Blood & Milk (24 page)

“Is it good?” I asked.

He nodded.

I tried a small piece of the chicken and groaned as the burst of flavour hit my tongue. It’d been so long since I’d tasted anything like it.

Damu’s eyes were trained on my mouth, and when I swept my tongue across my bottom lip, he opened his lips like he wanted to taste…

Every bite of chicken, every taste of salad was foreplay. His eyes darkened with each mouthful, and by the time we started on the fruit salad, I was turned on.

I fed him a piece of cut apple, and as soon as the fork left his lips, I leaned in and kissed him. The faint taste of apple, as I drew my bottom lip between my teeth, made me hum.

“I’ve never seen you like this in light before,” he murmured. “Only darkness.”

It was true. I’d only ever been intimate with him in the darkness of our hut. Now, I could see everything. “Same. I had no idea your eyes gave so much away.”

He swallowed hard. “How you mean?”

“You want me. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Heath Crowley,” he breathed my name. I wasn’t sure if it sounded like a warning, or a prayer.

I slowly slid a slice of strawberry into my mouth and moaned at the sweetness. Damu’s eyes went straight to my mouth and his nostrils flared. I stabbed a piece of strawberry for him and traced it across his bottom lip. “I like feeding you,” I said gruffly. “I like watching your face when you taste new things.”

He took the fork from me and set it on the table then slid his hand around my neck and drew me in for a bruising kiss. He tasted like strawberries and melon, and needing to taste more, to be closer, I climbed onto his lap.

Straddling his thighs, I ground against him. The towel he wore did little to hide his desire, and I rubbed against him without shame.

I wanted him.

Needed him.

“To bed,” I murmured against his lips. Managing to stand, I drew him to his feet. “Lie down.”

He did, and I made sure the door was locked before stripping naked. I considered turning the lights off, but decided not to. I wanted to see everything.

I crawled over him. His long and lean frame looked divine against the white of the bed. “You’re injured, so let me do all the work.” I undid his towel to reveal my prize. He was hard, his cock pointed up to his belly. I leaned in and licked him from base to tip.

He hissed and raised his injured hand, only to let it fall back onto the bed. I did it again, and this time his left hand found my hair. His touch was gentle; it always was.

In this light, I could see all of him now. His cock was dark, the head a lighter pinkish brown, and he was circumcised, as I knew he was, but I could see the scars now. It was a crude surgical job, a little jagged, but he was still perfect. I tongued his cockhead, eliciting a moan from him.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered. I licked up his stomach, making him hiss and squirm, and when I rolled his nipple between my lips, he bucked his hips into me. I kissed him, giving him my tongue. His left hand held my jaw, and he pulled me back a little, he searched my eyes―what he found I don’t know―but he brought our mouths together again, deeper and softer this time.

I was aching with need, craving him to be inside me. I leaned back on my knees, now straddling his hips. I took a second to catch my breath before reaching for the aloe gel. I poured a generous amount onto my fingers of my left hand and applied the cool liquid to where I needed him most.

Damu’s eyes raked over every inch of me, taking in every glimpse they’d been deprived of in the darkness of our hut. “I understand now,” he murmured. He trailed his hand over my chest. “When you say I am beautiful. It is what you are.” He swallowed hard. “You are…” He shook his head, like words failed him.

“
Túân
.”

Beautiful.

I gripped his cock and slicked it before pressing it to my entrance, and slowly, deliciously, I sank down onto him.

Damu’s mouth opened and his left hand gripped my hip. I leaned forward and kissed him as he filled me. When he was fully seated inside me, I pulled off only to slide back down. Damu gasped, a desperate sound, and I answered by kissing him deeper.

His back arched, deepening his reach inside me. I couldn’t stop the groan in my throat. I leant back, and still rocking with him buried to the hilt in me, I pumped myself. Damu sucked back a breath as he watched, and his fingers on his left hand dug into my hip. He arched a final time as he came inside me.

The swell and release of his cock pulsed through me, drawing my own orgasm to the surface. I rolled my hips and with a final pull of my dick, came onto his belly and chest. Spent and boneless, I fell forward on him. His arms quickly encased me, my face buried in his neck. The rapid rise and fall of his chest was comforting, and he kissed the side of my head.

