There it was. My name on a manilla envelope. I opened it and pulled the cover sheet out with the rest of the documents. South Africa. Assignment: Cover the torment of the locals during the World Cup soccor games.
Great.
That meant I'd be in the slums and shit while the real reporters were inside enjoying New Zealand or whoever beat some other soccor team that I didn't give a damn about while I was slumming it in the filthiest streets on Earth. I made some immediate plans. I got my Morning after pills ready. I made sure I was vaccinated. No matter how hard I tried, I always ended up with at least one big black dick in me every time I went to this stupid continent.
A week later, I stepped off a private charter plane with my camera man and on a shitty private airport in one of the worst countries in the world. I endured as the "security" man mauled my breasts and blatantly groped my ass during the "inspection". His hand lingered under my skirt as he rubbed my smooth legs before sliding his palm between them. I glared at his grinning, shiny black face as he cupped my pussylips, feeling the warmth and musk as his middle finger pressed between my lips. If my camera man Helmut had not been there I had an idea of what else we would have liked to do.
Finally, he stepped back with a wide grin. "Okay. Enjoy our wonderful country!" he said. Did he think I liked what he did? Helmut was already outside. I hesitated briefly before I walked to my taxi to readjust myself. A calm, even faced black man greeted me in the rear view mirror.
"Where to, lady?" he asked in broken English. In a way, it was a little disalarming. I said, regretfully, "Take me to where the people are suffering. I"m a reporter, and need to tell their tale." He looked at me, and I could tell he knew I wanted out of this gig as bad as he wanted out of this fare. Helmut passed him some cash and and a slip of paper with an address.
After a long while, he said; "Okay. If you wish." I looked around me as the streets whished by. It was a rapid decent from civilization to abject poverty. The station would love this. My cameraman filmed it all. I hated his carefully cut hipster hair, his arrogant demeanor, and his ignorance the first time I saw him.
I saw a woman being hauled into a van by a group of men against her will. Her screams as she was violated started our personal soundtrack of horror. I saw a child stab a cat with a sharpened broomhandle just so he could eat tonight. My cameraman looked at me. I ignored him. This was only the beginning. Our destination was ahead; and I knew then that his Swiss sensibilities would do nothing for me here. I wished desperately to have a North American with me, or perhaps an Aussie.
We rolled to a stop in front of a building that needed to be demolished three decades ago. "Okay, silly white people. You get out here. Optimus Khan is in there." I tried not to laugh, but I couldnt' help it. He said it in such a fearful way.
"Optimus Khan? Really?" I said, hauling my gear off the ride as my cameraman filmed me. I knew he'd let me get eaten by alligators before lifting a finger to protect me at that point.
"Yeah." he said. "Why not. He kill everyone who gets in way. Why not Optimus? he conquer the other gangs. Why not Khan? You think he is a joke? He'll be balls deep up your ass in a minute!" the man said. I stared deeply into his eyes. He was telling the truth.
I prayed it didn't come to that. |