Blood & Milk (8 page)

No one said a word to me, though. So I sat on the sandy ground next to Momboa and continued to sing the alphabet song.

I really had no clue how to teach a class of basic English to a bunch of kindergarten kids. I was a travel consultant at a flight and holiday destination office, for God’s sake. But I could remember the basics from when I was a kid, surely. So I took my notepad and wrote, in big writing, the letter A, then the letter B on the next page, and C the one after that and so forth, right through to Z. I pointed to each letter in turn as I sang the alphabet song again. Then, because we didn’t have any paper to spare, I got the kids to draw the shape of the letters in the air, then on the dirt floor.

It was rudimentary, and I had no clue if what I was doing was right, but when we were done, the children all clapped and sang as they followed their mothers home.

I sat in the lean-to classroom and watched as they walked away. It was primitive by any education standards I was used to, and I’d literally spent a few hours or more singing the goddamn alphabet song and clapping along with six kids, yet I’d never felt like I’d accomplished so much before in my entire life.

When Damu found me, I was still sitting in my empty classroom with my notepad in my lap, smiling. “You be happy,” he said.

“I am. I accomplished much today.” Then I amended, “Actually, this week, you and I have accomplished a great deal. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “My father and brother have agreed. Joseph and Mbaya will go to market with money.”

My smile was immediate. “Really?”

He looked around, I assumed, to see if anyone could hear us. “We can talk away?”

“Yes of course. Let’s go home.” Whatever he wanted to say, clearly needed saying in private, and that was fine with me. It was getting dark anyway, and it wasn’t like anyone would miss us. We ducked through the small doorway and, as usual, sat cross-legged on the dirt floor facing each other. “What is it?”

He hesitated for a second. “I believe Kijani will use money for other things.”

“Like what?”

“Sugar and rice.” Damu made a face. “I should not say. My loyalties are for my people and for my brother and father. But I have loyalty to you too.”

His words warmed my chest. I reached out and took his hand. “And I have loyalty to you too.”

He smiled in the darkening room, and his fingers threaded with mine.

“But Damu, if they buy what I need for the school, then I will happily buy them sugar and rice. And a goat too, if they want.”

“You would do that?”

I squeezed his fingers and rubbed my thumbs over his knuckles. His hands were huge, his fingers long, his touch was warm and smooth. It felt… nice. “I would do that,” I said. While there was still a little light left in the day and with my notepad in my lap, I peeled out a piece of paper. I folded it as Damu watched on. Before he could ask, I explained, “A few years ago, I spent two weeks in Japan.” I kept folding the paper, losing daylight quickly, going by feel. Damu watched intently as I produced a small paper crane. “I learned how to make these. The gift, or message, isn’t the crane but the paper it’s made from. And this paper I brought with me from Australia.” I held it out for him. “For you.”

He was stunned. “For me?”

“Yes, of course.”

He took it cautiously, as though it were the most precious thing in the world. “I give many thanks,” he whispered.

I took his free hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re very welcome.”

He grinned. “Let me make dinner.” He let go of my hand and shuffled over to his makeshift kitchen. I didn’t see what he did with the paper crane. He mixed the ugali and divvied my portion into my bowl before handing it to me. “Today was good day,” he said with his trademark smile.

I found myself smiling right back at him. “Yes. Today was a very good day.”

* * * *

After we’d eaten and when night had settled over the manyatta, Damu and I sat on his mattress, leaning against the wall with our legs stretched out in front of us. It was pitch black, I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face, but I could feel Damu’s side against mine. From our shoulders to our thighs, and it was a reassuring comfort, the simplest of human touches felt so good.

I had taken out one of my hidden stashes of folded shillings and given them to Damu. He would find Kijani in the morning, and hopefully in a few days’ time, we’d have our blackboard and supplies.

“You have money in Australia?” Damu asked. I understood he was asking if I had personal wealth, not if we actually had currency in my country.

“Some,” I answered with a nod. It was hard to fathom the money in my bank accounts when I was sitting on a dirt floor in a hut made of mud and cow shit, with no water or lights.

