CHAPTER

8

“Pretend you’re going to the bathroom,” Foghorn whispered. “I’ll turn around slowly.”

“You’re as blind as a rhino. You go to the bathroom. I’ll watch. I can see better than you can at a distance.”

“You’re right, C.C. Good thinking.” It probably hurt Foghorn to admit I was right, but he knew good logic when he heard it. He got up and sauntered toward the small canvas tent that looked like an old-fashioned outhouse. Dr. Langley’s men had set two up behind the camp, away from the river.

I turned a little, as if I was watching Foghorn leave. Then I got up and walked toward my tent. But when I reached it, I didn’t go in. I circled behind it, not satisfied with Foghorn’s plan to watch. I needed to do something.

Two boys had their backs to me when I saw them. They were watching in the direction that Foghorn took.

“Jambo.” I spoke as if boys hid behind trees and spied on me every day.

Julius and another boy about his age swung around. Obviously, they wanted to run, but before they could, Foghorn came up on the other side.

“Jambo.” He had heard my greeting. Both of us acted normal. “Habari?”

Both boys mumbled, “Jambo,” but hung their heads.

“Rafiki.” Foghorn held out his hand to Julius, telling the boys we wanted to be friends.

Julius looked at Foghorn. “You rich? Rich American kids?”

I stared at Julius in shock, thinking he knew no English. Maybe he thought he shouldn’t have spoken, or maybe he just got nervous. Both boys turned and dashed off into the woods.

“That’s funny, Foghorn. I thought he didn’t know English. And Julius knew who we were. Why are they afraid of us?”

“I don’t think he’s afraid. Maybe he’s shy. It’s not unusual. While some of the Masai have adapted to strangers on their lands, others probably haven’t. And maybe he knows some English. He’s heard someone say that.”

“He’s heard Minto say it. Minto said almost the same thing to me.”

“We are rich in their eyes.”

“I’ll bet they were the ones watching us unload the rhinos.”

“I’m sure you’re right, C.C. They hide out of habit.”

They didn’t either. They were scared when I came up behind them and stopped them from running and I knew it. I know scared when I feel it in someone. But I didn’t argue with Foghorn. I knew he’d give me a lecture about logic and knowledge being more to go on than feelings.

When we got back to the dining tent, Michael Mugambi had come into camp and was talking to Dr. Langley. He was ready to take us into the Masai village.

“I’ll stay here, Paul.” Dr. Langley was shouldering a day pack. “Or rather with the rhinos. We’re going to write a lot of field notes to document how these two adapt. It’ll be important if and when we introduce others.”

“Are there some doubts about bringing others here?” Foghorn asked.

“We have to be sure they can go back into the wild. Pablo and Mia don’t realize how important they are.”

“I think they do,” I whispered to Foghorn as we climbed into the backseat of Dr. Langley’s Land Rover. He said he’d take one of the trucks back to where we’d left the rhinos. Michael and Minto rode in the front. Dad, Foghorn, and I sat in the back. I settled for the middle as long as I could stand up and look out the hatch when I wanted to.

“That’s illogical, C.C. As dumb as they are, rhinos only know if they have food. Like other species I know of.” Foghorn had seen me put an apple in my pack.

I ignored his remark. “Minto, has your brother been to school?”

“For one year. He not like it.” Minto turned and grinned at me. “I teach him some things, but he good Masai warrior.”

Before we could ask more about schooling for the native children, an elephant charged toward our car.

“Watch out!” I yelled.

Michael had seen the elephant, of course. I yelled automatically. He stopped the Land Rover, but kept the engine running. The elephant paused about twenty-five feet in front of us on the road.

“It’s like a traffic jam on I-25,” Foghorn whispered, delighted with the situation. “He’s a semi, and we’ll give him the right of way.”

Dad and I were snapping photos through the windshield, but I was afraid they wouldn’t turn out well. Slowly I climbed up onto the seat, then stood. I was just tall enough to see out of the open hatch in the top of the car. I tiptoed, leaned on the roof to steady my shot, and clicked away.

The elephant, ears flared, stared at us. Then, apparently satisfied that he’d made his point—he was king of the road—ambled off the path, still watching. When he got to the other side he ran, bouncing along as if he didn’t weigh at least a ton.

