by Pamela Jekel
“We call those matatus,” Desta said. “Ma tatu means ‘for three.’ Because you could ride one for three Kenyan shillings in colonial times. Now, of course, it will cost you a pound or two.”
“Or three,” Baako added.
They drove through the town, and Chase saw some factories, garages, furniture stores, a bakery or two, and all of the signs were in English and Swahili. Bright purple-flowered trees lined some of the streets, jacaranda, Desta called them. On the way out of town, they passed a Police Training College, a medical building of some kind, and several schools. Finally, they approached the Cathedral and the rest of the Catholic compound, beige stone buildings with red-tile roofs and a tall clock tower, set in a valley. Chase could feel his stomach tighten. It had been at least five years since he’d been to church. He knew he would not remember what to do, and Asha would know that she had picked a Catholic drop-out.
People were waving and greeting them, and he felt their eyes full of curiosity about this new visitor with the Maathai family. Several came forward, and he again shook hands and did the best he could with the introductions and the strange accents. They entered the church, stopped, dipped their fingers in the Holy Water, crossed themselves, and genuflected. Chase did as they did. Asha then led them towards the side of the altar where a tall wooden confessional waited. A short line of people stood, waiting to speak to the priest.
She nodded to Baako, and he took Chase to stand at the end of the line while he waited behind. “Father Omandi’s not too bad, and he likes Americans,” Baako told him.
Chase tried to remember what he was supposed to say once he got inside. He thought about all that had happened to him in the last two years: he had been cowardly a few times, impatient many times, and angry more times than he could count. He had lied to his sister, shouted at his little brother, cursed his mother and father, and had turned away from God. At that moment, he’d rather have been back on the ship, even wretched, lonely, and seasick, rather than standing before the confessional. It was his turn.
Chase went inside the musty, dark booth, made the sign of the cross on his chest, and kneeled on the little velvet pillow. Above the confessional window he had to talk through, Jesus hung on a crucifix, looking down at him sorrowfully. It was too hot; how did these people stand it? He said, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I’m an American.”
There was a short chuckle from behind the wooden screen. “And is that the full extent of your trespass, my son?”
“No, Father.” He felt dismal.
“How long has it been since your last confession?”
The voice was soft and warm; Chase felt his fear ebb away. “I don’t know. At least a year. Maybe more. I’m thirteen.”
“And an American,” the priest said.
Chase could hear the smile in his voice.
“What are your other sins, my son?”
“I lied to my sister. I was impatient with my little brother.”
“What was your lie?”
“I told her that if she didn’t stop messing up my room that God would punish her by making mom get in a car wreck.”
“Well, that was unkind and certainly a lie. I’m sure that it upset her. And you were impatient with your little brother?”
Chase sighed. “Look, Father, I don’t want to waste your time. This is all small stuff. The bottom line is this: I cursed my mother, I cursed my father, and I cursed God, too. I don’t even think I’m Catholic anymore. I’m pretty sure I don’t believe in God. And none of that even matters, because I’m not even sorry. I don’t belong here. Not in this town and not in this church. Missus Maathai made me do this, but I really don’t give a crap.”
The priest was silent for a moment, and Chase smelled his own sweat mingle with the odors of a hundred people who had sweated in this box before him.
“It would appear that you have a great deal of pain in your heart, my son.”
Chase wondered what the priest would say if he replied, no shit. He was silent.
“You are still Catholic, my son. And God still believes in you, even if your faith in Him is troubled. You have made a first start at redemption, by telling me these truths. You say that you don’t care. Do you honestly feel no remorse for having cursed your parents?”
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t think God is very interested in me.”
“I know of your journey, my son, and I can imagine the grief you must feel. Do you feel abandoned?”
His throat tightened, and he said roughly, “Yeah. I guess.”
“I feel that way too, sometimes,” the priest said. “You are not alone, my son. Prayer helps, on occasion. Good food, a walk in the open air, some laughter. They all help. And all of these are gifts from a loving God.”
