Chai Tea Sunday

by Heather A. Clark

  Sometime around 1966, Jebet was born to an Ethiopian farmer named Antony and his wife, Susan. Although Jebet did not have any memories of the two bountiful years that followed her birth, she certainly remembered the vivid tales her mama and baba would tell her about how much rain fell after her arrival — and about how well their crops did. The family not only had enough food to eat themselves, but also copious amounts to sell to others and, as such, were considered wealthy — at least by Ethiopian standards.

  Baba Antony believed that Jebet was his miracle baby who brought the prosperous rains to his farm within the first moments of her life. They believed this because, on the night Jebet was conceived, a rainmaker had visited their farm to pray with them; there had been a wicked drought and Baba Antony thought a rainmaker might be able to help.

  That night, after the rainmaker left, and deep in the dark of their bedroom, Mama Susan swore that she felt herself become pregnant. And it was at that precise moment the rain started to fall over Baba Antony’s crops, ensuring harvest viability and security from famine. The drought was over.

  For the two years that followed, the rains came frequently and often. As Jebet grew, so did the success of Baba Antony’s crops. It seemed that every time Jebet reached a milestone throughout her first years of life — sitting, crawling, walking — much rain would bless the earth and Baba Antony’s farm. The plants arched towards the sky, opening themselves up to drink, and the growth that followed put abundant food on tables throughout the land.

  When Jebet turned two and a half, her sister, Rita, was born — along with one of the most horrific droughts in recent world history. Later coined the 1968–1974 Sahel Drought, the deadly absence of rain was utterly destructive. During the six years it lasted, nearly a quarter of a million people perished and over five million were displaced — and the agricultural bases of five countries, including Ethiopia, crumbled.

  Baba Antony did everything he could to protect his farm but, without rain, there was no food or money. When his final hope dried up with his last few crops, he packed up his family and fled for Kenya in search of a better life. He had heard that the drought hadn’t impacted Kenyan agriculture in the same way as it had in Ethiopia, and Baba Antony had hopes for establishing another farm with the agricultural richness he once had.

  When he failed to find agriculture prosperity, the family was forced into the slums of Rongai, where they lived in a dilapidated shack that had been left barely standing when its former family was wiped out by what was later assumed to be the AIDS virus. Rita and Jebet shared the one-room home with their parents and were forced to go days at a time with nothing to eat or drink.

  Angry for his farm loss and the demoralizing way his family was living, Baba Antony needed someone to blame. Given the strong belief he had in his rainmaking miracle baby, Jebet, he became equally convinced that Rita was the second-born curse and was to be blamed for the poverty and famine that had fallen upon his family. Baba Antony, who was once known for his loving fatherly ways and how frequently he whisked Jebet up to give her adoring hugs and kisses, turned into a cold and harsh father, ultimately becoming both callous and unforgiving. He blamed Rita for all that had happened and also turned on Jebet for not being able to do anything to bring more rain and change the drought.

  After one year in the Rongai slums, Baba Antony abandoned Mama Susan and his two daughters. Late in the night, when his daughters were fast asleep and holding the hands of his wife, he slinked out of the broken shack in the wee hours of the morning and was never heard from again.

  With no father in the family, Mama Susan took on the role of both parents. She fought hard and was ultimately able to convince an orphanage to take her on as the house help. She and her two daughters moved into the orphanage where they were given food and shelter in exchange for Mama Susan scrubbing toilets, polishing floors, cleaning dishes, cooking food and making beds — thirteen hours a day, seven days a week.

  Given the amount of time Mama Susan had to spend cooking and cleaning, the two daughters did not get to spend a lot of time with their mother, but they occasionally saw her during meal times or when they passed each other in the hall. But her daughters were warm, fed and educated.

