by BJ Mayo
“My name is Margaret Mavungo. What is your name?”
Jackaleena had not been this close to a woman since she last saw her mother alive, the day all of her village were killed by the boy soldiers. “What is your name, child?” Margaret repeated.
“Jackaleena.”
“Oh, that is a lovely name. Are there more words in your name?”
“Jackaleena Karino N’Denga.”
“Hello and welcome, Jackaleena Karino N’Denga. This is the village of Benguela. We help children here. You are safe behind these walls. Have you had anything to eat?”
Jackaleena had not really thought of food, but her stomach was telling her she needed something in it. She had nothing to eat in the last two days but some bulbs that Joao had dug up.
“Where is Joao?”
“Who is Joao?” Margaret asked.
“Joao Cubala. He is the boy that helped me get here. There were soldier boys in the trees in front of your village. They shot guns at us. He told me to run and I ran to the gates. Have you seen Joao?”
Margaret clasped Jackaleena’s hand warmly. Her eyes welled up, as they had many times before, as she began to speak. “I know Joao very well. He was a young soldier boy we took in. He was going to be a priest, you know. He was a great helper inside these gates. He helped lead in at least five children past the soldier boys of Unita that I can think of. You make number six,” holding up six fingers. She looked up at the two men guarding the gate. One made the sign of a machete cutting off a head.
Margaret held Jackaleena’s hand tightly. “Joao has gone to see Jesus.”
“What do you mean?” Jackaleena asked.
“The soldier boys killed him before he got to the gate.”
Jackaleena began to sob quietly. Everyone she knew was dead. Joao, who helped her get here, was dead just outside the gates.
Margaret put her arms around her and held her for the longest while. The sobbing subsided after a while. Margaret then quietly said, “We will try to get to his body in the night, if we can, and bury his body under the earth. I believe they may have cut off his head. We will get it, too, if we can.”
Jackaleena, now in somber awareness, did not cry further. “I will help you get him in the gates.”
“No, Jackaleena. You must stay inside the gates until you are ready to leave for good. It is not safe for you outside. We have everything we need here. Food and water are brought in every few days. The soldiers do not attack the people that bring food. They are only after the young boys, to put them in the fight. If you go out, you can be caught, and then you will not wish to be alive.
“Right now, let’s get you into a bath and out of your tunic. You have dried blood on your legs.”
Jackaleena looked down and saw the blood. She looked up at Margaret. “I am making blood from my water maker. I think Toto has made me a witch.”
Margaret stared in disbelief. “Come, Jackaleena, let us go get you a bath.”
Margaret led her by the hand to a quiet room inside the walls. She could hear children and older people laughing in another room. There was water being heated in a great iron pot on an earthen fire in the center of the room.
Margaret began to pour water into a metal basin. The water steamed as she poured it in the basin. She told Jackaleena to take off her tunic. The tunic was made of burlap and had two arm holes and one head hole. It was barely holding together, and was all she had in the way of clothing.
Jackaleena shyly took it off and turned away from Margaret. “Jackaleena, we have the same parts. Do not be afraid. Turn around, I will not hurt you. Let’s get you into the warm water.”
Jackaleena had never had a warm bath. She had only soaked in the stream from time to time because her mother told her to do so. It was more fun in the cold stream because she got to put her toes into the mud.
She stepped into the basin carefully and quickly jerked her foot out. “You must go slow,” said Margaret, “this water is not like a stream. It will make you feel very good.”
Jackaleena stuck her toe in the basin slowly, then her foot. Then the other foot. She stood there in amazement at how good it felt on her feet. Margaret said, “You must sit in the water.”
Slowly, Jackaleena sat all the way in the tub. She was able to stretch her legs. Then Margaret began to pour something into the basin that smelled very good, and began to make bubbles.
“What is that?”
“This, Jackaleena, is bubble bath. It is a soap that makes bubbles. They bring it to us.”
Margaret picked up a cloth and handed it to Jackaleena. “Dip this into the water and wash yourself, all over. I will return in a little while. Wash on top of your head as well,” pointing to Jackaleena’s hair.
With that, she left the room. Jackaleena washed herself and it felt good. She had never used a cloth before, and certainly had not used bubbles before. It made her skin feel soft and smooth. The warm water made her relax. She leaned her head back on the back of the basin. She fell quickly asleep.
Suddenly, the door to the room cracked open. Margaret in the bright headwrap appeared. “Well, I see you have enjoyed your bath. You were sound asleep. You will sleep in a real bed tonight, after we have given you something to eat. First, let’s rinse you off.”
She picked up an urn from a table and filled it with warm water. She poured it over Jackaleena’s head.
“Please stand up, Jackaleena.”
Jackaleena, covering her water maker, stood up. Margaret said, “Young lady, we have the same parts. Do not be afraid.” She handed Jackaleena a towel. “Dry yourself off from head to toe.”
Jackaleena had never used or heard of a towel. She always dried off in the sun on a rock. She began to wipe the towel on her wet body until it was completely dry.
“Now, let’s get you into some clothes,” Margaret said.