“We need another shower,” I said sleepily.

Damu sighed and nuzzled his nose into my hair. He never spoke, and I assumed he was dozing. I was slipping into sleep myself when he said, “I want to be with you, always.”

I pulled back and rested my head on my hand and stared into his eyes. “I want that too.”

“You show me the real me.”

I swallowed thickly. “And you healed me.”

His eyes searched mine. “Before, you say we must be careful in this country.”

“Yes. Parts of Africa don’t understand us.”

“Then take me to your country.”

Wait, what?
“You want to go to Australia?”

“Yes. I want to see where you live. I can’t stay here. And I want to be free.”

“Australia isn’t perfect,” I said, running my fingers down the side of his face. I didn’t want to remind him that Jarrod and I had been attacked because someone took offense to us. But it was an unfortunate, random act of hate. I wouldn’t let that stop me from living again.

“Can we be just us there?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s where I want to be. With you.”

I kissed him softly. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

After a breakfast of porridge―the oatmeal kind, not the uji kind―I’d come to realise there were three things Damu loved of this new and much bigger world: watermelon, hot showers, and brown sugar.

Once we’d agreed to leave for Australia, we had a newfound determination. We packed up early and booked our tickets on the next bus. I wore new clothes, except for my worn and busted joggers, but Damu still wore his red shuka and sandals made from tyres, and Doctor Tungu was surprised when he saw us. He’d met us near the administration office with a doctor’s certificate, a bag of malaria tablets, and vitamins. “Well, don’t you look different! All clean and well-fed,” he said. “I trust you slept well.”

“The bed was divine,” I answered. “Though I woke with a backache. Twelve months of sleeping on the ground ruined me.”

Doctor Tungu laughed at that. “Are you leaving now?”

“Yes, but I can’t thank you enough for everything you did for us yesterday,” I told him. “It was a great kindness.”

He smiled. “You are a strong one. Many a man wouldn’t have survived what you have.” His words surprised me. Little did he know all I’d survived. Then he turned to Damu and gave him a nod. “You take care of him.”

Damu bowed his head. “I will.”

He left without saying goodbye, while Damu and I stood there, neither of us sure what to say. Eventually, Damu said, “Does he know?”

“About us?” I clarified. “Yes.”

“He does not care?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Damu was still staring at where the doctor had disappeared around the building, a look of wonder and disbelief on his face. I smiled at him. “Come on, the bus will be here soon.”

Damu had never seen a bus, let alone been on one. The driver stared at him, taking in the six-foot-three Maasai holding a spear, with an almost comical expression. I smiled at him. “We need to get the airport in Arusha.”

He nodded silently, and Damu and I sat at the front. Other passengers got on, all of which I assumed were tourists, and they all stared too. “Here,” I whispered, “let me take your spear. I’ll put it in the overhead compartment where it will be safe.” He didn’t seem too keen to let go of it, so I added, “I think you’re scaring the other people.”

He shot around to look at them, horrified at the thought. I mean, it was funny: Damu was the most peaceful person I’d ever met. He reluctantly handed the spear over to me, and when I put it away, I think everyone on the bus let out a collective sigh of relief. I gave them a wave before falling back into the seat next to Damu with a laugh. When the bus started, Damu tensed, but as we started to move, his grin got wider. He took in the scenery, the passing farmland, seeing this new world for the first time. And as we neared Arusha and the wilderness gave way to houses, he watched it all in wonder. As Mount Kilimanjaro got closer, his excitement grew.

No one on the bus spoke to us, which I was grateful for. But when he arrived at the airport and got off the bus, a few tourists approached us. “May we take photograph?”

Damu looked to me for guidance, and it occurred to me he probably didn’t know what they were asking of him. “It’s fine,” I reassured him. He awkwardly agreed, and people stood around him while others snapped pictures on phones. Afterwards, they showed him the images, and his grin was immediate. “Heath Crowley, look!” he called.

