Chai Tea Sunday

by Heather A. Clark

  At the hospital, a new nurse we hadn’t seen before abruptly took over. Taking one look at Kevin’s ankle, she recut it and injected iodine to get the infection out. The pus drained once again.

  I could see the pain in Kevin’s eyes and he was pushed into pure panic. He grabbed onto my neck with a grip that was so tight I thought death was knocking. “Mimi tu taka mamangu . . . mimi tu taka mamangu,” he cried to me. I just want my mommy.

  My heart broke as I thought of the kind and affectionate mother who had been taken from Kevin two years earlier by the AIDS virus. Mama Bu had told me all about her one evening, speaking tenderly about what a sweet and loving mama she had been to her only child, always doting on Kevin and making sure he was well taken care of. It should have been her helping Kevin through his pain, not me. But an unsympathetic virus had taken her far too early. It wasn’t fair.

  With lots of consoling, hugging and kissing his forehead and cheeks, Mama Bu and I were finally able to get Kevin to start to calm down and begin breathing normally again. The nurse bandaged his foot, which was already less swollen.

  “There is no way I am leaving this child with Jebet tonight,” Mama Bu said, when we were once again kicked out of the hospital bed Kevin had been occupying. “We will take him home with us tonight so we can keep an eye on him and make sure he is okay.”

  The trip home took longer than we were planning, with Kiano carrying Kevin through the dark the majority of the way. Kiano moved swiftly, but was cautious to keep Kevin comfortable and not hurt him further.

  Five minutes from home, we neared a gang of six men standing on the side of the road. I almost didn’t see them — they were dressed from head to toe in black — but I sensed we were approaching danger when Mama Bu grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight.

  Kiano crossed the road to the other side, opposite of where the gang was standing. Mama Bu and I directly followed suit, looking down and refusing to meet the gaze of any one of the gang members.

  “We are not causing any trouble,” Kiano said in confident Swahili. “We have a very sick child and are returning from the hospital. We have no money and nothing to give. Please, let us pass.”

  The gang eyed us up and down and I sensed they were assessing Kiano’s story for truth. They cared mostly about the money and whether or not he was being honest about it. I stuck my hand in my coat pocket and felt the extra shillings I had brought with me, in case we needed them. My mind raced, struggling with whether or not I should hand it over. I had no idea what the men would do if they found it without me willingly handing it over — but, worse, I didn’t know how the gang would react if I confessed to having money after Kiano told them we had nothing to give.

  The tallest of the men took a step forward. Then, a second man. Finally, a third. They began to surround us. Mama Bu squeezed my hand harder and I closed my eyes and wished for it all to be a nightmare.

  “Please, we have nothing to give you. We have done nothing but help a sick child. Look into my eyes and know that I am speaking the truth,” Kiano begged, adjusting Kevin’s limp body in his arms. Miraculously, he stayed asleep.

  With one fist closed around the shillings, I had my other on the cell phone in my pocket — and was about to hit send — when Kiano looked at me. He slightly shook his head. I knew instantly he was telling me to wait on calling Petar.

  The men encircled, their drifting gazes moving up and down our bodies. The first man stepped forward and scoffed, in English, “Fine. Go home. We don’t need trouble tonight anyway.”

  I let out breath I didn’t know I had been holding and scurried behind Kiano and Mama Bu to race home. We reached the house breathless and filled with relief.

  Mama Bu quickly opened the door and ushered Kiano to the biggest couch. He gently laid the little boy down. The medicine he had been given at the hospital had knocked him out completely.

  “I’ll sleep on the other couch,” I said quickly, wanting to make sure Kevin was okay. “You know, in case he wakes up and needs someone.”

  “You can if you would like, Nicky,” Mama Bu said gently, “But I do not think it will matter. Kevin’s pretty sleepy from the anti-infection medication he is taking. He will not wake up before morning.”

  “Well, if it’s all the same, I’d like to sleep out here. Just in case. I have to give Kevin his meds at 2 A.M. anyway.”

