Chapter 1
Ameline
The heat, humidity and rich earthy smell of the Congolese rainforest lingered behind her. The chatter of birds, insects, monkeys and other mammals was overtaken by the sound of women and children’s voices, shrinking and laughting.
They entered the hot clearing on the far left and were greeted by the sound of the roaring river overflowing with the early rainy season. They were walking on the narrow path flanked by tall greenish grass, with mango trees, tall avocado, papaya and banana trees converging around them. It was the foreground to the clutter of round thatched huts ahead. They were arranged into a circle around the Chief’s Lutombo main larger hut.
She was walking tall amongst friends and family. Her half cousins Ndaya and Bulaba flanking her sides as always in these gatherings. Mamana, her beloved mother, led the group of women and children returning from their monthly retreat. She was tall and proud not only because of her physical strength but also in her stance and demeanor. She doted on Ameline and Ameline had always strived to be and act as it was expected of her; to be the proud legacy of her mother and the worthy granddaughter of Chief Lutombo from the Tshiluba Tribe. Everyone was tall and strong in the Tribe, particularly the men who were built with muscular limbs and wide torsos, a characteristic that made their tribe feared and respected for their strength.
She was also tall but not as tall as the majority of the girls her age and not as heavily built either. She was told that she resembled her mother who was slim as well as her Belgian father.
Her weaved short skirt wrapped in multiple layers around her hips was made of colored raffia and tree bark in terracotta shades with a pattern of geometrical shapes. It bumped against her lean firm mid thighs. Her bare feet and ankles covered in dust and dirt were adorned with strings of black stone beads and small white cowrie shells, a symbol of her wealth and status. The chest parure hiding her large taut breasts was also made with the same raffia and the black stones and cowrie shells with loose strings of raffia covering her midriff while her particularly thin waist and wide hips were bare. These features, large breasts and wide hips were like a trademark from almost every woman of the Tribe although hers weren’t as large as the other girls. Those wide hips were also accompanied by a round derriere crowned at her lower back by 2 beautiful dimples.
Her headset, hiding her hairline, was made from the same fabric and decorative beads hanging on her wide forehead, a legacy from her African blood; as was the thick black hair, braided in two snakelike ropes intertwined at the top of her skull. She usually wore it so when in the tribe to hide its lustrous abundant length from envious people and to avoid being the target of witchcraft, Mamana would always remind her that every time she braided it.
However when she was in town with her Dad, Alfonse Von Limerick Viscount of Henrich, and at his bourgmestre’s house. She was the perfect image of an 18 years old young woman of Catholic education at the beginning of the 1930′s.
She had concluded her education within the Sacré-Coeur Couvent where Mère Supérieur Madeleine had taught her everything she needed to know, from how to hold herself, how to dress, eat, or what subject to start a conversation with in good company, here at her father’s table or when her father eventually would take her to Brussels.
But now she was far from his house, in the mist of the forest among her mother’s tribe where her headset stated her status as the Chief descendant.
Her grandfather was an imposing, almost threatening black man, not only in size but also in demeanor. He had a terrifying reputation as a warrior and he commanded respect and fear. Most people feared him, although he would turn a blind eye on her mistakes yet, he would roar his displeasure at any other person or member of the family.
Between the shielded protection of her aunt, Mamana and her grandfather, she could hold her head high even with the demeaning color of her mulatto light skin. She knew well the shame of not having a white nor a black skin. She had experienced multiple humiliations on both sides. She had been shielded from most because of her father and grandfather’s status.
Before long there were in the middle of the village, everyone diverging to their home of thatched huts forming a circle around her grandfather’s large brick one with its larger thatched roof.
The expected relaxed mood around her grandfather hut wasn’t there. It was strange since the Chief wasn’t there. His cousin Ntalaja was fast approaching her. He was her designated bodyguard. He had a shining dark skin, perfectly shaped eyes with dark pupils amid the white of his eyes. His body was a perfectly sculpted work of art. He was just beautifully built and was 2 heads taller than her.
