NOTE: This is part of a continuing online novel. Here is the Table of Contents.

The America Diaspora is a sequel to The Chinese Century.

It was our first fight in Africa.

Those 17 girls who drowned in Richards Bay weren’t ours, but the fact they were from Johannesburg had the American community buzzing.

Jenni had picked up the buzz. She was scared of South Africa’s AIDS epidemic, scared of South Africa’s high crime rate, scared for her children. Who wouldn’t be?

That’s the way it is on the frontier, I said. There’s risk. But there’s also vitality. There’s opportunity. I suffered an ordeal, but I came through it, and I’m stronger now than before.

The kids are going to grow up anyway.

Jenni’s usual reaction to such stress is silence. That and a general grouchiness which has nothing to do with what’s happening at the moment. She is immersed in her job (as usual) and now there are marketing and management functions on her plate, as well as the development and learning she was doing back “home,” in Atlanta.

Maybe the only good thing to come out of this, she had thought, was that Robin had gone back a year in school. It was quite accidental, a product of switching hemispheres (and summertimes). But she was approaching learning with a new confidence, a new maturity, which we had always hoped to see in her.

Until, that is, she came home with some news.

“I have an opportunity to help build a safari camp,” she said one night, as we crunched on tacos (still a family favorite) around the tiny table we’d adapted to in our Sun Building apartment.

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

“Where and when?” asked Jenni, sounding not at all fun.

“Right away,” Robin replied.

“What about school?” I asked, before Jenni could get in there.

“I can take it by Internet,” Robin said, shrugging her shoulders. “We’ll have broadband there, and the people I’m working for are committed to their people getting a complete education.”

“Which people?” Jenni asked, before I could jump in and ask the same thing.

“It’s called SOAR-SA, and it’s affiliated with the camp John went to back home http://www.soar-nc.org. But the money is coming through your fairy godfather, the Virgin Maverick people.”

“SOAR? Cool!” said John, through a mouthful of taco.

“A man named Ed Parker is here to set it up,” Robin said casually. “He was admissions director at SOAR, but he’s studied in Germany and has a lot of international experience.

“Where is it?”

“It’s called White River, but it’s just an hour’s flight from Johannesburg, and then a very short car ride. We will have our own base camp within the Park, and a full camp set up by summer.”

“What is a 17 year old supposed to be doing there?” Jenni asked, although I could see she was fighting to stay calm.

“I’m supposed to learn all about the place, from my own point of view, and then work to help the campers interface with the wildlife,” she said. “They said they wanted someone who loves animals, who loves kids, and who was interested in learning.”

“That’s three for three,” I said brightly.

“No,” said Jenni firmly.

“No?” asked Robin.

“No?” I said.

“No. That’s it. No. I’m not having a 17 year old who thinks the mall is an adventure running off to become a jungle guide. You’re just not ready for it. You’re over a year away from graduating high school.”

“I can get my work done in six months, and like I said they’re going to have Internet access direct to my school,” Robin said. “I’ve talked it over with some of my teachers…”

“So exactly how long have you known about this, then?” Jenni asked, her voice rising.

“Not too long,” I said, knowing I should have kept my mouth shut. She kept that look on me. So I confessed. “I wrote SOAR about the possibilities, they got a grant from V-M, and I spoke on behalf of the grant. When the grant was approved I asked who was going to head things up, and when they said Ed, I had Robin write him. But she did the rest herself, all of it,” I concluded.

It was a long evening, silent, sullen. Jenni went off to her laptop. I took the kids out for ice cream. When we came back she was still at work. When we all went to bed she was still there.

And the next morning she was gone before any of us woke up. Robin was getting worried. I was, too.

So I made some phone calls, sent some more e-mails. I was at my desk anyway, helping edit the V-M group blog, which had now grown into a giant community, based on Scoop, that really didn’t need my input anymore. I had hired a few younger journalists, close to Robin’s age, to maintain the site and its editorial policies, but I liked to keep my hand in, and felt my own contributions could be seen as columns, sagacity from the “old man.”

So after I finished with my inbox, I opened a blogging window, and wrote a column.

The time has come for the people of Virgin-Maverick to become what they be rights ought to be, citizens of the new South Africa.

I know that for many of us this is still a hard choice. South Africa is a hard place, compared to the comforts of American suburbs. There is crime here. There is ignorance here. The challenges seem just like those we left behind.

The difference is the challenges here can be overcome.

Most of those who have come to Virgin-Maverick were guilty of education. Some were accused of wealth. All came with high ideals, a desire to do good, and the hope that our voices could be heard here as they were not heard in our own native soil.

They can be. They will be. If we raise those voices. And if we follow up our statements with action.

I’m not asking this of everyone. If the following doesn’t apply to you, you will know it. If it does you will know it too.

But it is time for you to become more involved in the wider community. It is time for you to seek out people and groups fighting the good fight, here in Gautang, and offering a helping hand.

South Africa will be wealthier for it, but here’s something you may not know. You will be wealthier, too.

Don’t isolate yourself as so many whites have in South Africa. Don’t let the borders of Virgin-Maverick become like the walled commuities to our north. Don’t let the magnitude of this country’s problems daunt you, or make you afraid.

This is a big country which deserves our loyalty and allegiance. As South Africa changes and grows, so will all of Africa. It is the greatest challenge one could ask for and it’s here before us.

Take it.

I can get on my high horse, can’t I?

Just then the phone rang. The voice on the other end surprised me. Yes, I could be there this evening. Yes, I could bring my daughter. Yes, I believed I could bring my wife, and son.

I called Jenni right away, and given how easy it would be for her to participate, given who was asking, I knew she couldn’t refuse. The conversation didn’t have the lovey give-and-take I was so used to, but she acceded. She didn’t accede to me, but she acceded.

When the kids got home from school, I told them where we would be going. They changed into their best clothes. John even showered. Then the three of us walked down to the Carlton Center, where Jenni kept her office. But this time we were going all the way to the top.

A secretary awaited us. I had seen her several times before, the kids had seen her just once. She led us into a conference room, the same room where the kids had awaited their father’s return from his ordeal just months before, their own personal gateway to Africa. I looked into their eyes seeking some reaction. Robin kept her eyes down. John went over to the window and surveyed the skyline. Work had already begun on the foundation for the new V-M Tower. It was opposite from our own building, but we still heard the cement trucks rumbling each night.

The secretary asked if we would like something to drink. Diet Coke came for John, Sprite for Robin, and a small pot of bush tea came for me. I had grown used to it from my meetings with Mma Ramosawa. A Dr Pepper came in, too. (Coke bottles Dr Pepper here, so Jenni and I are at last married in a business sense.) The three of us looked at the can for some time, watching the condensation fall toward a small napkin on a coaster, watching the ice in the accompanying glass (which I knew would not be used) slowly melt.

Finally the door to the conference room opened. But Jenni did not come in alone.

She came in with The Lady, Teresa Heinz Kerry. Jenni’s head was bobbing up-and-down. She was smiling.

“Of course I know your husband,” the lady finally said, as our children sat in something like awe between us. “It’s good to see you again, Dana.”

Robin’s life was about to begin.