by Gill Lewis
She pulled back, holding her bleeding hand with the other. “Then come with me too,” she snapped.
Imara backed away, Kitwana clinging to her. “No.”
Gunfire cut through the air around them, bullets smattering like rain into the puddles. Behind the White Lioness, the helicopter was lifting up into the air, its skids hovering just above the ground, ready to leave.
The White Lioness flinched at the sound of bullets hitting the metal sides of the helicopter. “It’s your choice!” she yelled above the roar of the engine and rotor blades. “If you come with me, you and Kitwana will live. If you stay, you die.”
Imara glanced at the dark spaces between the trees, her mind racing along the pathways deeper and deeper into the forest.
“I have another choice!” she shouted, holding Kitwana close against her, and tensing all her muscles to run. “And I choose freedom.”
gorilla
Kitwana clung to the Girl Ape, feeling the sky-colored eyes of the Pale Ape staring at him. His heart thumped in his chest as the fire-sticks crackled around them, flashing back to memories of the silverback falling. The Pale Ape had tried to take him, but the Girl Ape had held on, and Kitwana listened to their strange yabberings and shrieks as they faced each other, eyes locked. Kitwana had sensed the danger, sensed the Pale Ape wanted to take him like she had before, and he had fought back, sinking his teeth into the Pale Ape’s hand.
The Girl Ape backed away and Kitwana buried his face in her chest and clung tight as she ran. The trees splintered and the ground broke up, exploding around them, but still the Girl Ape ran. It was not until the sounds of the fire-sticks faded that she fell to her knees and curled up, wrapping herself around Kitwana.
It was long after the sun had passed its highest when Tall Apes found them. These were Tall Apes that Kitwana hadn’t seen. New Killer Apes. They had chased the other Tall Apes away and sauntered through the camp, their shoulders back, their heads up high. The sharp, sweet smell of blood and fire-sticks hung in the air.
These new Tall Apes led the Girl Ape away and she followed willingly, along paths out of the forest. Kitwana clung to her, not wanting to let go, wanting to hold the only one he could trust. But at the forest edge, the Tall Apes yabbered soft noises and Kitwana felt the Girl Ape’s arms release him as she let them take him from her. Kitwana fought to cling to her, but the Girl Ape turned her back and walked away. He tried to dig his teeth into the Tall Apes holding him, but the Tall Apes held him and all Kitwana could do was watch the Girl Ape leaving him, like his mother had before. He was alone again. Fear rose up inside him He shrieked for the Girl Ape, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She just kept on walking and didn’t look back. She kept on walking out of the forest, away, away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
imara
Open your eyes, Imara.
Imara held her eyes shut tight.
Open your eyes. See, after all, that you have nothing. You are nothing. You lost Kitwana. You knew you would.
Imara pulled the blanket over her head, trying to block out the demon, but the demon would not be quiet.
Open your eyes.
“Open your eyes, Imara. There is nothing to fear.”
Imara felt the blanket being lifted from her. She opened her eyes and looked at the woman sitting beside her on the bed.
The woman leaned forward and smiled at her. “My name is Comfort.”
Imara clung to the blanket and stared.
Comfort was a big woman, with a smile to match. “Welcome to Halfway House,” she said. “You are safe here. This is your home, for now.”
Imara looked around. She had arrived late the night before and fallen into sleep in the soft darkness. Now morning light flooded the room she found herself in. It was a large room. The paint-flaked walls were clean and bright. Some twenty beds were crammed side by side, each one occupied by a girl or young woman.
Imara could feel them watching her, and closed her eyes again.
Comfort put her hand on Imara’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk, Imara?”
Imara buried her head in her pillow.
“Give it time,” said Comfort, standing up. “You can find me when you are ready.”
Imara pulled the blanket over her head and tried to force herself to sleep, to escape the images of the battle. She relived it, over and over in her head, when the troops had finally taken over the Mambas. The troops had found her and told her that Kitwana would be taken to a gorilla orphanage where he would be looked after. She had known that she couldn’t keep him. She had known it was best for Kitwana, but it hadn’t made it easier walking away from him. Leaving him. His screams still echoed in her mind, mixing with the cries of babies in the room.
Imara peered out from beneath the blanket and looked along the row of beds. Many of the women here had babies. Some mothers didn’t look much older than her. She watched them hold their babies close and feed them, the babies’ small hands grasping and clinging and looking for comfort. Imara hugged her pillow against her chest. She tried to imagine Kitwana, the shape of him, his smell, and the way he wriggled to get free to run off and cause mischief. But Kitwana was gone, and she would never see him again.
You have nothing. It’s just us now, you and me. Don’t let anyone close again. Remember, you are mine, Imara. You are the devil’s child.
* * *
Imara tried to stay in bed and avoid the other women, but Comfort wouldn’t let her. After the other women had washed and dressed and left the room, Comfort came back to find her.
“You cannot stay in bed forever, Imara,” said Comfort, handing her a small trowel. “The vegetable garden needs to be weeded. Everyone must do a job here, if we all want to be fed.”
Imara sat up and swung her legs out of the bed. She put her hand up to her face to hide the scar.
