Mai Alfred’s smile splits across her face as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. She has been practicing every day, smiling ear to ear, ever since she read that asinine article—written by yet another man—telling her to smile more. She pulls out her signature Valentino lipstick from her makeup bag and traces the outline of her lips, careful not to over-line her cupid’s bow. She likes this shade; this cool-toned red. It makes her feel bold and powerful, like a lioness ripping through a bloodied impala carcass. She will need this confidence for her conference with the Kupona tribe tomorrow. Her job depends on it. Mai Alfred smiles at her reflection one last time before exiting the bathroom. She almost drops her makeup bag when she sees the hyena’s head mounted on the wall. She keeps forgetting it is there.

The taxidermy head scared her last night when she checked into her presidential suite at the Ritz-Carlton in Johannesburg. Mai Alfred makes a mental note to tell the staff to take it out tomorrow. She cannot imagine spending another night sleeping with the hideous creature.

Better me than Alfred, Mai Alfred thinks. She is grateful her son will be staying with his father.

Alfred has always been afraid of hyenas. There was something about their shrieking laugh, something about the way they ate everything—even their own—that unsettled him. Mai Alfred remembers the first time Alfred saw a hyena. It was during his seventh birthday on a safari trip, and they had finished spotting the last of the Big Five when Alfred noticed a lone hyena guarding something. It was too dark for his small eyes to make out, but when the game ranger drove close to the animal, the hyena was low-slung, shoulders rolling, mouth twisted into a smile as it watched over the carcass. Its onyx eyes stared into Alfred’s, its slobbering tongue dangling out of its mouth. Alfred’s breathing slowed as he reached for his mother’s hand, his hands trembling like a tree letting go of its leaves. He held onto her for dear life as fear sunk its teeth into him.

Mai Alfred pretends she does not feel the hyena’s eyes following her as she moves about the room. She grabs a satin dress from her closet and lays it on the bed. Alfred’s flight from Addis Ababa lands at OR Tambo in an hour, and she wants to get there before his father does. This will be her first time seeing him since he called her a ruthless bitch, since he decided to walk out on her, on their son. Mai Alfred did not think it was fair—Tinashe would never understand what it meant to be a woman in her position. There is no room for softness when you’re a powerful woman at the top. Mai Alfred reaches to twirl her ring out of habit, something she does when she is nervous, but instead of feeling the cool metal around her finger, she feels her bare skin. Mai Alfred stares at her empty finger, remembering that she left her ring back home in Harare.

The afternoon sun hangs above Mai Alfred’s head, burning the scalp between her plaits. When she spots Alfred waving at her from the arrival gates, she beams and waves back. Mai Alfred pulls her son into a suffocating hug, squeezing him so tight he yelps in protest. Alfred complains it feels like a snake is wrapping itself around him. She kisses his face multiple times, and he groans.

“Eww, Mum, stop,” he says. “You’re embarrassing me.” She releases him and stares at him as if he is something rare, as if she is seeing him for the first time. She was happy he inherited her features: oval face, dark brown eyes, and high cheekbones. He used to have her straight teeth until he chipped one of them when he was eleven. Doctors had told her she would have difficulties carrying a pregnancy to term. They had even suggested surrogacy. Despite the odds, Mai Alfred carried to term. When Alfred was born, he came into the world like a breath. His fingers barely wrapped around the tip of her smallest finger, and his skin was as red as cherry tomatoes. Mai Alfred had spoken in whispers around him, afraid that any loud sound might break him. Now, he towers over her, his strong legs and broad shoulders showing evidence of his short time in America.

Alfred looks around. “Where’s dad?”

Mai Alfred glances at her watch. “Late. No surprise there.”

“Mum, don’t. I just got here.” He groans. “No drama, please.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Are you calling me dramatic?”

“Oh, there he is. Dad! Over here.” Alfred ignores the trap his mother lays for him and waves to his father.

“Elizabeth,” Tinashe greets after hugging Alfred. He used to call her Liz. Mai Alfred pretends not to care. He reaches to hug her, then changes his mind. “You look well.”

“Tinashe.” Mai Alfred offers her rehearsed smile. “You too.”

“How have—” Tinashe starts but Mai Alfred’s phone rings, sparing her from the awkward conversation that was about to begin.

