Beverly Hills Maasai (23 page)

She clicked on another page and then scrolled down to the bottom.

“I put a link on the page so people could make contributions to a bank account I set up,” she said.

“You mean, like, donate money?”

“Money and other things,” she said. “Look at this e-mail. It’s from the president of Kenya Airways, and he’s donated three first-class tickets for them to return home.”

“That’s incredible! But … but they still don’t have money for the well,” I said. I knew that their pride wouldn’t allow them to return empty-handed, even if they had a way to get there.

“That isn’t going to be a problem either,” my mother said. “People have also been donating money. And so far, this is how much has been contributed.”

She pointed to the screen. There was a collective gasp from me, Olivia, and my father.

“Eighty-three thousand dollars? There’s eighty-three thousand dollars?” I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“As of this moment, but there’s going to be more, I’m sure,” my mother said. “It will keep on accumulating.”

“That’s incredible!” I exclaimed. “That’s enough money to build a well, buy back your cattle, and still have lots left over!”

I wrapped my arms around my mother.

“There are people who are giving us money?” Nebala asked.

“Lots and lots of people,” my mother said. “Many are giving only a little, five or ten or twenty dollars, but it all adds up.”

“But why?” Nebala asked. “Why are they doing this?”

“Because they want to help,” my mother said.

This was wonderful, but I could instantly see a problem, an objection Nebala was going to make. Would he see this as any different from my father giving them money?

“We cannot take this—”

“Yes, you can!” I said, cutting Nebala off before he could finish his sentence. “And the reason you can is because you
earned
the money.” I took a deep breath so I could think. This had to be perfect. “They all saw that you didn’t win the race, but they know that you didn’t
lose
, because you refused to quit.”

Nebala shrugged. “We are Maasai. We could not quit.”

“And you showed them how to keep going, even when they feel like quitting. You’ve taught them all a lesson. You’ve taught them about courage, about determination, about what it is to be a Maasai—and that’s why you earned the money. You were all like teachers … and teachers get paid, don’t they?”

He gave a little shrug. He wasn’t sure I was right, but he wasn’t sure I wasn’t.

“And that’s why you can’t quit now. You have to take the money back and build the well. Not just for you, but for everybody in your community.” I paused. “You came here not to win the race but to get enough money to build that well. You did it, and I’m proud of you.”

I turned to my mother. “And proud of you.”

She smiled.

“Well?” I asked Nebala.

Everybody looked at him. Whatever he said would be the final word.

He slowly nodded his head. “We are going home,” he said quietly.

Everybody screamed and cheered. Even Koyati broke into a big grin, and Samuel smiled broadly in spite of the pain.

“Hold on!” my father yelled, and everybody became quiet. “That leaves me with one slight problem. I have three tickets for Kenya that still need to used.”

“When are they for?” my mother asked.

“Two weeks from now.”

“And isn’t March Break in two weeks?” she asked.

“Yeah, we’re on a break from school … You don’t mean …?”

My mother pointed at Olivia, me, and herself. “One, two, three.”

I looked at my father. “Daddy, would that be all right?”

“I don’t see why not. They’re already paid for.”

I smiled. “It would be great to see Ruth, and of course, little Alexandria.”

“And they would be glad to see you,” Nebala said, smiling. “Look out, Kenya! Once again there will be two Alexandrias of Africa.”