Walking Home (6 page)

Jata tugged at my arm, pulling me back to the present, and we started walking again. I was in no rush.
It wasn’t as if church was going to end soon. The service would be at least three hours long, and every minute I spent walking
toward
church was another minute I didn’t have to be
in
church.

The voices got louder and the tent came into view. There were hundreds and hundreds of people gathered together, but there was still a great deal of open space underneath the gigantic tarp that served as the church. Funny how we didn’t always have enough food or water but this gigantic tent had suddenly appeared so there could be a church. The ministers would say that God’s Kingdom was more important that this one, but we were living in this one right now, and more food and heavier blankets would have been good. Would Jesus have built a temple or fed the poor first?

It was also hard to get away from my memories. Church was supposed to be God’s home, a sanctuary, a place of safety. Instead it had been nothing more than a trap for me. How many times had my mind gone back to the last time I was in a real church? We were gathered under God’s roof, and what did he do? Did he protect us? Did he save us? Or did he let … I tried to force those thoughts out of my mind. I couldn’t risk inviting any more of his wrath upon my family.

Standing at the side of the tent I saw many familiar faces—people I had gotten to know in the camp—but I was looking for one: Jomo. Over the past two weeks he
had become my best friend. And his sisters, who could be truly annoying, were so kind and gentle with Jata. They had almost adopted her as their own. It meant that they would watch her for me and give me a little time free.

My mother seemed less able to do things as the sickness got stronger. Malaria was like that. Sometimes it was so powerful a person couldn’t work, sometimes so strong a person couldn’t even walk. I had seen it that bad with my mother before, and then it had passed. It would pass this time. I’d seen it worse. And yet that thought scared me more. Did that mean it was going to get worse before it got better? Jata needed to be cared for. I was there for her when mother couldn’t be. She also needed me to tell her that everything would be alright, that mother would get better. I offered her reassurances I had no right to make.

I scanned the group but didn’t have to look for long. Jomo was standing at the back and waved wildly when he saw me. Jata and I went over to him.

“Being late for church is not a good thing, you know,” he said. “God is watching.”

“Then I’m sure he saw me walking,” I said. “Where are your sisters?”

“Under the tent in the shade.”

I nodded and had started to walk away when he grabbed me by the arm and my sister kept walking down an aisle.

“Do you really believe that God is everywhere?” he asked urgently.

“Um, yes … I guess he is.”

“Good. Then we do not need to go to church to be with God. Come with me.”

He started to walk away, but this time
I
stopped
him.
“Where are we going?”

“Come and you shall see.”

“I can’t leave my sister alone.”

“Alone? Just look—she is with my sisters.”

I looked back. She was sitting on Kioni’s lap with Makena on the bench beside them. She was laughing and happy, and I knew she wasn’t going anywhere without them.

“Do you think they would let anything happen to her?” Jomo asked, seeming to read my mind. “Besides, we will be back long before church is over. So are you coming?”

Part of me didn’t want to go, but the bigger part was curious to see what he had in mind. It
had
to be more exciting than church. I decided to risk making God angry. Anyway, he wasn’t the only one who had reason to be angry.

I walked wordlessly beside Jomo. I knew there was no point in asking him questions when he was being mysterious. He had quickly become a good friend, somebody I trusted. Of course, I’d trusted my friends
and neighbors in Eldoret, and that trust had proven to be nothing but empty hopes.

He stopped in front of his tent, reached inside and pulled out a spear!

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“I made it. I found the stick and attached a knife to the end.” He handed it to me. “What do you think?”

I moved the spear up and down, feeling the wood in my hand, the weight of the weapon. “It feels good, but does it work?”

“Who would be better to make a spear than a boy named after a spear?”

“I do not think it works that way. It could just be a toy.”

“A
toy
? There is only one way to find out if it is a toy or a weapon.” He took the spear from me and then reached back into his tent and removed the machete. He handed that to me. Once again he started walking.

“Where are we going now?”

“Were you not listening? We are going to try to find something worth throwing my spear at.”

“Here in the camp?”

“Outside the camp,” he replied. “Come, and stop asking so many stupid questions.”

I trailed behind him. I did have questions, but going with him would answer them.

As we moved, we attracted a great deal of attention.
Two boys carrying a spear and a machete were worth watching. People gawked and pointed at us as we passed. I didn’t think that was so good.

“Jomo, slow down! Let me at least hide the machete so people do not stare.”

“They will be staring harder when we come back with an antelope or a gazelle—or even a zebra.”

“Do you really think we can catch a zebra?”