She steps away to answer. It is her assistant, but the signal is poor and his voice cuts in and out before the line drops entirely. He is supposed to update her on the number of workers that have quit. Someone bumps into Mai Alfred from behind, nearly causing her to drop her phone. Annoyed, she spins around, ready to berate the careless fool—only to freeze as the familiar stench of sweat and sewage water hits her. She knows that smell; how it clings to the Kupona tribe.

Mai Alfred wrinkles her nose at the three tall women. She was not expecting to see them until tomorrow’s conference at the Southern African Land Dispute Headquarters. She is surprised their chieftess is not with them.

The Kupona are the Indigenous people of Hwange, since long, long before it was declared a national park. They are a tribe of tall people, led by their chieftess, and they keep to themselves.

Both Mai Alfred and the Kupona tribe are in South Africa for a conference regarding an ancestral land dispute. Mai Alfred is still confused over all the uproar for building hotels in the national park. Everyone in Zimbabwe is always complaining about their way of life but when real change is presented to them, they start protesting, chanting nonsense about displacement and human rights violations. Because of this, Jonathon—her boss—has been breathing down her neck, urging her to get started on Phase One of their big tourism project.

“Madam Mhari,” one of the Kupona women says, adjusting her beat-up suitcase. She is the tallest, standing over six feet and five inches. The women are dressed in their traditional attire: black and gold zambiyas wrapped around their bodies, hosho gourds tied around their waists, and dancing anklets filled with seeds. The Kupona either walked barefoot or wore raggedy sandals. Mai Alfred is relieved they have sandals on. The tall woman’s hair is wrapped in a gold-spotted black headscarf, big enough to carry two bags of potatoes. “I wish I could say it is a blessing to see you, but given the circumstances, I would be lying.”

“You look well rested,” Mai Alfred says, slipping her phone back in her suede Ferragamo bag. “For people who claim being away from their homeland makes them sick.”

“Just because the naked eye cannot see something, doesn’t mean it’s not there,” she replies coolly. “I’m sure you, of all people, understand. After all, you’re the first female senior vice president. A lot of things you do must go unseen.”

It had been announced months earlier that Elizabeth Mhari had been promoted to senior vice president of Hunhu Foundation, a luxury hospitality organization based in Southern Africa. Her first assignment: to oversee the development of nine new luxury hotels in Hwange, Zimbabwe’s largest national park. The first hotel, built over a decade ago, has been a huge success, bringing in millions of dollars. With Zimbabwe’s struggling economy, the addition of these hotels would be a tremendous help, but the Kupona are refusing to cooperate, and their refusal has gone viral, going as far as getting major humanitarian organizations involved. Now, Mai Alfred was summoned to Joburg for this pointless meeting, while rumors of witchcraft and people going missing were spreading like wildfire back home, scaring her workers from their big project.

“I’m surprised you people have passports and got on a plane,” Mai Alfred says. “I figured you would swim with the crocodiles in the Limpopo River.”

“Elizabeth, that’s a disgusting thing to say,” Tinashe hisses, his voice low but steady.

“You think cruelty sounds clever, but all it does is show your ignorance.” The other Kupona woman speaks. She is shorter, with thick locs the size of baobab roots.

“Zinzi.” The tall woman squeezes Zinzi’s hand. “It’s all right.”

Mai Alfred resists the urge to roll her eyes, aware of Tinashe’s glare burning into her back. The Kupona were the reason he filed for divorce. “Look, neither of us want to be here, why not just settle the case right now,” she suggests. “I’ll even pay for your return flights so you can be back home to rest. Accept our demands and let’s move forward.”

“Elizabeth,” Tinashe interjects again. “We’re going to lose our reservation.”

The tallest Kupona woman stares at Mai Alfred before shaking her head and walking past her. The others follow and the last woman, Zinzi, roughly bumps into Mai Alfred, Mai Alfred doesn’t notice Zinzi dropping a dirty rag inside her expensive purse. The dirty rag hides a wooden carving of a hyena watching over its cub.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, and scurries away.

“How was your first semester at Stanford?” Tinashe asks when the waiter is done taking their orders. “Tell me everything your mother will approve of. You can tell me the rest when we get home.” He laughs, and Mai Alfred hates that she misses the sound of his laughter.

