Thirty Girls (38 page)

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Flight

I
F
A
GNES DID NOT
come back, at least Louise did.

It was more than a year after I left Kiryandongo that Louise made her escape and finally returned.

When I heard this news I had real gladness. I even remembered the rebels as if there was something good that might have been there.

I had by then gone back to St. Mary’s. I remained in school for a while and tried to study, but it was difficult. The air sometimes thickened and bothered me, and I found it hard to concentrate or do well. So I made the decision to come home to my father’s house and help with my brother and sisters. Aunt Karen is there and it is not so bad always. Soon I will be going to another boarding school, in Kampala, but not just yet.

Louise was taken to Kiryandongo and I arranged to go as soon as it was possible.

Aunt Karen accompanied me. She got us a lift from the medical van
bringing supplies from Kampala. The van stopped at our clinic in Lira where my mother had been a nurse, then continued north to the hospital at Lacor. We traveled on a sunny day and the shadows were sharp black shapes under trees and also under the people walking the red paths beside the road. The van dropped us at the sign for Kiryandongo Camp and we walked the road.

Aunt Karen wore her wedge shoes with tan straps, showing her pale heels, and the soles picked up a layer of red mud, making them higher. I wore a new dark blue dress with spaces cut at the shoulders which I made from one I had seen in my dream. At home I was sewing very much. I also made the top Aunt Karen was wearing, a striped blazer with short sleeves.

We arrived back to this place where I had lived. The trees even stood alert to greet us. I thought of Simon. He had returned to his people in Nebbi, and I sometimes received news of him from there.

I thought of the journalists who had walked across this ground. We had learned of the murder in Kenya and were sorry to hear this news about those who had been our friends.

In the yard was Nurse Nancy leaving the office, her hair flying out as always, maybe longer. She held her arms toward me. Esther, it is you, she said. I am waiting for my letter. I had told her I would maybe be sending letters. I do think of doing it.

We have come to see Louise, I said.

She nodded with closed eyes. I take you.

We approached a group in the shade. One stood. My friend Louise. She looked taller and thinner and had on a new skirt with a swirl of colors and a black shirt.

Our arms went around each other.

Close to her face I said, You are back.

Louise nodded.

You are back. I liked to say it.

Her mouth opened but she said nothing. She did not smile. Her head had been shaved and the hair was smooth. Let us sit there, I said, and we went to the smoothed dirt by a hut, a new one I had not seen. Aunt Karen sat with us. She was a little apart, while Louise and I sat close with legs bent to the side.

I have brought you plasters, I said. They were in the medical van and I knew the camp could use them, so why not?

Louise accepted them. That is okay, she whispered. She put her foot out in a thin flip-flop to show me it was covered on the bottom with plasters. It was the nearest I got to a smile from her.

It is a while before you are accustomed to being back, I told her. She touched the skin showing on my shoulder. I smiled. It will change, I said. She showed what interest she could. Her face was calm, as it is when you return, because you are blank. Behind your face there is still fright you have learned to hide and which may go away or may not. Louise’s face reminded me that I am not as I was when I first returned. That other life remains in me, but it is not up in the front.

I asked Louise where were her children, her two sons, and she told me they remained in the medical clinic in Gulu. Here or there, her face seemed to say, I accept what it is.

Some girls passed by with Christine. She greeted me with a sliding hand. You looking sharp, she said. She was in a white T-shirt, and her pearl earrings stood out against her dark skin. I thought of how she had gone to nursing school in Kampala, but it had not worked out so she had returned here to Kiryandongo. Sometimes there is difficulty going back to the usual life. Christine and the girls sat with us. One beside Christine had a bandage over her ear. I recognized none of these girls, but we were all sisters.

We have seen you in the papers, Louise, Aunt Karen said.

Louise looked to her as if at something too bright. It was from her mother’s efforts that Louise was known. By now Grace had been written about in Denmark, in the United States, in Germany. When Louise returned a week ago, Grace had brought a journalist there to see her and they had taken pictures. We had all seen the story. Was Louise looking forward to moving home? Aunt Karen said. Louise nodded yes. What do you think of your mother’s work?

She has worked hard for us, Louise said in a soft voice. After being with the rebels you learn to say the easy thing. I now saw Aunt Karen had come with me this day because Louise was famous and she liked being near someone famous.

What do you think of what your mother did? Aunt Karen said, sitting
straight up; she smoothed that jacket I made for her. My aunt can be a troublemaker. She may not mean to, I am not sure, but she always is speaking of things which might bother a person hearing them.

For us? Louise said. I am happy. Her voice was light as air, her shoulders as solid as before. She started to scratch a pebble in the dirt.

Nurse Nancy appeared from behind the hut. Mama Grace has looked after all the children taken by tongo tongo, she said. She sat down and patted the knee of the girl with a bandaged ear, saying hello. We are very proud of her.

So you understand her decisions? Aunt Karen said to Louise. Some might not agree. With Nurse Nancy here, Aunt Karen felt she had an audience.

What decisions? Louise whispered.

Aunt Karen took a breath. Well … she began as if unsure, but I knew my aunt, she was not unsure. She looked with a questioning face at Nurse Nancy who nodded at her to continue. When she met with the rebels.

I thought about stopping my aunt from talking, but now Louise was looking directly at her. She was not blank, she was frowning. She did not want to speak of this. Her cheekbones made her face look triangular. My mother made the decisions she wanted, Louise said. She said it in an automatic way.

I was comforted. So she knows it, I thought. I felt shame for Aunt Karen and stayed quiet, facing away. There was no one on the football field.

But Aunt Karen was not done. So you know the story?

Louise’s face was a mask, as if she heard nothing.

Which one? Christine said, showing interest. In Sudan?

