by Ted Neill
Maybe I’m just struggling to accept the fact that I will never learn to fly, that kids still die, and someday I will too.
Chapter 32
Time
The nurse turned Tabitha over to a very nice lady named Gertrude. She had an office that was on the far side of the hospital that did not smell strongly. It was a relief to Tabitha’s nostrils.
She asked where Tabitha lived. Tabitha said Kibera. The woman asked where in Kibera. Tabitha said the name of the matatu stage, then she said their house was not far from the video house and was between St. Matthews School and Auntie’s mandazi shop.
Gertrude nodded. She asked if Tabitha could find her way there from the matatu stage. Tabitha told her she could. Gertrude said she would leave work early that day in order to take Tabitha home. In the meantime she asked if Tabitha was hungry. She told her yes. It was nearly lunchtime, so Gertrude left and returned with a plate of rice and green grams. Tabitha finished them quickly. So quickly in fact that Gertrude asked her if she wanted another plate. Tabitha said yes. Gertrude returned with more. While Tabitha ate this plateful, Gertrude asked her why she and her mother had come to the hospital.
Tabitha told her about her mother being sick and about how people had called her a malaya. Then she told her about the cursed boy and how his curse had spread to her. Gertrude said that curses were only superstition. Tabitha listened carefully, but was not sure if Gertrude really knew what she was talking about. Tabitha showed Gertrude her fat arm that was turning white. Gertrude said it was not from a curse but from a disease and that she would have a doctor look at it.
Gertrude took her back to the side of the hospital that smelled. She spoke to a doctor in Kizungu, then he looked at Tabitha’s arm. While he did so, the nurse that had held the door for the bed with her mother appeared. She said her name was Lucy. She asked Tabitha how she was doing. Tabitha said she was fine but asked if she could see her mother. She remembered when her brother had gone to be with Jesus that his body had to be buried. Before it was buried it had lain in the house for a while on the table. Tabitha wondered if her mother was lying somewhere. But Lucy told her she would not be able to see her. Tabitha assumed this meant her mother was already buried.
When the doctor was finished Lucy spread cream all over Tabitha’s arm and even put some in her hair. Then she told Tabitha she would have to take some of her blood. She warned her that it would hurt and she should look away. Tabitha tried looking away but when it started to hurt, she screamed and looked down to see Lucy sticking a long needle into her and blood coming out of the spot. She tried to jump away, but she did not realize that there was another nurse behind her that suddenly held her very still.
That was when Tabitha started to cry. She missed her mother and called out for her. Lucy told her it would be over very soon. She pulled the needle out and put a piece of white cloth over the place where Tabitha was bleeding. Tabitha could not stop crying now. But once Lucy had put the glass with her blood in it away, she came over and put her arm around Tabitha.
She smelled nice although she also had the smell of the hospital on her. But her body was soft in a way her mother’s had not been for a very long time. Tabitha suddenly felt tired. Lucy carried her to a bed.
Tabitha woke in the afternoon. Lucy was there as well as Gertrude. They said they both were going to take Tabitha home. Lucy and Gertrude seemed to have lots of money because they boarded the matatu right outside the hospital and did not walk at all. They rode along until Tabitha told them their stop was coming up. They alighted at the matatu stage that stopped beside the road leading to Tabitha’s Auntie’s house, then began to walk.
Tabitha felt very important with her two guests and she walked quickly because she was eager to introduce them to Auntie. However, when they reached their house, nobody was home. Tabitha guessed that Auntie was still at work so she led Gertrude and Lucy to the mandazi shop.
Her Auntie was there. Gertrude leaned in to the kitchen through the window and asked if Tabitha’s Auntie could come out. She did, walking around and sitting down on the benches where people ate, still wearing her apron and hair net. Gertrude told her what had happened and she became very quiet and for a while had to cover her face. She did not cry but she looked at Tabitha many times and shook her head.
Then Gertrude spoke in Kizungu. Lucy asked Tabitha to take her outside and show her where she liked to play.
