The White Masai

by Corinne Hofmann

  The next morning I leave Lketinga with his companion and go to the shop. Business is hectic – news that more meal and sugar have arrived has spread like wildfire. Today Anna doesn’t look well. She keeps sitting down and has to run out a couple of times to be sick. I ask her worriedly what’s wrong. But she says it’s fine, maybe just a touch of malaria. I send her home, and her husband, the one who accompanied our lorry, offers to work in her place. I’m glad of his help because he really gets stuck in. After a couple of hours, my back is aching terribly again but whether it’s on account of the pregnancy or just bending over all the time I don’t know. I reckon I must be at about three months, but apart from a small bump there’s not much to see. In the meantime my husband has started to doubt that I’m pregnant and thinks I might just have a stomach ulcer.

  Eventually Lketinga turns up in the shop. Right away he starts at the sight of the man behind the counter and asks him what he’s doing there. I keep serving. The man tells him about Anna’s illness and says she’s had to go home. We work on while my husband sits there still chewing his miraa, which starts to get me annoyed. I send him to the vet to find out if a goat’s been slaughtered today because I’d like to make a good meal with meat and potatoes. I want to close at midday so that I can wash and cook in the back room. But Lketinga and my new helper want to work through. So I use my charcoal burner to cook up a tasty stew and enjoy a nice meal on my own. I keep half for Lketinga, but I can work better on a full stomach.

  We set off home after seven p.m. The injured man is hobbling around our hut; he seems a bit better. But what a mess! There are chewed miraa stems and lumps of chewing gum everywhere, the cooking pot is next to the fire with maize stuck inside it, and there are bits of food all around with ants climbing all over them. There’s also a foul smell in the hut. I take a sharp intake of breath: here I am just back from work and now I have to clean the hut, not to mention the pot to make chai, which I have to scrape clean with my fingernails.

  When I complain to my husband he doesn’t understand. On his miraa-high, he thinks I’m getting at him and don’t want to help his friend who barely escaped with his life. All I’m asking for is a bit of tidiness. My husband and the warrior leave the hut grumpily and say they’re going off to Mama. I hear them talking loudly and feel lonely and excluded. To keep my composure I get out my radio-cassette player and put some German music on. After a while Lketinga sticks his head in and looks at me mistrustfully. ‘Corinne, what’s the problem? Why you hear this music? What’s the meaning?’ Oh God, how am I to tell him that I feel misunderstood and taken advantage of and am just looking for a bit of comfort? He wouldn’t understand.

  I take his hand and ask him to sit beside me. We listen to the music together, staring into the fire, and slowly I feel an erotic charge building between us and relish it. Lketinga looks fantastic in the firelight. I put my hand on his dark naked thigh and feel his excitement too. He turns and looks at me wildly, and suddenly we’re in each other’s arms, kissing, and for the first time I get the feeling that he likes it. Although I keep trying, Lketinga has up until now never really enjoyed it, and my attempts usually are given up pretty quickly. But now he’s kissing me more and more passionately. Eventually we make love, magnificently. When his passion subsides he strokes my stomach tenderly and asks: ‘Corinne, you are sure, you have now a baby?’ I laugh happily: ‘Yes.’ ‘Corinne, if you have a baby, why you want love? Now it’s okay. I have given you a baby, now I wait for it.’ This is a fairly sobering line of reasoning, but I don’t take it too seriously. We fall asleep contentedly.

  The next day is Sunday. Our shop is closed, and we decide to hear Father Giuliani say mass. The little church is packed, almost exclusively with women and children, just a few men – the vet with his family, the doctor and the bush teacher, sitting on one side. Giuliani reads the mass in Swahili, and the teacher translates into Samburu. In between the women and children sing and drum their fingers. By and large everything is very jolly. Lketinga is the only warrior, and this visit to the church is his first and last.

  We spend the afternoon together down by the river. I wash clothes, and he cleans the car. Eventually we have time for our ritual of washing each other, just like before, and I think back nostalgically. Of course, I like the shop, and we have more variety in our meals, but we don’t have as much time for ourselves. Everything is much more hectic. Even so, after each Sunday I’m pleased about the shop; I’ve made friends with some of the town women and a few of their husbands who speak English. Gradually I’m getting to know who belongs to whom.

