The White Masai (30 page)

We drive the length and breadth of Nairobi and by midday we’ve found a clutch for just one hundred and fifty Swiss francs. Napirai sits in the back of the car, the rain has stopped, the sun is out and soon it’s hot, but I’m not allowed to open the windows because we have to go through some of the worst parts of Nairobi. The driver keeps doing his best, but we can’t find the rest. Napirai is sweating and screaming. She’s had more than enough when after six hours continuously sitting in the car, the driver tells us it’s hopeless: we’re not going to find the other parts. Tomorrow is Good Friday, and at five p.m. all the shops will shut. I had completely forgotten about Easter. I ask him stupidly when things will open again. He says the garages will be closed until Tuesday.

Suddenly I’m seized with pure horror at the idea of having to be on my own with Napirai for so long in this city. Lketinga will go mad if I’m away for a whole week. We decide to go back to the Indian’s office.

The friendly Indian is very concerned by my problems and examines the worn bearings in the gearbox before asking the mechanic if there’s any way of repairing it. There isn’t, he says, though I wonder if that’s just because it’s going home time. The Indian makes another phone call, and another man wearing an apron and protective goggles appears in the door. The Indian tells him to grind down the worn parts and re-weld them and makes a point of saying he wants it all done in half an hour because that’s as long as he can wait. Then he turns to me with a smile and tells me I can go home in half an hour.

I thank him enormously and ask how much I owe. But he waves his hand; it’s his pleasure to be able to help. When I get back to Barsaloi he tells me to go to the foreman and he’ll already know to see that everything is fixed for me. I can hardly believe how much he’s helped me, and all for nothing! In next to no time I’m leaving his office. The parts are heavy, but I’m proud that it’s all worked. That very evening I catch the bus to Nyahururu and catch the bus the next morning on to Maralal, but it’s hard work carrying the spare parts and Napirai on my back at the same time.

I have no idea, however, how to get from Maralal to Barsaloi. Exhausted, I drag myself into the boarding house for something to eat and drink after such a long, dusty and tiring journey. Then I have to wash not just Napirai and myself but also a few dozen nappies, before I can fall into bed, dead to the world. Next morning I ask if there’s anyone going to Barsaloi. My wholesaler tells me there’s a lorry going out for the Somalis. But after all our stress I don’t think Napirai or I are up to a lorry drive. I wait until I find a boy who’s come in on foot from Barsaloi, and he tells me Father Roberto is due to pick up the post in Maralal tomorrow. Filled with relief, I pack up all my stuff in the boarding house the next day to be ready and waiting outside the post office. For four hard, long hours we stick it out by the side of the road until at last we see the second car from the Mission. Expectantly, I approach Roberto and ask if he can take us home. No problem, he says, he’s going back in two hours’ time.

I
n Barsaloi I climb out of the car and see my husband striding towards me. He says hello coldly and asks me why it’s taken me so long to come back. So long? I’ve come as fast as I could, I tell him disappointedly. He doesn’t even ask if everything went okay. Instead he wants to know why I had to spend another night in Maralal. Who was I meeting? One question after another, and not a word of praise.

I’m embarrassed at having to answer such distrustful questions in the presence of Father Roberto and walk off home with Napirai. At least Lketinga carries my bag, and even he finds himself almost having to drag it. He gives me a surly look and starts up again with his questions. I’m just about to explode in anger and disappointment when James and his friend come in happily. He at least asks how it went and says how brave it was to just fly off like that. Unfortunately he’d been down at the river washing his clothes when he heard about my expedition or else he’d have loved to come with me. It’s his one great wish to fly some day.

His words cheer me up, and I try to calm down. The boys make tea for me and keep talking while Lketinga just goes off into the dark. I ask James what my husband said when he came home and found I had gone. He smiles and tries to tell me that his brother’s generation don’t understand the concept of independent women and don’t trust them. Lketinga thought I had gone off with Napirai and wasn’t coming back. I find it incomprehensible, even though I was beginning to have good reason. But where would we go? Napirai needs her father, after all.

