Kid Moses

by Mark R. Thornton

  George stepped out of the door. “Kwaheri!” he yelled, waving as he ran across to his truck and jumped inside.

  After several days, Moses and Mama discussed George’s school again. They talked for a while, and Moses decided that he would go. But the next time George came back, Moses wasn’t there. And the next time, he wasn’t around either. It was as if he mysteriously went missing when George came around, as if he did not want to commit to the decision about school. He would think about when he had left Dar the last time: the fear, lost on the road, sleeping in ditches and under trees with all the strange noises at night. He would remember the dead snake they had found, and the grey Peugeot, the old white man emerging and squatting with his hand out, telling them to come to his house. He would remember the man’s yellow teeth.

  On the days that George came by, Moses ventured further than usual from Mama’s shop, returning only after George had left. He stayed clear of the market and the harbour, even though something inside pulled him back. He even dreamed about the ship hull, laughing there with Mika and Kioso and the other streetkids. Talking, sleeping, playing, eating food they had gotten. Moses had been on his own for a long time now, without his pack, his friends.

  He would loop around the city centre, avoiding the market, and walk far out on the other side of the main harbour, where the buildings spanned out low. It would take him a few hours, and sometimes it would be raining, but he would still go there to sit by the smaller harbour where the shallow dhows came ashore with fish.

  Sitting there, he would feel as if he were in another city, another place altogether, with no way he could be seen by anyone he knew. It felt good in one way and lonely in another. The dhows would come ashore, washing gently up onto the sand. Fish would be thrown from their decks, and the fishermen would nod at him or just leave him be. They would pull their cloth sails down and drag their boats further up onto the sand and take the shirts that were wrapped around their heads and spread them on the cement by the road to dry. Boys on bicycles and old Swahili men in small trucks would come and buy the fish, and the fishermen would count their money slowly to be sure, and then nod and walk back to their boats.

  Sometimes one or two of them would rest in the shade of the crumbling seawall, leaning against it, looking out. One might rub his shoulders, sore from pulling nets, but usually they would just sit tired and watch the water, thinking of the little money they made, or maybe of nothing at all.

  Moses liked watching the fishermen. He would look at their lean muscles and their slow movements, which were strong and confident. One time, one of the men looked back at Moses. The man sat on the sand, his back and head resting against the wall, his arms on his knees. Moses had been watching him since he pulled his dhow ashore and threw dead fish onto the sand, handled the nets, gave some instructions to his younger deckhand, and then sat down against the wall. After some time, he noticed Moses watching him, and slowly turned his head towards him. And then he just looked at Moses, his tired eyes on the boy, a look without judgement or shame or pity. The man’s expression seemed to be an explanation of his life, and perhaps of life as it was for all those living along the harbour, him and Moses all the same.

  Moses returned several times to see the fisherman, always watching the one man in particular who would look back at him, but who never approached him. During his visits to the fishermen, he thought about George and his offer, and eventually he became comfortable with the idea. And after a few weeks, he stopped going to see the fishermen, and stayed at the shop, waiting for George to arrive. He gathered together the few things he had collected during his time at Mama’s shop and waited for the man named George to come and take him away.

  In George’s white truck, Moses sat on his hands. He glanced over at the funny-looking man, at the balding crown of his head, polished like a river stone, and the white hairs spiralling in all directions from above his ears.

  The rain was gone by now, back in hibernation somewhere in the sky, and Moses listened to the sounds of the dry, chalky stones hitting the floorboards as they drove. On a long road, and everything was different—the blue school shirt George had given him before they left Mama’s, George’s hand on the worn gear-stick, the thin trees flashing by on the arid wash of the landscape.

  Moses’s eyes were wide and alert, his lips together and still. He did not say anything. He was as nervous as he had expected. He did not look back. He only turned every now and then to look at something they passed—a dead hyena by the road, a row of women walking with baskets on their heads.

  They stopped along the way to piss in the dust, watching it rise in clouds around their ankles. Moses could hear the vacancy of the bush around him, the silence. He heard no street, no voices. There were no men here. There was no ship hull to crawl inside, no Mama’s shop. The quiet was enormous—broken only by the sound of their urine pattering in the dust.

  When they climbed back in the truck, George took a jerrycan from the back and put it on Moses’s seat for him to sit on, so he could see the countryside better.

  After some hours, George slowed, grinding the gears, and stopped in front of a small restaurant. Two or three people sat about chewing on toothpicks and watching the road. George bought a packet of biscuits and two bottles of soda, which they ate and drank at a wooden table in the shade. It was quiet, and Moses looked out over the road, and at the few other shops and the petrol station. Other than that, it was just empty bush and fields, and he felt far from anything he had ever known.

  The road continued as dusty as if the rains had never found their way there. Then, coming into the town of Bangata, the colours of the land changed from brown and grey into green and black. Moses stared at the fields with neat rows of maize and banana and coffee, the rivers in between, and the huge trees bending over the road.

