The Paper House (9 page)

The photographer was a tall young man with a big camera around his neck. He carried a bulging brown bag over his shoulder.

“This is Mr. Amar Dhillon from the Kenyan News Service,” said Mr. Littlejohn. Mr. Dhillon shook hands with Cucu. “My card, missus.”

She frowned at the little piece of paper he gave her before she tucked it into her dress.

Pendo's teacher introduced the photographer to Safiyah and Pendo. Even to Chidi, who had shown up when he heard that someone would be taking pictures. Chidi was so excited, he couldn't stand still.

Mr. Dhillon arranged Safiyah, Pendo and Cucu in a little group. “Here. Stand here. No you, over here.”

“I want to be in the picture,” whined Chidi. Mr. Littlejohn put his hand on his shoulder to keep him still. But Chidi soon slipped away to peek into Mr. Dhillon's big bag.

Mr. Dhillon took photos of Safiyah by herself in the doorway looking out, and others as she stood looking at the house, first from the left, then from the right. He took pictures of Safiyah and Pendo with their arms around each others' shoulders. Then standing with their arms by their sides. He told them to smile, over and over again, until their cheeks hurt.

When he took pictures of Cucu on her bench, she smiled without needing to be told.

Meanwhile, Mr. Littlejohn strolled around the house. “Wonderful,” he said. “Look at this!” He touched the fire mural. “And this lovely tree—it is a tree?—against the blue sky. Is this your village? Yes. I can see it.” He studied the walls up close and looked at them again from a distance.

Chidi followed the teacher, copying every move, stroking his chin, nodding slowly. Everyone thought it was very funny, but Mr. Littlejohn didn't seem to notice.

Neighbors clustered around. Some tried to sneak into the pictures or gave Mr. Dhillon advice that he ignored. He tried to shoo the audience away, especially the neighborhood children who wanted to have their pictures taken too.

Safiyah and Pendo soon got bored, standing this way, then that. Cucu sent Chidi next door to play with the little boys who now lived in Mrs. Okella's house. “I'm going inside, away from this fuss,” she said.

Mr. Dhillon kept taking photos. He balanced on the old chair and knelt in the dirt. He went around and around the shack taking pictures from all kinds of angles.

He took one group picture of everyone who wanted to be in it. Cucu stood in front holding hands with Safiyah on one side and Pendo on the other. The camera clicked and whirred.

At last Mr. Dhillon packed it back in his bag. He was done.

Everyone clapped. They patted Mr. Dhillon on the back and shook Mr. Littlejohn's hand. They shook hands with Pendo and Safiyah. The women hugged them and pinched their cheeks.

Before Mr. Dhillon left with Mr. Littlejohn, he gave Safiyah one of his little white cards. “It says his name.
Amar Singh Dhillon,
” said Pendo as she read over Safiyah's shoulder. “Then
Photographer,
IFPO. RSP.
I wonder what those letters mean. Maybe he is famous.”

“I didn't like him,” said Safiyah. “Move here. Stand there. No, this way. Smile. Don't smile.”

“Bossy, bossy, bossy,” said Pendo.

“Bossy, bossy, bossy,” echoed Safiyah.

They fell against each other giggling.

When they had both got their breath back, Pendo picked up her schoolbag and hung it over her shoulder. “I better go home. I didn't like Mr. Dhillon either, but I am glad you let me be in the pictures.”

“Have you got homework?” asked Safiyah.

“I have twenty words to learn for a test tomorrow,” Pendo told her.

Pendo had homework for school tomorrow. Cucu was indoors, resting from the excitement of the afternoon. As she watched her friend disappear around the corner at the end of the street, Safiyah slumped onto Cucu's bench.

Her mural was done. But nothing else had changed.

Chapter Twenty-One

It was hardly light when Safiyah was woken a few days later by a voices in the street. She peeked outside. “Cucu! Cucu wake up.”

Her grandmother's face emerged from the blanket. Her hair stuck up like curled wire. “What is it, child?”

“People. Hundreds of them, outside.”

Cucu sat up. “People are always stopping to look at your lovely house.”

When Cucu and Safiyah stood in the doorway, they found the alley filled with people. Some going and some coming while others stood talking to each other, pointing at the paper house.

Pendo pushed through the crowd, holding a newspaper above her head. “Saffy. Your house is in the paper!”

“What do you mean, child?” Cucu pulled Pendo out of the scrum of people. “Away now,” she cried. “Have you no work to go to? No families to tend to?”

A few people moved away. But many stayed as even more came down the alley.

“Mr. Dhillon's pictures,” said Pendo. “Look!” She held up the newspaper for Cucu and Safiyah to see.

One wall of the paper house almost filled the front page. In another photograph, Cucu sat on her bench. She was smiling so hard that every one of her few teeth showed. Huge letters ran across the top page. “
Child Brings Color to Dark and Dangerous Place
,” read Pendo. “That's what it says.”

“Dangerous!” huffed Cucu. “How can my own home be dangerous?” She squinted at the picture.

Safiyah took the newspaper from Pendo. Cucu looked so proud and happy in the photo. Even in her frayed and faded dress.

“There are more photos inside,” said Pendo. “On page seven.”

They huddled around the newspaper to look at the pictures that filled two whole pages. One showed Cucu standing with her back to the camera as she pointed at the fire that blazed across the wall. Another was of Safiyah and Pendo with their arms around each other. There was one of Pendo in her smart red and blue uniform, while next to her stood Safiyah in her old shorts and yellow T-shirt with the hole in the shoulder.