“We not have money here. Need it but not have it. The Maasai were a people who lived by the land. Everything we need came from land and cattle. But not anymore. This country, this… government… make us live like white man, but we are not that way.”

“How does that make you feel?”

He was quiet a moment. “I cannot change it, so I give it no mind.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I am not like Kijani. I not believe everything should have price.”

I smiled at the darkness. “You’re a good man, Damu.”

He stilled and was silent a while, then he said, “We sleep now.”

We shuffled down until we were comfortable on the mattress. Like every night, I was the little spoon and his arm was my pillow. Damu pulled his shuka over the both of us so his bare chest pressed against my back, and he settled his arm around me. I could have sworn I heard him sigh, and soon after, the tension left his body and he slept.

I revelled in the feel of him, the hard planes of his body, his strength. His safety, his comfort…

I closed my eyes, and this time when sleep crept in to take me, I went willingly.

“Tell Jarrod I said hi,” Becky says with a sweet smile and wave as she picks up her handbag.

“Will do,” I reply.

“Usual Friday night then?”

“Yes, we’re boring.” I roll my eyes. “Dinner, drinks, home in bed before ten.”

“You’re the oldest twenty-five year olds I know.” She winks. “Have fun, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Yes, you will.” The door closes behind her. The office is quiet just after six, so I make one more note for the Janson’s family holiday trip to New Zealand and shut my computer off.

“You’re here late,” my boss says as she closes up the office around me. I’ve worked here for four years and quite often work late… “Thought you had plans tonight?”

“I do. Meeting Jarrod at the pub. It’ll be quicker if I leave from here instead of going home first.”

She waits for me at the door. I collect my jacket from the back of my chair, pat down my pockets, looking for keys, wallet, and phone, and walk out into the still-warm Sydney evening.

“Have a good weekend,” I say to her as she locks the front door.

“You too, Heath. Take care.”

I walk the two blocks to the pub, finding Jarrod sitting at a table, waiting for me. He’s wearing his work suit, his tie pulled down to expose his first button, undone, and his whole face lights up when he sees me.

I want to take his face in my hands and kiss my hello, but it’s something we aren’t comfortable in doing in public. We’re both out, but public displays of affection, especially in pubs we aren’t too familiar with; it’s not an option.

“Hey,” I say quietly, sitting across from him at the table.

He sips his beer with smiling lips and never says a word.

I just want to hear him speak.

I would give anything to hear his voice.

Then we’re leaving, a few beers happy, and step into the street. The night is dark and my heart is hammering, dread and fear spiking my blood, because I know what’s coming.

“Hey faggots! Where you going? Party’s this way.”

I turn to get a look at the man who spoke, but there isn’t one. There are three… and they come at us in the dark, their intentions as obvious as the bats they’re holding.

Jarrod looks at me, his face etched with fear and panic. He opens his mouth to scream at me to run, run, run, just like he did that night.

But before he makes a sound, everything snaps back.

The alley is gone and we’re on the Tanzanian plain, in the sunlight and fresh air. Jarrod takes my hand and we run, and I laugh, freer than I’ve felt in forever. And when I look at the hand I’m holding, the man I’m running with isn’t Jarrod at all.

It’s Damu.

“You are okay, Alé?” Damu whispered in my ear, his arm was around my chest.

I relaxed straight away, and although my heart was racing, I could tell it wasn’t a full-blown episode.

From the colour of the sky outside the door, I knew we’d be getting up soon. But I sunk back against Damu’s chest and held his arm where it was wrapped around me until my breathing was back to normal.

When he made no effort to move, or put distance between us, I sighed with relief. “Thank you,” I said quietly. I didn’t know what exactly I was thanking him for. For comforting me, for not pushing me away, for being my only ray of sunshine in an otherwise dark and lonely world. For everything.

