by Pamela Jekel
He nodded gratefully, following her down another cool, dim hallway, turned a few corners, and then she opened a heavy wooden door into a small room with white walls and a low bed, a dresser, a desk and chair, and a tall window that looked out onto the lawn.
“The loo is just here,” she said, opening another door across the hall, “and you’ll share it with Baako and Desta, yes? When Peter brings your bags, you can put your things here,” she pointed to the dresser and the desk, “and you can do your lessons here. Now I’ll leave you to settle in, and when you’re ready, just come to the dining room, and we’ll sit down to luncheon.” She patted his shoulder. “Just take your time, lad. We should like you to feel at home.”
“Thank you….”
“Asha,” she prompted.
“Yes, ma’am. Asha.”
She nodded. “I should think you’ve plenty to take in right now, we’ll sort out the rest of the names later.” She left him alone.
Chase sat down slowly on the bed, staring out the window. He could hear the sounds of the house, footsteps, low murmurs of conversation, a high laugh, and the faint clatter of dishes. He thought he would gag if he ate a thing; his stomach felt lodged in his throat. So this was it? This house of black people, a little farm in the middle of nowhere, and a wooden Jesus over his bed? They seemed nice enough, but there wasn’t a single thing that was familiar. Even the smell of them was strange. When Asha took his hand, the faint odor of something, like salt or vinegar, came from her skin. He thought she might smell like Oneida, but she didn’t. The house was rank with strange cooking, dogs, and wood smoke. Get a grip, he told himself.
Baako looked like some sort of ghetto brother, with his short dreadlocks and his black doo-rag. He didn’t look all that happy about having a new kid in the house. Guess not, since they had to share one bathroom. Desta had a nice smile, but he could see that she already had the hips and thighs of a grown woman. She didn’t look much like the twelve-year old girls he’d known. She had hardly said a word so far.
He took out a small photo of his family, taken before Moses died. In the picture, his mom and dad were smiling, and his dad’s arm was draped across Chase’s shoulder. Miranda was caught mid-giggle by the camera, and Moses looked like a serious little owl. Chase closed his eyes. He could almost still feel the weight of his father’s arm on his body. He took out a small scarf his mom had given him, embroidered with her initials. He pressed his face into it. Her fragrance still lingered. He felt his throat thicken, and he put the photo and the scarf in the drawer.
He got up and opened the door, looked both ways, and then hurried across the hallway to the bathroom. He closed the door after him and locked it. More gross stuff. Behind another door, instead of a regular toilet, there was a hole cut in the floor with a stool and two buckets. A pipe with a shower head stuck out of the wall. Towels hung on hooks, and the floor was concrete.
A knock at the door. He opened it, and Asha was standing there with her hands clasped over her chest. “I am so sorry, I neglected to show you the proper way to use the loo.” She stepped in and pointed to the stool. “We use an eco-toilet here. You squat over the hole and do your business, then you use a bit of paper, just as little as possible,” she said, pointing to a small roll on the table next to the bucket. “You add ash and sawdust from the bucket there after you make your deposit, don’t forget that step, or you’ll not like the smell of the loo, eh? We keep that window open, just in case. The other bucket’s got water, if there’s a bit of a mess. And then of course, you wash your hands after. The shower’s easy enough to sort out, I should think?”
He nodded. At least the sink looked normal enough.
“We take the waste, mix it with straw from the stalls, grass clippings, and leaves, compost it thoroughly, and then use it in the fields. Do you use eco-toilets in America?”
“I’ve seen a few, but not like this.”
“Well, I daresay yours are fancier, but ours do the trick just the same. Any questions?”
He shook his head.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. And luncheon will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
He closed the door, grateful that everything he had to do in there could be accomplished standing. He finished, dumped a shovel of ash and sawdust down the hole, and then there was another knock on the door. God, the place was like a freeway.
He opened the door to Baako.
