The Dream Chasers (5 page)

TWO DAYS LATER, I WOKE
up to Mama's cries of alarm.

“
Uuwi!
Daughter of mine, you have to see this. Do you have the market women's phone numbers? They need to throw a tyre over this man's head. He is a thief, one that steals in broad daylight.” Mama sat at her spot on the reed couch, watching election results trickle in on television. Kibaki had overtaken Raila by a sudden margin.

“KTN must have garbled their results tally.” I reached for the remote control And changed the station to Citizen, NTV, and then KBC. The results were all the same. The stations showed Luos wailing and Kikuyus toasting Tusker and eating
nyama choma
. “What is wrong with them?”

“The Kikuyus? They are mad. This is insane.”

“No, the media,” I said. “Why are they juxtaposing the two tribes like that? It's provocative. Look! Something is happening. The chairman is here.”

Samuel Kivuitu, the chairman of the Electoral Commission of Kenya, had called a press conference.

“He will put an end to this madness, I'm sure. He will reproach the television stations for their hasty and misleading results. Maybe he will cancel their permits. And then he will sit Raila on the throne and place a crown on his head.”

“And then what, Mama? Will Raila phone this house, offering you a job?”

“
Tch!
What are you saying, Lulu? Raila is the answer to all our prayers. Look! The chairman is speaking.”

Samuel Kivuitu pushed the two-inch lenses of his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He panted between words, adjusting the buttons of his shirt, fanning his face with a sheaf of papers. He took out a white handkerchief and patted at the sweat on his forehead. His papers fell apart. They were strewn across the press table.

“Why is he acting like a thief? Is he in on—
Mawee
! He
is
in on it. What is this he is saying?
Ati
Kibaki has won? No, no, no, I cannot accept this. Lulu, put NTV. Maybe the chairman is saying different things on that station.”

I changed channels. Mama began to wail. She stood up and tore at her hair and clothes, pacing up and down the sitting room.

“Mama, has someone died?”

“Lulu, do you have Raila Odinga's phone number? I need to call him. I need to tell him what these people are doing. They just robbed him.”

“Mama, I'm sure someone has called Raila already.”

“No, no one has called him. He doesn't know. If he knew, he would slap the chairman in the face and order the television stations to tell the truth. If he knew, he wouldn't just sit there
ndee
!” Mama opened the door and stood out in the veranda.

I increased the volume on the television. “Mama, come back in here. They are swearing him in.”

“Who? Raila? Someone called him? I'm sure it was the chief justice. He wouldn't stand for such nonsense. God bless the chief justice's heart.
Asi
!
What is he doing standing with Kibaki? Why is he handing Kibaki a Bible? Lulu, is this man swearing the thief in? What has got into his head? Does he cook
bhang
as a vegetable that he eats with his ugali?”

“Mama—”

“
Shh
! What is that? That sound that did
bang bang bang
, what is that? Hear again:
bang bang bang.
”

“Mama, I think they are gunshots.” I stood up and walked towards the door.

“Lulu, do you have porridge filling your skull? Why would you walk towards the sound that did
bang bang bang
? Do you think I can handle Raila's loss
and
blood gushing from your head?”

“Mama, I'm just locking the gate with a padlock and chain.” I took a set of keys from the veranda and went to lock the gate. When I came back, Mama had two
pangas
in her hands.

“Take one, Lulu. If they come, you have to fight. You have to kill them before they kill you.”

“STAY INDOORS,” MUCHAI ORDERED
the next time we spoke on the phone.

“As if I have anywhere to go,” I retorted.

“They cut off our electricity. I don't think I'll be able to call you again. The battery's almost dead.”

“Are they fighting?”

“Not in our area.”

“They burned a church in Kiambaa. I heard it on the radio.”

Muchai was silent for a few moments. “What happened?” he finally managed to say.

