by Karen Rispin
Thomas stamped his foot, but got in. Tires spun, sending up a cloud of dust. Cheddy and I were left standing there as the wind blew the dust away.
"What was that about?" I said to Cheddy.
"Huh?" Cheddy said, staring after the car. He shook his head and looked at me like he was coming out of a trance. "It was really weird. Like, that was Thomas's mom and dad and his uncle. Anyway, Thomas seemed really nervous when they came up to school this morning. He wanted me to stay with him. So I did, OK? Then Thomas starts talking to his parents and his uncle about pleasing God. He said pleasing God is more important than pleasing men. He said Christians should serve the good of all people instead of grabbing power for the Kikuyu or something."
Cheddy turned and looked at me. "You know how Thomas is when he gets convinced about something? He acts like he's a tape recorder or something. After vacation he was against Muthoni's dad. Then he changed his mind. He kept talking about politics and serving others. I guess this was the first time he's had a chance to tell his family. I didn't get everything he said. His uncle sure didn't like it though. He completely blew up."
Cheddy looked back the way the car had gone and said in a shocked voice, "Thomas's uncle is making him leave Valley Christian Academy. He's making him pack up and go right now. He said he would no longer pay for Thomas to be here. He said that VCA was teaching Thomas to be rebellious. His dad and mom didn't say much. I don't know if they agree or not."
He looked back at me like he was seeing me for the first time. His soft brown hair fell over his forehead and into his blue eyes. He was so tan that his eyes looked even lighter than they were. "What did you say? Something about broad jump."
I nodded and said, "Yeah, they're waiting for you and Thomas right now for broad jump."
We both took off running for the broad jump pit.
The rest of the day went OK. I got fifth in high jump and our team won volleyball. Lisa even made it all the way up the rope in rope climbing. I couldn't believe it. We ate so much that I wasn't hungry for supper. It was a barbecue outside, so we went anyway. People were talking about Thomas leaving.
"What did Cheddy tell you about Thomas?" Kristi asked.
I said what Cheddy'd told me and then added,
"Remember the time Pastor Isaac talked about being servants and trusting God? Well, I think Thomas was trying to tell his uncle that same stuff. I mean, I saw that he went to talk to the pastor afterward that day. Pastor Isaac was saying the same stuff your dad says, right, Muthoni?"
She nodded, looking worried.
Joan cut in. Her voice sounded scared and excited. "You guys! I just realized something. Pastor Isaac hasn't preached since then. What if he's dead? What if they killed him for what he said?"
Muthoni looked very scared now. Lisa looked at Muthoni, then at Joan. Then she frowned and said, "That's stupid! I think you guys are just making this up. When Muthoni said she was in danger before, nothing bad happened. Just because Thomas gets in trouble with his uncle doesn't mean people are getting murdered. I think Pastor Isaac will be back making boring sermons tomorrow same as always. There were just guest speakers the last couple of Sundays. That's all."
Joan stuck her chin up in the air. "What if he isn't there?" she said.
Kristi frowned and said, "It's no use arguing now. Let's just wait and see if Pastor Isaac is in church tomorrow."
Sabrina didn't come back to the dorm that night until just before devotions. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. She sat through devotions by herself and went to bed without saying a word to anybody. Nobody said anything to her either. She was right in front of me when I went to brush my teeth. I wanted to say hi or something. She looked so miserable. Her shiny blonde hair was even dirty. Nothing would come out of my mouth. I watched her go out the door. I sighed. She would have probably just yelled at me anyway.
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Chapter Eight
Breakfast and Sunday school seemed to drag on and on even worse than usual. We have Sunday school in our regular classrooms. I watched the sun and shadow pattern on the grass outside the window. Joan and Kristi were whispering together.
"… think Pastor Isaac is dead!" I heard Joan say almost out loud.
"Shhh!" Kristi hissed.
My stomach felt weird. Finally Sunday school was over. The walk over to the church seemed twice as long as usual.
"Do you see him?" Amy said as soon as we sat down in church.
Muthoni shook her head, then stretched tall to look around better.
