The Paper House (4 page)

Chidi giggled. “That's what Rasul says,” he told Safiyah. “But he says that what's mine is his, and what's his is his too.” He plucked at his shirt. “But I got this off him, didn't I?” He giggled.

“Is he your cousin? Blade?” asked Safiyah. “Are you in his gang?”

“He says I'm too small.” Chidi pulled himself up straight and tucked his chin into his chest. “I'm not small, am I?”

“You're quite big,” she said. She knew that even runty things like Chidi did not like to think of themselves as little.

“I'm not allowed to call my cousin that name,” Chidi told her “I live with him and my uncle and aunt. He had a sister but she died.” He wiped his thin wrist across his dripping nose.

Safiyah could not bear to hear about anyone else dying: first her father, when she was just a baby, and then her mother so soon after they arrived in Kibera. Now this little boy's cousin. Safiyah scrambled onto the garbage dump and away from the little boy as fast as she could.

“Wait for me!” called Chidi.

Safiyah did not stop or slow down. But Chidi stuck close as she headed for the place where she had found the magazines yesterday. She tried to ignore the gusts of stinking wind as she climbed higher and higher. Although Chidi kept up an endless stream of chatter, Safiyah did not bother trying to make him go away. She knew he would come buzzing back again just like a mosquito.

A flock of birds soared and screeched above her head. At each step, something crunched under her feet or rolled away. The stench of rotting garbage stuck in the back of her throat. The hazy air made her eyes sting as she headed for a bright patch of red. But it was just an old cloth, torn and ragged and stinking of smoke. Nearby lay a wad of sopping wet newspaper, the print all smudged. It might do for stuffing into the holes in the walls, but today she wanted pictures for her mural.

Safiyah yanked a metal bar out of the garbage. She used it to help her climb across gullies of swampy water and oil, over heaps of tangled old clothes.

Only the tiniest children were up this high. They raked through the garbage, calling back and forth to each other whenever they found something. Their voices sounded like the birds gathered on the power lines along the train tracks, and in the branches that hung over her house in the village.

Safiyah stared into the distance. If she looked hard enough perhaps she could see all the way to her village. If she were a bird, how easy it would be to fly home again.

But she wasn't a bird. And between here and the home she missed so much were the crowded shacks of the slum and the endless maze of buildings and alleys of Nairobi. Beyond Nairobi were roads that ran in all directions, like dark snakes.

“How about this?” Chidi held up a magazine cover with
TIME
written in big white letters across a man's forehead. “That's Mr. President of America,” Chidi told Safiyah as he handed it to her. He bent down to pull another handful from under a broken box.

After lots of digging and sorting, Chidi and Safiyah had as many old magazines as they could carry. As the sun glared overhead, they clambered back down, each holding armfuls of paper.

Safiyah was very thirsty. She looked around, but there was nowhere to buy water, even if she could pay for it. A big square can stood outside a hut. She dunked one hand in to scoop up some water but before she could bring it to her mouth, her hand was knocked aside. “Hey!” Water splashed onto her legs and made dark marks as it landed on the dirt.

Blade glared down at her. His face shone with sweat and his eyes flashed.

Chapter Eight

“Why did you do that?” asked Safiyah. “I'm thirsty.”

“You should know not to drink water unless you know it's clean, you stupid girl.”

She stepped backward. “Stay away from me.”

Blade grinned down at her. “I've been looking for this scrawny thing everywhere.” He grabbed Chidi's shirt and hauled him off the ground. The little boy's legs dangled in the air. “Why aren't you in school?” he asked.

“I'm going, Rasul. I am,” said Chidi.

“He followed me,” Safiyah told Rasul. “He's a pest.”

“See. Everyone thinks you're a pest,” Rasul told Chidi as he gave him a shake.

“Let me go!” Chidi kicked his feet as he tried to get free.

“Do I have to take you to school myself?” his cousin asked.

“I'm going.” Chidi squirmed out of Rasul's grasp, dropped to the ground and raced away without looking back.

Safiyah watched him go. She knew she should run away too. But instead, she asked, “Why do they call you Blade?”

Chidi's cousin frowned down at her. He rapped her shoulder with his hard knuckles. “Don't call me that! I'm Rasul to you.”

“Don't you go to school?” Safiyah asked. She knew she shouldn't be talking to him, but she couldn't help herself.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

“I take care of my cucu.”

“Not taking care of her now, are you?” Rasul frowned. “What's wrong with her?” he asked.

“I don't know.” Safiyah poked her foot in the dirt. She swallowed hard. “She coughs a lot.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She's been coughing blood.”

“What?”

“When she coughs, she coughs up blood.” Safiyah glared at Rasul. “I tried to keep out the nighttime cold by stuffing paper in all the holes. But there is still blood when she coughs.” She tried to hold the words back, but they kept coming. “What if she has AIDS like my mother?” She swiped at her wet face. “Lots of people get sick here. And we have no money. That's why I don't go to school. No money for school.” She shoved her fist in her eyes, trying to push back the tears. “Or for medicine.”

