Walking Home (11 page)

“There were so many of us. It was crowded and dark and confused. But I was there with the men who had always taken care of me—my father, my grandfather and my uncle—and I knew they would keep me safe.

“Then they came. First it was the voices. Then we could see torches bouncing up and down in the darkness, like they were living things moving toward us on their own. They came from three directions. Then as they closed in I could see the people who were holding the torches, burning bright and lighting their way. My father and the other men went outside. I went too.

“My father took me aside and commanded me to get my mother and sister and flee through the back. I begged him to flee with us, but he refused. He said he could not stop them, but he could slow them down enough to allow us to escape through the fields. I asked if I should take my cousins and my aunt, but he said that was for his brother to decide, not him, and then the mob arrived and I ran back into the church.

“I looked through the windows as others turned away, afraid to see. I was too afraid
not
to see. I saw more
and more torches coming toward us, and more and more people gathering out there. In the light from the torches I could see some of their faces, and even though I knew some of the people, I could hardly recognize them. There was something so different about them.”

“And there were no police to stop them?” the sergeant asked.

“There was nobody,” I answered. “At first the mob stopped just outside the fence marking the church property. It was sacred land and they didn’t want to enter. It was difficult then, telling my mother what my father’s wishes were. She did not want to leave, did not want to leave him behind. I understood, but I insisted.

“As the crowd grew, they started tossing rocks. I remember people jumping and screaming as that first rock pierced the stained glass and sent shards into the air. Those shards of glass compelled my mother to listen to what I had said.

“Then it all happened. They swept through the front gate of the church grounds, screaming and yelling, and people inside and outside the church answered with their own anguished screams. I grabbed my sister in my arms and carried her through the crowd to the back of the building and out the rear doors. I yelled for my mother to run! I looked over my shoulder as we stumbled into a cornfield. Desperately I looked back for my father, but I knew he was gone.”

“And through your actions, you and your mother and sister escaped.”

“It was my father’s actions that allowed us to escape. He stayed behind to give us time to leave,” I said sadly. “My mother, unsteady on her feet, clung to my other arm for support. The corn was thick and high and we were hidden in the stalks.”

“And then?”

“I left my sister and mother and went back to the edge of the field. The mob had by then surrounded the church on all sides, so there was no hope of escape. Again I looked for my father, but he was not to be seen. I knew. I knew. I could not do anything. I hid there, able to watch but not to be seen.”

“If you cannot talk more about this, I understand. This must be difficult for you to speak of,” the sergeant said.

Strangely, it wasn’t. I’d relived it so many times in my thoughts and my nightmares that the words simply flowed out. I was more of a distant witness than anything else, as if I were telling him of something I’d read in the papers.

“I can talk.” It felt like now that I had started I had no choice but to keep telling him the story, that I couldn’t have stopped the words if I’d tried. “The mob barred the doors, barricaded them so none could escape. And then they set the church on fire.”

“So awful. So terrible. I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“If I had been there, I would have tried to stop them,” the sergeant said. “If I had to, I would have opened fire upon the mob to drive them back.”

“They were Kalenjin, your people. You would have fired on them?” I asked.

“I would have fired upon enemies of the country because that is what they were, whether they were Kalenjin killing Kikuyu or Kikuyu killing Kalenjin, as was done in other parts of the country.” He stopped. “All those responsible for these atrocities are the same. They are nothing more than savages, animals looking for an excuse for violence, hyenas reacting to the smell of blood.”

“It might have been different if the police and soldiers had come,” I said.

“I have spoken to some of the men who were in those garrisons. They said there were more in the mobs than they had bullets in their guns. They were afraid. I understand the fear, but that is not an excuse. Those men were sworn to uphold the laws of our land. They did not keep their oath.”

I should have felt angry at the soldiers who did nothing to protect us, but I didn’t. I could still taste the fear I felt lying in the stalks at the edge of the field. I didn’t have a gun, but even if I had, would I have done
anything? Would I have been brave enough to help my father? I just lay there and watched as the church was set on fire.

“The flames started from the inside as windows were smashed and torches thrown in,” I said, resuming my story. “Soon the thick black smoke poured out through the windows, and then the flames licked up the sides of the building and the roof caught fire. The light from the fire was so bright that I was afraid I would be seen and the mob would come after me. I needed to get my mother and sister and get away—as far away as possible.