Ntalaja urged her to quickly head to Mamana’s hut. Everyone was suddenly nervous, they were rushing around to seek shelter or swinging a spear or a machete. Ntalaja removed the machete hanging to his belt. Her own belt had a smaller, forearm length version of his longer machete. Hers was good enough for cutting fruits or small branches but not long enough to protect herself against a more experienced opponent even if he had taught her how to use it. She fell on her knees as he pushed her inside. He pulled her up without effort and closed the thatched door shut behind her. She needed a minute for her eyes to get used to the dimness inside. She could hear him swearing about the weakness of her “muzungu” or white blood.
She was once again reminded that she was different. She was not like everyone here although they were her family. She was sometimes either spoken to with disdain or awe because of her light skin, long dark wavy almost frizzy hair when it rained.
The reason for the panic appeared on the road leading to the village where the Chief allowed foreigners to come for commercial purposes with other Tribes or the White men. It was one of the merchants who’s been an intermediate into the trading with the Belgian merchant for coffee bean, gold, precious stones and other goods her grandfather had granted him permission to enter the village. The tension was palpable since the Chief wasn’t home. This seemed more like an intrusion than a trading encounter.
She hated this particular merchant, Mr. Peleni. He was short, balding and smelly with a reddish face from the sunburn of his years trading in the Congo. He had small rounded lecherous eyes that unclothed her from head to toes. He always tried to establish conversation outside of her translation when trading with her grandfather. The mere sight of him was revolting as he always watched her closely and tried to close the distance between them at every opportunity. He awkwardly bumped into her to grab some part of her body, mostly her butt or breasts while he linked his lips in anticipation.
She would hate for him to see her in this attire half naked. She usually wears an appropriate demure dress when attending meetings with outsiders. The kind of navy blue uniformed dress she had when still attending school at the Mission with père Victor and then the Couvent. From the distance she saw him coming her way and somehow she could see his lecherous face and a satisfied twisted smile as his tongue disgustingly licked his lips.
She felt trapped. Unable to run or hide in her aunt’s hut. She was backing away from the door at his approaching short form. She didn’t understand why she was still struggling to adjust to the shade after the glaring sun outside. Fear suddenly built up in a knot in her stomach. She dreaded the moment she’ll have to face the unwanted advance of this disgusting short man.
- Dad?
She turned around to face the tall large form she had bumped into. What was he doing here? He wasn’t allowed into her aunt’s hut. As she adjusted her sight she realized it wasn’t her Dad but a very tall and rugged face man. She only thought that he looked fierce, somehow dangerous.
-Ameline!
How could he know her name? As he faced her she noticed his unbuttoned khaki shirt showing off the bulging muscles of his shoulders and abs, as if he was getting dressed here into her aunt’s hut. His light brown hair was uncombed and and his dark gray eyes were watching her calmly, intently and knowingly. The moment the sweaty short man bolted into the hut, she instinctively backed up and hid behind the tall stranger. She was only half astonished when he pushed her behind him in a protective gesture, his eyes half closing in displeasure, his lips a hard furious line stretching his mouth and the light mustache above his thin lips.
Fear was suddenly replaced by a loving and knowing feeling of belonging. The short man withdrew quickly without a word but with an unexpected scared yelp.
She turned to her savior and tried to understand who he was and why she felt such unconditional love and trust toward him. She let him hold her face into his large hard hands and as he slowly approached her mouth and lightly kissed her. She knew she should push away but she felt mesmerized or hypnotized by his gentle touch. He lifted his head to look into her dark honey eyes and she smiled a bright happy grin. She let him again softly kiss her, this time with more pressure. Then his hand was on her naked left breast under her attire. He swallowed her shocked ooh with another kiss. When his strong arms scooped her up from under her butt and placed her opened thighs around his lean torso, she woke up.
She was sweating, out of breath with this other version of her recurring dream about her father’s heir, Andreas Von Limerick.
