Walking Home (30 page)

I walked across the street to the bushes. Almost instantly, I was disappointed. They weren’t thick or deep enough to hide us from passersby or the people in the small dwellings behind. We would have to go farther from the town, and we would have to go quickly.

Jata was still where I’d left her but she was on her knees, facing the fence. It looked like she was peering through the wire and into a little compound. As I came closer, I could hear voices—she was talking to somebody. There was a little girl about her age, and she was pressing her face through a small opening in a building where a board was missing. The girl was speaking Kikamba, and Jata was replying in Swahili.

“Come, we have to go,” I said.

“But I am talking to my friend.”

“Tell your friend goodbye.”

“My friend’s name is Mueni.”

“Tell Mueni goodbye. We need to find a place to sleep.”

“I asked her for a place and she was telling me where we could go.”

“She was?” I turned to the girl. “Do you know of a place where we could sleep?”

She didn’t answer.

“It is polite to call her by her name,” Jata instructed.

“Mueni, do you know where we could sleep?”

Again, no answer.

“She has probably been told not to talk to strangers,” Jata said.

“But she talked to you, and you are a stranger.”

“I
was
a stranger. Now we are friends. I will introduce you. Mueni, this is my brother, Muchoki.”

“Hello, Muchoki.”

“Hello, Mueni. It is a pleasure to meet you. Do you know a place where we could sleep?”

“Yes, there is a shed at the back of our compound.”

“And what is this compound?” I asked.

“It is Suvia.”

That was the Kamba word for “taking care.”

“Is it a school?”

“It is a children’s home. We are all total orphans who live here.”

I had a rush of fear. We had walked hundreds of kilometers to escape being placed in orphanages and now we were pressed against the fence of one!

“What is a total orphan?” Jata asked.

“Those who live here have no mother and no father.”

“We are total orphans,” Jata said before I could stop her.

“We need to leave,” I said. “We cannot stay here.” I took my sister by the hand and started away.

“But why not?” Jata resisted, digging in her heels and refusing to move.

“We do not know these people, and we do not have permission to stay.” There was so much to fear that Jata didn’t know about—things I had not told her and could not tell her about the authorities wanting to put us in separate orphanages.

“It would be a secret,” Mueni said. “You would be where no one goes—at least not until later tomorrow, after you have gone. Inside the fence is safe.”

All of what she said played in my mind. To have a roof over our head and a fence around us would be good—like the night we spent with Omolo. But what if we were discovered? Would the people running the orphanage try to keep us? Would they separate us?

“Go around to the side,” Mueni said. She pointed to the left. “I will meet you.”

With that, she disappeared into the darkness of the opening.

“It will be safe,” Jata said.

She was not afraid because she was unaware. But having a look would not cost us anything except time.

“Come,” Jata said. She took me by the hand and started to lead. I did not resist.

We circled to the side of the fence, and it gave way to a wall made of blocks. It was high and was topped by pieces of jagged glass. The ground sloped away, making the wall even higher. I certainly saw no place where we could get through such a formidable obstacle.

Just then, Mueni appeared. Jata broke free and ran over, and the two girls hugged like long-lost friends. There was a hole in the wall—or
under
the wall—where rain had washed away the ground, creating a gully. The hole was protected by strands of barbed wire that had been pushed aside. Mueni started to lead Jata through.

“No, I will go before my sister.”

She nodded and released Jata’s hand, taking mine. Mueni ducked down and edged through the wire. I was pulled along, but since I was larger, the hole became smaller. I had to ease through, careful not to snag myself or the bundle slung over my shoulder. Jata pressed in behind me. She was not waiting to be invited in.

Once on the other side, I poked my head up, released Mueni’s hand and looked around. There were some bushes and a small shed—was that the place she meant? Farther along were patches of cultivated land, and behind that two large buildings blocked the view of what was beyond. The wall provided protection
to keep the outside from entering—and the inside from leaving. I could hear children’s voices but saw no children.