There was a time home meant their house back in Borrowdale Brooke. Now, home is Tinashe’s house here, in Sandhurst. A border away from their marital home. Mai Alfred reaches for her ring with her thumb, then remembers she does not have it, so she clenches her hand instead.

Alfred fills his father in, and she tunes out, already having heard this response when she visited him during Thanksgiving break. They had flown first class to the Maldives. She pulls out her phone, rubbing against something rough inside her purse, and she texts her assistant, asking if any more people had quit. Ever since old articles about Hunhu Foundation’s first ever luxury hotel surfaced, there has been talk about stupid witchcraft. Mai Alfred should have hired white Africans instead. Something Jonathon always makes sure to bring up every time another one of her workers quits.

“How about you, how’s the stadium coming along?” Alfred asks his father.

“My team’s almost done redesigning the new rugby stadium in Cape Town. We actually just got another project in Dubai, so I’ll be heading there once we wrap up here.”

Tinashe’s a talented architect, one of the most sought-after in Southern Africa. His mind works like a blueprint come to life, a labyrinth of precision, filled with intricate sketches and careful calculations. He is the one who designed their house. Her house. Every brick, every nook, every staircase reminds her of him. Even the cracks in the walls seem to trace the outline of his absence. It has been seven months since the divorce, and she still has to put the house up for sale.

“And you.” Tinashe turns to Mai Alfred, who is taking a sip of her wine. “The conference …” he trails.

“Is a waste of time.” She shrugs. “It should be a quick one. Everyone is acting as if building hotels in the park is some great evil.”

Alfred’s eyes dart towards his father, whose expression is blank, jaw tight. “Of course, you think that.”

“The hotels will attract tourists, which will bring in money, which will trickle into the economy. Plus don’t forget the job opportunities. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“Bullshit, Elizabeth. We both know the money isn’t trickling into the country. It’s going into people’s pockets. Your pockets.” Tinashe frowns. “You’re going to displace thousands of people with these hotels. Where do you think the Kupona will go?”

“No one is displacing anyone. Why are you acting like we’re leaving them homeless? We’ve promised them education and shelter throughout the cities.” Mai Alfred frowns back. This was the same fight that led to their separation. Mai Alfred had risked her position by proposing incentives for the Kupona. There was a time she was a naïve village girl, carrying her school books in a Tastic Long-Grain Rice bag. If not for the scholarship to the top university in Harare, she might have stayed that way. That scholarship opened many doors: Harvard Business School, jobs at elite firms, meeting Tinashe. Mai Alfred knew the Kupona would benefit from this move.

“The fact that you can’t see the harm you’re doing is terrifying, Elizabeth. This isn’t you.”

Alfred clears his throat, interrupting his parents when he senses the heated atmosphere, but they barely hear him over their polite-rising voices. Mai Alfred goes silent for a long time. Their waiter comes with their food and spreads it across the table: rare steak and potatoes for Mai Alfred, grilled Portuguese chicken and lentils for Alfred, creamy tomato pasta for Tinashe. Their waiter tells them to enjoy their meal and when no one says anything, he smiles awkwardly and leaves.

“And who am I?” Mai Alfred finally asks. “What did you call me, oh, a ruthless bitch. That’s who I am.”

Tinashe’s jaw tenses. “You’re literally taking the Kupona from their homes.” He rubs his temples with his knuckles. “You’re playing with fire here. You remember what happened the first time Hunhu Foundation tried to build that first hotel.”

When Hwange’s park gates opened to tourists after the Ministry of Tourism declared Hwange’s ancestral lands as government protected lands, the tourists marveled at the tall statures of the Kupona, they marveled when they saw them walking with the hyenas, the lions, the African wild dogs. The Kupona were one of the park’s popular sightings—despite not being part of the attractions. Anyone coming to Hwange wanted to witness these tall people living in communion with the wild. Seizing the opportunity, and multiple bribes later, the president of Hunhu Foundation decided to build a luxury hotel for people eager to sleep under the stars, so they too could feel like the Kupona, living and breathing with the wild. However, when Hunhu Foundation began construction, a few workers mysteriously disappeared from the construction site. Two days later, hyenas were spotted rummaging through the workers’ uniforms, the workers nowhere to be found. Workers began to quit en masse; afraid they might vanish too. Hunhu Foundation reported significant financial losses. Mai Alfred was just an intern at the time. It was her idea to move the Kupona from that area of the park to another. She had been offered a full-time job immediately and over the years, rose to the senior ranks of the company.

