by Various Orca
“Then I’m going to have to go up in these,” I said.
“Not possible. You cannot climb in those. No mzungu could do that. What about the snow and storms at the top? Your feet would freeze and you would lose your toes. You must have boots.”
“But you just said nobody has boots my size.”
“No stores, no places, but there might be a way.” She paused. “I know people…those who end up collecting things that belong to tourists.”
“Collect? You mean like steal? You know who took my stuff?”
“Possibly, or I could find out.”
“And you can get my things back? My hiking boots?”
“Not yours maybe, but from other tourists. No locals have such big feet, but maybe one of the other climbers had big feet, so maybe they have collected a pair of boots that is almost as big as you need.”
“Almost isn’t what I need,” I said.
“Almost is better than what you are wearing. And what happened to your foot?”
I looked down. I hadn’t realized that my foot had continued to bleed and now a little stream of blood was running off the edge of one sandal.
“I cut it during the chase to get back my things.”
“You need to have that treated.”
“I’ll do that right after we get my stuff back.”
“No. First I will bring you to your hotel and you will take care of your foot.”
“I want to go with you, right now, and then I’ll take care of the foot.”
“Right now, I do not know where to go. These people, they do not have a store, you know. I must ask around to find them. If you are with me, nobody will tell me anything. I must go alone while you stay at the hotel.”
“I can’t just sit there and do nothing,” I protested.
“You will not be doing nothing. You will be making sure that your wound is cared for. We cannot argue. I must look before your things are taken out of town and sold elsewhere. We go.”
TEN
I waited on an overstuffed couch on the hotel patio, sipping a soda. I’d taken care of my foot, removing a small piece of glass and then thoroughly disinfecting the cut before wrapping it up as well as I could. Then I’d washed the sandal to remove the stain. My foot felt tender when I put weight on it, but it wasn’t really painful.
As I sat there, I listened in on the conversations that swirled around me. Everybody at the hotel, with the exception of the staff, was a tourist. There were lots of languages spoken, but English dominated, so I could make out most of what was being said. Half the people were getting ready to climb the mountain. The other half had already climbed or tried to climb.
I was astonished by which people had made it and which had failed. I expected that the young and fit would be successful and the old and fat would fail, but that turned out to not always be the case. I heard one overweight older man—he had to be in his fifties at least—who smoked while he bragged about reaching the summit. A superfit young guy in his twenties was teased by his buddies because he hadn’t made it all the way up. It freaked me out that he didn’t look that much different from me. Maybe he’d spent so much time lifting weights that he hadn’t done enough cardio.
What also surprised me was the age range of the people at the hotel. Most people were on the younger side, with me being the youngest, but there were a number who were well beyond what I’d consider mountain-climbing age, unless there was a special lane for walkers and wheelchairs. They were probably just there to sightsee or to cheer on younger relatives who were going to the top.
I sat until after eight, after dark, and well after the time Sarah said she’d be back. “Back in an hour” had now become almost three. Didn’t anybody in Africa know how many minutes were in an hour? I was always on time. I hated to be late or keep people waiting. Even worse, I really hated it when people kept me waiting. It was so disrespectful. If she couldn’t find who she was looking for, she was keeping me from looking for the things I’d need. Even if she was right and no stores stocked size-thirteen boots, I might be able to squeeze into a twelve, or even buy an eleven or ten and cut out the toes so I could use them. I’d always found a way to succeed before, and this wasn’t going to be any different.
“Hello, DJ.” It was Sarah.
“Did you find some stuff that I can use?”
“Not yet, but I think I can get what is needed. I need money,” she said.
“How much?”
“Maybe eighty thousand shillings.”
I almost reacted emotionally to the number before I did the conversion in my head. That was about $50.
I pulled out the money in my pocket: $60. The rest of my money, along with my passport and the cane, was locked in the hotel safe. I wasn’t going to risk losing those things as well.
Sarah took the money from me.
“I will be back in less than an hour,” she said.
“I’m going to go with you.”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, no, it would not be safe for you to go.”
“Then it’s even less safe for you to go without me. There’s safety in numbers.”
“I do not think it would be wise for you to come.”
“I don’t see a choice. I need to be there at least to try on the hiking boots,” I said, grasping for a convincing reason.
“I just do not think that—”
“Look.” I got to my feet so I towered over her. “It’s my money, my things, my hiking boots, and I’m coming along.”
“I will not argue, but do not say that I did not warn you.”
“This way,” Sarah said.
What had seemed smart sitting on the veranda of the hotel quickly seemed less wise as we wove our way through small streets, back alleys and narrow foot-paths cutting between huts and shacks. I followed her down another twist in the pathway between the shacks. This new route was even narrower. At times I had to practically turn sideways to pass.