  “Up to you, rafiki. I will be in my room in case you need me. Just holler and I will come.”

  “Good night, Mama Bu. Thanks for all of your help today, and for coming with me to the orphanage and the hospital. I would have been pretty scared without you and Kiano there.” I smiled appreciatively at my host mother.

  “You would have been dead, that is what you would have been. Tonight was an exception, because of Kevin, and how sick he is. But we cannot go out after dark — ever again. We had a close call tonight. To be honest, I did not know which way it was going to go, and all I could think of was poor Lucy and Chege. We were very, very lucky.”

  I nodded my head, agreeing. I wanted to be out after dark in Africa about as much as Mama Bu did.

  I set my cell phone alarm to go off at 2 A.M., and settled into the uncomfortable couch I had taken opposite of Kevin. I could hear the little boy breathing evenly and I took comfort in his ease. I tried to find my own sleep but lost the battle with insomnia. I lay wide-eyed on the couch, staring into the darkness, trying to erase the recent memories of the day and fighting the urge to talk to the one person I knew would make me feel better.

  Eric.

  Since the day we had emailed back and forth, I hadn’t communicated with him. He had sent me emails almost every day since then, and I had read all of them but hadn’t replied. They were all light and low-key, and I knew Eric couldn’t bring up what we had been through — he actually didn’t have it in him to discuss it. And that continued cavalier attitude irritated me; it was exactly what had driven a wedge the size of the Grand Canyon between us before I left for Africa.

  Then he sent a few more emails, asking more directly if we could talk. When I still didn’t respond, he sent shorter, more clear emails, saying that he had something to tell me and really wanted to talk. He had even left me a few voice mails on my cell phone; I could only guess it was Maggie who gave him my number — or maybe even my parents, if they had actually gotten together. My momentary lapse in wanting to know the details of their conversation had been forcibly pushed behind me and I had never asked my parents about it, nor had they offered to discuss it.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to talk to Eric. I considered it, and the temptation to talk to him was intense, but the fear of pain was stronger. I couldn’t get hurt again. We no longer worked and talking to Eric would just make it harder. So I simply responded by not responding. I wasn’t going to trace my steps back down a path I had fought so hard to exit. And that was that.

  25

  Just before 5 A.M. the next day, I heard buzzing. Continued buzzing that wouldn’t stop. Confused, I turned over on the couch; sleep had finally found me and I wasn’t ready to give it up.

  The buzzing persisted and I was finally coherent enough to realize it was my cell phone.

  “Nicky? It real bad here. Jebet real drunk, and she waking up all the children to start chores, even though rise time ain’t for a long bit. She yellin’ and screamin’ and swearin’ at the kids.”

  I could barely hear Johanna’s whispers. “Jebet bin’ real mean. The kids all cryin’ and askin’ for you. And she hittin’ some of ’em real bad — ’specially the ones who won’t stop cryin’. Ita bleeding from his lip, and she just kicked Esther down the stairs, when she don’t move fast enough ’cause she crying too hard.”

  “Oh, shit. Oh no!”

  “And Gracie just peed her pants again ’cause she so scared. I worried about what Jebet do to her, but I got her changed and into new clothes ’fore Jebet saw. I think she too drunk to know
Gracie did it anyway. I hid Gracie’s wet clothes behind a bed. Hopefully Jebet not find them.”

  “That’s good, Johanna. We can clean them later.”

  “Jebet keep saying she mad that she can’t keep her orphans in check. Say she goin’ prove that she got control of the kids.”

  “Are Ita and Esther okay?”

  “They seem good. Esther limpin’, but helpin’ with the chores. Ita’s cut startin’ to stop bleeding, I think.”

  “Were any other children hurt?”

  “Nuh-uh. No.”

  “Okay, good. Johanna, where are you now?”

  “I in the pantry, hiding with Gracie.” Johanna stopped talking and I could hear the whimpers coming from the little girl beside her.

  “Does Jebet know you called me?”

