She stretched her kahki-trousered legs out across the ground as Mkwambe, a local tobacco farmer and her chief guide for the journey, poked absently at...the fire with a stick and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. The air was thick with the sounds of crickets from somewhere within the dark depths of tree-packed foilage- the 'bush', which surrounded them beyond the orange light of the camp-fire. The other two rangers had already pitched the tents, and were tidying up, checking the camp for venomous. ‘I’m sorry about that. I…I need to get home. It’s almost three.’ ‘You’re just going to cry all over my shirt and then leave? Jasmine, I…’ But she’s gone, scurrying to her car and yelling ‘I’m sorry,’ over her shoulder as she goes. I suppose I should go after her, try and find out what’s going on that has her so upset. But my car’s in the other direction, and I’m expecting a call. And remember, Jake, she’s not your problem. Say it with me. I watch her fumble with her keys, climb in the car, and. More

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