“That is just a legend used to scare children and entice tourists.” Mai Alfred scratches the back of her neck. “We’re not leaving them homeless, Tinashe. I told you before, we’re offering them housing, plus other benefits. We’re basically upgrading their lives.”

Their waiter returns and asks the table how they’re enjoying their meal so far. No one has touched their plates, and Alfred sends an apologetic look their way. The waiter smiles and retreats again.

“Fuck, Liz, I’m not doing this shit with you again.” Tinashe throws his napkin on the table, almost landing it in his red pasta. “Sorry, Alfred, I can’t do this. I’ll see you at home.”

Mai Alfred’s breath catches when he calls her Liz.

“Dad—”

Tinashe pulls out his wallet and hands his black credit card to Alfred. “Use this to cover dinner and for your Uber home.” He does not look at Mai Alfred, but she watches him walk away from her again.

When Mai Alfred returns to her hotel, she does not want to be alone, so she heads to the hotel bar on the penthouse patio instead. Joburg’s skyline stretches before her, the cool summer evening air brushing her skin. The bar is comfortably full, the music low enough to catch snippets of strangers’ conversations. Another itch creeps up Mai Alfred’s neck, and she scratches it as she sits down by the balcony. Her phone buzzes and it is a text from Alfred.

hey ma, made it to dads. see you in a few days!! excited to be home. safe flight back.

Mai Alfred’s heart pricks at this. Alfred does not know she is selling the house yet. She has been stalling, scared to tell him that the home he grew up in will belong to someone else. Alfred will be spending a few more days here in South Africa so Mai Alfred will have the house to herself. She will have time to bring the realtor over to their—her—house. She scratches her neck again, feeling a bump underneath. She has not been outside long, but the mosquitoes are already feasting on her. Mai Alfred’s phone buzzes again and she thinks it is another text from Alfred, but it is an update from her assistant.

Good evening, Madam Mhari, four more men quit. One said they saw a lion’s head on a snake’s body.

Another text comes in.

Jonathon is PISSED.

Mai Alfred motions for a waiter. She needs wine for this. Ever since Jonathon promoted her, it has been anything but glorious. As the first woman to serve in this role, her leadership has faced intense scrutiny. There have been more think pieces critiquing her inability to smile than acknowledging the work she has done over the years. Now, there are articles about her workers quitting because they are afraid of the Kupona’s curse. She has to make all of this go away. Mai Alfred’s scalp starts to itch so she scratches it gently, careful not to ruin her plaits. Her mouth starts to water, and she searches for the waiter again, but he is nowhere in sight.

What kind of service is this, she thinks to herself. The waiter finally arrives and apologizes. Mai Alfred ignores him and orders a bottle of red wine. She also orders a side of patatas bravas, chicken tacos, and garlic bread, because she is suddenly famished, even after her lunch and dinner.

“I’ll get this to you right away, ma’am,” the waiter says and leaves. Mai Alfred fishes for her lipstick in her purse. When she feels a scratchy cloth-like texture, she pulls it out and shrieks. It is a dirty rag. She scrunches her nose as she unfolds the rag and finds a wooden carving of a hyena watching over its cub. Bile rises up her throat as the smell of the rag engulfs her. She knows this belongs to the Kupona instantly. It must have fallen in her bag when that woman bumped into her. Mai Alfred tosses the filth over the balcony and wipes her hands on the napkins. She will be placing a new order for her Ferragamo purse.

The following morning, Mai Alfred hears the protesters before she sees them.

Down with Hunhu Foundation! Down with Elizabeth Mhari! Down with the Natural Land Act!

The chants grow louder and louder as Mai Alfred and her driver near the Southern African Land Dispute Headquarters. Throngs of protesters block the entrance and security guards dressed in black and blue ward them away with batons and whips. They drive through the crowd, the protesters’ signs scratching and clawing at the car. When they get past the gate, Mai Alfred steps out of the car and the protesters start booing and one of them throws a water bottle at her. It hits her on the back, and she squirms in disgust. The guard closest to Mai Alfred immediately picks up the bottle and throws it back towards the protesters.

