After a few days Karanja said: “This is a bad place; we have to buy our own food and cook it ourselves; and what sort of a life is that? Besides, we have not yet come to the farthest point to which one can travel, where the road ends. Let us leave Eldoret, and see how far the road takes us.”
Their plans were overheard, and when they were standing outside an Indian shop debating whether they could afford a smart felt hat, a man came up to them and said :
“I hear that you wish to go to the farthest point to which one can travel by road, beyond which there is nothing. It so happens that I am going to that place to-morrow in a large motorcar, and I can take you if you would like to come.”
Karanja and Karioki stared at the man with suspicion. He was a Kikuyu, but they did not like his looks. He wore smart European clothes, but he was fat and he wore a fringe of hair on his upper lip. They noticed with interest that his ear-lobes had been cut and sealed up so that they contained no holes for ornaments.
A man who was examining a blanket looked up and laughed.
“Do not listen to him,” he remarked to Karanja. “Do you not know that beyond this country there is another one called Uganda? He is trying to cheat you, knowing that you are ignorant youths.”
“Ho, so here is a schoolmaster talking,” the well-dressed man exclaimed angrily. “Ask him to tell you about Uganda, and about Europe, where no doubt he has been—he, a man dressed in a blanket, who does not even wear proper clothes! As for me, I know nothing—I, Robinson, who have been six times to Uganda and am a Christian, an educated man, and have a house in Nairobi!”
Karanja was half impressed, half sceptical, and began to turn away.
“If you do not believe me, I can prove to you that I am a Christian,” Robinson said. “I carry this sign that I am a follower of the European God; if an enemy comes to strike me and touches this, he will instantly fall down dead.”
Robinson pulled out of his shirt a small shining charm in the form of a metal cross suspended around his neck. Karanja gazed at it with interest, and, in spite of himself, with awe. It must indeed be a powerful charm, he thought, even a smith’s bangle did not kill at touch. “How much does it cost to get to this place that you speak of, to the end of the road?” Karioki asked.
Robinson waved his hand. “I am a rich man, and do not take money from those I call my friends,” he said. “Since, however, it is a long way, and food is expensive there, I will make a small charge; one shilling for each man to go, and one to return.”
“That is a very big charge,” Karanja said. “But perhaps we will pay it, if you are quite certain that we shall return in safety.”
At noon next day they kept their appointment with Robinson at the Indian shop, and started out perched on top of a load of sacks and cases. There were half a dozen others with them, but they were thick-set, thick-lipped men from Kavirondo who understood few Swahili words. A little before sunset they stopped near a big house belonging to a European. Robinson said that everyone must sleep the night there and that he would arrange it; and he asked Karanja and Karioki for their shillings. They paid up, although unwillingly. He led them up to the European’s house, saying that the servants would find them beds. An overseer came out and gave Robinson eight shillings. Robinson walked away towards the lorry, and Karanja never saw him again.
When the overseer asked for their kipandis, Karanja and Karioki realised that a terrible mistake had been made. They refused to produce them and an angry dispute followed. The European was sent for, and he said that they must stay on his farm and work.
“But we do not want to work for you,” Karioki said. He was shaking all over with rage.
“What sort of a fool are you?” the European shouted. Neither Karanja nor Karioki liked him; he blustered, and had the manners of a baboon. “Why, then, did you come here with Robinson, whom I sent to Eldoret to fetch men who were willing to work for me?”
“Robinson said nothing to us of work,” Karioki answered.
“We paid him two shillings each to take us to Uganda. Give us our shillings back, and we will go.”
“You lie, you stupid fools,” the European said. “Here men are beaten when they tell lies. Give me your kipandis at once. You came here to work; enough, you shall work; and if you run away I shall have you brought back and beaten.”
Karioki wanted to refuse his kipandi, but Karanja said: “It is no use, we must do as he says; we were cheated by Robinson, who has sold us to this man.” He handed over his kipandi and Karioki sulkily followed suit, muttering to himself. Coming in search of dances, they had found only work.
