Disowned

by Tikiri

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  This is a short story of innocence, audacity, and death. This is the beginning of the adventures of the Red Heeled Rebels, a band of gutsy, sassy, young women who fight for their rights and travel the world to find freedom.

  Born of parents from two different countries and now living in a third, all Asha wants is to belong. But she’s always the stranger, always the outsider. The day she decides to commit a crime to gain trust and friendship, her whole world collapses. Will this be the end of her life? Or an unthinkable beginning of a new one?

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  Table of Contents

  Free Prequel Short Story

  Part ONE Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Part TWO Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Part THREE Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Part FOUR Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Part FIVE Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Part SIX Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Part SEVEN Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Part EIGHT Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Part NINE Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Join The Red-Heeled Rebel Tribe

  The Red-Heeled Rebels Novel Series

  Truth is Harsher than Fiction

  Dedication

  Other Books by the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Part ONE

  What we call the beginning is often the end.

  And to make an end is to make a beginning.

  T. S. Eliot

  Chapter One

  Two hands yanked me out of the crumpled car. My back scraped against the mangled door, but I felt no pain.

  I looked around in a shocked daze. Everything was a blur of smoke and crackling fire. I heard shouting nearby. The man in the Tanzanian police uniform let go of my arm and doubled over coughing. It was a rough, gagging cough. His face was glowing, not from sweat but from the reflection of fire.

  That was when I felt the heat. The grass around us, tall enough to hide a fully grown African elephant, was ablaze. The fire was climbing the acacia tree we’d hit moments earlier, its leaves curling inward in pain. I gazed in horror at our small Fiat, engulfed in flames. There was a familiar shadow inside. A darkened head collapsed forward. Another shadow leaned against the steering wheel, now a ring of fire.

  “Oh my god!” I struggled to my feet.

  “Get back!” someone yelled.

  “Mama! Papa!” I had to get to them. Save them.

  Before I could do anything, the officer grabbed me by the arm and pulled me through the hot grass, half carrying, half dragging me like a rag doll. I kicked at the dirt and struggled all the way, almost losing my precious red sandals.

  “Lemme go! Lemme go!” I screamed. He dumped me on the asphalt and flopped down beside me, one hand holding tightly on to my shoulder, the other wiping his face which was drenched in sweat.

  The crackle of fire and the blaring of sirens were getting louder. I felt hands pull me onto a stretcher. People were shouting at each other and at me. Someone was forcing me to lie down, hands on my shoulders pinning me down.

  “No! Mama! Papa!” I fought to get up.

  “Hatari!” a sharp voice said behind me. “Danger!”

  The man who’d pulled me out of the car came over and reached for my hands. “Huwezi kwenda nyuma,” he said in a soft voice, shaking his head. I didn’t understand and not because I didn’t know the language.

  “But we’ve got to go back! Do something!”

  I lunged forward. Hands clamped me down. The officer sighed and shook his head.

  “Pole, pole,” he said.

  I stared at him through the smoky haze. I knew enough Swahili to understand he’d just said “sorry.”

  I collapsed. My mind was heavy, foggy. This isn’t happening. This is a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon.

  But the fire was all around us now. I couldn’t see our car anymore.

  Then, the world went black.

  Chapter Two

  “What did the police say?” a female voice whispered in the dark.

  “Tight-lipped, they were,” another whispered back. “I overheard one of them say it was a good thing a highway patrol was on the road, or it could have been worse.”

  Who’s talking? I couldn’t see a thing, but the voices kept going.

  “How much worse could it have got?”

  “I don’t know but it sounded serious, from the way they were saying.”

  “I tell you what I think, Rosa. These foreigners just don’t know how to drive here, but nobody wants to say that.”

  “Tell me about it.” A big sigh. “Every time we go on those safari roads, I tell my husband somebody should put up signs or someone will get killed one of these days.”

  “If we had signs for lions, do you think tourists would stay away? They’d follow it with their fancy cameras, I tell you.”

  “Only the white muzungus will do that.”

  “Have you not seen those buses full of Chinese? Even the Wahindi are running around with their cameras, I tell you.”

  “Well, the good Lord was looking over this little Wahindi. She’ll heal.”

  “Why don’t we call that hindu priest to come and talk to her?”

  “How do you know that’s her church? Maybe she’s buddhist, or muslim or maybe even christian. You never know these days.”

  “Well, we need someone to bless her parents.”

  Bless her parents? I pried my eyes open and was immediately blinded by a fluorescent light. I shut my eyes back tightly.

  “The girl’s up!”

  “Call the doctor!”

