Its precious cargo was hidden in a white and rather anonymous candy box from a Nairobi bakery. The logo, printed in red at the edges of the box and the gold adhesive seal that blocked the opening, left no doubt. No smell escaped from the box except for a vague memory of vanilla and chocolate. Plus in the large Samsonite ready to be shipped to check-in, it would have blended in among a thousand other loads, clothing and tourist parcels.

No one could have suspected that such precious cargo was hidden in there, at least for her and her business in the United States.
"Africa is a land of conquest, and it will be for me too," the woman thought, "this will be the beginning of a climb to success!
After all, it had also been a pleasure vacation, in which this atypical smuggling had fit in nicely. The booty had been recovered in a beautiful Samburu nature reserve, a handful of hours north of Nairobi. In that paradise of vibrations and silences, of immense savannah and rugged, rocky hills, moonscapes amid dry rivers and sudden lush forests, it was also possible to hike, "safari" as they call it in Africa, on foot.

Escorted by a young Samburu in warrior attire, complete with spear and shield, it had been easy to realize what she had come all this way for. The right directions, a good tip, circumspection, and in a few hours she was in possession of what she wanted for her work. Diamonds in the rough ready to be transformed into jewelry that was not an end in itself: there was an ethic, a high sense, a philosophy behind the gain.
All that was missing was the last step, that of the scanner inside the international departures.
They made her take off her shoes and put down her iPhone in a tray, along with the inseparable fanny pack in which she had her papers and the keys to the big house in Iowa, among the rolling hills surrounding Maquoketa National Park and its distinctive caves.
As he checked that nothing could be taken from the tray, the Samsonite with its African treasure passed unscathed under the beams of the airport police.

It was done!
That insinuating slight anxiety that had made her dream the night before of inhospitable prisons on the outskirts of the Kenyan capital, amid burly women grabbing her by the long hair and dancing cockroaches near her private parts forced to perch on the damp floor, was fading along with the last images of ebony figurines, Masai blankets and boxes of tea at the Duty Free Shop at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport.
She boarded the KLM flight that would take her to Amsterdam, but on the suitcase marked Minneapolis was already marked as her final destination.
After a total of 23 hours of flying, she landed on American soil. She was home. A few hours from now she would open that box and, after a few hours of well-deserved rest, set to work making the first of many masterpieces to be marketed.

She presented herself with a smile to the customs officers.
"From Africa?"
"Yes, from Kenya...a very nice safari."
A balding official in his fifties, with the nose of a boxer with more defeats than triumphant matches, read in his gaze an annoyed joy, childlike and at the same time bold, even arrogant. Who knows how much he had spent for a vacation in that land of beasts and blacks, which after all were kind of the same thing to him.
"I have to open your suitcase, ma'am. You'd better tell me right away if you have anything to declare, because it's worse if I find it."
"Of course, officer, that's your right," smiled the woman, "But I warn you that you won't find anything of interest, I don't have rhino horns or lion's teeth or precious stones..."
She was not wrong: with that cheap wit and annoying Iowa accent, she was quite the arrogant woman.
"You don't need to have ivory or diamonds, even just some tropical fruit that didn't pass health checks in the country of origin can cost you a hefty fine. Let me check and I repeat for the last time: anything to declare?"

A shiver ran through her completely as she struggled to remain calm and stop the trembling of her hands acting on the Samsonite combination.
She was reminded of the time, in college in Des Moines, when, to spite a grimacing classmate, he had filled her coat pockets with molasses, stuffing her with large pinchy ants and forcing her to strip naked in the hallway, amid general laughter of derision.
Some days, viewing the school's camera footage, the investigating committee in a freeze-frame captured her with the can of molasses in her hand as she walked toward the locker room.
It was enough to expel her from the institution.