4
THE name of the European was a Kikuyu word meaning pig’s meat. He was abusive and ill-natured, and his overseer was another like him. People were afraid of his temper and of his great strength; even his wife was frightened of him, his house-servants said. Still, he paid good wages, and twice a week he shot a wild animal whose flesh the men from Kavirondo ate with great relish. But if a man’s work did not satisfy the overseer he received no payment at all for that day’s labour. Most of the people on the shamba were Waluo—coarse, ill-behaved meat-eaters, Karanja thought—and they were too stupid to complain. But the arrangement did not suit Karanja and Karioki, who had no wish to work at all, much less to toil in the fields all day for a European they despised. The overseer disliked and bullied them, for they were not of his race.
They had come in the season of rain, and were set to work digging large holes and then carrying small trees from beds near a river and planting them in straight lines. When it started to rain Karanja and Karioki ran for shelter and sat down in a grass-roofed shed to keep dry; but the overseer came and ordered them out with angry words. Karanja obeyed, for he was frightened of the overseer; but Karioki lost his temper and went back to the sleeping-hut. The next day Pig’s Meat told him that he would lose ten days’ pay. Karioki glared, but said nothing; in any case he had resolved to run away.
“I think we must go to Nairobi and become Christians,” he said that evening. “Then perhaps we should know what to say to these Europeans. This Pig’s Meat treats us like hyenas, and abuses us as if we were birds eating his crops. Do the fathers of Europeans teach them no manners?”
“They are not all like Pig’s Meat,” Karanja said. “Marafu does not abuse us often and he never makes us stay out in the rain.”
“Marafu is all right,” Karioki agreed, “but why should we work for him at all ? Why cannot we be rich as he is, and travel everywhere in a motor-car, and hire women to do the hard work?”
“How could a black man acquire so much wealth?” Karanja said. “In any case, it is easier to become rich by making friends with the Europeans, like my uncle Muthengi, than by becoming their enemy. They are too powerful to be successfully opposed.”
“I shall go to a mission to learn how to speak to them,” Karioki said.
“You must wait until Pig’s Meat writes on your kipandi that you are no longer his,” Karanja warned, “or you will be captured by police.”
5
AFTER a month Karioki heard that Pig’s Meat had dismissed the man who looked after his horses. Since Karioki had once performed this work for Marafu, and since it seldom involved going out into the rain, he asked to be transferred to the stables; and this was arranged. He was given a boy to sweep out the stables, carry water and clean the harness, so that he himself did not have too much to do. He fed the two horses and gave them water and every afternoon he led out the mare, who would foal shortly, for a walk.
He was able to spend much of the day in the warmth and shelter of the kitchen gossiping with the cook, a Swahili of wide education and, moreover, a Christian with a powerful charm like Robinson’s. Karioki asked many questions about Christians, but did not get very clear replies. The cook said that there was only one God who lived in the sky, and that those who refused to admit this would burn forever after death, together with all Christians of the wrong kind. He himself, he said, was a Catholic, which was the rig
ht kind; the others were called C.M.S., and were very wicked. He added that all people, rich and poor, white and black, men and women, were equally important in God’s eyes; but that God actually preferred poor men to those who were rich. “Then how is it,” Karioki asked, “if God likes poor men better than rich (which surely cannot be true) that the Europeans are all so rich ? If they wish to please God, should they not become poor?”
The cook laughed and said: “What God believes is one thing; what the Europeans believe themselves is another. Men do not, after all, behave in the same way as gods.”
“It seems to me a foolish way to behave in any case,” Karanja said. “If I went to my clan’s ridge, should I be treated with the same respect as a son of my uncle Muthengi ? Of course I should not, for his father is rich and important and mine is moderately poor. Because God loves the Europeans he has given them much wealth; it is best to become rich as quickly as possible, therefore, and so please God.”
“And also buy a bicycle,” Karioki said. “I should like to have a bicycle more than anything else that I have seen.”