  I opened my eyes cautiously this time, to see two Tanzanian nurses in starched white aprons and stiff caps standing on either side of my bed. They were staring at me like I was an alien. I stared back. They couldn’t have looked more different from each other. One was short and stout, and the other was thin and tall.

  I looked around. We were in a small, windowless room. I was on a hospital bed with beeping machines surrounding me
. On the wall in front was a wildlife calendar with a photo of a sandy-colored impala leaping over a bush, its long, black horns leading the charge. I did a double take. That reminded me of something, something urgent, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of what it was.

  A shiver ran through me. This place was cold, sterile, and smelled of disinfectant, like they’d scrubbed everything down with bleach. Something nipped at my arm. I looked down to see a gangly plastic tube sticking to my forearm. What’s this? I pulled my arms up and instantly, a searing pain rushed through my body.

  “Aaargh,” I struggled to get up. “Where am I?” I spoke but heard only a strange, raspy sound. I put my hand on my throat. My back hurt and my legs felt heavy. Something, somewhere was hurting badly, and tears welled up in my eyes.

  “Now, now, take care, my dear,” the stout nurse said, coming closer and putting a hand on my shoulder. Her hand felt warm to the touch.

  “Don’t pull on these,” the other nurse said, fixing the IV bag. “These are for your own good. See, you’re already feeling better, no?”

  “Where’s Mama?” I croaked. My throat was drier than the Sahara.

  “Relax. No talking. You need rest,” the plump nurse said, pushing a button on the side of the bed to bring it upright. In her hand was a plastic cup with a bent straw in it. “You’re going to be just fine,” she said, pushing my long hair back. “This’ll help. Drink.”

  I reached for the cup with shaking hands and put my lips on the straw. As they watched me silently, I took tiny sips of water. The black phone by the door rang, and the skinny nurse ran to pick it up and started talking into it, nodding every few seconds, saying, “Yes, Doctor. Yes, Doctor.” The plump nurse began to bustle around the room, taking readings from the screens and writing on charts.

  I sat motionless with the cup in my hands, trying to make sense of what had happened, why I was here. Suddenly, a fiery image sprang to mind. It was of our green car in flames with the shadows of my parents inside. Unconscious. My body went numb. Panicked thoughts came rushing in like a sandstorm in a desert, roaring, swirling, filling every crevice of my mind.

  Mama! Papa! Did they get away? Are they okay? Oh my god. Where are they?

  My mind reeled. I remembered how I’d begged them to go on this safari, how I’d sniveled like a spoiled brat. I remembered the day before, how my best girlfriend, Chanda, and I had disappeared for hours in the Uhuru market and worried them sick. It was also that morning I’d committed a crime, a misdeed only Chanda knew about and one I’d regret for years to come. My mother always said karma never forgets.

  The plump nurse turned and noticed my ashen face.

  “Where’s my mama?” I asked.

  She set her chart on the side table and walked a slow deliberate walk toward my bed. Something in her face told me I didn’t want her to answer my question. I didn’t want her to speak. I pulled back. She leaned in and wrapped me in a hug. When she told me I was not going to see my parents again, I wanted to cry, scream, but I couldn’t even breathe.

  I made this accident happen. I’m the one who made them die.

  I pulled away and threw up over the side of the bed. I didn’t care I was spraying my sickly vomit on her pristine white skirt.

  Chapter Three

  “She’s just a child,” said the voice of the plump nurse, whom I knew as Nurse Elizabeth now. “Think of that before you make the decision.”

  I sat up in bed and looked around me. I’d just woken from a drug-induced sleep and was still drowsy. The voices were coming from the room next to mine, where the nurses kept their medical and bandage supplies, and had a desk to write their charts and reports.

  “This is not my decision, mesdames,” a man’s voice said.

  I recognized that voice. It was Mr. Mudenda, the social worker assigned to me. He was a small man with a pleasant face who’d visited me every afternoon for an hour, for the past two weeks. He was the only person, other than the cleaning lady, who came without a stethoscope around his neck. He shared stories about his family and told me about his eldest son, Peace, a year older than me, who went to a public school in town.

  Sometimes, when Mr. Mudenda didn’t have time to drop his son off at home, he’d bring him in, together with several books they’d picked out for me from the town library. As Mr. Mudenda inquired about my health, Peace would sit quietly on the bench outside the room, engrossed in his own book, his oversized spectacles threatening to fall off at any moment. When I asked, Mr. Mudenda confirmed with pride that Peace was at the top of his class, a chess prodigy, and two grades ahead of his age group. I wished Peace would come in and chat but he never did, other than his initial hello. Instead, it was Mr. Mudenda’s soothing voice and stories that put me to sleep.