Chase suddenly wanted to end this, and he remembered then what he was supposed to say. If he said what was required, he knew the priest would let him go. “For these and all the sins of my life, I ask pardon of God and absolution from you, Father.”
“Then here is your restitution, my son. You will make every effort to be a loving brother and son here and now. You will be forgiven, and you will forgive. You will write to your parents today, and you will pray to God tonight and every night for seven nights. Ask Him to take away your anger and to heal your heart.”
Chase began to hurry through the Act of Contrition, just so he could escape, “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” His throat stopped completely at those words, and he could not go on.
The priest waited patiently. Chase closed his eyes and willed himself to be someplace else rather than to emerge from this dark little box with tear-stained cheeks.
“And do you firmly resolve, with the help of His grace, to sin no more and avoid the near occasions of sin?”
“Yes,” Chase managed.
“Amen. I absolve you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And Chase—“
“Yes, Father?”
“You might ask yourself why you, of so many, have been saved. In time, you may be able to rejoice and be grateful.”
“Okay.” Not likely. He crossed himself and pulled the curtain aside so that Baako could enter.
Asha and Jomo were standing a little aside, speaking to some friends. Desta looked at him curiously. He managed to smile and asked her, “So you don’t have to make confession today?”
“Just did last week. He’s pretty amazing, isn’t he? He’s only about twenty-eight or something. All the kids think he’s brilliant. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
As they walked up the aisle towards the altar, a tall nun hurried towards them. Chase quailed inside, wondering how she knew about his sins so quickly. But Desta smiled and put out her hand. “Hi, Mother, have you met our new visitor?”
She seemed massive in her white habit, and her pink and weathered face looked squished inside the cowl that covered her head. Chase had seen nuns before, of course, but at home, they tended to dress more like regular people, old-fashioned but normal enough. This one looked like a huge ship with billowing sails. She had a long black rosary around her waist.
“That’s exactly what I came to do!” the nun said, smiling down at him and putting out her hand. “Chase Cummings, is it not? It is a pleasure to meet you, young man.”
Her accent was familiar, not like Jomo’s, more like his own. He relaxed somewhat and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Oh, not as much as I am to meet you, I’d imagine. Are you finding it hospitable enough with the Maathais? Desta, are you all doing your best to make him feel at home?”
“Yes, Mother,” Desta said. “He already went out hunting with Baako and Baba, and they got a fine zebra. Mama was so pleased.”
“Excellent, excellent,” the nun beamed. “Well, Chase, I am Mother Superior of this ord
er, the Mathari Mission Settlement, and I used to teach Jomo at our secondary school, so I’ve known this family even before it became a family. I can tell you, you’ve found a safe and happy refuge in these troubled times. We were fortunate enough to have seven of your fellow Americans come to Nyeri, and two of them are here at Our Lady.”
“What happened to the rest of them?” he asked. “There were so many on the ship—“
“Yes, indeed, nearly twenty-eight hundred, I’m told. Quite a few stayed on the coast in Mombasa and further north in Lemu, about seven hundred or more. I think another third went to Nairobi and Kisumu; some went up to the north to Moyale and Mandera; some went over the border to Arusha in Tanzania, about a dozen went to Jinja in Uganda, I think, and the rest are spread out over Kenya. I guess about ten went to Embu…” she thought for a moment, her finger on her mouth. “I should remember these details, but I suppose it’s not important. What matters is that seven American children have come to Nyeri, and two of you are here with us.”
“Do you know, were all of the kids taken?”
“Do you mean, were all of them placed with foster families? Yes, I believe so. Why do you ask?”
“Because we’ve got more room.” He glanced at Desta. “If somebody needed a place, I mean.”
“And naturally, you would enjoy having another American with you!” she chuckled. “Well that will be up to Jomo and Asha, but I believe they’ll be willing to take in as many as they can. I understand your sister did not make the trip?”
