Jacqui – (To the colonel on the phone) We need security here at the camp ASAP, Colonel. My name is Jacqui Durmont, UNCHR.

Colonel Umba – (voice-over) Ah, THE Jackie Durmont. I’ve read about you. You are a legend here.

Jacqui – Cut the crap, Colonel.

Col. Umba – We can talk about your request over dinner tonight? I pick you up at the UNCHR office.

Jacqui – Can you send security right away? We may have a riot here.

Col. Umba – Sure thing, ma’am, right away. (He shouts orders to an aide) They will be there in an hour.

Jacqui – Thirty minutes. Don’t mess with me, Colonel. And I want you here.

Col. Umba – All right, all right. Tell me about your days in Tunisia over dinner.

Jacqui – Pick me up at the UNCHR office at eight. (She clicks off the cell phone)

David – I like your style. Swap security for a dinner date. Nice, Jacqui.

Jacqui – You want me to call off the date?

David – No, no, we need security urgently.

Jacqui – I know. That’s why I will be the martyr, dinner with this boring macho colonel.

David – You know him?

Jacqui – I was here as a journalist a few years back. He’s been eyeing my ass.

Refugees are crowding the lead truck. There is a commotion. A near riot situation is emerging.

Jacqui – We have to get to the lead truck. You push, I follow.

The two penetrate the screaming mob. In ten minutes, they make it through, going up the truck. Jacqui’s sleeve is torn. She raises her hand to quiet the mob, in vain. The noise instead intensifies. Jacqui grabs a megaphone and speaks in perfect Amharic, the predominant native dialect. She is ignored by the hungry crowd.

Jacqui – I was here a year ago. I learned this lullaby a mother taught me before she died. Her baby died of malnutrition in my arms ten minutes after she died.

No reaction from the mob. They push and shove. The situation is getting violent. Jacqui starts to sing.

There is a sudden quiet and calm as the lullaby echoes in the hearts of the desert people. At the end of the song, there rises a deafening roar of applause.

Jacqui – The security force will be here in a few minutes. If they are here and we have not formed a line, all of you will be pushed back and will be the last to be served. I need five of your leaders to form the lines. Five lines, please.

A dozen raised their hands. Jacqui selects the five leaders. They start to move.

Jacqui – Okay, those at the back, move back. Mothers with children at the front. Move, move. The men, stay behind, please.

Jacqui sings another song. Some women join her. The lullaby echoes across the desert. In ten short minutes, a mob that nearly rioted turns into a quiet disciplined crowd. Five long lines are formed, women in front, and men at the back.

In another ten minutes, a convoy of three trucks of soldiers arrives, rifles in hand as they alight. Colonel Umba approaches Jacqui.

Col. Umba – Hello, Jacqui. This is impossible. How did you do it?

Jacqui – Simple, colonel. Just touch their hearts.

Col. Umba – Just touch the hearts of a violent mob? Are you kidding? Impossible. (Jacqui starts to sing the lullaby again; the colonel sings with her) (After the song) You are an amazing woman. I bow to you.

Jacqui – Big blunder, Colonel. You cannot see the urgency of a security force? I ought to report you.

Col. Umba – Sorry, my mistake. Let’s discuss this over dinner tonight.

Jacqui – On one condition. I want your commander to monitor the food distribution 24/7. And tell David here if there is a problem. One more thing. I want lobsters for dinner.

Col. Umba – There are no lobsters in the desert.

Jacqui – Steak then. No camel steak though. Cow steak. Okay?

Col. Umba – No problem. Your wish is my command, my queen.

They board the jeep and fade into the red sunset. The dust gives up an orange glow.

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