A Legacy for Bryan

by Marlene Bierworth

  “Jambo! We at the mission have missed you also. We were sorry to hear of your patient’s passing.”

  “It was just a matter of time,” Katelyn said, leaning over to grab Bryan’s arm, “but I have brought his son to see your fine country.”

  The tall man dressed in bright clothing bowed his head ever so slightly and offered his hand. “Jambo! I hope you will learn to love my country as much as your father did.”

  “You knew my father?”

  “Oh, yes. We all loved the great man with the crying heart.”

  Bryan looked at Katelyn, and she smiled. “Africans at the mission tend to define your character with a phrase. Might be good for you to remember that.” She looked at Hamari. “This is Bryan Charter the Fourth, and he is eager to see what we do here in Nairobi and pitch in wherever he can, so, don’t be afraid to show him the ropes and put him to work.”

  The man had a firm handshake and a kind face. “There is plenty of work to do, Mr. Charter. You shall not be bored.”

  “Please, call me Bryan.”

  “As you wish. We must go now, Miss Katelyn. Trouble in the area last night, and the authorities are on edge.”

  Hamari took the handle of Katelyn’s bag and started toward the glass doors. Bryan followed the twosome, who were catching up with each other. When they stepped outside, the glare from the sun caused Bryan to reach into his pocket for his Cartier sunglasses. It was warm, even in the early morning hour, and the outside platform was swarming with people, looking for a payout. Drivers hustled to snag a customer while others were willing to do any menial task that might be asked of them for the price of a coin to line their pockets.

  A Jeep waited for them with another man in the driver’s seat, who jumped out and hugged Katelyn when he saw her approach. “Jambo! Jambo! It’s been too long since you honored us with your presence.”

  “I feel the same,” Katelyn said, with an excitement she did not try to hide. “I can’t wait to settle back into the routine at the compound. Look, I’ve brought a helper along. This is Bryan—”

  “Charter,” the stranger finished. “They call me Santo. You look just like your father. Welcome to his Kenya.”

  “Thank you.” The two men seemed to have a high opinion of his father. The trip might be half-bearable if he could sail through on the old man’s reputation.

  The ride to the mission complex was exhilarating, to say the least. Traffic in the city was bumper to bumper, full of drivers with a speedway mentality and vehicles as diverse as he’d ever seen. Trucks or buses chugged down the main road with people hanging off the sides or sitting on a roof platform. While the outer-ring of riders held onto the rails for dear life, the inner-circle depended on being sandwiched in to keep them from being hurled into oncoming traffic. They drove on the wrong side of the road, and Bryan’s brain could not readjust fast enough to the differences that the combination presented during the terrifying experience.

  Huge buildings lined the street on each side, clearly marking it as a modern and prosperous city if it weren’t for the obvious contrast of the ragamuffins dodging in and out of the foot traffic, trying to stay invisible to the law while pick-pocketing or stealing food to survive.

  He nudged Katelyn. “Did you see that lad? He bumped that man and hijacked his wallet. Look at the expression on his face, the dirty little thief.”

  “The boy is hungry and unfortunately, there are countless numbers just like him. Keep your wallet tucked into a secure jacket pocket, or better still, don’t bother carrying it. You don’t have any money, and we will keep your passport under lock and key.”

  Bryan noticed a woman with a cookstove at the gate as they turned off the road into what the sign said was the Heal the World Foundation. Her eyes pleaded with the car’s inhabitants as thy passed by, causing Katelyn to cry out to the driver, “Stop, Santo. Let’s buy a chapatti from Sheira. Bryan and I are starving.” He looked at her and scrunched his brows—he wasn’t starving. They’d eaten breakfast—normal food—on the plane. God only knew what was in the concoction the poorly dressed woman was stirring up.

  Katelyn seemed to have read his thoughts. “They’re like crepes in America only slightly thicker. Quite tasty, and the snack will tide you over until the noon meal. More importantly, it will provide a bit of income for her. She is a proud woman with eight children to feed and no husband.”