From there she had begun to seek alternative methods to the law degree her elderly parents dreamed of and had turned to jewelry design, until the new project that had taken her all the way to Kenya.
"Okay officer, actually a memento of Africa that I brought with me would be there...but it has no commercial value, whereas on the ethical level and for the preservation of protected species, it has a very high significance and I am fighting for the..."
"Keep it short and show me what it is, we have other things to deal with here..."
He retrieved the white box wrapped in a "shuka" with characteristic red and blue checks.
"Here...now I open it, as I told you nothing special. I advise you not to touch it."
The official scrutinized those dark brown balls, they looked like stones covered with dried mud. He thought it might be a cover to hide precious stones. The seizure of diamonds from Central Africa was recurring, and some had turned out to be not only illegal but also radioactive because they were coated with uranium.

"I'm sorry, but we will have to analyze these items, ma'am. Tell me right away exactly what they are."
"As I told you, officer, nothing valuable or dangerous. This is giraffe poop, original to the Samburu region of Kenya."
"Excuse me?"
"Poop. Feces. Giraffe excrement. I will use it to make eco-friendly necklaces for a campaign against poaching and killing of protected species, as well as to raise awareness about the threat of their disappearance due to climate change."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't believe you. You have to follow me and I have to call the anti-sanitation nucleus, the technicians of the chemical and analytical police division, and...a veterinarian."
"But you can believe me, if you want on my Iphone I have pictures of the jewelry I made from moose shit in Iowa, where I live. I am a conceptual artist, I make beautiful things...she can't..."
"Follow me, ma'am."

The veterinarian donned his mask and with some sort of forceps probed one of the hard patties that held a few clumps of dried grass. He broke one and poured a few drops of a contrast liquid into it.
She spoke to the head of the anti-substance unit, who took the box and carried it away.
At this point, the woman exploded. Her vacation, two-thousand-dollar flight, the lodge on the savannah, her anxiety, her dreams of doing something lucrative to pay for it all and at the same time send a message to the whole world...everything was going up in smoke, or rather it was appropriate to say "in shit" because of a lame, zealous policeman and the absurd bureaucracy of her country.
"My necklaces...you can't! I am an incensed American citizen, you will have to answer for this seizure."

A man in a suit and tie who was part of the team approached her, smiling.
"Good morning ma'am, my name is Augustin Moore, I'm the director of Customs and Border Control for the Minnesota port area. Perhaps we will respond, but you will certainly have to appear in court for illegal trade in animal excrement and attempted spread of diseases and epidemics such as African swine fever, classical swine fever, Newcastle disease, foot-and-mouth disease and swine vesicular disease. Our agricultural specialists have long mitigated the threat of non-native pests, diseases and contaminants entering the United States, and the fecal droppings problem is one of the most important to combat. His is a small, reckless act of germ warfare. Leaving aside, of course, smuggling and how she may have procured the feces in the country of origin. We will now destroy the goods by sterilization and vaporization. Then we will ask her to sign some documents. Goodbye."

The woman did not have the courage to reply this time; she saw all those people, who had gathered and confabulated as if she had been confronted with an international terrorist who had been found in possession of dynamite, and she thought that at the same time in her own country, in the great and glorious United States of America, who knows how many people were introducing all kinds of weapons, drugs and other illicit materials, while four morons were reprimanding her for a bit of giraffe poop with which she would moreover create something unique, extraordinary.
While she was wrapped up in these thoughts, the one officer who had been left to watch her, a stocky little man with a squint, vaguely resembling Danny De Vito, signaled for her to follow and, approaching her ear, said.
"A necklace...she said a necklace...she wanted to make a necklace out of it...with all due respect, madame...it's okay that we're all up to our necks in shit...but to have to wear it as well! You know what? My guess is if she said it was chocolates and ate one to prove it, they'd let her pass."

ANSA (NAIROBI) - An American citizen carrying giraffe droppings from Kenya to the United States was stopped a few days ago at Minneapolis International Airport by U.S. Customs and Border Protection (Cbp) agents. Officials seized and destroyed the animal's feces by sterilization, the Kenyans website reported, citing the various diseases Kenyan animals suffer from, such as African swine fever, Newcastle disease, foot-and-mouth disease, and swine vesicular disease.
The woman said she procured the excrement of the animal, which is among the protected categories, in the African country with the intention "to make a necklace." To substantiate her claim, the U.S. citizen said she had already done a similar experiment, at her home in Iowa, using elk feces.