The Women of Jacob’s Mountain Boxed Set

by Hining, Deborah;

  “I’ll think about it,” she began, but before the words were out of her mouth, a thought flashed into her head: Prepare yourself to go.

  Sally Beth sat quietly, stunned, and then heard other thoughts welling up inside her mind. It would be fun to go and do something nice for somebody. Just go and surprise somebody who really needs help. That seems like the most fun thing in the world to do…

  Mama was gone. The house was in good shape. Lilly was going to start classes, and she really didn’t need Sally Beth to mother her anymore, as much as she might want to. There were some things she would have to iron out—but they had a new person just starting at the salon, and… She took a breath and began again, “Well, Dr. Sams, if I go, I’m not so sure I would have a job when I got back, but I’ll talk to my boss and see if I could take a leave of absence.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to learn so much on this trip to Tanzania that you may not want to be a hairstylist when you get back. There’s more to you than meets the eye, Sally Beth, and maybe it’s time you found that out for yourself. I need to find somebody to fill this role right now, tonight, even. I can give you until tomorrow morning to think it over, I guess, but it’s already almost too late to get you a passport and visa. Fortunately, I know some people at the Tanzanian consulate, and we can drive over to DC and get it all done in a couple of days. I know it’s sudden, but something tells me this is what you need to do. And we need you.”

  Prepare yourself to go. Just go and surprise somebody who really needs help. That seems like the most fun thing in the world to do.

  She sat up straighter, filled with a power that welled up to push the words out of her mouth. “No, I don’t need to think it over, Dr. Sams. I’ll go.”

  Part Two

  The Hymns of Graceland

  Eleven

  September 4, 1978, Kyaka, Tanzania

  Sally Beth woke to the sound of a rooster crowing. As she rose from the depths of unconsciousness, she thought she was talking to her mother. I thought you got rid of Doolittle. Oh, I did, but he keeps popping back up. We’ll have to put him in the freezer, I guess.

  That didn’t make sense. She rolled over, fighting her way through wispy shreds of visions. The bed creaked, and new smells wafted into her dreams, dissipating them like water vapor under a scorching sun. Doolittle crowed again, a raw, raucous screech that jerked her, floundering, into a bright, scented, noisy morning. A cracked concrete ceiling swam above her in the shimmering light; an unfriendly, narrow expanse of canvas embraced her from below. This was not her own bed with the glorious pink sheets from the outlet mall in DC, but a slender cot, made up with scratchy sheets in a small, concrete room that smelled faintly of disinfectant. A stunningly bright shaft of sunlight streamed through the window, reminding her that she was halfway around the world from her pink room, her pink sheets.

  The rooster crowed a third time, prompting her to fling back the covers. Dirty and sweaty, she was wearing panties and the limp shirt she had traveled in. Her pink princess cowboy hat lay on top of jeans, a bra, and her jeweled sandals resting on the floor. When they had arrived in the middle of the night after a day and a half of flying and waiting in airports, she had been so exhausted she had crawled gratefully into the narrow cot without even brushing her teeth or washing her face for the first time she could remember.

  A makeshift screen stood in the corner of the room, concealing a toilet and a sink with a small mirror above it. Making her way across the cool, cracked floor, she gazed into the mirror, but she could not see much in the murky reflection. Just as well. She could imagine how bad she must look. A quick search through the luggage piled on the floor yielded toothpaste and personal grooming items, and pulling a chair over to the sink, she placed her toiletries there and went to work.

  After she felt a little cleaner, she pinned her hair up into a modest bun, put on a fresh dress, and stepped out into the most glorious sunshine she had ever seen. She imagined she was walking inside a diamond.

  The light amplified and enriched the color of everything she saw, from the vibrant red dirt at her feet to the towering celadon trees over her head. The sky above was a pale azure, while the colors of the land were deeply saturated, steeped in light and life. She was standing at the edge of a garden that sang to both her eyes and her ears: green, gold, red, and countless other hues lay carelessly flung on bushes, on trees, on the ground, on slender stalks and fat ones. Monkeys and frenzied birds laughed and frolicked in the huge trees. She had never seen such an extravagance of color, light, noise, and life. The place sang of innocent sensuality, as if the Serpent had never entered Eden and shamed it into modesty.

