Escape Under the Forever Sky (14 page)

Right after we'd arrived in Ethiopia, back when I was still allowed out of the house (well, at least every now and then), my mother had taken a meet-and-greet trip to the city of Harar and had brought me along. Harar is all the way east in Ethiopia, less than a hundred miles from the Somalian border. With about ninety mosques in just one square kilometer, it's famous for
being one of the most important Muslim cities in the world. It's also famous for its hyena man.

Inside the city walls, ancient whitewashed buildings, some painted now-faded blues, greens, and reds, alternated with corrugated-tin-roofed houses along dirt roads. Crowding the roads are horse and cart taxis for people lucky enough to be able to pay for them and men in turbans and long robes leading camels loaded with firewood. While my mother droned on in endless dull conversation with Harari officials, I had plenty of opportunity to study the tall women in their tie-dyed dresses, bright underskirts, and saffron head scarves. Some of them carried huge baskets on their heads, and I couldn't figure out how they managed to stay upright, walking on the uneven roads under all that weight. A few had babies on their backs nearly hidden under filmy scarves.

Naturally, we traveled in an entourage, and anything too dirty or the tiniest bit unpleasant was whisked away before it could lessen our enjoyment or positive impression of the local attractions. Everywhere we went, people cried out
“Ferenji! Ferenji!”
Foreigner! Foreigner! I heard it so often I felt like one of those one-named
celebrities:
Ferenji, Live in Concert!
I felt rich, white, and conspicuous.

“Such a wonderful new road you've built between Dire Dawa and Harar, Mr. Garane,” my mother commented to one of the officials.

“Thank you, Madam Ambassador. Chinese construction companies built the road. They are also building the new water pipe that will bring water along the same route.”

I tuned them out, instead watching a small boy throw scraps of meat from the butcher's market to the kite birds that lurked nearby. Each time he tossed a piece into the air, the birds swarmed the sky, diving for their prey. The boy couldn't have been more than six or seven, but he was clearly out on his own, with no mother in sight.
If only we could trade places
.

We passed a narrow street lined with men sitting at sewing machines. “What's that?” I asked Hassan, our guide.

“The street is called Makina Gir Gir,” he explained, “for the sound the sewing machines make. The men, they are all tailors. Many people buy clothes from them.”

“Cool! Can we walk that way?”

“It is not on our route,” the other official said quickly.

It seemed like there were a lot of things that weren't on our route. We walked
past
the smugglers' market,
past
Selassie's dilapidated birthplace, where an old medicine man now lives,
past
the blacksmith,
past
just about everything I would have wanted to see.

At last, we were back at our car. Mr. Garane clapped his hands together and said, “And so, I hope you have enjoyed seeing our city! Madam Ambassador, you and Lucy will join us at seven for dinner, yes?”

“Yes, seven—”

“Mom!” I interrupted. “I thought we were going to see the hyena man tonight!” The hyena man was going to be the only fun part of the trip.

“There's been a change of plans, Lucy,” my mother explained with a look that said,
Not now
.

I couldn't believe it—she had promised me we would go.

Hassan cleared his throat. “Madam Ambassador, maybe I can take Lucy to see the hyena man tonight?” he offered.

“Yeah!” I said.

“No,” said my mother at the same time.

“Thank you, Hassan,” said my mother with a polite nod, “but Lucy is coming to dinner with me.” I gave her a look that I hoped resembled a drowning man, which she ignored.

“Mom!” I started, but she grabbed me by the elbow before I could say anything more.

“Excuse us, everyone,” she said to Hassan and the officials, dragging me halfway down the street.

“Don't you
ever
contradict me in front of other adults! Especially when I'm working.”

It was the cardinal rule, and I had broken it.
Too bad
. “I'm sorry, Mom, but you're taking away the one thing I was excited about doing!”

“I know, Lucy, but this dinner is important.”

“Why do I have to be there?”

“Because I just don't feel comfortable about you going to see the hyenas without me. They're wild animals. Do you know how this hyena man got his job? The last one got his left hand bitten off!”

“So you're saying I have to give up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so you can drag me to yet
another boring business dinner?”

“I'm sorry if you think it's boring, but that's the way it has to be.”

But I wasn't going to give up so easily. I switched strategies. “Look, Mom, the people at the dinner don't care about me—you know that. I swear I won't go near the hyenas. And I can go with a marine, too. Come on, Mom, you're the one who joined the Peace Corps and went traveling around Africa
alone
for three years! Can't I have a little excitement too?”

“That was different. For one thing, I was an adult,” she paused, clearly wrestling with herself. Despite her obsessive all-business exterior, I knew that somewhere buried way down deep inside my mother beat the heart of an adventurer. After all, it wasn't so many years ago that my mother had been that adventurer.

“Please, Mom? It would mean so much to me.”

My mother sighed. “Okay, okay, you can go.”

I beamed.

“But promise me you'll be careful,” she added, pulling my head toward her and giving me a kiss on my forehead.

“I promise.”

Shortly after nightfall, there we were: me, Hassan, and Kevin, the world's largest marine, gathered in a dirt clearing outside the city walls with Yousef the hyena man. A small man with hair like fuzzy gray wool and deeply wrinkled dark skin (and two hands), he sat in the dirt with a basket of bloody bits of meat, the butcher's leftovers, at his feet. The full moon and the headlights from our car gave off the only light.

