Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 Changing travel plans was one thing. Entering an airport in a strange country with a wet backpack that smelled like dead possum was a whole other story. "Welcome to South Africa!" a flight attendant chirped. "Thank you!" Hoping the aroma wasn't too noticeable, Amy raced out the door of the 767 and into the bustle of OR Tambo International Airport. A day ago she wouldn't have dreamed they'd be here. But the library trip had set them straight. "You'd better be right about this," Nellie muttered, grumpy after the uncomfortable night's sleep. "Who farted?" Dan asked.

"It's our clothes," Amy said. "Our clothes farted?" Dan asked. "I don't know them, ladies and gentlemen," Nellie said under her breath, "never saw them in my life…" Dan began sprinting off toward a sign that said CHECK YOUR E-MAIL/SURF THE WEB HERE! "Nellie, I'm going to use your MasterCard, okay?" "Sure, just call me Cash Machine Gomez!" Nellie took Amy's arm. "Tell me again why you decided to come here? I remember it was smart, and I remember making the decoy reservations to Peoria, but we did it when I was in a state of almost-asleepness." Amy pulled from her pocket a copy of the sheet music she had found in the library: "Marching to Pretoria." "It's a traditional song, performed by choruses all over the world," Amy continued. "Including the Harvard Glee Club. That's what Uncle Alistair was trying to tell us— the real lyric is Pretoria. In South Africa. It's much more likely Irina knew the lyrics to the original. She was telling us to go

here." Nellie was keeping an eye on Dan, who was scrolling through a screen dense with text. "Don't rack up too many minutes, little dude. I'm not rich, especially when you make me buy decoy tickets. And I'm about to buy you phones." "Arrrghhhh!" Dan cried out, bouncing away from the computer. "No, no, no, no, no!" Amy nearly leaped into the air. She and Nellie bolted toward the web station. "What, Dan?" Amy called out. "What happened?" Dan sighed. "Just checked the listserv. No fresh red snapper in South Africa. Saladin's going to kill me." If there was anything worse than waiting for a pet carrier to appear, it was waiting for a pet carrier to appear while being lectured by a big sister about the history of South Africa. And Nellie was off buying cell phones and renting a car, so Dan was trapped.

"'…As gold and diamond deposits were found,'" Amy read from a pamphlet," 'more and more English miners flooded into the Transvaal region, which was controlled by the Dutch. Tensions over this eventually led to the Boer War.' Dan, that's when 'Marching to Pretoria' was written— it was all about the Boer War!" "Hey," Dan said, "any country that sings about hairy pigs can't be all bad." Amy groaned. "Not that kind of boar!" "Oh… Bore War!" Dan said. "That's so you, Amy. What'd they do, read history to each other until one side went 'GAAHHH!' and surrendered?" "B-o-e-r," Amy said. "It's the Dutch word for farmer. Most of the original seventeenth-century settlers were Dutch, German, and French Huguenot farmers and cattle herders. They also became known as Afrikaners." Dan's eyes started to glaze, and he ran right into an older man dressed in a shabby jacket and ripped pants. "Sorry," he squeaked, bouncing quickly away.

The man was giving him a quizzical smile. His skin was dark brown, with a curved scar running along his jawline, and his gray-green eyes seemed to dance in the fluorescent light. "Do you need a car service?" he asked. "Or can spirited young people like yourselves navigate South Africa on your own?" He handed Dan a postcard. "Uh, no thanks," Dan said. "Keep it anyway," the man said. "Just in case! You never know when you will need Slimgaard!" As the man left, Amy walked over. "What was that about?" she asked, an eye still on the conveyor belt. Dan glanced at the card:

"'The hope of mankind'?" Amy said. "A limo service with a handwritten card?" Dan flipped it over. The other side had an image of a tall African man holding a shield, with what looked like an encyclopedia entry underneath: Shaka, 1787–1828. Founder of Zulu Nation. Son of a Zulu tribal king and a woman, Nandi, from another kraal. His birth was considered shameful; his name means "intestinal parasite." Shaka and Nandi were exiled, only to be abused by other local tribes. At 16, Shaka turned his rage on an attacking leopard and killed it single-handedly. With brawn and cunning, he rose to power, fueled by vengeance. Shaka scorned tribal war tactics of the time, spear-throwing from long distances, and perfected close combat with short, large-bladed spears. His famed "buffalo horn" attack strategy helped build a military force that overtook local tribes and created one of the most powerful kingdoms ever known. Although many modern historians decry his violence, Shaka is considered the father of the united Zulu nation and a hero to South Africans. "Cool," Dan murmured to himself, staring at the image of Shaka. "Woo-hoo— look! Saladin's here!" Amy was now running over to the baggage claim conveyor belt. In a moment, she was walking back with the