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.

We have an unusual marriage, Jenni and I.

It’s nothing scandalous. But tor most of the last five years, I’ve basically been “the wife.”

By that I mean she makes the money and I take care of the house. I shop, I cook, sometimes I clean. Before Mark Cuban arrived on my door I was going to start painting the place.

All that changed when I came here, to Johannesburg. Jenni had to be father and mother both. She had her choice of roles.

And in many ways she chose fatherhood.

The housework kind of slid. Most meals came pre-packaged. When she got home from a hard day’s work she relaxed. And the kids adapted to a new routine, as kids do. John became self-reliant, walking back and forth to his school. Robin became independent, handling all her homework and personal business.

But now, here we are, halfway around the world. Like strangers.

I have a new life here. It’s a working life. Much of it is outside the house, although we don’t yet have a house.

Instead we have an apartment in the Sun building. We’re locked in a box in a canyon of towers, here in the New York of Africa. I’m the one who leaves, for the Carlton Center, for Mma Ramosawa’s office or (increasingly) for a TV station, where I’m the de-facto spokesman for Virgin Maverick since my rescue from Zimbabwe.

And Virgin Maverick itself is quite different from the place I left just a few weeks ago.

You drop 10,000 people into the middle of anywhere and things are going to happen. You drop 10,000 upper middle-class, liberal-oriented Americans into the center of South Africa and what you get is a colony. Locals already call downtown “AmericaTown,” and every building in the CBD is now filled to overflowing. Gerald Leissner has been completely bought-off, with stock and a title. Dozens of new building renovation firms have sprung up, some with American leadership, some with South African, all employing and training local people to do work whose quality varies.

Prices are up. Food is up, cement is up, real estate is way up. That house I was about to buy in Parktown North, before Lenora D’Estiang was killed, was just snapped up for double what I was offering. Criminals have learned, from what happened to me, that the chip implants VM people carry gives them virtual protection everywhere. When our children are frightened they are taught to press a button, and one of Chief Williams’ men can be on the spot within minutes. It took just a few false alarms to convince the kids of this power.

Jenni’s arrival here was based on some accrued vacation time from her employer, time that will be up next week. So it’s something of a shock when I arrive home today and see her, for the first time in weeks, actually beaming.

“You’ll never guess what happened?” she says.

“A lion ate John?” I ask. “A rhino came by the visit? Prince Charles is coming for dinner?”

“No. I have my old job back, and more.”

“And more?”

“The Virgin Maverick Bank has bought Toronto Dominion’s stake in Global Payments, and named me technical head of the local office. I’ll be doing a lot of telecommuting for now, but I’m to get my own office in the Carlton Center, set up a server farm for processing transactions here, and run it.”

“Are you certain you want to go back into management? I mean, you’ve always been a technical person.”

“Mr. Winston told me to hire managers, or bring some over from Atlanta if I can recruit them. It’s wonderful. It’s frightening.”

“You look scared to death.” She looked excited enough to burst.

“I also got a raise, a big one,” she said. “And a bonus. I think it’s time we found a house.”

“If we can just find the time,” I said. “How about we Anno Domini? It’s just a few miles away, in Parkhurst North. Good food, an upstairs balcony. If nothing else John will eat the slaap chips. That’s french fries where you come from,” I pointed out to my son. “And there are some nice pastry shops there if he doesn’t like anything.”

For its executives, which now includes me, Virgin Maverick has a fleet of cars available that can take you anywhere in town, available 24-7 from a single phone call. We’re driven a few miles, have a glorious dinner in a cool evening atmosphere. Robin’s seat is closest to the balcony’s edge and she spends much of her time looking down, and out, and around, looking at people and feeling safe.

After a few drinks I tell Jenni about Lenora, and the house I almost bought here. We discuss neighborhoods, and schools, I let her talk about her work and she lets me talk about mine. Both kids have been enrolled in the new Virgin-Maverick charter school. After taking a battery of tests Robin is going 11th grade again, but John has been placed in 9th. This embarrassed her at first, but both have found happiness in helping tutor some of the younger children, and Robin is re-thinking her preference for being an animal advocate. Maybe, Jenni thinks, she’s going to be a teacher. She says nothing.

The whole evening is one long happy ever after. I suggest we ask Debbie Wyatt to point us to a real estate agent. Jenni’s taken aback at the name – it’s the same as a friend from decades ago who died. John asks what the other Debbie was like, and Jenni tells the story, crying by the end. Robin asks what I recall of her, and I just smile. Jenni tells the story of how we once went out for these incredible cinammon rolls, fresh out of the oven, and how we tried to find the place years later but it was gone. Like Debbie.

“How many lives do we get?” I ask when things quiet down.

“One, of course,” says my son, ever realistic.

“I thought so too, once,” I reply. “But I had one life growing up, another life in college, still another life in Atlanta and now this life. That’s four at least, four very different lives. And I suppose you’re both starting on your second,” I add, looking at my children.

Robin’s too tired to launch into a pity party, and even John seems to be slowing down. I press my cell phone to call the car.

Life begins again tomorrow, bright and early.