Lining the cramped passages were huts and small shops that were really just stalls thrown together with random pieces of wood, sheets of corrugated metal, cardboard and plastic. The air was stained with smoke, so strong and thick I could almost taste it.
The only light along our route came from a few kerosene lamps hanging from poles or sitting on sills or shining through the small openings of the buildings. Outside of these faint leaks of light, the darkness completely engulfed everything.
The darkness was both reassuring and unnerving. I couldn’t see very well, but at least I was less visible. It felt like my white skin could almost go unnoticed. Of course that was just wishful thinking. When any light did catch me, it felt as if my skin practically glowed as the light reflected off its whiteness. There was no hiding. I could tell by the reaction I was getting as I followed Sarah. People’s eyes widened in surprise and there was a ripple of conversation that grew louder as we passed. I could hear the unmistakable word mzungu.
A procession of little children trailed behind me. When I turned around, they stopped in their tracks, bumping into each other or even starting to scatter, but as soon as I started walking they rejoined the procession. It made me realize that having a white guy here, particularly at night, was a big source of amusement and entertainment. Hopefully I wasn’t going to be part of anything more exciting, although I was becoming increasingly more anxious.
Occasionally the way would open up onto clearings filled with pecking chickens and lots of children. Some of the kids were sitting on the ground, and some were kicking around a ball that was nothing more than tightly wrapped pieces of plastic held together with rope or string. We passed by a number of identical-looking dogs, so similar in appearance that I thought at first it was the same dog—skinny and brown and cowering—acting as if it expected me to kick it.
Then Sarah would lead me into another passageway. Did she really know where we were going? At least if we did get lost, there were lots of people to ask for directions. Aside from our little entourage, there was a constant stream of peo
ple walking along in both directions and even more peering out from darkened doorways and windows as we passed. It seemed like every eye was on us—on me. I was glad that the rest of my valuables were all locked up, although it would have been nice to have the cane to use as a weapon if I needed it.
I was feeling increasingly claustrophobic. It was a combination of the darkness, the smoke and the scale of everything. Relatively speaking I was gigantic. And strangely, it felt as if I was actually getting bigger as we walked, like Gulliver in the land of Lilliput. Being bigger should have been better, but it just made me feel more visible. Besides, I remembered what those Lilliputians did to Gulliver when they tied him down to the ground.
I kept one eye on Sarah while my head swiveled back and forth trying to watch all around me as they all seemed to watch me. She stopped and I practically bumped into her, and a couple of members of my entourage bumped into me. I looked down, and their eyes widened in shock as they scampered away, knocking down a few others, who in turn started to run as well, causing a little ripple of running kids. In spite of everything—or maybe because of it—I burst out laughing and my voice filled the air.
“In here,” Sarah said, pointing to a small hut.
She pushed open the door and disappeared inside. I hesitated for a few seconds before I ducked down and stepped into the darkness. I looked around, letting my eyes adjust.
“Over here,” Sarah called out.
I saw her shadowy outline and followed. We went through the back of the hut and entered a dimly lit courtyard. Sarah shook hands with a boy who looked about my age but smaller. They exchanged a rapid burst of conversation, and I was pretty sure that I was the subject of that discussion. The boy looked nervous, his eyes shifting anxiously, and I was afraid he was about to bolt.
Finally the voices became quieter and calmer, and he came over with Sarah. I looked into his eyes and he looked away, but in that brief connection I just knew he wasn’t somebody who could be trusted.
He turned and Sarah followed. I settled in behind. We left the courtyard through an opening in the fence, went down yet another little passageway, and then I skidded to a stop. We were standing in a little market square, much more brightly lit, and in front of me was a stall, its shelves filled with merchandise. Two more people, about the same age as our guide, were standing in front of the stall.
I scanned the length of the stall. There were T-shirts, skirts, toys, shoes, hammers and screwdrivers, suitcases and some backpacks—including mine. I had to fight the urge to yell something out or rush over to reclaim it. A little farther along was my other bag, and there were my hiking boots! My stuff was here. Were these the kids who had ripped me off? I looked closely at their faces as they talked, trying to see if they had been the ones. But really, all that I’d seen was the backs of their heads. Maybe I could ask them to turn around. Okay, that was stupid.
Sarah and the first boy spoke to the other two, who also seemed to be perturbed, probably upset about my being here. They exchanged anxious bursts of conversation and shot nervous glances in my direction. It gave me a strange sort of satisfaction that I was at least causing them some distress. If they tried to leave, I was still going to grab my boots and my bag and whatever else of mine I could find.
Sarah returned from speaking to the boys. “They say that they would be most pleased to sell you some merchandise.”
“They want to sell me my own stuff,” I hissed. “How big of them.”
“Yes, they will sell to you if you meet their price.”
“Their price? Those are my things! The things that were—”
“Keep your voice down. Do not get them excited.”
“I don’t care if they’re excited.”
