Chapter One
Two hands yanked me out of the crumpled car. My back scraped against the mangled steel, but I felt no pain.
I looked around in a shocked daze.
Everything was a blur of smoke.
I heard shouting nearby. A police siren. The man in the Tanzanian patrol uniform let go of me and doubled over coughing. It was a rough, gagging cough. His face was glowing, not from sweat but from the reflection of fire.
That was when I felt the heat.
The grass around us, tall enough to hide a fully-grown African elephant, was ablaze. The fire was climbing the acacia tree we’d hit moments earlier, its leaves curling inward in pain. I gazed in horror at our small Fiat, engulfed in flames. There was a familiar shadow inside. A darkened head collapsed forward. Another shadow leaned against the steering wheel, now a ring of fire.
“Oh, my god!”
I struggled to my feet.
“Get back!” someone yelled.
“Mama! Papa!”
I had to get to them. Save them.
Before I could do anything, the officer grabbed me by the arm and pulled me through the hot grass, half carrying, half dragging me like a rag doll. I kicked at the dirt and struggled all the way, almost losing my precious red sandals.
“Lemme go!” I screamed. He dumped me on the asphalt and flopped down beside me, one hand tightly on my shoulder, the other wiping his face which was drenched in sweat.
The crackle of fire and the blaring of sirens were getting louder. I felt hands pull me onto a stretcher. People were shouting at each other and at me. Someone was forcing me to lie down, hands on my shoulders pinning me down.
“No! Let me go!”
I fought to get up.
“Hatari!” a sharp voice said behind me. “Danger!”
The man who’d pulled me out of the car came over and reached for my hands. “Huwezi kwenda nyuma,” he said in a soft voice, shaking his head. I didn’t understand and not because I didn’t know the language.
“But we’ve got to go back! Do something!”
I lunged forward. Hands clamped me down. The officer sighed and shook his head.
“Pole, pole,” he said.
I stared at him through the smoky haze. I knew enough Swahili to understand he’d just said “sorry.”
I collapsed. My mind was heavy, foggy. This isn’t happening. This is a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon.
But the fire was all around us now. I couldn’t see our car anymore.
Then, the world went black.
Chapter Two
“What did the police say?” a female voice whispered in the dark.
“Tight-lipped, they were,” another whispered back. “I overheard one of them say it was a good thing a highway patrol was on the road, or it could have been worse.”
Who’s talking? I couldn’t see a thing, but the voices kept going.
“How much worse could it have got?”
“I don’t know but it sounded serious, from the way they were saying.”
“I tell you what I think, Rosa. These foreigners just don’t know how to drive here, but nobody wants to say that.”
“Tell me about it.” A big sigh. “Every time we go on those safari roads, I tell my husband somebody should put up signs or someone will get killed one of these days.”
“If we had signs for lions, do you think tourists would stay away? They’d follow it with their fancy cameras, I tell you.”
“Only the white muzungus will do that.”
“Have you not seen those buses full of Chinese these days? Even the Wahindi are running around with their cameras, I tell you.”
“Well, the good Lord was looking over this little Wahindi. She’ll heal.”
“Why don’t we call that hindu priest to come and talk to her?”
“How do you know her church? Maybe she’s buddhist, or christian or maybe even muslim. You never know these days.”
“Well, we need someone to bless her parents.”
Bless her parents? I pried my eyes open and was immediately blinded by a fluorescent light. I shut my eyes back tightly.
“The girl’s up!”
“Call the doctor!”
I opened my eyes cautiously this time, to see two Tanzanian nurses in starched white aprons and stiff caps standing on either side of my bed. They were staring at me like I was an alien. I stared back. They couldn’t have looked more different from each other. One was short and stout, and the other was thin and tall.
I looked around. We were in a small, windowless room. I was on a hospital bed with beeping machines surrounding me. On the wall in front was a wildlife calendar with a photo of a sandy-colored impala leaping over a bush, its long, black horns leading the charge. I did a double take. That reminded me of something, something urgent, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of what it was.
A shiver ran through me. This place was cold, sterile, and smelled of disinfectant like they’d scrubbed everything down with bleach. Something nipped at my arm. I looked down to see a gangly plastic tube sticking to my forearm. What’s this? I pulled my arms up and instantly, a searing pain rushed through my body.
“Aaargh.” I struggled to get up. “Where am I?” I spoke but heard only a strange, raspy sound. I put my hand on my throat. My back hurt and my legs felt heavy. Something somewhere was hurting badly, and tears welled up in my eyes.
“Now, now, take care, my dear,” the stout nurse said, coming closer and putting a hand on my shoulder. Her hand felt warm to the touch.
“Don’t pull on these,” the other nurse said, fixing the IV bag. “These are for your own good. See, you’re already feeling better, no?”
