“I forgot,” Eli said. “This is what I asked them to do when we got off the bus. I asked them to bring me their best beaded necklaces for consideration after we had a reverent, uninterrupted view of the valley. I’d like to buy some necklaces for you, Katie. But I want you to pick them out.”
Six vendors had circled them and were holding up an assortment of beaded necklaces. Some were made of tiny, colorful beads in patterns that seemed to have no specific order yet looked lovely and artistic. Other necklaces were made of big, chunky beads, while others were made of beads of various sizes and shapes. Katie was drawn to the necklace and reached out to touch it.
That vendor immediately lifted the necklace from the four draped across her hand and placed it over Katie’s neck. “My sister made this one. It is very beautiful. I will give you a good price, madam.”
“Do you like that one?” Eli asked.
Three other vendors held up similarly styled beaded necklaces and respectfully suggested that their price would be the best. They all spoke at once, and they all stood close, but surprisingly Katie didn’t feel as if they were harassing her or being pushy. Each of them, in an in-your-face cultural way, was trying to assist her in making her selection.
She reached for a second necklace with black, yellow, red, and green beads that were in a distinctive pattern. Again, the chosen item was placed over her head, and the vendor said, “Only seven shillings.”
“This is fine work,” Eli said in English, picking up the end of the necklace and rubbing the beads between his thumb and forefinger. “But not for seven. I will give you four. And madam” — he turned to the woman who said her sister had made the necklace — “I will give you four. Eight shillings for both.”
The two vendors shook their heads. “Six. Each. No less. The beads are painted by hand. You will not find better. Not in any of the marketplaces in Nairobi.”
“I do not doubt what you say,” Eli responded. “They are made with much care. The fine work is evident. But they are beads. Not precious stones. I will give each of you four, and not a shilling more.”
Both vendors put up their hands as if in shock at his offer. “No, this is not a four-shilling necklace, as you can see. Note the details on the painted beads. Six. No less.”
Katie was fascinated by the way Eli calmly negotiated the purchase. She had heard several people talking over meals about how haggling is expected and never to pay the asked-for price. Even so, looking at the condition of the vendors’ overall health, their clothing, and their teeth, her heart went out to them. She wanted to give all six of them in the circle ten shillings each and walk away with nothing so they would have more inventory to display to the next tour bus that came through.
What Eli did next surprised her. He shook his head at the price of six shillings and lifted the necklaces off Katie’s neck as if they were prepared to walk away.
An immediate protest arose. Eli held the necklaces suspended in the air over Katie’s head. She stood motionless, feeling like a vintage clock in the shape of a cat whose eyes move from side to side with the tail while the rest remains still.
“Four,” Eli said firmly, necklaces suspended over Katie.
“Five,” both vendors said in unison.
“Done.” Eli lowered them back over Katie’s neck, gave a nod, and pulled the money from his jeans’ front pocket.
Another vendor stepped up with a large, carved figure of an African woman with graphic details. It seemed that he assumed if Eli was doling out money for the woman beside him, then he would certainly want to take home such a statue. Eli put up his hand and didn’t make eye contact. The vendor walked away.
Katie felt like she should say “Thank you” and “Have a nice day,” or else her shopping experience wasn’t concluded. However, the vendors with the beads were now working the crowd with some of the other women in their group and pointing to Katie so the Americans could see what all the rage was in African fashion.
“How much?” one of the women from Texas asked.
“Twelve shillings.”
“That’s not bad. I like this one. Here. Do you have change for a twenty?”
As Katie watched the exchange, she wanted to stop the woman and confide in her that Eli had bought two for ten shillings, not one for twelve. It all went so quickly and exchanged hands so effortlessly, she thought it was better just to leave things as they were. What an interesting variety of people these vendors must see each day.
Eli was at the center of the group now. Another tour bus was pulling up, and the busy, buzzing vendors dispersed from the Texas group and clustered around the not-yet-open door of the bus that had just arrived.
“If I can have your attention,” Eli called out. It worked. The Texans looked to him as their leader. “We have only five more minutes before the bus leaves. I strongly encourage you to head over to the edge of the platform and have a look at what we stopped here to see: the Rift Valley. I don’t want you to miss this marvel of God’s creation.”
Most of the group responded, and Katie could tell that brought Eli a lot of satisfaction.
“That was pretty impressive, Lorenzo.” Katie looped the two long necklaces over her neck a second time, doubling them up and making the length feel more normal.
“You like your souvenir?”
“I meant the way you motivated the group was impressive. And I love the necklaces too. Thank you. Or, wait … asante sana.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for the encouragement.”
“Anytime.”
Eli reached over and ever so slightly brushed the back of his knuckles across her forearm. Then he took the lead and headed for the bus.
Katie looked up at the seamless blue sky and drew in a deep breath. The pure oxygen seemed only to fuel the fire that was burning inside her, the fire that burned for both Eli and for Africa. She was in love. She knew it. But for now, that was a truth that shouldn’t be revealed to anyone. Not even Eli.
As if he didn’t already know.
