Something small and fluttery flew around Katie in somnolent loops. At first she thought it was a moth. But it didn’t behave like a moth. A twin to the languid creature joined it, and pretty soon Katie seemed to be caught up in the middle of a dance of these tiny insects with their thin, fairy wings.
She stood still and watched them flutter around her. Reaching out her hand, Katie nearly caught one. The twilight glow of the evening gave them a luminescence like she never had seen on any insect in the United States.
The door to the last room in Building A opened, and a short man exited wearing a business suit and carrying an umbrella. He was bald, had dark skin, and wore small, wire-rimmed glasses. He noticed Katie and said something in French as he walked toward her.
“Hello,” Katie replied. “I’m sorry, I only speak English.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, switching to English. “American?”
“Yes.”
“Are you on your way to dinner?”
“Yes. I had to stop and watch these moths or whatever they are. They’re beautiful.”
The man chuckled. “Those are not moths. They’re termites. Flying termites.”
“Termites? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Absolument. Where I live we call them flying peanuts.”
“Why is that? Are they shaped like a peanut?”
“No. Because we eat them like a snack. Like a peanut.”
If Eli were the one telling Katie this, she’d think it might be a big tease just to get a reaction out of her. But this man seemed serious.
“You eat these?” Katie watched as more of the “flying peanuts” fluttered around them with graceful ease. It seemed impossible that termites could be so elegant, let alone be the ideal African “to go” snack.
“Yes. Like this.” The man waited until just the right moment, quickly snatched one of the termites, and held it in his fist.
Katie put her hand over her mouth. Her stomach did a flip-flop as she thought she was about to watch this man chomp into the termite.
“First, you pull off the wings.”
“Pull off the wings?”
“Yes. You don’t eat the wings.”
“To be honest, I don’t think I could eat the termite, actually. Wings or no wings. Sorry.”
“Maybe you like them better roasted. We make them that way. They come out after the rains to mate, and they make these crowds like this.”
Katie had a feeling he meant “swarms” instead of “crowds,” but she knew what he was referring to. It surprised and humbled her that this man knew English so well. She would never be able to have a complex conversation with someone who spoke only French, German, or Swahili.
“After the rains, we dig a small hole and beat the ground with sticks. And they come.” He opened his hand and let the tiny marvel go free.
Katie was fascinated. “You beat the ground, and they come?”
“Yes.”
“Why do they do that?”
“I don’t know.” He grinned, revealing several gaps where teeth once had been. “So we can eat them, I suppose.”
Katie smiled back at him.
“We get them together and …” He made a pounding motion by cupping one hand and using his fist to demonstrate the sort of mashing and grinding one would do with a mortar and pestle.
“You grind them?” Katie asked.
“Yes, yes. We grind them into something …” He rubbed his thumb and fingers together.
“Like a flour? Or a paste?”
“Yes, yes. Like that.”
“And then what do you do with it?”
“You can cook it and eat it.”
Katie wanted to flippantly say, “You might cook it and eat, but you’ll never catch me doing that.” She knew she couldn’t say that. She needed to respect this man’s culture.
“Shall we go to dinner?” he suggested.
Somehow Katie wasn’t quite as hungry as she had felt a little while ago.
“I am Bin.” The man took the first steps away from the flurry of termites and headed toward the dining hall.
“Bin?” Like a trash bin? What an odd name.
“Yes, Bin.”
“Hi, Bin. I’m Katie. Where are you from?”
“The Democratic Republic of the Congo.”
Katie planned to spend more time studying a map of Africa so she could mentally envision where each country was. She knew that French was the common language in many West African countries in the same way that English was the main communication form in many East African countries. She had picked up that detail the other night around the dinner table when Eli’s dad explained which world power had the most influence on which parts of Africa during the colonization era.
Venturing a fairly educated guess based on his speaking French, she asked, “And that is located in West Africa, right?”
“Central Africa.”
“What brings you here?” Katie asked.
“I am receiving training at the conference for pastors.”
“Oh, you’re a pastor. That’s wonderful.”
“Yes, it is wonderful. I have been in prison only two times for preaching the gospel. Now I am able to move about and come here to attend this training. God has been very good to me. Very good.”
Katie tried to take in what he had just said — in prison only two times — and still he said God had been good to him.
They walked together silently for a bit. It was nice not to be walking in the rain. All around them the green grass and revived foliage seemed to show off how squeaky clean they were after the showers. Katie loved the fresh fragrance in the air. She felt honored to be with someone who took his role as a pastor so seriously that he would go to prison for his faith.
How different he was from any pastor she had ever met. And not just because of his gourmet taste for flying termites.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
“God, pretty much.”
He gave her a sideways glance, as if he didn’t understand her comment. Her wit didn’t seem to translate well.
“What I mean is that I’m here because God opened up an opportunity for me to come and help out. I’ve only been here a few days. I came with a friend of mine, Eli Lorenzo. Do you know him? He grew up in Zambia.”