“Why does an elephant cross the road?” asked Foghorn, after I sat down, satisfied I’d gotten some great photos.

“Just as we come along?” added Dad.

“To pick up a trunk full of bananas?” I guessed, figuring Foghorn didn’t have an answer to his riddle.

“To show us who’s boss man out here.” Minto supplied the correct reason.

“I’m just glad to see some elephants,” said Dad. “They’re being killed off for the ivory in their tusks almost as fast as the rhino. Time is running out for both species.”

Minto changed the subject. “Remember not to take photos in the camp until I ask.” He looked at me.

“I promise.”

“Should we offer them some money?” asked Dad. “We don’t mind paying for some photographs.”

“Give me some small bills,” said Michael. “I’ll take care of it.”

We turned off the road into a meadow. About twelve grass huts were built in a circle. People stared as our car approached the village.

“The camp is called a kraal or a manyatta” explained Michael. “Many of the people here are related.”

After Michael talked to several men, he told me I could take some pictures. First I photographed a grass hut, plastered on the sides and on the roof with cow dung to keep out rain.

“The better-made houses belong to the rich men.” Michael stayed close to me. “They have more cows, so there is more dung to make the huts snug.”

I didn’t want to think about building one, but to my surprise, there wasn’t much smell left, just an earthy, barn-like odor which wasn’t unpleasant. What was awful was the flies. They kept landing on my face, and I spent half my time swatting at them. The little children who gathered around seemed to ignore them. Flies crawled all over their faces and huge eyes.

They stared at us, bellies big like babies everywhere. They were mostly naked but didn’t worry about it.

Inside, the hut was bigger than I thought. There was a large living and storage area where a fire was kept going all the time. Michael said it was for cooking, and it kept out mosquitoes. Flies, too, I thought.

“This bedroom is for the man of the house. And this one for his wife and babies.”

“Does he have only one wife?” asked Dad.

“No, but each wife has her own hut. His number-one wife lives here.”

The house was dark, but Michael said people didn’t stay in the houses except at night and when it rained. As we left, we realized cows and goats were kept in the outer shelter of the hut. “Keeps them safe from lions and thieves.” Then Michael thanked the man who owned the hut.

I was relieved to get back outside where the sky was bright blue and puffy clouds sailed against it. Mrs. Briggs was going to be surprised when I kept my room clean without being told from now on. Julius was right. By Masai standards, we. were rich Americans.

Even though the Masai must see many tourists, they were curious about us. Then Minto told people we wanted to trade with them, which was a mistake. Immediately we were mobbed by women and children of all ages. The men hung back, but held things they thought might interest us.

Dad laughed. “We can’t buy everything.”

“They expect you to buy something. All tourists want Masai goods. I’ll help you talk to them.” The people listened as Michael told them something. Probably that we wanted tons of souvenirs. I kept taking pictures, trying not to be obvious about it. A smiling Minto watched us closely, maybe ready to help us, or maybe just amused.

Two women stopped in front of me and fastened beaded bracelets on my wrist. “Hey,” I protested. “Don’t do that.”

Too late. In seconds I was wearing a necklace and bracelets on the other arm.

“Looks good on you.” Foghorn turned to one of the women and spoke in English. “C.C. wants you to stretch her earlobes so she can wear earrings like those.” Foghorn pointed to a woman’s ears. The lobes were huge loops of skin. Earlier, I had given a little kid an empty film canister when we got out of the car. Somehow this woman had gotten it. She had tucked it into one earlobe and wore it proudly.

“When I run out of pockets it might come in handy,” I said.

The woman giggled although she didn’t know what Foghorn had said. Even so, she was trying to sell me some earrings. I backed off. A small crowd followed me. Foghorn and I were left on our own. Michael and Minto were helping Dad talk to some of the warriors, many of whom carried spears. They didn’t look threatening. I guess they carried them all the time.

Thinking about spears, I jumped when someone grabbed my arm and tugged at me. To my surprise, it was Foghorn.

“Walk this way slowly, and get a photograph, even if you have to buy all that jewelry,” he whispered, grinning at the people who moved with us. “Jambo, jambo,” he kept saying. “Sitaki.”