When we’d collected water and drank our uji, I went about my morning chores and Damu went in search of Kijani. He gave him the money and a list I’d made with the few things I was after. I had to hope the people at the market could read, because no one at the village could. I’d written in English and the best translations Damu and I could come up with.

I’d also explained, with the help of Damu being my translator, to Joseph and Mbaya what I was after. It would be a miracle if they came back with anything close. I was just grateful that they were trying.

Kijani’s initial “no” to my request was because he assumed I expected the village to pay for the school items. They certainly didn’t have money to spare on such things, so I couldn’t blame him for his kneejerk reaction. I still don’t think he liked me, but he tolerated me and I considered that a win.

Though as the morning went on, I noticed things were different. First off, most of the women were gone. The older women remained, tending to the children, and the middle age-set of boys, ages from around ten to eighteen, were wearing black instead of red.

“What’s going on?” I asked Damu. “Why is Nampasso wearing black?”

“This begins the
eunoto
.”

“When they will be circumcised?” Then I thought about it. “Ouch.”

Damu laughed. “Yes. Very painful.”

“What happens at eunoto?”

“Their mothers will build a
inkajijik
, a house, for them to stay in. They will have circumcision, but no sound. Not make noise.”

I’m pretty sure my mouth fell open. “At all?”

“No sound or dishonour.”

I squinted at him. “At all?”

He chuckled. “No.”

Jesus. That hurt just thinking about it. “Wow. Did you make a noise?”

He shook his head proudly. “No.”

“Good Lord. I’m pretty sure I would scream like a stuck pig.”

Damu laughed again. “You have it done, yes?”

“Well, yes. When I was about two weeks old. And I’m pretty sure I would have screamed like a stuck pig.”

Damu chuckled. “Then they will stay there and learn the warrior ways. When this is done, there will be ceremony. New warriors return, old warriors return as elders.”

“Will Kijani not be a warrior anymore?”

Damu tried not to smile. “You not like him?”

“He scares me. He’s intimidating and angry.”

“Yes. Because he is warrior. His job very serious. As he should. He’s important job.” Damu spoke of such reverence for a man that treated him like shit. It boggled my mind. “He will remain warrior. Then he be chief when Kasisi is not. He will take wife after this eunoto.”

I mulled this over for a while. Then I asked, “What about you?”

“What of me?”

“What does that mean to you? Will you become an elder? You’re in the same age-set as Kijani, yes?”

He took a long while to answer, and he gave me a tight smile. “I not warrior. I have no age-set.”

Oh, that’s right. Because his mother died during childbirth. The favoured wife of Kasisi, revered mother to Kijani. And for some reason they blamed Damu.

“Does that make you angry?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I cannot change it. One is not show anger at the sun for setting. I am not angry that the water runs or that the lion hunts.”

“Well, it pisses me off,” I told him. “Makes me very angry that they would treat you this way.”

His lips twitched as he fought a smile. “It is no matter.”

“Well, it matters to me. I wish they’d see you like I do.”

He scoffed, like the whole notion of a compliment was absurd. Then an idea came to me. “Who will tend to the cattle when the boys are gone?”

“Komboa,” Damu answered.

“But he’s just a baby! He can’t be more than five.”

“Maasai learn very young. It is the way we live for many lives.”

I sighed. Centuries-old traditions be damned. “Could you and I look after the cattle?”

“We will, yes.”

“We will? For real? Do we get to see the Serengeti?”

Damu grinned at my excitement. “Yes. Everyone does this when warriors are gone.”

Everyone chipped in when the tribe was halved in number. Awesome! Herding cattle and goats and teaching the kids in our spare time. I clapped my hands together. “This is good news. Good news.”

Damu laughed.

So that’s what we did for the next month. We grazed cattle in the mornings, then I sat with the children in our little school until the sun called it a day. Joseph and Mbaya did come back with a blackboard. It was old chipboard that had been painted over with blackboard paint, and it had also been well used. I didn’t ask if they’d stolen it from a school somewhere, because I truthfully didn’t want to know, and I didn’t particularly care. Because we had ourselves a blackboard for our school! It was cause for major celebrations with the children, who were fascinated by chalk and the ability to draw then wipe it away and to draw it again.