10
The bus ride into Nairobi provided Katie and the rest of the group with plenty to see. The city in daylight was a bustling place with people everywhere. Alongside every road they drove on, people walked with bags and bundles, and children in school uniforms strolled in groups. Men on bicycles held on to the back of trucks, catching a ride uphill. Bent old men slow-shuffled along on their way to somewhere. So many people were on the move that Katie found it hard to imagine where they were all going to or coming from. Little white shuttle vans were everywhere, picking up and dropping off passengers the way yellow taxis clogged New York’s streets in every movie she had ever seen of the Big Apple.
The bus trundled past a large, open-air market in a field. The dry dirt seemed to rise in a constant cloud from the hundreds of people compacted into the confined space. Katie could see vegetable stands next to kitchen tables and chairs. She thought the market formed the African equivalent of one of the big-box stores in the States where everything was under one roof. Only here, there was no roof.
This bustling, humanity-filled part of town was the opposite of what their surroundings were like in the hills at Brockhurst. So much dust. So many people. So much traffic. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to remember the image of the peaceful green tea fields at dawn. Opening her eyes, Katie saw the mix of cardboard lean-tos and current-year vehicles. Nairobi was a sprawling city of diversity.
One form of diversity that was missing was people with fair skin. Katie was keenly aware once again that she stuck out not only because she was a white woman but also because she had distinctive hair. She wondered if that was part of what made Eli stare at her when they first met. She would have to ask him sometime how much of an anomaly she was to him. Even though his skin was nearly as pale as hers, the red hair had to be an oddity. Katie realized that the more she got to know Eli in his familiar surroundings, the more she understood why he was the way he was.
The bus meandered through a shaded residential ar
ea, and Eli turned around and pointed for Katie to look out the window. She saw a large parking area and a glimpse of a single-story house with a porch, and then they were past it.
She looked at Eli with her eyebrows raised, as if to say, “Yes, so? It’s a lovely old house in the African-colonial style.”
“That’s Karen,” he said quietly.
Katie’s eyes grew wide. She knew what he was talking about. Several days ago at lunch they had sat across from a Canadian couple who had visited “Karen.” Katie realized what the house was: the home of Baroness Karen Blixen, the Danish author of Out of Africa, the woman who went by the pen name Isak Dinesen. The whole area was now developed into a suburb and had taken on the name Karen. The couple from Canada regaled Eli and Katie about what parts of the porch and house had been used for the film and how well preserved it was.
“We’ll come back another time if you want to take a tour,” Eli said, still keeping his voice low. “It’s not on the schedule today, so I didn’t announce it.”
Katie let her thoughts wander to the future and the joy of knowing that she had many days to come in Kenya.
Before long the bus pulled into a parking area. “This is it,” Eli said, standing up and taking the mic as the bus driver waited for another tour bus to inch its way out of the shady spot he wanted.
“All right, we’re here. We’re at the giraffe center, and we’ll be here for a full hour. You’ll find more information once you get inside, but to summarize, during the late 1970s, a number of areas in Kenya were being developed into subdivisions, and the wildlife in those areas was rapidly declining. The couple who started this center had learned that in western Kenya only a little more than one hundred Rothschild giraffes were left. They brought two of those giraffes here, to their home, and developed this area into a wildlife preserve for endangered giraffes. The park guide will have the current numbers, but I believe more than five hundred Rothschild giraffes are in Kenya as a result of the sanctuary created for them. So, go hug a giraffe’s neck and be sure to head back here in an hour.”
Katie gave Eli a smirk when he turned off the microphone and looked at her.
“What?”
“You got that line from me. That was my goal for the day, to hug a giraffe’s neck.”
“And heckle me. Did you forget that part?”
“I’m saving up all my heckles for the ride home.”
Most of the group had hurried out of the bus, and Katie wanted to rush with them, eager to see the giraffes. But she waited for Eli, who was engaged in a conversation with the bus driver. Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry. Katie sat back down in the emptied bus and tried to see what she could out the window, but it wasn’t much.
“Ready?” Eli finally asked.
“More than ready.” Katie exited with him. He led them to the snack bar.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“What about the giraffes?” Katie squeaked.
“They have their own drinks.”
Katie swatted at his arm. “Why are we here at the soda fountain, Fonzie? The giraffes are over there.” She pointed to the elevated observation area across the grounds. She couldn’t see any giraffes yet and guessed they had to climb up to the observation deck with everyone else.
“Trust me, it will be too crowded with the whole group going at the same time. We might as well kick back and wait till they’re done. And what did you just call me?”
“Fonzie. Arthur Fonzarelli. You know, Happy Days? Soda fountain? Richie Cunningham?”
“Am I supposed to know who these people are?”
Katie forgot the home she had grown up in contained the one-eyed babysitter while Eli had spent his childhood reading about African wildlife preserves and retaining facts on Mount Kilamanjaro and the Rift Valley.
“Never mind. Listen, I want to go to the platform with the rest of the group. If you want, you could wait here for me.”
“You really are excited about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes!”
“It’s just giraffes.”