  Beyond the garden lay a large, flat lawn that surrounded a stone church more than two hundred feet away; the bell tower rose like a sentinel into the soft blue air. To her left and right stood a cluster of buildings linked together in a continuous arc, and where the buildings ended, a stone wall with an iron gate beyond the church completed an irregular circle.

  The buildings beside and behind her were utilitarian, concrete structures that looked as if they had been hastily thrown up decades ago and had aged poorly, the blocks chipped and roughed-up, the windows cracked and leaning. The plain, hard surfaces were softened, though, by all manner of vegetation: bushes and spires of flowers, blooming vines surging upward in pulsating tints, growing over the roofs and even into the cracks in the windows. Next to one of the buildings stood a young man with red hair and skin the color and texture of badly-tanned leather. When he saw her, he waved as he called out to her.

  “Hello! You’re Sally Beth, right?” His voice carried a relaxed, friendly American accent that sounded like home. “We met last night, but you were so tired I think you were past caring. I’m Red.” He laughed. “For obvious reasons. Red Thompson.

  “They’re still serving breakfast, so I’ll walk you over to the dining hall. Your group is still there—at least, they were just a minute ago when I left them. Come on.” He led her through a maze of more old, tired concrete structures to a large building that exuded breakfast smells and noises.

  Suddenly ravenous, Sally Beth hurried forward, but between herself and the door of the building stood a knot of women, the most colorful people she had ever seen. Some were very black, blacker than she could imagine people could be, like the purple-black tail feathers of Doolittle, the Marans rooster of her dream. Others were lighter, the color of milk chocolate, but all of them were beautiful in their own way, dressed in wildly colorful clothing, glowing with health, with dazzling white teeth and shiny skin. Some of them were slim and tall, sporting completely bald, perfectly shaped heads, balanced on long, graceful necks. Others wore bright headscarves and lengths of cloths wrapped around lush bodies. Sally Beth blinked, taken aback by their openness, then suddenly she found herself surrounded by at least a dozen of these stunning, shining women, smelling of warm woman-flesh and spice.

  Red halted, touching Sally Beth’s arm. The women were staring at her. Some were laughing openly, others hid their smiles behind their hands, but all had friendly, bright, inquisitive eyes, and some seemed to want to reach out to her. They all murmured in musical voices. “They are fascinated with you, Sally Beth. They rarely see fair-skinned people. When I first got here, I could tell they were dying to touch me, but they didn’t because I’m a man. But they want to feel your hair. Would you mind? They mean you no harm. They think you’re beautiful.”

  Sally Beth hesitated, but only for a moment. These women looked so beautiful, of body and of spirit, she was not wary of them. She smiled, nodding, and reached up to pull the pins from her bun, then, as the hair was freed, shook her head and let it flow out toward the women.

  They rushed to her, hands outstretched, stroking and petting her, exclaiming over the texture and color of her pale hair. They rubbed it between their fingers and then brought it to their faces to stroke along their cheeks. “Beautiful!” they cried. “So soft, so fine! So pale, like silk, like the moon! Like the moonflower!”
Some brought it to their noses and sniffed the floral scent of Sally Beth’s shampoo, and then they exclaimed more. Sally Beth reached out likewise, running her fingers along the smooth, supple skin on their arms and faces. Suddenly, they all began to laugh, and Sally Beth felt the happiness welling up in her chest like a flower blooming. There was nothing here that she had ever seen before. It was nothing like home, but somehow, she felt as welcomed as if it were.