“I don’t know him.”
“I will be sure to introduce you.”
They entered the dining hall, and the first thing Katie noticed was the abundance of African men wearing suits. Others were dressed in their native garb with headdresses and colorful shirts or long robes that had designs running up and down both sides.
Her companion bid her farewell and headed across the room with his hand extended, ready to greet another man whose face lit up in an eager smile when he saw Bin.
The fellowship around the tables seemed more charged with energy than it had been any other night. Every man seemed to have lots to say and was eager to greet all the other conferees. Katie noticed Eli’s parents seated across from one of the pastors. The three of them were engaged in such a deep conversation that none of them were eating.
Katie thought it best not to impose herself on their private circle, so she sat by a woman from Scotland who served in the laundry facilities. She was quite a bit older than Katie and had wide shoulders and a fair, smooth complexion. Her accent was fun to listen to. She told Katie she had been at Brockhurst for eighteen months and loved what she did, washing laundry.
Since the twenty-four cottages and the many motel-like rooms didn’t come with individual washing facilities, all the laundry was done at a central location. Eli had familiarized Katie with how it worked and that she needed to pay various rates in Kenyan shillings for whatever she had washed. So far she had managed to rinse some of her things in the sink and hang them to dry over the bathtub.
“And what is it you love to do, Katie?” the woman from Scotland asked her.
Katie didn’t have an answer. “Just about anything. I’m here to help.”
�
�Yes, every young woman I have met from the West has come to help. They want to do something important and useful so they can go home knowing that they helped to change Africa.” She picked up her teaspoon and wagged it at Katie. “The surprise you will discover is that you will not change Africa, my dear. No, Africa will change you.”
The words stirred something deep in Katie’s heart. She kept her unblinking gaze fixed on the woman.
With evenly paced words the woman said, “The key is for you to discover what you love to do, what you were created to do, and then do it for the people around you with love. That is the abundant life, dear girl, no matter where in the world you live.”
Katie slowly swallowed her last taste of something that reminded her of rice pudding and thought about her dinner companion’s statement. She wished Eli wasn’t working at the Coffee Bar so he could have joined her for dinner. It would be interesting to hear his impression of what had just been said.
“Lovely sitting with you, Katie.”
“Yes, lovely sitting with you.” Katie wished she could remember the woman’s name. She knew it would come to her later. She also knew it would be an important name to remember since she was one of the permanent residents.
Katie lingered a few minutes by herself, thinking and letting the wise counsel she’d just received sink into her soul. Lingering was a significant step for her. She was learning how to slow down a little and sit at the table after she had finished eating. She might have practiced that skill a bit longer, but she was eager to get over to the Coffee Bar to see Eli.
Rising from her seat, Katie carried her dinner dishes to an open window area where the uniformed kitchen staff received them, scraping and stacking them in what seemed like an orderly, British manner. Katie said hello to the young woman who reached for her plate and then thanked the woman for doing such a great job.
“You’re welcome.” The young woman sounded American. She had cinnamon-colored hair, fair skin, and lots of freckles.
“Where are you from?” Katie asked.
“Kansas.”
“I guess you’re not in Kansas anymore.” Katie tried to make it sound like the reference to the Wizard of Oz was apparent.
The young woman smiled kindly, as if she had heard that joke one too many times. “What about you?” she asked.
“I’m from California,” Katie said. “I went to Rancho Corona University.”
“I’ve heard of that school. I have a friend who went there.”
“Really? Who? I might know them.”
“Sierra Jensen.”
“Are you kidding me? I know Sierra. How do you know her?”
“I met her in Brazil a few years ago. I was on a short-term mission project, and she worked for the same mission organization. I knew she went to Rancho Corona because she was always wearing her university sweatshirt.”
Katie nodded. “I’ve been wearing mine a lot since I got here. Have you kept up with Sierra? I haven’t talked to her for a long time.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I need to check in on her. I’ll tell her I met you.” Katie paused. “Wait. What was your name again? I’m bad with remembering names lately.”
“Kara Hawthorne.”
“Kara from Kansas. Got it.”
“Tell Sierra hi for me.”
“I will. See you later.”
Katie hoped Eli had his laptop with him at the Lion’s Den. She could hang out at the Coffee Bar and email both Christy and Sierra. The three of them had met years ago when Katie and Christy had gone to England to serve on a short-term mission trip.
Katie’s involvement at Brockhurst didn’t feel like it was going to be a mission trip. This wasn’t a “go play with the kids in a foreign country and tell them a Bible story” sort of one-week experience. This was the next season in her life. Not that she was exactly sure what that meant. But for now, this was it. This was her life. Now that the fear had lifted, she felt like she had more space to breathe and pay attention to what was going on around her. If only she felt better.