Miriam felt like she had struck a deal with Jesus. She felt that because he had let her live, she had to make her life a deserving one. So she tried to be well-behaved all the time. She helped the other children put on their clothes in the morning. After mealtime she would get up and begin cleaning the dishes. If one of the other children stole something of hers, she would not get mad. She would ask for it back and if the child did not give it back, she would let them keep it. It was not worth arguing over.
She noticed certain things had changed. Children did not call the death room the death room any longer. They called it what the moms and Bonava called it: the nursing room. They said it was no longer the death room because Miriam had come back. Other children went and had died since, but now there was always hope. Miriam had beaten the room, so others might as well.
Miriam knew her health was also dependent upon the medicines the doctor had given to her, so she always took her medicines, even though they sometimes made her sick. Some of the other children would hide the pills under their tongues and throw them in the toilet. When this happened, Miriam would explain to them that if they did not take the medicines they would die.
Catherine took her medicines, but they were not working well. She was losing weight and the bumps on her face had swollen one eye shut. She knew she was going to the nursing room soon, but she still called it the death room. She gave all her toys away to other children. She said she was ready to die.
But when the night came for her to go to the nursing room, Catherine was afraid. Her house mom, Mum Esther, asked Miriam to come over and speak to her.
Catherine was sitting in her bed. Miriam asked her if she wanted to live. Catherine did not answer. She started to cry and the tears did not fall off her face, they got lost in the bumps there. Miriam did not know what to say, but she knew Catherine liked to pray so Miriam knelt down beside the bed and started to pray that Catherine would get better soon. When she finished she was surprised that Bonava had appeared in the doorway.
Miriam was afraid she was in trouble and that perhaps Mum Amelia was looking for her and had sent Bonava. But Bonava simply said that Miriam’s prayer had been a very beautiful one. He came over and knelt beside Catherine’s bed as well. He asked Miriam to pray for all of them. She closed her eyes and did. When she finished, Bonava said to Catherine,
“Catherine, it is time.”
Catherine put her arms around Bonava’s neck and started sobbing and crying. She put her face, covered in bumps, against Bonava’s cheek and he did not even flinch. For the first time Miriam saw Bonava crying. Even Mum Esther was upset. She touched Miriam on the head and said she should go back to her own cottage.
Miriam obeyed. Her own room was dark and filled with the sound of the children breathing and murmuring in their sleep. She went to the window and through it watched Bonava carry Catherine in through the door to the nursing room.
Miriam knew Catherine was not coming back.
Mama put Harmony in a very nice dress that was still stiff from drying on the clothesline and led her to the car. Harmony waved goodbye to the children but they did not seem to understand she was leaving forever. As they left the gate she wished she could have said goodbye to Agnes, who had just started speaking to people. For the past few months Agnes had been silent, except to speak to Mama Seraphina, whom she slept with at night because of her nightmares.
They rode in the car for a short while but they did not go far. Harmony could still see the Ngong Hills where Mama Seraphina lived, when they made the turn that Mama said led to her new home.
Harmony ref
lected that she had had many homes and she wondered what this one would be like. As they pulled up to the gate she saw there were Maasai with spears and swords guarding it. This scared her. But as they drove down the driveway, they passed orange, avocado, and flame trees. Mama remarked that it was a very beautiful home. She said that she would pray to God for Harmony to be happy there.
There was never a burial for Tabitha’s mother. For the next few weeks Auntie was very nice but also very strict about putting the cream on Tabitha’s skin four times a day like Lucy and Gertrude had instructed her to do. Tabitha also ate more food than she ever had in her life. Auntie bought her bananas, avocadoes, and papayas, in addition to chipatis and mandazis (Tabitha would not touch passion fruit however, she was sure it was wicked and the man that had given the passion fruits outside the hospital had been the devil in disguise). Auntie told Tabitha that it was Gertrude and Lucy that had left them money for her food and that Tabitha should have been very grateful. Auntie made sure that Tabitha thanked God in her prayers each night for Gertrude and Lucy.