  I’ve also really taken a shine to Anna. Her husband is on holiday and has been helping out in the shop for a few days. I don’t mind, but Lketinga does and every time Anna’s husband has a soft drink he asks me if Anna is charging for it.

  It’s time to sort out some more sugar. For a couple of days now the sacks have been empty, and as a result we’ve had fewer customers. Also the school holidays are about to start so I can go to Maralal, get sugar and bring James home. Lketinga will stay in the shop and help Anna as we’ve still got twenty sacks of maize meal left to sell to get enough money to pay for the use of the lorry.

  I take our trusty helper with me. He’s a good worker and can stow the heavy sacks in the Land Rover for me. As ever, another twenty people want to come with us. Because there’s always an argument I decide to ask for some money to help meet the cost of the petrol. That way only the ones who really need to come will want to. When I tell them, the crowd quickly disappears except for five people who are ready to pay my price. The Land Rover can cope with that. We set off early because I want to get back the same evening. The game warden is one of the group, but he has to pay too.

  In Maralal everyone gets out, and I drive down to the school. The headmaster tells me the boys don’t get out until four. I agree with him to take three or four boys back to Barsaloi. Meanwhile my helper and I get hold of three sacks of sugar and some fruit and vegetables. I can’t take anymore. That leaves a couple of hours to kill so I go to see Sophia.

  Sophia is delighted to see me. Unlike me, she’s put on several pounds, and she looks well. She makes some spaghetti for me: a real treat after so long without any pasta. No wonder she’s putting on weight so quickly! Her Rasta friend drops by with a couple of friends and takes off again. Sophia grumbles that since she became pregnant she hardly ever sees him. He has no intention of working and just spends her money on beer and his friends. Despite all the comforts she has, I don’t envy her. Sophia’s case makes me appreciate how much Lketinga does.

  I say goodbye, promising to drop by every time I’m in Maralal. I pick up my helper and the game warden at our agreed rendezvous and drive down to the school, where three boys are waiting for us. James is pleased to be collected, and we set off immediately because we want to be home before dark.

  Jungle Tracks

  The car snakes its way up the dusty red track and just before the S-bend the game warden and I break into laughter thinking of our experience with the elephant. The boys in the back are chatting and laughing too. Just before we get to the steep descent I brake, ready to engage four-wheel drive, and brake again, but nothing happens as the car rolls ever forward towards the deadly drop. I scream out in horror ‘No brakes!’ and at the same time I see there’s no way of turning right because, masked by the trees, the steep ravine has already begun. Without a second thought I throw the steering wheel to the left – the game warden’s already struggling to open the door.

  As if by a miracle the car bangs over the edge of the wall of rock falling away evermore sharply. Where I’ve gone over, the drop is barely a foot, but if we’d gone just a bit further there would have been no choice but to plunge down the slope headfirst. I pray that the car will get stuck in the undergrowth here where there’s a platform of fifty feet or so, after which it falls away steeply into the jungle.

  The boys are on an adrenaline rush, and the game warden has gone grey. At last the car stops, barely a ya
rd from the end of the plateau. I’m shaking so much all over that I can’t get out.

  The boys climb out through the windows as we don’t dare move forwards and the rear doors are locked. With weak knees I manage to get out too and go to inspect the damage, and at that very moment the car starts to slowly roll forward. With presence of mind I grab the nearest large stone and shove it in front of a wheel. The boys have discovered that the brake cable has been ripped out. Shocked and stunned, we stand next to the vehicle, less than three yards from a fatal plunge.

  The game warden says there’s no way we can stay out here in the bush, even though he’s got his gun this time. Apart from anything else, it’ll be bloody cold when it gets dark. There’s also no way we can drive on to Barsaloi with no brakes. The only option is to go back to Maralal, which I can manage without brakes, in four-wheel drive all the way if needs be. First of all we have to turn the long vehicle around on this narrow plateau. We get some big rocks, and I start the engine carefully. I can’t go more than a couple of feet forwards so the boys have to use the stones to stop each wheel. Then we do the same thing in reverse gear, where I can see next to nothing. The sweat is running down my face, and I pray to God for help. After this experience, when we could all have died, I’m quite certain of His existence. It takes more than an hour to complete the second miracle, but at last the car faces the other way.