“Where’s Mama?” I croaked. My throat was drier than the Sahara.
“Relax. No talking. You need rest,” the plump nurse said, pushing a button on the side of the bed to bring it upright. In her hand was a plastic cup with a bent straw in it. “You’ll be just fine,” she said, pushing my long hair back. “This’ll help. Drink.”
I reached for the cup with shaking hands and put my lips on the straw. As they watched me silently, I took a tiny sip of the water.
The black phone by the door rang. The skinny nurse ran to pick it up and talked into it, nodding every few seconds, saying, “Yes, Doctor. Yes, Doctor.” The plump nurse started to bustle around the room, taking readings from the screens and writing on charts.
I sat motionless with the cup in my hands, trying to make sense of what had happened, why I was here. Suddenly, a fiery image sprang to mind. It was of our green car in flames with the shadows of my parents inside. Unconscious.
My body went numb. Panicked thoughts came rushing in like a sandstorm in a desert, roaring, swirling, filling every crevice of my mind.
Mama! Papa! Did they get away? Are they okay? Oh, my god. Where are they?
My mind reeled. I remembered how I’d begged them to go on this safari, how I’d sniveled like a spoiled brat. I remembered the day before, how my best girlfriend, Chanda, and I had disappeared for hours in the Uhuru market and worried them sick. It was also that morning I’d committed a crime, my first crime, a misdeed only Chanda knew about and one I'd regret for the rest of my life.
Mama always said karma never forgets.
The plump nurse turned and noticed my ashen face.
“Where’s my mother?” I squeaked the words.
She set her chart on the side table and walked a slow deliberate walk toward my bed. Something in her face told me I didn't want her to answer my question. I didn't want her to speak. I pulled back. She leaned in and wrapped me in a hug. When she told me I wasn’t going to see my parents again, I wanted to cry, scream, but I couldn’t even breathe.
I made the accident happen. I’m the one who made them die.
I pulled away and threw up over the side of the bed. I didn’t care I was spraying my sickly vomit on her pristine white skirt.
Chapter Three
“She’s just a child,” whispered the voice of the plump nurse, whom I knew as Nurse Elizabeth now. “Think of that before you make the decision.”
I sat up in bed and looked around me. I’d just woken from a drug-induced sleep and was still drowsy. The voices were coming from the room next to mine, where the nurses kept their medical and bandage supplies and had a desk to write their charts and reports.
“This is not my decision, mesdames,” a man replied.
I recognized that voice. It was Mr. Mudenda, the children’s psychologist assigned to me. He was a small man with a pleasant face who’d visited me every afternoon for an hour, for the past two weeks. He was the only person, other than the cleaning lady, who came without a stethoscope around his neck. He shared stories about his family and told me about his eldest son, Peace, a year older than me, who went to a public school in town.
Sometimes, when Mr. Mudenda didn’t have time to drop his son off at home, he’d bring him in, together with several books they’d picked out for me from the town library. As Mr. Mudenda inquired about my health, Peace would sit quietly on the bench outside the room, engrossed in his own book, his oversized spectacles threatening to fall off at any moment.
When I asked about the boy, Mr. Mudenda regaled with pride that Peace was at the top of his class, a chess prodigy, and even two grades ahead of his age group. I wished Peace would come in and chat but he never did. Other than an initial hello, he kept to himself. Instead, it was Mr. Mudenda’s soothing voice and stories that put me to sleep every night.
Though I'd known Mr. Mudenda for only two weeks, he was all I had now. That first day, he came over with a book and sat next to my bed and read while I slipped in and out of consciousness, throwing up every few hours till I could vomit no more.
The nurses had their hands full with patients in far more serious conditions than I was. They didn’t have time to pay attention to a child who felt worse in her heart than in her body, so it was Mr. Mudenda who stayed with me till dawn the next morning. After a few days, I came to trust him so much that I almost told him my terrible secret of crime.
“The police are still investigating, you know,” Nurse Rosa, the thin nurse, was saying. “They’ll want to talk to her.”
My heart skipped a beat. They know what I did? I strained to listen.
“It’s the police telling me to send the girl away,” Mr. Mudenda said. “Besides, she can’t stay here forever."
“But you can’t ship off a little one just like that,” Nurse Elizabeth said.
“It’s for her own safety,” Mr. Mudenda replied.
What does that mean?
“This is not the first time they had trouble,” he continued. “Remember the dead Swedish scientist they found in the desert last year? He worked for Environ Africa as well, and he complained about the same problems in his letters to the newspapers. There will be an investigation, and it’s going to be up to the commissioner now.”
“Oh, my, my,” Nurse Elizabeth said. “What’s the world coming to these days?”
“The mining companies have long hands, and they don’t like it when others meddle in their affairs,” Mr. Mudenda said.