“Leave the Kupona alone!” a protester screams as Mai Alfred is ushered into the headquarters.

“You cold-hearted bitch!”

“Down with Hunhu Foundation!”

“What goes around comes around!”

The doors close behind them and the screams fade into muffled whispers. Mai Alfred is thankful for the silence. She takes off her blazer, hands it to one of the guards, and instructs him to discard it. She follows the guards into the glass elevators after adjusting her blouse. As the elevator goes up, she stares down at the protesters. From where she stands, they resemble tiny black ants swarming in clusters. She imagines herself a giant, her palm squashing them back into the earth.

When they reach the auditorium, Mai Alfred smells the Kupona before she sees them. They all sit together. While everyone in the auditorium is wearing expensive suits and polished shoes, the Kupona are wearing their traditional attire. Some have no shoes on. Mai Alfred wrinkles her nose as she makes her way to her podium. Her PR team rushes towards her, tapes a small microphone on her blouse and touches up her makeup. She scratches her shoulder. These damn mosquitoes. When her team attempts to touch up her red lipstick, Mai Alfred pulls back and tells them she will fix it herself. When she is done, she looks around the auditorium. It is filled with reporters, members of the World Heritage Sites, and various environmental diplomats. She reminds herself to smile, lest another article about her comes out.

The lights brighten and the chatter fades. When the spotlight shines on Mai Alfred, she begins.

“Good morning. I am Elizabeth Mhari, senior vice president of Hunhu Foundation. I will not take up much of your time. You are all aware of the challenges we’re facing in building our hotels. The Kupona have made it difficult to do our jobs. They have set up camp on our construction site,” Mai Alfred speaks into the microphones. She makes sure her voice is calm and steady, just as her PR team instructed. “We’re currently four weeks behind schedule and the livelihood of my team is being compromised. We kindly ask the Kupona to cooperate as they are holding up construction.”

The spotlight shifts to Chieftess Bhere, the current leader of the Kupona. She sits amongst her people in the auditorium because of her old age. Otherwise, she would be standing near Mai Alfred on stage. Chieftess Bhere stands up slowly, using her marula stick to balance her. She holds onto her stick as she places a hand over her face, massaging her sagging skin. What a frail-looking woman, Mai Alfred thinks. She almost feels sorry for her. If they open the windows, she is sure the wind will blow the old woman to another country.

“How are we being unreasonable when you are stealing land that is rightfully ours?” Chieftess Bhere responds. “You have no right to build those hotels on our lands. Your people already violated our treaty when they built that first hotel, now you want to build more?”

When the Ministry of Tourism declared Hwange’s ancestral lands as government protected lands, the Kupona were not happy, and they took the Ministry of Tourism to court. Zimbabwe’s justice system was anything but just, and their case was dismissed. According to the Natural Land Act, all land belonged to the government, and because of such, the Kupona acquiesced, agreeing to share their land as long as nothing was built there.

“The Natural Land Act states that all Zimbabwean land belongs to the government. It’s not yours and has never been. We’re well within our rights to build whatever we want there,” Mai Alfred says. “We have permits. What do you have beside your word?”

Chieftess Bhere does not reply right away; instead, she lets the silence simmer. The only sounds coming from the room are the camera shutters, the shuffling of papers, and the pens fiercely scratching against notepads. Another itch creeps up her thigh and Mai Alfred rubs them together. Chieftess Bhere finally speaks.

“Hwange has been our home since before the British came. We know nowhere else, Hunhu Foundation. If you build these hotels, you’re killing my people.” Chieftess Bhere’s voice cracks. “Please, our land is not for sale.”

“We at Hunhu Foundation hear you and see you. We promise you will be taken care of when you move to the city. We do not want anyone to suffer.” Mai Alfred gestures to someone on her team and a screen rolls down behind her. She steps aside and points the remote towards the screen. She presses a button.

