by Lucy Appleby
"This can't be it." Abigail stared in disbelief at the solitary structure on the beach. It's not a hotel. It's just a ... tent."
"Nice tent, lady. Good beach tent," said the taxi driver as he strode effortlessly over the sand with a suitcase in each hand.
Abigail stumbled after him, pausing to take off her high-heeled sandals that kept sinking down deep into the silken sand. "Wait! There must be some mistake. I can't possibly stay in a tent."
The taxi driver turned his head, smiling reassuringly. "No mistake, lady. Follow me."
"Damn and blast," muttered Abigail as she reluctantly followed.
The large white canvas tent was fronted by a wide wooden veranda. Inside was a living space of sixteen square metres, divided into three 'rooms' - a bedroom complete with double bed and storage space for clothes, a small bathroom with a chemical toilet and a primitive cold water shower hooked up to a water cistern round the back of the tent. There was also a space that served as a sitting-room with a small kitchenette diner at the far end.
The taxi driver put the suitcases in the bedroom and beamed at Abigail as he waved his arm wildly and spoke rapidly, his face animated.
"I haven't a clue what you're saying. I don't speak Creole. Can you speak in English please?"
"Not much English, but some French, oui. Very nice here for holiday," smiled the driver.
In his eclectic and impassioned mix of English and French, he proudly told her all about the island, and the interesting places to go, finishing off by saying he would inform Leila of her arrival. "I go now to fetch Leila. Leila is clever. Leila knows everything. She is expecting you. Welcome to Haiti, lady."
"Thank you," said Abigail, and plonked herself down on the sofa. It had been a long day. Her feet ached. She was tired. And upset.
It had seemed such a good idea at the time. Having booked ten days off work to go on a romantic holiday with Tom, only to find the day before they were due to depart to Paris that the no-good sack of shite had been screwing around, Abigail had taken herself down to the nearest travel agent and demanded to go somewhere - anywhere - at once.
"Just get me on a plane. I'll go anywhere. I don't care where," she had told the bemused travel agent.
When she was offered a last minute cheap deal to Haiti, she snapped it up, and three hours later was on a plane. So here she was - stuck in a tent on a secluded beach on the other side of the world. The travel agent hadn't said anything about staying in a tent. Still, she had to admit, it wasn't a regular tent; it was really quite luxurious - spacious, clean and bright, and furnished. There would be no bedding down on the floor in a sleeping bag. At least she had achieved her desire to be thousands of miles away from Tom.
Tom. What a bastard. The image of him filled her mind. At 6ft 4 he was tall, and years of regular exercise and training had honed his physique to perfection. He was good looking with dark hair and blue eyes the colour of summer cornflowers. His mouth was generously wide and seductively full, and given to a quirky twitch at the corners when he smiled. Even after a three year relationship, she would never tire of the way he smiled when he looked at her. Naturally assertive, he oozed confidence. He was intelligent, articulate and persuasive - a man used to getting his own way. Clearly he had got his own way again by using his effortless charm on another woman to get her into his bed. Abigail closed her eyes in despair. How could he do this to me?
At that point she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She probably would have settled for the latter, but a large and vibrant dark-skinned woman wearing a red cotton robe with matching turban came in. She carried a giant bowl of fruit and a big woven basket bulging with food and drink.
"I am Leila," she said with a bright smile. Her brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and humour. As she regarded Abigail her expression changed, softening. Intuitively she reached out a hand and patted Abigail's shoulder. "You are sad, child. I sense these things. Man trouble, most likely. Yes?"
Abigail nodded miserably, while Leila fussed about like a mother hen. In less than ten minutes, whilst talking incessantly, she had unpacked Abigail's luggage and stowed her clothes and other items neatly away. Next, she brought out two fold-up chairs and a small table onto the decked terrace shaded by an overhanging canopy. On the table she deposited two tall glasses containing a visually appealing fruit cocktail liberally laced with white rum.
"Come. Sit and drink. Watch the sea. Soak up the atmosphere of this place. Forget your troubles, child."
Abigail sat and looked around. The wide swathe of beach was practically deserted, and the smooth expanse of sea sparkled invitingly beneath an azure sky. Behind the tent was a row of tall palm trees that flanked profuse pink and red blooms of hibiscus, and beyond were lush groves of orange and mango trees.
"It is beautiful here. It's just - well, I thought I would be staying in a hotel, not in a tent on the beach. It's not very safe, is it?"