During the day Tabitha now spent her time at Auntie’s hotel. Auntie insisted upon this. Tabitha was glad because she did not like being alone in their house any longer. When she looked at the empty bed, she would miss her mother very much. Sometimes she even cried.
In time, Gertrude and Lucy returned. Tabitha was very happy to see them both. The day they came Auntie was in her best clothes. Gertrude and Lucy told Tabitha that they were taking her to a new home that would be full of children and where Tabitha would no longer be sick. Tabitha asked Auntie if she would visit her. She promised she would.
Auntie walked them to the matatu stage. Before climbing aboard with Gertrude and Lucy, she gave Tabitha a bag with mandazis wrapped in newspaper. Then she told Tabitha to be good and to continue with her prayers every night. Tabitha promised she would. Auntie rubbed her eyes and stood in place, staring at the matatu as they drove away until they turned the corner and she was gone.
As they rode the matatu Tabitha was excited about her new home. She asked Lucy many questions about it. Lucy said that she would have a new mother and brothers and sisters there. She also said there would be toys and water so she could wash every day. Tabitha told Lucy she did not like washing every day because the water was cold. Lucy said they would have hot water at the home.
The home had a gate with Maasai guards and a long driveway. The grounds were not unlike the hospital’s with lots of grass and trees. Gertrude and Lucy introduced Tabitha to a man named Bonava. Tabitha could hear other children playing nearby and asked if she could join them. Bonava said of course she could.
Around the corner there was a playground with dozens of children. They were in bright clean clothes and their skin was shiny and black. As some ran by her, Tabitha saw that a few had bumps on their faces and even a few had whitish scalps like hers. Almost all of them had their hair shaved from their heads.
There was a set of swings. Tabitha had seen swings on the grounds of St. Matthew’s school in Kibera. When one of the children leapt off a swing, Tabitha sat down upon it and began swinging herself.
She had never been on a swing before and she never wanted to get off. A few children came by, asked her what her name was and where she was from. One told her she would have to get off the swing, but when she told him that Bonava had told her she could swing on it as long as she liked, he went away.
Eventually the children were called inside to their cottages for baths. Tabitha saw older children, with hair, chasing after the younger ones, ordering them into the cottages. Soon Tabitha was the only child left on the playground. No longer feeling possessive of the swings, she explored, climbing up into a wooden hut on stilts and sliding out the other side on a metal slide that was still hot from the day’s sun.
One time when she reached the bottom of the slide there was a woman in white waiting for her. She knew Tabitha’s name and said her own name was Nurse Ruth. She had a melodious voice that Tabitha liked immediately. She asked Tabitha if she wanted some medicine for her skin. Tabitha said that she did. Nurse Ruth turned and started walking away. She called after Tabitha to come with her. Tabitha scrambled to her feet and followed.
A few months after Catherine died, a volunteer was helping in the schoolhouse and she noticed that Miriam was still reading books for five-year-olds. She asked Miriam how old she was. Miriam said twelve. The volunteer was an old mzungu lady with a son named Leo, so they called her Mum Leo. Mum Leo asked Teacher Margaret if she could work alone with Miriam. Margaret said that was fine.
They went and sat outside the cottage and Mum Leo asked Miriam to write a few letters. Miriam did and she asked Miriam if she realized some of the letters she had written were backwards. Miriam had not. Then she asked Miriam to read from her books. Miriam confessed that she could not read but that she usually studied the pictures, hoping that the words would start making sense.
She said that Miriam was had dyslexia, a funny word Miriam had never heard before. She asked if Miriam had always had trouble reading. Miriam said yes and told her how she had been expelled from school because they thought she was lazy. Mum Leo nodded and said they would work together.