"I bet they murdered him!" Joan said in an excited whisper. "Can you believe it? We know an actual martyr."
I shivered. A martyr is someone who gets killed for obeying Jesus.
"Jo-oan!" Kristi said. "He'll probably walk right in and onto the platform in about two minutes."
When we stood up to sing the first hymns, Pastor Isaac still hadn't come in. I bit my lip. What if he really was dead? It never occurred to me that he might be gone for some other reason. One of the elders preached. As soon as the elder stood up to speak, Amy, who was sitting next to me, ducked her head. Her hands were over her face. I could see her back shaking.
I stared at her in surprise. She was crying. Amy hardly ever cries. After a second I whispered, "What's wrong?"
"Pastor Isaac… he's dead," she whispered. "I just know it. All his cute little kids…"
She kept on crying. Pretty soon Joan was crying, too. Muthoni sat there like a stone. Her face looked stiff.
Back at the dorm, everybody except Sabrina crowded into the other dorm room. People started talking about Pastor Isaac, then about oathing. Somebody said maybe it would be like the Mau Mau rebellion when hundreds of people were killed.
"My dad said tribalism is the worst trouble in Africa," Kristi said. "Even in South Africa, it's the different tribes that are killing each other."
Amy still caught her breath in little hiccups from crying. "When I was little we lived in Uganda," she said. "I had this friend. Well, there was sort of a war. We had to leave, but even before that her parents got killed. What if that starts happening here?" She started crying again. Suddenly Joan squealed, "Muthoni, your dad! What if they kill him? What if he's already dead like the pastor?" She started bawling again, too.
In a few minutes half the kids were crying. I stood there shifting from one foot to the other. I didn't cry, but my heart was hammering with fear. I didn't want to get killed. Muthoni wasn't crying either. She stood there like she was carved out of wood, except I could see her shaking. The shaking got stronger and stronger until she was shivering all over. She suddenly bolted into the closet. She crouched way back into the corner and wailed over and over, "I want to go home! I want my dad!" Each time she said it, it sounded louder and wilder.
Mrs. Jackson walked in just then. She stood in the doorway staring at us with her mouth open. I could see Sabrina standing behind Mrs. Jackson. Amy, Joan, and some of the other kids were crying so loud they were practically howling. Even Lisa was bawling.
"Girls!" Mrs. Jackson called. "Girls!"
I don't think anybody looked at her except me. She ran out of the room. The noise in the room got worse. Sabrina ran from the doorway. I could feel myself shaking.
A terrifically loud BLAAAAT!!! jarred me back onto my heels. Everybody shut up. I stared wildly. Mr. Jackson was in the doorway with a trumpet in his hands. Mrs. Jackson was beside him. He put the trumpet back up to his mouth and blew an even louder blast. Then there was dead silence. I could hear Amy taking little hiccupping gasps.
"What is this mass hysteria in aid of?" he asked in a furious voice.
"Pastor Isaac is dead, they killed him, and Muthoni's dad might be dead, too. They're killing everybody," Joan bleated and started to howl again.
Mr. Jackson picked up a glass of water that was on the dresser and threw it straight into Joan's face. Joan gasped and quit howling. He looked around the room and focused on Kristi. "You don't look like you've been bawling. Can you tell us slowl
y and sensibly what on earth this is about?"
Kristi rubbed her hand across her mouth, and said, "Well, we were talking about oathing and stuff. See—" She glanced over at Muthoni, who was still huddled in the closet, and said, "We said we wouldn't tell, but I guess we have to now. Way back at the beginning of term Thomas Njerogi was bugging Muthoni about her dad not standing up for the Kikuyu. He kind of threatened her. Anyway, she was scared. Then the pastor did that sermon." She looked at me. "Anika and Muthoni thought he was talking about politics. You know, because of the election. Then he disappeared—"
Amy cut in, talking high and fast. "In Uganda, where we used to live, all those people got killed, almost a whole tribe. They were all beaten up and dead. When that government got kicked out the people put bones out for others to know what happened. When we went back, I saw them!" Her voice got even higher. "White skulls with black eyeholes, heaps and heaps and—"
"Stop!" Mr. Jackson yelled at the top of his voice. "Do you know what you're doing? You're making yourselves hysterical. You're letting your emotions get completely out of control. All of you, stop it! Even if there was serious trouble here, do you think this kind of behavior would be helpful, or would please God?"