“Got to wash up,” he said, brushing past him to the sink. “Listen, don’t lock the outer door, just the one with the loo, else no one can use the sink. Don’t make a sodding mess in here, get out when I need to get in, and stay out of my room. We’ll get on, if you do.” He wiped his hands on a thin hand towel and turned to glare at Chase. “And we’ll have a massive tit, if you don’t. Got it?”
“Got it,” Chase said quietly. Dickweed. He waited until Baako left, then went back to his room and sat on the bed once more. Perhaps he could just stay here until Jomo came to see what’s wrong, he thought. He sighed hugely and lay down. The bed was very soft and deep, some sort of pillow mattress. No way could he sleep on his stomach on this; he’d suffocate. The longer he stayed here, the more Baako was going to know he was afraid. He got up and walked out the door. No more of this weak-assed shit.
Chase followed the noise of conversation through the house, noticing plump sofas covered with brightly-colored African fabric, paintings of animals and warriors, and a large flatscreen on the wall. Sweet. He found the dining room, a long table with flowers in the center, and all of them seated, waiting for him.
“There’s the lad!” Jomo called. “Sit down and we’ll tuck in.”
There was an empty chair next to Baako, and he took it, avoiding the boy’s stare.
“Getting squared away?” Jomo asked. “Peter will have your bag in the room in a jif, and Jata will help you get your things washed and put up. Jata!”
Jata came in with platters of food, and immediately Asha said, “Now some of this will no doubt be strange to you, Chase, but do try everything, yes?”
“Here you go,” Desta murmured, filling his plate. “This is chicken and rice, and this green is what we call sukumo wiki, basically collards and tomatoes. That’s chapatti, like a bread, and there’s tea in your cup.”
Like an oven outside, and they drank hot tea.
“Will you say the grace, lad?” Jomo asked, nodding to him.
Chase recited, “Bless us oh Lord for these thy gifts which we are about to receive through the bounty of Christ our Lord, amen,” and when he looked up from his folded hands, he caught the curious gaze of Asha.
“Well, then,” she said. “Let us also give thanks for the safe arrival of this child of God to our family. May he find joy and peace in this house. Amen.”
“I’m so sorry that you couldn’t bring your little sister with you.” Desta’s voice was soft. “I’m sure you must miss her terribly.”
Jomo looked at her, shook his head slightly, and she fell silent.
“Tell us how it was that your parents selected Kenya as your destination.” Asha kept her hands moving, passing plates. “Were there many places to choose from?”
“Wherever the aliens didn’t care much about, I guess. I think it was like Iceland and New Zealand, Nova Scotia, Greenland, the Yukon, and some parts of Africa. I can’t remember all the choices, but there weren’t that many that were warm, I know that. My grandparents went on safari in Kenya back in the Sixties, and Mom and Dad came here for their honeymoon too, sort of a Cummings tradition. So when I was selected for the Program, they picked Kenya.” Chase took another bite of the chicken and rice. It really wasn’t as bad as it looked. “So why did you pick me?”
Asha said, “We thought a Catholic child would fit most easily into our household, and I noticed your mother’s middle name and your middle name. Your mother’s middle name is ‘Kenia’, yes? An African name. I suppose it was a sentimental choice for your grandparents? And your middle name is ‘Canaan.’ So one was African, and one
was Biblical. It seemed an omen. Up until the turn of this century, it was our tradition to name our children after their grandparents, but we are changing, many of us.” She smiled brightly. “Jomo and I decided to break with tradition and give our children their own names. So you see, we noticed your names straight away. And here you are! I’m certain we made the right choice.”
Baako glowered, and Chase studiously avoided his hostile gaze. He took a small bite of the greens as Asha had asked, and although they were saltier than he liked, he managed to make a good show of eating most of them. “Do you think you’ll take on another kid?” Jomo had said he’d discuss it with his wife, but Chase thought maybe he could beat him to the punch.
She glanced at her husband and said, “I should think that would be a distinct possibility. After all, we did plan on two at least.”
Baako snorted in disgust.