They did. Every day. Mum Leo would bring colored plastic strips that you could see through. She would place them over the text of a book and make Miriam read. Miriam found that when the plastic was there the words stayed in place. Mum Leo also brought a tape recorder and when Miriam could read a few lines, Mum Leo would tape her. Then she would play her own voice back as she read the lines again. Somehow this made the words stick in Miriam’s brain so that when she saw them again she remembered them.
But it was a strange experience to hear her own voice. It sounded more like an old grandmother on the tape than it did in real life. Mum Leo asked Miriam if she was excited to hear her own voice. Miriam did not want to say no, which was the truth. She did not want to lie and say yes either. So she simply said maybe. Mum Leo laughed. Miriam did not know why. Wazungu were nice but crazy.
Chapter 33
Home
Eveline, her social worker, and I visit Nea at Josiah’s school. Eveline is also a bit uncomfortable with the contrast between the children’s dorms and Josiah’s home. Upon meeting Nea, Eveline wants to talk to her away from everyone else. We sit down on the edge of the soccer field, the wind whipping the grass about us while the sun occasionally breaks through the cloud cover racing overhead. Nea is quiet, sitting with her knees up, her head perched upon them. She seems to hide under her heavy jacket and knit cap. Her eyes do not meet ours.
Eveline introduces herself, warm, maternal, full of energy. She asks if Nea is happy.
“Hapana.” No.
She asks Nea if she wants to come with her to a different home.
“Ndyio.” Yes.
It struck me later how miserable Nea must have been to leave a place that was familiar to her and go with a complete stranger. Then again, the attention of a warm, nurturing, beautiful woman is very appealing to an orphan who lives with such a hole in her heart. Eveline stood up, Nea’s eyes following her every move now.
“We’re going,” Eveline says. “We’re getting her out of here.”
I had just seen the beginnings of a new family. Nea became one of Eveline’s first children at Imani Homes and I was indebted to her for it. My own narcissism wanted to believe that we had saved Nea’s life, and perhaps we had. It is Nea I thought of on bad days when I felt discouraged; I could at least point to her life and say, “I made a difference.” She thrived at Eveline’s home, immediately connecting with Eveline’s biological children and the other orphans. Eveline also arranged for Nea to receive regular medical care. That, along with the warmer climate down from the hills, allowed Nea to thrive. She was a bright spot in my career, no doubt, yet a few years later when I visit Eveline, I am served humble pie, for Nea, this child I had “saved,” does not even remember me. I’m just another mzungu to her.
But she has Eveline. And if she has bl
ocked out all those cold miserable months in the hills, that is fine with me. She has a home now.
Oliver is placed in the nursing room the next morning. When I go in to see him, he is wearing a hospital gown, his hat has been removed, and it is sitting on the table across the room from him. I barely recognize him. He is emaciated. Before AIDS was called ukimwi, it was called slim-disease by many Africans. Doctors today still don’t know what causes some AIDS patients to waste away and others not to. Whatever the cause, Oliver has been wasting away these past few months, a process that has been hidden from me by the extra layers of clothes he always wears for warmth.
His legs are as thin as his bones, making his knees look enormous. He looks, to me, like a stranger, warped from the child I have grown to know.
His breathing is irregular with short, short, short, and then long pauses between breaths. There is another volunteer on duty. She is a student from the Netherlands that wants to become a doctor someday. I sit myself down on the floor beside her and put my hand on Oliver’s head. I tell him hello but that is all. I wonder if he is even cognizant enough to recognize it is me. After a few hours however, I grow tired. I have been having trouble sleeping and the night before I had finally fallen asleep so late that I heard the first roosters crowing as I drifted off.
I get up to go to bed, but then Oliver takes a deep rasping breath and says, “Ted, please stay.”
There is no saying no. I return to cradling his head. He speaks up again to say, “Thank you, very.”
When I start to doubt that Oliver will last until the morning, I dial Mum Amelia on my mobile. It is her day off, but I know she will have her phone on. She answers and I tell her she might want to speak to Oliver. I hold the phone to his ear while she tells him she loves him and that he is a good boy. She tells him she will be there in the morning to visit him.