Africa is a palate of colors. Greens and yellows cover most the area but then an orange part of the soil will emerge or a striking red bird will fly by. The lakes and rivers are the deepest blue I’ve seen, more so than the ocean. It’s a great place to visit, everything is so different than America, everything. But don’t come with a cold.
I was a little congested when we left LAX and as soon as we landed I knew I would be in trouble. Don’t get me wrong I’ve enjoyed it. Being here with Cam has been fun, but then again, we aren’t here on vacation. She’s got this new show for MTV coming out and we’re filming it. Well, the filming is done, now we’re just hanging out for a few days and relaxing.
It's so nice to be in a place where nobody cares who I am or what I do. They know we are American but that’s it and that’s all that really matters. They have no idea that I’ve sold millions of records or that Cameron is one of the highest paid actresses. None of that matters. I’ve caught my self glancing over my shoulder, looking for guys with cameras, but so far the only cameras have been for MTV during the taping and our own.
It’s such a liberating feeling. I don’t think I’ve ever felt freer in my life. Even when I was in Germany with the guys I had to watch what I did because there was security and my mom was around. And in Millington when me and Trace would run off and get into shit I always knew that somehow someone would see us and gossip would spread.
There’s none of that here.
Maybe I should move here. No, it’s too far from everything else.
It was great to have Trace and Elisha meet up with us in Pretoria for these last few days. The four of us always have a killer time with each other. Cam and I were in Tanzania for the show but flew down into South Africa for a little more civilized travel. The girls are shopping today and even though I really just wanted to sleep, Trace drug my stuffy ass out of bed and told me we were going on a safari in the Rustenburg National Reserve. We’ve been on several of those since we arrived and I didn’t want to sound like a whiney ten year old, but I really didn’t want to go.
But here we are, about an hour or two drive away from our hotel that’s actually this big ranch style house between Johannesburg and Pretoria. All we’ve seen are flies and a few antelope, but to me they just look like your regular overpopulated deer from the states. I feel really bad for Trace, when we were doing the show in Tanzania we saw zebras and hippos and giraffes and chimps and all sorts of cool animals. Of course the reserves were a lot bigger there and the area was really wild, like, REALLY wild. I mean there were little tribal kids running around at this stop we made at this village and at night we heard a lion roar and then got to go fucking touch one. It was insane shit. The animals are a lot shyer here it seems, or perhaps, non existent, and people in Johannesburg don’t walk around half naked with long hiking sticks. Trace keeps getting excited at birds and it’s really pathetic. I wish he could see something cool to tell his folks back home.
The driver tells us that they are going to drive a few miles off the path and that maybe the reason no animals are around is because someone drove down the path in the last few hours and scared all the wildlife away. I sigh and Trace sits down beside me and puts his binoculars in his lap. “Sorry there’s not much to see today.”
“Are you kidding me? This place is great!” He looks like he did back in the day when momma would take us to the zoo. Man, he would have shit himself if he had been with us earlier in the week. “How are you feeling?” He asks me.
“I’m ok.” I shrug. “Still wish I could breathe out of my nose.”
“You sound like you’re getting better.”
I laugh sarcastically, “Knowing my luck I’ll feel great once we land back home.”
Trace stretches and looks around with a chuckle, “You think they got a shitter somewhere around here?”
“I doubt it.” I rub the sweat off my forehead. The heat is really starting to get to me. It’s different than LA heat and Memphis heat. Memphis heat is sticky like you’re taking a hot bath, but its not relaxing. LA heat is dry, like this kind of heat, but not nearly as hot. I feel like I’m right there on the surface of the sun. It’s like when you put your back to a fireplace for too long but it’s constant. Funny thing is, it’s kind of a cloudy day.
“I gotta take a piss.”