There was a long silence. He took a deep breath and then went on. "Very likely the same group will be back in power after the election. It may not be the most ethical government in the world, but it's relatively safe."
He looked straight at Amy. "As far as I can tell, we don't foresee the kind of trouble that happened in Uganda. I happen to know that Pastor Isaac was transferred to work at the Bible School at the coast. He's just fine. In fact, I was talking to him on the phone earlier today."
There was another silence. "Go wash your faces and come to our place for hot cocoa," Mrs. Jackson said. "We'll pray together about this."
All of us were pretty quiet. I know I felt silly for getting so worked up. It wasn't until most of us were ready to go to the Jacksons' that we realized Muthoni wouldn't come out of the closet. She wouldn't talk either.
Kristi ran to get Mrs. Jackson. Mrs. Jackson looked odd, bent over with her behind hanging out of the closet as she talked to Muthoni. Still, I didn't feel like laughing. At first Muthoni wouldn't answer at all.
Suddenly she wailed, "What if my dad really is dead?" and started crying hard.
I could hear Mrs. Jackson say something muffled about calling Muthoni's family.
Mrs. Jackson looked around and saw all of us standing in a half circle, staring. She made a shooing motion and said, "The cocoa should be ready by now."
We left the room. I hung back and got one last look at Mrs. Jackson hugging Muthoni and helping her out of the closet.
There was a fire in the Jacksons' fireplace. Their living room felt warm and safe and smelled like hot chocolate. I wrapped my hands tightly around my warm mug.
"First I'll tell you what I know," Mr. Jackson said. "The truth should help to drive out some of the wild notions you kids have been believing. It's not a good idea to criticize what is happening here politically. It's something to pray about, rather than talk about too much."
"That's because we could get kicked out," Amy cut in. "When we were in Uganda Daddy said not to talk about it because if we got kicked out we couldn't help anybody."
"It's partly that, but I'm not sure that's so likely here in Kenya," Mr. Jackson said.
"How come Pastor Isaac talked about it then?" Lisa blurted.
"That's what I was just coming to," Mr. Jackson said. "Those of us who are not Kenyan citizens are guests here. If we talk about applying God's principles to political leadership, we're butting in. It would be like one of your friends telling you how you should spend your money. That's for the people involved to work out. People who are from here, like Pastor Isaac."
"Will Pastor Isaac get in trouble?" I asked.
"Some of us wonder if Pastor Isaac's outspokenness wasn't part of the reason he was sent to the coast."
"But that means the church was trying to shut him up," I blurted.
Mr. Jackson shrugged and said, "Church leaders aren't perfect. There is another way to look at it though. They may have been trying to keep him safe. Or maybe politics has nothing to do with his move at all. We definitely need to pray for those in power, both in the Kenyan church, and in the government."
He looked around the room at each of us, then said, "All of that isn't the real point. The real point is, can we trust God? Can we trust him enough not to be afraid no matter what is happening?"
Mr. Jackson made us sing. My voice sounded shaky as I sang the words, "Praise the name of Jesus. He's my rock. He's my fortress. He's my deliverer. In him will I trust."
I felt like a tight knot let go in my chest. I knew I could trust Jesus. He'd helped me lots of times before. He'd helped me on Mount Kenya and when Rick came. I sighed. He'd even helped me survive being called a thief. Suddenly I felt bad. I hadn't exactly been trusting him about Sabrina. I mean, I hadn't been doing that love-your-enemies stuff very well. I'd been ignoring her. I glanced uneasily at Sabrina, then looked away.
Mr. Jackson was talking about the song we'd just sung. He asked us what a fortress was.
"A place to be safe from a bad army," Joan said.
"Kind of like a castle," Lisa suggested.
He nodded and said, "Political trouble isn't any worse than an enemy army. Do you think Jesus can guide his people through?"
Kids started to nod.
