Walking Home (29 page)

“But I still have no money.”

“You have done a favor for me. I will return a favor to you. Now take the maize or I will be offended.”

I took it from his hand and turned to Jata. “For you.”

“For
us
,” she insisted.

“You start and I will finish.”

She took the maize from me and started eating.

“There is one more favor that I would ask,” I said, turning back to the man. “Could you tell me how far Machakos is?”

“Sixteen kilometers.”

“It is only sixteen kilometers!” I exclaimed. “Are you certain?”

“That is what the sign says.”

He pointed up the road. Sure enough, there was a large green sign confirming what he’d told us.

“So you are going to Machakos?” he asked.

“We are going to a little place beyond it.”

“And it is called?”

“Kikima.”

“Ah yes, I know Kikima.”

“You do?”

“It is not that much farther. Maybe another forty kilometers. You could be there by nightfall.”

“It will be longer. Maybe three days—two if we walk long hours each day.”

“Walk? You are going to
walk
?”

“Yes, sir. We have already walked for many days, so two or three more is possible.” In my head I thought it was not just possible but a certainty.

He shook his head. “You stand here and watch my maize. I will be back.”

He walked away and I felt anxious. What was he doing? Maybe we would be best to leave. There was more than enough light for us to get at least part of the way to Machakos if we left right away.

“Hey, boy! Come, and bring your sister!” the maize man yelled. He was standing beside a big lorry filled with sand.

I picked up the water container, grabbed Jata with my other hand and hurried over.

“This is my friend Henry,” the maize man said.

“Hello, sir. I am Muchoki and this is Jata.”

Henry nodded his head in response.

“He is the driver of this lorry. It is going to Machakos, and you are going with him.”

I could hardly believe my ears!

“Climb up in the back,” the driver said. “Quickly, I have to get this and another load in before dark.”

“Come, there is a ladder on the side,” the maize man said.

I helped Jata start the climb up, then followed close behind, struggling with the water container in one hand. Finally, I got to the top.

“Thank you!” I called down to the maize man.

“Good luck and offer my greetings to your family!”

I shooed Jata to the center of the truck, and we both positioned ourselves on top of the load of sand. Almost instantly the truck started moving, bumping along the dirt side of the road and then up onto the tarmac.

“Do not be afraid,” I said to Jata.

“I am not afraid. I am happy. We are moving without me having to use my feet. Wake me when we get there.” She lay back in the sand. That seemed like a good thing to do. Still holding the water container with the one hand and taking her hand in my other, I lay back as well. The sand was slightly damp and cool, and it felt so good as both soaked through my shirt and into my body.

T
he lorry slowed and I sat up. I had fallen asleep. We were circling a roundabout. It was a big place with stores, a bank and a church. The roads were filled with cars and motorcycles, and people passed along narrow walkways that separated store from road. This looked to be a fine city. It reminded me very much of Eldoret—at least how it was before.

When we had left Eldoret in the back of the lorry, I saw what it had become. There were looted stores and burned cars on the streets. Rocks littered the road, and everywhere there was a smell of the fear and terror and anger that had gripped the city. It was there and still growing as we left. Even the rain that had fallen that day hadn’t been able to cleanse the air. But here, there was none of that smell.

The truck exited on the far side of the roundabout
and then went a short block and made a turn, the brakes complaining as the driver slowed through the turn. Up ahead sat a yard full of lorries just like this one—some full and some empty. Behind them was a gigantic pile of sand and a large building. The brakes squealed again and the engine roared as the driver downshifted and turned into the yard. He moved into a space beside the sand pile and then brought the lorry to a stop. Was this the end? Was this Machakos?

“Okay, you must get down now!” Henry called up.

Jata and I went down the ladder to where the driver was waiting.

“You are now in Machakos,” he said.

“It looks like a good town. Sir, could you tell me, was there any violence here? Has it been quiet?”

“Most quiet. There was no violence in the heart of Kambaland.”

“None?”

“Well, there were two men who came. They wished to instigate violence. We told them that we did not believe in violence … so we killed them.”

“You killed them!”

“It was not me—it was others. They beat the men with sticks until they were dead, and then they set their bodies on fire. The men had to know that there would be no violence in Machakos.”

His answer was disturbing and reassuring all at once. The citizens had stamped out violence and I was safe, but I shuddered at the thought of how that safety was accomplished.

“Thank you, sir. We now have only one more step to travel. We have to get to Kikima.”

“That is a fine town.”

“You know Kikima?”

“Everybody around here knows Kikima.”

“Is it far?”

“The roads are rough, but by vehicle it is no more than an hour.”

“And by foot?” I asked.

“It depends on the speed of the foot. It is twenty-five kilometers.”

“It is one day’s walk.”

“One day,” he said. “Not one night. The roads are not safe.”

“But you said there was no violence here.”

“There are always thugs. The roads are much safer during the day.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the building behind him. “Now go before my boss sees that I brought cargo with me that was not sand.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

I led Jata away through the gates and onto the busy street outside. Traffic buzzed around us and people brushed by. We had no time to gawk.

“We need to find a place to sleep for the night,” I said.

“We aren’t sleeping in a tree again, are we?”

“No trees.” Here it was not animals I feared but the people.

Machakos Town was big and we were close to the center. We needed to get out of the heart and into a part that was deserted. How far would that be? I thought back to the places we had slept the last five nights—under the protection of a Maasai, in an abandoned building, under the overhang of a building, in a warehouse filled with oranges and in a tree with a lion at our feet. Last night had been the worst. Tonight would have to be better than that.

As we walked, I made an inventory of the things we possessed. The water container was solid and almost full of clean drinking water. We had enough beans and maize for at least five more meals—far more than we would need before we arrived. We had our pot, the cups and bowls and spoons, and of course my little knife and the club. The two blankets were still in good shape. And we had one more thing.

I put my hand into my pocket and felt the shillings folded in the bottom. It wasn’t much money, but tomorrow we would use it. Tomorrow we would get on a
matatu
and ride toward Kikima. We might not have money to pay the fare the entire way, but each
kilometer that we didn’t have to walk was good. Jata was starting to struggle. And I was beginning to struggle as well. I could continue to move forward, but I might not be able to carry her on my back … no, I would carry her as long as I had the strength if that was what she needed.

I knew I should have felt excited—our goal was in reach—but instead I just felt afraid. What if my mother’s fears had been correct and we wouldn’t be received? With her we had their daughter and a claim to kinship. Now we were only strangers claiming to be family. Then what would we do? Where would we go? How would we move forward? The only other person I knew was Jomo, and while I had a slip of paper that gave the name of his new village I had no idea where or how far it was or how we could ever possibly get there. I felt such a sense of panic and dread that I stopped walking, suddenly weighed down by so much more than what was on my back and in my hands.

“What is wrong?” Jata asked.

“Nothing, nothing.”

I reached out and took her hand and started walking again. Standing still meant we were finished. None of the steps that preceded this one meant anything.

The streets became much quieter as we left the center of town behind. The setting sun was a signal for us to seek shelter. We passed by a government office
and the local hospital. Ahead were some bushes. I wondered if we could find shelter in their midst, safely away from the prying eyes of passersby.

“You stand right here,” I said to Jata. “Do not move from this fence, and watch our water container.” I set it down at her feet.