The Mystery of the Kenyan King (Kristi Cameron Book 4)

by Cynthia Griffith

  Kristi bowed her head and closed her eyes to the beautiful sight. “Thank you, Lord, for letting us experience this!” she prayed, her heart full of praise. “What a great Creator You are!”

  __________

  CHAPTER NINE

  __________

  The Maasai

  The dinner the night before at the Mara Safari Club had been another wonderful experience. After a delicious meal, they had sat out on the veranda overlooking the river. A fire was lit and the evening seemed perfect as they listened to the sounds of the river and the forest around them. The veranda was just outside the lounge in the main building, and to their surprise the entertainment made its way outside to where they sat.

  A line of Maasai dancers snaked through the diners inside and out onto the veranda, doing strange steps and making odd noises as they came. They hummed and screamed, and took turns jumping as high as they could as they formed a horseshoe in front of the group.

  They had seen Maasai herdsmen standing out on the Mara earlier that day as they traveled. Paul had told them about the proud and independent people who had lived on that land for thousands of years. In the past they had had the reputation of being fierce warriors and cattle thieves, but now for the most part they lived as herdsmen, acquiring cattle as a sign of their wealth. They were an impressive sight as they stood in their red plaid kangas against the green and golden Mara, on one leg like a stork, leaning on a spear or a stick, and watching their herds of cattle and goats. They were no less impressive that evening as they did their strange dance and jumped high in the air.

  This morning they had been out by six thirty for the early morning game drive. Sunrises in Africa were almost as grand as sunsets were. They watched the sun creep over the horizon and paint the sky in the same beautiful colors as the night before, but the air was crisp and fresh now, and the breeze was a bit chilly.

  Paul took them today to see a pair of white rhino who were grazing near a watering hole. The group was shocked to see guards standing nearby with machine guns. Paul explained that the white rhino is nearly extinct, thus they were protected against poachers and other threats twenty-four hours a day.

  A herd of cape buffalo blocked the road at one point but Paul and the other drivers waited patiently for them to pass—a good distance away. It was not a good thing to rile a cape buffalo, and even worse to rile a whole herd of them.

  They saw many of the same animals they had seen the day before, but it never got old. Viewing the wildlife in its own natural habitat was far different, and far, far more exciting than seeing it in a zoo.

  It was finally time to return to the lodge for breakfast. They did not have much time, for Pastor Phil at the mission station had arranged with the safari drivers to have the group taken to a small Maasai village near the Mara Safari Club. A group of believers met there with a fellow missionary, Ross Parker. They were invited to worship with them that Sunday morning—an experience, Pastor Phil had promised, they would never forget.

  The four jeeps drove into the Maasai village an hour later. An enkang, or fence, surrounded the village. It was formed by sharp, thorny bushes, meant to protect them at night from lions and other predators.

  Ross Parker was waiting for them outside the small, rustic church building. A number of Maasai people were waiting with the missionary, dressed in their colorful kangas and shukas. They seemed to favor the color red, but there were also bright yellows, blues and pinks.

  The teens noticed that both men and women had pierced ears, but they were far different than the pierced ears of Kristi and her friends. They had stretched the holes in their ears until a large coin could have fit through. On some of them, their ear lobes hung down their necks. Beads made a cuff along the edges of the hole, or dangled down. The women also had beaded neck bands or many strings of bangles and beads around their necks. The people were tall and thin, but they looked strong and proud.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Pastor Tim apologized as they got out of the jeeps.

  Ross Parker laughed. “You’re not late. We start when enough people get here! We’re just glad you could make it! This is Stephen, by the way, one of our first believers in this village,” he said. He went on to introduce several of the other Maasai people who were standing nearby. Finally he said, “Let’s go inside and get started, shall we?”

  The little building was packed once they all got inside. The group of Americans filled a good part of the room, but they were surprised to see how many of the villagers crowded in, as well. There were not enough seats, so many of the people stood around the walls, or sat on the floor in front. The “pews” were simple rough benches with no backs, hard and uncomfortable, but none of the Maasai seemed to mind.

  Ross asked Steve and Joe Grant to come to the front and “give greetings” to the people. He translated as they said how happy they were to be there and how they looked forward to the blessing they would receive by worshipping together. Then the worship began.

  The only musical instrument was a drum covered with a skin. The people danced as they sang—the same jumping, strutting type of dance they had seen the night before, but this time with joy and praise unto the Lord. Ross told the white people in the congregation that these were songs straight out of Scripture, or praises to God for the things He had done. The teens tried to jump along with the Maasai, but they were no match for them. They couldn’t jump nearly as high or as long and soon they were breathless and red-faced. Rachel and Ellie Grant collapsed on their bench, admitting defeat.

  Ross asked the teenagers to come to the front and sing. They sang several praise choruses in English, and though the people did not know the words, Kristi saw smiles on every face, and heard many of them trying to hum along with the music. The men, especially, with their deep, rich bass voices, made the familiar choruses the teens had sung for years suddenly come alive.