  “Santo, bring the bags to our rooms please. My legs are cramped from all the sitting. We will walk the rest of the way in.”

  Bryan got out of the car with Katelyn and watched the two women embrace. “Jambo, Miss Simms.” The woman said. “Glad to see you back.”

  “I have missed you, Sheira, and especially your cooking. Do you have two of those delicious chapattis? My mouth has been watering for one.” She pointed to him. “This is Bryan Charter. He will be joining the team for a while.”

  The woman gasped and covered her mouth. “Lordy, he looks like—”

  “His father. Yes, the resemblance is uncanny. The senior Mr. Charter had gone on to heaven before us, but he’s left us his son. Isn’t God good, Sheira?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss, very good.” She hurried to her makeshift stand and poured batter into a greased, sizzling-hot frying pan. Within minutes, she passed them two servings of the rolled-up chapatti, but it lacked any filling on the inside. All the crepes he’d eaten for breakfast had been loaded with scrambled eggs or fruit and topped with cheesy cream, but he supposed that would be impossible for this woman to provide.

  He bit the top of the cake and rolled his eyes. “Very good, Sheira. You’ve done wonders with this simple batter. It’s a feast for a king. I will definitely be paying you a return visit—and very soon.”

  The woman turned crimson red and lowered her gaze. “Thank you, sir.”

  Before they left, Sheira whispered something into Katelyn’s ear, which caused her to break out laughing. “Good call, Sheira. Have a blessed day.” She reached in her pocket and handed the woman a couple of bills.

  “Oh, thank you, miss. My children will eat tonight, for sure.”

  They strolled across the sparsely grassed outer area toward a second entrance, protected by a tall bamboo-fenced wall, woven together in places with strong vines and ropes.

  “Dare I ask what you ladies were giggling about back there?”

  “You have earned your first nickname.”

  “Already?”

  “Not to worry. It seems that you put your best foot forward, and it is to your credit she did not name you ‘the man with the slithery tongue,’ for that would not have been the least bit complimentary. Instead, she called you, ‘the man with flowery words.’ To Sheira, the idea of flowers is a rare and special commodity. The only things that grow in the slum where she lives are weeds and rocks.”

  Bryan took another bite. “Well, I wasn’t lying. Her food is tasty, and I’m thinking I might prefer simple to some of the dishes I’ve heard are on African menus.”

  “I’ve noticed that you eat a lot of meat, Bryan. You will love the variety that Kenya has to offer. I shall be sure to take you to dine at the Carnivore before the first team arrives. You will get your fill of protein there. It’s the Ritz of dining…African style.”

  A burly guard barred the second gate, his features rigid and attentive to everything going on around him. As the couple drew nearer, he recognized Katelyn, and his face brightened. “Miss Simms,” he cried, “Nairobi smiles again now that you are back.”

  “Marimba,” she said as she hugged the man. “It feels good to be here.” She stepped back to survey him. “I think you’ve been eating too many chapattis while I’ve been away.”

  He sobered. “I have put on extra kilograms, Miss, but I can still run like a cheetah. No enemies will get inside the compound while I’m on guard.”

  “I always feel safe with you watching our backs. Thank you, Marimba. This is Bryan Charter,” Katelyn said pushing him forward. “He will be with us for the next three months.”

 
; “Welcome to Nairobi, Bryan Charter. You have a great responsibility, given your noble namesake.”

  “You knew my father?” Bryan asked.

  “Oh, yes, sir. He was a well-respected man in these parts, and the country cried when he went on to glory.”

  Once through the second gate, Bryan said, “Really? The country cried. Did you prompt these people to rub in my father’s saintly status when I arrived?”

  “I would never ask them to say anything that did not come straight from their hearts,” Katelyn said in her defense. “Africans will tell you like it is. They don’t mince words.”

  Bryan scanned the area. More sparse grass surrounded the buildings inside the compound.

