Blood & Milk (15 page)

I wanted him to unravel inside me.

I slid my tongue into his mouth, tasting his tongue, and he groaned into my mouth. His whole body surged; he kissed me deeper, he thrust harder, and he cried out into my mouth as he came.

His cock thickened and hardened more, and he flexed taut and stilled. I could feel him release inside me, his cock jerking as it spilled his come in me.

Damu collapsed on top of me. I quickly wrapped my arms around him and pulled our shukas over him.

“You possess me,” he murmured into my neck.

I chuckled. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Very good way.” He still didn’t move, but his softening cock slipped out of me. I rolled us onto our sides and Damu’s face was still buried in my neck. He seemed content to never move. “I have not known such a pleasure.”

I rubbed his back. “Thank you.”

He pulled back then. I could just make out the concern in his eyes by the flickering fire. “What you thank me for?”

I pecked his lips with mine. “For giving me what I needed.”

He was confused now. “You not finish,” he said, running his hand between us down to my still-hard cock.

“I don’t need that tonight,” I told him. “Tonight was for you.”

His hand froze on my dick. “You not want?”

I kissed him again. “Maybe later. Sleep first.” I snuggled down into him and he quickly wrapped me up in his arms, in his warmth, his security.

* * * *

I woke up on my side, with my top leg bent out in front of me. Damu was behind me, covered by our shukas, as was the same when we woke up most mornings. Though this morning, Damu was kissing my shoulder, his morning wood pressing against my arse.

“Morning,” I said gruffly.

“Thought you never wake,” he replied, running his hand down my side and over my hip. I rolled back against him and his hand on my hip stopped me. He slowly pressed his hips against my arse, rubbing his impressive erection between my arse cheeks.

Oh yeah
. Now that he’d topped me, I doubted he’d ever want to stop.

“You want me again?” I asked gently. I pushed my arse back, a blatant offering, in case he was unsure of my compliance. Lifting my top leg off the ground, I reached down to feel my arse. I was still slick, with both lard and come from the night before. I slipped my finger inside of me, sparking my blood on fire. I groaned. “I can feel where you came in me last night,” I whispered. “I want you to do it again. Just like this. I want you to finish inside me, just like this.”

Damu whimpered as he pressed his lips against my shoulder. “I not want to stop.”

“Then don’t.”

Damu’s fingers replaced mine, just like I’d shown him the night before. Soon after, his fingers were gone, and I knew it wouldn’t be long… His cock pressed against my slick and ready arsehole, and he pushed inside.

“Oh, fuck,” I hissed. “Yes, God Damu, just like that.”

He put his hand over my mouth and his lips at my ear. “Sshhh, quiet.”

I froze, wondering if anyone might have heard me, but there was only silence. The sky was only beginning to lighten, we still had a bit of time before the kraal was awake and busy.  I moaned at the feeling of being breached. I needed him to move…

Damu rolled his hips, sliding out a little only to push further back in. His hand still covered my mouth, his lips now tugged on my ear, his warm breath punctuated with soft kisses, and I was in heaven.

It felt so good. He was taking me, filling me and fucking me, as he wished. He was in charge of my body, and I gave it willingly.

I reached down and gripped my cock, already slick at the tip. I pumped myself in time with his deep thrusts. I was so turned on, being fucked like that, it only took a few passes of my hand and my orgasm uncoiled from deep in my balls. I arched against him, flexed taut as I came in strips into the dirt in front of me. Damu held on to me, pulling me hard against him, and giving me every inch of his cock. His fingernails bit into my hip and his teeth bit into my shoulder as he came. He groaned, long and low, his whole body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me.

It took a moment for us both to catch our breaths. He didn’t pull out, and I didn’t want him to.

“Heath Crowley,” he murmured into the back of my neck. “You have possessed me. I not want to ever stop.”

I half chuckled, half groaned as he slipped out of me. “You can wake me up like that every day.” I sat up, and given we were a sticky, slicked mess, and that the sun was almost up, I said, “We better get to the river.”

So we covered up with our shukas, pulling them high around our necks to brace from the morning chill, and went outside. Damu stood up to full height and shook his head as if to clear it.

“You okay?” I asked.

“My head spin, that is all,” he replied.

I couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “Dizziness from too much sex,” I whispered.

