As they walked more deeply into Kenya, the ground became rocky, and gray mountains loomed in the distance like great spiky lizards. When they could, the boys ate grass and leaves, which were painful to digest without water. They kept their eyes open for abuk, a single-leaf plant with deep roots that were often full of water. Occasionally, they came upon a gumel tree, a huge tree with fruit the size of small pumpkins. Many boys gobbled up the syrupy fruit; the orange juice poured down their chins and chests, leaving sticky streaks that were soon plastered with sand. Jacob watched them hungrily, but remembered Monyroor speaking of the gumel fruit. “The fruit is poison. Boys will find out the hard way.” Several hours later, the sticky boys paid a price for their treat when they began trembling with cold and sweating at the same time, as if they had malaria. They clutched their arms to their bloated bellies and shivered as they walked, despite the heat of the sun.
The only other trees they passed were thorn trees, short desert shrubs with thousands of curved thorns. One entire day was spent walking single-file, elbows held tightly to their sides, hands protecting their eyes, down a narrow path through a huge forest of them. It was impossible to avoid being stabbed by the prickly thorns.
“Help me, Jacob!” Willy cried, twisting and turning as his clothing snagged on them. “Ouch, ouch—it hurts!”
Jacob tried to free him, but the little boy’s baggy shorts got completely snarled up on one tree.
Willy’s eyes filled with tears as the others continued walking, squeezing past him. “Don’t leave me, Jacob!”
“Stop wiggling, Willy. Stand still so I can get your shorts off.” After Willy was free, Jacob struggled for several more minutes to untangle the shorts.
“I’m going to get scratched to bits, even my private parts, Jacob,” Willy cried, trying to protect himself with his hands.
“We’re almost to the end of this stretch. You’ll be fine, Willy. Close your eyes and hold onto my shorts.”
When they finally got away from the thorny trees, they sat down to assess the damage. “It is good there are no mosquitoes just now!” Jacob said, looking down at the many threads of red blood trickling down their arms and legs. “And no bloodthirsty lions!”
Willy laughed through his tears. “You can always see something good, no matter how bad things are, Jacob! Should I put my shorts back on now?”
Each night, as they made camp on the rocky ground, the walkers chose a place far away from their sleeping circles to use as a latrine. Stomach cramps sent boys racing to the hastily dug hole, where buzzing clouds of mosquitoes often swarmed them as they relieved themselves. With so little food in his belly, Jacob did not often have to use the toilet.
“This bag is too hot,” Willy said, squirming to make himself comfortable in his plastic-mesh grain bag.
“Think of it as a cocoon. Maybe you’ll be a beautiful butterfly in the morning.” Jacob pulled his own bag more tightly around him. “You don’t want to turn into an ugly warthog again, do you?”
Oscar’s laughing face with its big ears, his crooked arm, and raspy voice came to Jacob often as he walked, or as he lay, waiting for sleep to end the day. He is a fighter, Jacob thought. He would never give up. Dear Mama: I miss you ... and I miss Oscar, too ... and Monyroor ...