  Jebet thrived when it came to academics and was quickly identified as being extremely bright. A South African volunteer who had visited the orphanage took a great liking to Jebet and sponsored her to go to a private boarding school. Thrilled with the news, Jebet asked when she and Rita would be leaving and was heartbroken to learn that there was only money for one sibling. Rita would be staying at the orphanage school while Jebet went on to study.

  Although she hated to be away from her mama and sister, Jebet studied hard with the intention of returning to the orphanage to get a good job. She knew that once she had a proper salary to rely on, she could take care of her mama and Rita and they would finally have the freedom they deserved. Her mama would no longer be forced to cook or clean and, instead, would have the financial security to do something that interested her. Rita could then take her turn at school.

  Four years later, Jebet received the twenty-four credits she needed to graduate from high school and she returned to the orphanage. The former mkuu was leaving, and Jebet gladly accepted the job.

  She built a home for her mama and sister on the orphanage land and the three of them worked together to rescue children from the slums and take care of them when they needed it. Many of the children had been left on their own after both parents had died; others were abandoned by parents who couldn’t care for them. Whatever their circumstance, Jebet, Rita and Mama Susan worked together to ensure as many children as possible were safe, full and happy.

  The years went by, some tougher than others, and Jebet continued to run a successful orphanage that housed many children. She loved her work and was happy to be able to save children in need; it fulfilled her greatly to be able to rescue the kids from the same slums that had devastated her family with its famine and dirty water.

  There were never enough beds or medical supplies, but Jebet did what she could, and sourced as many volunteers to help as possible. While the majority of them came and went, a constant contributor was Mama Bu, whom she had met through a mutual friend — Moses — at the market one Saturday in April. Mama Bu loved to surround herself with the laughter and smiles of toddlers and young children. Admittedly, Jebet grew fond of having Mama Bu’s company at the orphanage. The two would often spend their afternoons chatting over chai on the covered wooden porch when the majority of the children were in school.

  One November, Jebet, Rita and Mama Susan made plans to visit Mama Susan’s sister, Maria, and her husband, Frank, who lived about four hours away. Maria and Frank had lived on a farm next door to Jebet’s family when they were in Ethiopia, but they had been separated when they all fled to escape the Sahel Drought.

  While Jebet’s family had ultimately ended up in Ngong, Maria and Frank had built a small home for themselves in a tiny town called Eldoret. Although they greatly missed Susan and her family, they didn’t get to see each other often. Jebet, Rita and Mama Susan had obligations to the orphanage and couldn’t often leave the children for long periods of time. Maria was unable to travel after she had lost the use of her legs in a farm accident that happened in her mid-thirties. But after sensing Jebet and her family needed a break, three Australian orphanage volunteers graciously offered to stay with the children over the holidays so that Jebet, Rita and Mama Susan could go and visit Maria and Frank in Eldoret.

  Jebet and her family arrived at their extended family’s home on the night before Christmas Eve. Maria and Frank had decorated the house with curly ribbon. They spent the next few days together eating meat, attending church and singing carols while Frank played harmonica and Maria gazed lovingly at him from her wheelchair.

  Two days after Christmas, once the festivities had peaked and everyone was lounging about the house, tired and happy, the family wat
ched the results of the presidential election on television. President Mwai Kibaki was declared the winner and trouble had started to brew as soon as the results were revealed. The family looked on, frantic and dismayed, as supporters of Kibaki’s opponent, Raila Odinga of the Orange Democratic Movement, took to the streets, screaming accusations of electoral manipulation. The protests predominantly took place in Odinga’s homeland of Nyanza Province. A few popped up in the slums of Nairobi, but remained, for the most part, non-violent, and demonstrated solely by voice.

  As the hours and days ticked forward, the police ended up firing their guns in attempts to stop the protesting and demonstrators were shot in clear view of TV cameras. Along with the rest of the nation, Jebet and her family watched the police shootings over and over, knowing that demonstrators were on the path to rebellion and violence. In one form or another, they would take over.