Katie sauntered upstairs to the Coffee Bar, and the first thing she heard was the rumble of deep male voices coming from the pastors gathered at nearly every table as they were caught up in important conversations. It sounded like she had indeed stepped into a lion’s den, and, though these lions were quite tame, each had something to roar about.
Katie saw Eli before he saw her. He was in full swing as a barista boy. His hair was flipping every which way, and his white apron looked like a shield that had taken a few hits on the coffee grounds battlefield. But, as ever, he looked steady and content.
The customer he happened to be helping at the moment was the man from the Congo. Katie sidled up to the counter. “And add a side of flying peanuts to that, if you will.”
Both Eli and the pastor looked at her in surprise. “You don’t put them in coffee,” the pastor said.
“I know. I was just making a joke. Never mind.” Katie was becoming aware of how often her humor wasn’t working here. Perhaps it was because the things that she thought were odd and worth poking fun at were commonplace for everyone else.
“Katie, this is Ben,” Eli said. “We just met this evening.”
“Ben!” Oh, his name is Ben! Not Bin. Katie kept the name mistake to herself and swallowed her smile. “Yes, we met earlier. Ben taught me about the flying peanuts.”
“Did you try one?” Eli looked serious.
“No.”
“They’re a great source of protein.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“How are you feeling?” Eli called over his shoulder as he poured a cup of coffee for Ben.
“Better.”
“Have you been ill?” the pastor asked.
“I have a small infection.”
“May I pray for you?” Ben didn’t wait for an answer. He bowed his head and asked God to put his great and powerful healing hand on Katie, to remove from her body the sickness and poison, and to deliver her from evil.
It was an unexpected prayer that felt natural in the roomful of pastors.
“Thank you,” Katie said when he finished the prayer.
Pastor Ben looked at her. His eyes narrowed behind his wire-rimmed glasses, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. He looked as if he were listening for something. With a compassionate expression, he said her name in a rumbling sort of way. “Katie.”
“Yes?”
“You have to remember the peace. The past will find you here, but it’s for a different purpose than you think.”
“Okay.” His fragmented words seemed odd. She looked over at Eli. He wasn’t paying attention to them at the moment because he was at the cash register making change for Ben. She had no idea if this was some sort of tribal blessing or what.
“Thank you.” It was the only response she could think of.
Ben put his hand over his heart and held it there a moment as he bowed his head and then looked up at her again.
She didn’t know if she should respond with the same gesture or just stand there. She opted for standing and trying to look respectful.
“Remember the peace,” he repeated.
Katie nodded. “Okay.” Again, she had no idea what he was talking about.
Ben picked up his change and the cup of coffee and walked away.
Katie looked over at Eli, who was now standing in front of her with a steady grin.
“I have something for you.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a sealed white envelope that had some handwriting on the front and looked as if it had lumpy, small pebbles inside.
“Mail from home already?” Katie quipped.
“Better than that. Antibiotics from Dr. Harry at the Rift Valley Academy. Dr. Powell brought them to me about an hour ago.”
Katie had never gotten teary-eyed over medicine before. She had never received mysterious, encrypted messages from short men who ate termites. She had never been told by broad-shouldered Scottish women to figure out what
she was passionate about.
And she had never dreamed of Africa like this.
7
The third day after the rains subsided and after Katie had started on the antibiotics, she felt as if she finally had arrived all the way. Her body may have arrived when their plane landed in Nairobi, but her heart caught up with her a week later, very specifically at 6:45 on a Tuesday morning.
That was the moment Katie opened her door, and Eli stood there wearing one of his frayed beanies and with a daypack on his back.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” In every way she believed she finally was ready.
The destination of their early morning trek was the tea fields. Cheryl had been promising to go with Katie, but Eli was the one who set the plan in motion and showed up right on time on her doorstep. Katie followed him, feeling cute and comfy in her favorite pair of jeans, a freshly laundered T-shirt, and a new-used pale green knit sweater she found in the Sharing Closet next to the laundry.
The Sharing Closet was a small room where left-behind clothing from conferees ended up, freshly washed and ready to give away. Brockhurst residents also donated clothes, which made it worthwhile, Katie discovered, to check in every so often to see if any new items had been added. The sweater she found there yesterday was a boon, and one she was sure would get a lot of use.
This morning was the green sweater’s and Katie’s maiden voyage to the tea fields. She had her cell phone camera ready and wore a pair of hiking boots she had bought at home at her favorite discount store, Bargain Barn. On Katie’s first visit to the Sharing Closet, she realized it was a miniature Bargain Barn, and that made her happy in a way she was sure only her best friend, Christy, might understand.
“You look like you’re feeling a lot better.” Eli glanced at her and then reached for her hand.
Katie slipped her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I feel really good. How are you doing?”
“Great.”
The two of them strolled hand in hand down the lower path that led to the entrance gate and the guardhouse. Eli greeted the uniformed guard in Swahili with a term that had become familiar to Katie. “Jambo.”
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