We all knew this, when they killed the girl Regina after she spoke to Pere Ben. Many rebels blamed the St. Mary’s girls for it.

No, Aunt Karen said. Not that one. Her meeting with Gregory Oti.

Louise’s gaze remained down. She was not interested, I could see that.

At the Surf Club in Gulu, Aunt Karen said. It is lived in by a tipu. She explained for the other girls.

Some believe that, I said. But this did not stop her from talking.

You know it, Aunt Karen said, speaking to Nurse Nancy.

Nurse Nancy nodded. Yes, we have heard the story.

Well, I knew it straight from my sister, who knew it from Serena, Aunt Karen said. Serena was at the meeting with your mother, Louise.

We knew Serena. She was the mother of Jackline and, like my mother, no longer alive. Serena was Grace’s best friend, who died some time ago, before her daughter returned.

Louise does not know it? Christine said, now recognizing the mischief of my aunt. She placed her hands flat on her lap and observed them, thinking.

No one said anything. We were all thinking of Louise and of the story she did not know. I had the feeling of remembering an old dream, an old nightmare. She felt our thoughts, and perhaps our waiting.

So she said, Tell me.

It was a secret meeting, Aunt Karen said. But it is not a secret now.

She looked at me as if I were arguing with her. Everyone knows it, Esther. And she told us what had happened.

No one looked at anyone. We were all looking inside our heads.

The meeting was arranged by that same doctor who treated Kony. This time the doctor did not promise Kony. No one anyway believed Kony would appear in Gulu. He offered a commander. Grace hoped for Mariano Lagira who perhaps might be generous again.

Other parents went also to the Surf Club. Esther’s mother Edith had even been there, waiting at the abandoned house. The doctor arrived and said everyone must leave. But Grace, he said. Aunt Karen told us he had brought Kony’s second in command, Gregory Oti. We knew Oti. He was a very bad man, fat, with low eyelids and an uneven mouth. I have seen him once beat a boy with a bicycle chain.

Soldiers accompanied Oti that day, carrying guns. The soldiers entered the house and allowed Serena to stand by the door. No one else.

Louise was scratching that pebble in the dirt, listening. We were all listening. Aunt Karen had started to tell it and was going to keep telling it. Your mother showed no fear, Aunt Karen said. A mother has no fear if she is thinking of her children.

There were two chairs in the room, facing each other. Gregory Oti sat first, a big man with creases in his fat neck. The soldiers stood behind and Grace had a view of Serena by the door.

We will have tea, Gregory Oti said. A soldier, not with a gun, brought two tin cups of tea and handed them to the commander and Grace.

Gregory Oti leaned back on the small chair. You have been making problems for us, he said, smiling.

Grace sat on the edge of her seat. We want our children back, she said.

Oti’s smile shrank. We look after our children as our own family, he said. Do not think the girls are unhappy. They are happy, they are very happy. He took a sip from his cup.

Mariano Lagira let the girls of St. Mary’s go, Grace said.

These girls are Kony’s family now.

No, I am her family. I am her mother.

I am not an unreasonable man, he said vaguely. You have made a group, isn’t this so?

Yes. We call it We Are Concerned.

Yes. Oti swiveled his head, as if not wanting to hear it. I see.

You know our wish, she said. Then an odd thing happened; she recognized this man as someone she had gone to school with. She had known his sister. But she did not say this.

Someone had placed plastic bags on the chairs, and hers was sliding beneath her. Serena saw she was becoming angry and knew Grace’s temper and gave her a warning look. Grace dropped her shoulders a little.

We ask you to please release our daughters and all the children, she said more softly. A glance at Serena. Please, in the name of God.

We have heard you, he said. He sighed. Sometimes we release girls. He shrugged as if he was tired of talking about this already.

You will give us our girls?

Gregory Oti made a noise in his throat, like a buffalo before charging. But he did not want to hurry. He finished his tea and held out his cup to be taken by the small soldier.

This is our wish, Grace said.

Then his face was angry. We have heard it, he repeated.

Grace was silent.

The Aboke girls, they are receiving a lot of attention, he said. You have been the cause of army attacks on the children, you know.

No, Grace said. That could not be so.

I have seen it, he said, leaving his mouth open. And now we hear the Pope speaking of the Aboke girls. He stared at Grace with his low-lidded eyes, as if this were proof she was damaging.

The Pope has spoken on their behalf, she admitted. And on behalf of all the children.

Oti set his feet down. Kony does not like this. There was a pause, apparently in honor of Kony. Then Oti went on, This makes trouble for him. When Kony only wants to keep his mind on saving his people.

Grace chose not to debate the truth of this.

But there may be a way, he said. He smiled. Your daughter, what is her name?

Louise. Dollo Louise. Grace was not encouraged by the smile.

Yes, I have seen all the girls, he said, waving his hand dismissively. I say this to you from Kony. He tucked his hand into his belt. I am a man of my word and I offer you this agreement if you will receive it. I will give you your daughter Louisa—

Louise, Grace said softly.

—and in exchange you will stop speaking against Kony and stop making trouble for the rebels. You and your group will remain silent.

Grace stared at him.

He untucked his hand and held his palms out, as if to say, How can you refuse?

You must release all the girls, Grace said. All the children.

Oti sat forward, hands on his knees, shaking his head. You are not understanding. I give you your daughter. You are then silent.

Grace thought of the children. Later she told these thoughts to Serena. She also thought of the mothers. She thought of Pere Ben who had just then lost his job, working instead to bring his Charlotte back. She saw the different houses where the parents would meet and make their plans. She saw one mother named Florence making soup and crying at the stove for her daughter Helen. The mothers were banded together. She would not forget all the mothers.