From Sudan With Love

His name was Bond, James Bond.

More accurately, it was Yousaf Jean-Pierre. Both first names. But he needed both...in keeping with Commander Bond. Just that he had not figured out yet how to combine them, which should lead? He alone still remembered the former - it was from another life. Before the sacking of the village. Before  the deaths. Before the many days and nights in the desert. Before the camp.

The latter was the one the white woman gave him when he first came to the camp. Everyone there had one; some English, some Spanish, others, French, like him. It was what everyone called him. He sat by the light of the campfire, wearing the red bandana Susanne had given him. Although he had never seen James Bond sporting one, it was what he had. And he imagined it had all kinds of super cool gadgets built in by Q.

Not just that, Susanne liked how he looked in it. He could see her from the corner of his eyes smiling...that sweet, one-of-a-kind, light-up-the-room, smile. And partially covering her mouth. He was Bond for both of them. He would make sure nothing happened to her. That was his assignment. She had been hurt too many times in the past. By relatives. By the raiders. By the soldiers who came later. They had been told it was to keep the peace. They had kept more. So much more. Pieces of the environment, pieces of their existence, pieces of her soul.

Well...no more. His Dinka blood ran hot. He would do whatever it took. Even if he could do nothing for anyone else, even if his dear Sudan did not benefit from him, Susanne would. By Jove! He would make sure of that. He was sworn to it. So help him, God. He was after all, the psy who loved her.

©2014 John, Chidi
All Rights Reserved

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