  It’s already dark in the jungle by the time we can set off, in four-wheel drive and first gear all the way. When we start downhill the car is going far too fast and the engine screams horribly but I don’t dare change gear. At critical moments I automatically step on the non-functioning brakes. At the end of an hour with great relief we arrive back in Maralal. Here there are people ambling across the road in the blithe assumption that the few cars will brake for them. I can only sound my horn, and people leap aside with a curse. As we approach the garage I turn off the ignition and let us roll up to it. The Somali boss is about to close, but I explain my problem and tell him the car is full of goods that I can’t leave out on the street. He opens up his iron door, and a few men push the car in.

  We go off for chai, still in shock, to discuss what to do. First we have to find somewhere to stay. The game warden can sort himself out, but I obviously offer to pay for my helper and the boys. We take two rooms, the lads saying they can easily share one bed. I want to be on my own. After we eat I retire, miserable for my husband who won’t know what’s happening and will be worried about me.

  Early next morning I head to the garage, where the workers are already repairing our vehicle. Even the Somali boss is puzzled as to how it could have happened. By eleven we’re ready to leave, but this time I don’t dare take the jungle route. I have a deep terror of it now and in any case I’m four months’ pregnant. We take the detour via Baragoi, which takes nearly four and a half hours, thinking all the time about how worried my husband must be.

  We get on well, though. Despite the strewn rubble, this road is a lot less demanding. We’re at least half way there when, just as we’re crossing a dried-up riverbed, a hissing noise I had already noticed suddenly becomes louder. Of all the bad luck, now we’ve got a flat! Everyone gets out, and the boys dig the spare out from under the sacks of sugar. My helper puts the jack in position, and within half an hour it’s all done. For once I had nothing to do and could sit in the warm sun and smoke a cigarette. We set off again and get to Barsaloi during the afternoon.

  We park next to the shop, and I’m just about to get out when my husband comes up with a nasty frown on his face and stands in front of the car door shaking his head: ‘Corinne, what is wrong with you? Why you come late?’ I explain, but he turns away without listening and demands to know who I spent the night with in Maralal. That gets me mad: we’ve barely escaped with our lives and my husband thinks I’ve been unfaithful. I had never imagined he might react like that.

  The boys come to my aid, describing the journey. He crawls under the car and examines the cable. When he discovers the traces of brake oil, he declares himself satisfied. But I’m deeply disappointed in him and decide to stomp off to my hut. They can sort themselves out. At least James is there. I say a brief hello to Mama and Saguna and then hide myself away, exhausted and disillusioned.

  By evening I’m freezing, but I don’t worry about it and make chai. Lketinga comes in and has a cup. We don’t talk much, and late in the evening he sets off to visit a distant encampment to collect the rest of our wedding-present goats. He’ll be back in two days. He wraps his red blanket around his shoulders, grabs his two spears and, saying little, leaves the manyatta. I hear him exchange a few brief words with Mama, and then all is silence save for the cries of a baby in a neighbouring hut.

  My own condition is getting worse, however. During the night I panic: is this another malaria attack? I get out my Fansidar anti-malaria pills and read the instructions carefully. Three pills to be taken on suspicion of an attack, but in case of pregnancy consult a doctor. Oh God, the last thing I want is to lose my baby, which is something that up to the sixth month malaria can easily cause. I decide to take the three tablets and put wood on the fire to warm up.

  The next morning I only waken when I hear voices outside. I crawl out of the hut into blinding sunlight. It’s nearly eight-thirty a.m. Mama’s sitting outside her hut and laughs at me, ‘Supa Corinne’ comes the call. ‘Supa Mama.’ I reply and head off into the bush to deal with my morning needs.