I had told them a dozen times I didn’t want anything. I don’t know why Foghorn thought that word was magic. But as he tugged me to the right of the hut he said, “Bei gani?”

“Asking them how much things cost will just encourage them, Foghorn.” Not knowing why he was pulling on me, I didn’t understand his tactics. Then he started telling them that things were too expensive, as if he were bargaining.

“Ni gali sana, ni gali sana.” He pulled some bills from his pocket and started examining trinkets more closely. “Stay with me, C.C. This is important. Snap a photograph with your long lens to the right of the hut.”

Ignoring the crowd, who were fascinated by my bag of camera gear, I slipped off the fifty-five-millimeter lens and put on the two hundred. I didn’t know what Foghorn was talking about, but I understood his tone of voice.

I raised my camera and snapped two photos before my eye focused enough to see what I was getting. Two boys played at war, as boys do all over the world. But one boy had a pretend gun of wood and the other a real gun. A big one, maybe a machine gun. I got about three photos when a hand reached out and snatched the boy away, behind the hut.

“Now, buy something. Whatever you have to buy, but change lenses first or put your camera away. It might not be a good idea to let anyone know you got a picture of that.”

Foghorn walked away from me and the crowd of giggling women and children surrounding me. He pretended to be looking at the hut, examining it, but I knew he also searched the ground and tried to see everything in the camp.

I did as Foghorn instructed. I was really fast with lens-switching. I had practiced before we left home, knowing we were going to be photographing animals, who don’t always sit still and pose. Then I put my camera in my bag and pulled out some money. It nearly caused a riot.

“I’ll take these two bracelets.” I pointed to a green and orange beaded band on my wrist, and another of multicolored beads. The work looked amazingly like American Indian beadwork. “But I don’t want this thing around my neck.” I tried to take off the huge necklace.

“No, no,” several women said, putting it back on as fast as I could take it off. “Ishirina na moja.”

Michael came to my rescue. “What did you and Foghorn see?” he asked. “What did you photograph?” he asked in a brusque voice.

“Nothing. Just a cute baby,” I added, thinking quickly.

Michael frowned at me. He knew I was lying. “Fifty cents will buy both bracelets, but that necklace at twenty-one dollars is a bargain. I suggest you buy it.”

“It won’t match my school clothes. Sitaki, sitaki.” I shook my head and smiled at the young woman who finally took it back reluctantly. She wore several that were similar. “Asante, asante. Kesho, kesho” I kept saying.

“Don’t promise them we’ll be back tomorrow.” Foghorn returned from his inspection trip and scolded me.

I tried to laugh. “I’ll do anything to get away today.”

I looked to see why Foghorn was staring at the ground. It wasn’t the ground, it was Michael’s shoes, old worn-out tennis shoes. Michael glanced at his watch. “We’d better get back to camp.” I watched while he turned and headed for the car. His left foot made a distinctive track in the powdery dirt of the kraal floor. A chunk of rubber was missing from the bottom of his shoe.

I looked at Foghorn. He was holding out some money to an old man. He wanted the small club that the man held up. How could he go off and buy something when he’d seen that Michael was the one with the funny shoe print? And wait until I told him that Michael saw me take the picture, and that he didn’t like it, even though he didn’t know what we’d seen.

The people were very friendly now that we’d bought something. So friendly they followed us all the way to the Land Rover, holding out trinkets, sure we didn’t mean we’d bought enough. They laughed and called out things to us which neither Foghorn nor I understood.

We managed to get into the Land Rover, but there was such a people jam, I didn’t know how we’d leave. Michael started the car’s engine and inched away from the village.

“Kwaheri, kwaheri,” people shouted.

“Kwaheri,” we all called back. “Good-bye.”

“C.C. will be back to buy some more jewelry tomorrow,” Foghorn said to the collection of women outside his window. He pointed to the huge collar necklace. “She’ll want that. And that, and that.” He kept pointing to stuff.

“Foghorn, stop it.” I pulled his hand into the car. “You’re being awful. They may think I really am coming back.”

“They enjoyed your visit,” said Michael. “I had a hard time refusing the chief’s offer, though, C.C.”