He put his hand to his mouth to hide his smile, but he was totally proud of it. When we got out of the kraal gates and went toward the river a ways, he pushed my shoulder with a laugh. “You not say those thing to me! No talk of the… what you said.”

There wasn’t anyone near us for a hundred metres, but I whispered anyway. “What? Sex?”

Damu’s eyes went wide and his dark cheeks flushed cherry red. “That!”

“Why?” I asked. “Because you’re really good at it. What you did this morning was hot! Very good.”

He stopped walking and put both his hands over his face. “Heath Crowley, stop that.” He groaned, but eventually looked at me. “Was it? Good?”

I just laughed. “It was incredible.”

He tried not to smile, but his whole face became a grin. It was adorable. He put his hands out, flat and final. “Okay. Now not talk of it,” he said, taking a few long strides to catch up to me. “Talk of something else.”

He was still smiling, and he had a spring in his step: he was the happiest I’d seen him, but he wasn’t comfortable in talking about sex and that was fair enough. It was so new to him, and ultimately it was a taboo subject. Talking about it in the cold light of day made it real, and I could appreciate his reaction. “What did you want to talk about?” I asked.

“Tell me of your cities.”

Oh, okay. Not what I was expecting, but whatever. “Well, I’m from Sydney. There are over four million people who live there.”

“That is a lot, yes?”

“Well, compared to some cities, no. But compared to here,” I swept my hand out to the open plains, “yes.”

“And they all be happy there?”

“For the most part, yes. Every city has some problems, just like villages or even kraals do. Sometimes people argue, but mostly it is a happy place.”

He seemed to think about that for a minute or two. Then he asked, “And your homes?”

“They’re all different. Some people live in big houses, some in small houses. Some in units or flats, where there are lots of small houses in one big building.”

“But not like our home?”

I almost laughed until I realised his question was a serious one. “No. Not like yours.”

“Ours,” he said, motioning between us. “Mine and yours.”

I smiled at that and relished the warmth that spread through my chest. “Ours.”

He beamed. “I have seen—” He seemed stuck for the right word. “—small picture of city.”

“Like a postcard? Or a photograph?”

He nodded. “Very tall homes.”

“Yes, the buildings are tall. Which city did you see?”

“Dar es Saalam.”

“Would you like to go there?” I asked. “Not now, but someday.”

He chewed on his lip and contemplated his answer. “I would. I would like to see it.” I could see this was a brave decision on his behalf.

“Then I will take you. One day, we shall go. You know, Dar es Saalam is a bit like Sydney, where I am from.”

“It is busy. Many people.”

“Yes. Lots of people. There are shops for clothes and food, cinemas with huge screens and surround sound, clubs with music, libraries with thousands of books. Cities have many things.”

He eyed me cautiously. “I not know those things.”

I gave him a warm smile. “I will show you everything.”

He smiled, and as we got to the river, he looked up at the sky. “We need to hurry. Rain will come.”

I looked up at the blue, cloudless sky. “From where?”

“Listen.”

I listened, and all I heard was the river. “Water?”

He tilted his head. “No. Tipitipi.”

“What?” I whispered, trying to hear what it was he was hearing.

“Tipitipi is bird.”

“Oh.”

“Sings before rains.” Damu unwrapped his shuka and edged down to the river. He filled the bucket first, then undressed fully and walked into the water. I undressed too and joined him, the cold water a welcome reprieve to my tender arse, though the cold water didn’t help when trying to wash away our makeshift lube. I started to laugh. “The goat fat solidifies in cold water!”

Damu laughed with me, until he saw my shoulder. “What is that?”

I looked down at the red bite mark on my skin. “Where you bit me this morning.”

He froze. “I did not, Heath Crowley.”

I was going to tell him to just call me Heath, but I quite liked how he said my full name. It was endearing. I splashed some water over the offending mark and rubbed it with my fingers. “It’s fine,” I said. “It doesn’t hurt. And actually, I liked it when you did it.”

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off the bite mark, and he stepped closer, gently touching the pink lines on my shoulder. “I did this?”

Standing in the water, I was reminded of how much taller he was than me when I had to look up to see his face. “Yes. When I possessed you, and you lost your mind.”

“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I know not what I do when I am with you like that.”

“It’s fine, Damu,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “I liked it.”

“They cannot see this,” he said flatly. “No one can see this.”