“Some Kikuyus went to seek refuge at an AG church. The men that kept guard outside were killed. The killers then lit mattresses and burnt the church down, with the people inside. Twenty-eight people died.”

Muchai was silent for so long I thought the network had dropped our call.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Something is going on. …”

“What?” I started to panic.

“There's smoke everywhere outside. Looks like the neighbours' farm is on fire. They probably need help. I should go.”

“Please don't put yourself in harm's way. I need you back home alive.”

“I will see you in Nairobi. I will
see
you, beautiful.”

The line went dead.

“Who were you talking to?” Mama asked.

“Muchai.”

“He's a Kikuyu! Why are you talking to him? He stole the elections.”

“Mama, did you see Muchai at State House holding a Bible to the skies?”

Mama watched me. She shook her head. “He has bewitched you, hasn't he? You're a traitor, Lulu.”

Mama turned on the television. We watched the bloodbath in silence.

CHINIKA HAD SHAVED HER HEAD
. She smelt of mouthwash and lotion. She wore a wig over her bare head, a woollen sweater, a maxi skirt, and rubber shoes. She had the hardened eyes of one who stopped getting surprised a long time ago. There were wounds on her body. They appeared healed but they were of a different kind: inside-out wounds. One could never know when they were healed because one could never see when they were smarting.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I didn't know where else to go.”

“Does Baba know you're here?”

Chinika shook her head.

“Who is it, Lulu?” Mama asked. She looked over my shoulder and saw Chinika.

“Good morning, Eshe.”

“
Nye nye nye
, Eshe.”

“Mama, be nice.”

“Don't tell me what to be. I can be anything I want.”

She closed the door, leaving Chinika standing on the veranda.

“What is this, Lulu? Why do you spit in my face like this? First, it is Kikuyu men; now you also entertain husband snatchers? Words get in through one ear and pour out of the other.”

“Mama, have you seen the woman? She looks sick.”

Mama peeped through a slit between the curtain and the window. “So now you're the medicine man? Doesn't she know where the hospital is?”

I ignored Mama, pulled the door inwards. “Come in, Chinika.”

Mama went into the interior of the house, to her bedroom.

Chinika wobbled into the house. She sat on Mama's spot on the reed couch. As she did so, she stretched her leg before her. She groaned.

“Shall I get you something, Chinika?”

“Some cold water.” Chinika's left jaw was so swollen it looked as though she had a whole apple in her cheek. Her eye was half shut.

I brought the glass of water but found she had fallen asleep on the arm of the chair.

When she woke up, I was on the floor, staring at the television. “Who are you watching?”

“Kofi Annan.”

“The former UN Secretary-General? What is he doing?”

“Don't you know, Chinika? Kofi Annan has been in the news for days. He's mediating the talks between Kibaki and Raila.”

“Is that so? I didn't know. Baba never let me watch television. He said it would poison my mind.” Chinika sat up. “
Mawee
! Lulu, bring me a
panga
. This leg has pained enough; I should just cut it off right now.”

“What did Baba do to you, Chinika?”

“Are you seeing this?” She pointed at the dents and swellings on her face, and at the welts on her body. “Have you seen this?” She lifted her skirt to her thigh, revealing cherry rinds of dressing. The dressing was made of torn
lesso
pieces.

“What in the world happened? Did the mobs attack the house?”

“No, not the mobs. Just Baba. He came home drunk, brandishing a
panga
. He turned to the night watchman. ‘Today is today,' he said to the guard. ‘Who told your people to vote for Kibaki? And why didn't you stop them? Today you shall see fire.'

“I said, ‘Husband of mine, what is this? Throw down the
panga
. This man didn't even vote.'

“Baba turned to me instead. ‘
Alaa
! Woman, is the night watchman eating my cassavas when I'm not home?'

“‘Now what is that you're saying?'

“‘You think I don't know? Why won't you let me finish him off then?'

“‘Because you will go to prison.'

