Beverly Hills Maasai (7 page)

I unfolded the letter.

I looked at the picture again.

I couldn’t really see the resemblance between myself and a seven-month-old black Maasai baby, but I could see how much she
did
look like Ruth. For starters, they shared the same perfect, beautiful eyes. I wished I had those beautiful dark eyes, or at least her nose—straight, with no bump, and with nostrils that were the same size.

I put a hand up to the bump on my nose. Of course that bump wouldn’t be there for too, too much longer. My parents had promised me I could have my nose fixed when I turned eighteen, less than two years from now.

Some people might have thought that was vain, but I thought it was exactly the opposite. Anybody who thought they were so perfect that they didn’t need to have some surgical adjustments had to be some sort of egomaniac! I could admit that I needed a little help.

I went back to the letter.

I just hoped we
could
help them. I guessed we could. We were putting them up here in our home, and I’d make sure they could get to the race. That was helping … at least as much as I could help, short of
running the race for them. Not that that would have been any help at all.

I looked back at the picture. I’d been focusing so much on Ruth and Alexandria that I hadn’t even noticed where they were. Ruth was sitting on a wooden table—I guess the examination table—and Alexandria was on her lap. In the background was a woman wearing a white lab coat—she had to be the nurse.

I leaned the picture against the alarm clock on my night table. I really wasn’t sure what I could do to help Nebala, but I made a promise to myself then that whatever I could do I
would
do.

“I just don’t understand,” Olivia said. “If they want water, why don’t they just turn on the tap?”

I swerved the car slightly as I turned to face her.

“Don’t you remember anything I told you about my trip to Kenya?” I demanded.

“I remember things.”

“Do you remember that the Maasai all live in mud huts?”

“Of course. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Sometimes I wasn’t sure about that.

“I just assumed,” Olivia said, “that the huts had running water.”

“They do have running water.”

She gave me a smug look.

“They have running water, if you consider that they have to
run
a mile or so to get it.”

I thought back to going with Ruth and the other girls to gather water. We walked for over a mile carrying empty water containers. Then some of the girls went down in a trough dug in the sandy bed of what was a river during the rainy season but was then all dried up. And down there—six feet below the surface—was a little puddle of muddy water. The containers were filled and hauled back up and then carried back to the huts, where that dirty water was used for cleaning and cooking and drinking. A shudder went up my spine thinking about it.

“That’s why they’re all such good runners,” I explained. “They walk or run everywhere. The Maasai say they can walk without stopping from sunrise to sunset.”

“Really?” Olivia asked.

“Don’t ever doubt it when a Maasai says he’s going to do something.”

“So you believe they can win the marathon?” she asked.

“Of course they can,” I replied. Actually, up until that moment I hadn’t even thought about it. “What I can’t believe is that they sold their cattle to get here.”

“We sold my horse,” she said.

“It isn’t the same thing!” I snapped. “Cattle are very important to them.”

“Blackie was very important to me.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Apparently I don’t understand
anything,”
she said.

We drove along in silence, and I could sense her starting to pout in the seat next to me. Part of me wanted to just enjoy the silence, but she was my friend.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just a little bit thrown by them suddenly appearing. It’s my fault for not explaining things well enough. Would it be all right if I explained about the Maasai and cattle?”

“If you think I’m smart enough to understand”

“Don’t be like that, Oli,” I said, using her little-kid nickname. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.” A small lie.

She straightened up in her seat. “Please, I’d love to hear.”

“The Maasai don’t collect cars, or homes, or money. They collect cows. The man who has the most cows is the richest man in the village.”

“So cows are a status symbol, a way of keeping track of who’s winning,” she said. “And when they sold all their cows they became the poorest men in the village, right?”

“It’s even more than that. When they sold their cows it’s almost like they stopped being men and became boys again.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So when they sold all their cows to come here it was like they were giving up being men,” she said.

“I knew you’d understand. I’m sure when they win the race they’ll use the money to put in the well but also to buy back their cattle,” I explained.

“That makes sense,” she said. “But what if they
don’t
win?”

“Then I guess they can’t put in the well.”

“Or buy back their cows,” she said.

Suddenly I was hit in the head by what she’d said. If they couldn’t buy back their cattle, they couldn’t become men again. There was no choice. They had to win the race. They
had
to. They were Maasai. They could do anything. Couldn’t they?

“My street,” Olivia said.

“What?”

“You just drove past my street!”

“Sorry,” I said as I slowed the car down. “I guess I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Or you were thinking about something else.”

I turned the car around and headed down her street.

“I promised Nebala that I’d take them to register for the marathon tomorrow. Do you want to come with us?” I asked.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss that for money.”

“Yes, you would, if it was enough money,” I said.

She shrugged. “Or the perfect pair of jeans … But I do want to come. What time are you heading down?”

“Around eleven.”

“Could you pick me up on the way?”

“Sure. How long before you get your car back?”

“My mother said something about when hell freezes over, but my father is starting to soften. I still can’t believe they took my car away to begin with.”

“I still can’t believe you thought they wouldn’t after your second accident and fifth speeding ticket.”

I drove through the front gate of her house and up the driveway.

“They weren’t serious accidents. It wasn’t like anybody was injured.”