One of our guides must have heard us talking because he bangs on the top of the cabin of the truck and the truck comes to a halt from its slow crawl. “We can stop here,” Mitch says. He’s an American environmentalist and one of the rangers at this reserve. He’s lived here for about five years and is a nice guy, but definitely a dork when it comes to this nature shit. “It’s a safe area. There’s some brush right over there…” He points over to an area of shrubs and bushes about 300 feet away. “But be careful and don’t go beyond the fence.”
“What fence?” I ask, squinting to see as I take off my sunglasses. I don’t really need them on a day like today. All around us is flat and there are no trees in the area. In fact, it looks like there might be a little gorge or drop off about half a mile away. It’s a pretty grassy area, too and I wonder if there are snakes and things. Suddenly I don’t feel so good about going out there to piss by ourselves.
“There’s a fence over there. It’s private property and we can’t see you that far.”
“Kay, we’ll be back.” Trace says, jumping off the boarded in bed of the truck. We were in a Land Rover in Tanzania and the seats were much more comfortable. I follow him and feel a little better when one of the African guys come with us a little bit of the way. We walk for a while and when we get close to the brush the guy leaves us alone and we go behind the bushy area to do our business. I didn’t realize how much I had been holding it and needed to pee until now.
It feels damn good to let it out, too. If only I could get this snot out of my nose.
I sigh and hear Trace say, “Can you believe we’re in fucking Africa?”
“I know.”
Apparently I didn’t say it enthusiastically enough because the next thing I know Trace is on my case again. “Man, you need to fucking buck up. I’m sorry you’re feeling shitty, but come on man. You never know when you’re gonna be able to come back to this place.”
“Fuck off all right, Trace?” I give him a pissed off look and tuck everything back in and zip up my jeans. He rolls his eyes at me and walks over.
“Is something going on? You’re usually grumpy when you’re sick but this is weirder than normal.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. I don’t know what my problem has been. I’ve been blaming it on my cold, but honestly ever since we left LA I’ve been in such a pissy mood. And it hasn’t just been here either. For about a month I’ve been in a funk and I don’t know what it is. Cam says that it’s because none of my movies have been picked up, but I kind of think it’s the fact that I haven’t written anything musically in the past few months.
It’s starting to really piss me off.
“I’m sorry man,” I say, “I don’t know what my problem is.”
“Maybe you need some ass.” Trace clamps his hand on my shoulder and we start to make our way from behind the brush area back to the guy so we can walk to the truck.
“What?”
“‘Lish told me it’s been awhile for you and Cameron.”
“Well, yeah…” I’m kind of annoyed she would tell Elisha about our lack of sex lately and then of course ‘lish tells Trace and he has to talk about it. It’s not that I mind him knowing, it’s just something I didn’t think would bother her that much. I mean, I’ve wanted to. I’ve got a hot ass girlfriend and I’m twenty three, hell fucking yeah I’ve wanted to. But whenever I do she’s tired or she doesn’t feel good.
That shit can do a number to a man’s ego. “I’m sure that’s it.”
“You see that?” Trace is suddenly looking in the direction opposite of the truck. I can now make out a wooden fence with barb wire a little bit away from where we are standing.
“See what?”
“That bird…”
I laugh and he starts walking towards the fence. “What?”
"Dude, I just saw this cool ass bird..."
"Man,” I laugh, not really enjoying Trace’s curious personality at this point. We’re not in the backyard in Millington. We’re in Africa and I’m pretty sure I just saw something slither against the ground near my foot. “It'll probably fucking eat you,” I say, keeping my eyes on my feet.
"Shh, it’s over here..."
"Trace, what the fuck? We got birds in America, lots of them. They shit on my car all the time."
"Yeah but not cool ass birds like that one." He says, promptly tripping over a stump.
"I got a bird for you..." He looks at me and I flip him off. He does it back to me and rolls his eyes. Well, I thought it was a pretty funny.
"Funny asshole,” He says sarcastically. “Come on..."
"Trace, were in fucking Africa! And you've got me chasing a damn crow..."
“It's not a crow..." His tone is defensive and by now I realize I’ve been following him this whole time. There’s this bird sitting on the barbed fence that’s about fifteen feet in front of us. It’s a small bird but it is a pretty cool mix of greens and pinks. I think it’s a parrot.
