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It won’t be hot and it won’t be long, but it’ll get you clean.”
    Nodding, I headed back to the tent. I lifted my backpack up and shook it, listening for any kind of scurrying movements. It seemed safe enough, so I headed around the house. I hesitated outside the door. I didn’t want to just walk in, but if Mrs. Okono was asleep still, I didn’t want to wake her. She came into view, looking much the same as she had the night before. She wore a brightly patterned dress, and a colored scarf held back her hair.
    “Come in, Isaiah,” she said, opening the door. “I think you want to clean up, yes? Right through there.” She pointed to the only door on the inside of the house.
    “Thanks.”
    The bathroom was a tiny box of a room, smaller than my shower at home, with a basic commode and a sink. I stoppered up the sink and turned on the faucet. The water drizzled out, slightly discolored. Once water filled the basin a couple of inches, I scrubbed up. When I reached the point where I’d taped the tubing for the insulin pump down, I saw that the adhesive had mostly come undone. Peeling the useless tape off, I washed the area carefully with an alcohol wipe—no way was I letting the water actually touch the insertion site—and secured the tube back in place.
    I finished my basin-bath. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but I managed to wash my hair without too much mishap. I got water all over the sink from my attempts to rinse the shampoo using handfuls of water, but on the whole, I called it a success. I felt almost human. The nausea I’d woken with seemed to have disappeared, for which I was grateful. Driving through the wilds of Africa feeling like I was going to hurl didn’t appeal to me at all.
    I had opened the door a couple of inches when I saw the soap’s paper wrapping lying below the sink. I crouched down to pick it up. Mom would skin me alive if I even thought about leaving a host’s bathroom anything less than pristine. I heard shuffling and caught a whiff of something herbal and floral as brightly colored cloth went past the open gap in the door. Beads clicked, and I assumed Mrs. Okono went into her room.
    She spoke to somebody in accented French. Though her voice was low, I still caught most of her words. “You were late. You were almost caught. I told you four hours. You were more than six.” She paused, then made a zipping sound. “Enough. Someone could have been hurt. Next time, no excuses.”
    The back of my thigh cramped, no doubt a result of my awkward position and two days on my ass, and I tumbled into the door, spilling out of the bathroom.
    Mrs. Okono’s voice cut off.
    I grabbed the back of my thigh and stretched my leg out, massaging the knotted muscle.
    “Isaiah?” Mrs. Okono peeked out through the beaded curtain with what looked like a large cell phone in her hand. “Are you hurt?”
    I flexed my feet and looked up at her. “I’m fine. Just a cramp.”
    She looked at me for a long moment before reaching into her room and setting the phone somewhere out of my sight. “Maybe some food will help. It’s going to be another long day.” She held her hand out to me.
    “I’m fine, but thanks.” I stood and tested my weight on my leg. “But I’m totally in favor of breakfast.”

Chapter 5
     
     
    HENRY HAULED in my duffel bag for me so I was able to change into clean clothes. After a breakfast of some kind of cassava porridge and warm hugs from Mrs. Okono, Henry and I were on our way. The going was slow, though. Apparently a man leading a string of three goats took precedence over vehicles on the road. He didn’t move over, and there wasn’t enough room for Henry to pass him, so we crawled along until the man and his goats turned onto a small path leading away from the main road. We’d barely increased our speed when we ended up behind a lumber truck loaded down with trees that had to be three feet in diameter. Needless to say, that vehicle didn’t go very fast.
    The pace