“No, they won’t. I promise,” I said, not breaking eye contact. I knew what the discovery of our secret would mean, so I needed to reassure him the best I could. “I will keep it covered.”

He was a little quiet after that, pensive even, as we washed and dressed, and true to my word, I kept my shuka over my shoulders like a scarf. I collected some o’remiti leaves and Damu collected some berries, and we headed back to the kraal.

Damu told Kijani and Kasisi of the bird calls he’d heard by the river. Kasisi was grateful, and Kijani barely looked in our direction.

I wasn’t sure if Kijani had stopped noticing us because his attentions were focused on Razina or if he’d just accepted me as part of his world now. But either way, it appeared I was no longer on his radar and that was more than fine with me.

But Damu’s word of rain set the village in motion. Herding was kept short, the women secured their homes, and sure enough by mid-afternoon, it was pouring rain.

If these were the short rains, then that had to mean it was early November. I really had lost all sense of time. I probably should have been alarmed by that, being so removed from the outside world that days, and months could pass without a thought. But in fact, it was the complete opposite. I loved it. I had no other reason to mark the passing of time, because I was enjoying every minute. I was happy. Disconnected from everything I’d known, from the misery that had been my life, I was happy here in our dark little mud hut with no electricity or running water.

As the sound of the rain hammered the roof, I crept along the dirt floor to where Damu was resting on his bed. “You know what I like best about the afternoon rains?”

“What’s that?”

“Being alone in here with you.” I pressed my mouth to his, kissing him with a promise of more to come. I climbed on top of him, settling my weight on him. “How long will it rain for?”

“Every afternoon, for one moon.”

Every afternoon of make out sessions for a month. My smile was slow spreading, and I kissed him again. “Perfect.”

The grey crowned crane circles overhead, much like a vulture waiting for the last breath to leave the lungs of its next meal. Waiting for the tired and weakened body to be resigned to its fate.

The bird circles above, not silently, but with a mechanical roar. It’s so absurd that the elegant crane would sound like an engine, but the noise belies its grace as it glides through the air.

It has something in its mouth. A stick, I think at first, as we all stand and watch. A crowd has gathered to observe it, though the women quickly usher their children into the safety of their homes.

No, the bird isn’t holding a stick in its mouth. Is it a pen?

Kijani and the new warriors shake their spears at it, threatening it to dare land here.

Then the pen starts to leak, drops of ink fall like rain on the Maasai people. The ink is red, and as a drip splashes my face, I swipe it with my hand. Dark red stains my skin, with a metallic odour, so I put it to my tongue, only to taste it isn’t ink at all.

It’s blood.

As each drop of blood-ink drips from the pen the bird is holding, the drops fall like acid on the people below. Just one drop, hitting men, elders, warriors and the women and children, and they fall to their knees and without a sound, without a fight, they vanish from where they once stood.

I woke up with a start. I wasn’t sweating or thrashing like I sometimes did when my dreams were bad, and this dream wasn’t particularly horrible, but this was by no means pleasant.

It was downright disturbing, and I had no clue what to make of it.

“Are you okay?” Damu asked.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Bad dream.”

“You not have bad dream for long time,” Damu said.

I shook my head. “No. It was different. There was a bird. Like the ones on the Serengeti with the orange comb. Is it
n-káítōle
̄?”

“N-káítōlē,” Damu repeated. “Crane?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head, concerned. “And it was bad?”

“Yes. It was a crane, but it wasn’t. It sounded wrong, like an engine, and it carried a pen that killed people.” I shook my head, and my dream dissipated from my mind like smoke. I laughed it off. “It was weird.”

Damu eyed me cautiously but never said anything more about it. We went about our day as normal, doing all our chores before the afternoon rains. I didn’t think anything more about that dream, until I had the exact same dream the next night.

I woke up, my stomach turning with unease. I sat up, trying to get my breath.

“What is it?” Damu asked sleepily.

“I need to speak to Kasisi,” I said, crawling toward the door. “Now, Damu. I need to speak to him now.”

The sun was barely making an appearance, the sky was just starting to lighten on the horizon. The air was cool and I wrapped my shuka around my shoulders like a scarf. Damu quickly fell into step beside me, and when we got to Kasisi’s home, Damu put his hand out to stop me from speaking. It had to be Damu who called his name.

