The Outsider(S)

by Caroline Adhiambo Jakob

  * * *

  Nairobi, Lavington

  The Porsche Cayenne waited at the gate of the high-walled building. It was a big and luxurious car. It was the fifth one in Nairobi, and its owner took great pride in owning it. But the security guy was not opening the gate. Maybe he had gone to the toilet or maybe he was a sleep.

  The driver, a woman in her early forties, made a note to inform the security company. She wasn’t going to risk being carjacked only because some lazy security guy was too incompetent to do his job properly. It was an open secret that most carjackings happened at the gates.

  The guy finally opened the gate. He was an old man with barely any teeth left. He smiled nervously at her, clearly aware that she had the power to cost him his job. She did not return his smile. She looked ahead. She had long learned how important it was to keep and protect one’s private sphere. Smiling back to such people could mean that they suddenly told one their problems. And they had quite a lot of problems. A sick kid there, a dead relative there, school fees. She knew better than to open a can of worms.

  She drove through and rushed to the office. Business was good. As the owner of an agency that provided house helps for rich people, she was constantly on the move. Most of the time, she was invited for conferences to talk about women’s rights. She enjoyed that. She enjoyed the attention and especially being in the spotlight. She had come a long way. And she had no intention of ever going back to where she had come from.

  Hardly before she took a seat, her secretary, Amos, buzzed her. “Miss Matano, the police have been calling for you.”

  She froze. She had up to that point never had anything to do with the police. Of course, once in a while her clients had feuds with their house help. But she had structures in place to take care of such matters.

  “What is it about?” she asked briskly.

  “I am sorry, but they refused to say,” Amos responded.

  “What am I paying you for?” she asked harshly. She rushed to the bathroom and powdered her face before marching to the reception to take the telephone number of Kibera Police Station. A few minutes later she was on the line with Corporal Keiyo.

  “What is this about?” she asked urgently, barely able to conceal her impatience.

  “I think you should come down here,” he said before the call was cut off with a screech. She looked at her smartphone and wondered if it was the one with the problem or if Safaricom network was once again overloaded.

  She got into her car and set out for Kibera Police Station. The jam on Ngong Road was bad as usual. She wondered how long it was going to take the Chinese to finish the bypass and reduce the traffic jams. An hour later, she arrived at the police station.

  She walked through to the reception. There were a lot of people, and she wondered what they were doing there. She adjusted her Louis Vuitton sunglasses and froze. She thought she saw a ghost. She felt her hands shaking and moved to the counter to support herself. The woman seated in the corner looked exactly like Philister. Philister Taa. She was, or had been, her best friend. As a matter of fact, she considered her, her only family. Philister had gone to Germany, and then she had never heard from her again.

  She felt anger overcoming her. Anger at the hope she had had of Philister helping her. Anger at the suffering she had gone through because Philister had not kept her promise and saved her from the poverty and the suffering. Anger at the humiliation she had endured all her life. She was suddenly back twenty years when everything was a struggle and an endless nightmare.

  Simba watched her silently. He realized at that point that the woman from the mkokoteni had told them the truth. He ushered Tamaa Matano into the spare office and went out to bring the woman in.

  Tamaa Matano tried to compose herself but found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Philister was the only person in her life she had ever trusted. She had become very successful in life, but felt a deep insecurity. It was as if she had no roots.

  “I am sorry,” Philister said softly, closing the door behind her.

  Tamaa Matano did not respond. She continued crying.

  Stunned, Philister watched her silently. That was not how she had envisioned their meeting. The dream to help herself and to help Tamaa Matano came back vividly. Tamaa Matano waving at the airport twenty years earlier and Philister’s strong conviction that everything would turn out fine suddenly seemed like a bad joke. She was dressed in tatters and had nothing. Not even a single cent.

  * * *

  Riverside, Green Drive

  The two women sat next to each other, each lost in her own thoughts. It was almost like twenty years earlier.

  “So you wrote me letters that you never posted?” Tamaa Matano asked in wonder.

  “Yes, sixty-six of them,” Philister responded, looking dejected.

  “At the beginning I wrote about everything. I wanted you to know what was happening to me. Writing the letters was like talking to you.”

  Tamaa Matano smiled. She had known that Philister would not abandon her. Not hearing anything from Philister all those years had made her lose faith in humanity. That faith was being restored slowly.

  She stood up, walked to the window, and stared out. When she turned around, there were tears in her eyes.

  “I am so sorry, Philly,” she said in an unsteady voice. “I had no idea how much hell you went through.”

  Philister looked at her surroundings. Everything in Tamaa Matano’s house was luxurious. It was not comparable to any of her belongings in her life in Germany.

  “You know what? It is my fault entirely,” Tamaa Matano said. “You never even wanted to leave the country. I planted the idea in your head.”

  “Yes, but I think I also believed that life abroad was bliss,” Philister responded quietly.

  “And you know what? It wasn’t all bad. I had a job and a roof over my head” she added with a smile.