  In quick time, the protests grew more and more heated, and the family watched, horrified, as they became particularly aggressive and, ultimately, turned into targeted ethnic violence. As the protests heightened, fear bubbled up inside Maria and Frank’s home. The most vulnerable group was the Kikuyu people — the community where President Kibaki was from. The Eldoret area was filled with its members. Not knowing where else to turn, Maria and Frank sought refuge by taking the entire family back to the church where they had been days before to celebrate Christ’s birth.

  For the most part, the church remained dark, quiet and still as the Eldoret people waited for the violent protests to stop. As time passed, hundreds of people trickled through the church’s doors, each afraid of what might happen; they all wanted to be in the safest place they knew. The people brought with them a few comforts of home, as well as small amounts of food, which ended up being shared throughout the group.

  With tears of fear streaming down trembling chins, the Eldoret people joined hands and prayed silently together — their words were quiet, but their motions were strong, focused and emphatic. Toddlers sat curled in their mothers’ arms, unaware of details but knowing something bad was going on; crying babies were shushed over and over, their mamas trying to get them to be quiet in fear of being heard and identified.

  Maria, stuck in her wheelchair, was forced to sit in one place, frightened as she was, as she couldn’t get around the many mattresses that had been set up as beds, while Frank paced throughout the church, wanting to do more but unable to help.

  Out of sheer exhaustion, Jebet had fallen into a light sleep on a section of the mattress puzzle that had been pushed together in the centre of the church, only to quickly awaken to a new buzz of emotion. The church people were huddled in groups, banded together by fear and whispering in the dark. Then, listening.

  From far away, Jebet could hear murmured chants repeated over and over in unison, followed by songs sung by an impromptu choir. As she listened, the chants and songs got closer. As they drew even nearer, Jebet recognized what she thought were youthful voices. The sound was later identified as two hundred teenagers and young adults chanting war songs as they closed in on the church. When they were close enough to identify words, Jebet heard their voices ringing out in the still air, maliciously accusing the church campers of contributing to political corruption and voting for President Kibaki. The boys surrounded the church, fighting off the citizens standing guard at its door, and making roadblocks to ensure no help could get through to the compound.

  Some of the boys carried bows and arrows while others carried cans of gasoline, which they dumped in a double circle surrounding the church. When the match was struck, the blaze happened quickly, and pain within the church emerged as rapidly as the ferocious flames travelled.

  Barbaric chaos erupted as the Eldoret people fought for their lives and tried to escape the inferno. People scratched their way over others as they tried to make it to the windows, where they knew they could breathe again. Those who had been sitting near the front of the church didn’t have a chance and the smell of their burned flesh made Jebet retch as she searched frantically for her family. Her eyes scanned the pandemonium and she found Frank trying desperately to carry Maria over his shoulders. Having been confined to a wheelchair for so many years, her weight had surpassed his over the years, and his muscles fell limp underneath her. Rita and Mama Susan tried to help, each taking one of Maria’s arms and dragging her over the items that had been left behind by people escaping through windows.

  The fire licked its way through the mattresses at increased speed. The wildness and ferocity of the flames mounted.

  The three women and Frank attempted to lift Maria through the window. The flames were quickly closing in, and the women’s strength lost steam. Frank refused to leave his wife, and yelled at Mama Susan, Jebet and Rita to free themselves from the church. He turned back to his wife.

  Frank held Maria close, trying to protect her from the heat. He sang loudly over the scorching fire that ultimately silenced their bodies and voices.

  With her own burning skin no longer giving her a choice, Jebet hauled herself through the window, clumsily falling six feet to the dirty, hard ground outside. She crawled away on all fours, coughing and heaving, gasping for clean air and praying that her mama and sister were right behind her.

  Jebet turned to search the crowds, desperate to find her sister and mama but unable to do so. Horrified, she watched as one of the activists grabbed a hold of a mother and baby who had managed to escape the church and were scurrying away from the blaze. The mother screamed for help as the young boy’s arms wrapped around her, fighting the mother for her child. The demonstrator won. He seized the baby from the mother’s arms, and threw the child through the open window, back into the welcoming flames.