  It took her a week to get used to the light, and even then, she was astonished by it every day the minute she stepped out of her room. It came quickly into the mornings, splitting open the cold, indigo nights, blooming upon the land with a suddenness that never ceased to surprise her. At home, in her mountains, the light came creeping in softly, at first barely perceptible, and then gradually turning the air into a soft, watercolor dawn before it stretched up, tiptoeing over the tops of the trees and the mountaintops until the day sparkled through prisms of dew or ice. At home, the light flirted demurely, playing with shadow and wind; here it rained down uninhibited joy, unfettered and free.

  Thank You, Lord, for bringing me to this. I have been living in a watercolor world, not even imagining that this kind of color existed.

  In the beginning, her job was undemanding. All she had to do was check in patients as they came to the medical clinic, taking their names and performing basic triage. Most of the people spoke a musical, highly formal-sounding English; those who did not were sent to Falla, a small, black-skinned woman, delicate as a bird, who wore floating, colorful dresses and bright scarves on her head. It seemed that Falla’s primary task was to lend serenity and grace to the aura of the waiting area, although she also made tea and translated, for she spoke several languages. Sally Beth fell under her calming spell the moment she came into the room each morning, sensing that everyone who received one of her smiles immediately felt better, no matter how bad their condition. Falla’s face was the first of the healing anyone received at the clinic.

  Before a few days had passed, Sally Beth began to soak up knowledge that floated among the medical personnel: how to give injections, how to irrigate eyes and wounds, to palpate for broken bones and sprains, when to merely clean and bandage a wound by herself and when to bring it to the attention of one of the doctors or nurses.

  She became used to the privations and general poverty of the area, the scarcity of clean—and especially hot—water, the intermittent hours of electricity, and the lack of anything soft or luxurious, but she never grew used to the unbridled joy of these African people she had come to serve. They brought their wounds and their illnesses like offerings, cheerfully submitting their pains and their bodies to the hands of the medical workers who touched and prodded them. Smiling, laughing easily, speaking in soft, musical murmurings, they made Sally Beth’s heart expand with what seemed like a never-ending flow of joy.

  Oh, Lord, I came here hoping to share Your love, and now I find it is heaped upon me. This must be what heaven looks like.

  September 9, 1978

  On her first day off, Sally Beth spent time getting to know the people who worked at the mission. The pastor of the church was Mr. Umbatu, a tall, slim young man who informed her that he was of the Haya people who had lived on this land for thousands of years. By his side was Lyla, a beautiful young woman, a little lighter skinned, dressed in a purple, blue, and yellow dress. Around Lyla’s head was an elaborately tied scarf, and she wore large gold earrings that hung halfway to her shoulders. Sally Beth found her elegant and glamorous.

  “I am happy to meet you, Sally Beth,” Lyla purred in a soft tenor. “My fiancé Pastor Umbatu is proud of his people, but I, too, am of a proud people. I am of the Sukuma.” She laughed as she looked up at Pastor Umbatu. “We are rivals from generations back, but our hearts are bound together, so we are like Romeo and Juliet!”

  September 16, 1978

  The second Saturday, Dr. Sams took her through the gates set in the stone wall surrounding the mission to the village and adjacent countryside. They walked down a road as red as poppies in the shimmering sunlight to the banks of a wide, muddy river.

  “This is the headwaters of the Nile, Sally Beth. Here it’s called the Kagera, but it flows into Lake Victoria, and it becomes the Nile when it leaves there. If you’ve seen the movie, The African Queen, some of it takes place on this river.”

  “I’ve seen the movie. I never dreamed I would see this. It’s wide to be a headwater.”

  “Yes, but it’s much wider at Cairo. And below there, it can be vast during the flood season. I’d love for you to see it.”

  They turned to walk back up the hill toward the village. “You look happy, Sally Beth. I knew you would thrive in this.”

  “It does beat doing hair all day long. I mean, I love making people beautiful, but it’s even better making them well. Being here is more than I ever thought it could be. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  He laughed. “Thank you for coming! It was very brave of you, actually. I understand this is only the second or third time you’ve been out of the mountains.”

  “Yes. I went to Washington, DC, on my senior trip in high school, and, well, you know I just went out West last month. Gosh, it seems like a year ago. I’ve done more traveling in the last month than my whole family has in generations.”

