by Donna White
Eseza sat next to Sam, pulled out a bottle of water, and offered her a drink. Sam took a long sip, wiped her mouth, then passed it to Eseza.
“No, you drink it all. We can get more water at the well down the way. It is not far far from here.”
Sam took a couple of more gulps and poured a little into her cupped hand. She sprinkled the water over her head and rubbed her face and the back of her neck. “Thanks—ah-poor-you ma-teck.”
Eseza grinned. “You are welcome. But let us go. It will be dark soon, and I want to find a place for us to sleep the night. It should not be far. I think you can foot it to there.”
Eseza took Sam’s hand and pulled her up. She led her down a side street, past the stores and litter-strewn roads. As they turned a corner, they met a group of women sitting on the edge of the road with piles of their spices, fruits, and vegetables lying on the ground before them. Sam stared at the perfectly round watermelons carefully arranged in front of an elderly lady.
The lady looked up at Sam, offering her a toothless grin. “They are nice nice melon, miss. Come, you take one. We talk deal now.”
Sam gave a half-hearted smile. Eseza grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “I’m sorry,” Sam called over her shoulder, “I don’t have any money with me!”
They walked past more shops and more women selling their goods. And each time the women would call out, offering their wares for “discount prices,” telling Eseza and Sam that their oranges were the juiciest and their tomatoes the tastiest. Sam could only stare and drool.
When Sam felt as though she had finally had enough of the crowded sidewalks and offers of food she couldn’t buy, Eseza halted and pointed at a large building that looked something like a warehouse. “We will stay here,” she said. “It look like we have come in good time. I do not see many children here yet.”
They walked to the building and put the bags on the ground. Eseza found a pile of stones set up in a circle on the broken pavement. “Perfect.” She rummaged through the bag Sam had carried, pulled out a pot, and placed it on the dead coals that lay in the middle of the stones. “You stay here and watch over the bag. I will get the water and we will have rice for supper.” She grabbed an empty water jug from the bag, turned, and walked into the crowd.
Sam sat on the ground and leaned against the bag Eseza had carried. Something hard stuck into her back.
“Shit, what’s in this thing?” she muttered, trying to smooth the lumps and bumps that protruded from the sack. She slid her hand up and down, feeling the contours of the bag, and felt something solid and heavy. She rapped her knuckles on it. A loud knock resounded. She ran her hand over the top of the bag and felt a smooth, hard surface, almost like a ball, but not quite as round and heavier—at least that’s what it felt like.
“There’s only one way to find out.” She glanced around. Eseza was not in sight.
Sam grabbed the cord and pulled it loose, carefully noting the way the knot had been tied. She pulled the sack open and stared. She gasped and took a step back. Blinking, she shook her head and looked again. There was no denying it. The skull of a child lay on top of a pile of bones. Two empty sockets stared back at her. She glanced around, making sure no one was watching. She pulled the sack closed and yanked the cord around the top. Her hands shook as she secured the knot as it had been tied before.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” Sam slid to the ground and covered her face with her hands. “Why the hell is she carrying the skeleton of a child with her?” she whispered. She inhaled and let it out. She took in another, then another, expelling the air slowly, concentrating as she counted. “One, two, three—”
“Are you okay, miss?”
Sam looked up, startled. A young boy stood in front of her. He wore a ripped red T-shirt and very worn shorts held up with a rope tied around his waist. He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and bent down, looking into her eyes. “You look very scared. Like you have seen a ghost or a jok. Have you? Because if you have, I can protect you. I have mighty power.”
The boy reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a handmade slingshot comprised of a Y-shaped stick and a piece of tire tubing tied to both ends. Sam stared at the boy, then at the slingshot, then back at the boy. He was smiling at her, his huge brown eyes looking down at her.
“Look. I will show you.” The boy picked a stone from the ground and placed it in the center of the black rubber. He pulled back farther and farther until the rubber was stretched as far as it could go. He released the rock. It flew across the street and hit a sign nailed to a street pole, resounding with a loud thwack.