  Not knowing what else to do, Jebet lobbed herself into a nearby ditch; she pretended to be dead. A demonstrator carrying a bow around his shoulder, with three arrows in his hands, saw her lying on the ground, and kicked her hard with his right boot. Somehow, Jebet managed to stifle her cry, and when the second and third blow hit her ribs, she thought her forced silence would no longer be required. She knew she would soon die. But like a prayer being answered, the boy suddenly seemed satisfied with the limp body in front of him, and moved on to find his next victim.

  Jebet lay in the ditch, her nose smashed into red clay dirt as she inhaled its contents. The church continued to burn, creating heavy clouds of smoke that choked up both the demonstrators and the church campers who had managed to escape.

  When Jebet felt certain the protestors were no longer around her, she jumped up and hurried to find her family. Running as fast as her limp legs would carry her, she finally saw her mother and Rita clinging to one another, a circle of weaponed boys pacing around them, taunting them with their force. The boys took turns delivering kicks with their boots, graciously allowing each member a turn.

  The punches came next, until both the mother and her child were no longer able to stand. Mama Susan was the first to crumple to her knees. She was quickly followed by a defeated Rita.

  Jebet stayed frozen in fear as she watched her mother and sister beg for their lives, clasping hands together in a prayer position as the boys continued to deliver blows to their heads. It wasn’t long before they collapsed. As Jebet watched in horror, Mama Susan and Rita lay heaped together on the ground, hugging one another as the teenagers delivered the final blows that killed them both, and the life Jebet once knew.

  19

  I was silent, trying to absorb all that Mama Bu had told me. I was horrified to hear the tragic story she had exposed and deeply saddened to learn about everything Jebet had been through. The tragedies Jebet had faced and the multiple losses she had personally suffered were too numerous and devastating to even imagine.

  “When did this all happen?” I asked quietly. I looked down at my hands. Bit my lip to try to void my eyes of tears.

  “Almost exactly a year ago, Nicky,” Mama Bu responded, patting my knee and shaking her h
ead. “As you can imagine, it has been a very rough year for Jebet. She has not been the same since she returned from Eldoret. She has turned into an entirely different person. The only way I can put it is that she was broken when she returned. Her eyes were different. Her mood. Everything she said and did. She was just . . . different. It was like one person left for Eldoret and another person returned to Ngong.”

  “Like something in her snapped?” I asked.

  “Yes, rafiki. Exactly like that.”

  The tears I had been fighting fell. “I had an uncle who went through a massive tragedy and he responded in a very similar way. He lost his wife — my mother’s sister — in a car accident and he was never the same person again. Ultimately he was diagnosed with mental illness. He has been on medication ever since, but, even with the meds, he’s not the same guy I remember from when I was younger. It’s like he died when my aunt died.”

  “It is really sad. It is so difficult to watch someone you care about go through something so tragic and lose so much that their soul becomes smothered. Like the fire inside them is put out. And no matter what they do, or what anyone else does, they simply cannot seem to find themselves again.”

  I nodded, wiping a tear from my cheek. “So what do we do now, Mama Bu?” I asked. “Jebet’s story is absolutely awful, but we can’t let her continue hurting the children.”

  “You are right. I will come with you tomorrow when you go in to teach at the school,” Mama Bu responded. She rubbed her chin. “I am not quite sure what I will say to Jebet, or what should happen now, but we have got to stop her from hurting those children. I have always known the post-election violence, and all that Jebet went through there, had changed her, but this is too much. It is understandable if she is no longer the loving woman she once was with those children, but all of this? It is too much. It is not right.” Mama Bu closed her eyes. “I will figure something out by tomorrow. I have to sleep on it tonight and the answer will come.”