“Oh, you should care, very much. We want everything to be friendly.”
“You want me to be friends with the people who ripped me off?” I asked quietly.
“I want you to be friendly with them, not become friends. We want to remain friendly while you purchase back the items you need.”
“I can’t believe you want me to buy back my own things.”
“They were your things. Now they are their things.”
“But that’s not right,” I protested.
Sarah turned around to face the three boys. “He is just deciding what things he wishes to purchase,” she called out. “He says you have very fine merchandise!”
The three boys nodded and waved and smiled.
She turned back toward me. “It does not matter if it is right or wrong, this is what must be done.”
“Look, what if I just grabbed my stuff? They couldn’t stop us. I’m bigger than all of them combined, and there are two of us and only three of them.”
“There are only three that you can see,” she said. “All around are many, many more members of their street families. Besides, if there was to be a fight, there are not two of us; there is only you.”
“I know you’re just a girl, but still you could—”
“Oh, no, you don’t understand,” she said, cutting me off. “If there is a fight, I would join them. Never is it wise to be on the side of a crazy person, and you would be crazy to risk our lives for a few shillings.”
“But what about the principle of the thing? You’re asking me to buy my own things.”
“As I said, your things now belong to these people. You have the money to buy them, so just buy them so we can leave,” she whispered. “Be grateful that you can have your things back.”
“What if we went and got the police to come and arrest them?” I suggested.
“You do not understand. The minute we go they will leave, and along with them would go your things, never to be seen again. And even if you could find the police they would not come with you tonight. You have to understand that the police do not like to come in here at night. They think it is too dangerous.”
It suddenly dawned on me where I was and what we were doing. I wasn’t standing in line at Walmart. I was in a place that was too dangerous for the police to come.
“Okay, fine. Let’s go shopping for my things.”
I went to the first stall and picked up my pack, which was going to hold my things on the climb to the top of the mountain. Now it would hold the things I needed to reclaim. I sifted through some more items. There were my cargo pants and five pairs of socks—two of them special “toe” socks designed to keep each toe separate and cushioned—and my shirts and running shoes and of course my hiking boots. Item by item I put them into the pack until I came to the boots. I went to put them into the pack and one of the boys stepped forward and stopped me, saying something I didn’t understand.
“He wants for you to try them on to make sure they fit,” Sarah explained.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure they’ll fit unless my feet have changed sizes in the last few hours.”
“Just do as he asks,” Sarah said.
Almost instantly one of the other boys materialized holding a little three-legged stool. I sat down and pulled a pair of socks—my socks—out of the pack.
I kicked off the sandals, pulled on the socks and then slipped my foot into one of the boots.
The same boy said something and Sarah translated. “He wants to know if they fit.”
“Tell him they are too small and I want to know if he has something bigger.”
Sarah looked shocked.
“Go ahead and tell him.”
Sarah gave me a sly smile and then spoke. The boy looked as surprised as she had.
“Ask him if he has any bigger ones because I do not really like these much.”
Sarah translated and the boy replied.
“He says there are no bigger ones in Tanzania, and he thought for sure they would fit you as if they were your own.”
“Tell him they are too small and too ugly, but I will take them if the price is right.”
Sarah burst into laughter and then told the boy, who also started to laugh. He slapped her on the back.
“He says the pric
e will be good because he likes you. He says you are a good mzungu.”
I did up the laces on the boots, making sure they were tied tightly. I wasn’t giving back these boots and I wanted to have something better than sandals if I had to run.
I searched the stall again until I was certain that I’d located all of my things. What I couldn’t fit into my pack I put into my other bag—the green duffel bag. I did a rough tally in my head, trying to remember what else was missing, what else I still had to find. I basically had everything I could think of, including my special flashlight—the one I would wear on my head like a mining light.
“That’s it,” I said.
“Good. We will negotiate a price.”
The two of them began talking. The conversation quickly became excited, and I could tell that they had very different ideas about what I should pay. I wished I could have been part of the discussion or at least understood what they were saying. The one boy turned away and joined the other two, and the three of them began an equally noisy discussion.
“I have offered them around twenty thousand shillings,” Sarah said to me.
“But you told me to bring—”
“Be quiet. Do not let them hear the number. Numbers in English they understand. We are negotiating. They wish to have one hundred and fifty thousand shillings!”
“I don’t have that much money with me!”
“And we will not pay that much. This is how things are done here. I will talk them down.”
Sarah turned to the boys and yelled out something, and instantly all three of them burst into laughter, one of them laughing so hard that he almost fell over.
“What did you say to them?” I asked.
“I told them that if they didn’t sell the boots to you that they would have to hope that an elephant needed footwear or perhaps a small family could use one of them as a hut.”
The first boy returned, and he and Sarah again started talking, throwing sentences back and forth. Finally, judging from the nodding of heads, I thought they’d reached a decision.