Walking Home (23 page)

“It is all right, little one. We are safe,” Omolo said to Jata.

I looked down at my sister. There were tears in her eyes and she was shaking. I had been looking so hard behind that I hadn’t looked beside me. I put my arm around her.

“They are gone,” Omolo said. “We are all safe now.”

“What tribe were they?” I asked.

“They were a tribe of hoodlums. They were just thieves, punks, criminals.”

“That wasn’t about the election?”

“There are always criminals—and Nairobi has more than its share—but now there are many who are using this election as an excuse for more crime and more violence. What does stealing and looting have to do with a political decision?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“Nothing. Yesterday I saw a man running down the street carrying a television on his back. At first I thought he was running from his home with his most valuable possession. Then I saw others coming out of a
store. They had smashed the window and were looting it. People who are bad will look for a reason to do bad. Now, here is the last hill coming up.”

I stood up, ready to get off again, but he reached over to stop me.

“You do not need to get off yet,” he said, “and you won’t need those.” He gestured to the clubs in my hand. I’d forgotten I was carrying them. I handed one to him, to return to its spot, and gave the other to Jata to hold.

“If those thugs had attacked us here at the hill it might have been a different ending, but here and now, there is nobody. Now I pull and you push and you little Jata will drive.” He handed her the reins and jumped down. I followed.

At the back of the cart, I looked around. There were a few people nearby, but they were all very young or very old. Nobody looked to be a danger. I put my shoulder against the cart and pushed with all my might. It was hard, but I felt strong. The blood was rushing through my body. The road was rutted and pocked, but it didn’t seem to be slowing us down. I wondered if Omolo and the donkey felt as strong as I did.

Finally the way flattened, and after one more backward glance, I ran forward and jumped back into the cart.

“That was the last of the hills,” Omolo said. “You have done your work. Would you like to continue riding along? I am still heading in the direction you wish to travel, and your company would be welcome.”

“Thank you for your offer,” I said. “It is good to ride.”

“Especially for your sister. She has walked a long way for one with such little legs.”

“We have not always walked. Once we took a
matatu
.”

“And Muchoki sometimes carries me,” Jata said.

“I have no doubt. There was a part of this trip when your brother carried a whole cart full of oranges, a donkey and its driver on his back.”

“I did not see that!” Jata laughed.

“Oh, there is no question that he did. And I am most grateful,” Omolo said. “Where will you two sleep tonight?”

“I do not know. We will find a place.”

“Up ahead is where I am going. I will bring my cart inside the gates, and people will buy my oranges tomorrow. Tonight I will sleep there, safe behind the gates. You are welcome to take sanctuary there as well.”

That was a kind offer … wasn’t it? I had to think before I answered. Perhaps we should just take our oranges and go elsewhere.

“It is not fancy. You can make a bed with the empty
burlap sacks used for the oranges. They can be both mattress and covers if you wish. I would like to offer more, but that is what I myself will use. You have probably slept in worse on your journey.”

“Much worse.”

“And there are guards who watch the compound. You can sleep knowing that you will be safe for the night.” He looked at me. “I imagine that most nights you have been sleeping with one eye open.”

“Sometimes two,” I admitted.

“Then this will be good. Please, it is my way of offering a small gesture in return for what you did for me. I would not feel right sleeping tonight unless I knew you were safe.” He seemed to sense my hesitation and turned directly to look at me. “You will be safe, Muchoki. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It will be our honor.”

Omolo guided the cart to a building with a high cement wall looped with razor wire and topped by broken glass. He stopped in front of a closed metal gate and then yelled out something that I didn’t understand. He was speaking in Dholuo, the language of the Luo people—which meant that the people inside the building were also Luo.

A small metal door opened in the gate and a guard appeared. He had in his hands both a club and a machete. A second guard stepped out after him. He
said something in Luo and Omolo answered, but in Swahili this time. I think he did that to reassure me and it worked.

“Yes, many troubles. The last just down the road,” Omolo explained. “That is why we are glad to be here, where we can sleep safely.”

The first guard replied in Dholuo. I didn’t understand the words, but his expression was hard and his gestures large.

