Two Years of Wonder

by Ted Neill

  The headmaster was not even in his office. Oliver had to wait in the hallway outside. When he arrived, he greeted Oliver. He asked Oliver how he was, and how his mother was, and how his grandfather was. Oliver said they all were fine. The headmaster nodded, told Oliver to wait, then went into his office and closed the door.

  Oliver waited. A long time passed. He did not seem to be in trouble, but it did not seem like he had done anything that merited praise either. Most of the morning had passed. Oliver wanted to ask if he could go back to class, but he was afraid to knock on the headmaster’s door. Near noon, when Oliver was wondering if he would be allowed to go and eat lunch with the other children, Babu appeared in the doorway.

  Oliver was happy to see him, but he was surprised as well. It was not one of Babu’s days to pick him up, and he was hours early anyway. Babu greeted him. Oliver asked him if he had done something bad. Babu told him that he had not and he would fix everything so he could return to class.

  His grandfather went into the headmaster’s office. They spoke for a long time in lowered voices. Oliver could not hear much but he could tell that they were talking about his coughing.

  When they were finished, Babu emerged from the office, and called Oliver to him. Oliver followed and was saddened to see that Babu was not leading him back to class, but rather, home. Oliver wanted to ask what had happened, but like his mother, when Babu was angry he was very quiet.

  Ivy and her family lived in Kariobangi. Kariobangi was a nice place during the day. There were many children to play with, but Ivy did not like Kariobangi at night when there were noisy people, drunk from local brew, that would hurt you if you went outside.

  But otherwise Kariobangi was a place to call home. Ivy and Maurice liked to go down to the stream and throw in plastic bags, to watch them flow along until they disappeared in the tunnel that went beneath the road where all the matatu stages were. When she had been younger Ivy thought that this hole led to hell and that if you went down it you never came back because the devil was waiting for you there. However, one day when she had gone on a trip with her mother they had walked to the other side of the road to catch a matatu and there Ivy saw where the stream came out and she realized it did not go to hell, at least not here, but just kept going along on the other side of the road. She looked to see if any of their plastic bags were still there waiting on the other side but none were. Her mind raced with the new horizons that this represented: if the bags were not still there and they were still floating they would be thousands of miles away by now. Ivy could not even imagine what the world would be like so far away. There might be places like Kariobangi but with completely different people, names, and matatus. Maybe far enough down the stream it turned into a river and that was where wildebeest would cross and get attacked by lions and crocodiles—she had seen that on a television once.

  She and her brother had to be careful when they went down to the stream because sometimes there were chakora—scavengers—there. Scavengers, street boys, could be very dangerous. They would stand in the water sometimes looking for metal to sell to the metal collectors. Or sometimes they would be so high on glue they would just be confused and try to drink from the stream, but they might fall down and drown. One time one of Ivy’s friends, Winnie, threw a stick at two street boys and they chased after her and beat her. Then her family came and beat the two street boys until one was dead and the other they put a tire around, filled the inside of the tire with petrol, then lit it on fire. He kept calling out for water until he fell down and died. Ivy saw both their bodies—their faces looked funny, all swollen so their eyes were tiny slits. Their skin was covered with mud and rocks. Sometimes she saw the burned boy, his skin red and black like burned chicken, in her dreams.

  So when there were street boys around, Ivy kept Maurice away from them. She knew she could beat up regular boys that might decide to disturb them, but street boys were a different matter. They were crazy like animals and did not know pain, because of the glue they sniffed. That was likely why crowds had to burn them.

  Ivy walked alongside Maurice when they went to school. However, lately she had been feeling tired and sick like her mother. Some days Ivy’s friend Anne would have to accompany Maurice to school. Once Ivy’s mother took her out of school for a whole term so she could rest. It had helped but when she had returned she got very bad marks because she had missed so much. Plus, she did not like the idea of Maurice being alone at school without her to look out for him.

  When Maurice was sick he was taken to the doctor and often got better. Ivy would never get as well as he did. She wondered if it was because when you got older you were weaker—her parents certainly seemed weak. When Ivy asked if she could go to the doctor, her mother often told her the doctor was too expensive and she would just have to be strong.

  Months passed and Miriam was not sent to a new school. She continued to help her mother in the market, but each day when she saw the children walking to school in their ironed uniforms and polished shoes, she felt jealous and ashamed.

  But she did not bother her mother. Her mother was too busy with the new baby, Miriam’s sister Purity, whom Miriam loved very much. Miriam thought that Purity deserved love and attention, just like she had had as a baby, so she did not want to interfere.

  But one night when Purity’s crying had awoken her, and Purity cried a lot, Miriam unfolded her school uniform and tried it on again. To her horror she realized it no longer fit. The sweater’s neck was so tight Miriam could hardly move, the sleeves were comically short and the skirt was an inappropriate length that was just above Miriam’s knees.