  Pastor Tim preached the message with Ross translating. The teens squirmed a bit on their hard benches as the service stretched out for more than two hours, but the Maasai people seemed in no hurry for the service to end, clinging to every word. As the worship finally began to come to a close, many of the Maasai went to the walls and corners of the church to worship and pray. Kristi noticed that they would often make a curious hissing noise as they prayed, as if they were saying “shhh.”

  “This is what it will be like in Heaven,” she thought, “when people from every tribe on earth will gather and worship God together as one people.” It gave her goose bumps to think of it. Pastor Phil had been right. The service this morning had been something she would never forget.

  A little group of children stood outside the church as they came out, giggling and pointing at the wazungus, or white people. Skeeter pulled out a big bag of candy. “I came pre pared!” he said triumphantly. Soon children from all over the village were surrounding him, some reaching for candy, others trying to touch his red hair and freckles. He just grinned and rubbed their nappy little heads in return. “Hey Mom,” he called out. “I’ve got another bag of candy in the jeep. Could you get it for me, please?”

  Kristi noticed one little girl standing by herself a few feet away. Apparently she was shy, or frightened of the wazungus. Kristi took a few pieces of candy from Skeeter’s bag and went over to the child. “Jambo,” she said softly as she knelt beside her. She wasn’t sure if the little girl spoke Swahili or her own tribal tongue. “Would you like some candy?” She put the sweets in the little girl’s hand and smiled. The child looked at the candy and then at Kristi. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and then she ran off to show the treat to her mother. Children are the same the world over, Kristi thought. Cute!

  Ross was saying something to the group. “Some of the people would like you all to stay and share in a meal with them,” he said. “They have it prepared already.”

  The Americans had planned to have a picnic at the game reserve, and had a picnic lunch prepared for them by the lodge, but now they happily agreed to change their plans. T
hey fol lowed Ross and several members of the congregation to the largest house in the village. It was still a mud hut with a thatched roof, and small by American standards, but it was the best the village had to offer.

  “How do they make these mud huts?” Pete asked Ross as they arrived.

  “Actually, it’s the women who do the building,” Ross told them. “They’re not really made of mud, either. The women build a frame and then throw cow dung at it to make the walls! The walls then bake in the sun and become hard.”

  “Cow dung!” Skeeter said, who was scratching at one of the walls curiously. “You mean, like cow—?”

  “Uh-huh,” Ross said with a grin.

  “Eww!” Skeeter said, rubbing his hand vigorously on his pants. The rest of them laughed.

  One of the Maasai women led the way into the hut. The doorway and walls were very low, and they all had to duck their heads to go inside. Kristi wondered why the Maasai, who were tall people would make their houses so low. It was dark inside, and the entry wound around several times before opening into a room. There was one small round window to let in light, and a smoke hole in the center of the roof for the smoke from the cooking fire to escape through. The room smelled very smoky, though, and very stuffy. Ross explained that the fire was also made from cow dung, and that the smoke kept the flies away. Kristi felt that she’d almost rather have the flies, as she struggled to breathe in the very crowded room.

  Several Maasai women served them a tasty stew. A crowd had gathered outside the hut since there was not room for everyone to come inside. Rachel and Steve brought the picnic lunch from the jeeps and shared it among the Maasai people both inside and outside of the hut. Their food was examined closely, but soon it disappeared as quickly as the stew had.

  They didn’t stay long. The Americans breathed in the fresh air as they came out of the hut, happy to be in the sunshine again. Once more Kristi thought about her life and home in the United States. She knew the other teens were doing the same, and thanking God for the place and time He had put them in. There was one thing she knew she did have in common with these people, though, she thought, and that was that Jesus loved each one of them as much as He did her, and had given His life for them, too. They are precious in His sight. She wondered again what Heaven would be like when the believers from every land gathered together to sing His praises.

  The congregation of the church had come together again to bid them farewell as they got into the jeeps. The Maasai people circled the vehicles, singing a song and dancing in their own peculiar way. The group couldn’t understand the words, but the meaning was clear: the fellowship had been sweet for all of them, and the worship time together, a blessing.

  The believers followed as the jeeps drove slowly through the village and out of the enkang. The teens waved and called goodbye until finally a cloud of dust blocked them from their view. Kristi settled back in her seat, knowing she would see these brothers and sisters in the Lord again someday.

  _________

  CHAPTER TEN

  _________

  Simba!

  They were on their way back to Grace Mission Station the next day. The group had thoroughly enjoyed the pool, their luxurious ‘tent-rooms’ and the food at the Mara Safari Club once again after their return from the Maasai village. They had gone on another game drive later in the afternoon and explored other parts of the Maasai Mara Game reserve. Then this morning after a good night’s sleep and refreshing showers, they had risen early and driven out onto the savanna and had breakfast among the wild animals of the Mara.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the African sunrise,” Rachel said as she sipped a cup of coffee in the glow of the sun’s rays as it began to peek over the horizon. “Or the sunsets. They’re even more spectacular.”

  “And man, can you believe this breakfast!” Skeeter ex claimed. “Hot eggs and sausage and rolls, out here on the Mara! I didn’t know they could do this for us!”