The tribal chief witchdoctor came outside. He pulled his shuka around his ears and held his talisman that I now knew to once be a tail on an antelope.

“Alé wishes to speak with you,” Damu said, slightly bowing his head.

“You dreamed of something,” Kasisi said, matter of factly. I had no clue what his talents as a seer were, but he had visions of some sort. It was this talent that made him the witchdoctor or diviner.

I nodded to him. “I have.”

“Tell of it.”

I explained my dream to him, including the crane that sounded like an engine and the pen that dropped acidic blood and made the people of this kraal disappear.

“It makes no sense to me,” I admitted. “Normally my dreams are exact and very vivid. This is like a puzzle. I don’t understand.”

Kasisi looked up at Damu, then back to me. “Dream has you worry?”

“I’ve dreamed the same dream twice,” I said, holding up two fingers. “Two nights, exact same dream.”

By this time, Kijani had come over. He was curious at first, then he became concerned. “What it mean?” he barked at me.

“Um,
ma yolo
,” I answered. “I don’t know.” I wanted to speak in Maa as much as I could to show these men that I’d made the effort to assimilate, to be a part of their people.

“That is all?” Kijani asked.

“
Ayeh
,” I replied.
Yes
.

He shooed me away before turning to Kasisi and talking like I didn’t exist. Damu grabbed my arm and pulled me away, and figuring I’d done all I could do, I went willingly. We took the bucket down to the river and went about our normal morning. We drank uji for breakfast and we watched the boys take the cattle out of the kraal to graze for the day. Damu and I waited at the gates for them to pass, and that’s when we heard it.

An engine.

Someone was coming.

Makumu came running in through the fence, yelling for Kijani and Kasisi, and in no time every warrior filed out with military precision, spears at the ready. They were a sight to behold. Frightening and fierce, yet completely prehistoric, but incredible all the same.

Damu and I stayed back behind the acacia thorn fence, though Damu stood taller, prouder, his eyes wide, on keen alert. He also kept a hand on my arm. The women had taken the smaller children into their homes, though Amali and Yantai stood outside, too curious to stay hidden.

The vehicle came into view as it came over the crest of the hill. The loud roar of the engine was such a foreign sound.

I’d been here for eight or so months, and I’d almost forgotten what cars sounded like. Except for the one in my dream the last two nights…

It was a white Land Rover that approached the manyatta. It crawled to a stop, and two men got out. The passenger was an older man with greying hair and ruddy cheeks, wearing a suit straight out of the 1980s. The driver was a shorter, thin man who wore khakis, and he looked like a safari guide. The man in the suit waved nervously to the line of warriors. “Hello,” he said loudly.

The guide man translated. “
Sopa
.”

Kijani stepped forward, his spear held tight. “What you want here?”

“Ah, you speak English. Good, good,” the man said. I wasn’t sure if he was relieved by that or not. I got the feeling he was hoping no one would understand a word he was here to say. “I have come from government office in Arusha.”

He handed over a folded piece of paper. Was it a letter? Any kind of letter from the government can’t be good.

Kijani opened the letter and handed it to Kasisi. He turned back to the man in the suit and thumped his spear into the dirt. “What you want here?” he repeated. His tone and temper did little to hide his loathing.

The suit man smiled back at him. “Oh, can you not read English?”

He knew damn well no one here could read English…

“Alé!” Kasisi called. “Alé!”

I walked through the gateway, with Damu close behind me. We were a package deal: where I went, he went, and that was more than fine with me.

Suit man was clearly shocked to see another white man, especially one within the ranks of the Maasai. I went to Kasisi, and it was then I noticed the bird symbol on the side of the vehicle. I nodded toward it. “N-káítole,” I said. “The crane I saw. It sounded like a truck.”

Kasisi and Kijani exchanged glances.

“And it carried blood ink,” I added, now looking at the letter.

Kasisi handed me the folded piece of paper. The Government of the United Republic of Tanzania was emblazoned across the header, and I read the letter aloud.

In a bunch of legalese, the letter went on to disclose how taxes were an important part of all contributing citizens, and then in the very next sentence it went on to spruik about the benefits of tourism, and how Maasai communities, who welcomed tourists, were a great benefit to the economy.

It said, in the interest of local tourism and subsequent economical benefits, the Government is taking the initiative to encourage local transient communities to engage in such developments.