  “The periods after you left were hard,” Tamaa Matano started slowly.

  “I waited every single day for a letter from you.” She paused and studied her friend’s face.

  “I passed by Kanga’s every day. By the way, he eventually slaughtered the pig,” she said, a thin smile spreading across her face.

  “And you know what he told me every single day?” she asked, her voice trembling. “No letter for you, Tamaa Matano!”

  “I am sorry,” Philister mumbled.

  “Don’t be!” Tamaa Matano responded.

  “This went on for a while. And then the news stopped reporting anything about the team. VOK73 no longer mentioned anything. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was desperate,” she said slowly.

  “And then I went to Okot.”

  For a moment there was silence in the room. Philister felt the humiliation she had gone through at the hands of Okot engulfing her. Despite the many years that had passed, the wounds felt as raw as ever.

  “Come with me!” Tamaa Matano said finally, grabbing a bunch of keys. She rushed out the door, and Philister followed her. A few moments later, they drove off. During the whole drive, neither of them said anything. They took a turn to Karura Forest. And then Tamaa Matano braked abruptly and jumped out of the car.

  “I have waited to show you this,” she said, pointing to a small shrub in the middle of two big trees. Puzzled, Philister stared at her.

  “It is Okot,” she said finally, a satisfied expression spreading across her face.

  “He is here?” Philister asked, and felt herself trembling.

  “No. Only his testicles,” Tamaa Matano replied.

  Philister stared at the shrub and for the first time in a long time felt a strong wave of peace swamping her. “How did you know?” she asked.

  Tamaa Matano stared at her thoughtfully. She remembered the day she had first suggested the idea that Okot should help them. The shock a
nd the terror on her friend’s face. Philister had tried to mask it, but she had recognized it all the same. And then she had gone to Okot’s office to find out about Philister. She could still hear the hollow, slimy laughter, but more than anything she remembered him grabbing her and tearing off her clothes. Philister stared at her and instinctively understood.

  “I am so sorry,” she whispered, fighting to hold back tears.

  The two women walked back slowly to the car. “So you see why being poor wasn’t an option?” Tamaa Matano asked, wiping away tears.

  For a moment they just sat in the car. “There is no justice for the poor,” Tamaa Matano said at last. “At least not in this country,” she finished and started the car.

  Six Years Later

  The old woman rushed to get her notebook. She sat at the window and recorded the happenings at the Kober house. The couple had moved into the neighboring apartment two years earlier. They were initially called Julia and Clemens. Not long after, they went the usual way, presenting themselves as the Kober family. At that point, she knew she should have spoken up more vehemently against their taking up that apartment. She knew what was going to follow. And she was right. A few months later, a small bump appeared on Frau Kober’s stomach. It did not take long before they had a baby. The baby wailed all the time. She had on several occasions called the police to report the baby’s screams.

  “Frau Eickelschaft, it is normal for small babies to cry,” the police officer had said the fifth time she called.

  “But she is disturbing me!” she had countered.

  “We were there and the parents seem normal. Please don’t call us again unless the circumstances change.”

  Forty minutes later she was on the phone again. The police officer promised to drive out to the apartment right away. She felt elated. Finally someone was reacting to her grievances. They went to the Kobers’s first before coming to her apartment.

  “Frau Eickelschaft, the Kober family is feeling harassed by you,” the police officer had said, looking at her levelly.

  “Me harassing them?” she asked in disbelief. She had only called the police six times since they brought that baby home.

  “What is this country turning into?” she fumed.

  The two officers had looked at her as if she were crazy, and left.

  She therefore took it upon herself to record how often the baby cried. She was going to sue them one of these days. She swore silently. On that particular day however, there were no sounds coming from the Kober apartment. She consequently used the time to ponder her life. It was her eighty-sixth birthday. She wondered if she was going to have to spend it alone. The last time she had heard anything from her two daughters was five years earlier. They had to her dismay accused her of having abused them. She had asked them to apologize and when they didn’t, she took the only action that she deemed appropriate.

  A year after she made the anonymous calls, her two daughters Irmtraut and Ramona were cleared of any wrong doing by the tax authorities and the children’s Welfare department respectively. Since then, she had not heard anything from them. She had tried to contact them but neither of them responded. She wondered now how she could really get them to respond to her. Something caught her attention. It was a yellow envelope lying on top of the book shelf. She took it and examined it carefully. She had got it from the traveling agency where she had gone to book herself a luxury cruise holiday. She remembered her trip to the traveling agency with a shudder. She had found out to her horror that Frau Schumacher, her long time travel agent had hired a black woman. The black woman had a nose so big that she had found herself gasping for breath. The nose seemed to suck all air in the office. But it got even worse. Her face was greasy and she suspected that the woman had plastered a whole bottle of Vaseline on it. On top of that, she had big lips that seemed to take up most of her face. Grabbing her hand bag tightly, she had made to leave as fast as possible but stopped when the woman flashed a big smile at her to reveal completely white teeth that were a sharp contrast to her dark skin.

