‘I will catch you tomorrow’, Naya panted.

‘No tomorrows. Catch me now!’ I shouted and giggled playfully.

I did not wait to hear what she had to say. I ran home.

A bright dust of fireflies swept ahead of me. I captured one of them and clutched my fist tightly. I made a small hole among my fingers and peered inside to see if the fly still had its tiny green light, but I was disappointed to find out the light was gone.

I heard Mama shouting my name from a distance and increased my speed. She was standing by the door when I arrived.

‘Don’t you have some sense in your head to see that it is dark?’ she asked, pocking my forehead furiously with her finger.

‘I was playing with Naya’, I whispered.

‘Eish! Playing with with Naya at this time?’ she said harshly.

 ‘Ma-,’ I started, but she did not let me finish. She rushed into the hut, and it was difficult to predict whether she was going to get a cane; which she always kept in the kitchen, or if she had gone to continue with cooking.

I remained outside for a while, to watch the situation. When she did not come out and I heard her hum a tune in the kitchen, I entered the house and sat on the mat that was spread in the center of the living room.

Papa came and found me playing with the shadows of my hands. I made images of fierce dogs, venomous snakes, scorpions…

He slumped himself on his chair and it creaked loudly under his weight. There was only one chair in our hut, and it belonged to Papa. Nobody ever sat on it, not even when Papa was away. When we had a visitor, Mama would get a stool from the neighbour; not letting anyone sit on Papa’s chair.

Papa scratched the hairs of his chin vigorously. He always did that whenever he had nothing to do. Occasionally, he pulled one strand of hair from his chin and examined it carefully. I wondered what he always looked for in those strands.

I pretended to be reading my Progressive English textbook. My eyes were fixed on the book, while my thought wandered to my day at school.

‘Papa, is it true that all children are angels?’ I suddenly asked. Our class teacher had told us during Religious Studies that all children were angels.

He continued scratching his chin without saying anything.

‘Papa’

‘Eh!’

‘Are children Angels?’

‘They are’

‘Is Jiwe an angel too?’

‘He is’

‘But he is crippled Papa; he has no legs’

Papa smiled.

‘Papa, am I an angel too?’

‘You are.’

My eyes shone. I had never thought of myself as an angel.

‘Is it right to slap an angel papa?’

‘No’

‘Then why did you slap me the day I took one shilling from your wallet?’

‘Angels do not steal’

‘ I did not steal, I took’ I just took one…

‘Took without my knowledge – you stole.’

‘No, I took’

    Our conversation was interrupted by a loud hammering on the door. Papa was sitting next to the door, but he did not move to open it; instead, Mama came from the kitchen fastening her leso around her waist. There were little bids of sweat on the tip of her nose and her forehead was shiny. Opening of doors and other inferior jobs belonged to women.

Mama wiped her forehead with the back of her hand when she reached the door, but before she opened, it was kicked violently and it flung open.

Papa shot up in alarm. I also stood.

It was Chief. He was not wearing his uniform. He stood towering in front of us.

‘I salute you Chief’, Mama said bowing her head.

Chief did not look at mama. He stepped into the hut and his heavy shoes made a Thup! Thup! sound as he walked on the lose soil on the floor of our hut.

Thup! Thup! He walked towards Papa.

He stopped about two footsteps from Papa. His shadow was thrown on the cracked wall of our hut; it was enormously exaggerated and his image looked like a giant; ready to devour Papa.

The air was still.

‘Have a seat Chief’, papa said, pointing at his chair – the one nobody ever sat on.

‘Did you abuse your employer today?’ Chief said, ignoring Papa’s invitation.

Papa folded his eyebrows as if trying to remember something and shook his head immediately.

‘What did you do?’

‘I told him that I cannot wash his inner clothing’

‘Why?’

‘We are both men Chief; and none is lesser. Will my grandchildren in future ever respect me if they learn that I washed the inner garment of another man? Will they? I am his House boy, but above all, I am a man…’

‘Are you a man? Do you know that Asians are the backbone of this village’s life? Do you know how much your employer pays me in rent? Do you? It can buy you and your miserable family! I will allow nobody to insult him, least of all you Dog…’ Chief said.

His words pierced my bowels.

He caught papa by the collar and slapped him.

Yes, Chief slapped my papa-

He slapped him again and again. Papa did not move, neither did he try to shield himself from Chief’s blows.

He was kicked on the stomach and he groaned in pain. It was terrible. Every time Papa groaned, I felt intense pain in my stomach.

Mama screamed.

Chief kicked Papa harder.

In the agony of my mind, I wondered if Papa would come out alive. He tried to stand but Chief kicked him so hard on the head that I thought Papa’s skull was going to shatter on the floor.

Mama screamed louder. I was half dead with fear

‘Cant you see how poor you are before exchanging words with your employer?’

