Softly Calls the Serengeti (18 page)

‘I leave tomorrow for the Serengeti.' He turned to her. ‘You will meet me there?'

She chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘I…I can't.'

‘But why, Mayasa?' he pleaded.

She wanted to tell him it was because there was a serious matter they needed to discuss, but she couldn't handle the expression she imagined she'd see if she told him about her father's condition. Certainly not at that moment, when he was so happy about his achievements on the football field.

‘There are things I have to do,' she said. ‘Then I can come.'

Mayasa had spoken to her sister about taking over the responsibility for their father's care. She was hopeful that something could soon be arranged, but regardless of the practicalities, her first duty was to inform Joshua that her father had the dreaded disease.

‘Then if you can't leave Nairobi, will you be safe when I'm gone?' he asked. ‘Can you stay at your sister's house?'

She nodded. ‘I can. And you must keep out of the way until tomorrow. You know that Koske has his thugs everywhere. He'll kill you if he has the chance.'

Joshua nodded, but she could tell his mind had drifted away.

‘Joshua?' she pressed. ‘You will be careful, won't you?'

He smiled. ‘It was a great goal, wasn't it?'

Simon sat surrounded by ecstatic Limuru Leopards' fans. He was probably the only man in the
matatu
who wasn't a football fanatic. And probably also the only one who didn't actually care who'd won the game. Simon was happy because he'd seen his son shoot the goal of his life. He couldn't keep the grin off his face all the way from Kasarani stadium.

It was fortunate that he even knew about the game. A parent of one of Joshua's team-mates had mentioned it, never suspecting that Simon knew nothing about it. In fact, Simon was probably the only Kibera resident who hadn't heard about Joshua's debut well in advance of the game. He'd made it to the stadium in the nick of time.

Although Simon wasn't a fan, he naturally knew of the Limuru Leopards—one of the best football teams in the competition. He also knew that Joshua had for many years dreamt of playing with the Leopards.

Simon had often been tempted to moderate his son's idealistic aspirations, but he recognised something of himself in his boy. Joshua had the right amount of nerve and audacity to make a good sportsman. And in Kibera, dreams were a lifeline that had to be nourished at all costs.

It was a dream that had drawn Simon Otieng and his young wife to Kibera in the first place. He should have realised at that early time that no matter how hard he tried to make a life for them, Kibera would refuse to yield for him.

 

1989

Like ghosts they moved through the cool mist and pre-dawn darkness to be first in line at the factory doors and construction site gates, all seeking a day's work. Simon often failed to find work and wondered if it were because of his Kisumu accent. Try as he might to lose it, it unerringly returned to give him trouble—even after five years in Nairobi. It was a source of great amusement for many, and particularly troublesome as it marked him as an outsider, possibly naïve and therefore an even better target for exploitation.

‘And how are things in Nyanza Province?' they'd ask soon after he opened his mouth to speak. Or, ‘You'll have to talk a little slower. I can't keep up with you.'

None of these comments was particularly humorous or original, but each aspiring comedian would ensure everyone within earshot could hear him. If the comments came from a potential employer, Simon could do nothing but smile at such dazzling wit. It was difficult enough to find a labourer's job in Nairobi without giving vent to his anger or making it worse by standing on his dignity.

The battle for work began at the entrance to the premises. Building sites had gatemen; factories had security guards. There was always more than one step to win a job, and there was always someone demanding a little something to allow a man to the next step. And then there was the foreman. Any man who could lift a bag of wheat, or push a broom, or carry a crate of beer, was a potential employee for the day. The foreman therefore expected something for his trouble.

Simon would typically have to hand over a hundred shillings to the man at the gate, and another hundred to the foreman for the privilege of carrying cement bags from seven to five. At the end of the day, he might take home one hundred shillings for ten hours' hard labour.

He was nineteen, and might have given up and returned home if it hadn't been for Patience.

 

Simon was shy in the company of women his own age and would stumble over his words when attempting conversation. He felt awkward, and his few bumbling attempts to find a girlfriend came to nothing. In despair, he put women from his thoughts. When his testicles ached, and he used his hand for relief, he had no particular girl in his mind as he raced towards his mind-numbing climax.

