On the evening of the second day after Harry had met Esther, and with still no sight of her, he happened on Aldo at the Kusi hotel bar. The fellow was dressed nattily in a business suit, but Harry didn’t inquire as to the nature of his friend’s business. Perhaps he should have. Aldo seemed preoccupied, then declared, “Harry Harambee! Good name for you.” Harry didn’t catch the reference then, didn’t ask what it meant, didn’t think it at all important. The Italian went on jovially, “Have you had enough of this beach town? Want to go on safari? The rest of my group crapped out. Funga! So we can stay here as long as you like, or we can explore the countryside, stalk wild animals instead of scoping buns in bikinis!”
“I don’t know,” Harry mused. Trying not to sound too eager, he asked, “But wha