I felt the need to defend Papa.

‘My papa is not poor. There is a hundred shilling note in his wallet. I saw it’

My voice was shaking. In anger and in fear.

Chief walked out and disappeared in the darkness.

Nobody talked. Only the crickets songs were hard outside. Accompanied by Chief’s fading footsteps.

Mama covered her mouth with her hand and a severe sob rocked her body. Papa reached for the table for support and stood up.

‘Papa, Chief will burn in God’s big fire.’

In spite of his pain, Papa smiled.

‘Baba Mercy, what did you do?’ mama asked.

‘I cannot wash Patel’s innerwear just because he is an Asian and I am African…I cannot’

I noticed that papa did not call him Mr. Patel like he always did – he just said Patel.

‘What are we poor men before rich men? What are we?’ mama asked, wiping her tears with the hem of her leso.

‘Mother of the house, do not serve my meal. I am full’ Papa said.

‘I am full too’ I said.

Mama went to the kitchen, and she let out a full-throated cry.

‘Papa, is Chief a black Asian?’

He lifted my chin and looked right inside my eyes. His breathing was fast.

‘Your eyes are still too small to see the big things of this world Mercy. One day you will know…’ he said.

He carried me and placed me on his lap. I lifted my hand and wiped the blood on his temple. I felt my eyes mist. I rested my head against Papa’s chest and felt his heart beating fast. Like how my heart beats when Naya and I chase each other around.

‘Papa, does God love poor people?’

‘I don’t know’.

‘ The teacher for Religion taught us a song today’

‘Sing it’

‘ These mountains shall move says the Lord,

These troubles shall fade, says the Lord

It’s not by power, nor by might,

But by spirit says the Lord.’

‘ I know that song. We used to sing it back then when I was a little boy’

‘ These mountains shall move says the Lord,

These troubles shall fade, says the Lord

It’s not by power, nor by might,

But by spirit says the Lord.’

We sang together, and our voices merged with the stillness of that night. We became one in song. Papa stroked the back of my hand. I cried.

Papa continued singing and with each note, his voice became shaky. He chocked on the words; then he started crying. For the first time I saw papa cry. I sang on as he cried.

‘Papa, will you go to work tomorrow?’

‘No’

‘Do you have another job?’

‘No’

The light of the lamp in the room glimmered weakly in the darkness.

‘Go to sleep’ Papa said.

As I lay on bed, my mind wandered to so many places. I couldn’t quite comprehend the events of that night, but one thing I was sure of was that Chief would burn in the fire the teacher had described richly. The fire that burns for all eternity, burning all people who had been wicked in their stay on earth. I was sure Chief would burn in that fire. I fell asleep smiling, imagining how Chief would yell out, crying for Papa’s help as he burnt away, slowly by slowly…

 I didn’t look down, I concentrated on the rhythm of my heart…I could feel a sharp pain forming in my chest, but I continued running….the wind was cold, and in the night air hung the smell of glue that street children in the city love sniffing.

I continued running….

I suddenly stopped when someone threw a feeble light on my path.

“where are you going at this time of the night?” he asked.

“Running away from my husband” I responded. For a brief moment he looked at me without saying anything. He looked at his wrist and realised he didn’t have a watch, then he muttered something under his breath.

The man held my shoulder and let me to the pavements of the many shops in the city. I could tell he was a watchman from the big rungu he carried.

Nairobi by night was a dead, compared to what I had seen on the day that I first came to the city, two years ago.

“Is that your baby?” He asked beaming a ray of light onto my baby’s sleeping face.

The pavement was cold, and still wet from the rain. I sat down and I felt the emotions that I had inside me overpower me. a huge sob rocked my body…

“Madam, is this your baby?” he asked again, this time his voice getting stern.

I nodded.

 He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, long and hard. I felt very tiny under his gaze.

We sat in an uncomfortable silence, until I heard the sound of an approaching car.

A woman dressed in a short black skirt emerged from the car and came to the pavement where I was seated.

“Young lady, I have been following you, u probably didn’t notice, because you were concentrating more on the running…” she said, and a weak smile cracked her face.

I looked at her and I noticed her hair. it was long and bulky, just like I have always wanted my hair to be. I liked her immediately.

“Am sorry, but I was running away from my husband. He was chasing me with a knife, I was scared that he might kill me…” I said without attempting to wipe away the tears on my face.

“You poor thing, come with me. Let’s go to my house, we will see what to do about your husband when the day breaks.”

The watchman who had found me looked at me with pitiful eyes and patted my back in a fatherly way.

“Maybe you can give her a job at your house madam, so that she can buy shoes” He said and I suddenly became aware of my lack of shoes.