“What tribe are they?” Omolo asked. He was repeating what had been asked of him. “You know me for many years, and you know that I am Luo.”

The guard spoke again.

“They are my friends and that is what matters,” Omolo said.

“We can go if it is too much—” I began.

He motioned for me to be silent.

“You let them in or we all sit out here,” he told the guard. “What would your boss—my
cousin
—think of that?”

The first guard mumbled something but the second started to open the gate. It creaked and groaned in protest until it created enough space for us to pass. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go inside. Would these Luo guards protect me and my sister? But then I realized that it didn’t matter. Even if they didn’t, Omolo would offer us his protection. I knew that.

The donkey started forward once more and the cart bumped over the threshold. I heard the gate squealing behind us, then there was a loud clang and it sealed shut.

Shutting us inside.

We were either safer than we had been in days or in more danger than ever before.

S
lowly my eyes opened, adjusting to the light. Light? What time was it, and where was Jata? I sat up like I was on a spring. There she was, practically buried in the burlap sacks, eyes closed, still asleep. There was motion off to the side. I looked over to see five men, including Omolo and one of the guards from last night, sitting around a small fire in the open section of the compound. All around them were bins filled with oranges and piles of empty sacks. There were pushcarts and donkey carts off to one side, but I didn’t see any donkeys. They were probably sheltered in stalls elsewhere in the compound. The air was sweet with the scent of oranges and something cooking.

“Good morning,” Omolo called out. “Come and join us for breakfast.”

“Good morning,” I replied softly, not wanting to wake my sister.

I peeled back the sacks that covered my legs and got up, carefully making my way over to them.

“Here,” the guard said in Swahili as he offered me a bowl. “It is porridge.”

“Thank you, sir. I will wake my sister so she can share.”

“Let the girl sleep,” he said. “There will be a full bowl for her as well.”

I dipped my finger and popped some warm porridge in my mouth. It was sweet—sugar had been added. It was wonderful. Maybe it was the best thing I had ever tasted! Or at least the best thing I had tasted since my mother last cooked for us in our home.

“Did you sleep well?” Omolo asked.

“Better than I have in many, many days.”

“You should have slept well knowing that you had guards to watch over you.”

“Very good guards,” the guard said. “And perhaps it is time that we went back to guarding.” He stood up, as did a man I now recognized as the second guard from the night before.

“And we should also get to work … before the boss arrives,” one of the remaining men said, and he and the final man rose and walked off, leaving me with Omolo.

“I told them what you did when those men threatened me and my cart,” Omolo said. “They took note, as did I.” He pulled something out of his pocket. It was money—paper and coins. “This is all that I have: two hundred and twenty-three shillings. I will keep seventy-three and offer you the rest.”

“I cannot take all that. It leaves you with so little.”

“You must take it. I will get more for my oranges. You must take the money—if not for you, then for your sister.”

I took the three wrinkled notes from him. “Thank you so much.”

“I know you will use it wisely, perhaps for food or for a ride along the way. I wish I had more to give, but the money I receive for the oranges I will need for my family.”

“I understand. I thank you for what you have given.” I stuffed the three bills in my pocket—the one I knew had no holes.

“I will leave before noon, so that is when you should leave too,” Omolo said.

“We will leave earlier. Morning is the best time to travel.”

“It is not as hot,” he said, nodding.

“Or as dangerous.”

“Aye, bad people seem to be afraid of the morning sun,” he agreed. “You could stay with me, but I now travel in the direction you have come.”

I would have liked to continue traveling with him, riding on the seat of the cart. Even more, I would have liked that for Jata.

“I thought that perhaps you could come and be sheltered in my family compound, but I realize that would not be wise,” he said.

I knew what he meant. No Kikuyu should be going to a neighborhood of Luo.

“I have spoken to the guards about your route and the dangers that are ahead. They did not know of this place Kikima, but they knew of Machakos. They said you can reach it by two means—by train, which travels from Nairobi through Machakos, or along the Mombasa highway, as you are already aware. I know you do not have enough for rail travel, so I will show you the way to the highway, first traveling along and then offering directions. But you must be aware that there have been problems along the route. Many problems.”

“Problems?”