Slowly my eyes opened, adjusting to the light. Light? What time was it, and where was Jata? I sat up like I was on a spring. There she was, practically buried in the burlap sacks, eyes closed, still asleep. There was motion off to the side. I looked over to see five men, including Omolo and one of the guards from last night, sitting around a small fire in the open section of the compound. All around them were bins filled with oranges and piles of empty sacks. There were pushcarts and donkey carts off to one side, but I didn’t see any donkeys. They were probably sheltered in stalls elsewhere in the compound. The air was sweet with the scent of oranges and something cooking.
“Good morning,” Omolo called out. “Come and join us for breakfast.”
“Good morning,” I replied softly, not wanting to wake my sister.
I peeled back the sacks that covered my legs and got up, carefully making my way over to them.
“Here,” the guard said in Swahili as he offered me a bowl. “It is porridge.”
“Thank you, sir. I will wake my sister so she can share.”
“Let the girl sleep,” he said. “There will be a full bowl for her as well.”
I dipped my finger and popped some warm porridge in my mouth. It was sweet—sugar had been added. It was wonderful. Maybe it was the best thing I had ever tasted! Or at least the best thing I had tasted since my mother last cooked for us in our home.
“Did you sleep well?” Omolo asked.
“Better than I have in many, many days.”
“You should have slept well knowing that you had guards to watch over you.”
“Very good guards,” the guard said. “And perhaps it is time that we went back to guarding.” He stood up, as did a man I now recognized as the second guard from the night before.
“And we should also get to work … before the boss arrives,” one of the remaining men said, and he and the final man rose and walked off, leaving me with Omolo.
“I told them what you did when those men threatened me and my cart,” Omolo said. “They took note, as did I.” He pulled something out of his pocket. It was money—paper and coins. “This is all that I have: two hundred and twenty-three shillings. I will keep seventy-three and offer you the rest.”
“I cannot take all that. It leaves you with so little.”
“You must take it. I will get more for my oranges. You must take the money—if not for you, then for your sister.”
I took the three wrinkled notes from him. “Thank you so much.”
“I know you will use it wisely, perhaps for food or for a ride along the way. I wish I had more to give, but the money I receive for the oranges I will need for my family.”
“I understand. I thank you for what you have given.” I stuffed the three bills in my pocket—the one I knew had no holes.
“I will leave before noon, so that is when you should leave too,” Omolo said.
“We will leave earlier. Morning is the best time to travel.”
“It is not as hot,” he said, nodding.
“Or as dangerous.”
“Aye, bad people seem to be afraid of the morning sun,” he agreed. “You could stay with me, but I now travel in the direction you have come.”
I would have liked to continue traveling with him, riding on the seat of the cart. Even more, I would have liked that for Jata.
“I thought that perhaps you could come and be sheltered in my family compound, but I realize that would not be wise,” he said.
I knew what he meant. No Kikuyu should be going to a neighborhood of Luo.
“I have spoken to the guards about your route and the dangers that are ahead. They did not know of this place Kikima, but they knew of Machakos. They said you can reach it by two means—by train, which travels from Nairobi through Machakos, or along the Mombasa highway, as you are already aware. I know you do not have enough for rail travel, so I will show you the way to the highway, first traveling along and then offering directions. But you must be aware that there have been problems along the route. Many problems.”
“Problems?”
“Road blocks, burning vehicles, people being attacked and killed by both protesters and the police.”
“The police are killing people?”
“They are trying to wrest control from the rioters, but a fired bullet does not know you or your sister from a rioter. Of all areas, you must avoid Kibera particularly. But everywhere you go, beware and keep safe.”
“I will keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Once you are east of Nairobi, you are free of the worst. The guards told me that, from what they have heard, rioting has been absent in the Machakos region.”
“There has been none?”
“That region is all Kamba people, so there has been no tension, no rioting, no looting and no need for people to flee to their traditional lands. But you must get safely through Nairobi before you come to Machakos.”
I stood up. “First I must leave here.”
“No. First you and your sister must eat. I will walk with you for the first part, to make sure your route is reliable.”
We walked together to the top of a hill. Stretching out before us was an endless city. Houses and stores blurred together until I could no longer see where one stopped and another started. Vehicles bumped along already busy roads. In the distance, I could make out gigantic buildings reaching into the sky. I had heard of these buildings—these skyscrapers—but never before had I seen them. What would it be like to stand beneath them looking up? What would it be like to stand at the top and look out? From there, you must be able to see forever. Maybe even Kikima could be seen.
It was still early, but not as early as I had hoped to leave. Jata had continued to sleep and I didn’t want to wake her. Dreams were a place of refuge. When she had finally stirred and eaten, she’d seemed reluctant to leave. I knew that reluctance. It felt good to be behind strong walls, with guards to protect us, a friend beside us and warm food to fill our stomachs.
At least some of Nairobi was still slumbering. That didn’t mean it was quiet or empty, but not every space had been filled with a car or a person yet. Not like yesterday.
“Follow this road until you find yourself beside a large sports stadium. The sign will say NYAYO STADIUM. At that point, you will find the highway. It will be marked and you turn toward Mombasa.”
“Is it far to the highway?” Jata asked.
“You see those buildings that stick up in the distance?”
There were buildings everywhere, but I knew he was referring to those that stood tallest against the distant horizon.
“Yes, I see them.”
“Those buildings are as tall as the cliffs of the Rift Valley, but they are so far away that they appear to be small. You will reach the heart of the city, although right now some would argue that this place has no heart, or soul, just anger and danger. From that turn you will be halfway to the highway.”
I thought back to what the sergeant had said about Nairobi grabbing us and not letting us escape.
“If you walk with speed, you will be at the stadium by midday. Once there, your destination is to the right, but be certain to look for the cutoff to Machakos. It will be no more than fifty or sixty kilometers along the highway.”
That was two or three days’ walk, depending upon Jata’s pace.
“You will go to the left when you find that junction to Machakos Town. I am sure there will be signs to show you the way.”
“We don’t need signs,” Jata said, “because we have the string.”
Omolo gave a questioning look.
“It is a Kamba tale,” I explained. “We simply need to follow a trail of string to return to our home.”
“In that case, I wish you not a string to follow but a thick rope. May God go with you.”
“And you.”
We shook hands.
“Goodbye, little sister.”
Jata wrapped her arms around him in a big hug.
“Jata, can you do me one more favor?” Omolo dug into his pocket and pulled out some change. “At some point on your journey, when you are tired and hungry, I want you to purchase two mandazi, one for you and one for your brother.” He offered her the money.
Jata’s eyes brightened at the thought of one of her favorite treats—a sweet, sugary, doughy snack. It made my mouth water to think about it.
“We cannot take any more of your money,” I said.
“I am not offering it to you. I am offering it to your sister. And it is not wise to refuse a gift from a Luo. It is an insult, you know.” He smiled broadly.
“Thank you so much, my friend,” I said.
“You have fresh water, correct?” he asked.
“I filled the container.”
“And you have oranges?”
“You stuffed my bundle so full I can hardly carry them.”
“Eat them and trade them. Oranges are as good as shillings. Now, go and remember me, as I will remember you.”
Omolo turned and started walking away. I expected him to turn back again, but he didn’t. His back was straight and his stride strong. He was practically marching.
“Goodbye, Omolo!” Jata yelled out.
He hesitated, then turned and waved. We waved back, and then all three of us, at the same instant, started walking toward our different destinations.