The woman nodded and led me to her car. A wave of relief washed over me. Renee was still in my arms, unaware of the night. Unaware of the changes that awaited us…

Where rich people stay, the sun rises with beauty—as I realized when I woke up at the strange woman’s house. Everything was arranged in some kind of order, so different from the clutter that I was used to in the slum where I had spent my life since I arrived in Nairobi from the village.

To be a good guest, I had woken up earlier and tried to clean. The woman, my savior woke up almost immediately, beaming with excitement.

“You can start working today…” she said.

My gaze was fixed to the ground. I wasn’t used to this kind of treatment.

“Hey, do this, take this 3,000 shillings and go to the market, buy yourself clothes and something for the little one…”

I was taken aback by her generosity.

“-but madam,” I started, but she just smiled, opened her purse and handed me 3,000 shillings.

“Go now, I will feed the baby for you. I don’t have any of my own, but there is nothing hard in giving the baby milk, is there?” she said and smiled. She had the most perfect smile. It shone from within her.

She gave me her open shoes to wear to the market. Outside, just next to her gate was a supermarket, and I marked it, to make it easier for me to find my way back.

“There are very nice things in Gikomba, if you get there early. I will be right here, waiting to see what you have bought…” she shouted from inside.

A bib. A leso. A feeding bottle. Tiny shoes that the vendor had told me light up when a baby walks. Fruits. Malenge that my mama had told me makes babies stronger. A house decoration for my new boss and clothes for me…that’s what I came carrying.

The supermarket was still there. The people I had passed selling fruits at the entrance of the gate were still there, but the house was empty.

It was empty.

I ran inside.

It was empty.

 A feeling I cannot explain engulfed me. A burning, all consuming feeling.

I ran up and down…to the fruit’s guy.

“hey, the house is empty…” I yelled.

He didn’t understand.

“who are you?”

“Reni’s mother. The woman who stays here, where is she?” I asked while pointing at the now deserted house.

“Ohhh, the owner of that house…she moved out immediately you left. She had given the landlord a notice three months ago…”

“No, she went with my Reni…?”

“Check inside the house, maybe she left her there”

I ran like a maniac. The goods I got from Gikomba lay strewn on the ground.

I went into all rooms.

Upstairs.

Downstairs.

Upstairs.

Downstairs again.

Oh dear Lord, thy Kingdom come!

“Reni…” I shouted. My voice was echoed through the large house.

Something inside me died. Something rose inside me, and in an instant flash, I was vomiting all over the house….

“My baby…my baby…my baby…” I whispered all over until they are the only word my brain could process. My baby…

I ran outside. I was bathed in sweat. Oh, sweat and tears.

The man selling fruits was still there.

“I didn’t find her…I will try and find the landlord, then maybe he can lead me to the woman.” I said. My voice lacked something. I couldn’t even convince myself.

“Madam, the landlord died 6 weeks ago. Maybe the new agents will be able to help you. Just hope that the dead mzee had all the details somewhere…” he said and went back to slicing the paw- paw fruit he was carrying.

“Uuuuuwi, my baby. My baby….”

I ran up and down. People stared at me without saying anything. My legs felt very light.

Next to me were the things I had bought from Gikomba. I sat on them and folded into myself like a big cat….

“Renii…” I shouted, but the only response I got was my own voice echoed to eternity. Over and over.

I was scared. School scared me. From the stories I had heard from my elder sister, it was going to be terrible.

“Your class teacher is going to be Mrs.Onyango. She will lift your dress and pinch between your thighs…,” she had told me in the morning just before I left for school. Although Mama had rebuked her and assured me that all would be well, I still had some lingering fear within me.

“I am Atieno,” the girl who sat next to me said.

I did not reply. I just stared at her. She was the talkative type, and I was shy.

“Did your mother give you anything to carry to school?” she asked almost immediately.

“Yes, sweet potatoes,” I replied weakly. For some unknown reasons, I found her question irritating.

“Give me some, my mother did not give me anything,” she said, looking straight into my eyes.

I reached for my bag and gave her the tiniest piece of my sweet potatoes. She shoved the whole of it in her mouth, then stretched out her hand for more. I looked at her in disgust, then gave her one more.

She munched on it slowly, then smiled at me.

“Look at my hands, my mother lashed them yesterday.” She held out her arms for me to see.

My stomach lurched at the sight of her hands. They were bruised and swollen. I did not believe her. No mother lashes her little girl like that!

“What did you do to earn that?”

She did not answer. She just smiled, but I noticed the tears in her eyes.

There was heavy silence between us. My thoughts raced to my mother. Sometimes she got angry at the things I did, like making faces at her visitors, but she had never caned me so badly.

The teacher entered the classroom and interrupted my thoughts.

“Good morning everyone?” She greeted us in a low voice.

We all stood up and saluted her.

“I am Mrs. Onyango, your class teacher,” she continued in the same tone.

Silence reigned.

