(Connie's POV)
The Maasai Market is a wall of color and noise the second we step in — beaded jewelry stacked in bright cascades, carved wood animals lined up shoulder to shoulder like a strange patient zoo, fabric in patterns loud enough to be heard from across the aisle, and somewhere underneath all of it, a hundred separate conversations happening at once in three or four languages I only partially recognize.
Jack is in heaven. Absolute, unfiltered heaven.
He's already three stalls ahead of us, examining a display of small carved elephants with the focused seriousness of a man appraising fine art, occasionally calling back over his shoulder to report some new discovery — "Connie, look at this one, it's got real tusks, I mean not real tusks, wood tusks, but they're separate pieces, the