  Katelyn began giving him the walking tour. “Straight ahead is the main building, the birthplace of all of our lifesaving endeavors here in Kenya. To the right is the medical building. When we’re not going out into tribal communities, we serve the city’s poorest patients there. We have two retired doctors and two nurses who take turns tending to that segment of the operation. To the left is the barracks, where we sleep when at the foundation. And last but not least is the kitchen and dining tent, down through that pathway.”

  “Quite the operation,” Bryan said.

  “It’s been my passion for years, and we are far from finished. The needs are so great, and new opportunities are always on the horizon.”

  “Where do I fit into this enterprise?”

  “Tomorrow, the gates will open for patients. Dr. Jonas will be here with his wife, Nurse Shirley. I was thinking that you could hang out with her and get a feel for what you will be doing solo when we visit villages. It will be a good practise run, and Shirley will appreciate the help.”

  “Perfect. Tomorrow morning in that building, right?”

  “Right. Be there at seven-thirty. The crowds line up early, but we don’t start until eight o’clock,” Katelyn said. “And Bryan, I do want to thank you for not bucking every inch of the way. It will make our time together much more productive.”

  “Not to worry,” Bryan said. “I definitely aim to please the esteemed missionary with whom father has opted to share my inheritance.”

  Katelyn mumbled something under her breath as she turned toward the living quarters. He followed close behind her, feeling more relaxed with the overpowering presence of the tropical trees and bushes that lined the walkway.

  The Bunkie was a long, rectangular structure with colorful shrubs lining the front and the same bamboo fencing he’d seen at the gate circling behind it. It was very tall, closed in, and clear of trees that might hang over to allow someone admittance onto the grounds. Of course, the barbed wire running in loops across the top would be the biggest deterrent.

  He pointed to the flat roof with the huge containers sitting on top. Katelyn took his cue and explained, “Water for your shower. Use it sparingly, especially when it hasn’t rained for a while.”

  Bryan decided not to comment on the ancient water system and possibly trigger more anguish over his flawed, self-centred attitude. He wondered when he’d begun to care about what Katelyn thought of him.

  The room she left him in was satisfactory and clean but simple in décor, not in the least bit splashy unless you classified the artistic, colorful quilt as five-star material. He threw his bag onto the bed, unzipped it, and emptied it, hanging his clothes in the wardrobe, and placing the rest inside the five drawers, also built into the same piece of furniture. There was a desk with a few pens and a pad of paper. An actual plug for digital devises was on the wall behind it.

  Bryan looked around for an en-suite bathroom in which to unload his toiletries, but the only door in the room was the one through which he had entered. He looked up and down the hallway at the many doors shooting off from the corridor, strolled to the right, and low and behold, came upon a door marked with a male silhouette and the word “MEN” written on it.

  Shared bathrooms? College days came to mind. Except back then, he had been young and carefree, whereas now, he appreciated privacy. He was still carrying his small shaving bag containing his hair, face, and oral hygiene products, and went inside. Instead of urinals, there were holes in the ground that flushed away somewhere but he was pleased to note there were also two closed-in stalls with adequate toilets in them. At the far end of the room was a communal shower, with four waterspouts on the ceiling—no doubt connected to the containers on the roof—and chest-high walls, separating each section. He decided to forgo the new washing experience until before work the next day.

  Work. Even thinking of the word felt foreign to his mind, but Katelyn seemed to thrive on the thrill of it, giving him the much-needed motivation and curiosity to give work a shot. How such laborious drudgery could ever grow to an exciting passion was beyond him, yet his father had somehow managed to enjoy work and the fruits of his labor—maybe the two combined had some merit.

  Weariness overtook him after he’d returned to his room, so he laid on top of the bed and was soon fast asleep.

  Go into all the world, preach the gospel,

  and show compassion to the hurting.

  Chapter 6

  Bryan awoke to a light tapping on his door. He staggered to answer it and found Katelyn standing in the hallway, grinning.

  “I see you found the bed to your liking.”

  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and motioned for her to come in. “Guess I was more tired than I thought. Sorry—did I miss something?”