  Dan laughed. “Get your mind off the food, Skeeter, and look around! Look—there’s a hyena over there! Oh, and another one! They must be smelling our food.”

  “Well, they can just forget it!” Skeeter said firmly. “We’re not sharing!”

  The teens watched as a herd of wildebeest wandered past and several zebras grazed nearby. As the sun rose and the sky brightened they could see more and more animals roaming the landscape around them.

  “Look!” Kristi suddenly cried, pointing. There in the dis tance a pair of hot air balloons rose above the trees and hovered over a herd of giraffes. The people in the balloons saw their group having breakfast and waved and called as they floated by. The teens shouted back, “Hello! Jambo!” Whether it was because of their shouts or the strange objects in the sky, a herd of gazelles became spooked and ran. A cheetah that had been hiding in the grass took off after them.

  “I can’t look!” Anna said covering her eyes. As fascinating as the circle of life was on the Mara, it was still difficult to watch at times.

  “Wow! That was cool!” Skeeter said. “I wouldn’t mind going on one of those balloon safaris!”

  “Maybe next time,” his dad said with a wink. “Now it’s time that we were all ‘up, up and away’ and out of here. Let’s help the drivers clean up.”

  They were just about to leave the game reserve when sev eral elephants emerged from some trees and headed straight down the road toward the jeeps. Paul and the other drivers stopped and watched cautiously as the enormous animals approached. They were not threatening—just curious, it seemed. The elephants walked right up to the jeeps, and then past them, moving on either side so that they were sur rounded by the giant gray shapes. They could have almost reached out the sides of the jeeps and touched them as they passed. A calf trotted past, shaking his head and waving his trunk in the air, scurrying to keep up with his mother.

  When the herd had passed Paul said, “Well, I’ve never had that happen before! That was a little too close for comfort!”

  Kristi let out her breath. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it. Being that close to a herd of elephants made you realize how small you really were, she thought.

  Skeeter said, “Wow! I’ll never forget that! And you know what they say—‘An elephant never forgets.’ I’ll bet they won’t forget it, either! What a great way to end our safari!”

  They had returned to the lodge and packed their belong ings. After lunch and one last quick dip in the pool, they were finally on their way back to Grace Mission Station. It was dusk when they finally reached the outskirts of the village down the road from the station. They began looking out the windows at the familiar sights.

  Tonight, however, the normally peaceful village was astir. Women hurried through the streets gathering their children and dragging them home. Several men were waving guns and spears, and gathering in a cluster in the middle of town. They looked frightened, and were shouting and calling to one another. The teens could not understand what they were saying, but over and over they kept hearing one word—Simba! Simba!

  The teenagers looked at one another uneasily. The guns and spears were scary—and so was the word simba!

  “Simba? What are they talking about?” Kristi asked their driver Paul. “Why are the people so upset?”

  Paul stopped the jeep and asked one of the men in Swahili what the problem was. The man waved his arms and pointed down the road excitedly. Finally Paul nodded and put the vehicle in gear and drove on.

  He laughed. “They are saying that a lion was spotted near here. A big lion. But I do not believe it is true. A leopard? Maybe. I have not seen one around here myself, but they say there are leopards sometimes. But a lion? No. Of that I am sure. There are no lions around here.” He shook his head and laughed again. “And what is more, they are saying that it is the king of lions! A huge beast, very fierce. They are calling him Mfalme wa wafalme, the King of Kings! You see, already the rumor has become a legend! No one has been killed, no cattle have been eaten, but the King of Ke
nya roams the streets as a lion! Foolish people!” Paul threw back his head and laughed again.

  The young people in the jeep glanced nervously at each other. They couldn’t share in Paul’s laughter, for what did they know? They weren’t from the area, and they knew very little about lions. Having just seen some up close on safari, however, they knew enough to know they’d never want to be near one in the wild on their own! And especially not the Mfalme wa wafalme! An ordinary, every day six hundred pound lion was plenty big enough!

  Paul was still chuckling as they bounced up the road to the station. The shadows were deep as they turned in the gates and pulled up in front of the guest house. Kristi peered through the windows in all directions before getting out of the jeep. She hurried into the building and breathed a little sigh of relief.

  Jane and Hannah had left a big pot of soup for them and a stack of chapatis. No one wanted to go out to the pavilion with it, so they found a place to sit wherever they could and relaxed while they ate. Dan and Pete were telling the rest of the group what Paul had told them about the ‘King of Kings’ when Pastor Phil walked in to welcome them back.

  He, too, shook his head when he heard what they were talking about. “No, I’d say your driver is probably right, kids. I’ve never heard of a lion around here, either. That’s not to say it couldn’t happen, though, I guess. I remember back in Colorado, where I am from, every once in a while a mountain lion would wander down out of the mountains and into the city. Of course, Africa isn’t Colorado…”

  The subject gradually changed, but Kristi couldn’t stop thinking about it. She remembered her first night at the station when she had woken, thinking she’d heard a lion. “Kristi, your imagination is just too vivid!” she scolded herself. “Now cut it out, or you’re never going to get to sleep tonight!”