  Miriam began to cry. She realized she would never go to school again. She tried to be quiet, but her mother heard her and came to see what was the matter. Her presence was announced by her coughing. Miriam looked up to see her in the doorway. Miriam should have known she would have been awake, with father sick so often and Purity as well, her mother hardly ever slept. The women in the market helped her and reminded Miriam that she needed to help her as well. They joked that her mother had two sick babies to take care of, Purity, and Miriam’s father.

  Miriam’s father was not a baby, but she had never argued the point. He was sick. He was always coughing, but he and her mother had coughed as far back as Miriam could remember. It was just what adults did, Miriam thought. She knew their coughs like she knew their voices: her father’s deep slow coughs with long pauses in between, and her mother’s that were many at once. But lately her father’s coughing fits were always followed by spitting. Miriam would find her father’s spit in tissues, crumpled newspapers, and old bottles. Sometimes it was dark brown with blood. Some days he could not work as a result. This made Miriam’s mother very quiet. This was not angry quiet, but worried quiet, for it never erupted in words. Miriam thought this silence was even worse.

  Now Miriam was sure her mother would be angry. She asked Miriam if she was sleep walking and Miriam said no. Then why was she dressed for school? Miriam said she was afraid that with the new baby she would never have a chance to return and she had tried on the uniform to see if it still fit.

  Her mother swooped down on her and picked her up in her arms. Miriam cried anew, almost from relief that her mother was not angry but was suddenly full of soft loving words. Since Purity had been born it had been a very long time since her mother had held Miriam. Miriam realized now that she had missed it. She also realized that her mother’s body had changed. No longer was it soft and round, but it was hard and bony, not like she remembered it before the baby.

  She put Miriam on the bench, lit the lantern, and found one of Miriam’s exercise books. She pointed at words and asked Miriam to pronounce them. As she did so Miriam noticed that her finger nails were cracked and brown colored, but she said nothing as she was eager to try to read.

  However, when she looked at the words on the page they seemed to tumble away under her own gaze. She could not fix them on the paper in front of her. Her mother’s finger tracking alongside
helped, but still, they would spend a few minutes saying a word, move on to another, then return to the previous one and Miriam would have no recollection whatsoever.

  Her mother grew frustrated and tired, although she tried not to show it. Finally she held Miriam close to her and said it was best they both went back to bed. Things would be better in the morning.

  Oliver’s mother was not quiet when she learned that Oliver had been expelled from school. She stamped her feet, clicked her tongue, and shouted. Babu did everything he could to calm her. Eventually she stopped, but first she went into her room and closed the door.

  She emerged sometime later, after Oliver and Babu had played two games of chess. He was glad because he was hungry. She made them dinner and offered to let her father sleep in her bed and she would sleep on their sofa. He said he would not, saying that she needed a good night’s rest. So after dinner he left.

  The next morning Oliver’s mother woke him up early. She was already dressed for work. She was in one of her black suits that Oliver liked a great deal because it had gold buttons on the front and on the sleeves. Her hair was still in curlers but she said she wanted him finished with breakfast and ready for school by the time she took them out.

  He was and then she walked with him to St. James. They arrived at school much earlier than Oliver was used to. There were no students there yet. The schoolyard and the classrooms were strangely empty and quiet except for a cucu who was bent over sweeping leaves from the playground. Some of the teachers were around drinking chai and eating mandazis. Oliver was very proud of his mother as she walked past them in her Nairobi suit. He was sure now they would allow him back.

  Oliver’s mother told him to wait outside the headmaster’s office. Oliver sat down in the same chair he had waited in the day before. Then his mother was allowed in to see the headmaster.

  Unlike Babu, she was not quiet. She was loud and forceful, as she sometimes had been when her friends became too rowdy at night. She spoke in a mixture of Kizungu and Kikuyu. Oliver heard her say that he was the smartest student in the school. She said that he deserved an education. She said Oliver would grow up to be a great man. The noise she made attracted the attention of other teachers, who walked slowly past the door to listen to what was being said. Many times Oliver felt like coughing but he stifled it as best he could since he understood now that was why he had been kicked out of the school.

  As his mother’s voice went on, he heard the headmaster less and less. Soon the headmaster was only speaking in short, low sentences. This seemed to make his mother even louder. Finally the door swung open. The headmaster walked out. He went by Oliver without greeting him.

  His mother followed and told Oliver in a loud voice to follow her and that she was taking him to a better school.

  Oliver did. They crossed the school yard. Oliver noticed that his own teachers did not greet him either. They stared at his mother who was walking very fast. Oliver struggled to keep up with her. She continued her pace until they were a good distance away from the school, then she sat down on a bench beside a kiosk where she began to cough.

  She coughed harder than he had heard her cough in a very long time. It scared Oliver terribly. There were other children walking by now, wearing the same uniform as Oliver, on their way to school. They were staring at his mother. A few even stopped. Oliver turned his back to them so they would not recognize him. He was embarrassed and his face flushed hot with shame when he saw the bright scarlet blood when she moved her handkerchief away from her mouth. He moved in front of his mother so they would not see the blood spreading on her hands or the sleeves of her suit.