“Not ‘catch’—kill. And not ‘we’—me. I am the one with the spear. You can help carry whatever I kill and then we will share it—your family and mine.”

I liked his confidence, but I wasn’t sure that a hastily made spear would be enough. He would need skills in tracking and hunting and using the weapon. I had never even held a spear before a few minutes ago, so I couldn’t be counted on for anything.

We came to the gate. Two soldiers, one with a hand on the holster of his sidearm and the second with a rifle on his back, came toward us.

“Why do you have a spear?” the first solider demanded.

“It would be foolish to go hunting without one,” Jomo declared.

“What did you say?”

“He said we are going hunting,” I replied, answering before Jomo could trouble or annoy the soldier further. “We are going hunting.”

“You two squirts are going hunting?”

“Yes, out there.” I gestured beyond the fence. “We hope to kill a gazelle.”

“With that little spear?” he asked, and the two soldiers laughed.

“If it is so little, why did you need to ask about it?” Jomo snapped.

Both men stopped laughing.

I leaned in close to the first soldier. “Please forgive him. He is my cousin, but he is not so right in the head,” I said. “His mother dropped him when he was a baby.”

“If he isn’t careful, he may suffer another blow to the head.”

“I will keep him careful. Come, Jomo. Come!” I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the gate and away from the soldiers.

“Those two were just acting like big men because they have guns,” Jomo said.

“They
were
big men—bigger than you and me—and they
did
have guns. It is not wise to be impolite to soldiers.”

“They were the rude ones,” he complained. “But enough about them. We are here to kill an animal, and when we do, we will bring it back in through that gate and wave it under their big noses!”

“They will be seeing it, because there is no way into the camp except through the gate. But we will not be
waving anything under anybody’s nose—and especially not the noses of men with guns. Now what is your plan?”

“Plan?” Jomo asked.

“To kill an animal.”

“I thought we would walk through the brush until we find one and then I would throw my spear at it.” He shrugged. “Simple.”

“It is simple. Very much like you.”

Jomo gave me a playful shove. “Let us walk until we see some animals.”

We walked off into the bush, away from the path that led toward the highway.

“When I leave the camp, I will miss you,” Jomo said.

“And me too.”

“I did not believe we would still be here this long. My father could be here today or tomorrow.”

I didn’t reply. He’d been saying the same thing for the past week. I think he was starting to worry.

“He must be taking longer because he wants our home to be perfect for us.”

“I’m sure that is why.” But I wasn’t sure. I had heard rumors that there was continued violence, that people were still being hurt and killed. When there was no information, there were only rumors. I wondered if Jomo had heard the rumors too.

He suddenly ducked down, so I did the same. “Do you see them?”

I nodded. There were half a dozen gazelles ahead, almost on the top of a small rise.

“I want you to wait here, quietly,” he said. “I will circle around and get behind them on the hill below. Wait until you think I am in position, then charge and drive them toward me.”

“How long should I wait?”

“One minute. Count.”

Jomo took off, heading in almost the opposite direction from where the gazelles were grazing peacefully. He disappeared into the scrub brush. I couldn’t see him or hear him, and the gazelles didn’t seem to have noticed either. Maybe this could work, I thought. Maybe I should give him a little more than a minute to get in position.

I tried to stay perfectly still. My grandfather had once told me that animals only see movement. As long as I didn’t move, they wouldn’t see me. I just had to stand there and wait. I focused on one gazelle. It had been so long since I’d had meat—so long since my mother had had meat—and I wanted it. She
needed
it. Meat would be good for her. Meat and the marrow from the bones helped malaria. There was hardly anything better for somebody who was sick.

The animals were starting to edge across the face of the rise. If they moved much farther, they wouldn’t run toward the place where Jomo was—or at least
where I hoped he was—when I started to chase them.

I inched to the right, trying to cut them off but not startle them. The closest gazelle, the one with the biggest horns, stopped grazing and looked up. I froze. Slowly he looked all around with his nose up in the air, smelling. His tail twitched nervously. He knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. And then our eyes locked. He’d seen me. They were going to flee, but in which direction?

I screamed loudly and waved my arms wildly as I ran to the right, cutting them off from that direction. All the animals jumped and then followed the big male as he ran over the rise! I kept running and screaming, up the hill, right to the spot where I’d seen them disappear. Scrambling across the rough ground was taking all my air, and I staggered, almost falling over the loose earth and rough rocks as I made the top.

And then I saw it.

There was a gazelle lying on the ground, still twitching, with a spear sticking out of its side! He’d done it—he’d hit the gazelle! But where was he? Where was Jomo? He was nowhere to be seen … but how was that possible?