Hassan explained that the people of Harar believe that if they feed the hyenas that live near the city and prowl the streets at night, the hyenas will leave them in peace. Then Yousef spoke to us in Harari, and Hassan translated: “You must be fearless. If you have no fear, the hyenas will respect you and will not harm you. Watch. You will see.”

Yousef grinned and held up the basket. I practically gagged when I saw that his hands were slick and shiny with animal guts. Then he tipped back his head and began to call out something that sounded like
“Maooooor-ab! Ya!”

“The hyena man gives them names,” Hassan explained. “Here comes Black Tail; that one is named
Hungry”—
did he say HUNGRY???
—“over there is Long Nose.”

I staggered back as eight sets of bright eyes like glowing mirrors emerged from the darkness. We held our breath and stared as, not ten feet from us, Yousef began to feed the hyenas, taking chunks of meat and bones from his basket and offering them to the animals. One by one they approached him in what was clearly a familiar routine, tearing the meat from the end of a stick, from his hand, and then—I couldn't believe it—straight from Yousef's mouth.

Yousef looked them right in the eye the whole time and never stopped speaking to them in a calm, soothing voice. It seemed to me that there was some kind of connection between the hyena man and his hyenas. He gave them food, and they gave him—what? Not power—it didn't look to me as if he had any kind of power over them—but maybe respect, like he said. Or maybe not. Maybe so far Yousef had been just plain lucky.

Yousef looked up at us and gestured. “Do you want to try?” asked Hassan.

“Yes!” I said instantly, even though the prospect terrified me.

But Kevin put his giant hand firmly on my shoulder. “Sorry, Lucy.”

For once I didn't argue. Yousef may have felt he had nothing to fear, but these were definitely not pets; they were wild animals. And they were ferocious. The hyenas snatched the meat, grunting and violently chewing and tearing until not a morsel was left. Then they paced around, jerking their heads from side to side to see if any more food was coming before Yousef waved his hand and sent them back into the darkness.

I didn't know how I would survive the night up in a tree. Even though I was completely exhausted, I was too terrified to sleep. I was scared I'd fall off my branch, that my kidnappers would find me, that any of at least a dozen creatures would come slithering and creeping my way—beetles, biting ants, giant flying cockroaches, chiggers, pythons, leopards, monkeys. I could picture them all, sneaking up on me one by one to claim their fair share of my already bite-covered
flesh. I was being morbid, I knew, but who wouldn't be in my situation? I kept thinking about Dahnie:
“Just sleep in a tree. It's what we all do!”
Yeah, Dahnie, easy for you to say, with your thick hiking boots and your big rifle.

The trees blocked out whatever moonlight or starlight there might have been, and the total darkness made my fears ten times worse. I could make out my hand in front of my face but not much more. Somehow the dark amplified all the forest noises, and each crackle and hoot triggered a jolt of adrenaline. After a couple of hours I was so wired, my hands were shaking.

The hyenas cackled on and off all night, and twice I heard the thunderous roars of those lions. It was incredible. The power of that sound made the whole forest stand still. A few times I thought I could detect noises near Moses, probably some nocturnal animals stopping by for a nightcap. I prayed they wouldn't smell me. Although after three days in this heat without a shower, I had to imagine that smelling me wouldn't be too difficult.

But bad as it was up in the tree, I was more scared
of going down in the morning. How would I stay ahead of Markos, Dawit, and Helena while limping around on this stupid foot? I knew they wouldn't give up the search so easily. And how was I ever going to find someone, anyone, to help me? I had assumed Moses would lead me to some kind of village, since people tend to settle near water. But how long would that take, and could I hold out? And what if I was wrong? Between my foot, my stomach, and my lack of food, my prospects looked pretty bleak.

I tried not to think about what was happening, about
them
, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get rid of the dull ache in my chest or the ice in my fingertips—the feeling of panic that threatened to erupt from my stomach like a geyser and spew from my mouth in an endless, wailing shriek:
Nooooooooo!!!
I'm pretty sure I didn't sleep a single minute all night, but at some point my nerves gave out and numbness replaced terror, which was a definite improvement.

Dad always said things looked better in the morning, and usually he was right.

I just hope I'll make it until morning
.

T
HE SKY WAS
still inky dark when a chorus of insects, birds, and monkeys began a slow crescendo, building to a wake-up symphony of shrieks, squawks, and drones, the animal world's way of announcing,
“Hey you!! I'm HERE. I'm AWAKE. And you should be too!!!”

When dawn finally arrived, the noise died down some, and to my relief Dad's cliché proved to be true: For no reason at all, things did look better. I watched the color seep back into the trees and felt calm. The air smelled sweet, and the early light played against the heart-shaped leaves and the nuts that hung among them.

The
nuts
?

I stood up on my branch and held the trunk for balance, trying to get a closer look at the round brown objects hanging not far from my head.

They weren't nuts. They were
figs
. Figs! I laughed out loud. Here I'd spent the whole night practically dying of starvation when there had been food hanging all around me! I grabbed five and ate them in seconds, splitting the peel and scooping out the red and green flesh with my teeth. Figs probably weren't the best food choice for my poor stomach, but they were the only choice, and after days of nothing but
injera
, they tasted more delicious than chocolate soufflé, strawberry ice cream, and Grandma Catherine's rice pudding all rolled into one. I ate until I was full and then stuffed my pockets with as many figs as I could cram in.