“No.”
“Well, that is a disappointment, of course, but I’m sure your parents knew best. Perhaps when they hear from you that all is well, when she’s a bit older---oh, there she is!” Mother turned and beckoned to another family. Two parents with four children, one of them white, were coming over towards them. “Chase, I’d like you to meet the Malori family, and I believe you may already know this young lady?”
Chase recognized a young girl from the train. She looked to be a year younger, brown hair, short and slim. Kara? Kaitlin?
“Hi,” she said, putting out her hand, “You’re Chase, right? I’m Kayla Sanderson. I sat four rows away from you in language class.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Hi.” He shook her hand and then met each member of her foster family in turn.
Asha, Baako, and Jomo came up behind him, and they were all introduced, but of course the families already knew each other well. Samuel Malori said, “Now that our District Commissioner has taken the first step, others will follow gladly. It is our duty to do what we can for the children of the world, yes?”
Jomo nodded. “We surely can refuge more than seven in Nyeri. If Embu can take ten, we can do better than that!”
Chase felt like a homeless pup from a too-large litter.
The adults and Mother Superior spoke for a few more moments, and then Asha said, “We should take our seats; Mass is about to begin.”
The Maloris made their way to the rear of the cathedral, and the Maathais moved to the front. Mother Superior said to Chase, “Tomorrow, I’ll drop by the testing room and see how you’re getting along. I think you’ll find that St. Mary’s is as fine a Catholic school as you’d find in Kenya.” And then she sailed off to her seat at the side of the altar, nodding to the people as she went.
Chase lined up in the first pew, following Desta’s lead. When she genuflected and crossed herself, he did the same. Once they settled, he turned around to see if he could see Kayla. They were about half-way back on the same side of the cathedral. A small mote of pride floated up in his heart. His family sat up front.
He continued to imitate Desta through the long and tedious Mass, and he found after awhile it was rather sweet just to sit and think quietly. He had no desire to speak to God, except to ask Him a few pointed questions, but the smell of the incense, the light glowing through the stained glass windows, the ponderous and rhythmic chanting of the priest finally did lull him to a sense of serenity, if not grace. He especially liked the singing, and he noticed a difference in the voices which rose in chorus through the many hymns and responses. These voices were mostly black, but it wasn’t just that. They obviously enjoyed singing together.
At one point, Jomo’s stomach rumbled so loudly that Chase turned to see what he thought would be at least a glare from Asha, if not a poke, No one paid him the slightest attention, even though Jomo had certainly been heard ten rows back. He felt his own stomach began to gurgle in sympathy.
As he went up beside Desta to receive the Host, he glanced back and saw that the line stretched all the way to the last pew. These Catholics were into it. Certainly not what he remembered from the church in Atlanta. Finally Mass was finished, they made their way through more greetings and introductions from friends and neighbors, and emerged out into the heat again.
“Well, let’s get this shopping done in a jif,” Jomo said. “I’m---
“Famished,” both Baako and Chase said in unison.
“Spot on,” Asha grinned. “Yes, let’s just get what Chase will need for now, and then we’ll go home to our luncheon.”
They drove into town to what seemed to be the main shopping district, small though it was. Most of the stores were closed for Sunday, but one was open, and when they went inside, the manager turned on the lights for them so they could browse. Racks of clothing lined the walls and crowded the floor, divided into a man’s side and a woman’s side. The colors were far more colorful than he normally wore, but he figured at least he’d blend in better. Asha ushered him around, picking out pants, shirts, belts, underwear, shoes, and Desta brought over a few dresses for Asha to see, holding them up to her and pirouetting around for her mother’s approval. Baako picked out a few T-shirts, and Jomo stood and chatted with the manager.
“Do I need to try these on?” Chase asked, remembering the many times he’d done so with his mother sitting outside the dressing room on a chair, handing different sizes over the top of the stall, commenting on each choice.