“When I reached them, my mother wanted to wait for my father. I simply told her that he would not be coming and said no more. She knew, but we agreed not to speak further of him. I pulled her to her feet and took my sister into my arms. We staggered away, stumbling through the darkness, trying to be quiet while trying to listen. We bumped into other people—Kikuyu fleeing for their lives, and sometimes Luo, as confused and almost as frightened as us. We walked throughout the night, each step putting a little more distance between us and the mob, between us and the church. It wasn’t until the morning that we stopped.

“My sister had fallen asleep in my arms, and I’d put her down in the safe spot we’d found to wait. We waited with two other Kikuyu families who were also fleeing. Then I took my mother aside and told her what
had happened. How do you tell your mother that your father has died? How do you find the words? It was the hardest thing I had ever done. It was much harder even than watching the church burn. That had not seemed real. Telling her was all too real.

“It was so strange. I’d been somehow preparing for my mother’s death for years. The malaria had weakened her and made so many illnesses appear. I didn’t expect it to be my father. He was so big, so strong, so healthy. I thought he would live forever. I was wrong.”

“I wish I could have been there that night,” the sergeant said again. “Instead all I can do now is make arrangements for funds to be disbursed to your family. I wish to make sure that as soon as you are able to travel, you will be ready.”

“You have shown friendship and kindness to my family,” I said.

“It is important that Kalenjin show friendship to Kikuyu, and that Kikuyu do the same to Kalenjin,” he said. “You must try to do this.”

I understood what he was saying, but could I ever do that? Could I ever show kindness to the people who had killed my father? Wouldn’t that be to disrespect his memory, to dishonor his passing?

“You cannot fight evil by becoming evil,” he said, seeming to read my thoughts. “The only cure for darkness is light. Not that you should forget what happened.”

“I cannot forget what happened!” I snapped, but then I felt badly. This man had done nothing but offer me friendship. He had shown us kindness … but that was different.
He
was different. He was Kalenjin, but he was different.

“But please also remember the kindnesses that have been offered. Do not let the bad—no matter how bad—erase the good. Those people have taken so much from you, please do not let them take everything.”

I slowly nodded in agreement.

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “You are a good boy. A boy a father would be proud of. Now you go and tell your mother, and I will go and make the arrangements. I will try to make things happen quickly, but it could be two or three weeks.”

“Thank you.”

I
would
remember this small act of kindness by a Kalenjin, but that act would never make up for the evil that was done by other Kalenjins. I would never forget what those people had done. Helping to get us a few shillings for a
matatu
would never undo those deeds.

I would not forget any of it. Ever.

T
here was a loud cry from somewhere outside the tent—sad and loud and desperate—and then I heard my sister react. She started crying. I jumped up from the ground and went to her side.

“Jata, it is all right. I’m here,” I whispered. I tried to keep my voice calm, although I felt my heart racing too.

The sobbing continued. I scooped her up and she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck. For somebody so little and thin, she had such power.

“It’s all right. It’s just a noise in the distance.”

At that instant, the person cried out again. I felt Jata tighten her grip, felt her body begin to shake as she cried louder. I had to comfort her, but I also had to make sure she didn’t wake our mother. I stood up with her in my arms and walked over to the tent flap, pushing it open and stepping outside.

“See, there’s nothing out here to be afraid of,” I said.

She loosened her grip slightly and peered around. I looked around too. She wasn’t the only person who needed reassurance.

“Everybody is asleep. That was probably somebody having a bad dream,” I said. I knew about bad dreams.

I felt her relax a little bit more. I needed to offer her more reassurance.

“We are safe here in the camp. Nobody can get in.”

My fears here weren’t from the outside. They were about diseases being spread, the water being tainted and of course fire. And there had been fires. It was inevitable when there were so many people, so many tents and so many cooking fires. Although most only burned a few tents, others spread rapidly and destroyed dozens and dozens of tents before they were put out. Those affected were without shelter except that offered by their neighbors until a new tent could be brought. It seemed so cruel for those who had so little to lose the little they had.

The fires scared me just as much as the loud sounds bothered Jata. She had
heard
the mobs, but I had
seen
the flames. The nightmare had entered not just through my eyes but through my nose. The smell of fire caused me great distress. How sad that something that warmed our bones and cooked our meals could also be used for
something so evil. Fire wasn’t our friend or our enemy, it just was.