Craving a King

Chapter One

At the insistence of an insufferable sovereign, I am placing my life on hold for thirty days.

King Kofi Ajyei is basically forcing me to come to Africa to "absorb the culture" and propose how my charter school network, Revolution Academies, may serve his Ashanti villages. My schools teach students the inner workings of law and public policy along with reading, writing, and arithmetic. I'm only tolerating his command because having an impact on public education in West Africa will be a dream come true for me and my organization. If he chooses us.

I'm pissed because this is not how the bidding process works! When I told him my status as a UN approved contractor requires me to submit a proposal, not pitch it to him personally in his country. He just scoffed. When I told him, no potential contractor would put their entire business and life on hold to live in another country for a "maybe." He laughed! When I flat out told him no, he overnighted first class plane tickets and accommodations at a five-star beach resort in Accra. When I threatened to send them back; he threatened to tell the U.N. I was not negotiating in good faith. Checkmate.

So here I am, nine hours before my flight to Africa with nothing of consequence packed.

Why do I always wait until the last minute?

Whether I'm going on a weekend jaunt to Kiawah Island's beaches or a 16 Day Mediterranean cruise; I inevitably leave packing to the day before. 30-day trips to Africa will now join the list.

I started at 5 pm. Three hours and three glasses of Merlot later-I've only packed my hair products. This is actually a feat within itself. My hair is an entire mood. Generally, I keep my long mane of natural hair in two-strand twists or braids that fall just below my shoulders. But something about going to Africa makes me want to wear my outrageous curly Afro full and free. Plus, arriving in West Africa with braids is like bringing sand to the beach. The art of hair-braiding is an integral part of West African culture. I plan to leave the continent with some fierce braids. This decision has forced me to ensure I have all tools, cremes, gels, conditioners, rods, and co-washes needed to tame the beast. Between that and the wine, the hours flew by!

I hear my doorbell ringing, must be my girl Maya. As usual, I called her to come and rescue me from myself at the 11th hour. I put my glass down and rush to the door.

"Hey girl!" I say with a bit too much energy.

"Hey lush" Maya grins as I let her in. Even after eight on a Sunday night, she is stunning. "Ella, how do you plan to get anything done knee-deep into a bottle of wine?" Ishrug my shoulders and close the door behind her.

I've known Maya for fifteen years; since our first day at Spelman. She was my roommate, and even then, I was awe-struck at her beauty. At six feet tall and 130 pounds soaking wet-she's never ignored. Her skin is the color of onyx and smooth as silk. She has wide-set almond shaped eyes with defining flecks of hazel and a brilliant smile. Her jet-black hair is as long as mine, but always blown out and never in its natural coils, so it falls to the middle of her back. I've always thought she looked like Naomi Campbell; which is an appropriate comparison since she modeled in Paris and Milan for 6 seasons. Not bad for an orphan that spent her childhood in the foster system. She's an inspiration. Even now she looks like a model in a bright green shift that would be too short if she were in heels. Instead she paired it with brown Louboutin flats the same shade as her skin. I wonder where she got them.