6
THE cook’s wives made excellent beer, and parties were often held at night on Pig’s Meat’s farm. One day the Europeans went away in their car before noon, saying that they would not return until late at night, and the cook invited Karioki to a beer-drink. The boy who assisted Karioki said that he would stay with the horses all day; so Karioki left him in charge.
All through the afternoon warm beer, made from jaggoree, was passed from hand to hand in mugs, and many excellent jokes and stories were told. Karioki found that, contrary to custom in his own country, girls and married women were allowed to join the circle. He found also a young girl dressed like a Swahili who did not appear to despise him as an uncouth rustic among smarter and more sophisticated young men. She wore a printed cotton robe and her hair was parted, combed and dressed like a youth’s. The beer greased his tongue so that his boasting speech flowed as easily as water over stones; and in the evening, when no one remained sober, he found that she was willing enough to go with him into the intimate darkness of a hut. He did not return to join the drinkers, but fell into a heavy sleep on his host’s European bed.
He awoke next morning feeling as though his skull had been cracked in several places and stuffed with wood shavings. Groaning heavily, he dragged himself out of the hut and walked to Pig’s Meat’s stables to start his day’s work. He was late, for the sun was hand-high over the horizon and most of the dew was off the grass; but he hoped that the boy would have fed the horses.
When he arrived he saw at once that something was wrong. The door of the mare’s stable was open and several people were standing round it. Karioki hurried up, but when he looked inside he turned to run away. Pig’s Meat was standing over a dead foal that lay on the ground; and the mare was very sick.
It was too late to escape. Pig’s Meat saw him, but instead of shouting he said quietly to a Jaluo who was near: “Seize that man and take him to the house.” Karioki felt his arms gripped from behind and all his protests were in vain.
So, too, were his excuses, when Pig’s Meat had finished attending to the mare. The European’s voice was high and rattled in his ears. Karioki learnt that the boy had failed him; the mare had received no food or water after her morning meal, and in the night, with no one to attend her, she had slipped her foal. He blamed the boy, the cook, a sudden sickness; it was no good. Pig’s Meat ordered him to be thrown to the ground and his legs and arms held; and then the overseer, taking a whip of hippopotamus hide, beat him until his back was bleeding and his strength exhausted by his struggles and by the pain.
When it was over he retreated to his hut and lay there, without moving, all day. Karanja returned from work in the afternoon to wash the wounds and offer Karioki food. But his friend would not eat anything, nor would he speak. He lay in silence on his bed, wrapped in hatred and resentment as a bean is encased in its pod.
Next morning he woke Karanja before dawn.
“Hurry after me,” he whispered, “and take your blanket; we are leaving this place of evil at once.”
Karanja sat up and rubbed his head in the darkness. “It is impossible,” he whispered back. “Pig’s Meat’s name is written on our kipandis; we shall be sent back to him to work until the thirty days are finished.”
“We will burn these kipandis, fool, and get new ones,” Karioki answered. “Do you think I will work here another day ? I am going to find a poisoner and pay him to destroy that hyena. I leave now—for Nairobi. Come, if you wish to. If not, I go alone.”
Karanja could say no more; nor could he desert his kinsman. He slipped on his clothes and stole out of the hut with his blankets over his arm. The dawn was pale as ashes above a ridge of black hills, and the wet grass underfoot was cold as the scales of a snake. Both youths shivered when the sharp air drenched their lungs.
“Which is the road to Nairobi?” Karanja asked. His low voice hung like a hovering bird on the still windless air.
“How do I know?” Karioki answered. “But fear not, we shall find it without fail.”
7
THEY travelled first on foot, then in an Indian’s truck, finally by train; and at last, after many days, they reached Nairobi.
When they emerged from the vast house into which, to Karanja’s great surprise, the train itself went, a long road stretched away before them covered with many people, and more motor-cars than they had thought existed in the world. Before them was as strange a sight as they had ever seen : a small wagon with large wheels drawn by a man, who stood quietly like a horse between the shafts.
