The White Masai

by Corinne Hofmann

  There are a few warriors at home nearby, and they ask who the girl is. Before long they’re all in love with my sister. She seems fascinated by them too, but I warn her off with some sound advice and start to tell her how badly things are going with Lketinga. She can’t believe it and is sorry that he’s not here.

  She’s keen to get back to the hotel for dinner, and I take her in the car. A few warriors take the opportunity of a lift. I leave them all in front of the hotel and agree to meet Sabine again the next evening in the bar. As I drive off she’s still talking to the warriors. I go over to Priscilla’s to eat when Lketinga isn’t there and we take turns at cooking.

  To my surprise Sabine turns up in the shop the next afternoon with Edy, whom she’s met in the Bush Baby Disco. She’s only just eighteen and wants to enjoy the nightlife. I’m not happy to see them together, even though I like Edy.

  They spend most of the time hanging around the pool while I work in the shop and seldom see my sister. She spends a lot of time with Edy. Now and then we meet up in our village for chai. Obviously she’d like me to come with her to the disco, but I tell her I can’t because of Napirai, and then there’d be problems when Lketinga gets back. My sister doesn’t understand because I was always such an independent person. But she doesn’t know my husband.

  A Bitter Blow

  Eight days later he’s back. William and I are in the shop, it’s boiling hot and there are few customers. Even so we can be happy with our turnover, which for the moment is something Sophia can only dream of. I’m sitting on the step in the doorway with Napirai, still guzzling away at my breast, despite her thirteen months, when suddenly a tall man appears from behind the Indian shop and comes towards us.

  It takes me a couple of seconds to recognize Lketinga. I wait for my usual feeling of happiness to see him, but instead I’m still in shock. The way he looks throws me: he’s cut his long red hair short and got rid of some of the decorations he usually wears on his head. I can accept that, but his clothes look ridiculous: he’s wearing an old-fashioned shirt and dark red jeans that are far too tight and too short. His feet are in cheap plastic sandals and instead of his normal languid stroll he’s walking stiffly. ‘Corinne, why you not tell me hello? You are not happy I’m here?’ Only then do I realize the way I must have stared at him. I grab hold of Napirai to compose myself and point out her papa to her. He takes her in his arms happily, but she seems uncertain too because she immediately wants to get down and come back to me.

  He comes into the shop and starts examining everything, wanting to know who I’ve got the new Masai belts from. ‘From Priscilla,’ I tell him. He puts them all on one side and says he’ll give them back to her because he doesn’t want to pay her for anything. I start to get angry and for a moment even get stomach cramps. ‘Corinne, where is your sister?’ ‘I don’t know. Maybe in the hotel,’ I answer curtly. He demands the car keys so he can go and visit her, although he doesn’t even know what she looks like.

  An hour later he’s back. Of course he hasn’t found her. Instead he’s been to Ukunda to buy miraa. He sits down in front of the shop and starts chewing. Before long there are leaves and gnawed stems all over the place. I suggest he takes his weed somewhere else, which he takes to mean I want rid of him. He starts interrogating William.

  He doesn’t tell me much about James and things at home. He just waited for the circumcision and left the celebrations early. Cautiously I ask him where his kangas are and why he’s cut his hair. His kangas, he says, are in his bag and his hair ornaments too. He’s not a warrior anymore so he doesn’t need them.

  I put it to him that most of the Masai in Mombasa still wear their traditional clothing, jewellery and long hair and that it might be better for our shop. From that he deduces that I like all the others better. In reality I just wish he’d get rid of his jeans and shirt for the kangas that suit him much better, but for the moment at least I let it be.

  When we get home Sabine is sitting with Edy and the other warriors from next door in front of the hut. I introduce my husband to her, and he greets her warmly. Sabine gives me a surprised look: obviously puzzled at the way he’s got up. For his part, Lketinga still hasn’t asked himself why Sabine’s sitting here.