James takes me away from such morbid thoughts by asking me when we plan to open up the shop again. He would really like to work there
and earn some money. And money is something we’re definitely going to have to start thinking about if the car isn’t to take all we have. As soon as the Datsun is fixed we’ll open up the shop again, this time really properly, selling clothes and shoes along with beer and soft drinks. There’s no question that there’s money to be made as long as the workers from Nairobi are here, and after that there’ll be teachers from outside with their families. With James as my sales assistant I can see it working. One way or another I make clear to him that this is my last chance and I’ll be investing the last of my money. The boys’ enthusiasm is infectious and makes me forget the problems I’ve had with Lketinga recently. When he comes back the boys take off.

The next morning Lketinga goes over to the workers of his own accord and tells them the spare parts are ready. At the end of the working day one of the mechanics comes over and works on our car but doesn’t manage to finish it all that day. In the end it takes three days before our luxury vehicle is back on the road. Now we can open up the shop again. We set off as a foursome, with James holding Napirai. He simply doesn’t get tired of playing with her.

In Maralal I check if my last four thousand Swiss francs have arrived. The banker says no, but the next day the money does arrive, and we start our shopping. First of all, obviously, are twenty hundredweight of maize meal and sugar, then as much fruit and vegetables as I can find. The rest I plough into clothing, shoes, tobacco, plastic cups, water canisters: everything in short that can be sold on at a decent profit. I even buy twenty loaves of bread, handing over my last shilling in the hope of doubling it.

The reopening of the shop is a big event, and people come from near and far. Within two days we’ve sold out of kangas, clothing and water canisters. The workers on the school buy up the vegetables, rice and potatoes in lots of twenty or forty pounds. It’s almost like a bush supermarket. In these first few days we find ourselves happy, proud and content, even though we’re tired out. James is such a keen worker that he asks me if he can move into the shop in order to open up early.

We don’t put the beer on the open shelves but keep it behind the counter so as not to have any trouble. The few cases we bring back are almost gone after two days. I don’t like being without goods for more than a day or two and feel responsible therefore for ensuring supplies.
With our profits I immediately buy in more clothing because the workers on the school need lots of shirts and trousers. Every three weeks I make a special journey to Nanyuki to the big clothing market there. Clothes for the women and children sell like hot cakes, and I even take orders. It’s amazing how suddenly everybody has money, partly because of the school project on which many people have found jobs.

Business booms, and the shop has become a meeting place for many of the construction workers. In short, everything is going well until Lketinga starts getting his jealousy attacks again. I’m never in the shop in the morning because I do the housework first and only turn up in the afternoon, strolling over with Napirai. It’s usually fun with the boys, and even Napirai enjoys being the centre of attention as there are always children to play with her or carry her around. Only my husband dislikes it when he sees me happy because he says I never laugh or smile around him. It’s all to do with his suspicions against anyone who spends five minutes with me. Primarily he’s suspicious of the workers who turn up every day at the shop. He’ll bar one or another of them from coming in or accuse them of coming just to see his wife. I find it embarrassing and leave the shop every time he does it. Even James can do nothing about his big brother and the unnecessary scenes he creates.

We argue more and more often, and it begins to occur to me that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like this. We do the work, and he stands there scowling at me or the customers, or else he’s off with the other warriors slaughtering a goat and I come home to find the floor covered with blood and bones.

Once or twice a week I drive in to Baragoi, which is much closer than Maralal, to stock up on food supplies. Yet again we’re out of sugar because there’s about to be a big wedding ceremony for a warrior. He wants to buy six hundredweight himself and will pay extra to have it delivered to an encampment some distance away. Just after midday I set off in a hurry – it’s only an hour and a half each way – and reach Baragoi without any problems. I only buy twelve hundredweight of sugar, though, because I have to get across two rivers and I don’t want to put unnecessary strain on the car.