  George drove slowly through the town. Some people waved at him. Others stared. It was Saturday afternoon, and there was little activity. Moses watched people sitting outside cafés on plastic chairs, drinking tea or beer and eating meat and chicken and fried bananas. He saw the small park, and a couple of Indians standing outside their shops, and the market, which was empty except for some young men hanging around, just like in Dar.

  After they passed through the town, George turned off the main road onto a smaller dirt road. Moses saw mountains in the distance that reminded him of the last time he was in the country with Kioso. It was not long before they arrived at a bare football field, and drove to where Moses could see some low, blue buildings and kids sitting under a big mango tree.

  “Moses,” declared George with a sweep of his arm, “This is my school. I am sure you’re nervous. But the kids here are good kids, and I promise it’s a nice place to be. It’s Saturday, so I think we’re playing a game of football today.”

  They stopped in front of the group of kids. A couple of men came over to greet George.

  “Moses, this is Emmanuel, and this is Godson. They help me run the school.”

  “Hi, Moses. You are welcome.”

  The boys came to the vehicle to see the new kid. Moses was still sitting in the truck, and the kids stared and asked each other where they thought he was from. Moses looked at them and then away. George came around to Moses’s door and opened it, and encouraged him to step out of the truck.

  “All right, everybody, listen. This is Moses and he has come to stay with us. Say hello to him and welcome him to the Boys of the Future School.”

  “Karibu Moses!” the kids called out in unison. Then the man named Godson produced a football and kicked it towards the field.

  “Time for football!” Godson sang out and the kids yelled back, and ran down to the field and started playing. Moses was standing there with George, watching the boys, when someone tapped on his shoulder. Moses turned.

  “Kioso?”

  Moses and Kioso played football that afternoon before Moses was shown his bed in the dormitory. After George discovered the relationship between Kioso and Moses, he made sure their
beds were next to each other. Yes, Moses felt relief. Yes, he felt immediate joy. He hugged Kioso with a grin across his face, so happy, truly happy, to know he was alive. Or was it because he did not have to feel guilt any more? The foundation for his suffering, searching, his trips to Mama’s—it was guilt for having left Kioso to die. Guilt for killing Kioso by running away.

  But his relief did not last long—soon he felt cheated. Kioso has been up here all this time, he thought. And nobody told me, and I’m getting beaten by Prosper and everything, and he’s here in school playing football.

  But Kioso was still the most familiar thing in that place. And in the evening, after supper, they sat outside on the grass.

  “He just let you go? That old white man?”

  “I woke up and he was asleep on the bed. The bottle and another one were on the floor. He was asleep with his legs hanging off the bed, so I left. Stayed in the forest that night, and the next day I got a lift to a town, and then another. Someone brought me up here. And I stayed.”

  “I tried to find you. When I was back in Dar, I asked every day if they found you. I did. Nobody told me you were here. That you were okay and in school up here. And after I left that night, I went to the police. They never told me anything about you. They said they would.” Moses was desperate for Kioso to know of his efforts, to try to make Kioso understand that he had not abandoned him, that nobody had told him that he was safe.

  Kioso rolled onto his back and looked up into the trees. “Did you see Mika and them?”

  “They’re all there. Nothing’s changed. Except I hit Prosper one time and it made things bad.”

  “What? Safi!”

  “Ha, it wasn’t so cool. But I’ll tell you about the Radi Bundala concert. That was safi!”

  They talked for a long time, and Moses told a long story about Radi Bundala and the concert, but he didn’t say any more about Prosper.

  Chapter 5

  For the next few months, Moses and Kioso stuck together. George understood them pretty well for a man who had never lived on the streets. But it was the country, so things were different for most of the kids. There were no girls. The other boys were from towns all over, but only Kioso and Moses came from a place as big as Dar. In the eyes of the other boys, it was an amazing thing to be from Dar. For them, the big city was an enormous mythical place on the other side of the world, and they always asked Moses to tell them about the harbour and the ocean and all the people.

  The others were orphans, but very few of them had been streetkids. Unlike Moses, these kids had lost both parents. Moses still had a parent, a mother somewhere. And an uncle who had beaten him down. Now and then he would wonder why his mother had left him with such a bad man. What was wrong with her? Was she sick? He had memories of her, but they were only images, flashes of her washing, cooking, yelling. He had no memories of affection, only of fear and the belief that he was doing something wrong. She was always angry: at his father, at him, at everything. He would see insane women on the streets, abused, their clothes torn and eyes stoned, mumbling, and he would think of his mother.

  This always made Moses feel different. And even though he resented Kioso, who had been safe all the time Moses had searched for him, he didn’t know what it would be like if Kioso weren’t there. Kioso was the only familiar thing, the only kid at the school who understood Dar and the way things were there.

  Here it was a different world. On one side of town, the land rose up into mountains and lush farmland, eventually leading to high forests. On the other side, a dry expanse of acacia trees stretched into the distance to where a faint mountain range poked up along the horizon. Bangata was quiet. The school was quiet. They studied reading, writing, and maths, and they played football and did chores around the school.