  “Well, I have a feeling that now you’ve stretched your wings, you’ll be flying off to all manner of new places.” He glanced ahead to the ramshackle village they had passed on their way to the river. “Here we are. This is Kyaka. It isn’t much, but soon I’ll take you down to Bukoba, which is much more impressive, and you can see Victoria Lake, although you won’t be seeing where the Nile comes out. That’s in Uganda, not a place we want to be going right now. It is a country in crisis, run by a despot, backed by an army of thugs. I’m sure you’ll be hearing more about that. Since we’re only about twenty miles from the border, we often get refugees from there coming to the clinic. They’re lucky to find a way out.” His face grew sad for a long moment before he brightened again.

  “But the lake is really beautiful. And in a month or so, we’ll shut down the clinic for four days so we can all go on safari. You’ll get to the see the Serengeti, and Kilimanjaro. You’ll get to do the whole African experience.” He laughed. “Well, not the whole thing. That would take years. Just a part of it.” He fell quiet again before adding almost shyly, “An extended stay after our three months stint here might be possible. I could show you more.”

  They spent an hour wandering around the village, where some of the people recognized Dr. Sams. Most were friendly and very curious about Sally Beth’s pale skin and hair underneath her cowboy hat, but they did not give her the same enthusiastic reception the women had given her at the mission on that first morning. A very few looked openly hostile.

  “Don’t mind them, Sally Beth. Some people here hate whites, for various reasons, some of them legitimate, some not. His voice dropped to a low, almost warning register. “They are not like us. They have their own way of doing things, their own line of thinking, and some are still resentful of the colonial government that was here until the early part of this century.” In a lighter tone, he added, “Well, the Christians are welcoming, especially the ones who have been living or working at the mission. As followers of Christ, we have something in common, and they are slow to take offense when we come off as arrogant or condescending.

  “But you’ll find that kind of thing anywhere—people who are suspicious of anything that is alien to them. Just keep to yourself when you’re off the compound and don’t be too friendly. They will come to you if they want to be social, and eventually they’ll come to accept you. Most of those who have been to the clinic appreciate what we do, although surprisingly few of them have been there because they can treat their own illnesses very well. The Sukuma especially have a very good knowledge of herbal medicine.” He nodded to a tall, thin, somber man wearing a burnt orange-red, tunic-like garb and carrying a spear. “Habari ya asubuhi, Mubabe?” />
  “Nzuri,” came the reply. The man gave a dignified nod before slipping away as silently as a shadow.

  He turned back to Sally Beth. “He is a Maasai warrior. There aren’t very many in this region. Most of them live over on the other side of the lake, but they are cattlemen, and there is good grazing here, so a few have migrated.”

  He continued to stroll along the dirt road, glancing at people as he passed them. “There are several distinct tribes here. They each have their own dialect, but most of them speak English.” Pausing to watch villagers set up shop in the dusty street, he added, “Remarkable people, and very self-sufficient. The ones who don’t know us or what we can do for them don’t really appreciate our ways, and some resist coming to us, unless they need us for something acute, like broken bones or infections that get away from them. And of course, we try to immunize the children. That’s been going on for several generations now, and we’ve pretty much wiped out the most serious illnesses that we can immunize against. Really serious things requiring surgery or long-term treatment, we take down to Bukoba or Ndolage. The hospitals there can handle most things. Do you want to look at anything in particular?”

  Sally Beth stopped at a stall to look at jewelry, but since she didn’t know if she was supposed to haggle or not, she merely smiled at the woman and turned to another stall displaying bolts of bright fabrics. “Dr. Sams, do they have sewing machines at the mission?” she asked him.

  “Yes, and please call me Jim when we’re off campus. There’s a pretty strict protocol here, and everyone likes more formal forms of address, but when we’re away from everyone, I’d like it if we could be friends.” He smiled at her, and she wondered what he meant by that. He was nice, but if she was going to be working for him, she thought she’d better keep things more formal. She nodded, but said nothing.