That was the signal.
“You need a distraction,” she told the scarred leader, whose name she learned was Omari. Tarzeena- Jiggle in the Jungle
For three days, Jen Plimpton did what she did best: she observed, catalogued, and adapted. She found a stream of clear, cold water. She identified edible, if bitter, tubers her graduate students had once nicknamed “the devil’s testicle.” She built a rough lean-to against a mossy rock face, using the principles of a textbook she’d written on West African nest-building chimpanzees. That was the signal
As the helicopter lifted Jen Plimpton out of the Verduran Depths, she looked down at the Vaziri village. Omari and his people were gathered in a clearing, their hands raised in farewell. She heard their chant, carried on the humid wind, growing fainter and fainter. She found a stream of clear, cold water
He spoke. The language was a dialect of the Bantu family, ancient and guttural. Jen, whose linguistic skills were as sharp as her academic ones, caught one word: Tarzeena .