“I want each one of you to give a brief introduction about who you are,” she continued.

The introductions began at the front. Most of the pupils spoke softly, and it was with great difficulty that those of us at the back got to hear their names.

Mrs. Onyango, probably bored by the monotony of the introductions, was beginning to doze off.

“My name is Atieno, I am six years old, and my mother is a seller,” my desk mate introduced herself with a confidence.

“Young girl, we do not say seller, we say business lady,” the teacher corrected her.

“Yes, Ma’am”.

“So what does your mother sell?”

“She sells herself, Ma’am.”

“What?”

“My mother sells herself to interested buyers.”

There was silence. Nobody talked. Atieno and the teacher looked at each other.

The teacher made her way toward Atieno, her eyes so fierce, that for a moment I thought she was going to hit her.

“How do you know that she sells herself, young girl?”

“That is what she tells me every night when she leaves the house.”

“Do you know it is wrong to lie, Atieno?”

“I know it is wicked to lie, and those who lie will burn when good people go to heaven, Ma’am”.

“How many children are you at home?”

“It is just my Mama and I. My Mama says she had me by mistake. She says I am the bad one who refused to die like the rest, even after she drank a whole gallon of detergent to get rid of me while I was in her stomach.”

Atieno’s voice faltered off, and there were tears in her throat.

Loud murmurs went through the classroom. It must have been the pupils wondering why Atieno was holding such a long conversation with the teacher. We were too young to understand.

“Who brought you to school?”

“Myself.”

“Class, you are dismissed for break…” the teacher said, and I noticed her reaching for the wall for support. Her eyes were also very red.

* * * * *

That evening as we walked home from school, Atieno walked at a sickeningly slow speed. I felt the need to be her friend. Nobody wanted to talk to her.

“Some of my sweet potatoes are still in my bag, maybe…,” I started.

“I think I am full,” she said, looking straight ahead.

“But you didn’t take lunch.”

“I never take lunch. I am used to staying hungry.”

I saw tears glinting in her eyes, but she blinked them away rapidly.

“Where do you live?” I asked in a final attempt to sound friendly.

“Across the river; that is where I live with Mama.”

“I also live across the river with my Mama and Papa,” I said.

She did not look at me. She picked a piece of grass and chewed absent-mindedly on its blade.

We walked on without talking to each other until the river lay before us.

“Do you swim?” she finally broke the silence.

“No, I fear water,” I replied honestly.

She did not comment, and I began to wonder why she had asked me the question.

“In the depth of this river, there are six one shilling coins, and four five shilling coins. That makes a total of twenty six shillings.”

I did not quite understand.

“How do you know?” I asked perplexed.

“I threw them in,” she said with no feeling at all.

I was amazed. I loved money. The highest amount of money my mother had ever given me was two shillings, and here she was, telling me that she had thrown twenty six shillings into the river, yet she could not even buy herself a piece of Maandazi for lunch!

“There is a man who comes to our house at night when my mother has gone out to sell herself. He touches me, then gives me the money,” she said to me without a hint of feeling.

“Does your mother know?” I asked, concerned. My mother always told me to report to her any man who touches me.

“Yes, she does.”

I felt my heart beating strangely. And there was a searing pain in my chest.

When we reached the river, she groped in the pocket of her green school tunic, fished out a shinny ten-shilling coin, then, after studying it carefully, hurled it into the river with all her might. The waters swallowed the coin hungrily as we looked on.

I noticed the veins in Atieno’s face. I noticed the tears in her eyes. I noticed the sorrowful look that clouded her face.

“Yesterday, the man gave me ten shillings, but yesterday he did more than touch me,” she said with her gaze fixed in space.

I also took the fifty-cent coin that I had and dipped it into the flowing waters of the river. I do not know why I did it, but I found satisfaction in seeing it disappear in the river.

Atieno lifted her dress and dipped her feet in the shimmering water. I did the same. Then she removed her clothes and walked slowly into the river. I did that too.

That day, we swam and played in the river until we reached the plateau that lies beyond childhood, beyond fear, beyond sorrows of this world…where one just swims like a fish or soars like an eagle, or one floats like a ghost, unaware of anything that is going on around them in this corrupted world.

While in the water, Atieno held my hand tightly, looked into the depths of my eyes, then told me to be her friend…and I cried.

When I reached home that night, my mother pinched my ear for having stayed out late. She served me Ugali and fish for supper.

“Mama, in the depths of River Gol Richo, there are so many coins; to be precise, there are thirty six shillings and fifty cents,” I told her after eating my meal.

She did not understand, and she did not bother to inquire. She just sent me to bed, and that night, I dreamt of nothing but Atieno, the river and myself, and how I would seek the man who gave her the coins, and hurl him into the river with so much might, just as Atieno had done with the ten shilling coin he had given her after destroying her.