opinions. Not usually one to mince words, I clashed with him a few times early on before I learned that biting my tongue was the best way of avoiding his ire.

He stood in front of a map of the region, which had clearly been hung by someone much shorter than his six-foot, two-inch frame, and he had to stoop as he pointed to a village that was a nine-hour walk away since the mud had rendered the unpaved road impassable by car.

We received a report that there has been a death in this village. You will start with the villages closest to us and slowly make your way out to this one. I strained to hear his low, accented voice over the whir of the generator and the pitter-patter of the rain.

That’s Mariol’s mother’s village! She’s currently there with her children! the usually quiet Hiba exclaimed, referring to the outermost village Jean-Claude was pointing to.

It will take us at least three days to get there if we do all the other villages first! Who knows how many people will have died by then? Shouldn’t we go there first? I was thinking of Mariol’s beaming face when I said goodbye to him the week before, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.

Jean-Claude approached the long table where Hiba, the other nurses, and I were sitting and stopped in front of me. He fixed me with his cold, pale-blue eyes and drew up to his full height. His sparse, sandy hair seemed to be standing on end along with the rest of him.

You’re letting your emotions get the best of your professional sense, Sarah. For all your flaws, I didn’t think that was one of them. We need to be systematic about how we do this. If we go to that village first, by the time we finish the internal radius, the malaria may have spread and caused more deaths. We need to manage and contain it in as many places as we can before we spend an entire day going anywhere.

He’s right, it’s not safe to be too soft, a familiar voice in my head chided me.

I felt a flush creeping into my cheeks and nodded, not quite able to meet Jean-Claude’s stare face-on.

Three of the drivers will be accompanying you on foot, Jean-Claude continued, seemingly satisfied with my reaction, to carry the medical equipment and tents since the cars are useless right now. I need one of the nurses here to help me, so Kamal will stay back.

This time, I had no trouble hearing him. His tone had a finality that allowed no space for discussion and reminded me of my mother’s impenetrability. No wonder he rubs me the wrong way, I thought, not for the first time. Old feelings of powerlessness and impending doom rose to the surface, and soon my insides were roiling. When the meeting was over, I rushed to the outdoor latrine and retched.

You look pale, are you okay? Hiba asked an hour later, as we got our bikes ready for the trip. Jean-Claude gave us the choice of walking or biking (maybe to give us the illusion we had a say in something?), and we both decided to risk the tires getting stuck in the mud for the chance of moving a little faster.

I must be blue, then, because you don’t get much paler than I already am, I joked, mostly to avoid answering her. Vomiting was a rare occurrence for me unless I was very sick. Or extremely stressed. Neither of which I had time for right now.

"How are you, Hiba? Are you worried about Aluel and Mariol? I’m sorry Jean-Claude ignored you completely this morning. That man has the warmth of a jellyfish."

What do you have against jellyfish? Hiba joked back, mimicking my American accent.

Hiba had quickly caught on to my particular brand of sarcasm after my first few jokes at Jean-Claude’s expense and now often one-upped me in that department. She and Mariol kept me on my toes and laughing, which was a blessing.

Worrying doesn’t help, although praying might. She winked, knowing I was an atheist. I’m just hoping we get done with the other villages quickly.

Her tone was light, but her usually bright eyes looked tired. I watched as she unconsciously clenched and unclenched her jaw. I squeezed her hand to let her know I knew how she felt. All we could do was our job and hope for the best.

I ended up carrying my old, rusted Schwinn almost as much as I rode it since the tires kept getting stuck in the red, squishy mud. Hiba fared a little better than I did, being used to navigating the rainy season and having eagle eyes for the firmer patches of land. By the time I got to the closest village, she and the other three Sudanese nurses had already checked a fifth of the villagers. There were only a few mild cases of malaria, and the unease I’d been feeling since that morning started to dissipate.

We arrived at Aluel’s village three days later, and when she spotted us, she grabbed Hiba’s arm and pulled her in the direction of one of the huts.