“See, here are men like oxen, who pull wagons!” Karanja exclaimed, staring round-eyed with amazement. He watched while a European woman climbed into the cart and two men, one pulling and one pushing from behind, ran off with the woman high above them in the air.
“Where are they taking her?” he asked, amazed. “Surely they are Wakikuyu like ourselves !”
“It is indeed remarkable,” Karioki agreed. “Surely all the people and all the motor-cars in the world are in Nairobi.”
Karanja had never known that so many rich people could exist. Everyone wore very expensive clothes; many even had shoes like Europeans, and white hats. He saw innumerable bicycles, and Kikuyus like himself driving cars. His spirit swelled with excitement and hope. He, too, would become rich like all these men, and drive a car. He wanted immediately a pair of trousers and a white hat.
When they had walked for some time up and down the streets of shops, where goods could be seen yet not touched and everything looked very clean, Karanja said :
“Have the people in Nairobi no stomachs, then? We have walked a long time and seen many shops, but they sell no Kikuyu food ! Truly it is a remarkable thing.”
It was a long time before they could find a place to eat. They came at last to a crowded, dusty section of the town where no Indians or Europeans were to be seen. For the first time Karanja sat like a European on a wooden bench and ate rice mixed with meat and a rich gravy with his fingers, and drank tea. It was a strange experience. The owner of the eating-house told them of a place where they might go to sleep. He sent a small boy to show them the way. The house was kept, he said, by one of his sisters; it was called a hotel. Here they would be comfortable, and would pay less money than was necessary elsewhere.
“Money?” Karanja repeated, by now a little dazed. “What money is there to pay? ”
The owner of the eating-house laughed. “You must indeed come from a long way off if you think that you can find a bed without payment, unless of course you go to the house of a kinsman. Have you friends here in Nairobi?”
“No,” Karanja said.
“Then you must pay for your bed.”
“But such a thing is unheard of!” Karanja exclaimed. “Who has ever paid anything for a night’s shelter? What sort of behaviour is that ? Wherever a man finds himself at night, if he travels in peace, there he is given food and shelter. Everywh
ere that is the custom.”
“Not in Nairobi,” the proprietor said.
“Tell me where I can find young men of my age-grade, the Gechande,” Karanja persisted. “They cannot fail to give us hospitality.”
The proprietor had grown impatient, for other customers needed attention. “Very well, go and seek them,” he said; “but do not return to ask me for a bed. My sister’s house is quickly filled, and there is no room for fools.”
Karanja and Karioki left, offended and not a little disturbed.
“I can see that Nairobi is very different from other places,” Karioki observed. “All men here are rich and know how to behave just like Europeans. And I have seen many women dressed in cotton, not in skins, with hair growing on their heads like men. I think Nairobi is a good place; I am glad I came.”
Karanja, however, counted over his money, wondering what he would do when it came to an end.
8
THEY were disappointed in the house of the proprietor’s sister. It was a small, square mud cabin with a beaten earth floor, roofed by flat-beaten petrol tins, and not so well-swept as an ordinary hut. Bedsteads covered with old blankets crowded the walls, and everything was dirty. The blankets were full of lice and the air was heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies and stale food. All around were other huts of the same kind, without cultivation, standing as close together as forest trees.
“And for this we must pay money,” Karanja grumbled. “Where do we cook our food?”
“Do you not see the charcoal brazier on the floor?” the owner answered crossly. She was fat, and wore a printed cotton dress like a European. It was too tight for her, and her bulging breasts and body pushed their way out of several splits. When she moved she quivered all over. Although she was a Kikuyu she had grown her hair and parted it into many curly squares, like a Swahili. Karanja was shocked and ashamed to see a woman so immodestly dressed. She spoke brazenly to men and did not turn her eyes away in respect. “If you complain of this house, go elsewhere,” she added rudely. “You are lucky that there is room for you. Now give me your money; it is thirty cents each.”
Red Strangers Page 32