I stopped directly in front of the door. Olivia reached over and we hugged and exchanged air kisses and then she climbed out of the car.

“The race is this weekend, right?” she asked.

“Yes, on Sunday.”

“So what are you going to do with them until then?”

“I haven’t really thought about that,” I admitted.

“Are you going to school tomorrow? I mean, after we do the registration thing?” Olivia asked.

“I should go to school, but I really can’t leave them alone at home.”

“Then the solution is simple,” she said. “Bring them!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Just … not a great idea.”

“You’re probably right.” She ran up to her front door, then turned and called out, with a laugh, “Still, wouldn’t they be the coolest show-and-tell of all time?”

Cracked me up just thinking about it!

I adjusted the rear-view mirror so I could see all three of my Maasai in the back seat. Nebala sat there quietly with a serious and thoughtful look on his face. Koyati also looked as though he was thinking—thinking about hurting somebody. That was his usual expression, though, so it probably didn’t mean a thing. Maybe he was just practising getting his game face on for the race. And then there was Samuel—big grin, eyes wide open, looking all around, his head turning from side to side. He was the yin to Koyati’s yang. He never stopped smiling.

I turned onto Olivia’s street and almost instantly saw her standing by the curb in front of her house. That was not a good sign. It usually meant that her parents were going at it again. They were having a nasty time. She’d told me that they were
working on
their marriage.
That was the line my parents had always used, just before they’d stopped working on the marriage and started working on the divorce. At least they’d found something they were both good at.

I pulled up right beside her.

“Jambo!”
she called out as she climbed in.

“How is it shaking,
dude?”
Samuel said.

“If you think I’m a
dude
, I’m definitely doing something wrong,” Olivia replied with a cute grin.

Nebala chuckled at that, which was all the encouragement Olivia needed.

“Seriously, though,” she said, “are you sure this guy isn’t from Malibu instead of Kenya?”

“No surf where he comes from,” I replied.

I shifted the car into drive and we started off.

“Are you really okay to come with us today?” I asked Olivia quietly.

“Yeah, it’s a good time to get out of the house,” she replied.

“How bad?”

“No worse than usual. I just wish they’d stop pretending and get it over with,” she said.

“It could work out.”

She laughed. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.”

“Some marriages do work.”

“Really? How many friends do we have whose parents are married?” she asked.

“Lots.”

“I mean married to each other, first-time marriage, husband and wife who are the mother and father of the children who live with them.”

“Well … there’s your parents.”

She laughed even louder, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “On the bright side, I see a lot of guilt presents in my future.”

I glanced at her. She was shaking a little and I could see that tears were starting to form in her eyes. I also noticed that she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt.

“Belt up,” I said. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She reached over and snapped on her belt. “It’s nice to know that somebody cares about me.”

“Your parents care about you.”

“It certainly doesn’t show.”

“They still care. Just … hang in there,” I offered.

“Maybe you should also be talking to somebody else about his seatbelt,” she said, motioning to the back seat.

I looked in my rear-view mirror. Once again Samuel was standing up, his arms outstretched like wings.

“Make him sit down!” I yelled.

Nebala reached out and pulled him down.

“And he should put his seatbelt on … All of you should be belted in so you don’t get hurt or killed!”

“We are not afraid of being killed,” Nebala said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. You’re Maasai and you’re not afraid of anything. Put on your seatbelts anyway.”

There was grumbling in Swahili, words I couldn’t understand, but I understood the attitude. I suddenly felt like the mother of three badly behaved children. If they were going to act that role then I’d act mine.

I slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side
of the road. The three of them tumbled forward, smashing into the back of the seats and practically tumbling over into the front.

Slowly I turned around. “I am not going anywhere until you put on your seatbelts.”

Nebala glared at me—a glare to match Koyati’s. Samuel rubbed his head where it had struck the back of the seat, but he was still smiling.

“I’m not playing. Put on your seatbelts …
now.”

Nebala’s stare and glare intensified, and I suddenly realized that telling a Maasai warrior
—three
Maasai warriors—what to do was probably not my brightest move. They didn’t really take orders very well from anybody, and especially not from a woman … well, a girl. Maybe I should just let them not wear them. What harm was it going to do?

Suddenly Nebala reached over. I jumped, and a little shriek escaped my lips. He looked confused, then amused. He took the end of one of the seatbelts and pulled it over Samuel, clicking it, locking him in place.

“He will stay in his seat.”

“Thanks.”

“Now you can drive,” he said. “Make it so, Number One.”

Oh, very funny. I’d almost forgotten about his thing for
Star Trek.

“Yes, Captain Picard. Now I’ll drive.”

I started to pull away from the curb and a car blared its horn. I slammed on the brakes as it swerved past me. I hadn’t seen it at all. The driver of the convertible
lifted his hand high into the air as he drove off, one finger raised even higher.

“What a jerk!” Olivia exclaimed.

“I should have looked,” I said. “I was distracted.”

I adjusted my rear-view mirror once again so I could see behind the car instead of into the back seat.

“Keep an eye on them,” I whispered to Olivia, and she nodded.

Olivia sat sideways in her seat so she could watch our Maasai passengers. I looked in the rear-view and the side-view, shoulder-checked, and then eased into traffic when there was a gap.