Mariol has malaria and is very sick, Hiba shouted back at me before running after her friend, with me at her heels. Her words dropped like stones in my stomach.

When I saw the usually energetic boy lying listlessly on a blanket, sweat beading at his brow, the dread I’d been fighting for the past three days gripped my heart like a vise.

I took his temperature—104ºF—and checked his eyes and tongue while Hiba listened to his heart and took his pulse. We looked at each other, the same fear mirrored in both of our eyes.

Severe anemia, we said in unison. My heart sank. The only chance of saving him was a blood transfusion, which we could only do back at the bush hospital.

I radioed the compound and was relieved when Okot answered instead of Jean-Claude: the Belgian doctor was the last person I wanted to talk to. I explained the situation to Okot.

In addition to prepping for a blood transfusion, please ask Jean-Claude whether two of the water carriers can meet us halfway to relieve the drivers, who will be carrying Mariol on a stretcher.

Okay. Good luck. Tell Hiba I’m thinking of her, Okot said.

The nine-hour walk back was a somber, silent affair, save for the occasional racking sobs coming from Aluel and Hiba’s low, reassuring voice. We took as few breaks for pee, food, and rest as our bodies allowed. It hadn’t rained in a day, and the bikes were rollable, if not rideable, which was lucky since we had the equipment and the tents strapped to them to free up the drivers to carry Mariol. For a while, I had both the bikes so Hiba could walk arm in arm with her friend, her other hand alternating between holding Mariol’s hand and mopping his beading brow.

One of the drivers, on a break from his rotation carrying Mariol, relieved me of the extra bike. I caught up with the stretcher and checked Mariol’s forehead. The heat from his sweat almost sizzled my hand. Both his whimpers and his silence worried me. I felt dread mounting with each step, and the what ifs short-circuited my thoughts into a frenzied fear loop.

What if we don’t have the right blood type for the transfusion?

What if we don’t get there in time?

What if I’d convinced JC to go to their village first?

Fearing a full-blown panic attack, which I knew wouldn’t help anyone, I tried to get my thinking under control.

You’re letting your emotions get the best of you, I heard Jean-Claude’s words echoing in my mind. Remembering a trick I often used to relax anxious patients, I counted backward and forward in my mind to try to stay calm.

*

Back at the compound, Jean-Claude instructed Hiba and me to stay with Aluel while he tended to Mariol with Kamal, who was much fresher than the rest of us. Hiba held Aluel’s hand and reassured her in Dinka, while I paced in front of the medical tent, trying to catch either snippets of conversation or a glimpse of Mariol. Patience had never been one of my strong suits.

When Kamal came out a few hours later, he shook his head. The haunted look in his eyes and haggard slump of his shoulders made him look ten years older than when he’d entered the tent. I’m so sorry, there was nothing we could do, he said to Aluel. Hiba translated as her friend collapsed in her arms and started wailing.

I stared at him, my brain unwilling to grasp the finality of his words. I shook my head either to clear it, or to resist reality, but this time there were no cleansing raindrops. No laughter. Only the sharp pain of grief. I wanted to rewind the reel and have Kamal come back out and tell us that Mariol was going to be okay.

He couldn’t be gone. He was nine. He had his whole life ahead of him. My mind kept skipping over Kamal’s words. Not wanting to accept that Mariol would never again dance in the rain. Never know intimate love. Or heartbreak. That I would never hear the sound of his laughter again. Never was an eternity too big to compute in my brain.

Hiba, JC wants to talk to you when you’re ready, Kamal said gently.

After she’d gone, I turned towards Aluel. She was rocking back and forth, as she moaned in agony. The sobs racking her body seemed to come from the very core of her being. I hesitated for a moment, knowing that there was nothing I could do to alleviate her pain, before gently taking one of her hands. She gripped mine back so tightly that her nails dug into my skin. I welcomed the distraction from the nausea in the pit of my stomach. Tears streamed down both our faces.

When Hiba came back out a few minutes later she took Aluel’s other hand and we silently sandwiched the grieving mother, trying to transmit whatever solace we could through the warmth and touch of our bodies.

