Mists of the Serengeti(11)

“Albino children stick out in Africa. They are special. Different. There are people who would not hesitate to pick on them or harm them. When you put a big hat and the right clothes on these kids, you can fool people into thinking they are tourists—at least from a distance. It is much easier when people think they’re seeing a mzungu mother and a mzungu child, traveling with a local guide. Once a month, Mo ensured safe passage for one of the kids that Gabriel tracked down, and Gabriel returned the favor by showing her around.”

“But now he’s missing,” I said. “Have you reported it to the police?”

“Yes, but there are many men who leave for the city and never return. They think Gabriel abandoned us.”

“Is that a possibility?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He wouldn’t just leave Scholastica like this. Her mother left after she was born. She wanted to give her away because she believed albino children are cursed, but Gabriel wouldn’t have any of it. If you could get Scholastica to Wanza, I’d feel so much better, at least until I’m more settled. When Gabriel resurfaces, he will know where to find her.”

It was all too much to absorb. I had come to Rutema on a simple mission: to find the man I thought was helping my sister. Instead, I was the one being asked for help.

“I’m sorry, but without your brother, I’m in a bind myself. I came looking for him because my sister left the names of three other children who need to get there. I can’t help them, or you, on my own.” I felt like crap. I didn’t like the shame and guilt that crawled under my skin every time Scholastica looked at me. She was sitting on the floor, by Anna’s feet, tugging on the edges of her skirt to cover her toes. I assumed it was a habit, from having to protect herself from the sun every day.

“What about you?” Anna asked Bahati. “You can’t take Miss Rodel to Wanza?”

“To get to Wanza, we’d have to cross Maasai land, and I don’t go there.”

“Why not?” Anna appraised his tall, lanky frame. “Aren’t you Maasai?”

“Yes, but my people have disowned me. I have no wish to see them.” Bahati’s jaw clamped, signaling the end of the conversation.

Anna stroked Scholastica’s hair absently. She had a faraway look in her eyes, part despair, part resignation.

“I know someone who might be able to help,” said Bahati, after a while. “He is also mzungu, but his family has lived in Tanzania for three generations. His grandfather was a British soldier, stationed here during the Second World War. Maybe Miss Rodel can convince him to get Scholastica and the other kids to Wanza.”

They looked at me expectantly—both Bahati and Anna.

“How much do you think he would charge for it?” I asked. I had limited resources. My bank account was dry after I’d made the down payment on the cottage, and the trip had drained the rest of it.

“Oh, he wouldn’t do it for the money. He has a coffee farm, one of the largest estates in the area. He’s a big man—not the kind of person anyone would want to mess with. And he has a big heart. You and the kids would be in good hands.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jack,” replied Bahati. “Jack Warden.”

The name hung suspended in the air between us, like a bridge waiting for me to cross over. I got the sense that if I did, there would be no turning back. I would be bound by whatever I decided in the next few seconds. I felt the weight of the moment as the clock on the wall ticked on steadily.

“What about Scholastica?” I asked, indicating the little girl whose head was bowed as she traced invisible patterns on the floor. “Doesn’t she have a say in any of this?”

“Gabriel promised to take her to Wanza so she could be with kids just like herself. She’s always wanted to go to. She misses her father, but if I tell her that he will meet up with her there, she will go.”

Scholastica looked up at me then. It was as if she sensed we were talking about her. I saw myself walking out into the sun, leaving her there, making patterns on the pale cement floor, with all the curtains drawn.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“Bless you!” Anna clasped her hands over mine.

Bahati was not as enthusiastic. “Are you sure you want to do this?” His face was different, like he was once more that solemn statue, carved out of wood, spear in hand.

“How hard can it be? Getting a bunch of kids to Wanza?” I had promised to cross the remaining names off Mo’s notes, and that’s exactly what I was going to do. “Anna, get Scholastica’s things ready. We are going to see Jack Warden.”





BY THE TIME we reached Jack Warden’s place, it was late afternoon. Stone pillars etched with the words “Kaburi Estate” led us down a winding, bumpy road to the main building—a white-washed manor surrounded by green gorges, banana groves, and endless rows of berry-laden coffee plants. It stood like a rebel, in the shadow of the mighty Kilimanjaro, with electric blue shutters that stood out against the dark clouds now gathering in the sky.

“I thought you told me there would be no rain today, Bahati,” I said, as I got out of the car. “Looks like a storm is coming.”

“I told her to dance up a storm.” It was a man’s voice, deep and rumbling, like low thunder. But there was no sign of him.