  Astonished, she stared at the woman, wondering why she didn’t clean her skin as well as she cleaned her teeth. Maybe then, she wouldn’t be so dark. She thought silently.

  “Can I help you?” the black woman had asked her in perfect German. She straightened herself and took a step forward.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Topista,” the black woman responded stressing each syllable. She looked like she enjoyed saying her name.

  “Where do you come from?” she asked the woman.

  “From Congo!” the woman responded and held her gaze.

  “Go back to Congo! Go!” she had told the woman. If no one was going to tell the foreigners to leave, she was going to take matters into her own hands.

  “I will give you some brochures so you can see what lovely offers we have for your kind of people this season.” The black woman had said and looked like she was about to burst out laughing. She selected some brochures, put them in an envelope and handed them to her. She had grabbed the envelope and left quickly. When she reached home, she threw the envelope on top of the book shelf without looking inside. Now two days later, she opened the envelope. A brochure fell out. She picked it up and started reading it. It was from an organization in Switzerland called EXIT in which people who were fed up of being alive went to in order to end their lives. She looked through the rest of the brochures and was stunned to find out that they were all from EXIT. She stared at them, wondering why the black woman thought it necessary to give them to her. At that point, a brilliant idea crossed her mind. She picked up a pen and a paper and began to write.

  Dear Irmtraut, Dear Ramona,

  I have some great news for you. I will die on June 26th at ten p.m.

  Your mother,

  Johanna Eickelschaft

  * * *

  At the other end of the world in Nairobi, Irmtraut and her two nephews were shopping in Nakumatt.

  “Tante Irmtraut, Kioko said my left kick is as powerful as Messi’s,” Tankie said while struggling to load a carton of milk into the car.

  “No, it isn’t,” Lukas countered.

  “Yes, it is!” Tankie cried.

  Irmtraut smiled at both of them. She scooped Tankie up and put him into the car. Her nephews were always a joy. She enjoyed listening to their little arguments. Completely innocent, no malice at all—or so she thought.

  “Tante Irmtraut, Tankie asked Kioko ten times if his kick was as good as Messi’s. Kioko finally said yes, I am sure to shut him up,” Lukas said and with a satisfied smirk looked up at Tankie. Tankie folded his arms across his chest. He had a dangerous-looking scowl on his face.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure that you have the best kick in the world.” Irmtraut smiled and gave him a small nudge. He began giggling as they drove off.

  The phone in the car buzzed as soon as Irmtraut made the turn onto Westlands Road. It was Ramona.

  “Shoot!” Irmtraut answered with a giggle. Lukas had told her it was the cool thing to say when one picked a call.

  “I have two sets of news—the good and the not so good,” Ramona started.

  “The good first,” Irmtraut said.

  “Rewe has just confirmed me as a partner. The only one for organic products from sub-Saharan Africa.”

  “Really?” the chorus of voices came from the car. There were giggles from the two boys. Ramona had started a company to help the local women’s groups to market their farm produce in Europe. Most of those women were poor single mothers with no other source of income. It had been an uphill task but Ramona had never thought of giving up. She had become an astute businesswoman with boundless energy.

  “You know what, I’m not surprised at all,” Irmtraut said finally. “I always knew you would make it.”

  “Really?” Ramo
na asked from the other end. It meant a lot to hear Irmtraut say that.

  But Irmtraut was thinking of something else. Ramona, as far as she remembered, had always been passionate about organic food. And passion along with hard work and a bit of good luck always led to success.

  “Are you ready for the bad?” Ramona asked. Before Irmtraut could respond, she started talking. “I can’t get the ugali to be firm. It’s all watery!”

  Irmtraut thought about that for a second. She didn’t want anything to spoil the day. She had been looking forward to today all week. Kioko was finally going to introduce her to his long-lost sister. And more than anything, she wanted to make a good impression.

  “How about calling a catering firm?” she asked Ramona.

  “OK,” Ramona responded. She took out the Yellow Pages booklet that was lying on the shelf and dialed the first number for catering services that she found.

  “Philister Taa Catering Services, good morning!” a pleasant voice answered on the other end.

  Philister Taa had initially worked as house help in Kenya. But her heart was never in it. She had saved enough and had eventually started her own catering firm. It hadn’t always been easy. Her friend Tamaa Matano had helped her in every way that she could. But she knew that the only way to sustain their friendship was to be free of obligations. “My sister has two special guests coming to visit today. I would like to order the best Kenyan meal for them,” Ramona started hesitantly.

  The woman on the other end laughed cautiously. “Then you are in the right place! Do you have something in particular in mind?”

  There was a short pause. “Actually, not really,” Ramona said timidly.

  “Are these guests Kenyans?” Philister Taa asked Ramona.

  “Yes. That is why I would like to order some nice Kenyan food” Ramona responded.

  “OK that is easy. I could bring my own in-house Kenyan delicacy.”

  “Oh that would be great!” Ramona responded.

  “What is this delicacy called?”