His excitement was contagious, and I found myself smiling with him. “Very good pictures,” I said. It was pretty clear it was very foreign to him, and the tourists were gracious and kind. “We best go inside and book a flight,” I said, slipping my backpack on.

The truth was, if a mobile phone was foreign and digital images were mind-blowing to him, I knew I should take some time to tell him about aeroplanes. And the enormity of what Damu was doing hit me. He was taking an absolute leap of faith by coming with me, and it strengthened my resolve to do right by him.

Sure, it was hard for me to go from the twenty-first century to the
seventeenth, which was effectively what I’d done when I’d walked into that manyatta. But it was, fundamentally, just a case of going without.

Whereas Damu was bypassing the last few hundred years of technology and leaping feet-first into the current world… the term
culture shock
was a gross understatement.

I put my hand on his arm. “Are you ready for this?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“If at any time you feel it’s too much, if you start to feel like you’ve taken on too much, just say the word. We can go as slow or as fast as you need, okay? Take as much time as you need.”

“I want to go now.”

I laughed. “Okay then. Now it is.”

We walked into Arusha airport and headed straight for the one and only check-in desk. It wasn’t a big airport, by any stretch of the imagination. It was just one large rectangular room with a small cafeteria at one end with the arrivals and rows of chairs in the departures. There were two screens that showed a flight to Dar es Salaam left at 1:00 p.m., which gave us one hour. I just hoped there were two available seats on it.

The man behind the check-in counter balked at the sight of Damu. “Hi,” I said cheerfully, getting the man’s attention. “I need to book two tickets to Dar es Salaam.” I slid my credit card across the counter.

“Of course, sir,” the man said dutifully, taking my card. Though I noticed a security guard was now watching us.

I figured friendly and ignorant was my best bet of avoiding an incident. I gave the man behind the counter my best smile. “How can we get this spear on the plane?”

The man blinked a few times. “Oh, no weapons to go on the plane. It can only go with cargo and luggage.”

Damu tensed beside me, and I turned to him to explain. I smiled and spoke quietly, doing my best to reassure him. “It can go with us, but not where we sit. They’ll hold it with the bags. It’ll be fine.” I turned back to the clerk and laid on the friendly Australian charm. “That’ll be fine. It will be looked after, right mate?”

The man nodded, relieved. “Yes, yes. We could wrap it for you.”

“Yes!” I said. I pulled my old ratty shirt out of my backpack and wrapped it around the pointy end of the spear, and the clerk wrapped tape around the shaft, holding it in place. I was happy with our makeshift efforts. “Much better.”

“Yes, yes,” the clerk said, much happier now too. Then he went back to the computer screen. “Names?”

“Heath Crowley and Damu Nkorisa.” I smiled at Damu, only to find him worried. I took our boarding passes and took my passport out of my backpack before checking my backpack in. I could have taken it as my carry-on, but I wanted to show Damu that it was okay. We watched as they tagged the only things we owned and took them away, and I led a very quiet Damu over to the seats near the window.

I rubbed my thumb on his arm. “Your spear will be waiting at the other end with my bag, okay?”

He nodded but said nothing.

Needing to distract him, I pointed out the large glass window at the plane being taxied in. I explained what the planes were like inside and what to expect. Taking off, landing, and how planes flew. I’m pretty sure the tone of my voice and his own curiosity made him forget about his spear for the moment.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, nodding toward the cafeteria. It was technically lunchtime, but I’d gotten used to only having two meagre meals a day. “Thirsty?”

He finally smiled. “No.”

“Are you nervous?”

He let out a laugh. “Yes.”

“It’s perfectly normal to be nervous,” I said. Then in another attempt to distract him, I nodded toward the mountain in the distance. “Mount Kilimanjaro is impressive, yes?”

He nodded quickly. “
Oldoinyo Oibor
is important to Maasai people,” he said. “Not just my people, but all.” He waved his hand across the horizon. “I not seen it before this. Only what we are told by our fathers.” He then proceeded to tell me the story of how Enkai, the Maasai God, created the lands, making them brown and green but the peak of the mountain was white. This symbolised the beard of Enkai, a holy place from which water came.