Jackaleen stood amazed at the dresses as Margaret lay them on the bed. They were many different colors. Bright and beautiful. She looked at her old tunic that lay beside the water basin. It was dark and dirty, full of stench, with a little blood on it.
She said, “What will you do with my old tunic?”
“Well, dear, I believe we will not use it again.” Jackaleena smiled and shook her head. “Well, you have a beautiful smile, Jackaleena. That is the first time you have let me see it. I hope to see it again soon. Which one of these tunics do you like?”
Jackaleena looked them all over carefully. She felt the fabric between her fingers. Some were softer than others. All were softer than her old tunic. After touching each for several minutes, she finally picked a bright red one.
“Oh, that one is lovely, Jackaleena,” said Margaret. “First, you must put on something underneath it.”
“Something on underneath it?” said Jackaleena.
“Yes, dear. They are called undergarments.” She went to a wooden cabinet and brought out two Milano garments. “This one goes on bottom. See the holes for your legs? This one goes on the top. They will feel good when you put them on, and even better when you put your red tunic on. We call the tunic a dress. Here, put these on.” Jackaleena fumbled with the bottom undergarment, as she had never seen one. “No, dear, that is backwards. They go on like this.” She demonstrated. Jackaleena put them on. She slid the top undergarment over her head. Both were soft like baby leaves, but even softer. Margaret helped her put the bright red dress on. “Now, let’s see what you look like.”
She took her to a mirror on the wall and stood before it. Jackaleena had never seen a mirror. It looked like the stream she looked into and could see herself in, except it was very clear. She stood and gazed at herself in the bright red dress.
Margaret said, “You are a very beautiful young lady, once we got you cleaned up.”
“What is ‘beautiful?’” asked Jackaleena.
“It means you are delightful to look at. God made you special.”
Jackaleena pretended not to hear the words Margaret spoke. Who was this God she spoke of? Maybe he was
like the Jesus Man that she and Joao had a pact never to talk about again. She looked at herself for a long time. Her head was on Margaret’s shoulder. She felt she had found a friend, but still she must be careful. She did not know if there were enemies within these walls.
“Come, Jackaleena, let us get you some hot food. I bet it has been a while since you have had some.”
She led Jackaleena out of the room through a main courtyard with flowers planted along a rock pathway. There were several chickens scratching around in the yard. Margaret paused to look at them for a moment. Like everything else, the chickens had been given to the orphanage by someone in the United States, and had arrived by ship along with enough feed for a year or so in burlap sacks. The idea of having fresh eggs daily for the staff and especially the children was well-received. Along with their canned goods and small garden, they barely got by, but were able to feed everyone every day. With the donations of flour, sugar, salt, and cured sardines, they would make it until the next shipment of donations, usually around four months. The shipments always included drums of diesel for the generators. Without the generators, they had no lights. Without lights, they were not as safe against the guerilla army at night. The diesel always seemed to last, but they were usually down to the last drum when the next shipment arrived. There were always sighs of relief when the ship arrived.
Of late, the numbers of chickens had decreased, as they had killed and eaten a few, and without the benefit of a rooster they never had baby chicks to replenish the small flock. Maybe the folks would send one or two by ship from the United States. The staff had sent requests back for a couple of roosters with the ship captain and his staff on the last two or three shipments.
Jackaleena paused to look at the chickens with her and perceived through Margaret’s eyes that things could have been better in some way, concerning the chickens. Jackaleena thought perhaps the chickens did not have enough to eat, and it was bothering Margaret. Maybe she would bring them some of her food.
“Come along now. After we eat, we will visit a while.” She handed Jackaleena a pair of slippers made of leather. “Put these on like mine,” pointing to her feet. Jackaleena took the slippers and stared at them. “Here, dear, let me put them on for you.” Margaret knelt, placed the slippers on her feet, and lashed the tongs in back to secure them. “Stand up, Jackaleena and see how they feel.”
Jackaleena have never had shoes on in her life. The bottoms of her feet were heavily calloused. The slippers were very soft when she stood up. They felt good on her feet.
“Now walk a few steps and see how they feel.”
Slowly Jackaleena walked around the room. The shoes mysteriously stayed on her feet, and she got the knack of it quickly. She smiled as she looked again into the mirror with her new tunic and her new slippers. Shipped over in sea containers on a cargo ship, the donations from folks in America were the only things that kept the orphanage going and the volunteer team that worked there. Margaret was the only person helping locally.
Jackaleena stared, mesmerized by the image in the mirror.
“Come, dear, let’s go together to eat. I will be with you.”
Margaret led her out of her room and into a courtyard area where there were many children playing, a few boys and many more girls. Some children stopped playing as she and Margaret walked by, on their way to the meal room. Jackaleena noticed some girls with tribal tattoos, others with teeth sharpened to a point, and others with pieces of wood in their earlobes. Some tried to speak as she came by, but she could not understand their language. Margaret kept Jackaleena close. Then a Milano woman began to speak, but she could not understand her. When the woman finished, she made a motion for all to begin eating.