JC said I should take at least a week off to grieve and help Aluel and her family.

I’m glad you’ll have time away, Hiba, and that you can be there for Aluel. I’m so sorry for both of you, I said, my voice thin and wavering from crying.

JC wants to see you, too, Sarah. I nodded in acknowledgment, but I needed to say something to Mariol’s mother first.

Aluel, I’m so sorry we couldn’t save Mariol. He was more full of life and light than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s so unfair. My voice cracked as I struggled to put into words what I felt, while Hiba interpreted for me. Aluel, still too overcome by grief to speak, clutched my hand to her heart in response, before releasing it so I could go.

I was trying to fight my tears back when I went inside. Jean-Claude stared at me with stony eyes.

You will have to cover for Hiba for the next week, so pull yourself together, he said, in French, presumably so Kamal, who was taking care of Mariol’s body, wouldn’t understand.

When I first arrived, the nurse I took over from had told me Jean-Claude was a little kinder to French speakers, but he hadn’t responded to any of my attempts to speak to him in his mother language. I hadn’t even known he’d heard me until now. But somehow, I found him even more chilling in his native tongue.

This is their life, but it’s not yours. You and I choose to be here, so it’s our job to be able to make the hard decisions, to not get attached, so we can keep doing it over and over again. How have you been able to survive so many years of doing this without knowing that? he asked, with a mixture of curiosity and scorn.

His words slapped me in the face. It took every ounce of my energy to swallow my tears and subdue the grief.

For the next week, I switched to autopilot mode in order to keep my feelings at bay.

Jean-Claude is right, my inner nemesis berated me. It’s your fault you’re in pain. You should know better than to get close to anyone. It always leads to heartbreak.

I just need to make it until Hiba comes back, then everything will be fine, I told myself at night before getting into my cot, to try to counter the negative voice. My last thought was a fervent hope that I wouldn’t have any nightmares. Especially not the nightmare. The one that seemed to hijack my unconscious mind every time something bad happened.

Where I was a Black girl, alone in the forest, in the dead of night. Surrounded by white hoods and torches. Barely breathing, hoping they wouldn’t find me.

Chapter Two

The Nightmare

Sarah

I’m crouching in tall grass behind rows of cotton. Terror is a leaden weight in my stomach. I can’t move. Someone is after me, although I can’t quite remember who. In my left hand, I have a bundle of something I keep touching for reassurance. There’s a sliver of a moon above me. I’m grateful that it isn’t full enough to reveal my hideout, but is visible enough to comfort me. Trees surround me. They are both familiar—I sense I’ve been here many times—and not. As the sky darkens to a midnight blue, the leaves become indistinct orbs swaying in the wind.

A sharp noise rouses me. I must have dozed off, I think, panicked. There are voices and footsteps in the distance. My body’s stiff and cold. My legs are numb, and I have to feel them with my hands to make sure they’re still attached to the rest of me. My heart’s beating so loudly I’m sure it will give me away.

The cotton’s long stalks obscure my vision, but the men’s voices grow nearer, and the flickering of the torches twirls with the shadows of the trees. They’re too far to find me, though, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Until I hear a low voice I recognize. Dad? I can’t make out what he says, but the response is loud and angry. Then there’s fist on flesh and a grunt of pain.

Holding my breath, I slowly and carefully straighten my torso to peer above the billowy balls of cotton. I gasp, and quickly cover my mouth with my hand, when I see pointed white hoods—six or seven of them, carrying torches and sticks. One man has several long ropes. I can’t see him, but I know him by the shape of his body: He’s the man who’s after me. I also see the huddled figures of two other men I seem to recognize. My father? My brother?

The rest is a blur. The men move away from me, but a dim light from the torches remains. One of them shouts to another to toss him the rope. Frightened, knowing there is nothing I can do, I bury my face in the earth and cover my ears with my hands. I count to one hundred and back, but I jump with every noise and crackle and have to start all over again.

Finally, I’m shrouded in silence.