  I feel weak and worn out. When I get back to the manyatta there are already four women there asking about the shop. ‘Corinne, tuka!’ I hear Mama call. She wants me to open the shop. ‘Ndjo, ja, – later!’ I reply. Understandably they all want the sugar we brought back yesterday, and half an hour later I drag myself to the shop.

  There are already twenty people waiting, but Anna isn’t there. I open up and immediately the bedlam breaks loose. Everybody wants to be first. I serve them mechanically. Where’s Anna? My helper hasn’t turned up either, and there’s no sign of the boys. While I’m serving I suddenly have an urgent need for the toilet. I grab the toilet paper and rush for the WC-hut. I’ve already got diarrhoea. I’m completely worked up now. The shop is full of people. The till is just a box, open to anybody who goes behind the counter. With no strength I still force myself to go back to the nattering women, but again and again the diarrhoea forces me back to the toilet.

  Anna has left me in the lurch; she hasn’t turned up. So far there hasn’t been a single familiar face to whom I could even half explain the situation in English and ask for help. After lunch I can’t stand on my feet any longer.

  At last the teacher’s wife turns up, and I send her to Mama to see if the boys are at home. Luckily James turns up with the boy who’d spent the night in the boarding house with me. They’re both prepared to run the shop so I can go home. Mama looks at me in surprise and asks what’s wrong. What am I to tell her? I shrug my shoulders and say, ‘Maybe malaria.’ She looks at me in shock and grabs her stomach. I take her meaning but am worried enough myself and don’t know what to do. She comes into my manyatta and makes black tea for me, because milk would be dangerous. While she’s waiting for the water to boil she talks quietly to Enkai. Mama is praying for me in her own way. I’m really fond of her sitting there with her long breasts and dirty skirt. At a time like this I’m pleased my husband has such a loving, caring mother and don’t want to let her down.

  When our goats come home the older brother looks in on me and tries to start a conversation in Swahili. But I’m too tired and keep falling asleep. In the middle of the night I wake up bathed in sweat, hearing footsteps and the spears being thrust into the ground outside our hut. My heart is pounding madly when I hear the familiar grunting noise and shortly afterwards a shape appears in the hut. ‘Darling?’ I ask hopefully in the darkness. ‘Yes, Corinne, no problem,’ replies the familiar voice of my husband. I explain what’s wrong with me, and he’s very worried. As I haven’t had the shivering fit yet I still hope that taking the Fansidar st
raight away may have done the trick.

  The next few days I stay home, and Lketinga and the boys run the shop. Gradually I get on my feet again as after three days even the diarrhoea has stopped. After a week of lying around I’ve had enough, and that afternoon I go back to work. But the shop is in a state: there’s been next to no cleaning done, everything is covered with maize meal dust, and the shelves are almost empty. The four sugar sacks have long since been emptied, and there are barely one and a half sacks of meal left. That means another trip to Maralal. We plan to make it next week, because the boys’ short holidays will be over then and I can take a few of them with me.

  The shop is quiet. As soon as the basic foodstuffs are sold the customers from far away stop coming. I go to see Anna. When I get to her house I find her lying in bed. When I ask what’s wrong she initially won’t say anything, but eventually I get out of her that she’s pregnant too. She’s only in her third month but a while ago had some bleeding and that’s why she stayed away from work. We agree that she’ll come back when the boys have gone.

  The start of school is getting closer, and it’s time for us to go. This time we’ll leave the shop shut. Three days later we send a whole lorry-load back to Barsaloi with our helper on board. Lketinga and I take the jungle road, and luckily nothing goes wrong. Just before dark we’re standing waiting for the lorry, but instead two warriors arrive to tell us it’s got stuck in the last riverbed. We drive the short distance in our car to see what can be done. The lorry has got one left wheel stuck in the sand just before it could reach the riverbank, and spinning the wheel has only caused it to sink deeper.

  There are already a few people at the scene and some stones and branches have already been pushed under the wheel. But the lorry’s heavy load keeps tipping it further over and the driver says there’s nothing for it but to unload here. I’m not very happy about this idea and go to ask Father Giuliani what he thinks. He’s not particularly delighted to see me as he’s already heard what’s happened but nonetheless he gets into his car and comes with me.