Finding such joy in the simplest of things was a truly grounding and humbling experience. I was so far removed from the life I’d once known… and it was the happiest I could remember being in a long, long time.

But as good as it was to see the children so excited and to watch their faces as they learned to draw letters on the chalkboard, my most favourite thing was to herd the goats.

After water collection and breakfast, at Kasisi’s instruction, Damu and I would take goats into the plains to graze. We would head northwest to the rockier outcrops while the younger boys, like Momboa and Jaali, would take the cattle south. Goats were peskier, more stubborn, so the much easier cattle were shepherded by the kids.

They were probably better at it than I was, but that was a thought I kept to myself.

Kasisi had given Damu and me long sticks. Not the long white sticks of the elders and certainly not a spear like the warriors had. It was merely a tool for herding, not a status of rank, though Damu was still very proud to have received it. I followed Damu’s cues by bowing my head and thanking Kasisi, as though we’d been bestowed with a great honour.

Some customs I could understand, some I could appreciate, and some I could respect. But some were a test to my resolve of not judging. Some I didn’t think I would ever understand.

“What you be thinking?” Damu asked, breaking me from my train of thought.

I looked out across the Serengeti. “That if I ever questioned why the Maasai chose to live so removed from the rest of the world, then this is my answer.” I waved my hand across the panoramic view. The grasses were brown now, the colder weather had put an end to the afternoon storms, and the days of rain were few and far between. But there were a few spots of animals in the distance. Antelopes and possibly some buffalo. I hadn’t seen many animals roaming free―mostly oryx, gazelles, and some wildebeest. They were truly magnificent to watch, even from this distance. The scenery was so beautiful, so remote, and so perfectly disconnected. I loved it. “This is very good.”

“You happy here?”

Well, there was a question I hadn’t truly asked myself. It made me think.
Am I happy here? Or am I happier than where I was?
I guessed it didn’t matter. “I am.”

“I can tell. You have quiet dreams now.”

“Oh.”

He laughed. “Not always but most.”

“Sorry.” I nodded slowly and kept my eyes on the goats. It was easier not to look at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Why you ask if you can ask? You only ask it anyway.”

That made me smile. “True. Do my dreams bother you?”

“No. Scare me at first, but not now. I calm you.”

“You do,” I said, risking a quick glance at him. “You do calm me.” I let out a slow and steady breath. “Does it bother you that I sleep on your bed with you?”

He bit his lip and took a while to answer. “No. I calm you.”

“You do,” I agreed, again. “Tell me, do other men share beds here in your country?” His gaze shot to mine, so I rephrased my question. “What would Kijani do if he saw us?”

Damu stared out across the Serengeti, and after a long silence, he shook his head. “Kijani cannot know.” I nodded slowly, as what he said registered. He frowned, his brow furrowed deeply. “Only share bed if married.”

“Oh.” Jesus. Okay. Well, um, I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “And in your country, men cannot be with men?”

He still wouldn’t look at me. “No, not allowed.”

I swallowed hard.
Here goes nothing. Or everything
, I wasn’t sure. “Sometimes in my country it is allowed.” I still wasn’t about to get into the politics of marriage equality. While gay and lesbian people still couldn’t get married in Australia, they certainly weren’t executed for it. “Sometimes in my country, there is man and woman. Sometimes it is two men, no wife. Or two women, no husband.”

Damu wouldn’t look at me. “No.
A-
i
sarkín
.”

I repeated the word, though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. “What is that in English?”

“Taboo. Great unholy sin. Insult to god and village.”

I let out a steadying breath, my heart was in my throat, my stomach in knots. “In my country, it’s okay.”

Damu shot me a look, half fear, half disbelief. “It is?”

I nodded. “Some people don’t like it, but most don’t mind at all. It’s not illegal.” I swallowed hard. “In this country, in your village, what would happen to a man who loved another man?”