I make myself count a few more times before getting up, to make sure they are gone and because I’m not sure my limbs are still working. My right leg has fallen asleep and nearly collapses under the weight of my body. I shake it to get the blood flowing again.

As I approach the trees where I heard the men’s voices, my heart pounds in my chest, and my stomach flutters in fear. Something moves in the tree in front of me, and I freeze in my tracks. I see the rope flashing in the thin moonlight and spot a body dangling from it. The head bobs up, and I scream. I know it’s my dad, although his skin is as dark as Okot’s. He didn’t die of a heart attack! He was murdered, I think.

I run over to the second body, whom I recognize as my brother, although when I look up, he has Mariol’s face. I tug at the bundle I’ve been carrying, and the contents scatter. I find a knife and clamber up on the tree’s knobby base. Hanging on with one arm, I try frantically to hack through the rope with the other, but the fibrous strands only tighten around his neck. I can hardly see what I’m doing through my sobs.

My brain is numb, and I can’t think clearly, but somewhere the thought comes that I can’t help them and that I need to get out of here before the same thing happens to me.

A raven swoops close to my head, its loud cawing somehow breaking the grip of fear that’s been keeping me pinned in place. Glancing behind me to make sure nobody is coming, I crouch down and gather my scattered belongings.

Before I know it, my legs are carrying me as far and as fast as they can.

When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat and could barely breathe. Mariol and the other man’s face swam in and out of my field of vision. I felt a throbbing pain above my left eyebrow and turned my flashlight on to glance at my watch. 3:47 a.m. I took two Advil, hoping to relieve the pain. While the pills took some of the edge off the sharpness, the throbbing remained. I tossed and turned, trying to get back to sleep, but couldn’t.

I finally gave up around 6:00 a.m., feeling groggy and disoriented. I took two more Advil, hoping to dull the migraine a little more. I wrote down what I could remember of the dream, both to give me something to do and because I knew Patrick, my therapist, would ask me about it when I returned home.

I considered telling Jean-Claude I was sick, but I remembered how cold his eyes were when he told me to pull it together. And with Hiba gone, the clinic was understaffed. I glanced at the weekly schedule Okot handed out every Monday. I had to think hard to remember what day it was. Wednesday. I checked my morning round: the maternity ward. My favorite. My heart lightened a little at the sight.

Just two more days until Hiba comes back. And then everything will be fine. I can survive two days. I can always take a nap at lunch if I need to, I whispered, trying to rally myself into feeling better.

When I got to the maternity tent, I saw Jean-Claude examining a woman who was panting and heaving, supported by a man and a young girl. I gasped at the brightness of the naked bulb in the tent and suppressed an urge to cover my ears at the loudness of the woman’s moans. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself against the side of a cot.

Piath went into labor at home, but after hours of pushing, nothing was happening, and she was losing blood so rapidly they carried her here. Jean-Claude says the baby’s breech and she needs a C-section, Kamal informed me.

This was bad news. We weren’t equipped to do any kind of surgery, and the risk of infection was too high. In these cases, our best chance was to get the patient airlifted to a surgical hospital in Lokichoggio, on the Kenyan border.

Quick, Sarah, contact the UN and see if they can send the plane over! Jean-Claude barked.

I nodded, careful not to move my head too much. I slowly made my way to the administrative tent, hoping that my migraine would pass so I could think more clearly.

Once there, I found I couldn’t focus above the pitter-patter of the rain and the wheezing of the old stuttering generator that lived just outside. I made a mental note to ask Okot if we could get a newer model. The sound was even louder than usual, and I figured it had to be on its last legs.

I had sealed the tent flaps securely upon entry as was our protocol to protect the computers from humidity during the rainy season and dust during the dry season. I suddenly found it hard to breathe in the tightly enclosed space. I decided to ignore the clutching sensation in my throat, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, knowing that a woman’s life depended on me.

I picked up the satellite phone, hoping its weight might steady me. Instead, the screen kept swimming in and out of focus, and I couldn’t see the numbers I needed to dial.