“‘No, it is not because I will go to prison. It is because the night watchman comes in when I'm not here. He helps me to be a husband. Today is today. You and the night watchman shall both see fire.'

“Baba beat me. He brought the
panga
down on my thigh. He would have killed me if the night watchman hadn't raised the alarm.”

“Chinika, have you gone to the hospital?”

“You think Baba would spare some change for me to go to hospital?”

“Get up then. I will take you.”

“No, Lulu. It will heal on its own.”

“Chinika, the wound could get infected and turn septic. You could get tetanus.”

She hesitated.

I went to find Mama. “I'm taking Chinika to the hospital.”

“A traitor that is bent on ‘traiting' will ‘trait' no matter what.”

“Mama, your sentence doesn't make sense.”

“What do you know about sense, Lulu?”

I took Chinika to a small hospital in the neighbourhood. Outside the hospital was a coffin shop. On the window of the coffin shop was a small sticker. It read in Swahili: Today it's me; tomorrow it's you.

Everywhere in the hospital, there were signs of disease: the sheets with the big red crosses in their middles; the floors that reeked of antiseptic; and the nurses who walked around with holy expressions on their faces, wearing sombre, white rubber gloves on their hands even when they did not need to. The patients walked about bent, groaning, and clutching at their stomachs, their eyebrows scrunched like erosion lines after a rain.

While they sewed Chinika's thigh up, I sat on a wooden bench in the waiting room. Next to me, a woman peeled a blemished banana and sucked the yellow fruity wetness inside it. Another woman in a black
buibui
ate cashew nuts. She was an excellent markswoman: She threw the nuts up from her navel, and they arched and found the middle of her tongue perfectly. A child sat at my feet, staring up at me. He had pathways of green viscous syrup inching down his nose. He sniffed. I watched his throat bob up and down, and knew that he had swallowed his own mucus.

A preacher in an orange suit paced about the waiting room. He thumped a Bible in the air, fluttering about its pink pages. “You with the tumour on the neck, you with no nose, you with the ear that can't listen, you with a stomach that's running a marathon, you should know that Lazarus suffered more than you. Lazarus languished. He languished and languished.”

“Languish” was a beautiful word. It didn't suit the pus in Lazarus's wounds or the maggots that crawled around the corners of his mouth. It didn't suit the space in people's limbs, where their arms used to be. It didn't suit the space in people's family portraits, where their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters used to be. It didn't suit the space in people's eyes, where their tears used to be. It didn't suit the space in their chests, where their hearts used to be.

Mama had rice and beans ready when we got back to the house. She spread out the sisal mat in the grass. “The hospital makes people hungry. Come and eat.”

I carried the food to the sisal mat. Mama and I watched Chinika limp towards us.

“What is wrong with her?”

“Baba cut her with a
panga
.”

“See? I told you: The rain washes a leopard but never washes out the leopard's spots.”

“You are one to talk, Mama. Has the rain ever washed out your own spots?”

Mama ignored me. She ate quickly, silently. She went into the house to watch Kibaki and Raila sign the peace accord.

THE WORD ‘LANGUISHED' DIDN'T SUIT
the space in the air where people's houses used to be. I walked up the hill, and all I found was blackened rubble. I skipped over the stones, and tripped and twisted an ankle.

There was a camp for internally displaced people nearby. I saw the white tents in the distance. I walked down the hill towards it.

Men stood around in clumps, sharpening tools. They stopped, putting their tools down. “Yes, madam?”

“I'm looking for some people. They had a house up that hill.”

“A two-storey stone house with black tiles on the roof? A young man and his mother?”

“Yes. You know them?”

“The attackers threw petrol bombs from the road into their house. They burnt down with it.” The men picked up their tools again.

I walked away.

Hill, have you seen my tears?

River, have you seen the pieces of my heart?

Tree, have you seen my mind?