  Half an hour later she wants to go back to the hotel for dinner. It’s a rare chance for me to exchange a few words with her in private so I suggest to Lketinga that I drive her back to the hotel quickly while he looks after Napirai. He says it’s out of the question: he wants to drive her. My sister gives me a startled look and lets me know in broad Swiss German dialect that there’s no way she’s getting into the car if he’s driving. She doesn’t know him and he doesn’t look as if he’s capable of driving a car. I don’t know what to do and tell her so. She turns to Lketinga and says: ‘Thank you but it’s better I walk with Edy to the hotel.’ I hold my breath for a moment to see what will happen. Lketinga laughs and says: ‘Why you go with him? You are sister from Corinne. So you are like my sister.’

  When she still won’t have him drive, he tries to arrange to meet her later in the Bush Baby Disco, saying he can’t let her go there on her own. Sabine, who’s starting to get cross, says: ‘No problem, I go with Edy and you stay with Corinne or come together with her.’ I can see from his face that he’s starting to get the picture. Sabine takes the opportunity to disappear with Edy. I make myself busy with Napirai. For ages he says absolutely nothing and just sits chewing miraa. Then he demands to know what I’ve done every evening. I tell him I’ve been with Priscilla who only lives a hundred feet away. And who did I spend the night with? he then demands to know. I know what he’s getting at and respond sharply: ‘Just Napirai!’ He laughs and keeps on chewing.

  I go to bed hoping that he’ll stay out there all night for I feel not the slightest desire to have him touch me. Only now do I realize how my feelings for this man have changed completely. After two and a half weeks without any complications, living with him under this pressure is almost unbearable.

  A little later he comes to bed too, but I pretend to be asleep and lie against the wall with Napirai. He speaks to me, but I don’t reply. When he tries to make love to me, which after a long separation like this would otherwise be normal, I’m almost sick with fear. I can’t and won’t. My disappointment in his behaviour is just too much. I push him away and say, ‘Maybe tomorrow.’ ‘Corinne, you are my wife, now I have not seen you for such a long time. I want love from you! Maybe you got enough love from other men!’ ‘No, I have not got love, I don’t want love,’ I shout at him angrily.

  Of course everybody else can hear us arguing, but I can’t control myself. We end up physically tussling, which wakes Napirai who starts crying. Lketinga climbs out of bed furiously puts on his kangas and ornaments and stalks off. Napirai is inconsolable. All of a sudden Priscilla appears and takes Napirai. I’m too exhausted to even start talking about our problems. All I can tell her is that Lketinga is completely crazy. She tells me calmly that all men are like that but we shouldn’t shout at each other or we’ll have problems with the landlord. Then she disappears.

  When I go into the shop the next day with William I still don’t know where my husband spent the night. I’m in a depressed mood, and neither William nor the child minder says much. We’re glad to see tourists come in, if only to lift the atmosphere, but I leave the sales talk to William.

  Lketinga doesn’t turn up until nearly midday, and then he makes William’s life a misery. He no longer goes out onto the street to hand out flysheets but sends William instead, and at lunchtime he refuses to take him with us even though we’re going to Ukunda. I’m not allowed to go to Sophia’s anymore because he doesn’t see what we’ve got to talk about.

  For the past few days there doesn’t seem to be enough money in the till. I can’t be certain about it because I no longer go to the bank every day. From time to time my husband takes money out, and I use cash from the till to buy from itinerant merchants. But I have a feeling there’s something wrong. I daren’
t mention it to my husband, however.

  My sister’s holiday is coming to an end, and I’ve hardly seen her. On her last night we go to the disco with her and Edy. It’s what she wants to do; she says she wants to get me out with other people. We leave Napirai with Priscilla. Lketinga and I sit at a table while Sabine and Edy dance together wildly. It’s the first time in ages that I’ve had alcohol. My thoughts drift back to the time I came here with Marco and nearly fainted when Lketinga walked in the door. How much has happened since then! I try to keep back the tears, I don’t want to spoil Sabine’s last day and nor do I want a row with my husband. He too was happier back then than he is now.