  Though I’d known Mr. Mudenda for only two weeks, he was all I had now. That first day, he came over with a book and sat next to my bed and read while I slipped in and out of consciousness, throwing up every few hours till I could vomit no more. The nurses had their hands full with patients in far more serious condition than I was. They didn’t have time to pay attention to a child who felt worse in her heart than in her body, so it was Mr. Mudenda who stayed with me till dawn the next morning. After a few days, I came to trust him so much that I almost told him my terrible secret of crime.

  “The police are still investigating, you know,” Nurse Rosa, the thin nurse, was saying. “They’ll want to talk to her.”

  My heart skipped a beat. They know what I did? I strained to listen.

  “It’s the police telling me to send the girl away,” Mr. Mudenda said. “Besides, she can’t stay here forever.”

  “But you can’t ship off a little one just like that,” Nurse Elizabeth said.

  “It’s for her own safety,” Mr. Mudenda replied.

  What does that mean?

  “This is not the first time they had trouble,” he continued. “Remember that Swedish scientist they found in the desert last year? He worked for Environ Africa as well, and he complained about the same problems in his letters to the newspapers. There’s going to be an investigation, and it’s going to be up to the commissioner now.”

  “Oh, my, my,” Nurse Elizabeth said. “What’s the world coming to these days?”

  “The mining companies have long hands, and they don’t like it when others meddle in their affairs,” Mr. Mudenda said.

  “They have all the money,” Nurse Rosa said in a disapproving voice. “And we know where half of that ends up, don’t we? Right in the pockets of our politicians.”

  I no longer followed the conversation. I shook my head from side to side to clear the heavy fog of drugs from my mind.

  “What’s her status?” Nurse Elizabeth asked. “Didn’t she say her father’s Indian and her mother’s from Sri Lanka or somewhere like that?”

  Their voices were getting lower. I leaned toward the door.

  “According to the documents I received, she was born in Kenya,” Mr. Mudenda said, rustling some papers.

  “A Kenyan citizen then?” Nurse Rosa asked.

  “From what the police sent me, the parents were expatriate contractors,” Mr. Mudenda spoke slowly, as if he was reading something. “They moved around the region, but they had no residential papers from anywhere. The only things we have are copies of their passports kept at the company.”

  “What about a birth certificate?” Nurse Rosa asked.

  “They’ve asked the Kenyan authorities, but that will take time. In the meantime, she doesn’t belong anywhere, I’m afraid.”

  “Tsk. Poor girl. She must be ten, not even,” Nurse Rosa said.

  “Eleven,” Mr. Mudenda said.

  I’m almost twelve, I thought. My birthday was in a week.

  “What about school? Doesn’t she go to the international school?” Nurse Rosa asked.

  “That’s a boarding school, isn’t it?” Nurse Elizabeth said. “Maybe she can stay there for a while.”

  My heart dropped. I detested being at school du
ring the day. I hated being the odd one out, the one everyone picked on every day. I couldn’t imagine living there around the clock, especially without my parents to escape to. I shook my head silently. No, please no.

  “Who’s going to pay for that expensive school?” Mr. Mudenda said. “The company promised only to take care of the funeral arrangements and her trip back.”

  Trip? Back?

  “She tells us her home is here,” Nurse Elizabeth said. “Let’s see what a foster home could do, at least.”

  A wave of nausea washed over me. I pulled the blanket to my chin and curled my legs under me. Part of me didn’t want to hear this anymore. Another part wanted to run into that room and demand to know what they were going to do with me.

  “Mesdames,” my social worker said. “She does have a family, and as far as the authorities are concerned, that is where she has to go.”

  “Hmph!” Both nurses snorted at the same time.

  “Didn’t they say they didn’t want the half-breed? That is what I heard,” Nurse Rosa said with a huff.

  “Yes, think of that now, Mr. Mudenda,” Nurse Elizabeth said.

  “Whether they like it or not, they’ll have to take the girl,” Mr. Mudenda said. “And Asha will have to adjust.”

  Adjust to what? My head was starting to hurt.

  “Habari!”

  Someone else had entered the room. I heard the usual Swahili pleasantries and a man’s deep voice, a voice that was in charge.

  “Did you tell the kid it’s an accident?” the man asked.

  I craned my neck, but couldn’t see anything.

  “Don’t worry, sir. I’m handling this the best way I can.” Mr. Mudenda sounded strained now.

  “Funeral arrangements will be made here by the company, two days from now,” the man said.

  “I’ll take the girl with me,” Mr. Mudenda said. “She will need company.”

  “Shouldn’t we send the bodies back to the family?” Nurse Elizabeth asked.