Tears streamed down my face. I took a long walk to the nearby river. It ran from somewhere in the distant hills, steadily, until it joined the Sosiani River and became a rushing bed of stones. It flowed with the same audibility as a sheer silk scarf fluttering in the wind. About fifteen metres off, it grew deeper. I looked beyond the trees and saw the shining water. It seemed to call out to me, pleading. I looked around me. Only virgin serenity stared back. Two hornbills were perched on the tree branch above me. They screeched into the air, and their beady eyes fell on me.

“PRUDE!” I thought I heard them screech. “PRUDE! PRUDE! PRUDE!”

Then my feet moved before I could stop them, flying over rocks and clumps of grass, until I found the bean-shaped part where the river deepened. I could still hear the hornbills screeching profanities at me.
I would show them
, I thought, unbuttoning my jeans. They fell in a heap around my legs followed by the rest of my clothing.

The water was warm in some parts and cold in others. I lowered my head until my face came near the riverbed. There I saw a red fish, an orange one, and small yellow ones. I tried to touch them, but they swam between my fingers and escaped.

I jumped in the water, threw my arms around, and splashed until I thought the water would empty out of the river. Soon after, the sun hid behind a dull cloud, and a breeze came from the trees. My teeth began to chatter. I got out of the water and got dressed. I lay in the grass and fell asleep. It was twilight when the song of the white evening birds awoke me.

“
Ku-ku
!” one bird sang.

“
Ku-ku ku-ku
!” the rest replied.

The first thing I saw was the sky, red as the skin of a ripe plum. The next thing I saw was the perfect harmony of everything else: the green of the trees fitted into the red of the sky, and the red of the sky fitted into the rise and fall of my chest, until the green was the red and the red was the rise and fall and everything was everything.

I walked among the trees, following the silver-red water. I walked far out, my feet crunching over leaves and twigs that snapped. And the sound became the birdsong, and the birdsong became the rustling of the wind, and the rustling of the wind became the gurgle of the water.

I knew I'd found it even before I could inspect the depth and shape of the water. The trees suddenly grew closer together, as though they knew cover would be needed. The water was friendlier, too. It captured the red of the sky and the green of the trees and the songs of the birds and the whisper of the wind, and then became a kaleidoscope, reflecting each of these things with such emotional incandescence that my head felt as light as a feather.

I stripped and slowly waded into the water, farther and farther until the surface of it flirted with my mouth, lapping at me, begging to fill me inside and out. I could feel each kaleidoscope triangle on my body: the green trees, the red sky, the birdsong, and the whisper of the wind. I could feel the cold currents and the warm currents, even the undecided currents and the indifferent currents, each in isolation, and then together in one unending caress.

I closed my eyes and closed myself, part by part: toes, calves, thighs, torso, arms, face, fingers, and hair. I spread my skin and made myself one with the kaleidoscope. I opened my mind and let the water drown my thoughts.

There was a tiny sliver of a moon above me, and the sky was the gentle blue hue of a gas flame. A sky full of stars like a million pairs of glistening eyes, stared down at me. I got out of the water and dressed.

Mama phoned me. “Listen here, Lulu. You get on the next bus to Nairobi. You hear me? Why did you just leave like that? Am I supposed to stay with Chinika alone in the house? What am I supposed to discuss with her?”

“Mama, I'll be on the next bus.”

“Oh, daughter of mine, what is it? Did you knock a rock in your search for your friend? Did you find graves instead?”

“Mama, please put your shoulder on the bus and send it to me. I need to cry on it.”

“Cry into the river so the fishes can swim. Don't waste your tears on the ground.”

“Muchai should have gone for a blood transplant, Mama. He should have gotten rid of his Kikuyu blood and gotten a pint of new Luo blood. Maybe they would have spared his life then.”

I walked up the hill once again, to the place where the Njokas' rural home used to be. I found someone sitting on the rubble, his head buried in his hands. He looked up at my approaching footsteps.

“Lulu?” It was Muchai.