“See, no ghost or jok could survive that.” The boy shook his head with sincere earnestness.
“But aren’t all ghosts or joks invisible? What good is a stone if it will just go right through them?”
The boy looked at Sam, totally perplexed. “It has not let me down so far,” he said. “And I have had to deal with many many evil jok.”
“You have, have you?”
Eseza crossed the sidewalk and placed the water jug on the ground. “Hello, ka-boy,” she said. “What is the news about Kony? Have they spotted him near to here?”
“No, they are saying he is farther to the north, that he has gone to Sudan again.”
Eseza grabbed a handful of dried grass from the edge of the sidewalk and stuck it under the coals. She lit a match and placed it into the grass. The flame flickered as she blew into the base, sending its fiery fingers into the coals and setting them aglow.
“And what of the children in the village? Are they still footin’ it here to stay the night?”
“Yes.”
“And you are one of them?”
“Yes.”
Eseza filled the pot half full of water and added some rice. She placed the lid on it and stood up, arching her back.
“Tell me, ka-boy, where are your brother and sister?”
“There are none. I am all that is left. They took my two brother and my sister long ago. I come here every night before the sun is down.”
“Then you are wanting some company while you are here. You are most welcome to stay with us.”
“Apwoyo.” The boy bowed his head and eyed the pot on the fire.
“And I am thinking we will have enough to share.”
The boy’s face lit up. “Apwoyo matek, miss.”
“Eeh? Now where are my manner? I go by the name Ayudo Eseza, and this is my friend Sam.”
“Sam?” The boy regarded Sam curiously.
“Short for Samantha, but everyone I know calls me Sam.”
“That is good. Everyone I know call me Albin.”
Albin picked up a piece of coal lying on the ground and added it to the fire. “Wait,” he said, “I will be back quick quick.”
He took off down the road, weaving in and out of the buyers and sellers, and disappeared into the crowd.
“It is not good for such a young boy to be by himself,” Eseza said as she stirred the rice. “That is why I ask him to stay with us. He look okay to me. And he will offer us some protection.”
“Protection? A little boy like that?” Sam looked into the crowd, waiting for Albin to return.
“Yes. He will appear to be my brother, and the men will not come by if they see we are busy with a young boy to look after.”
“Oh . . . What men? Do you mean—”
“Yes. That is exactly what I mean.”
Eseza rummaged through the sack and took out a piece of cloth tied up with a length of vine. She opened it and sprinkled a tiny amount of an herb into the pot. She stirred the rice. “It will be ready soon.”
Sam nodded. She glanced at the black bag and then at Eseza. Should I ask her?
“Eseza . . . I . . .” Sam stopped. No, she thought. It would betray their trust. And trust was in short supply as it was. She sighed. “Never mind.”
She looked up as a large group of children walked toward them, each carrying a blanket either on their head or tucked under their arms. She stared. The stree
t was now overflowing with young boys and girls. Gradually, the sidewalks and storefront spaces filled as the children found their spots for the night. Teenagers rolled their blankets on the ground while their younger siblings scrambled to find a place to sit.
“Are these the kids who have to leave their homes at night to stay away from Kony? All of them?”
“Yes.”
“But there are so many. I didn’t realize—”
“Yes. And if you go to the next street, you will see the bus station full. And there is a place that a church group has set up for the night commuter too. And over toward the town center is a park where many of them also go.”
“There must be hundreds and hundreds of kids.”
“Yes, it is what we do. It is what we have to do.” Eseza lifted the lid off the pot and peered in. “The rice is done. Now where is the ka-boy?”
Sam searched the crowd of children. She caught a glimpse of a red shirt. “Here he comes, just in time.”
Albin ambled toward them, carrying a huge melon of some sort in his arms. It was a golden-green color, covered with little pointed bumps. His tongue stuck out to one side as he struggled to carry it. When he placed it on the ground beside them, he stepped back and took a low bow.