"Safe? It is perfectly safe. Do not fret about that. We have people looking out for you. No harm will come to you here - only good things. Things that you need. Things that will make you feel better."
"Well, I must admit I feel better already," smiled Abigail. "This drink is absolutely gorgeous. It's so refreshing and it has a wonderful little kick."
"Of course you feel better," enthused Leila. "You are in Haiti. It is a very special place."
"I came out here in such a hurry I didn't have time to do any research. I know nothing about the island at all, except what the taxi driver told me and ... er, well, the usual stuff I picked up from movies about zombies, human sacrifice and pin-stuck voodoo dolls. How ridiculous - mumbo jumbo voodoo."
Leila threw back her head and laughed, her ample chins wobbling in mirth. "Mumbo jumbo voodoo? Ah child, there is more to it than you might think. Roman Catholicism is the official religion of Haiti, but did you know that most of our Catholics believe in and openly practice aspects of voodoo? We believe voodoo can coexist within Catholicism. With Haiti's troubled history, it is voodoo that has allowed my people a chance to escape their harsh reality over the centuries. It was easy to meld the two faiths because there are many similarities between Roman Catholicism and voodoo."
"But I thought voodoo involved magic and sorcery?"
"Well child, it is true that some Haitians resort to bokor, who are specialists in sorcery and magic, but we here distinguish between the service of family spirits and the practice of sorcery. We have priestesses known as mambos, and our priests we call houngans. Our family spirits are called Loa, and they have distinct identities. They can be good, evil, capricious, or demanding. They protect their children from misfortune, and in return, families must feed the Loa through rituals."
"What sort of rituals?"
"We offer food, drink, and other gifts to the spirits. We believe the Loa determine the course of our lives and they are always present in great numbers." Leila leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke in a hushed voice. "You only see the two of us here, whereas I see us and 20 Loa."
"Yikes, that's creepy." Abigail looked round suspiciously. "I hope they don't peek at me getting undressed. Where are they then?"
"Perhaps you will see ... later," smiled Leila enigmatically. "Drink up now. I will replenish your glass. Drink and relax while I prepare some food. You will be very glad to have me looking after you. I guarantee it will be much better than staying in some tourist hotel!"
"You know something Leila - I think you are right. It was fate that brought me here. The tent is absolutely fine. I am going to enjoy my time in Haiti. It will be an amazing experience."
"It will," nodded Leila. "I will get a shawl for you to drape around your shoulders. The temperature drops significantly in the evenings. You will soon become accustomed to the climate, and you have nine days left to soak up the sun and explore the island."
As she enjoyed a light dinner of salad with succulent lobster and shrimp, followed by fresh fruit, Abigail sighed contentedly in the twilight, that magical half light between night and day. The beach was secluded, but as she stared, Abigail became aware of a dark shape, and as it moved slightly she discerned a figure sitting cross-legged on the sand some 50 metres away.
"Who is that?"
"It is my nephew Emmanuel. He will remain there until morning, so you can feel safe and secure. No one will disturb you."
"I hadn't expected a personal minder. But as I'm so isolated here, it's good to feel safe."
"My other nephew Pedro will take over from him in the morning. Wherever you go on the island, he will follow at a discreet distance."
"Keeping an eye on me?"
"Indeed. Ensuring your safety."
"I'm sure I will be fine during the day," smiled Abigail, not liking the idea of having a tail wherever she went.
"It is just a precaution. A single attractive lady wandering around on her own is bound to attract attention - not all of it welcome."
"Do you make these security arrangements for all your guests?"
"Only the special ones."
Abigail stopped herself from retorting that she could look after herself. She didn't wish to offend her new well-meaning friend, but secretly resolved to give Pedro the slip at the first opportunity. Leila brought out a battery-powered lamp and the two women talked a little longer as the sun set over the sea, a giant flaming ball slowly sliding down to meld with the horizon.
Lulled by the waves lapping in the shallows, Abigail yawned, feeling suddenly weary and pleasantly relaxed by the effects of the rum-infused cocktails. It had been a long day, full of emotion.
"You are tired, Miss Abigail." Leila got to her feet and began clearing away the glasses and the debris from dinner. "I will leave you now and return in the morning with breakfast. Sleep well. You have nothing to fear."
"Thank you so much for everything. I think I shall be asleep just as soon as my head hits the pillow. Goodnight, Leila."
"Goodnight." Leila waved as she strode out into the encroaching night.
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