Leaving Francistown
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 16
The week passed by in a flash.
Again, the four of us pulled back into camp, our tires crunching softly on familiar gravel. But this time, the moment felt different—permanent. Bliss and Kele were back, not just visiting, not on break between assignments. They were home now, part of the team.
Joseph cut the engine, and all four doors opened in a near-simultaneous clunk. Kele stretched as she stepped out. “We really need a better playlist,” she said, rolling her neck.
“That was my playlist,” Joseph said, mock-offended.
“My point exactly.”
Bliss was already looking around, a warm smile spreading across her face. “It feels good to be back,” she said, then caught my eye. “Really good.”
“Come on,” I said, slinging her duffel bag over my shoulder. “Let’s show you to your new palace.”
They followed me and Joseph through camp, weaving past familiar tents, the central mess, and the generator shed. The girls expected to stop at the shared tent they’d used during their student program, but I walked past it.
“Wait,” Bliss said, stopping. “Aren’t we...”
“Nope,” I said, grinning. “Keep going.”
Kele raised an eyebrow. “You’re messing with us.”
“Would I do that?” Joseph asked innocently.
“Yes,” both women said in unison.
But the surprise was genuine when we stopped in front of two separate canvas tents—freshly cleaned, newly stocked. They looked identical from the outside, pitched side by side near the edge of camp, each with its own small deck facing west toward the water.
“You’re kidding,” Kele said, pushing the flap open on the first one. Inside, the beds were raised and neatly made, with a small desk and a bookshelf in the corner.
Bliss stood frozen for a second. “We get our own tents?”
“Welcome to your new roles,” I said. “Field researchers, student coordinators ... You’re not interns anymore.”
Bliss looked at me, eyes shining. “I didn’t expect this.”
“That’s what makes it good,” I said softly.
Later that evening, just before the last light drained from the sky, Bliss and I set out on foot, walking a narrow trail behind the camp. The air was warm, but with a breeze that stirred the reeds and carried the scent of water and earth. Birds were still calling in the trees, but everything felt slower, softer now.
“We get to do this every day,” Bliss said, her hand brushing against mine. “No countdown, no rushing back, no half-goodbyes.”
I took her hand and held it properly this time. “Every evening,” I said. “Every single one.”
The sky above the Delta was streaked with orange and pink, the kind of sunset that looked painted, not real. We stopped near the edge of a rise overlooking a marsh pool, the water mirror-still and glowing with the fading light.
“It feels surreal,” she said, leaning against me. “Like we blinked and everything changed.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We earned this. Piece by piece.”
She nodded. “And it’s just beginning.”
I glanced down at her, catching the smile on her lips. “How does it feel, Dr. Bliss Mokgosi—wait, still Bliss Mokgosi, for now?”
She looked up, amused. “For now? Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves? By quite a bit?”
I shrugged, feigning casual. “Just thinking ahead.”
She laughed quietly, rested her head on my shoulder. We stood there in comfortable silence, watching the sun dip below the horizon, the world tinted gold and red and dreams.
After a long pause, she said softly, “I’m glad it’s you I get to share this with.”
I squeezed her hand. “Me too, Bliss. Me too.”
We walked back slowly as the night started to creep in. There was no hurry. We were already home.
The first day of the new organizational structure dawned quietly, the Delta wrapped in a hazy blue mist. I woke before my alarm, not from nerves, but from a strange blend of anticipation and calm.
Outside my tent, the air was crisp and soft with dew. I grabbed my mug and wandered toward the mess, where the kitchen crew was already at it, the smell of strong coffee and fire-toasted bread drifting into the open air.
Tiro stood nearby, chatting with a pair of staffers about supply deliveries. He looked completely at ease—hands in his pockets, a relaxed grin on his face, the kind of leader people naturally wanted to follow. I’d only spoken with him briefly since his arrival, but I liked him already. Botswana-born, with a background in wildlife operations and NGO logistics, he seemed like a perfect fit.
“Morning, Ben,” he said, giving me a nod. “Sleep well?”
“Like a rock,” I said. “You ready for the chaos?”
He laughed. “Chaos is how I know things are moving.”
By 7:00 a.m., everyone had assembled in the central clearing. Tiro took a moment to greet the group again, then handed things off to Thandiwe, who—true to form—had a printed schedule, clipboards, and color-coded assignments. She was in her element, and even the newer team members seemed to pick up on it.
“Field Team A,” she announced, “Bliss, Kele, and Malebogo—you’ll be heading southeast with Joseph. You’ll be setting up new observation posts near the floodplain. Bliss and Kele, you’ll also meet with the student program coordinator next week to start mapping out the incoming cohort’s field schedule.”
Kele and Bliss exchanged a glance, smiling—half nerves, half pride.
Thandiwe moved on briskly. “Team B, with Arthur, you’ll be assisting the hydrology project team arriving later this week. Logistics—Ben’s your guy.”
I lifted a hand, grinning. “I’ll do my best.”
When the teams dispersed, I grabbed my new assignment tablet and headed to the supply shed, checking inventory against the needs for the week. It was more responsibility than I’d had in a while, but it felt good. I knew this place, these people, the quirks and the rhythms. I wasn’t managing data from across the world—I was living in it.
Midmorning, I passed Bliss’s team as they loaded up a truck. She was deep in conversation with Malebogo, gesturing toward a tablet with her usual focused energy. She caught my eye just long enough to flash a smile. It didn’t last more than two seconds, but it hit me like it always did.
