Leaving Francistown
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 2
Dr. Ellington had left a few days earlier, his visit brief but impactful. Camp life resumed its rhythms—early mornings, dusty boots, long hours in the sun. The routine had become familiar and comforting. Thandiwe had stepped up as acting coordinator while the regional manager was away, and she did it with quiet authority.
It was she who asked us to make the supply run.
“Just a quick turnaround,” she’d said that morning. “There are a few things the Francistown vendors didn’t send with the last delivery. You boys know what to look for.”
Arthur smirked as we loaded into the Land Cruiser. “She says ‘you boys’ like we’re not seasoned professionals.”
I tossed the last of the crates into the back. “I am a professional. You’re just a guy who likes to talk to goats.”
“They understand me,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat.
We hit the road under a sky that felt too big to belong to just one country. The sun beat down, the air shimmering above the pavement. Francistown was five hours away, mostly dirt and gravel until we hit the tarred stretch near Nata. It gave us time to talk.
Somewhere past the halfway point, with baobabs looming like ancient gods along the roadside, Arthur leaned back in his seat and said, “So, you and Brianna. You never said what happened, exactly.”
I kept my eyes on the road, fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. “You sure you want the real answer?”
“I mean, unless it involves a chainsaw and a court order, I think I can handle it.”
I exhaled. “She wanted a family. More than anything. We tried, for a while. Tests, procedures. You name it. Turned out the problem was on my end.”
Arthur glanced over, quiet now.
“I couldn’t give her what she wanted,” I said. “And I told her I’d understand if she wanted to walk away. She said she didn’t ... until she did.”
He didn’t interrupt, opting to let me keep going.
“She met someone else. A guy in her company’s legal department. Got pregnant six months later. That was the last I heard. I got the courtesy call right before I shipped out here.”
Arthur took a slow swig from his water bottle. “That’s brutal, mate.”
“Yeah. But it’s not like I hate her. I think she really did love me, once. And I think it just ... wasn’t enough.”
“You ever think about trying again? With someone else?” he asked me, not for the first time.
“Not really,” I reiterated. “Not lately. Being here helps, though. Makes the noise quiet down a little.”
We rode in silence after that for a while, the radio crackling static and distant Setswana talk radio. When we got to Francistown, the town felt like a different planet—noisy, colorful, alive. We stopped by the market to check on the vendor Thandiwe had flagged.
As Arthur chatted with the shopkeeper over a list of supplies, I wandered a few stalls down. That’s when he found me again, holding a carved wooden elephant in one hand. I was about to comment on his weird taste in local artifacts, but he didn’t give me a chance.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “Weird thing. Ran into an old contact from Gabs.”
“Yeah?”
“University’s looking for visiting lecturers in environmental science. Conservation focus. Just a couple hours a week. Not full time.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You going to toss your hat in?”
Arthur laughed. “Teaching? Me? No thanks. I can barely sit still for a thirty-minute staff meeting.”
I smiled. “So why are you telling me?”
“Because you taught before, didn’t you? High school, was it?”
“Yeah. Biology. Two years.”
“Well, they’re looking for someone with fieldwork experience and a decent delivery. You tick both boxes.”
I hesitated. “I like what I’m doing now.”
“You wouldn’t have to stop. It’s in Gaborone, yeah, but they’ve got a liaison here in town. Might be worth a chat. Just to see.”
I set the carving down. “You’re annoyingly good at talking me into things.”
“It’s my fatal charm,” Arthur said. “Come on. Let’s go meet this liaison before her office closes.”
And just like that, the seed was planted. Not a big decision yet, but something new to consider—a path I hadn’t expected. One that might just stretch the meaning of what this year or two in Botswana could become.
The office was tucked above a bakery on a busy side street in Francistown, the smell of warm bread drifting through the hallway as we climbed the stairs. A painted wooden sign read: Bessie Modise, Legal Consultancy & Advisory Services.
Arthur knocked twice and pushed open the door. The space inside was airy and bright, with pale yellow walls, dark mahogany bookshelves, and woven baskets hanging in a neat arrangement above a sideboard. A tall, pretty woman in a teal blouse and slim black slacks stood to greet us. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with a lovely dark caramel-colored complexion. Her hair was styled in loose curls which perfectly combined style and professionalism.
“You must be Arthur,” she said warmly. “And you’re Ben.” It appeared as though Arthur’s contact had already tipped her off about our visit.
“That’s us,” Arthur said, shaking her hand. “Bessie Modise, I presume?”
“In the flesh,” she said with a smile that could ease nerves and settle debates. “Come in. Have a seat.”
We followed her into a sunlit sitting area near the window. A tray of rooibos tea and sugar biscuits had already been laid out.
“I always offer tea. I know you’re not here to litigate, but hospitality matters,” Bessie said as she poured.
Arthur leaned back in his chair. “And your tea is legendary, apparently.”
“My niece told you that?” Bessie asked, amused. She had an amiable air and a breezy sense of humor that was instantly comforting, almost maternal.
“Word gets around,” Arthur said with a cheesy grin. “She’s at the university?”
“Yes—final year of environmental studies,” Bessie replied. “She’s the reason I’m helping coordinate the search for a visiting lecturer. Wants to work with rhinos. She thinks people who do your work are minor celebrities.”
Arthur raised his brows at me. “Guess we’re famous now.”
I smiled but stayed quiet. The space felt comfortable, like Bessie herself—sharp-eyed, poised, but with a soothing presence that invited trust.
“So,” she said, turning to me, “I hear you have teaching experience.” That contact of Arthur’s must’ve told her everything.
“I do,” I said. “Two years of high school biology back in the States.”
“That’s excellent. The university is less concerned about formal credentials than real-world expertise and an ability to engage students. From what I’ve heard, you’ve got both.”
I shifted in my chair. “It’s a tempting offer. But I’m not sure how I’d balance it with my work in the Delta. It’s pretty demanding.”
Bessie nodded. “Understandable. But if the university is serious about wanting you—which I believe they will be—I’d be happy to help facilitate a discussion. I know Thandiwe, slightly. We were on a panel together a few years ago.”
That surprised me. “Really?”
“She’s impressive,” Bessie said. “Smart, measured. If there’s a way to structure something that benefits both the camp and the university, I think she’d listen. There’s growing interest in field-based learning opportunities. A partnership could be mutually beneficial.”
Arthur finished his tea and stood. “Sounds promising. For Ben. As for me, standing in front of a classroom is my idea of a nightmare.”
Bessie grinned. “No pressure. But if you ever change your mind, they do run short workshops too. Minimal chalkboard time, I promise.”
Arthur gave her a half-bow. “Appreciate it. But I’ll stick to dodging elephants and arguing with trackers.”
Bessie turned to me. “You really should apply. Send me your CV and a cover letter. I’ll forward it to the department chair, and if they’re interested, we’ll talk more. No commitments yet—just an open door.”
I nodded, the idea settling in deeper. I hadn’t come to Botswana looking for a side project, let alone a return to teaching. But something about the idea stirred something in me—a sense of purpose that wasn’t tangled in personal loss or recovery. Maybe I had more to offer than I thought.
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