  My sister comes back to the table and notices immediately that there’s something wrong with me. I rush off to the toilet. I’m rinsing my face with cold water when I notice her standing next to me. She takes me in her arms and we simply stand there. Then she gives me a cigarette and tells me to keep it for later, it’ll do me good – there’s marijuana in it – and if I need more I should tell Edy.

  We go back to the table, and Lketinga asks Sabine to dance. While they’re on the floor Edy asks me if I’m having problems with Lketinga. ‘Sometimes,’ I reply briefly. Edy wants to dance too, but I say no. A little later Lketinga and I leave because it’s the first time I’ve left Napirai with Priscilla and I’m a bit worried about her. I say my goodbyes to Sabine and wish her a safe journey home.

  We trudge back to the village in the dark. I can hear my little girl crying long before we get there, but Priscilla assures me she’s just woken up and is looking for her familiar breast milk. I take her into our room, leaving Lketinga to talk to Priscilla. When Napirai’s asleep again I go back out and sit down in the muggy night air to light up my joint. I suck the smoke greedily into my lungs, and I’ve just finished and stubbed out the butt when Lketinga comes over. I hope he doesn’t notice the smell.

  I feel a bit better and give him a smile. My head’s spinning a bit so I go to lie down. Lketinga notices there’s something up with me but I tell him it’s the alcohol, which I’m no longer used to. Tonight I have no problem fulfilling my conjugal duties, and even Lketinga is surprised how keen I am.

  During the night I wake up with a weak bladder and creep out to do my business behind the hut because it’s too far to go to the makeshift toilet and my head’s still groggy. When I climb back into our big bed, my husband asks me in the dark where I’ve been. Shocked by this I tell him, and he takes the torch and demands I show him the spot on the ground. I’m still high enough to find it all funny, but Lketinga takes even my good humour to mean I’ve had an assignation. I can’t take him seriously and show him the wet patch on the ground. Then we both go back to sleep in silence.

  The next morning my head’s throbbing, and all my misery comes flooding back. After breakfast we set off for the shop, but for the first time can’t find William. When we get there, however, he’s already waiting for us. It’s none of my business so I don’t ask him where he was. He’s more nervous and restrained than normal. There’s not much business today, but when the shop closes I notice that there’s money missing from my bag. What on earth am I to do? I watch William and my husband – when he’s there – more closely after that but I don’t notice anything untoward and I don’t believe the child minder would be capable of such a thing.

  When I come back after washing Priscilla has come round and is sitting talking to Lketinga. She says William’s been spending a lot of money in Ukunda every night. We should keep an eye out, she says, as she can’t imagine where he’s got so much money from. I’m uneasy at the idea I’m being robbed, but I say nothing and decide I’ll have a quiet word with William myself. My husband would simply sack him and then I’d have nobody to help with the work, and up until now I’ve been very pleased with him.

  The next day once again he comes to work directly from Ukunda. Lketinga tackles him direct, but he denies everything and when the first tourists come in William goes about his work as normal. My husband drives off to Ukunda, where I imagine he’s intending to find out what William’s been up to.

  When I’m on my own with William I tell him straight up that I know he’s been stealing money from me every day. I promise to say nothing to Lketinga if he promises he’ll work properly and there’ll be no more of it. I won’t even sack him. The high season starts in two months and I’ll even give him an increase. He refuses to look at me and says nothing. I’m certain that he’s sorry and that he only stole from us to get revenge for the way my husband’s treated him. When we were on our own there was never a shilling missing.

  Lketinga comes back, having found out that William spent the night in a disco. Once again he tackles him head-on, but this time I get involved and tell him I gave him an advance yesterday. Eventually things calm down but the atmosphere remains tense.

  After such a hard day I could do with another joint to calm me down and wonder where I might find Edy. I can’t think of anything right now but tomorrow I’ll go to the Africa Sea Lodge to have my hair braided. That’ll take three hours and there’s a good chance of bumping into Edy in the bar.

  I set off for the hotel after lunch. Both hairdressers are busy, and I have to wait half an hour before they can start the painful business. My hair is braided together with strands of wool and little coloured glass beads on the end of each strand. I want lots of fine strands, and the process takes over three hours and by five-thirty they’re not quite finished.