When he saw the girl in her tight jeans and snug white tee-shirt, she was sweeping the dirt outside a
duka
on the alley that ran down to the putrid Mathare River. His greeting fell from his mouth before he had time to think. ‘
Habari
,' he said, and when she looked up she had the eyes of a gazelle—deep brown pools framed by long lashes. She smiled and he couldn't find words to speak again. She was more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen.

Although she hadn't spoken, her smile gave him courage, but before he could recover she completed her sweeping and moved inside.

He looked at what the
duka
had on display on the outside shelves. There were a few canned goods, toothpaste, a jar of rubbery snakes for the children, cigarettes in singles or packs, and a row of dog-eared magazines and newspapers. And a sign that said
Fresh Tea
.

He chose a seat at one of the three small tables and agonised over his next words. His mind was a blank. In that moment, it appeared that
Habari
was the limit of his entire vocabulary.

Suddenly she was at his table, wiping it with a damp cloth.

‘
Habari
,' he said, inwardly cursing himself.

‘
Mzuri
,' she replied, and the steel bands on his chest made it difficult for him to breathe.

‘Would you like to order something?' she asked.

He nodded.

She smiled and raised an exquisite eyebrow.

‘Oh! Tea…please.'

‘Milk and sugar?'

He marvelled at her command of words.

‘Yes.'

She was still smiling at him. ‘Milk or sugar or both?' she asked patiently.

‘Milk, please,' he stammered. ‘And sugar.'

She turned and her bottom wobbled as she returned to the
duka
.

Haki ya mungu
, he whispered to himself irreverently.

After his second cup, her father appeared at the doorway with a face of stone.

A further two cups forced him to move on with a bursting bladder, but not before he knew her name. It was Patience.

He also knew he wanted her more than anything he'd wanted in his whole life.

 

It took Simon many days and countless cups of tea while dodging her father's scowls to gather the courage to ask Patience to go out with him. When she readily agreed, he wondered why he'd taken so long.

‘I thought you were never going to ask,' she said, recalling his tentative early approaches.

‘I wasn't sure.'

‘I was.'

It was Sunday, and they were in City Park, which was either a long walk or a cheap
matatu
ride from Mathare. The matt grey sky, typical of Nairobi in July, kept the temperature down, so they had walked there.

The park had once been the pride of Nairobi. The city planners had set aside a generous portion of the wooded slopes
above the town as a recreational area. It was some time, however, before the park was safe. For many years, lions and other predators continued to occupy their traditional territory, making a visit to the park a hazardous activity.

From its heyday in the mid-twentieth century, the park had fallen into disrepair. It had again become the hunting ground of predators, but this time it was foreigners and the wealthy who were the prey as the predators became more interested in cash than flesh. But the thieves recognised Mathare residents when they saw them, and Simon and Patience knew they could stroll the overgrown paths with impunity.

In a deserted corner of the park, they found a small clearing among the overgrown shrubbery. It was concealed from the path in the unlikely event of an intruder entering their domain. Simon smoothed away the leaves for her to sit down.

‘And, of course, there's your father to think about,' he said, sitting beside her on the grass.

‘He'll get to like you when he knows you as well as I do.'

‘I don't think so,' he said, and a brief cloud of uncertainty threatened to spoil the happiness he felt having her by his side.

‘But how about you, Patience?' he said, teasing her with feigned seriousness. ‘Do you like me?'

‘You know I do,' she replied, before stealing a kiss. ‘There, I've shamed you in front of all Nairobi.'

He looked up into the trees and laughed. There was only a troop of Sykes' monkeys for company. ‘I don't think the monkeys will mind,' he said, and took her into his arms.

Her lips were soft and full. He tentatively touched his tongue to her open lips. She responded. It made his head spin.

‘
Ninakupenda mingi
,' he said, hovering over her. ‘Patience…I love you very much.'

She pulled him down on her and he kissed her, long and hard.

‘Simon…' she whispered into his ear.

Her hands went to his belt and he fumbled with the zipper of
her jeans. In a tangle of trouser legs and underwear, he pressed his body into hers.

