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tomorrow. I hope that is all it is.”
    Jalil steps out of his way.
    “ Où séjournes-tu? Where are you staying?”
    “J e ne sais pas encore ... Savez-vous Kuchuna? I don’t know yet...Do you know Kuchuna?”
    “ Il est près de la station de bus. Il est un hôtel là-bas aussi. It’s near the bus station. There is a hotel there too.” He directs his deputy to tell Jalil how to get to the Kuchuna office. Then turning to Jalil, he says, “ Une autre question pour vous, monsieur Scott. Pourquoi était votre fille ici? One more question for you, Mr. Scott. Why was your daughter here?”
    “ Elle a été bénévole... She was volunteering…”
    Akida looks him dead in the eye. “ Avec Kivuli, je sais. Mais pour un albinos...venir ici...Il est comme un désir de mort. With Kivuli, I know. But for an albino…coming here...It’s like a death wish.”
    He’s not expecting an answer. Akida goes out into his vehicle, and drives off.

 
    12
     
    Rhadi

    July 15 (later)
     
    Having consulted a map on the wall at the precinct, Jalil walks two miles across town to the Kuchuna headquarters. Since the door is open, he walks into the office. There is no one there. Fan parts are splayed out, still in need of fixing.
    He gets on the computer. The screensaver is a picture of Rhadi, Aliya and Kennen. There is no password protection. He opens to the desktop and then the Internet. The homepage for Kuchuna.org comes up. There are a few videos, commentaries and reports from different activists in the group who are reporting from various parts of the world. While Kuchuna takes action on multiple human rights issues, albinism gets the most play due to current events and the recent close case of Aliya and Kennen. The latest video player shows a still shot of Aliya.
    Jalil hits the play button.
    The video was shot at Camp Kivuli in the sunlight. Rhadi is interviewing Aliya. He asks her, “What’s it like being an American albino in Tanzania?”
    As the frame focuses on Aliya, Jalil raises his fingers as if he could touch her face through the screen. She’s camera shy and clearly smitten. “I don’t know.” Rhadi nudges. “Sure you do...What’s it like?”
    Her expression turns serious. “Well, in the U.S. it is hard being albino, but I never lost any sleep thinking someone would chop me up and make good luck charms out of me. These people here, especially the children, they are hunted. We are hunted. And the world isn’t doing enough to stop it. I have to do something. These are my people.”
    Rhadi turns the camera on himself. “Well, there it is, world, what it’s like being an American albino in Tanzania, straight from Aliya Scott, a very brave woman.” Rhadi puts the focus back on Aliya. The video is cuts off, frozen on a blurry frame of her.
    Rhadi is standing in the doorway and watching him. He has a metal pipe in his hand that’s aimed at the back of Jalil’s head. His voice is stern. “Kuchukua mikono yako mbali ya keyboard na kuunga polepole.”
    Consumed, Jalil hadn’t seen the man approach and raises his hands in the air. “American.” He asks in French, “ Parlez-vous anglais?” Do you speak English?
    Rhadi replies in English, “Who are you? What do you want?” his grip on the pipe relaxes a bit.
    “I’m looking for my daughter.”
    “You’re Aliya’s father?”
    Jalil turns to face him, putting his hands down. “Yes.”
    Rhadi puts down the pipe. Rhadi wipes his hand on his pant leg to shake Jalil’s. “You can’t be too sure who might come in and steal your computer or sabotage your efforts. A lot of people don’t like what we post.” He introduces himself, “Rhadi.”
    “Jalil.” He takes his hand and they shake, but Jalil is measuring him more than being cordial.
    “Your door was open.”
    “Your daughter...I’m sorry she is...”
    “Tell me what you know.”
    “Yes, let’s walk. It’s too hot in here. I have to fix the fan.”
    Jalil agrees to walk, thinking that if Rhadi is