I stopped by Thandiwe’s tent just before lunch to confirm some student supply orders. She handed over the list without looking up from her notes. “You’re keeping up.”
“Trying to stay ahead.”
She gave me a brief, approving nod. “So far, so good.”
I took that as high praise.
By late afternoon, the first radio calls came in—Kele reporting a successful deployment of the new equipment; Arthur coordinating a shift in arrival times for the visiting scientists; Joseph needing a tire repair kit. Normal, beautiful field chaos. I updated the log, filed requests, and made a mental note to restock certain items we were low on.
Later in the day, I spotted Bliss again, returning on foot from the southern edge with Joseph and Kele. Their boots were muddy, and they looked tired—but happy. Fulfilled. I felt the same.
Tiro wandered over to me around dusk, hands still in his pockets. “Not bad for a first day,” he said.
“No major catastrophes,” I agreed. “That’s a win.”
He grinned. “Good team. Good energy. It’s going to be a solid season.”
I watched Bliss laugh at something Kele said, her hair glowing in the sun’s last light. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think so too.”
The camp had settled into its usual nighttime rhythm—voices low, the occasional burst of laughter near the mess tent, the quiet clink of mugs, the distant sounds of the Delta coming alive under moonlight. I found Bliss near the fire pit, sitting on a low bench with her boots off and her legs stretched toward the fading warmth of the embers.
She looked up and smiled when I approached. “Hey, stranger.”
I eased down beside her. “How’s the legendary Field Team A holding up?”
“Legendary and sore,” she said, stretching her arms overhead with a wince. “But a good kind of sore.”
“I heard you already won Malebogo over.”
“She’s sharp. I think she’s going to be a great fit.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the fire crackling quietly between us.
“I like this,” Bliss said eventually. “Ending the day like this. Knowing we’ll both be here in the morning.”
“Me too,” I said. “This morning felt ... different. Like everything finally clicked into place.”
Bliss nodded, her expression soft. “It’s the first time I’ve ever started a job and felt like I wasn’t stepping into the unknown.”
“You didn’t seem nervous at all,” I said.
“Oh, I was. But I knew I had people around me who’d catch me if I stumbled. You. Kele. Joseph. Even Thandiwe, in her intense, terrifying way.”
I laughed. “She’s warming up to you.”
“She told me I didn’t mess anything up today,” Bliss said with mock solemnity. “I think that’s her version of praise.”
I nudged her shoulder gently. “Take the win.”
We watched the fire for a while, listening to the wind rustle through the trees.
“Two weekends from now,” she said quietly. “Gaborone.”
“Yeah.”
She turned her head toward me. “Nervous?”
“Absolutely,” I admitted. “It’s been years since I’ve done the whole ‘meet the family’ thing. And this time ... well, it matters.”
Bliss leaned into me, her head resting lightly on my shoulder. “They’re going to love you.”
“You sure?”
“Mm-hmm. My mom’s going to try and feed you until you burst. My dad will ask a hundred questions. My brother will be obnoxious and nosey. But they’ll love you.”
“That sounds terrifying,” I said with a grin.
“You’ll survive.”
I glanced down at her. “You think they’ll see us and think, ‘Yes, that makes sense’?”
“I do,” she said softly. “Because we do.”
I felt her hand find mine in the dark, fingers intertwining with easy familiarity.
“We’ve both walked a long road to get here,” she said. “And now we’re building something. Together.”
The fire crackled low. It was one of those crystal clear Delta nights, with the Milky Way stretching from one horizon to the other.
“I like the sound of that,” I said. “Together.”
By the fourth day, the Delta camp had begun to hum with a new kind of energy—steady, confident, and quietly coordinated. Things weren’t perfect yet, but the gears were meshing. Everyone was starting to find their stride.
From my desk in the logistics tent, I could hear muffled conversation and laughter drifting in from the mess area. Joseph was probably regaling someone with a dramatic tale about hippos or a malfunctioning GPS—maybe both. I smiled to myself and returned my attention to the inventory list, cross-referencing what had arrived on the most recent supply run. A few things were late, but nothing critical. I’d already sent a message to the supplier.
Tiro strolled in a few minutes later with a mug of tea in hand. “Ben, good to see you sitting. I was starting to think you’d taken up permanent residence in the field vehicles.”
“I like to keep moving,” I said with a grin. “But today’s been smooth. Everyone’s where they need to be. No broken equipment. No vehicle drama. Even the internet’s holding up.”
“That’s rare,” Tiro said, chuckling. “You’ve got things under control.”
“Trying to. Thandiwe’s been a huge help.”
“She says the same about you.” Tiro glanced at the clipboard on the table. “And Arthur told me the hydrology group is finally happy. Apparently, you worked some kind of magic with the accommodation schedule.”
“I just gave them what they asked for,” I said modestly.
“No,” Tiro said, raising his eyebrows, “you gave them what they didn’t know they needed.”
I laughed, grateful for the compliment.
Later that afternoon, I walked over to the southern edge of camp where Bliss and Kele were setting up the student fieldwork area. I kept a respectful distance at first, watching them lay out gear and clipboards, talking and moving with the easy rhythm of two people completely in sync.
Bliss caught my eye and waved me over.
“Hey, logistics boss,” she called. “You here to inspect our operation?”
“Absolutely. Let’s see if this team meets Delta standards.”
Kele rolled her eyes. “We’re raising the standards.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Bliss handed me a list. “We’ll need more sample jars by next week. And maybe a backup power pack for the tablet. We’ve got everything else.”
I nodded, making a mental note. “I’ll take care of it.”
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