Comfort put her hand on Imara’s. “You are not the only one to have a scar. Many girls here carry theirs inside. There are many who will have experienced the same things you have.”
She doesn’t know anything about you.
Imara tried to turn away, but Comfort held her for a moment. “Here we help girls learn to read, to write, to grow vegetables, and to sew,” said Comfort. “Here they learn to mend themselves. They learn to live. Life can begin again here. It can begin for you, too.”
She lies. There is nothing left for you, Imara. Nothing.
Imara left Comfort sitting on the bed and walked outside, feeling the hard pebbly ground beneath the soles of her feet. She felt a hundred years old, bone-bent and weary. She made her way to the small patch of ground where she could see some of the women working their way along rows of beans, onions, and potatoes. In the distance, low hills broke up the flat line of the horizon. She looked back at the concrete building of Halfway House. It sat on the edge of a town. The corrugated iron roof was riddled with rust and holes, and the walls were cracked and pockmarked. A washing line of bright clothes lifted gently in the breeze. It seemed so far from the rebel camp. Here she could see people smiling and laughing, sharing stories and jokes. Yet, Imara couldn’t join them. She felt cut off, different from the rest. What they shared seemed inaccessible to her. She found it hard to feel anything at all.
A woman in a bright yellow dress beckoned her over and pointed to the row of newly planted beans. Imara crouched down on the earth beside them. The shoots were pushing above the earth, the small leaves bright and new. They looked so small, so fragile they could be crushed before they had a chance to grow. Imara copied the woman and pressed sticks into the ground to encourage the thin tendrils to curl around and take hold. It felt good to be doing something, working the earth with her bare hands. It was as if her hands already knew what to do, as if they had done this work before. While she worked, she became lost in the moment. Even the demon became settled and drowsy inside her.
Comfort brought out a drink and sat beside her. “You like working in the garden?”
Imara nodded.
“Maybe tomorrow you would like to help the other women with the cooking? Or join the sewing group?”
Imara shook her head. “I like it outside,” she said. She glanced at Comfort and could tell Comfort knew she wanted to be on her own.
“When you’re ready,” said Comfort, standing up and brushing soil from her skirt, “come and join us. You will find friends here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
imara
In the following days, Imara worked in the garden and watched the small bean shoots curl up around the sticks. They seemed to grow so fast that she could almost see them reaching for the light before her eyes. Every day, they grew thicker and stronger. Imara weeded and watered them, determined to keep them all alive. The hot sun warmed her back and neck. The red soil crumbled beneath her fingers. As the day warmed up, she lay down beneath the row of tomato plants and looked up through the leaves. They spread out above her like the canopy of a miniature forest. She closed her eyes and breathed in the heavy scent of green growth, imagining Kitwana clambering up the trees and chasing butterflies through shafts of sunlight.
“Imara?”
The demon stirred, pulling Imara from her daydream.
She opened her eyes and looked up to see Comfort hurrying between the rows of tomato plants. Sweat glistened on her cheeks and pooled in damp patches on her dress beneath her armpits. She stood over Imara, puffing and panting.
Imara sat up. “What is it?”
“There are some people here to see you,” said Comfort, mopping sweat from her brow.
“Who?”
“Come, child,” said Comfort, helping Imara to her feet. “They want to ask you questions. They have some news for you.”
Imara followed Comfort back into the rest house, trotting to keep up with her. The other women and girls stopped their work to peer out from doorways at her. Imara kept her head down to avoid their stares.
“Come into my office,” said Comfort, “it’s quieter there. They are waiting to meet you.”
Imara stopped in the doorway. Two people, a man and a woman Imara hadn’t seen before, were sitting in the room. The woman was a mzungu like the White Lioness, only this woman was younger, with soft brown hair. They both turned to Imara and smiled.
“Come in,” said Comfort, “come into my office.”
Imara stepped in and looked around the room. She hadn’t imagined Comfort to have a room with a desk, a computer, and a phone. She had only seen Comfort cooking and cleaning and looking after the girls in her care. Books and files lined the back of the room and on one wall, a photo of each girl was pinned to a board. On the far side of the room, a door led from the office to another room. The door was slightly ajar and Imara could hear the scrape of a chair across the floor and low murmurs from the other side.
Comfort glanced at the door and pulled it shut. “Please sit, Imara.”
Imara sat and stared down at her hands, where the mud had caked in a hard crust on her skin.
Comfort pulled her chair closer to Imara. “These people are Zoe and Mbera. They are from a charity that helps children like you, children of war.”
Imara glanced at Zoe. On the cover of a file on her lap lay a photo of Imara. The demon recoiled inside her.
What are they doing here?
Zoe leaned forward. “How are you, Imara?”
Imara clenched her hands shut tight and fixed her eyes on the flakes of mud that collected in the creases of her skirt.
The mzungus can’t be trusted.
Mbera cleared his throat. “We understand that you were living in the camp of the Black Mamba and his men.”
Imara felt her mouth go dry. It became hard to swallow.
“The Black Mamba is dead,” said Zoe.
Imara nodded. She had seen him die.
“It is important that you know his rebel group is finished,” said Mbera. “We have come to tell you this.”