“No, these’ll do just fine,” Asha said. “If they’re a bit big, you can grow into them, or Jata can tailor them as need be. Desta, that color is not as flattering on you as the blue. And Baako, you may purchase that with your own money, but mine is not going to be invested in another Deathhead shirt.”
They piled their bags in the back of the Escalade, drove out of town, and Chase could see that despite its rather shabby appearance, people actually lived and worked here, making and buying what they needed. When they drove back up the hill to the farm, the dogs ran down to meet them, and Peter came to help them with their bags.
“Jata, I’m ready to eat!” Jomo called.
Asha said, “Go and washup then, and Chase after luncheon, you may write that letter to your parents. Jomo has already written a page for you to send to your family, so they’ll know you’re in good hands.”
They assembled at the table, and Jata brought out steaming platters of roast, potatoes and gravy, various vegetables, and Chase’s stomach suddenly rivaled Jomo’s with eager complaints. Plates were passed, Asha said grace, and Jomo said “Tuck in!”
Chase was enjoying his meal and looked up to notice that everyone was watching him with covert glances and grins. “What?”
“You do know you’re woofing down that zebra, yes?” Desta asked.
Chase stopped his fork in mid-air to his mouth. He had forgotten completely about the zebra. But it was sweet, tender, and delicious; it suddenly seemed as natural to him as eating chicken or the beef that came from the cows outside. “’Course.” He made his voice casual. “It’s brilliant.”
Even Baako chuckled. Chase found himself surprisingly at ease as the platters were passed, and the conversation moved easily around the table. He ventured a question to Jomo. “Have you decided whether or not we can watch the news from America on TV tonight?”
Jomo put down his fork and folded his hands, contemplating him solemnly. “Yes, I suppose this is inevitable,” he said. “I don’t know that it will be of m
uch comfort to you, lad, and I certainly won’t be able to answer what questions you may have, but one has a right to know, eh? It is, after all, your homeland. I’ve not seen any film of Atlanta, but we’ll see what we see.”
The mood turned suddenly somber, and Chase was almost frightened to see what they so obviously were reluctant to show him.
Desta said, “Baba, tell the story about you and the elephant. I think Chase would get a giggle from it.”
Jomo’s smile returned. “Oh, I highly doubt he’d want to hear that little tale.”
Asha laughed. “Do tell it, Baba. Again.”
“Come on, Jomo. Rock the house,” Chase said.
“Well, then. I was about your age, Chase, not much older, and I was riding my bicycle to the village to see my grandmother. Up and down and up and down the dry, dusty road from Nyeri to Ihithe, and as I came to the top of one rise, pumping madly in the heat, I saw in the road before me an elephant cow. She was walking in the direction I was riding, and the wind was blowing towards me, so I thought she might be oblivious to my approach. I put on the brakes, naturally, but my bicycle, with a mind of its own, kept right on skidding down the dirt road with me holding tight, and right under the legs of the walking packy.”
“No! You were under the elephant? Whatever did you do?” asked Baako, pulling a face.
Asha rolled her eyes at him for silence.
“Epic fail,” Chase said.
Desta laughed out loud.
“Indeed. Well, the packy spun around and trumpeted, as if to say, ‘What was that!?’ And while she was turning and feeling under her legs with her trunk, trying to see what had interrupted her afternoon stroll, I scrambled out from under her on all fours and into a nearby ditch, where I watched to see if she’d come after me with a vengeance. Still trumpeting, now with rage, she snatched my bicycle out from under her, carried it over to the ditch on the other side of the road, thank you Holy Mother, and raised it up and smashed it down about a dozen times, then stomped on it for good measure, the whole while reprimanding it severely with outraged squeals. Finally, after she had satisfied herself that she had punished the intruder sufficiently, she continued her stroll down the road, her head high, her trunk stiff with indignation, muttering to herself about the hazards of the public thoroughfare.”
