Archie
Nope. She’s a doctor. Turns out we just signed up for the same trip.
Finn
That’s freaky.
Cameron
Most twisted coincidence in the history of coincidences.
Archie
Anyway, I need sleep. Big day tomorrow. Catch you all later.
Finn
So… how long do we think he lasts?
Cameron
Revising my earlier bet: 24 hours.
Archie
I saw that.
Chapter 5
"Only got bitten by three mosquitoes and mildly insulted by a goat, so I’d say I’m thriving.”
Archie
When I rouse myself out of bed the next day, it takes me a second to remember where I am—or why I’ve woken up with a scowl on my face.
Right. Katherine bloody Lennox decided to crash my Uganda mission. Like Cameron so eloquently put it—this is one twisted coincidence.
I push myself off the thin mattress, the mosquito net brushing my face as I duck out of it. Grabbing my shower gel, toothbrush, and toothpaste, I trudge out to the communal bathroom. The morning air is cool and misty, still heavy with the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. Birds trill somewhere in the brush, and a local is already sweeping the dirt path near the kitchen hut.
The door of the next hut over creaks open, and a wave of honey-blonde hair comes into view. Katherine steps out, turns toward me, and gives me the iciest glare I’ve ever received—somehow surpassing all her previous records.
I sigh. Of course shehadto be my neighbour. Because I can’t ever get a break from that woman. At least, for once, she won’t be able to complain about the noise. There isn’t any. Unless she counts crickets and the odd goat.
I keep moving toward the bathrooms, keenly aware of her footsteps behind me. Great. We’ve upgraded to not only being neighbours, but brushing our teeth and showering together too. How lucky.
The bathroom hut is a small concrete structure tucked behind a few tall reed screens for privacy. Inside, four sinks are bolted to the wall under a makeshift tin awning, their mirrors cracked and clouded from humidity. Of the four, only one looks properly clean. The others are speckled with dried toothpaste or playing host to small insect gatherings.
Katherine scansthe scene, then glances at me—her first mistake. I swoop in like a hawk, claiming the clean sink and clinging to it like it’s a Premier League title. She clucks her tongue and retreats to the farthest sink, dropping her massive pink toiletry bag on the edge with a thud.
Seriously, that thing could hold a week’s worth of groceries. How many products did she pack? We’re here to help people, not win a pageant. Then again, if itwerea beauty contest, she’d probably win—even without the makeup.
I brush my teeth while she unzips her bag, proceeding to line up her various potions like she’s building a tiny cosmetics empire. I rinse my mouth and spit, which earns me another glare. As I’m moving on to the shower stalls, she’s still wiping her sink with a disinfectant wipe. Look at that. The wipes made it all the way to Africa. Actually, they look suspiciously like the ones we use in the gym back home. For a brief, unhinged second, I wonder if she’s the one supplying them. I really have to ask the concierge. Because if that’s the case, she’s even more deranged than I thought.
The showers are pretty basic—concrete cubicles under a thatched roof, separated only by faded curtain dividers that sway in the breeze. The floor is a bit gritty, and someone left a half-used bottle of shampoo on a corner ledge.
My stall isn’t exactly inviting. The curtain doesn’t close all the way, and the cool concrete floor is slightly damp beneath my feet. There’s a pipe sticking out of the wall with a basic twist knob, and next to it is a single hook for my towel.
I heave a long sigh, already missing my rain shower back home. My nice, fully tiled, temperature-controlled bathroom with heated floors and towels that smell like detergent rather than mildew. But I remind myself this isn’t about me.
