Vain (The Seven Deadly 1)

Karina took us to the airport where we hopped on a plane for a short twelve-hour adventure from Uganda to Cape Town, South Africa, with layovers in Nairobi and Johannesburg. It hardly seemed worth the two-day stay, but I quickly reminded myself that it was totally worth seeing Ian outside our daily lives at Masego.

I was so relieved to touch down in Cape Town that I didn’t take in the startling differences between classes on the fifteen-minute drive into town right away. Five minutes in and my view on the right and left side of the highway was a stark contrast to say the least.

“My God, look at that,” I sighed through the window.

“What?” Ian asked, scooting up in his seat next to me, leaning over me to see what I was looking at.

On our right were decent, clean homes, well maintained and obviously inhabited by more affluent owners. On our left was what I could only describe as a slum. Homes, if you could call them that, made of tin roofs, dirt floors, a makeshift town really. It looked like a haven for disease and I was willing to bet lots of crime.

“This,” I said, gesturing to both sides of the road with my hands.

“Ah, yes,” he acknowledged, sliding back into his seat, obviously accustomed to the sights.

“It’s sad,” I admitted.

“Very sad,” he agreed.

“It’s such a stunning contrast in living conditions it feels like a punch to the gut.” I studied row after row of slapdash homes.

“As an American, I can definitely identify that my country has little to no idea what poverty really is. The worst living conditions I’d ever been exposed to back home pale in comparison. It’s literally embarrassing that we complain at all.”

“They just don’t know, Soph.”

“They just stay ignorant, Ian,” I answered in kind to which he could only smile.

“And I was probably the most dense of all of them,” I whispered.

He slid his hand over mine and squeezed softly.

“No longer.”

“No longer,” I repeated, squeezing back. I took a deep breath. “Why don’t those in charge do something about this?”

To this Ian laughed suddenly and hysterically.

“What?”

“Oh, Sophie Price, you’ll get the opportunity. Just wait,” he told me, still laughing.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” I smiled back.

“My mother is the executive mayor of Cape Town.”

“If I was familiar with your politics, I’d probably know how grave that declaration was, but I’m not, so...”

“The executive mayor of Cape Town is essentially the big dog on the block. She’s the equivalent of the governor of an American state or the mayor of New York City.”

My mouth went dry and I desperately tried to swallow something that wasn’t there.

“The executive mayor. Why the hell didn’t you explain this to me before?”

“I did. I told you they were in politics down here.”

“I figured they were council people or something equally mundane.”

“Soph,” he said, brows furrowed, “why would the son of a councilman have top billing in the newspapers here?”

“I figured news was a little slow here.”