Rasul bent down and peered at her. “How old are you anyway?”

Safiyah gulped. “Ten.”

Rasul grabbed her arm.

“Wait!” She tried to pull away. He walked so fast she had to run to keep up. “Help!” she cried.

The dark alley Rasul dragged her through was so narrow they had to run sideways. Here, there was no one dozing in the shade or carrying bundles of clothes to the washhouse. No one to stop her from being kidnapped by a gang leader. “Where are you taking me?” Safiyah pulled back as hard as she could. Rasul stopped so suddenly she slammed into his side.

“You said you were thirsty.” He glared at her.

“I will get you something to drink.” He tightened his grip on Safiyah's arm and hurried on. “Then we will take care of your grandmother.”

Chapter Nine

Just when Safiyah thought she would faint if she had to run any farther, Rasul pulled her out into bright daylight. Here, the houses were not so close together. There were even patches of garden outside some, with enough room to hang clothes to dry in the sun.

A woman stood in the doorway of a shack wearing a long traditional
kitenge
dress and a bright shawl. “You seem to have brought home the wrong child,” she said to Rasul.

He pushed Safiyah forward. “Ma, this is Safiyah. Can we give her a drink?”

“Where's Chidi?” the woman asked as she poured water from an enamel jug into a jar and held it out to Safiyah.

Safiyah watched Rasul's mother over the rim as she drank.

“At school by now,” said Rasul.

Safiyah handed back the empty jar. “Thank you.”

“I'm Grace Pakua.” The woman's hand was cool as she shook Safiyah's. “Pleased to meet you, child. Where did you find your cousin this time?” she asked Rasul.

“Guess.”

Mrs. Pakua shook her head. “At the dump again, I suppose.” She looked closely at Safiyah. “I'm sure you know to stay away from that dangerous place.”

Before Safiyah could decide whether to lie or tell the truth, Rasul told his mother, “Safiyah's cucu is sick. Can you take a look at her?” He turned to Safiyah. “Mother works at the clinic.”

“Just as a cleaner,” Mrs. Pakua told her. “Have you taken your grandmother to see the doctors there?”

“It's too far for her to walk,” Safiyah answered. “And we don't have any money.”

“The clinic is free.”

“Oh,” said Safiyah. She hadn't known that. “But if she needs medicine. Or has to stay in hospital…”

“Perhaps you are worried about being home alone. You would be able to stay with your cucu if they needed to keep her there for treatment. Lots of patients' families stay with them at the clinic. And only those who can afford it have to pay.” Mrs. Pakua adjusted her head scarf and took Safiyah's hand. “But let's not imagine the worst. Rasul, I am going to take this child home to see what we can do for her cucu.”

“Good. I've got things to do.” Without saying goodbye, Rasul turned and disappeared back into the alley.

His mother stood beside Safiyah as they watched him hurry away. Safiyah had never thought about gang members having mothers!

“Is it just the two of you?” asked Mrs. Pakua.

Safiyah nodded.

“You look after your grandmother, I expect.”

Safiyah nodded again.

“Let's see what I can do to help.” Mrs. Pakua moved as quickly as Rasul, but her hand on Safiyah's was gentler. “We'll go this way.” As she led Safiyah through the neighborhood, Mrs. Pakua talked about the clinic, telling Safiyah how good the doctors and nurses were, even with so little equipment and medicine.

As if Mrs. Pakua realized that all the talk about doctors and medicine was making Safiyah nervous, she squeezed her hand. “Whatever is wrong with your grandmother, we will find help for her.”

Mrs. Pakua greeted many people as she led Safiyah through the maze of unfamiliar alleys. They passed tea shops and newspaper stands. The women filling their wash buckets at the standpipe waved and called out to her. Not everyone in Kibera washed their clothes in dirty ditch water, Safiyah realized. Not everyone was as poor as she was.

When they at last turned the corner at the familiar water vendor's stand, they found the alley full of people stumbling through a blue haze of smoke. At first Safiyah could not make any sense of the words in the hubbub of voices. But then she heard, “Not enough water.”

“Let us pass! Let us pass!”

A man pushed past Safiyah and Mrs. Pakua. His hair was singed and a dark smudge ran down his face. “More water!” he cried.

A flash of panic swept across Safiyah's chest. “My house is along there.” She let go of Mrs. Pakua's hand and pushed through the crowds. She ducked between two men and raced past a crush of uniformed children being led away by an old man.

“Pendo!” cried Safiyah.

Her friend's face turned toward her above a sea of heads. “It's a fire!” Pendo waved wildly above the crowd of children pressed against her. “Saffy! A fire at Mrs. Okella's.”

Chapter Ten

Fire! Mrs. Okella! Pendo's words pounded in Safiyah's head as she shoved through the crowd. Fire! “Let me through.” She stepped on someone's foot. An elbow banged the back of her head. A basket scraped against her bare legs. “I need to find my cucu,” she yelled.