“They have all the money,” Nurse Rosa said in a disapproving voice. “And we know where half of that ends up, don’t we? Right in the pockets of our politicians.”
I no longer followed the conversation. I shook my head from side to side to clear the heavy fog of drugs from my mind.
“What’s her official status?” Nurse Elizabeth was asking. “Didn’t she say her father’s Indian and her mother’s from Sri Lanka or somewhere like that?”
Their voices were getting lower. I leaned toward the door.
“According to the documents I received, she was born in Kenya,” Mr. Mudenda said, rustling papers.
“A Kenyan citizen then?” Nurse Rosa asked.
“From what the police sent me, the parents were expatriate contractors.” Mr. Mudenda spoke slowly as if he was reading something. “They moved around the region, but they had no residential papers from anywhere. The only things we have are copies of their passports kept at the company.”
“What about a birth certificate?” Nurse Rosa asked.
“They’ve asked the Kenyan authorities, but that will take time. In the meantime, she doesn’t belong anywhere, I’m afraid.”
“Tsk. Poor girl. She must be ten, not even,” Nurse Rosa said.
“Eleven, I think,” Mr. Mudenda said. More rustling of papers.
Hey, I’m twelve now and that’s almost thirteen.
I peeked over the bed. My ruby red sandals, the last birthday gift from my parents, were still there. They looked worn and dusty now, though I’d only got them a few days ago.
“What about school? Doesn’t she go to the international school?” Nurse Rosa asked.
“That’s a boarding school, isn’t it?” Nurse Elizabeth said. “Maybe she can stay there for a while.”
My heart dropped. I detested being at school during the day. I hated being the odd one out, the one everyone picked on. I couldn’t imagine living there around the clock, especially without my parents to escape to. I shook my head silently. No, please no.
“Who’s going to pay for that expensive school?” Mr. Mudenda asked. “The company promised only to take care of the funeral arrangements and her trip back.”
Trip? Back?
“She tells us her home is here,” Nurse Elizabeth said. “Let’s see what a foster home could do, at least.”
A wave of nausea washed over me. I pulled the blanket to my chin and curled my legs under me. Part of me didn’t want to hear this anymore. Another part wanted to run into that room and demand to know what they were planning to do with me.
“Mesdames,” my social worker said. “She does have a family, and as far as the authorities are concerned, that is where she has to go.”
“Hmph!” Both nurses snorted at the same time.
“Didn’t they say they didn’t want the half-breed? That is what I heard,” Nurse Rosa said with a huff.
“Yes, think of that now, Mr. Mudenda,” Nurse Elizabeth said.
“Whether they like it or not, they'll have to take the girl,” Mr. Mudenda said. “And Asha will have to adjust.”
Adjust to what? My head was hurting.
“Habari!”
Someone else had entered the room. I heard the usual Swahili pleasantries and a man’s deep voice, a voice that was in charge.
“Did you tell the kid it’s an accident?” the man barked.
I craned my neck to look, but couldn’t see a thing.
“Don’t worry, sir. I’m handling this the best way I can.” Mr. Mudenda sounded strained now.
“Funeral arrangements will be made here by the company, two days from now,” the man said.
“I’ll take the girl with me,” Mr. Mudenda said. “She will need company.”
“Shouldn’t we send the bodies back to the family?” Nurse Elizabeth asked.
“They do not want them,” the man replied.
“Oh!” Nurse Elizabeth gasped.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” Nurse Rosa always clicked her tongue when she wasn’t happy.
I looked at the impala calendar on the wall where Nurse Rosa checked the days off every day. My parents would be buried on a Sunday.
A flood of memories came to me.
Sunday was our family day. It was the day my mother baked and I became her sous chef, piping creamy swirls onto little cakes. I’ll never forget the heavenly baking smells that wafted through our home those quiet Sunday mornings when we’d brew cups of steaming Ceylon tea and sit at the kitchen table with my father to taste my mother’s latest creations.
No matter how bad the week had been, Sundays made the world all right again.
“What kind of family is this, you have found?” Nurse Elizabeth’s angry voice came from the room.
“Don’t be so quick to judge,” Mr. Mudenda said. “They’ve been in Africa for the past twelve years. Probably no one even knew this girl was alive.”
“We can’t fly the bodies anyway,” the strange man said. He didn’t seem to be making any effort to lower his voice. “I was at the mortuary when they brought them in. Oh, man. Not something you want to see, I can tell you that.”
“At least the commissioner said he will look into this business,” Mr. Mudenda said. “I just hope the company doesn’t start lobbying like they always do.”
“Those bastards,” the man said. “Always interfering with our investigations.”
Silence.
“Are you going to escort us to the airport after the funeral?” Mr. Mudenda asked.
“We’re going to drive you there, my friend,” the man replied with a chuckle. “Only the president gets an escort.”
To be continued….
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