It had never crossed his mind, neither then nor previously, that she was a Kikuyu and he was not. And that their love might offend people of both tribes.

 

‘You are a Luo,' Patience said. ‘We are Kikuyu.'

‘I know that,' Simon said with some exasperation. ‘But that's no reason for your father to hate me.'

‘He doesn't hate you, he just—'

‘He just wants to take that
panga
he keeps under the counter and cut me into small, small pieces with it.'

She smiled. ‘In time he will learn. What I mean is, you are a Luo and I am Kikuyu. We are different.'

‘What does it matter? We love each other.'

‘Of course we do, Simon. What I am trying to say is that when we marry, well…Some people don't like to see mixed marriages. They will tease us, or…maybe they'll make it difficult for us.'

‘We know what we are doing.'

‘I know what I'm doing, Simon. But do you?'

‘Of course I do.' He lifted his cup and dabbed his finger into the puddle of tea on the laminated table top. ‘It sounds like you've changed your mind about getting married.'

‘I haven't. I'm just trying to think of everything we need to think about. Things that you don't know about. You haven't seen how things can be. It's different in the smaller towns. People are among family there. They know everyone in town. But here in Nairobi, we're all strangers.'

‘What do we care about strangers?'

She reached a hand across to him, and he stopped finger-painting the table to meet her eyes. She stared at him for some time, then smiled. ‘Maybe you're right,' she said. ‘Maybe I worry too much.'

He covered her hand with his. ‘I won't let anybody say anything about you…about us. I will never let anyone hurt you.'

 

‘I'm sorry,' Patience said, dropping her head to her chest. ‘I should have…'

‘What could you do? Ah? It is my fault. I should have used something.'

She nodded. ‘Perhaps.'

Simon glanced at her, feeling bad now. ‘Can you take something?' he asked.

‘Like what?'

‘I don't know. I've heard there are medicines…'

‘That's stupid talk. Witch-doctor stories. You can't believe what those boys in your building are saying. They know nothing about having babies.'

They were silent for a few moments.

‘What will we do?' he asked. ‘Will your father help us?'

She shook her head. ‘It's going to take all my courage to tell him. When Fiona told him, he was so angry I thought he would hit her. He gave her nothing.'

‘He will not hit you. I will be there with you.'

‘Then he will hit
you
. It is better I tell him. I can be sweet with him. And Mama will help me.'

‘Have you told your mama?'

She nodded. ‘She cried.'

Simon nodded too. ‘Now that the baby is coming, I will find us a place.'

He felt her eyes upon him. He knew the question that sat on her lips. He knew that she desperately wanted to ask it, but she also knew he had no answer. There seemed to be just no way they could survive with a baby.

 

As life became increasingly difficult for them in Mathare, Simon looked further afield to find a house and a means to support Patience and the baby, when it arrived. He made a few visits to the Kibera slum—the sprawling metropolis on the other side of the city—where plots were cheap. Many were of the opinion that Kibera was a place of great opportunity; so large that it generated an industry all its own. There were jobs to be found in the many small
dukas
and stalls in the markets. People needed labourers to build the small houses and huts.

Simon saw for himself the building activity as the Kibera population expanded with immigrants from up country and as people extended their houses to match their own growing families. Here was a place to raise a family and make enough money to buy a plot. There was even an area within Kibera called Kisumu Ndogo—Little Kisumu—where the Luo people had congregated. Although he had left his Luo traditions at home with his grandfather, Simon felt Kisumu Ndogo would offer his small family the security denied them in the disorganised communities of Mathare. It was the right place to settle.

Late in Patience's pregnancy, Simon packed their belongings into a rickety push-cart and headed out before dawn. An hour later they'd reached the other side of the city. They pushed their cart up the hill to Kibera, into a scattering of people coming down towards them. Soon there was a vast river of people flowing around them, buffeting them and their cart, mumbling apologies and stumbling on into the dawn. It seemed as if all of Kibera's enormous population had decided to abandon it. Simon realised they were headed for the same industrial area that he had often approached in the opposite direction from Mathare. The promise of a new life in Kibera suddenly became as intangible as the pre-dawn mist.

Simon had known then that his run of bad luck was unlikely to end in Kibera.