“We have promised you better access to health care if you move.” Mai Alfred changes the slide. “We have guaranteed your people food and shelter.” Another slide change. “And we have promised free education to all. All of your needs will be met. We just need you to cooperate. The quicker we get these hotels running, the faster we can deliver on our promises.”

“Your promises?” Chieftess Bhere scoffs. “Madam Mhari, what kindness is it for a hyena to watch over a dead person?” When Mai Alfred does not reply, the chieftess continues. “Have you ever felt the silence left behind when your safe space is ripped from you? Do you know what it means to lose your home?”

Mai Alfred glances at her empty ring finger. She clutches her hand. When she looks back up, Chieftess Bhere’s eyes bore into hers and for a split second, everything in the room fades and they are surrounded by darkness. It is just the two women floating across from one another in an abyss. Mai Alfred looks around, trying to figure out where everyone went. She looks to the sides, and it feels like the darkness is slowly shrinking in on her. Mai Alfred’s throat starts closing up.

“Well, do you?” Chieftess Bhere’s voice echoes above her. “Do you know the ache of losing the only place that held you gently?”

When Mai Alfred glances up, Chieftess Bhere has quadrupled in size. She gasps. Chieftess Bhere’s frame fills the space, and Mai Alfred can literally feel the weight of the old woman’s gaze. Mai Alfred opens her mouth to scream but nothing comes out. Her hands grab at her throat.

“I’ll show you, then.” Chieftess Bhere squishes Mai Alfred between her palms.

Mai Alfred jumps at the podium and the sudden movement creates feedback in the microphones. Her eyes dart to Chieftess Bhere, who is looking down at her. Mai Alfred’s heart is racing beneath her blouse, and the lights and camera flashes feel hot against her skin. She clears her throat and regains her composure when she remembers people are waiting for an answer.

“No further comments from Hunhu Foundation.” Mai Alfred smiles at the cameras and thanks everyone for their time before exiting the auditorium.

Mai Alfred dabs a wet paper towel against the nape of her neck in the headquarters’ bathroom. When the towel disintegrates in her hand, she wets another one. When it disintegrates again, she runs her hands under the faucet and splashes water on her neck. Her body is burning from the intensity of all those lights. Mai Alfred is glad the conference is over and that she will be on a plane back home tomorrow afternoon. The conference might not have gone the way she wanted, but she will think of another way to make the Kupona cooperate on her flight back.

When Mai Alfred steps back into the hallway, she is surprised to see Chieftess Bhere standing across from the bathrooms with her eyes closed, her back against the glass windows. From up here, it looks like they’re in the sky, cocooned by the clouds. The chieftess looks so much like a beggar in her tattered zambiya. One would not think she is a leader. The old woman coughs violently into her ragged cloth and Mai Alfred makes a face when she hears the phlegm in her throat. She remembers the weird daydream she had back in the auditorium and shudders. Without sparing the old woman another glance, she walks past her, but to Mai Alfred’s dismay, the chieftess blocks Mai Alfred’s path. She wrinkles her nose when Chieftess Bhere gets close enough. The woman is in dire need of a shower. Being this close to her makes Mai Alfred’s skin itch and she resists the urge to scratch her body.

“Elizabeth Mhari. senior vice president of Hunhu Foundation. CEO of Hotel Tourism.” Chieftess Bere chuckles as she recites Mai Alfred’s titles.

“If you are just going to laugh, get out of my way.”

“Do you even know what hunhu means?”

“We always give back. Like I mentioned, we’re willing to meet all your needs.”

“My people grew up in Hwange, Elizabeth. The people before us grew up in Hwange. The trees there know our names, our secrets, our dreams. Our spirits are in Hwange. Moving us will kill us.”

Mai Alfred shudders, not liking how her name sounds coming from the chieftess. “Are you people always this dramatic? No one is dying.”

“There are many ways to die, Elizabeth. Death is not always physical, you know. It can be spiritual too.” She cocks her head to the side.

“You are acting as if we’re throwing you in the gutter. We’re offering you modern solutions. You’ll still have your spirits, plus better benefits,” Mai Alfred says. “There are many companies that want to build hotels in Hwange. Unlike us, they will leave you naked in the streets.”

“So, we should be grateful?”