Safiyah felt her face flush with shame. Cucu looked like the proud old lady she was, the kind grandmother who Safiyah loved more than anyone in the world. While she looked like a poor little girl who couldn't even go to school. “Here. You can have it.” She shoved the newspaper into Pendo's arms. “Hang it up for everyone to see, you in your lovely clothes. Show it to all your friends. But I don't want to look at it again.”

“Safiyah!” cried Cucu as Safiyah ducked indoors away from the prying eyes and chattering voices. “What is wrong now? Our lovely house. Look! In the important newspaper for all to see.”

Safiyah did not answer her grandmother. She threw herself on the bed and pulled the thin covers over her head to keep out the nosy world.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Safiyah stayed indoors all day. Just as Cucu had done when she was so sick.

All day she heard her grandmother telling passersby why her granddaughter had started her mural. “To help make an old lady well,” she said proudly. She led them around the house to point out the village they had come from. She described their long journey by bus and on foot and in a low voice told them how Safiyah's mother had died. Cucu described the fire that had killed Mrs. Okella. And explained that she had been in the clinic, but was better now.

Some people murmured sounds of sympathy and sadness. Others told their own stories, some stories just as sad as Safiyah and her grandmother's, others about new friends who helped them adjust to life in Kibera.

Between visitors, Safiyah heard the rustle of the newspaper as Cucu sat on her bench just outside the door, turning the pages again and again.

Late in the day when Cucu came indoors to light the lamp, she brought presents from the visitors. A plantain and a bottle of Coca Cola. “Here's a book for you,” she said as she handed it to Safiyah. “We will ask Pendo to tell us what it is called. And look at this lovely bread. We will have it with our soup.”

Safiyah turned her face to the wall. Her beautiful house was in the newspaper. But so was she. A girl with old clothes, who couldn't even read the words that told her what page to turn to see more pictures.

She was huddled under her blanket when the doorway curtain was pushed aside. “Are you sick now?”

Safiyah sat up. Rasul! Still sneaking up on her. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I came to pay homage to the great artist!” He bowed deeply. When he stood up again, he was grinning.

“Don't make fun of me,” she said.

“I'm just repeating what everyone is saying.”

“Who is everyone?” asked Cucu.

“The newspaper, for a start,” said Rasul. “And your teacher, Mr. Littlejohn?”

“He's not my teacher.”

“He will be soon.” Rasul grinned again.

“Go away,” Safiyah told him. She pulled her blanket higher.

“Saffy!” Cucu frowned at her.

The light shifted as Rasul stood in the doorway. “You sure you don't want to know more? You are to get what you have wanted all along.”

A glimmer of an idea squirmed inside Safiyah. “What have I wanted all along?”

“To go to school. Like Pendo and chattering Chidi,” said Rasul. “You're to get a scholarship.”

Cucu grabbed Safiyah's hand and held it tight.

“Someone has offered to pay for Saffy to go to school,” Rasul told her.

“For books?” Safiyah swung her feet over the edge of the bed. “For a uniform?”

Rasul nodded. “For everything. And you will get special lessons. At the art college.”

Safiyah's heart thumped in her chest. She would go to school with Pendo. She would wear a red sweater and blue skirt.

She would learn to read!

“Who is paying for this scholarship?” asked Cucu.

“A rich geezer,” Rasul told her, “who likes art.”

“Why?” Cucu sounded as if she did not believe a word of it.

“He recognizes Safiyah's outstanding talent. Those were his words.”

Cucu's hand shook on Safiyah's as she asked him, “How do you know all this?”

Rasul leaned against the doorway. “Mr. Littlejohn showed the newspaper to the teachers. They told all the kids in their classes, which is how Chidi heard all about it. The brat happened to be in school today, for a change. And on his way home he stole two copies off the newsstand, which is how we know all about it.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his bright yellow pants. “Ma is so happy for you, she can't stop smiling.” His face was sad for a moment. Perhaps he was thinking of his sister who liked school so much, thought Safiyah. But then he winked at her. “It may be a while until Chidi smiles though,” he said.

“Did you beat him for stealing?” asked Safiyah.

“He deserves it. But no one gets beaten in my house.” He grinned. “He has to pay back the news vendor. So he's off now, collecting bottles at the dump, I bet.”

That's where this all started, thought Safiyah. At the dump. Looking for paper so she could fix the house for her sick grandmother.

Rasul dug a rolled newspaper out of his pocket. “Here. I bought a copy for you.”

“Cucu has one already,” said Safiyah. “You know I can't read it.”

“This is no time to sulk, little girl! You can look at the pictures, can't you?” said Rasul. “And maybe if you look at them long enough, you will believe what that art fellow has to say. ‘Extraordinary talent. Keen observation. Great initiative.' And lots more.” He pulled Safiyah her to her feet. “Pendo will read it to you. She's outside giving tours of the paper house.”

Safiyah found her friend talking to two men at the side of the house. She was wearing her usual shorts and the old green sweater with a hole in the elbow. Pendo's school uniform was at home, keeping clean.

Without it, she and Safiyah did not look so different.

She would have a school uniform soon, just like Pendo, thought Safiyah. She would take it off after school and put it away carefully before she changed into her old familiar clothes. Clothes she had brought with her when they traveled the long road from the village.