This is not why they are here.
Zoe ran her fingers around the edges of the file. “The mining in the park has stopped too. The park is safe again. The police chief is in prison awaiting trial for corruption and smuggling coltan to Rwanda.”
“And the White Lioness?” said Imara. “What about her?”
Zoe glanced at Mbera and shrugged her shoulders.
“The mzungus,” said Imara. “What happened to them?”
Zoe flicked through her files and frowned. “I don’t know. . . . We have no record. . . .”
Imara twisted the frayed hem of her skirt in her fingers. “So they got away?”
Comfort took Imara’s hand in hers. “Who did?”
Forget about the White Lioness. They are not here because of her.
Imara shook her head and pulled her hand away.
She wanted to ask about Bobo and Kitwana, but the room felt hot and stuffy. A fan whirred on the ceiling but barely moved the air. Footsteps paced up and down on the other side of the door. A shadow flitted across the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.
The demon paced inside her mind. Get out of here, Imara. There’s something in that room you mustn’t see.
Imara stood up. Her palms felt slick with sweat. “I have work to do,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the handle of the door slowly turning.
The demon hammered on her chest. Get out now!
“Wait,” said Zoe, standing up. “There is something else. Do you recognize this man?”
Zoe handed Imara a photo of a wiry man with hair braided like rats’ tails.
Imara’s hand trembled as she held the photo. “Rat,” she whispered.
She traced her fingers down her scar. It felt raw and wide, wide open.
She could feel the demon shrink back inside.
So this is why they are here.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
imara
Zoe tapped her fingers on her file, not taking her eyes from Imara. “This man is in prison too, but he’s hoping for a lenient sentence by giving the army information.”
Imara stared at the photo. So Rat was trying to buy his freedom. She crushed the photo in her hand. “He should never be let out.”
Mbera took the crumpled photo from her. “He has told the police of the location of all the villages the Black Mamba plundered.”
Imara looked up at him. “That would take a long time. A very long time.”
“It did,” said Mbera. “Many of the villages lost children to the war.” He leaned forward and searched her eyes. “One of the villages lost a girl, a young girl who was on the way to market with her brother.”
The demon filled Imara’s head. Don’t listen to him.
But Mbera continued, speaking softly. “The young girl’s name was Imara.”
Don’t listen! Walk away.
Walk away!
“Shut up!” shouted Imara. “Shut . . . up.”
“Imara,” said Zoe.
Comfort put her hand on Imara’s arm.
Imara backed away. “SHUT UP!” she screamed. “You don’t know anything.”
Run, Imara, run.
But Imara couldn’t run. She couldn’t breathe. The far door had swung wide, wide open. Walking through the doorway came a woman, hand in hand with a tall boy.
Imara felt the demon dig his claws into her heart.
Close your eyes, Imara. Close them now.
“Imara?” the woman was calling her name. She was the woman in her dreams, the one with the coffee-colored skin. But here she looked solid. Real. Of this world, not the spirit one.
Imara felt the demon crush her lungs. She closed her eyes and tried to suck in air. “No! You’re in my head. You’re in my dreams. You are not real.”
“Open your eyes.”
Imara dug her fingers into her palms. She felt the woman’s hand on her shoulder. “Open your eyes, Imara.”
Imara forced her eyes open. She looked at the woman and the boy, trying to place them.
She felt the demon twist her heart round and round, the
pain exploding in her chest. Her knees buckled and she crumpled onto the floor.
The boy knelt down beside her. “Don’t you recognize me?” he said softly.
Imara searched his face, seeing a younger boy behind his eyes.
“I was with you when Innocence died,” he said. “I am your brother, Kitwana.”
“Kitwana!” gasped Imara. The demon was swelling inside her chest, giving no room to breathe.
The woman pulled Imara up into her arms and buried her face in Imara’s hair. “My child,” she whispered.
Imara tried to push her away. “I have the devil in me. I am his child.”
“No,” whispered the woman. “You are my daughter. You are no one else’s child but mine.”
Imara gripped tightly to her mother. She could feel the demon swell and grow, pushing outward on her ribs, squeezing tears out from her eyes.
“Let it go,” said Imara’s mother. “Just let it go.”
Imara felt her mother’s arms around her and she did; the demon surged from her, down through her arms and through her fingertips. She felt hot tears falling down her face. She wrapped her arms around her mother and clung on tightly, wanting to hold her there forever.
“My child,” whispered Imara’s mother. “There is no demon inside you. There never has been.” She wiped Imara’s tears and held her face, looking deep, deep, deep into her eyes.
“What has been trapped inside of you all this time . . . is love.”
PART TWO
now . . .
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
imara
My name is Imara Kizende.
I have returned to the village where I was once a child. The scattering of huts with their mud walls and banana-leaf roofs lies in a small valley a half-day’s truck ride from the forests. Here, the green hills are terraced with fields of banana, potatoes, beans, and cassava. Cattle graze by the river, swishing their tails and flicking their ears at the flies, while the boys looking after them splash in the water. A few eucalyptus trees cling to the hillsides, their gray mottled branches reaching up to the sky.