The story itself didn’t make a great deal of sense to me, but I was so intrigued by what he was telling me, by the sound of his voice, that I didn’t hear the first boarding call.

I could listen to him speak all day long. Some words were in English, some in Maa, but I understood every single thing he told me.

It was only when I noticed other people walking toward the gates, that I realised we had to go.

I handed Damu his boarding pass. “This is yours. You’ll need to give it to the lady over there,” I said quietly. “Just do what I do.”

He managed it perfectly, all while the lady collecting the boarding passes gave Damu the serious once over. Oblivious, he just smiled politely, thanked her twice, and followed me out of the small-town airport onto the tarmac. We had to walk out to the plane, then up a long flight of steps to board, and when inside, I gave Damu the window seat.

His splinted hand was on the window side, and it allowed me to slip my hand over his left one. “It’s going to get loud,” I told him. “And then we’ll take off, and it will feel like you’re being pushed back into your seat. That’s normal. Then you can watch out the window as we get higher.”

His fingers tightened around mine. “Yes.”

“You’ll be fine,” I said.

“You’ve done this many times?” he asked.

I nodded. “Many.”

This seemed to pacify him a little, and when we actually took off, I expected him to panic. But he didn’t. He just grinned. He watched out the window, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head as we lifted through cloud cover and above it.

He grinned the entire way. When he noticed my passport in my hand, he asked, “What is that?”

“My passport,” I answered. I showed him the stamps from the different countries I’d been to.

“I will have one of those?” he asked innocently.

“Yes. You’ll need one of these.”

He went back to looking out the window, like getting a passport was as simple as walking into a store and picking one from the shelves. I guessed to him, it was. But I knew different. And getting Damu a passport wasn’t going to be easy. After all, he had no papers, no birth certificate, in fact, he had no identification, at all.

I realised then, that getting Damu out of the country might not happen.

We’d fought to get this far. He’d been beaten, had his hand broken, and I’d begged and paid money for his life. We’d walked for two days through the Seren-fucking-geti to leave the manyatta behind. We’d taken a bus and now a plane to fly half way across the country to get this far.

Yet, it only just occurred to me that the real fight, hadn’t even begun.

* * * *

Dar Es Salaam reminded me a lot of Sydney. It was a harbour city with a few million people. The city centre was modern and bustling, with tall buildings and busy roads where the traffic pulsed through the streets. We’d caught the shuttle bus from the airport into the city, and to give Damu credit, he took it all in stride.

Sure, he was wide-eyed and mostly disbelieving. But he was much more relaxed when he had his spear back, and I told him I thought it best to leave the shirt wrapped around the bladed tip. City folk didn’t tend to appreciate being confronted with weapons. Neither did the police or government officials.

I’d grabbed a tourist map from the airport and decided a hotel closer to the government offices and financial district was a better idea, so we could walk everywhere. I was hoping we wouldn’t be staying more than a few days, but my gut told me otherwise.

The thing was, the embassy buildings and banks were all on Msasani Peninsula, which was clearly where the wealthy professionals lived. And that meant the hotels close by were all five-star, sharing views with yacht clubs and golf courses, with the price tag to prove it.

But, hoping the address would work in our favour with getting Damu’s passport, I happily handed over my credit card.

The woman behind the reception desk, a strikingly beautiful lady whose name tag declared her to be Kele, smiled graciously when I told her I didn’t have a reservation. Damu stood back in the foyer, wearing his red shuka and looking three hundred years too late surrounded by the pristine marble floor and walls, tall glass windows, and expensive décor. Yet, there he stood, taking one helluva leap of faith, just to be with me. It made me smile.

Kele eyed him cautiously. “Is your… friend staying also?”

“Yes,” I said without missing a beat. “His name is Damu Nkorisa. He’s… my personal guide. He’ll be staying with me.”

The twinge of her eyebrow told me she obviously thought this was a little a strange, but out of professional courtesy, she smiled while tapping away at her computer. “The only room we have without a booking is a family room. A king bed and one single. It is… an executive suite.”

That was a polite way of saying it was expensive and asking if I was sure I could afford this. I smiled right at her. “Perfect.”

“And how long will you be staying with us?” Kele asked.