“What offer?” I had a feeling I didn’t want to hear what Michael was going to say.

“He offered me fifteen goats for you. That’s a very high bride price. You should be proud.”

Foghorn punched me and doubled over. “Someone offered you fifteen goats for C.C.? Dad, let’s take it. We may not get a better deal.”

“How would we get them home?” asked Dad, going along with the teasing. “I’m sure they don’t allow goats on the plane.”

“He said you have hair like fire.” Minto grinned at me. “And teeth like pearls.” Foghorn was never going to let me forget this.

I sat still and took the teasing. Surely Michael was teasing me, and maybe the old chief, too. I couldn’t think that even Masai girls got married at age eleven. I guess he could have kept me around until I was the correct age to get married. Joke or not, it was just about the funniest thing that had ever happened. Imagine a Masai warrior wanting to buy me.

“You’re just jealous, Foghorn, because no one wanted to buy you.” That should shut up my pesky brother.

“They say American boy speak with strange tongue.” Minto was having a good time.

“Very strange tongue,” I added. “He very strange boy. Worth two cows and at least five goats.”

Now Foghorn had to grin and put up with us. Dad leaned back and shook his head. “Maybe I’d better worry about getting you two out of Kenya. Mrs. Briggs would never forgive me if I sold you.”

“You could always tell her a tiger ate us.” Foghorn did his lion roar out the window of the Land Rover as we headed back to camp. A herd of wildebeests looked up to see where the threat came from.

We quieted down and stared out the window. For a time Dad and I stood in the overhead hatch and watched for animals, while Michael drove very slowly. Foghorn kept one eye on his window, but also scribbled in his notebook.

It wasn’t until we got out, thanked Michael and Minto, and were alone near our tents that I got a chance to ask Foghorn about the boys with the gun. Not to mention that Michael’s footprints matched the ones around the compound where Mia and Pablo were kept.

“What kind of gun was that, Foghorn?” I was sure he knew. He had all sorts of books on weapons.

“An AK-47 assault rifle. Not what you’d expect to find a Masai child playing with. But obviously he didn’t have permission. I wish I could have seen who grabbed him from behind the hut.”

“Should we tell Dr. Langley? Or maybe I should have told Michael before we left the village. No, not Michael, he saw me take the picture, Foghorn. He asked me what we saw. He seemed upset. And what do you think about his shoes making the strange print that we found all around Mia and Pablo’s pen?”

“I was glad to identify it. Now I can cross it off my list of clues.”

“It means nothing?”

“He had a perfect right to be at headquarters. Of course his footprints would be there.”

“But not all around the compound where Mia and Pablo were.”

“Sure. He wanted to see them. And I wasn’t surprised to find them all around the Masai huts, either. He said he was speaking there. There is something strange here, though.”

“What?” I had run out of ideas now that the footprints meant nothing.

“Didn’t Dr. Langley say he travels from camp to camp teaching about conservation? Why is he still here?”

“I get it. If he already talked to these people, he should have left. What do you think his hanging around means?”

“I have no idea. I need to think it over. How far do you think that camp is from ours here?”

“Maybe a mile. We didn’t drive fast either way.”

“I wish we knew who that gun belongs to before we tell anyone about seeing it.”

“What are you thinking, Foghorn? Do you think we should go back there? We can’t go out after dark. We’ll get shot by the rangers.”

“There’s a lot of daylight left now, C.C. Dad said he was going to do some writing. Michael left when he found that Dr. Langley wasn’t here. No one cares where we are or what we’re doing. Disappear into your tent, then come back out in ten minutes.”

“Should I bring my camera?”

“I don’t think so. We need to move fast. We can go back to the camp, then hide just to see what we can see. We won’t be able to get close. I doubt you can get any photos. But bring your binoculars.”

“I have an idea. Bring your bird identification book. That’ll be good cover.”

“Good thinking, C.C.” Foghorn disappeared through the flap of his tent.

It was the second time Foghorn had complimented me on my thinking in one day. I liked it, but I knew both of us had better be alert. If anyone pointed a machine gun at me, I wanted to have a good excuse for nosing around in the woods away from our camp.