  “No, Nicky. I in real trouble if she find out.”

  “And where is Jebet now?”

  “She passed out on her bed. Layin’ face down in clothes. She real drunk.”

  “If Jebet’s that drunk, she won’t bug you now. I think it will be safe for you to leave the pantry. Can you make sure Ita and Esther are really okay? The sun will rise any minute, and I will run there as fast as I can once it does. I’ll make up a reason for why I am there so early. Jebet won’t know you called me.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Johanna? How is Rhoda?”

  “She seem to be okay. She hobblin’ ’round here, but her fever gone.”

  “Good. You go watch over the kids, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell them to stop cleaning and working — they can play or rest or go back to bed.”

  We said goodbye. I lightly tapped on Mama Bu’s door. She greeted me quickly in a floor-length mint-coloured nightgown. It was the first time I had seen her in anything other than her clothes.

  I filled her in on what was going on. She quickly dressed and we waited anxiously for the sun to rise. After the previous night’s close call, I knew not to push it for the sake of ten minutes.

  Mama Bu changed the dressing on Kevin’s leg and I gave him a dose of medicine. Kevin was less groggy than he had been the night before, but quickly turned over and went back to sleep as soon as we finished taking care of him. I had no doubt the safety he felt — for the first time in a long time — was helping to lull him into the deep slumber.

  When dawn hit, Mama Bu and I ran to the orphanage, sprinting like we were competing for gold in the hundred-metre dash. When we got there, sleepy children were everywhere, scrubbing floors, fluffing couches and dusting furniture. It looked like something out of the movie Annie, and I knew our own version of Miss Hannigan was passed out drunk upstairs. It was a hard knock life, indeed.

  “Johanna? I thought the kids were going to stop working?”

  “I try. But they scared that Jebet come back downstairs. Don’t want to get hit again.”

  I called all of the children together and told them they could stop the chores they were doing. I declared it to be a games morning and said they could play board games in the common room or go outside and play. If any of them were tired, they could go back to bed.

  While the children ran in every direction, Mama Bu inspected the kids who had been hurt. Ita’s lip had stopped bleeding but had started to puff up like a pink marshmallow. Mama Bu asked Johanna to bring her a cloth as cold as she could make it. She gently held it to Ita’s mouth.

  I asked Ita if he had been hurt anywhere else and he pointed to his back. I gently lifted up his shirt and saw two welts forming, the exact shape of the stick Jebet carried around, as though it was her prized possession. I shuddered and looked away, blinking back tears.

  Johanna got another cloth and Mama Bu held it to Ita’s back, hoping it would make him feel better. But all he wanted to do was bury himself in my lap. I sat on the ground, holding him for as long as he needed me to, softly singing in his ear. When I had made it through all of the nursery songs I knew — twice — I moved to Christmas carols. It didn’t matter what songs they were, he just needed to feel love.

  Mama Bu asked Esther to walk towards her and watched to see how well she could walk. Esther had twisted her ankle when Jebet pushed her down the stairs, but seemed to be okay, short of a small limp. I suspected she would be better by lunchtime.

  After Ita was okay to go and play, I did my rounds, playing with each child to inspect for any signs of injury. Mama Bu went upstairs to check on Jebet, and then we both joined Johanna in the kitchen to make the kids breakfast.

  “Jebet is out cold,” Mama Bu said. “I suspect she will be like that for hours. Which is a good thing. It will give us time to plan. We need a plan. She has to get out of here.”

  “What do you think we should do?” I asked her, stirring the ugali, a porridgelike, sticky breakfast made from maize flour. Cheap to buy, yes, but the ugali offered no nutritional value for the kids.

  “I do not know, yet, Nicky. I do not know.”

  “This might seem a bit obvious, but can we just ask Jebet to go? Point out all that has happened lately and delicately suggest she needs to hand over the director reins to someone else?”