  No Exit

  Suddenly my husband appears with Napirai. I don’t understand what’s going on because I’ve got the car and our shop is several miles away. He looks at his watch and starts asking me where I’ve been all this time. I tell him, as relaxed as possible, that he can see that they’re only just finishing my hair. He dumps Napirai on my lap covered in sweat and with a full nappy. I ask him angrily what he’s doing here and what happened to the child minder. He’s sent her and William home and closed the shop. He’s not completely daft, he says: he knows that I’ve been seeing somebody or I’d have been back ages ago. Nothing I can say makes the slightest difference. Lketinga is sick with jealousy and convinced that I had a rendezvous with another warrior before I had my hair done.

  I want to get away from the hotel as soon as possible and we drive straight home. I don’t feel like working anymore. I simply can’t believe that it’s not possible for me to spend three hours at the hairdresser’s without my husband going off his head. It can’t go on long like this. Angry and filled with hate, I tell my husband to go home and find himself a second wife. I’ll support him financially but he should get out of here and leave us all in peace. I don’t have another lover and don’t want one. I simply want to work and live in peace. He can come back in two or three months and we’ll see where we go from there.

  But Lketinga isn’t having any of it. He doesn’t want another wife, he says, he loves only me. He wants things back the way they were before Napirai was born. He simply doesn’t understand that it’s his stupid jealousy that’s ruining everything. I can only breathe freely when he’s not here. We argue, and I end up in tears and can’t see any way out of all this. I’m feeling so sorry for myself that I don’t even have the strength to console Napirai. I feel like a prisoner. I need to talk to somebody. Sophia will understand. Things can’t get any worse than they are so I climb into the car and leave my husband and child there. He tries to block my way, but I put my foot down and all I hear as I drive off is: ‘You are crazy, Corinne.’

  Sophia is completely taken aback when she sees the state I’m in. She thought everything was going swimmingly and that’s why I hadn’t been round for such a long time. She’s shocked when I tell her how far things have gone. I tell her that I’m almost desperate enough to go back to Switzerland because I’m afraid something awful might happen. Sophia tells me I should pull myself together, now that I’ve got my work permit and the shop’s doing so well. Perhaps Lketinga will go back to Barsaloi, she says, because he obviously doesn’t feel at home
in Mombasa. We go through all the possibilities but I feel burned up inside. I ask her if she has any marijuana, and it turns out her boyfriend can give me some. I feel a bit better and go home ready to face up to the next argument. But instead my husband’s lying on the ground playing with Napirai. He doesn’t even ask where I’ve been. This is unprecedented.

  I go into our room and hastily roll a joint and smoke it. Suddenly everything seems better and easier to handle. I sit down outside in a good mood and watch with amusement as my daughter keeps trying to climb a tree. When my head gets a bit clearer I go and buy rice and potatoes for dinner. The joint has made me really hungry. Later I wash Napirai in the basin as usual before going off to the ‘bush shower’ myself. As always, I steep the nappies overnight so I can wash them in the morning before going to work. Then I go to bed. My husband is driving a group of warriors to a dance performance.

  The next few days drag by, and I find myself looking forward to a joint every evening. Our sex life is back on track, not because I enjoy it but because I couldn’t care less. I go through the motions of opening the shop and serving with William, though he turns up less and less regularly. On the other hand, Lketinga spends nearly the whole day in the shop now, and tourists turn up with their cameras and camcorders. My husband continues to ask for money to be photographed, which annoys me. He says he doesn’t see why people want to take pictures of us: it’s not as if we’re monkeys, and I can see his point.

  Tourists keep asking where our daughter is because they think Napirai belongs to the child minder. I have to explain to them that the child, who’s now sixteen-months old, is ours. The child minder laughs along with us at their confusion until eventually Lketinga starts to wonder why they all make the same mistake. I tell him it doesn’t matter in the slightest to us if they get things wrong. But he irritates our customers by going on at them about why they don’t realize I’m her mother, until a few of them stalk out of the shop. He starts looking at the child minder suspiciously too.