Jomo shot him a hot glance. “I beg your pardon? Did you have something you wished to add to the conversation?”
Baako dropped his gaze and concentrated on his plate. “Not at the moment.”
“No. I thought not.” He turned a smile to Desta. “Perhaps you could show Chase how to use the Mac after luncheon. It’ll be slower than he’s used to, but I know he’s mad to get his hands on a computer again. He’s not been allowed anything electronic since he arrived at the Collection Camp for the youngsters, and if he’s anything like you two, he’s feeling quite deprived.”
Desta smiled at Chase. “Sure.”
Jata came to clear the plates, and Desta said, “Come on, I’ll show you how to get connected.”
Jomo said, “And Baako, you may accompany me out to the barn. Peter could use some help mucking out stalls.”
Chase saw Asha watching them as Desta took him away from the table towards the living room. “Thank you for lunch,” he said.
She smiled. “You’re very welcome.”
Desta sat him down at the Mac in the corner of the living room, showed him the access code, and then said, “Don’t let Baako bother you; he’ll come round. He’s just in a state because he thinks you’ll take something that might possibly belong to him. His name means ‘first-born’, and he wants to be sure nobody forgets that.”
“Like I give a crap.” Chase chuckled without humor. “I won’t be here long enough to take anything from anybody.”
She raised her brows in an eerie and unconscious imitation of her father. “Indeed. Well, never mind. We’re allowed one hour a day on the computer. It’s usually slow in the morning and faster after supper; I don’t know why. Must have to do with the satellite positions or something. And we’re allowed one hour of television also, if our lessons are done.”
“Wow. What do you do the rest of the time?”
“Are you mental? This is a farm.”
As she walked away, Chase watched her hips. Solid, not thin. Already walked like a woman. Probably would be married off to some Zulu warrior or something by the time she was fourteen. He turned back to the computer, eager to be connected again with his old reality.
It was frustratingly slow, but finally the Mac program settled itself, and the screen stopped blinking. The sight of the familiar green screen chilled him. The same as every computer he’d seen for two years: “Current Advisor Message” with a button to click which said, “I have read and understood this message.” He pressed the button, trying to shake the fear off. The Internet slowly came to life, and he began to hunt for something familiar.
But to his surprise, most of the usual sites he visited were no longer available. The “OurPage” site where most of his friends stayed in touch was down; “WeTube” was blank, and even the older sites like “Facebook” and “Myspace” were out of service. He went to his email address, but of course there were no messages from his friends or family. No one had any way to send them, without Ipods, laptops, or cell phones. But what seemed more ominous was that there was no spam at his address. A month with no deletions would normally mean his email was clogged with spam, but not a single message appeared. The white space and the silent blinking cursor made him so nervous that he closed the site and went exploring for games instead. Cyberspace had changed in ways he could never have expected, but games at least he understood.
That afternoon, everybody seemed to have chores to do, and Chase wandered the property, wondering how he could ever feel at home here. Jomo and Baako were out in the barn, working with Peter and the horses. He would have gone there, but he didn’t want to have to put up with Baako’s attitude. Desta and Asha were in the garden on their knees, weeding and chattering happily together, and that wasn’t the place for him either. He finally walked to the backdoor of the kitchen, where four dogs were lolling in the shade. One lifted his head and looked him over, beating his tail against the dirt. The door was open, with just a screen to keep out the flies. Bright pink flowers trailed up the doorframe, hanging dusty blooms almost down to the ground. Jata was standing at the sink, mixing something in a bowl.
“Jambo,” he said, feeling suddenly shy.
“Jambo, bwana kijana,” she replied, looking up from her mixing bowl. “Young mister needs something?”
He shook his head. “I just wanted to say hello.”
“Ah.” She looked him up and down. “Come sit. Jata can give you something.”
