Walking Home (14 page)

We came to the base of the fence, but I didn’t see the sergeant—I didn’t see anybody.

“What are we waiting for?” Jata asked.

“I’m just trying to decide whether we should go left or right.”

“Shouldn’t we just follow the string? You do see it, don’t you?” She sounded hesitant.

“Of course I do. I can see it right outside the fence. I just can’t see where it goes through the fence. Let’s go a little bit to the right and then—” I heard a sound … feet against the dirt. It was either the sergeant or somebody else. Either good or bad. We’d know soon.

“Somebody is—”

“Ssshhh. Stay quiet,” I whispered. I slowly dropped to one knee and pulled Jata down beside me, using my body to shield her.

The footfalls got louder, and then I saw a darkened figure walking just outside the fence. Was it him?

“Muchoki? Muchoki? Can you hear me? Are you there?”

It
was
him!

“Come,” I said. I pulled Jata to her feet and we rushed over to meet the sergeant at the fence. He had his rifle over his shoulder.

“It is good to see you and Jata.”

“It is even better to see you.”

He bent down and grabbed the bottom strand of wire. It was a few centimeters above the dirt. He pulled it up until there was a gap wide enough for us to slip through.

“You first, Jata,” I said.

I dropped the bundled blanket to the ground and grabbed the wire as well, pulling it up to make it easier for her. Jata easily slipped underneath. I pushed the bundle and the water container under, then slipped under as well.

“You came to almost exactly the right spot in the fence. Did you know about it being right here?” the sergeant asked.

“He followed the string,” Jata said.

“What?”

“I just came to the back and it was by chance,” I said. I turned to Jata and quietly said, “It is a secret.”

The sergeant motioned for us to follow him as he walked away from the fence. Finally, well away from the fence, he stopped. “Stay this distance from the fence so that you cannot be seen by the guards but are still close enough that it can guide you. When you can see the main gate, you will be able to find the path
leading out to the highway. I wish I could lead you that far, but I must continue my rounds or someone will become suspicious.”

“I can find the path.”

“Be careful of your steps. This is the time when snakes are out … as well as other things.”

“What other things?” Jata asked anxiously.

“There are lions.”

“You have seen lions?” I asked.

“Not me, but others have. Have you seen zebras?” he asked.

I nodded.

“The Maasai have a saying: ‘If you see zebras, think of lions.’ It means that lions always follow zebras.”

Instinctively I put my hand against my small knife. “They have not been seen close to the fence or along the path to the highway. I think they smell and know to not come close,” he said. “Do not get too close, but do not stray too far. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“The people who will be coming to get you, the government people, will be distressed when they find you are not here and will look for you—in camp first and then perhaps on the road. But they will not look too hard or too far. There are more than enough orphans to keep them occupied. Regardless, you must get far from here before they arrive.”

“We will walk as quickly as we can.”

“You will do better than that. Here, this is for you.” He pressed some shillings into my hand. “I only wish it were more, but it is the end of the month. I have almost nothing left. The rest has been sent to my family.”

“Thank you. What more could any person do than give everything?” I asked.

“When you get to the highway, you must flag down a
matatu
that is going to Nairobi.”

“Is this enough to get us to Nairobi?” I asked.

“Not nearly, but it will get you down the road far enough that nobody will suspect you have come from this camp. It will take you twenty or thirty kilometers, maybe more.”

“Thank you so much.”

“When you get to the highway, remember you are going toward Nairobi. It is to your left.”

“To the left,” I repeated. I knew that already, but it was good to hear it again. Nothing could be worse for us than traveling in the wrong direction and having to retrace our steps.

“I just pray to God that I am doing the right thing,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I am helping you to leave. It is giving you a chance to be together, but it is also giving you a chance to die together.”

“There is always that chance,” I said. “Even when you are in a church with your family.”

“You are right. Besides, I think it would be better to die together than survive apart.”

His words hit me so strongly. I had thought about that so much—how it might have been better if we had all perished as a family. But I couldn’t let those thoughts overwhelm me, especially now.

“We will live together,” I said. “And I will remember that is was because of you, a Kalenjin.”

“First I am a Kenyan. Second I am a Kalenjin. Now, go. I will walk along the fence in that direction. You go the same way so you can see me even if I can’t see you. Follow along.”

I offered my hand and we shook.

“God be with you,” I said.

“And with you, my son.” He released my hand. “Now hurry! Another guard will be here shortly.”

I took my sister’s hand and then picked up the water container. It was heavy, but that was good. It had all the water we’d need for the next few days.

The sergeant walked back to the fence, and Jata and I started along through the scrub. I tried to move quickly and silently and carefully. I pulled my sister up a little incline and then down the other side. Suddenly, the sergeant and the camp were gone from view. It was almost too late to turn back. No, it
was
too late.

“Come, Jata,” I said soothingly. “Stay silent and we will be fine.”