  “You did not,” Katelyn said, “but I do have a change of plans if you’re up to it.”

  “Sure. Fire away.”

  “It seems the cook is feeling ill today—nothing serious. I’ve been in to see him, but they apologize that they will only have leftovers on the menu tonight. So, I was thinking that this might be a good opportunity to treat you to that dinner at the Carnivore I promised.”

  “I’m game,” Bryan said, “as long as you’re paying.”

  “You will be fed while on this mission trip, Bryan. Please stop making it all about the money. Relax and enjoy yourself. Was your room to your liking?”

  “Rather rustic, but it will satisfy all the necessary sleep requirements. I must admit that I will miss a private washroom, but I’m sure I will adjust.”

  “Be sure to pull the netting tightly around the bed. It will ward off the mosquitos and perhaps the odd snake that might decide to crawl in through your unscreened windows.”

  “What is this no screens thing about? Surely you could provide that one, tiny luxury for your workers. I urge you to spend a portion of my father’s donation on it. It will win favor with everyone here.”

  “I don’t need to win favor. Native-born Africans would frown on such a frivolous use of God’s finances.”

  “Right, but not the uppity-doctors and nurses who volunteer their time at your mission,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. Bryan noted the disappointed expression she returned. “Of course, no doubt, you are everyone’s hero and have earned their respect. I can only hope to win a sliver of it myself from your Native friends.”

  “That would be totally up to you. The locals will read you like a book, so do try to keep your best foot forward, Mr. Charter, as do all the ‘uppity-medical volunteers’ to which you referred.”

  “You need to drop that Mr. Charter business, especially when used with that influx of irritation in your tone. Bryan will suffice.”

  “As you wish, Bryan.” She changed the subject. “Are you ready for your first African dining experience?”

  “I’ve eaten food from many foreign cultures, but I’m curious as to what Nairobi has to offer.”

  She reached for his hand. He took it after a slight hesitation, and they skipped with renewed vigor out to the Jeep.

  He studied her as she drove efficiently and with less drama that the previous driver. Bryan realized being in the foreign land had ignited a spark and uncovered an elusive, spellbinding aura to her presence that held him in awe. No where he’d traveled in the entire world ha
d done that for him, for if one sought out the party-crowd, every location was basically the same.

  The car made its stop-and-go creep through the city streets, and when she turned onto Langata Road, she pointed. “There it is, straight ahead on the left. Quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you say?”

  Bryan laughed. “Yes. Very African, indeed.”

  Katelyn pulled into the lot and parked before turning to him. She inhaled deeply and said, “I love that smell. The cooks here prepare the meat in a large open fire pit in the center of a huge circular brick stove that sits in the middle of the floor. Meat hangs from poles over the flames, much like a campfire, baked in the massive ovens that are built into the round structure or barbequed on the grills jutting out from either side of the pit. On the other two sides, rows of marinated roasts or slabs hang on angled poles, ready to take their turn in the fire. It’s quite a sight.”

  “They let customers in the kitchen?”

  “The kitchen is behind glass windows and can be seen from the main dining room. It needs plenty of ventilation, so it was placed at the back of the building, or it would smoke out the patrons rather quickly. And the cooks love to show off for visitors with cameras, dressed in their zebra bib-aprons and chef caps.”

  She tapped on his hand that was lying on the armrest. “Hope you’re hungry, because there are so many new dishes to try.”

  “None with spider’s legs, right?”

  She laughed. “You are quite the sissy, aren’t you? There are no spiders on the menu that I’m aware of. The name Carnivore suggests strong meat, not pesky bugs. They serve up a wide variety of wild animals that roam Kenya’s countryside. Come on—enough talk. Let’s eat.”

  They walked the short distance to the main entryway. A large wooden sign with five orange and red flames flared from the word, Carnivore. The walkway leading to the door was done in colorful brick. The whole area was sheltered by a bamboo roof and held up with roughly hewn logs. Tropical ferns and flowering bushes lined the path.