“That thing is huge, Albin! It’s gotta weigh at least twenty pounds!” Sam bent down to examine it. “What the heck is it?”
“A jackfruit. I have been keeping my eye on the tree in front of the hotel, and I say to myself, ‘Albin, now is a good time to pick it. It is ripe and you have two beautiful girl to share it with. Perhaps one or both will want to marry you after they see how great a provider you are.’”
Sam laughed. Eseza shook her head and smiled.
“Oh, you’re such a cute boy,” Sam said. She bent down and hugged Albin.
Albin grinned. “Then you are accepting the marriage proposal?”
Sam laughed again.
Eseza placed the pot on the ground, and they sat in a circle with the rice in the middle. She lifted the lid and a puff of steam rose into the air. Sam breathed it in and closed her eyes. It was not a feast, but it felt like it.
Eseza scooped a small chunk of rice with her fingers and shoved it into her mouth. When she nodded in her direction, Sam did the same, trying her best not to drop any of the rice on the ground. Albin took his turn next, then Eseza, then Sam again. The rotation continued until the pot was empty.
Albin ran his finger around the pot, licking his fingers and smacking his lips. “Now for the jackfruit,” he said, wiping his fingers on his shorts.
Eseza took a knife from the sack and handed it to him. “Your fruit. Your honor,” she said.
Albin cut the golden-green fruit in half lengthwise. When he opened it, he revealed a whitish core surrounded by orange pockets containing large seeds about the size of Brazil nuts. He sliced around one of the orange pockets and lifted up a stringy, pulpy mass. Then he popped the seed out and handed the piece to Sam. “You are first, muzungu Sam.”
Sam took the piece of fruit and sniffed it. “Mmmm, it smells delicious.” She took a little bite and chewed. “This is good.” She smacked her lips in satisfaction. “It tastes like . . .” She paused, thinking. “It tastes like . . . like Juicy Fruit gum! That’s what it tastes like.”
Albin passed a piece to Eseza and continued to cut up the fruit. As he cut the sections out from the edge, he placed the seeds in the pot lid beside him. When all of the sections were pulled out, he sliced around the inner core and removed it. He then flipped the jackfruit, pushing out its innards and revealing a mass of white and orange tentacle-like fronds. He pulled off another section and popped it into his mouth. “Eeh, I think it was worth the wait.”
Sam nodded in agreement and took another piece.
“May I take the seed home with me, Eseza?” Albin asked. “My min maa like them. Although I do not know how she eat them with so little teeth.”
“Of course. It is your fruit.”
Sam took another piece and looked around her. The sidewalk along the edge of the building had now filled with children. Some sat in groups eating or talking, while others held their schoolbooks on their laps and did their best to focus on their homework.
“Now, that’s dedication,” Sam said as she watched a teenage boy attempting to study while a group of young boys played around him.
Eseza took a small container of oil out of her sack and poured some over her hands. She rubbed them together and rinsed them with some water.
“Here,” she said, offering some oil to Sam. “It will get rid of the stickiness.”
When the pot was cleaned and the sack was tied, Eseza found an open section of lawn and sat down. “Come and sit here. The grass will be a good spot to sleep.”
They sat in silence, staring at the children around them. Some children had already curled up on the ground and appeared to be fast asleep. A group of older boys and girls had found a couple of oilcan lids and were working out a beat and nodding their heads to the rhythm. The more energetic of the teens moved their bodies in unison, performing a dance that Sam surmised was traditional, since more and more of the children joined in, repeating the same jumps and twists.
Albin snuggled in closer to Sam and laid his head on her lap. She stroked his cropped hair. “Are you missing your mom right now, Albin?”
“No.”
“It’s all right if you do. You don’t have to be a big brave boy all the time.”
Albin’s face scrunched up, deep in concentration. “Well, maybe a little.”
“I miss my mom and dad too. Sometimes. And Eseza, I’m sure she’s feeling exactly the same as you. Aren’t you, Eseza?”