  Now Oliver just wanted her to stop. He wanted them to leave so the other children could not see her. Was this his fault? If he had not been coughing they would not be here on the side of the road attracting attention. He did not know what to do except to put his hand on his mother’s shoulder, tell her that he was sorry, and pray that she would stop coughing and they would start moving again.

  One of the owners of the stalls came out and told Oliver’s mother to go away. She stood up but had to lean against one of the kiosks first. There was now a wall of children they had to walk through. Oliver did not look up at any of them—he hoped none were his classmates.

  When they got home, his mother did not go to work. She lay down and coughed the rest of the day.

  Judith was delirious with fever for days. When the fever broke she woke to find herself in clean clothes and clean sheets. There was a pot of cold tea beside her bed.

  Sofie was gone.

  Judith called out for her, but Sofie did not appear. Judith tried to sit up, but each time she tried her limbs collapsed with weakness. Her head spun violently. But her daughter was still missing. After an eternity she sat up.

  She noticed the belt she had wrapped around Sofie was sitting on the floor beside the bed. So were a pile of sheets that smelled of urine and feces. She called out for Sofie again.

  No one came.

  She lay back down. It was daytime. Perhaps if she rested she might build up enough strength to go to the door and look outside for Sofie before dark. Maybe she could ask the butcher if he had seen her.

  She rested for what seemed an hour, but still could not get up. Sitting up once had drained her of all her energy. Then the door opened.

  It was Sofie. She was carrying a plate of hot ugali and some sukuma weki. She lit up seeing that Judith was awake. Judith asked her where she had been.

  “Getting food,” she said

  Judith asked her from where. Sofie said that she had found a woman down the track that would give her some food. Judith asked her how she had found the woman. Sofie said that when Judith had not woken up that she had walked from house to house saying that her mother was sick and that they needed food. She had found that some people would give food only once, others gave a bit every day.

  She asked Sofie who had changed the sheets and her clothes. Sofie said she had. Judith asked where the tea had come from. Sofie had brought it from one of the neighbors.

  Judith asked how many days this had gone on. Sofie counted on her fingers and said four.

  It went on for a few more days. Sofie even found a bucket that her mother was able to use as a toilet, which Sofie would empty in the nearest pit latrine. The neighbors, however, were growing tired of giving food. Sofie had to go farther each day. One night she came back with some githeri, and announced to Judith that she had heard of people that would help them.

  Judith asked who. Sofie said they were doctors. Judith asked where. Sofie said that they were on the other side of the road—the highway.

  But Judith could not walk that far. She could not even walk to the toilet.

  The next day when Judith woke, Sofie was gone. Sofie usually left to beg for food mid-morning. By the temperature and the light Judith could tell it was still early. Maybe she had gone out to find hot tea. Maybe she would be back in a few minutes.

  But Sofie did not return. Judith waited. The sun rose, the air grew warmer. Soon it was tea time. She could hear the butcher and his friends conversing as they always did in the next room over—always oblivious to her. She could smell their fresh tea.

  Tea time ended and still Sofie had not returned. The shack became hot. Usually around this time Sofie would be there to open the door or the window. Judith decided she would try herself. She pulled herself up from the bed. This time her head was not spinning. The food Sofie had brought had helped. She put her feet in front of her then stood up. Pain shot through her legs, but it was only one step to the window. She pushed it open. Light and air flooded in. She did not see Sofie. She was too weak to remain standing. The pain was too much.

  She lay back down and began to weep. She had lost her husband, two of her children, and now her last child was taking care of her. She was a curse. She almost wished Sofie had run away, so at least she would not be burdened with herself. She suddenly wondered how she would pay rent. She knew the landlord had not been by to collect
simply out of fear of catching AIDS. But she knew her time was short. He would not come himself, but he could pay a few older street boys to come and throw her and Sofie out. They might kill her. They would probably rape her and Sofie too.

  Perhaps they already had taken Sofie. Perhaps that was why she was gone now. Panic welled up inside her. She called out for Sofie. Her voice was hoarse and shrill, it did not sound like she remembered it. She began to cough, but she fought it as much as she could, calling out Sofie’s name, screaming to the point that she heard the butcher cursing her in the next shack.

  “Where is my daughter!” she cried out. She knew he could hear her. He had ignored her all these months, but she would not let him now. But he did, only turning up his radio so it drowned her out.

  She fell back on the bed, breathing hard, as if she had just run a sprint. Her heart was pounding. The room stank with the smell of her own breath. Her mouth was full of sores and opening it to scream caused her throbbing pain. She was still panting hard when the door opened. A tall figure stood there, blinding light shining all around. Judith squinted as her eyes adjusted. Perhaps it was the landlord. Perhaps he had finally come to throw her out.

  It was a woman. She called Judith’s name and continued into the room, sitting down beside the bed. Judith did not understand. She asked for Sofie.

  Sofie answered. Judith looked over to see her daughter in the doorway. There were two more people behind her, a man and a woman. These were not neighbors she knew. Their clothes and faces were clean. They smelled fresh, of soap, disinfectant, even perfume. Their faces wore expressions of concern and sympathy.