  “I tried that already a couple of months ago, after you told me about what happened to Gracie. I told Jebet she cannot do this any longer. I asked her to leave. I even told her that she could live with me. She did not respond well. She got very angry and told me to mind my business. She kept saying she was fine and that no one was going to take the orphanage from her too. That she has lost too much and losing the orphanage would kill her.”

  “I see. Well, is there someone we could call then? Are there authorities that deal with this kind of thing? Social workers? The police? Anyone?”

  “It does not work that way, rafiki. You know the police are corrupt. All they care about is who will pay them the most. Whoever that is. All Jebet has to do is slip them a few bucks, and they will go away.”

  “What about social workers? The government?”

  Johanna stayed silent and tried to take over my role of stirring the ugali. I waved her away. Told her to sit and rest.

  Mama Bu continued, “We’ve got social workers and child officers, but most of them are just as bad. The same thing will happen: people will offer money to keep them quiet and not shut their place down. So the social workers are not used to fixing the problems in orphanages, they are just in search of money. To be honest, I doubt the social workers would do anything at all.”

  “Surely it can’t be that bad. Can it?” I asked.

  “Our cycle of poverty is bad, rafiki. People do what they need to get money and put food on their own tables. It is just the way it is around here.”

  “Okay, well, does Jebet own this building?”

  Mama Bu shook her head. “No, there is a landlord who owns it, but I have no idea who he is or where to find him.”

  “What about friends? Past volunteers? Anyone who might be able to help us?”

  “I have email addresses of some of the past volunteers. I could contact them to see if they know anything. Or have any ideas how to help.”

  “That would be great, Mama Bu, but I don’t think that will be fast enough. We have to get Jebet out of here right away.”

  “Now I think of it, there a big man who been comin’ round here few times lately,” Johanna said, interrupting us. “He always ask to see Jebet. Most times she tell me to pretend she not here. She tell me to say she out, when really she just upstairs in her bedroom.”

  “Do you know his name? Or know who he is?” I asked her. Finally, I felt we were making progress.

  Johanna shook her head, discouraged. “Jebet no tell me anything. She keep real quiet about him. Not sure where to get him. Or who he is.”

  “I think volunteers might be our best option,” said Mama Bu. “Maybe they know who the landlord is? I can email the ones that stayed with me and ask Barika to do the same. Two of them stay
ed with her. And they were the most recent volunteers. I will ask her if she still talks to them and if she knows where they are. Maybe that will help?”

  “It’s worth a try,” I responded, trying to be hopeful, but more than anything, I felt discouraged.

  “Perhaps both of you could feed the children breakfast and I will run to Barika’s house to see what I can find out? I need to get back to my house anyway to check on Kevin. Petar will be getting up soon and leaving for school, so I will need to figure out what to do with our boy.” Mama Bu finished laying out all of the kids’ plates. “I will be back as soon as I can. Jebet will not wake up anytime soon, so you will be alright. I will send the kids in for breakfast on my way out.”

  Moments later, the children came running in the kitchen, now laughing, and picked up their plates of ugali. Johanna offered me a plate, but I turned her down, telling her to save it for the kids. Even a little bit went a long way for such hungry children. Johanna offered to do the same, but I quickly scolded her, reminding her that she was pregnant and had her own child to feed. She gratefully took the plate I held out for her and we joined the kids in the common room.

  I sat on the couch and watched the kids as they ate. I had Gracie on my lap, hugging her tight as she inhaled the slop. The others finished theirs just as quickly, looking like they were still hungry and wanting more, but knowing there was none to come.

  I was about to tell the kids that it was time to start school when I realized it was still only 6:30 A.M. I had arrived at the orphanage so early that I was completely messed up on the time. Instead, we played games.

  I was sitting on the floor playing our made-up version of Sorry with Nadia when Johanna pointed over my shoulder. She was looking through the window directly behind my head. “There he is! The man! The big man I was tellin’ you and Bu ’bout. He walkin’ up the grass. Look, Nicky, look!”

  I turned and watched as a man about six feet tall walked towards the porch. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt and red tie. He gently knocked on the door.