Eseza nodded and sighed. She drew her hands to her chin and stared into the sky, deep in thought. Sam followed her gaze into the growing darkness and watched the stars begin to show themselves.
Finally, Eseza spoke. “You know what I am missing right now, Albin?” She paused and looked at the boy with a slight grin.
“What?”
“A story. My min maa was the best storyteller in our whole village. Everyone would come and gather around our fire at night and listen. She had such a way in telling the tale. Maybe I will give it a try and tell one. Is there one you would like to hear?”
Albin sat and clapped his hands together. “Do you know the story of Walukaga the blacksmith?”
“Know it? It is my favorite!” Eseza clasped her hands together and put them in her lap. “Now let us see. A long long time ago there was a king in Uganda called Banzibanzi. He was a very cruel man, and a very wicked king. Every moment of his waking hour, he would think of way to trouble his people, taxing them more and more, taking their finest crop from their field, and claiming the largest of the cow and goat to be his own. For many year he rule like this until everyone in all of the many village was wretched with the fear of his control and the cruelty of his rule.”
Sam smiled as she watched Eseza. Eseza’s face was filled with expression; her eyes grew bigger and her voice deeper as she described the king and all of his horridness. A small group of children inched their way toward Eseza and sat beside her. The looks on their faces mirrored that of Albin’s: delighted, amused, and mesmerized.
“But there was one man who did not lose his happiness to Banzibanzi wickedness. It was Walukaga, the chief of the blacksmith. It annoyed Banzibanzi to no end to see the smile on Walukaga face, and he set out to wipe it off, forever.
“One day Banzibanzi sent for Walukaga and said to him: ‘You are a very intelligent man. I have seen many of your creation, but I must admit you have disappointed me. You have forged thing out of iron and steel, but you have yet to create something out of flesh and blood. I want you to make me a man. A real man who can walk and talk and do whatever a man can do. If I do not see this man, then your life will be taken.’
“Walukaga was very upset. He left the king with a great feeling of dread, for he knew he could make no such creation.
“On the way home, he met up
with the village madman, dressed in rag and as thin as a bamboo tree. The madman held his arm out to Walukaga and cried in a most anguished voice. ‘Have pity on me! Have pity on me!’ he repeated over and over.
“Now Walukaga knew he was going to die, and he decided he would try to show as much kindness as he could during his last day. He reached into his pocket and gave the madman the last of his money: two small coin. ‘Take this, my dear friend, and use it to buy yourself some new clothe and some good food.’
“The madman was very happy, but he saw the sadness in Walukaga eye. ‘What is troubling you so much, my dear man?’ he asked. ‘Do tell me and I will try to help you, for you have helped me.’
“Walukaga told the madman what the king had ordered him to do, and the madman listened with very open ear. He whispered something into Walukaga ear and then left to buy some clothe and food.
“The next day Walukaga went to see the king. When the king saw him, he asked Walukaga if he had made the man from his forge yet.
“‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I have thought about it. This is a very difficult task, and I can only do it if I have the help of the wisest king of Uganda. I must acquire a number of item which I know only you, in your wisdom, can obtain.’
“The king gloated over Walukaga and asked, ‘And what is it you require from me?’
“Walukaga replied, ‘A special kind of charcoal made of human hair. I need three sack of it.’
“Banzibanzi gave the order, and all his messenger went out into the country. They ordered the people to shave their head and burn the hair and give it to the king. But when all the hair was burned, not enough charcoal was made to fill even one sack.
“The next day Walukaga went to the king with another request. ‘Oh, most wise and virtuous king, before I can forge a man I must have water. But the water from the cloud or the lake or the stream will not do. I must have the tear from the people, for it take many, many tear to make a human life. Please, your greatness, may I have three water pot full of tear?’
“Once again the king sent out his many messenger throughout his land and ordered the people to weep and save their tear. But as sad and depressed as the people were, they could not collect enough tear. There was only enough to fill one water pot.