He took one of the small wooden chairs at the pine table, folding his hands together politely. She reminded him of Oneida so much in that moment, that he felt a strong wave of homesickness and fought to keep his mouth firm. Jata took the teapot off the stove, poured him a cup in a blue earthen cup, set the sugar bowl before him, and splashed cream in the cup. She stood over him watching while he spooned in sugar and tasted the tea. “Thanks,” he said. It was hot and very sweet. He didn’t really want it, but he guessed that she was like Oneida. If she fixed you something, you better at least taste it and smile.
“Young mister is from America?” Jata asked.
“Yes. From Georgia. You know where that is?”
“No. No matter. You are Marekani, eh? American. You have brothers? Sisters?”
“One sister.”
“Ah. She is baby?”
“No,” he said, suddenly wanting her sympathy. “The baby died.”
“Poor mother. You bahati. Lucky lad.”
He frowned, setting down the cup abruptly. “Why am I so lucky?”
“You lucky. You find place with good family. Maathai is good man. Rich man. Fine wife.”
“I guess.” He felt weary all at once.
She sat down then next to him, her eyes soft. “You do not feel lucky, eh? Many die, you live, but you do not feel lucky. Good man he save you, but you do not feel lucky. Good woman sit you with her children, but you do not feel lucky.”
He dropped his eyes.
With both hands, she cupped his head gently and then stroked his hair. “You lucky lad. You see.”
He strained with all his strength against the tears, but they came anyway, rolling silently down his cheeks, making solitary dark drops on the pine table. It was her touch. It was the first soft touch on his body that he had felt in so long. He could not raise his head. He wished he could fall in a hole and die.
She put her hand on his shoulder and rose from the table, moving to the sink again. Without looking at him, she began to sing a quiet crooning song half-aloud, half to herself, words that he couldn’t understand, but the melody was soothing. She gave him time to recover his pride.
In a moment, she took two big bowls of dry dog food from the closet and handed them to him. “You feed mbwa, eh? Dogs.”
“Ndio,” he said. Yes. Some of the Swahili he remembered from camp.
She grinned. “Kwaheri.” Goodbye. “Come see Jata anytime.”
He took the bowls and stepped outside the kitchen door, and the dogs instantly leaped to attention, barking happily. He set down the bowls and patted each one, letting them smell him up and down thoroughly. Then he straightened and stepped out into the sun, shading his eyes agai
nst it, gazing towards the fenced field. The smell of hay and horses was something familiar, at least. He walked towards the barn, setting his shoulders with determination.
As he approached the barn he heard the familiar whinny, and his spirits rose. And then Baako rounded the building, and they fell again. He stopped and frowned, his hands on his hips, daring Chase to come closer.
“Look, man, chill. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here, you know?” Chase brushed by him into the barn where Peter and Jomo were saddling a horse.
“Hey, lad!” Jomo called, beckoning him over. “Do you ride?”
“Used to,” Chase said, stroking the mare’s chestnut neck. “We had an equestrian center close to the house.”
“Let’s get him up,” Jomo said to Peter, “and let him try Mira’s gait right here in the paddock. Chase, when you’re ready, we can take the dogs and see what we scare up.”
Chase mounted Mira, got himself comfortable in the shortened stirrups, and Jomo said, “Take one rein in each hand, lean forward and neck-rein; she’ll get settled to you soon enough.”
Chase gently kicked the horse out into the sun, urged her into a light trot, and
went round the paddock several times, feeling the quiet joy of the animal moving under him. At first he felt nervous, but then he remembered to relax his spine and use his knees, and the pleasure of the ride came back to him.
“Can you dismount by yourself?” Jomo called.
Chase whoaed Mira, slid down to the ground, and patted her neck again. “She’s great,” he called. Peter came out and met him as he walked her back. “Good seat, young mister,” he said. He had a machete at his waist.
“What’s that for?” Chase asked.
“That is my panga,” he said. “To kill nyoka. Snakes.”
“Can you shoot?” Baako asked, coming up to meet them.
“Never have.” Chase moved away from him, wary.
“That’s the next step then,” he said, cordial enough. “Can’t go out in the bush without it.”
