I hate safaris. And I’ll tell you why…

It wasn’t the intense heat that radiated down and caused increased humidity in the air. The way my face and body dripped with sweat and made me both physically uncomfortable and caused me to feel self conscious about the smell of me in front of my lady guide.

I could smell the mix of Jeep exhaust and animal dung, though I couldn’t tell you in the moment what kind of scat it was… but as I lifted my gaze to the shade of a nearby acacia tree, I saw her.

She was confidant, and watchful. Eyes leering over at us with careful consideration. I won’t forget her sleek shoulder muscles and how her golden fur seemed to clean with sunlight even though she was entirely shaded by the tree.

It was seconds- or hours, I couldn’t tell you which. I just stared at her. This beautiful queen, a lioness of unmatched majesty.

And then she sprung into action before I could fathom an ounce of reaction. She moved with such grace and quickness that I couldn’t break my gaze.

I didn’t even notice that my guide had slammed on the gas and had us speeding away until we were well out of reach of the fierce and mighty feline.

I turned back towards the safari guide, now noticing how calm and collected she seemed to be. A lady of action. That was sexy. And so was she. Her hair was a beautiful shade of obsidian and her perfectly completed face was a beautiful mahogany.

“That… was crazy back there.” I choked out.

She smiled. She was so pretty. I felt like an idiot. “You were impressive back there… “ I added, trying to somehow win her over with a compliment.

“You were pretty brave yourself. You wouldn’t believe how many tourists scream or cry or have mental breakdown when that stuff happens. You were so into the scene…. You didn’t make a peep. That was very appealing for me. And I have always found strong American men to be… sexy.” She finished.

If I’d have been drinking a drink I’d have spit it everywhere. I didn’t say a word…she continued. “If you might be interested, I can show you a night on the town…”

I accepted, of course. It was a night I will never forget… she knew all the best spots to eat and dance and when the night was nearly through, she took me to my bed, and I obliged without hesitation. To have her smooth skin pressed against mine was too much a temptation to resist.

And when I returned from my late summer vacation, August soon turned to September, and the beautiful Fatima never faded from my mind. Every thing about her was amazing.

But life picked up where it left off before my little African getaway… I had to attend business meetings and take business trips… work overtime and run meetings. And life went on like that, in the usual way…

But the following year, in June, I received a letter. It wasn’t your average bill or price of junk mail. This was a letter from overseas.

I opened the letter with ferocious curiosity. A small square paper fell to the floor as I pulled out the letter. I’d grab that in a minute. I began to read the contents of the letter.

My dear,

It is me, your Fatima. If you are recovering this letter, then I have not been cured of my illness. And I have passed on to another place.

In April, I gave birth to our twin babies. A boy and a girl. I have named them Izara and Xavier. I have enclosed a picture. This letter should be reaching you two weeks before the children arrive. They are to be sent directly to your house.

Please take care of our babies. I wish I could have raised them myself.

All my love,

Fatima Ahmed

Yes. So here I sit. The babies are asleep. And this so why I hate safaris.