It’s nice to look at but I’m starting to get a weird feeling about being out in the wild like this. Call me a city boy, wait…I’m not a city boy at all. I’m mostly a country boy and I spent my childhood running in woods and making forts and pouring water into ant hills and salt on slugs in the driveway. I know the difference between a coral snake and a king snake, but I’m not in the Mississippi river valley. I’m in Africa and I’m not quite sure I can tell you the deference between a harmless little green snake and an African viper.
“Trace I think we should head back.” At the sound of my voice the bird flaps away.
“Shit, he flew over to that thing in the ground.”
I laugh. This miraculous thing on the other side of the wire and wood fence is a dead tree which has fallen and one of its old branches is sticking up in the air, the color of it is parched and grey. “You mean the dead tree?”
“Yeah that.” He says, not commenting on my sarcasm. “Come on…” I watch in amazement as Trace careful maneuvers himself to hop over the wire fence. He puts his hands on the wooden post for balance and hops himself over, quickly swinging his legs so he doesn’t get caught on the wire. “He’s not looking.” He says in a hushed tone.
“I don’t know man.” I look back at our guide and he’s busy looking out at the horizon in the other way. I can’t even see the truck anymore because the grass is so high and the ground has begun to slope down and our guide’s body is only visible from the chest up. “They said for us to not go over here.”
“You’ve always been the pussy of the group.” Trace laughs. He starts walking slowly towards the tree and I know that this is a bad idea. It’s not even the fear of being unprotected in the wild knowing snakes and lions and shit can eat me but I just don’t have a good feeling. It’s the same feeling when Britney came to visit me during the Celebrity tour and I knew something had gone down, or when Lance got sick and we still had to perform, or when Momma and Daddy started acting weird way back in the day. I knew some shit was about to go down. I knew things weren’t settled correctly and that only bad things were coming my way.
It was a gut reaction and right now my gut is telling me to turn around, go straight to the damned truck and look for some more African Bambi. Fuck the parrot.
I hop over the fence and the bird flies away again and I roll my eyes as Trace keeps chasing it. It’s like he’s a damn kitten chasing a freaking butterfly. It’s hopeless but sadly this isn’t adorable at all. This is annoying. We pass the dead tree, walk for a little bit and then I see him stop abruptly. I can’t see his legs over the high grass. Suddenly his arms wave like he’s balancing himself and then I see him disappear.
“Shit…” I mouth and tread faster to see where the hell he went. He probably fell and broke his leg and I’m gonna have to go get help and the guide is gonna be pissed that we went past the fence. I stop myself suddenly and see that there’s a little ledge that I’m on and that the grass had stopped growing tall. He’s a few feet below me on a rocky drop-off that juts out over a bit of a canyon. It’s small, but there’s a swift wide creek underneath us a good twenty feet and a small waterfall is a few hundred feet to our right. I’m so surprised we couldn’t hear it sooner but it’s not that powerful of a waterfall. Still, it’s kinda loud.
I jump down with him and catch myself as the soles of my sneakers do little to grip the rocky terrain below. I know I shouldn’t have worn my new Nikes. They’re all dusty and shit now. God, and there’s a grass stain, too. That sucks.
“Now where did your damn little bird go?” I ask. “I can’t believe you’ve got me chasing a bird.”
Trace shrugs and doesn’t say anything. And slowly, I understand why. It’s a nice setting and a beautiful river. The mist from the falls hits my face every now and then and it feels good against my hot skin. I got a little burnt when we were in Tanzania. I look out over the falls and the river and see that there’s a wooded area on the other side. I nudge Trace and say, “Pretty damn cool.”
He nods and I’m suddenly hit with the feeling of complete serenity. No one in the world knows where I am. There’s no one around but me and Trace. No photographers, no fans, no body’s screaming my name. When I look up in the sky there aren’t helicopters surrounding like there are when I got play golf. There’s not a guy hiding in a van somewhere. It’s just us and it’s a damn good feeling.