  Parts of Bangata and the school reminded Moses of his father’s stories about the farms, but other things didn’t seem to fit. The images in his head were right, but the feelings were different to the way he had imagined. He was finally surrounded by trees and farms and food, but it didn’t feel like he thought it would. It felt empty, and his dreams of happily riding a bicycle around peaceful farms with his father were gone.

  For the first couple of months, he more or less liked the luxuries of the school—the meals, the football, the comfortable beds, the hot water. But he struggled with the regimented ways of school life, and he was always uncomfortable with older men telling him things, whether they were right or wrong, for his benefit or not. Kioso felt the same way, but he was more used to the school, and, as always, he was more accepting of things than Moses. For Moses, there was always a nagging sense of urgency—he could never feel settled in a place so quiet and orderly.

  Over the months, Moses learned to read a little, and he got to be a good footballer. But not much else changed. Another rainy season came and went. The days got hot in the afternoon, then cool at night, and then cool in the day and cold at night. Every once in a while, George would take him to Dar when he went to get supplies. Moses would see Ali and Mama Tesha and some of the regulars who lingered around the shop. He always hoped that George would drive out of town a different way and pass by the market or harbour, but he never did. Soon enough they would be on the dusty road heading back to Bangata.

  He was caught stealing once from one of the workers. An old watch left by the sink in the washroom. George spoke to him for a long time. He was angry, but understanding. It was the only time Moses stole something at the school. He had not even wanted it. He didn’t understand why he took it, if it was because the watch was just sitting there, or if he was simply trying to sabotage his situation.

  Another time Moses disappeared, and George found him in the town, lying on his back in the park, singing to himself. Another time, he was found taking empty bottles from behind a café.

  Then one morning as the sun came up, Moses ducked out of the dormitory building, along the small dirt road and down into town. He skipped over the main road and ventured out the other side of town. He poked around behind some of the shops and houses, but a dog started to bark, so he moved on. After the last house, there were a few shacks, and then some fields of maize stretched out before him. He wandered along and thought of the dried maize stalks that time he ran from the old white man’s house. Maize all dried up and dusty like old sticks.

  Past the fields was a small slow river. Its banks were choked with bushes and tall trees that grew high over the water. Some cows had been there to drink, and hoof prints and cowshit marked the dust. But now it was deserted.

  Moses looked over his shoulder and walked down the river a little way before stopping and sitting down. He took off his shirt, then his pants and sandals. Finally he waded into the water, looking around to make sure he was alone.

  He went under the water, feeling it pour over his entire head, and then hurried back up to the surface to check for other people. Once he was sure he was alone, he submerged himself again. The water was shallow and clear and he pushed his feet deep into the sand. He screamed under the water to hear the muffled noise it made, and then floated like a dead person until he was almost out of breath. He screamed underwater again and again until he was exhausted. Screaming all of the things he wanted to say to everyone, cursing all of the people he wanted to hate. He boxed, punched and fought an underwater war against even those who had helped him, but frustrated him: Kioso, Mama, George—all of them, together with Prosper.

  When he got out, he sat on the bank and watched the flat river. On the other side, he could see how high the water had risen during the rains. He looked at a sausage tree dangling over the shallow water and the fat fruits that had fallen on the river bank. He watched the green pigeons on its branches. Moses had never seen a green pigeon before.

  On the way back Moses sang Radi’s songs. He walked the dust path back to town, but in his mind he was in Dar, walking the bright streets in the morning. Singing Radi and finding his way.

  On Moses’s return, he was reprimanded for disappearing, but th
e next week he went off again. Again, he swam in the river, and then he walked further, beyond the river and into the bush. He found some old cattle tracks and followed them. On the way back he saw other people, cattle-herders who nodded to him as they passed.

  He returned, was reprimanded again, and the next week he went back again. Each time, it was different. Sometimes cattle were down at the river and young herders were bathing in the waters. At these times, Moses hid in the bushes and watched.

  And each time, he ventured a bit further beyond the river. He made a game of it, trying to remember the exact spot he had turned around the last time, making sure he walked further the next time. Eventually, he would spend the entire day out wandering, and return to find George waiting for him in the coming darkness of evening.

  During the week, Moses kept quiet, talked with Kioso, sat through classes without saying a word and played football. On Saturday or Sunday, however, he would disappear. Eventually, after George and his staff watched over him all weekend, he started going off during the week.

  Then one day he took Kioso along, and the two splashed in the water and pretended they were back in Dar, swimming in the harbour. They mimicked the drunks and the prostitutes and the lepers with missing fingers. Kioso joined Moses the next week too, and then they were both reprimanded by George, who began to worry that their wanderings would influence the other students.

  But there was no time for that. It was a Wednesday when they left in the dark of early morning. They reached the river in no time and did not even stop to swim, just kept walking. By midday, they reached a dried-up streambed. Moses had never walked so far before. He and Kioso celebrated by climbing the trees. Then they went on, following the cattle tracks that meandered between the acacias and termite mounds.

  It got hot and they sat under a tree until it grew cooler, and then turned back. They continued on the cattle tracks, but never reached the river. The light began to fade, and Kioso said it was scary and reminded him of the time they jumped out of the lorry leaving Dar.