Frederica de Mille - Peace Corps bride

Dinner at an excellent French restaurant is a pleasant surprise anytime. In Africa, it is doubly so. Yet, in spite of certain preconceptions of mud-and waddle huts and savage natives which honestly do still exist in the interior there are any number of surprisingly good French restaurants to be found in the mostly modern capitals of territories formerly under the suzerainty of the French Colonial Administration. In Dakar the capital of Senegal, and a city with a number of first-class restaurants three of the most outstanding are.. Croix du Sud, Hotel N'Gor, and Chez Marie-Louise. It was in the latter that young Doug and Penny Glasser sat waiting for their evening's dinner companion, Howard and Carol North.

"Well, darling?" the young husband smiled, exhibiting a row of even white teeth. "Have you made up your mind yet?"

"Gee, Doug," Penny responded, "I can't decide everything sounds so scrumptious!" Doug smiled indulgently. "Maybe we should wait for the Norths," he offered.

Penny wrinkled her nose and brightened. "Not on your life, Doug! Besides, they said for us to go ahead and order since they're liable to be a while at Major M'Bonu's office."

Doug laughed openly, then fell into his fair-to-middlin' Humphrey Bogart imitation. "Okay, kid, I get the picture." He dropped back into his own voice. "You want to ask a waiter what's good?"

Penny nodded in the affirmative, then blushed when her incorrigible tease of a husband snapped his finger and shouted a very touristy, "Garcon!"

Immediately, an impeccably liveried waiter with a face as black as night appeared at their table. "Is monsieur ready to order now?" he asked in flawless French.

"What do you recommend?" Doug followed in a broken facsimile of the same language.

"Our chef is an artist with langouste."

"Langouste?" Penny parroted. "What's that, Doug?"

"I think it's crayfish, honey."

"Oh, good, Doug! Let's have that!"

Doug nodded at the waiter.

"And the wine, monsieur?"

"Something light, white and dry."

"Excellent, monsieurMuscadet? Soave, perhaps?"

"Soave, I think. A full liter-we're expecting company."

As the African waiter shuffled off in the direction of the, kitchen, Penny turned to her husband and dimpled. "Gee, Doug," she whispered, "I had no idea you knew anything about wines!"

"All the better to snow you with, my dear," he Bogarted.

"You mean-"

"I mean, I don't know Soave from Shinola!"

Penny stared straight-faced at her handsome young husband for a long moment, then broke into a peal of infectious laughter. God, how she loved that smiling dark-haired boy!

They had been married nearly six months now, having "tied the Freudian knot," as Doug called it, the day following their graduation.. from Montana State in June. Within these same few months, they had applied to, been accepted by, and trained for a Peace Corps assignment in Africa. Since both Penny and Doug had Bachelor of Arts degrees in anthropology, the choice had been a natural one. Indeed, when they'd met in the spring of their junior year, it was during a seminar on African art and music. In the relatively short period of time that had passed since that eventful day, the happy-go-lucky boy, who at twenty-three was two years Penny's senior, had become her whole life. And she, his.

Doug himself now caught up in his young wife's happy laughter, studied the lovely face across the table from him. He never tired of looking at Penny at her refined, delicately formed features, the perky upturned nose with its smattering of pale freckles across the bridge, the well-spaced sky-blue eyes. Her fine, nut-brown hair fell freely like long cascading silk, from a simple center part. Her firm, melonous breasts rode high and proud the smooth upper slopes deliciously naked above the daringly low-cut black crepe cocktail dress she'd purchased just that morning at a chic little shop in the lobby of their hotel. In her haste to get on with the "missionary" nature of their business, Penny hadn't even thought to bring a formal dress along, just a few flimsy cotton things and several shorts and halter ensembles for the hotter months. Nonetheless, her husband thought proudly, Penny's the kind of girl who'd look good in a potato sack!

"Hi! Mind if we join you?"

The intruding voice belonged to Carol North.

"Oh, hi, Carol," piped Penny. "We just ordered. Why don't you guys sit down?" -

Dinner proceeded rapidly and smoothly. It was a curious and instantaneous friendship that grew between the four young Americans, one born more of common interests and background rather than longevity. Howard and Carol North, only slightly older than Doug and Penny themselves, had met their young replacements just that morning at the airport. At ten that same evening, the Glassers would be seeing the Norths off for their return flight to the States, following an eighteen-month stint as instructors at the Corps-sponsored Mgoro Technical School.

"Better eat hearty, kids," Howard offered comraderly. "Once you get to Mgoro, you'll be lucky if you can think up an appropriate excuse to get into Dakar every two months." He shoved a forkful of langouste into his mouth and chewed reflectively. "La Pierre he's the headmaster runs a tight village."

Carol wrinkled her nose and seconded, "I'll say! That old French fart is so decrepit he creaks when he walks!"

"Oh, he's not so bad, really," Howard countered, reaching for the wine. "If you do a good job.. and by that I mean, just teach and not talk liberal politics.. he'll do all right by you."

"As long as you don't ask for many trips to town," Carol said. "01 La Pierre's a real worry wart."

Penny, following closely, cleared her throat. "Oh?"

Howard took a long sip of Soave and swallowed. "Rotten stuff, this!" he said. I'll sure be glad to get my hands on some good ol American Ripple!"

"Why does whoever you said" Penny pressed.

"La Pierre?" Carol supplied.

"Yes. Why does he worry?"

The Norths stared at one another for a second, then Carol nodded for Howard to continue the explanation.

"Well," Howard began. "You're aware of the war going on in Guine-Bissau Portuguese Guinea?"

Doug and Penny nodded in the, affirmative. He continued, "Farim that's a Portuguese stronghold is only a few kilometers from Mgoro, across the border " -

"But," Doug interrupted, "I thought with Salazar's bunch out of power, things were going to cool down!"

"Yes, yes.. Independence and all that.. Well, it's not all that simpleTribal rivalries, renegade troops, you know the ticket."

"Y-You make it sound like a miniature Congo!" Carol protested. "You're scaring them half to death!"

"Am I?" Howard continued. "Well, I didn't mean it like thatIt's pretty small-scale stuff, really."

"How small?" Penny queried concernedly.

"Just a bunch of renegades," Carol explained. "Some of the rebels on the Northern Front had a falling out with Cabral a year or so ago, and they've kind of set up shop for themselves."

"There's been a few rapes and one killing or two on the wrong side of the border," Howard added hastily.

Penny gave out a startled gasp, and Doug quickly covered her hand with his own and squeezed it for reassurance. He cleared his throat with a sip of wine. "Where does Mgoro fit into all this?" he questioned.

Howard dabbed the last vestiges of crayfish from his lips with the corner of his napkin, then fumbled for a cigarette. "Mgoro village takes its name from the Mgoro tribe. But, of course, you already know that"

"We should," Penny interjected, "we just spent several weeks studying the Mgoro language!"

"Well, like I was saying, the Mgoro are sort of domesticated cousins of the Djambulu. And, well, the Djambulu are pretty bad news."