“Who lives here?” I asked. “How many?”

“There are twenty-six. Seven are boys and nineteen are girls.”

“And adults?”

“There are eight staff members, but all have left except the matron and the patron. Soon the night watchman will arrive.”

“There is a watchman?”

“He sits in a shed by the main gate. He is very old and does not walk back here. Soon after he arrives, he is asleep. I will show you where you can stay.”

Mueni led us toward the little building and opened the door. I noticed that it did not have a lock. That was good. I feared being locked in. Inside was dark, but there was still enough light to see. There were tools along one wall. The floor was empty except for a pile of burlap bags. I now knew that they could make good beds and blankets, but I still needed more before I could allow myself to stay here.

“Where are all the other children?” I asked.

“They are studying in the dining hall.”

“And why are you not there too?”

“I am so smart that I do not need to study as much.”

“You are?”

“I must be, because I was smart enough to sneak away without being noticed!”

I couldn’t help smiling at that. “Why are you doing this for us?”

“You are my friends and we have been taught to help our friends, especially those who are in need.”

We were in need—there was no arguing with that.

“Thank you for helping,” Jata said.

“But in the morning, you must leave or we will all get in trouble.”

“We will leave at first light.” If not long before, I thought.

The two girls hugged again, and then Mueni was gone. Part of me wanted to follow—not back to the dining hall but out the door and under the fence. The other part just wanted to make a bed from the burlap bags, lie down and go to sleep. That part won.

Sometimes you just had to trust. Even new friends.

S
weet voices filled my head. It was a lovely sound. Where was it coming from? I snapped awake and sat bolt upright. It was dark and it took a moment to remember that I was in a shed in the compound of the orphanage. We had to leave. It was still dark, but why were there voices? Why was there singing? I reached over and felt for Jata beside me. She was there, still sleeping, a soft whistle coming as she breathed in and out.

The door creaked open and a beam of light entered, and before I could even react, Mueni poked in her head.

“Are you still here?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“You need to go soon, before you are discovered.”

“Yes, of course. Jata, you must get up.”

She yawned and stretched, and I threw off the burlap sack I’d been using as a blanket and got to my feet.

“This is for you,” Mueni said. She handed a banana to me. “I wish there were two, but I only get one for breakfast.”

“I cannot take your breakfast,” I said.

“There will be porridge. I will have some of that. You take this.”

Reluctantly I did as she asked. Jata needed to eat.

Mueni opened the door wider. “It is time.”

I slung the bundle over my shoulder, handed the banana to Jata and picked up our water container. We followed Mueni out into the yard, hidden by the walls of the shed. The voices were much louder now. Mueni peeked around the edge of the building.

“Go now,” she urged. “All is clear.”

“Thank you so much. We will not forget your kindness. Someday we will come back for a visit,” I said.

“I will look for you both.”

Staying low, trying to keep the shed as cover, we reached the gully.

“You first,” I said to my sister.

Jata waved to Mueni, who waved back. They exchanged a last smile, and then Jata ducked down and was gone. I waved as well and then followed after my sister. Quickly we circled back the way we’d come, along the wall until we reached the road.

“Where do we go now?” Jata asked.

“To Kikima, of course.”

“But how do we get there?”

“Today, we ride.” I pulled the shillings out of my pocket. “We will take a
matatu
.”

“All the way that remains?”

“As far as our shillings will take us.”

The
matatu
station was a crazy mass of people and vehicles. Hundreds and hundreds of people were pushing and shoving, trying to get on the
matatu
that would take them to their destination. If there was sense, I couldn’t find it.
Matatus
both small and large rumbled in and out, almost bumping together as they passed. Their conductors were busy, screaming destinations and collecting fares. There were vendors selling everything from newspapers to roasted maize to sunglasses and maps of the world. Who would buy a map of the world at a
matatu
station?