American Woman Faces Flogging, Hard Labor in Zilawe
By Barbara Moore
December 10, 2017-MOLABAYO, ZILAWE
Meghan Shanahan, 25, of New Jersey faces a possible sentence of flogging and up to twenty years of hard labor after being arrested by Zilawean authorities several days ago on charges of insulting the President and attempting to overthrow the government. The charges are based on posts on her Twitter account.
It all started five days ago with a call from a guy in New Jersey. “Goldman, here,” I said as I picked up the phone. He told me the story as I sat in my office, looking out past Eighth Avenue towards the Hudson and the beautiful expanses of the Garden State beyond, wondering if I could see his house as we spoke. He had gotten my number from a mutual acquaintance and thought I could help his daughter out of the jam she was in and get a good story in the bargain.
He texted me a couple of pictures of his daughter, taken last summer in their backyard. Not bad looking, in an innocent, hippyish sort of way-a thick head of Irish red hair-she looked natural and sort of outdoorsy. It was hard to tell about her body given the loose fitting clothes, but I guessed it wasn’t bad. She certainly looked like the type that might have gone to Africa hoping to change the world and ended up in a pickle.
Finally, we hung up and I sat for a while watching the planes descending into Newark. I had been a lot of places in my career with the newspaper of record-Kabul, Baghdad, Paris, Washington, among others- but I hadn’t had the pleasure of visiting Zilawe. I doubted I had missed much.
But I figured this story was worth looking into. I sipped my fourth coffee of the day and considered who would be the lucky reporter to take on this task. I picked up the phone and dialed the extension, “Barb, would you come in here for a moment please?”
Barbara Moore was one of the stars among the younger generation of journalists at the International Desk. Mid-30s, brown hair, slim and fit, she was just back from a year in Beijing, where she’d done pretty well for herself. I liked her, but the paper had strict policies about hanky-panky between editors and staff. I wasn’t about to put my job on the line for a fling, so I kept things 100% professional.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in, Barb”, I said, loudly. She sat in the chair in front of my desk, flashing some leg, looking at me expectantly. “I just got a call from a guy over in Jersey named Robert Shanahan. It seems his daughter is in a scrape over in Zilawe.”
“Zilawe? Geez, Jerry, that’s a real hell hole from what I hear. But why is he calling us and not the Embassy there or the State Department?”
“He has spoken with them, of course. They were the ones that informed him that his daughter, Meghan, was arrested. But he’s very concerned and thinks some press attention will help prod them into more vigorous action.”
“That’s very nice,” she said, “But where’s the story? American kids get into trouble overseas all the time and we usually leave that for the tabloids. What did she do anyway?”
“She tweeted some stuff about their President, Parambe. You know, he’s been President since the Stone Age and isn’t going anywhere.” Moore rolled her eyes to indicate that she was aware of the politics of that region.
“You wanna see what she wrote?” I asked. “Shanahan also sent me a few pics of Meghan.” Moore got up from the chair, perched her behind on the edge of my desk and bent over so she could see the screen. That the pose happened to show me most of her well-toned legs was a fringe benefit of my job, I guess.
I scrolled through the pictures. “I suppose she’s not bad if you go for that lost hippie-girl type,” she said, suggesting she’d think less of me if I did. But I’m old enough that I had had college girlfriends whom Meghan Shanahan sort of reminded me of.
Then, I showed Barb Meghan’s Twitter page. She had written that Parambe was corrupt and brutal. “Of course, all that’s 100% true and not even the half of it,” I said, “But the man took personal insult and wants her punished.”
“I still don’t see the story, Jerry. What’s the angle?”
“The angle, Barb, is that in Zilawe, they flog people for this kind of thing.”
“Flog?” she replied, incredulously, “Like in ‘Mutiny on the Bounty?’ And they would do that to a woman, and an American woman at that?”
“I don’t know how they do it exactly and I don’t know if they will do it to Meghan. That’s what I want you to go there and find out.”
“Me? Go to Zilawe? You’re joking, right Jerry? ” she asked, looking shocked.
“Nope,” I replied. “Pack your shit and head over there ASAP. You can catch a flight to London tonight and get a plane from there to Molabayo tomorrow. The Embassy has arranged a visa for you. If you get there fast, we can beat the other papers to the story. Could be a promotion in it for you, Barb.”
“But what about Frank Peterson in Johannesburg?” she asked. I could tell she wasn’t crazy about the idea. After all, she’d just returned to New York from a year in Beijing a couple of weeks ago and I knew she was looking forward to some home time to catch up with friends and family and enjoy the pleasures of the Big Apple. “He’s much closer and knows the territory better.”
‘Nice try, Moore,’ I thought, looking down at her legs. I shook my head. “There’s a miners strike in South Africa. Things are looking like they could get dicey and I want him there to cover it. Besides, I think a woman will be able to get the girl to open up and maybe charm a few of the officials there, who are almost all men, into talking. You are good at charming men, aren’t you, Barb?”
She was certainly doing her best to charm me and I was by no means immune, but her legs convinced me she was the right person for this job.
She smiled. “Well, I can’t say this sounds much like news that’s fit to print, but if you insist, Jerry, I’ll do it,” she allowed, feigning reluctance. Actually, I could tell she was intrigued.
“Good, Barb,” I replied. “I knew I could count on you. Go see travel about the flights and then go home and pack. Have a nice trip,” I told her, turning back to the monitor on my desk, but looking up to catch a quick glimpse of her tight little behind as she left my office. I could swear she wiggled it at me, but maybe she was just in a hurry to get to Zilawe.
