Authors: N.R. Walker
Blood & Milk (28 page)
Damu bowed his head, but his smile told me he was proud.
We talked for a little while, and I really liked Don. He was old enough to be my father, and maybe he looked at me like the son he never had. Maybe he felt guilt over what happened to Jarrod, I wasn’t sure. But I liked him, and I enjoyed his friendship. “Hey listen,” Don said, as we walked him to his police car. “The primary school in town is having a Culture Week coming up, and I reckon they’d love to see a real Maasai warrior. What do you think?” he asked, but quickly added, “You could tell them about how you lived, what you ate, that kind of stuff. Then maybe show them what you can do with that wooden club.” Then he smiled. “And it might be good for the folks around town to get to know you both as well.”
I liked the idea. “What do you think?” I asked Damu. “You could teach the children here some things, like I did over there.”
“Me?” Damu asked, stunned.
“Yes, you,” Don said with a laugh. “Let me talk to the principal about it, and I’ll let you know.”
* * * *
We arrived at Blakeford Primary School as their community assembly started. It seemed word had passed around the small town in the last three weeks since Don Walmsley had first mentioned it to us, that Damu―the new
African
man in town―would be there.
We’d been in Blakeford for just a few months. Not only were we new to town, where some people still weren’t considered local after twenty years, but I had odd coloured eyes, Damu was African, and to top it off, we were gay.
We were always going to be on the outer. I never expected anything different. For the most part, people were nice and polite, and if anything, curious.
But I swear half the town had turned out at the school, including Detective Don Walmsley in full uniform. He grinned when he saw us and gave us a wave. The school’s undercover area was packed, and although most, if not all, had seen us down the main street in the last few months, nothing prepared them for the sight of Damu walking in wearing his red shuka and carrying his spear.
The crowd went silent, the kids all went “ooooooh,” and the principal, standing at the microphone on stage, announced Damu’s arrival. “As an exciting start to our Cultural Awareness Week, we have a very special guest…”
Damu and I walked onstage to a warm round of applause. Damu was nervous, and no one in the crowd had the slightest clue what it took for him to get up in front of a few hundred strangers. He had more courage than any of them could imagine.
He waved his hand to the crowd. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Damu, and I am Maasai.”
He glanced at me, and I grinned at him.
“My name is Heath,” I told them. “I spent a year living in Tanzania with the Maasai. We lived on the Serengeti. And where we’re from, there are kangaroos and wombats and koalas, yes?” The kids all said yes. “Well, where Damu is from, there are elephants and giraffes and lions.”
Damu told them how he’d been injured in a stampede and how I’d taught the Maasai kids how to write. I told them I was the first white man a lot of them had ever seen, and how I was given a Maasai name that meant milk. This made them laugh. Then I told them how Damu’s name meant blood, and how we actually drank blood and milk. A collective “ewwwwwwww” went around the audience.
Damu told them what food they ate and how they built their houses. We showed them a map and pictures from the Internet, but all they were interested in was Damu’s spear and rungu.
Damu held up the wooden club. “This is called a rungu,” he told them. “We use it like weapon.” He had their full attention. “Would you like me show you?”
A very loud and excited “yes!” went through the school. Damu handed me his spear to hold, and Don took an empty Coke can out into the middle of the cricket pitch. The audience gathered around and Damu waited for them to quieten. He’d been practicing a little, nervous he would miss the target in front of the audience, but he needn’t have worried.
He stood alone out in the oval, a striking figure in his red traditional shuka; he took my breath away. He sized up the small target, fifty metres away, secured his grip on the handle, took four long strides and threw the rungu. The wooden club spun through the air, the crowd held their breath, and when the rungu hit the tin can, it spun a good ten metres in the air.
The crowd erupted in applause, and Damu, in his true humble way, simply gave a small wave in acknowledgment.
A morning tea was put on, a typical small town affair of cups of tea in styrofoam cups and home baked goods. I had a feeling Don had invited us to help us be accepted, so the small community could meet us on a more personal level. We talked with kids and adults alike. The kids wanted to look at the spear, the adults asked all sorts of curious questions. But Don was right. They met Damu, and taking in his soft-spoken voice, his gentle manner, they could see he was nothing to be afraid of. In fact, the kids swarmed to him. He laughed with them, and my suspicions of Don were confirmed when he stood beside me, watching Damu laughing, and he nudged me with his elbow. His smile was hidden as he sipped his tea.
“Thank you,” I said to him. “It means a lot.”
“No problem,” he said. “Just glad to help. You know, my wife asked if you and Damu wanted to come around for dinner one night. I’d love to hear that story sometime.”
“Sounds real good. I’d like that.”
The children were all called back into class, the parents disappeared, and the principal asked to speak to Damu. “We’d love you to come back and talk more to the children,” she said. “Being Cultural Awareness Week, you have so much to teach them.”
Damu’s smile was slow spreading. “I would like this. Very much.”
We exchanged numbers, and Damu was positively beaming. Don said he’d be in touch about dinner plans and left.
I nodded to where our old ute was parked up the street but looked up at Damu. “Remember that day when we were walking back to the manyatta and you said you dreamed of the day you could walk in the sunshine, free to hold my hand?”
Damu eyed me cautiously. “Yes.”
I held out my hand. “Damu, my handsome Maasai, you are free to hold my hand.”
He slipped his rungu into the waistband of his shuka, took his spear into his left hand. “I am free because of you, Heath Crowley.” He slid his right hand into mine, and together we walked, free of dreams and demons, in the warmth of the Australian sun.
~The End
Getting experience with the guy next door seems like a great idea
—
until the lines blur.
https://jaynorthcote.com/my-books/practice-makes-perfect-housemates-3/
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance.
She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.
She is many things: a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don’t let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.
She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things… but likes it even more when they fall in love.
She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.
She’s been writing ever since…
Blind Faith
Through These Eyes (Blind Faith #2)
Blindside: Mark’s Story (Blind Faith #3)
Ten in the Bin
Point of No Return – Turning Point #1
Breaking Point – Turning Point #2
Starting Point – Turning Point #3
Element of Retrofit – Thomas Elkin Series #1
Clarity of Lines – Thomas Elkin Series #2
Sense of Place – Thomas Elkin Series #3
Taxes and TARDIS
Three’s Company
Red Dirt Heart
Red Dirt Heart 2
Red Dirt Heart 3
Red Dirt Heart 4
Red Dirt Christmas
Cronin’s Key
Cronin’s Key II
Cronin’s Key III
Exchange of Hearts
The Spencer Cohen Series, Book One
The Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two
The Spencer Cohen Series, Book Three
Free Reads
Sixty Five Hours
Learning to Feel
His Grandfather’s Watch (And The Story of Billy and Hale)
Translated Titles
Fiducia Cieca (Italian translation of Blind Faith)
Attraverso Questi Occhi (Italian translation of Through These Eyes)
Preso alla sprovvista (Italian translation of Blindside)
Il giorno del mai (Italian translation of Blind Faith 3.5)
Cuore di terra rossa (Italian translation of Red Dirt Heart)
Confiance Aveugle (French translation of Blind Faith)
A travers ces yeux: Confiance Aveugle 2 (French translation of Through These Eyes)
Aveugle: Confiance Aveugle 3 (French translation of Blindside)
À Jamais (French translation of Blind Faith 3.5)
Cronin’s Key (French translation)