"I wish I was back in California!" Lisa suddenly blurted.
"You and your precious United States," Sabrina sneered. "Haven't you heard of the Los Angeles riots?"
"I don't like your tone of voice, Sabrina," Mr. Jackson said. "But you're right about one thing. No place is completely safe. There is no safe place outside Christ."
"He doesn't keep people safe!" Sabrina insisted. "I don't think Jesus even makes any difference! He's not helping me. He didn't help those people in Uganda!"
"He did too help!" Amy cut in indignantly. "One time—"
Mr. Jackson cut her off. "Sabrina, have you asked God for help? As for those people in Uganda, how do you know what he has done there?"
Sabrina tossed her head.
Mr. Jackson continued. "Corrie Ten Boom was a Dutch lady. She and her family helped Jews during the Second World War. They got caught and were put in a concentration camp. Her sister died. So did her father. Corrie herself barely survived. It might seem to some people that God hadn't helped Corrie. Corrie Ten Boom wouldn't agree. Her book is a shining testimony to God's strength. She was able to help many, many people in that horrible place. There is more to being human than selfishly trying to stay alive and happy."
"Hey, that's what the pastor was saying," I said. "That we should trust God and obey him instead of trying to make things better for ourselves."
Mr. Jackson let us talk for a while; then he said, "There may be political trouble here. There is violence in the United States, too, and trouble between tribes and ethnic groups all over the world. But who is our rock?"
A couple of kids said, "Jesus!"
He had us sing the song again; then we prayed together.
Muthoni didn't come back into the dorm until after bedtime. My eyes seemed to be stuck open. Thoughts ran around in my head like scared mice.
I heard the Jacksons' door open. Shadows moved on the hall wall. I could hear Mrs. Jackson's voice talking softly, then the door shut again. My bunk bed squeaked and jiggled. I looked down in time to see Lisa getting out of the bottom bunk.
"Where you going?" I whispered.
"To see if Muthoni's dad really is OK."
"I'll come with you," I said and climbed down.
Quietly we moved through the hall and into the other room. I could see the dark outline of other kids around Muthoni's bed. Lisa and I joined the group.
"Is her dad OK?" I asked Kristi in a soft whisper.
Muthoni heard me, and said, "Yeah, he's OK. I talked to him on the phone. He said we should pray fo
r Kenya. He thinks that the same people will get back in power. He said we should pray that they don't just try to get rich. Other people will be really mad. We should pray that there won't be fighting on Election Day. But my dad told me not to worry. If fighting does happen, it won't be here. VCA isn't near where the land of the two tribes touch, or in a big town."
"Let's pray now then," Amy said.
That's what we did, too. We all kneeled down around Muthoni's bed and prayed one at a time. Kristi prayed for her parents because their station is right on the edge of Luo country. After we prayed I felt better.
"I still wish I was back in California," Lisa whispered as we walked across the cold floor back to our room. "Not me," I said. "The government in the States is not so good anymore either. They let abortion happen and stuff."
"Yeah," Lisa said and sighed. "I guess Pa Jackson is right about Jesus being the only real safe place. I still don't get why you think Kenya is better though."
I looked at her wide-eyed. How could she like boring North America best?
"Being in Kenya is way better!" I blurted. "There are mountains and game parks and the coast and interesting different kinds of people—"
"Like that fuzz-brain, Sabrina Oats?" she interrupted, giggling.
"Shhh! She'll hear you," I said as we came back into the room. Quietly we snuck into bed. I went straight to sleep this time.
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Chapter Nine
A couple of days later I was heading down the long hill to the hospital. The election was tomorrow, but I wasn't thinking about that. I had a dentist appointment. See, every so often the dentist came in from Nairobi. Whoever had to see him went down to the hospital where there was a dentist room. It was the middle of the school day, and the sun was warm on my shoulders. My footsteps slapped loudly on the hard red dirt of the path as I trotted along.
"At least this is only a checkup," I whispered to myself, jumping over a rock. I came out into the big open area by the hospital. Bright sun painted the grass white-gold. Clumps of women with colored head cloths were standing around by the outpatient clinic.