We walked along the base of the small rise. As it ended, I was reassured to see the fence once again and even more reassured to see the silhouette of the sergeant. He coughed loudly, which I suspected had more to do with letting me hear him than actually having to cough. We hurried our steps to keep pace with him. His circle was smaller than ours, so we needed to move faster to stay with him. It was dark but not completely dark. The sky was sending down enough light to guide our feet and keep the fence in sight.

“Do you think we will die?” Jata asked.

“Of course not. I will not let us die. Why would you even think that?”

“I heard the words of the sergeant. It would be all right if we did,” she said. “It would be God’s will, and then we would be with our parents and our aunts and uncles and our cousins.”

“We will be with other cousins and other aunts and uncles, and also with our grandparents,” I said. “There will be time later for us to join our parents. Right now, there is a different plan that we must follow, and right now, you must be silent.”

The way was rough and it was hard to keep one eye on the fence and the second on the ground beneath our feet—harder still to keep one ear on the sounds of
the sergeant and a second on any hints of noise from the brush. Maybe God’s plan was for us to be eaten by a lion, but it was not
my
plan and I would try to stop it.

We continued to circle around until the gate and the guardhouses came into sight. The path would not be much farther ahead of us. The sergeant walked right to the gate and stopped. There were two other guards there. He raised a hand and gave a wave in our direction, and I waved back even though I knew he couldn’t see us.

I turned away and headed forward, away from the fence, not wanting to chance entering onto the path where I could be visible to the guards. Jata and I went over another small rise and then I turned us back toward the path. Almost instantly we came upon it, worn and wide from the thousands of feet that traveled it daily from the camp to the highway. It was reassuring to have it to guide us, just as it was reassuring to have had the fence and the sergeant guiding us. I only wished there
was
a trail of string leading us to Kikima. But in a way, there was: it was a black ribbon of tarmac that led from here to Nairobi. I wasn’t sure of the steps after that, but I was sure of the first. In fact, we’d already taken them.

We followed the path up another rise until we stood at a place where I could make out the outline of the camp if I looked back, and I could see the dark line of the highway if I looked forward. The camp was completely dark, but I could see two pinpoints of light
coming along the highway—the headlights of a vehicle. It was coming in our direction and then would pass us as it continued to Nairobi. As it got closer I could hear the engine straining and see the lights stretched out before it, showing the surface of the road.

“There, I can see the string!” Jata yelled.

I almost told her to be quiet, but I didn’t. She needed to see the string, and so did I. The truck passed by the spot where the path met the highway, and as it did, the white headlights became dull reddish taillights, visible but not giving off any light, just a glow.

We started down the hill, and I stopped myself from looking back. There was nothing behind us. I just hoped there was something in front of us. The weight of the water container pulled me forward, and I pulled Jata with me. The path was smooth and straight, and there was nothing and nobody to stop us from reaching the highway. We were moving faster and faster. I had to fight the urge to run. At the end we could run, but now we needed to walk. I slowed our pace and then came to a complete stop at the highway.

We stepped onto the tarmac. It was empty and dark and solid and there was a little bit of warmth rising from it. I released Jata’s hand and put down the water container. I felt lighter, hopeful.

“This road leads to Nairobi,” I said. “All we have to do is follow it.”

“Is it far?”

“Very far, but not too far.”

“How long will it take?”

“If we stand still, it will take forever.” I picked up the container and Jata took my hand and we started.

“We’re closer now,” she said.

“Yes, we are.”

“And closer now.”

“Yes, another three steps.”

“And even closer—”

“Less talking and more walking.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she said.

We walked in silence for a few moments. I felt badly for snapping at her.

“Jata?”

“Yes, Muchoki?”

“We
are
closer now.”

She laughed, and her laughter made the darkness seem to lift.

A
ll through the night we walked. We slowed but never stopped. Jata kept pace with me, even though she had to take four steps for each three of mine, which meant her journey would be longer. She never complained. That was Jata. That was my
mother
—always looking for things to make her smile, always making other people smile. She was exactly what my father had always said: a small copy of our mother.

As we traveled, most of our time was spent in open country. In the darkness I couldn’t see far, but I could make out the darkened shapes of trees and hedges, and the imagined images of lions lurking behind them. I tried to stay in the very center of the road, feeling somehow that the tarmac would protect us—as if lions couldn’t scale the side of the roadway. But maybe it
was
safer. If they didn’t like the smell of the camp, they
certainly wouldn’t like the lingering smell of the tar and the fumes of the vehicles.

Frequently the country gave way to homesteads or small settlements, a few or a few dozen buildings huddled together. It was as if even the buildings did not like being alone. Their shadows were almost always dark, with only a very few showing any signs of life, light leaking out from beneath doors or around drawn curtains. Light was too precious to allow it to escape, but it wanted to find its way out to freedom.

With the night starting to give way to morning, there were more signs of the world awakening. Roosters started to crow, an invitation to all to wake up. While vehicles were still rare, they were more frequent. They were also coming in waves—not one or two but sometimes ten lorries, all moving together. Maybe they didn’t want to be alone right now either.