It’s freedom.
Bang…
“Holy hell, what was that?” I hear him say and I’m confused just as much as he is as we frantically search the scenery.
The noise echoes a bit in the canyon and we look around and I slap his shoulder and point down below. Off on the other side of the river to our left are two trucks, much like the style of the one we’ve been riding. They’re camouflaged and there are African men and a few white men standing there in a semi-circle in front of the trucks.
Then we notice it. There’s a man on his knees, blind folded and bound on the ground. Beside him is another man, an African man, but he’s not on his knees, he’s laying back and I think I can see a little pool of dark liquid underneath him.
I shake my head roughly, hoping to God that what I've just seen has simply been a mirage...that the heat is beginning to play tricks on me. But then I look over at Trace and see the shocked expression on his face. I realize this is no mirage. I look on with shock and horror, kind of like when I was thirteen and Trace and I stayed up late to watch Jason III even though momma said we wouldn't be able to sleep. It's like that moment, when the pretty girl with the big ass titties got chopped with an axe. We both cried 'look out!' but then it was too late. But this...this isn’t a movie. It's hitting me now, like an anvil. This is really happening. Somebody just got shot...murdered
Holy shit, this is really fucking happening.
A guy in white suit comes out from somewhere under a shade tree wearing a straw hat that looks like one of the Greg Norman Shark hats I got my dad when we went golfing the other weekend. He walks up to the guy that’s kneeling there. He squats down beside him and I watch as two other guys pick up the limp, dead body and shuffle over to heave him into the river. I watch as his body is tossed and tumbled, tortured by the rough current. His body slides down and flips over on its back and floats right beneath us. The blindfold comes off and his eyes are wide open, white and staring up at us. I swallow back the urge to puke when I see a hole in his head and force myself to look back at man in white. I can’t see his face because of his hat but apparently he’s talking to the guy. It’s weird but I feel myself get angry. We don’t have a description and when we get back to the truck, I doubt they will believe us and if they do, how will anyone get caught? We’re fucking helpless.
“Tr-Trace…” I manage to say but before he is able to respond the guy in the suit stands up, wipes off his hands and walks to a truck, getting into the passenger seat. Another man as black as coal is shirtless, dressed in camouflage pants. He steps forward, raises his arm and I see he has a gun in his hand. The sun comes out of the clouds and catches the silver. It blinds me for a moment and then I hear…
Bang…
The guy on his knees crumbles and drops to the side. I don’t even realize it when I yell, “Oh shit!”
Suddenly everyone that is standing there looks up at us and the man with a gun aims it at us and fires repeatedly.
“Fuck man…” Trace yells and we both hit the ground and try to find ways to turn around and pull ourselves up off the ledge, into the grass, and run back to the truck to get the fuck out of there. God, I don’t know what to do and I can’t help but stare at the guy that was just shot, lying there, dead, unmoving with a thickening puddle of blood consuming him. I hear Trace moan behind me and hear feet shuffling against the dirt.
I push myself off the ground and jump up to turn around, see what his problem is and get away. I realize the shooting has stopped and I see that Trace is on the ground, in a fetal position. At first I panic and think he is shot when a guy wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans and gelled hair steps into view and kicks him in the stomach. He waves his gun over Trace’s body and I hear myself gasp. Holy fucking hell, what is this? I hope I’m dreaming.
But for some reason I have a feeling this is all too real. I blink and suddenly I’m confronted with the round mouth of a gun ready to throw up bullets. I gulp and I seriously think my heart stops beating. I raise my eyes to see an African man with a bright smile staring at me.
He laughs a deep accented laugh and says, “‘Oh shit’ is right my friend..."
I see his hand rise and I realize I’m about to die, he’s about to shoot me. I can’t think of anything and stare at his sick smile. Suddenly I feel something hard and strong knock me square on the top of my head.
I lose feeling in my legs and quickly, everything turns black.