“Just giraffes! Eli!”
“Okay, okay. I get it. My everyday stuff is not your everyday stuff. Come on.” He reached for Katie’s hand. “Let’s elbow our way in. I have to warn you, though. They’re cute, but they drool.”
Eli’s term of “elbowing in” was a perfect description of what they had to do. The elevated observation area was designed to hold fewer people than were already gathered when Katie and Eli arrived. It wasn’t just the Texas group. Another smaller gathering of visitors was lined up for a group photo.
All Katie and Eli could do was hang back and try to hear the uniformed park ranger as he answered questions and explained that, while they could see the giraffes in the open area in front of them, the giraffes wouldn’t necessarily come over to the open-air observation tower. The tower was built at just the right height so that, if the giraffes did approach, they would be eye to eye with the visitors.
Katie stretched her neck, trying to see around the people in front of her. By the exclamations they were making, it seemed that the others could at least see some giraffes. But all Katie saw, in the distance beyond the open field with the acacia trees, were downtown Nairobi’s tall buildings.
“There’s another one!” one of the men from their group exclaimed.
Then Katie caught a glimpse of a tall giraffe stretching its long legs and bending its knobby knees. With graceful and rhythmic strides, the grand creature moved across the open area from the shade of one large tree to the shade of another. All cameras on deck went on a snapping frenzy.
The uniformed guide raised his voice so that everyone in the tight quarters could hear him. “Did you know that the giraffe is similar to the camel and the brown bear in the way it walks? They all lift both legs on the same side of their body at the same time. That gives them their distinctive gait.”
He went on to talk about the different types of giraffes, which ones were endangered, and ways people could contribute to the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife.
While all of that was interesting to Katie, she was dying to get close enough to the railing to set her phone camera on zoom and take a picture of a giraffe, especially since she promised Christy she would.
One by one the tourists took their photos, asked their questions, and made their way down the stairs to the snack bar. Eli was right. They could have gotten something to drink, hung out for a bit, and then headed to the observation deck after the crowds subsided.
“Thanks for elbowing in here with me,” Katie said to Eli.
“Did you take any pictures yet?”
“No. I’ll slide up there now.”
A group of a dozen people, who appeared to be traveling together and speaking what Katie thought was Dutch, left at the same time. Another half dozen people from the Texas group left, and just that fast the only people left on the observation platform were Katie, Eli, the park guide, and an older couple who were snapping a few photos.
“Would you like a picture of the two of you?” the park guide asked.
“Sure. Thanks. I mean, asante.” Katie handed him the camera and stood next to Eli. He put his arm around her, and she felt her face flush. She was sure it was from the heat. Nairobi was quite a bit warmer than Brockhurst, and even though the area was open air, with so many people crammed together on the observation deck, it had become uncomfortable fast. The older couple left, and Eli and Katie remained with the park guide.
“Would you like to feed the giraffes?” the guide asked.
“Are you kidding?” Katie looked at Eli and back at the ranger. “Yes! Is that possible? Can you call them and get them over here?”
“I have a few tricks. These giraffes have been here a long time. They are used to people but can be shy with large crowds. I think they will come just for you.” He reached his hand into a gunny sack filled with some sort of pellets and held his hand up in the air, shaking it back and forth.
One of the two giraf
fes by the large acacia tree turned its long neck in their direction and, leading with its neck extended, headed for them.
“He’s coming this way!” Katie snapped pictures as fast as she could.
“She,” the guide corrected her. “This is Daisy. She’ll eat out of your hand. Here, keep your palm flat like this.” He filled Katie’s flattened palm with pellets, and she held it out to the approaching giraffe.
“She won’t bite my fingers, will she?”
“No. Just keep your palm flat and open. Don’t make a fist. She hates it when people do that. She’ll use the side of her head to ram up against yours.”
“Seriously?” Katie could feel her heart beat faster. Several of the pellets cascaded off the side of her excitedly trembling hand. In the dirt below, a snorting warthog came trotting out of the shade and bent its front two legs at the knee joint, as if it were bowing in prayer. The park guide pointed out the warthog’s position and said it was the only way his snout could reach the ground to get the food.
“As interesting as a warthog can be, I’m sure,” Katie said, “I’m keeping my eye on Daisy. Here she comes. Hello, girl. Aren’t you beautiful? Whoa! That’s a bit up close and personal, don’t you think?”
Daisy didn’t stand back and take the pellets from Katie’s hand extended out into the sun. Instead, the giraffe stuck her head into the shady space of the observation area so that she was only inches away from Katie.
“What do I do?”
“Hug her neck,” Eli said.
“Give her the food,” the park ranger said.
Without realizing it, Katie had made a fist in an effort to keep the pellets from falling down to the eager warthogs that had gathered in a gang of five beastly looking thugs.
Eli scooped his hand into the gunny sack and presented Daisy with a full, flat-palmed snack before she realized that Katie was holding out on her. Eli stroked the side of her large head the way a prized horse would be lovingly groomed. “You are a beauty, just like Katie said. Do you want to have some of the pellets she has for you now?”
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