Mai Alfred’s arm itches and she scratches until skin breaks; warm, sticky fluid oozes beneath her fingernails. When she looks down, a cluster of dark, angry bumps stare back at her; swollen, raw, and pulsing. Mosquito bites have never looked like this on her. Mai Alfred hides her arm. “I have a flight to catch,” she says, but the chieftess blocks her path once more.

“Did you know that a single ant can drive an elephant to suicide?” she asks. “I’ve seen it. Just one ant. All it needs to do is enter the elephant’s trunk; the elephant will lose its mind and hit its head against the ground. It will do that until it dies.”

“That’s a cute ngano, but it has nothing to do with anything.” Mai Alfred takes a step towards Chieftess Bhere. Her patience wearing thin. Mai Alfred’s Tom Ford heels flush against the old woman’s stained bare feet. “Go home, Gogo. Go home and tell your people to pack and leave. You have held our progress long enough. You have scared my workers away. If my new workers have to bury your people in cement, then so be it. You can be part of the hotels’ foundations.”

The first thing Mai Alfred sees when she enters her suite is the hyena’s head on her bed. She starts slowly towards it and then begins to feel foolish. The head is not alive, it is just a fake hyena’s head, she tells herself. But when she lifts it, the fur feels as real as the hairs on her boar coats. She traces her fingers around the perimeter of the face. When her hand passes over the snout, she feels hot air flare out of its nostrils. She drops the head on the floor.

“Eh, Madam Mhari, I didn’t realize you were here.” A voice comes from behind her. Mai Alfred screams and runs to the other side of the room. When she turns, it is just the custodian cleaning the bathroom. The custodian quickly takes off her wired earphones and tucks them in her apron. “I’m so sorry, Madam. I was told to come clean the room and to take out the head. I’m so sorry.”

“Get out.” Mai Alfred growls. “Get out of my sight.” The custodian does not move, staring at Mai Alfred.

“Did you not hear me? I said get out!” she growls, breath hot with fury.

“You are, um, you have something … you are drooling, Madam Mhari,” the custodian stammers, pointing towards her own mouth. “I left clean towels for you in your bathroom.” The custodian does not say anything else and quickly hurries out, pulling her cleaning cart with her.

Confused, Mai Alfred reaches up and touches the corner of her mouth. Her fingers come away wet. Saliva, thick and slick, clings to her skin, trailing in a warm string as she pulls her hand back. Repulsed, she wipes her hand clean against the duvet. She sits on the edge of the bed and slows her heartbeat. The hyena’s head lies by Mai Alfred’s feet, and she scrunches her nose. No wonder Alfred is afraid of these creatures. They are ugly.

The flight to Harare from Joburg is delayed three times. By the time Mai Alfred gets home, it is past midnight, and she is ravenous. She leaves her bags by the stairs and hurries into the kitchen. The motion lights sense her walking around and they flicker on. She grabs a packet of biltong from the pantry and rips it open with her teeth. Her shoulders sag upon the first bite and she leans against the counter, savoring the salty flavor.

Mai Alfred’s neck itches with a maddening persistence, and she claws at it, digging at it until she feels warm liquid on her fingertips. When she pulls her hand back, her nails are longer than she remembered, sharp and filthy, glistening with smears of blood. She has scratched deep enough to break skin. Mai Alfred wipes the blood on her blouse before grabbing chicken pasta from the fridge. She suspects her hotel bedding gave her bed bugs. Tomorrow, she will have to call and file a complaint. Then, she will book an appointment with her dermatologist. Hopefully, she can prescribe a topical cream strong enough to clear the ugly bumps spreading like bushfire across her arms. While she waits for her food to reheat, she tells Alfred she finally made it home.

Mai Alfred yanks open the microwave before the beeper goes off, her mouth watering at the smell of sizzling chicken. She devours the food in greedy bites and, to her surprise, finds herself licking the plate clean. Mai Alfred has never eaten a meal so quickly, and she is still hungry. She makes three turkey sandwiches, eats them just as fast, then tears open a bag of Simba chips. Mai Alfred finishes her bag of chips in record time, and it satiates her hunger. Exhausted from the long travel day, she drags her feet up the stairs and into her en suite. A part of her is tempted to step in the shower in her clothes. She settles for just washing her face instead.