With the car loaded up I turn the key in the ignition, but the engine won’t start and after a couple more tries it’s completely dead. Before long I’m surrounded by Turkana tribespeople staring into the car. The shop
owner comes out to ask what’s up, and a few of them try to bump start me but with no luck. The shop owner suggests I check out a tent some three hundred yards down the road where there are other
mzungus
who have a car.

It turns out there is a young English couple there, and I explain my problem to them. The husband takes his toolbox out and has a look at my car. In next to no time he’s able to tell me that my battery is flat and empty. He tries a couple of things but without success. When I tell them I need to get back to Barsaloi today because I have a baby at home, he offers to lend me the battery from their car, but I have to promise to bring it back because they need to set off for Nairobi in two days’ time. I’m impressed by his good faith, leave my dud battery behind and promise to be back in time.

Back home I tell my husband what happened as yet again he wants to know what took me so long. I’m obviously upset too because once again we need to spend money and the car keeps eating up everything we earn. Very soon I’m going to need four new tyres. It drives me mad that we never seem to get anywhere, and I can’t bear the thought of having to go to Maralal again tomorrow.

Then we have a stroke of luck: the builders are sending a car down to fetch food and beer. I ask Lketinga to go with them, take the battery, buy a new one for us and then take the public
matatu
to Baragoi and give it to the English people, who’ll be bound to give him a lift back to Barsaloi.

I stress on him how important it is that these people get their battery back tomorrow. He assures me it’s no problem and sets off with the workers in their Land Rover to Maralal via the jungle route. I’m worried that things won’t work out, but he promised me and was proud to be asked to do something important. He’ll have to spend the night in Maralal and make sure he’s up in time to catch the only
matatu
to Baragoi.

I spend the time at home and in the shop, helping James sell the sugar and expecting Lketinga back at any moment. But it’s nine in the evening before we finally spot a light in the distance. I settle down to make some
chai
so that he’ll have something to drink as soon as he gets in. Half an hour later the English pair’s Land Rover stops in front of the shop, and I hurry over to them and ask where my husband is. The young man looks at me crossly and says he has no idea where my husband might be but he needs his battery back because he has to set off tonight to Nairobi to catch
a flight back to England the next day. I feel wretched and deeply ashamed that I’ve let them down and broken my promise.

It’s even worse when I have to tell them that my husband has their battery and was supposed to bring it to them today in Baragoi. Unsurprisingly the young Englishman starts to get annoyed. He’s put our old battery in his car but it will only last until it drains and then there’ll be no way to recharge it. I don’t know what to do and am furious with Lketinga. They tell me the
matatu
arrived in Baragoi, but there was no Masai warrior on it. By now it’s ten-thirty, and I offer them a cup of
chai
while we try to work out what to do.

As we’re drinking our
chai
I hear the sound of a lorry engine stopping near our house. Immediately Lketinga turns up and gasping for breath dumps the two batteries on the ground. I shout at him, asking him where on earth he’s been as these people wanted to leave ages ago. Dubiously the Englishman changes the batteries over and immediately they set off. I’m fed up at having been let down so badly by Lketinga. He claims he simply missed the
matatu
, but I can smell alcohol on his breath. Also he has no money left and on top of that needs one hundred and fifty Swiss francs to pay the lorry driver. I’m left speechless by his empty-headedness. The battery cost us three hundred and fifty francs, and now there’s this to pay out on top, all because he was drinking beer in the bars and missed the cheap public bus. That means our whole profit for the last month and the next has gone.

I go to bed in a bad mood, but despite all my frustration and anger my husband decides he wants to make love to me. When I make it clear to him that right now he shouldn’t even think of trying his luck, he starts to get appallingly angry again. It’s midnight by now and as quiet as the grave except for the sound of us shouting at each other. Once again he accuses me of having a lover and meeting up with him last night, which was why I sent him off to Maralal. I can’t stand it anymore and spend my time trying to console Napirai who’s woken up and started crying.