Then the final paragraph was the real kicker. In the event such nomadic communities cannot contribute in accordance with the taxation legislation, as the Government is the rightful landowner, such transient occupiers will be displaced from such lands.

I looked at the man in the suit, who tried to look sympathetic, but the smug bastard couldn’t quite pull it off. My hands started to shake and rage started to bubble and fester in my gut.

“What is it?” Damu asked. “Alé?”

Kasisi and Kijani were looking at me. Actually, everyone was looking at me.

“This letter”—I held up the letter in the direction of the suit man—“says your people need to pay tax or you’ll be forced to leave.”

There was complete silence.

And proving just how ill-equipped these people were to deal with white man’s law, Kijani asked, “What is tax?”

Suit man choked back a laugh, and I glared at him. I took a step toward him and raised my finger at him. “You have no right!
Káíkínō ená kōp
,” I spat at him. “They are born unto this land. They have rights!”

Suit man would have probably laughed at me, if I weren’t surrounded by Maasai warriors wielding spears and clubs. Damu stood on my right, tall and imposing, his rungu still holstered in his belt. Kijani and Kasisi stood on my left, both holding their spears with intent, and if Suit Man were a gambling man, he’d know better than to speak.

He simply scurried into the truck and they drove away.

We all stood in silence and watched as the cloud of dust disappeared, and the rumble of the engine finally faded, Kasisi turned to me. “Tell what this blood ink means.”

Blood ink.
My dream, the blood ink that made these people disappear, now made perfect sense.

* * * *

As it turned out, Kijani knew what taxes were, just not what it meant in specific relation to his village. I explained that the local government was now seeking taxes for the land they occupied, which, of course, was not received well. I sat in a meeting of sorts with Kasisi and the other elders. Damu sat beside me, as always, and Kijani paced.

“This is Maasai land,” Kijani said, shaking his spear at the sky.

“I know,” I replied softly, trying to bring some calm into the equation. I was pissed off for these people, but me raging at them would only add fuel to their fire. “I told that white man you were born of this land, but he doesn’t care. They just want money.”

“You defend us to your people,” Kasisi said, a smile pulled at his lips.

I met his gaze. “
They
are not my people.” I left the ‘You are my people’ unsaid. Having them stand at my side when I yelled at the government official meant more than I could let on. I needed to be humble in my gratitude. “I will stand with you. As you have stood with me.”

Kasisi smiled briefly. “Your dreams prove true.”

I nodded. “Yes. It would seem so.”

Mposi asked, “What of the blood ink that falls? We disappear now?”

“I think what my dream signified was the ink is our blood, and if we don’t pay the taxes, we will be gone from this land.”

Kijani growled in frustration. “We not be moved. We fight!”

“You can’t fight this,” I said gently. How could I explain that fighting the government with spears was like throwing rocks at a freight train? “They’re too big. They don’t fight battles with spears and shields. They fight with rules and laws.”

“Not Maasai law!” Kijani cried.

I looked at him then. “I know! It’s wrong and it’s not fair. But they will do it anyway.”

“You dream how we beat them?” Kasisi asked.

“No.” I shook my head slowly. “I haven’t seen.”

“Then we wait until you dream,” he replied with a hard nod.

What? “No you can’t,” I said. I felt Damu tense beside me, but I didn’t dare look at him. “You can’t wait, Kasisi. You must act now. Don’t wait. They won’t give you a second chance.”

Kijani stopped pacing and stared at me, and I wondered if I’d spoken out of turn, or if telling the chief
no
was some heinous crime punishable by god only knew what. Kijani took a step closer to me, and Kasisi put up his hand, stopping Kijani in his tracks. “What would you do?” Kasisi asked me. “You white man, what would white man do?”

Well, shit.
What would I do?
“I’d do what the letter tells us to do. They tell us to be a part of tourism, to earn money to pay the taxes. Many other Maasai tribes invite travellers to come and stay with them for money. People like me are very fascinated by the Maasai people, and they will pay to stay for a few days.”

I had their full attention, though I didn’t dare make eye contact with Kijani.

“If the government is asking you to pay taxes, they will have asked other Maasai tribes as well. Go and speak with them. Have a meeting, seek counsel. One manyatta is small in people, many manyatta is big in people. Gather knowledge from other elders, work together.” I let my hands fall into my lap, hoping they understood what I was trying to say. “That is what I would do.”