There is a dark brown spot on Mai Alfred’s nose. She leans into the mirror and examines it. It sits on her nose as if it is paying rent to live there. She rubs it with her finger, but it does not move. She rubs harder and it is still there.

“What the—” She sucks in her teeth. She grabs some makeup wipes and removes her makeup. After cleansing her face, the spot is still there. She rubs it one more time and nothing. “This is tomorrow’s problem,” she mutters before washing the rest of her face. She digs out a tube of anti-itch cream, rubbing it over her arms and neck before getting ready for bed. Her body relaxes into her mattress and shortly after, her eyes droop before darkness engulfs her. She dreams of nothing.

Mai Alfred’s body is burning when she wakes up. She kicks the covers off her in frustration. Her back is wet, and her sleeping dress sticks to her skin. Her stomach growls in protest and she groans. When she glances at her clock, she jumps out of bed. It is eleven in the evening. She has been asleep the whole day.

“What the hell?” she says, but instead of words, a cackle escapes, sharp and splintering like shattering glass. Mai Alfred covers her mouth, stunned to feel fur brush against her lips. She pulls her hands back and yelps when she sees fur covering them. Her nails are long and dirty. She looks down and fur covers her legs as well. Mai Alfred runs into her bathroom, and she screams again when she sees her reflection. Fur covers every inch of her body, and the spot she had seen last night has multiplied. Her eyes widen when Chieftess Bhere appears beside her reflection. Mai Alfred quickly turns behind to face her but there is no one there. She turns back to her reflection, and it is just her in the mirror. That is when she notices the wooden carving of the hyena by her basin. Her heart drops at the sight because she tossed that back in Joburg.

No, no, no.

Tinashe’s words echo in her mind.

You’re playing with fire here. You remember what happened the first time Hunhu Foundation tried to build that first hotel.

Mai Alfred jerks backwards and her spine breaks. She howls in pain and falls to the ground, writhing on the bathroom floor in a fetal position. Every part of her is on fire. She opens her mouth to scream but the pain in her gums almost knocks her out. Her mouth stretches until she feels her lips split. Mai Alfred is not sure how much time passes because somewhere between her bones breaking and her teeth changing, she blacks out.

When she wakes, it is bright outside. The pain is gone, but the hunger has returned with a vengeance. As she sits up, her reflection stares back at her: round ears, a dark snout, dirty brown fur with spots.

What the fuck.

Mai Alfred looks around the room and panic sets in when she realizes what has happened. Her ears perk up when she hears the door unlock from downstairs. She smells him before he calls out for her. Mai Alfred’s heart stops.

Alfred.

“Mum, I’m home!” he calls out. He is not supposed to be home for another few days.

Mai Alfred’s tongue hangs out of her mouth, her saliva dripping onto the tiles. Her stomach growls. She fights against her frame, digging her paws into the tiles. The walls in her mind cave in on her, creating a barrier between her mind and body.

“Ma, you home?” Alfred’s voice gets closer.

No, she screams. Go away, Alfred.

Chieftess Bhere’s frail figure flashes into the darkness of Mai Alfred’s mind, just as it did at the conference. It is just the two of them again, floating in the darkness.

“Do you know what it means to lose your home?” Chieftess Bhere repeats. Mai Alfred whimpers. “I’ll show you.”

“Please,” Mai Alfred begs but no words come out once again, only jagged cackles. Chieftess Bhere stares at her with a deadpan expression. Mai Alfred attempts to float towards her, but the closer she gets, the farther away Chieftess Bhere moves.

Please, don’t do this, Mai Alfred says in her mind. Please.

Chieftess Bhere shakes her head pityingly at Mai Alfred before she disappears.

“Mum—”

Mai Alfred watches her son freeze when he sees her. His eyes widen and he drops his phone. She cries in her mind, pleading with Chieftess Bhere for forgiveness, she promises to leave them alone. But instead of hearing the old woman’s acceptance, she hears laughter and snorts bouncing off the walls of her mind.

Elizabeth’s beady onyx eyes stare into Alfred’s, her slobbering tongue dangling out of her mouth. Her snout flares and her teeth bare as her jaw opens and curls into a smile. A single tear rolls down Elizabeth’s fur. She does not hear Alfred scream when she lunges.