The migraine that had started that morning as a throbbing pain above my left eyebrow had now invaded my entire forehead, its pounding rhythm shattering any semblance of coherent thinking. I gasped for air.

I’m hyperventilating was my last thought before I blacked out.

When I came to, I was in a cot in the infirmary, and Hiba was by my side.

Hiba, what are you doing here?

Shhh, she quieted me, taking my hand in hers. Jean-Claude contacted me on the emergency phone, and I came home early. You’ve been out for a day.

A day? How is that possible? How is Piath? I asked, remembering what had happened before I fainted. I hope she’s okay! Did someone call the UN?

Yes, she’s okay. By the time Okot found you, it was too late to have her airlifted, so Jean-Claude had to perform an emergency C-section. The baby was already dead, but he was able to save Piath. He was pretty amazing, I was told.

I’m so relieved! I feel terrible. I put her life in more danger. And I’m sorry you had to come back early. Jean-Claude is going to kill me. Is he livid?

She looked at me, and I could tell she was debating what to answer. Her hesitation made me wonder if I even wanted to know.

Don’t worry about that now, Hiba finally answered. You need to rest.

*

Jean-Claude was surprisingly calm when he came to talk to me in the infirmary. His face was inscrutable.

I clearly miscalculated the impact the child’s death would have on you, Sarah. I want you to take a five-day break and do whatever is necessary to come back refreshed and ready to tackle all the work we have.

What have you done, Sarah?! I thought, berating myself for breaking down, endangering a woman’s life, and putting myself in this position.

I’m so sorry about what happened—and for Piath. I made an unforgivable mistake. I appreciate the break and the second chance. I promise I’ll come back ready.

Jean-Claude scanned my face, as though searching for a breech in my sincerity. But I meant every word. I had to be ready.

Tell me, Sarah, do you like being a humanitarian nurse?

My throat tightened at the question, terrified of what he was getting at.

Of course! I love it. It’s my whole life.

In fact, I didn’t have anything else to show for my life. No husband or boyfriend. No kids. No close friends, at least none that lasted more than a year after my last mission ended. My relationship with my mother was strained, to put it mildly, and I had no other close family members. I found it hard to breathe just thinking about not having the one thing that brought meaning to my life, so I brought my attention back to Jean-Claude.

Then remember: It’s your job to care just enough to want to keep doing the work, but not so much it clouds your judgment. We need to be able to be here for every patient, not just one or two. When you first came, I thought you had a healthy shell, but it seems that boy made you soft.

I had to agree. The events of the last week left me feeling like a deflated punching bag, absorbing each hit life sent my way.

Toughen up, Sarah!

If I don’t think you’re fit to work when you come back, I’ll have to send you home. I’ll let headquarters know, so they’ll have a replacement on standby if need be. With malaria season and potential cholera outbreaks, I can’t be down a nurse.

I went on break, vowing to close the emotional door my friendship with Mariol had opened and to keep the feelings of grief and loss that were crowding my heart and mind at bay. I needed to find that hard professional veneer Jean-Claude valued, to prove to him and to myself that I could still do the job.

Hiba came to see me before I left.

Don’t take what JC says too seriously, Sarah. He might think you’re like him, but you’re not. You need to cry and let your feelings out. I know how much you loved Mariol. She took my hand in hers.

I knew that if I started crying, I might never stop. And if I fell apart, Jean-Claude would send me home. I’d spent my entire life running away from my emotions. I’d even made a career out of it. Surely, I could do it again.

Holed up in a hotel room in the capital of South Sudan, I spent hours zoning out on my laptop, watching episode after episode of Scrubs, willing myself not to feel. I took a Benadryl before bed to knock myself out.

I’m back on track! I thought after nine hours of dreamless sleep.

The next night, however, my nightmares caught up with a vengeance.

Mariol was sick and needed my help, but I couldn’t get to him in time. The mystery men were after me, shadows more than form, and I had to choose between saving him and saving myself.

I started to run, but roots came up from the ground and grabbed my ankles, tripping me and pinning me to the earth until my