Margaret leaned over and said, “That was our lunch prayer, thanking Jesus for the food that was brought and prepared for us to eat.”
Jakaleena’s questions began to pile up, but she remained silent. Food was brought in on trays. First came the bread, freshly baked and on a board. Next came the freshly heated sardine fish with rice. Then fresh bananas and pineapple.
Jackaleena had never seen food like this. Her father had trapped fish in a stream that was cooked on a stick over the communal fire in their village. This food smelled very good. The children were all eating with utensils, some more clumsily than others. If they tried to pick up the fish and rice with their fingers, one of the women would gently remind them to use their utensils.
Margaret picked up her fork and instructed Jackaleena to do the same. The cold fork felt unfamiliar in her hand and awkward to hold onto. She noticed that some children held the eating part of the fork upside down, scraping the food on the fork while others held it the other way and scooped the food. She looked at Margaret quizzically.
“There is not a right or a wrong way, dear. Whichever way is easier for you.”
Jackaleena tried the scooping way and it seemed to feel better. The food was met by her stomach with great desire. She had not eaten in a while, and certainly not food that was prepared like this. She ate silently while observing the other children in stolen glances from time to time.
Margaret cautioned her to not eat fast, as her stomach might get upset. Cautious as the leopard eating its prey in a tree—her father always said she was smart as a leopard.
After everyone had finished their banana or pineapple, the Milano woman stood up with her little bell and stick. She struck the bell two times and waved her hand toward the door they had entered. Margaret leaned over and said, “It is time to go. Would you like to go back to your room for now?”
Jackaleena nodded. Slowly they made their way across the courtyard, while the other children began to play. Some chased each other, some swung from a tire hanging from a tree. Others sat by trees.
Margaret and Jackaleena entered her room. Jackaleena immediately took off her slippers, looking to Margaret for approval. “That is perfectly fine, dear. Now, what would you like to do?”
Jackaleena looked toward the gates. “What about Joao?”
“We will try and get his body tonight when the sun is black. If we can get it when the soldier boys are not watching, we will place him in a hole dug in the earth. We will read from God’s holy word.”
Sensing the moment, Jackaleena asked her, “What is this God’s holy word? Is he part of the Jesus Man tribe?”
Martha slowly opened a drawer in a wooden dresser in Jackaleena’s room. Some family in America had likely sent it over with the furniture shipment. From inside the drawer, Margaret pulled out a black Bible.
“This is God’s holy word. From it, God tells us all about him and all about us. Is there something you would like to know?”
“Yes,” Jackaleena said. “You said God made me special. How do you know this?”
Margaret smiled warmly. “Well, let’s go into God’s word and see what he has to say about it.” She opened the Bible and turned to Jeremiah 1:4 through 1:5 and read: “(4) The word of the Lord came to me, saying: (5) Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born, I sanctified you: I ordained you to be a prophet of the nations.”
Jackaleena looked puzzled. “What are the signs on the book? How do you know what they say?”
“Well, they are words, much like the tracks of an animal. You look at them and they say and mean something. I will teach you if you will let me. Any more questions?”
“What do the words mean that you just said?”
“Well, it means that God (our creator) knew each of us and created each of us in our mother’s womb.”
“What is a womb?”
“It is the place where babies are made and carried inside of their mothers. Just like you were. One day, you will probably be married and have a baby created inside of your womb as well,” said Margaret.
“No, not me,” said Jackaleena, “I am thinking that Toto has cursed me and I am a witch. Witches in our tribes are cursed and do not have children. I have blood coming out of my water maker. Not always, but this many times over t
his many suns-go-to-earth and held up three fingers. I put a pebble on a flat rock to see when there is more blood from my water maker and maybe I am a witch. It was this many pebbles and my water maker bleed more.” She began to touch each one of her fingers as she remembered the pebbles.
Margaret counted thirty. She realized that this child appeared to be intellectually above her peers at the orphanage. She had learned to count by the sun going down and coming up and tracked it with pebbles.
Margaret smiled. “Let’s see what God’s word says about it.” Slowly she turned through the pages, looking for the answer she knew was there. She finally found the passage. She read from Luke chapter 8, verses 43–48:
“(43) And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. (44) She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped. (45) ‘Who touched me?’ Jesus asked. When they all denied it, Peter said, ‘Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.’ (46) But Jesus said, ‘Someone touched me: I know that the power has gone out from me.’ (47) The woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet. It the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. (48) ‘Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.’”
Jackaleena took in the words, staring at Margaret. “What have you told me?” she said.
Margaret thought for a few moments about her question. “First, God knew you when he formed you in your mother’s womb and made you special, as he does all of his creations. Second, you are not a witch. All girls reach an age where they begin to bleed for a few days out of every set of sun-to-earth cycles. It is part of being a girl and a woman. I bleed at the same time on a cycle, just like you for this many moons, sometimes this many moons, but, every this many moons,” counting all of her fingers and toes and her fingers again. “I am not a witch. The woman in God’s word that was bleeding was doing so all the time. She had faith that Jesus would heal her and touched his cloak. Of course he did.”